#no medication no home remedies no nothing absolutely nothing makes it go away

[spookyboywhump]

I hate having migraines I hate that they stop me from enjoying myself I hate that when all preventative measures fail there is NOTHING I can do, there are no home remedies that help, even eating is a gamble because it could make me sick but not eating makes my head hurt worse I hate it here I fucking hate it

[xhanisai]

chat noir needs to stop getting himself hurt whilst protecting his lady 2k22

AO3 / FFN

Pairing - Marichat

Prompt - ‘Healing’

Summary -

Warm, salty tears seeped through his bandages, lightly stinging his wounds but it was nothing compared to the agonising pain of knowing that he made her cry.  Again.  "Why...? Why do you always do this to me?" Her words were barely a whisper yet the impact was enough to make his heart pound incredibly hard. "How many more times are you going to make me see you die before me?" Marinette pulled her head back and finally faced him with tear-stained cheeks and reddened, watery eyes. "How many more times are you going to die until the cleansing light stops bringing you back to life?"

(Or, AU where the cleansing light doesn’t heal all of Chat Noir’s injuries and he ends up having to get constantly patched up by his Lady)

~(x)~ . . . "Owch! Hey! Ow-ow-ow! You! You did that on purpose!" The feline hero scowled at his companion with as much venom as a baby kitten, his tail swatting irritatedly against her mattress and his faux ears plastered miserably to his blond locks. Marinette simply glowered back wordlessly with enough intensity to make him shiver in fright, bandages tight in her tense hands as she continued to patch up his wounded chest. A chest that was very bare and very naked, the teen hero having had no choice but to zip his suit down to free his arms and torso in order for his partner to apply the necessary medication to help him get better sooner. Though, Marinette was doing an excellent job in paying no heed to the sight of her partner's half-nakedness much to the feline's utter dismay and continued to sort him out in silence. She didn't even bat an eye at the way he tried to wiggle his kitten ears, his need for her undivided attention to his pleading face and for something to get rid of the suffocating tension that wafted in the bedroom was indescribable. "You know, this would've been a hundred times easier if you allowed me to show my identity to you too." He continued to pout pathetically, leaning his face into her personal space only to get pushed away by the nose with her pointer finger as Marinette continued to work. Before he could come up with anything else to break the agitating silence, a very unmanly and high-pitched squeal leapt out of his throat as soon as she tightened the bandages without mercy or a word of warning. "Hey!?" "Oops." The girl casually replied with a cool, unapologetic tone. Her raw anger towards her partner still burned within the pits of her stomach as she patted his body down to check for any more injuries or pain he could be hiding (he's done it before in the past, like the absolute idiot he is). She paid no mind to the way his heart instantly elevated under her careful touch and the way his cheeks bloomed with a light, rosy glow. "There. All done. I want you to take these remedies home with you. Be sure to take plenty of painkillers and sneak away to the doctor for anything else that I may have missed. And for the love of god, rest. Don't even think about stepping outside for patrol or whatever that isn't an emergency." His ears flickered up, noting the sheer pain in her voice (that she tried so, so hard to steel) and the unconditional worry glittering within her baby blues. Unadulterated guilt sewed his organs together tightly within his throbbing chest, a pain that was so much more intense than the physical wounds he wore. Wounds that he gained from sacrificing himself to save her. Again. . "Marinette...? Marinette?? Talk to me, please," He placed his hands on hers gently, his partner slightly taken back from the tantalising warmth of his bare skin upon hers, his blunt fingernails grazing the skin on the back of her hands. "I'm really sorry...I didn't mean to make you worry..." A shuddering, wet gasp left her throat despite all her restraints and Chat Noir immediately brought her into his chest and held her tight as she scrambled for purchase over his shoulders. His heart practically shattered from the way her tiny frame shivered and trembled with silent sobs within his protective arms. Warm, salty tears seeped through his bandages, lightly stinging his wounds but it was nothing compared to the agonising pain of knowing that he made her cry. Again. "Why...? Why do you always do this to me?" Her words were barely a whisper yet the impact was enough to make his heart pound incredibly hard. "How many more times are you going to make me see you die before me?" Marinette pulled her head back and finally faced him with tear-stained cheeks and reddened, watery eyes. "How many more times are you going to die until the cleansing light stops bringing you back to life?" "I...I have faith in you to bring me back, every single time-" He didn't get a chance to finish off his half-hearted reasonings as Marinette pushed him back onto the bed with a strength that would rival her alter-ego's, hovering over his body with clenched teeth and tears cascading down her face and splashing against his. "...Marinette...?" "You said you love me, right? That you'll always love me, right? Is that all a lie?" Ice filled his veins from head to toe and the provoked boy immediately sat up with an incredulous, angered expression. Cupping her face, he brought her even closer towards him so that their lips were merely just centimetres apart. "Of all things you should question, my love and my devotion for you aren't one of them. Don't you dare underestimate me like that, Marinette." His body shook with both fury and pain, biceps trembling as she placed a tender hand on one of his arms. "There's nothing in this world I love more than you. Nothing. I would do anything for you. I would destroy the world a million times over for you if you wish. I'm yours in every way you want me to be. So don't question it again!" He didn't expect her to place her forehead on his chest reverently, pinpricked hand now tracing the heated skin above his heart and her tears still trickling down. "Then...why don't you live for me? If you love me so much, why don't you try your damn hardest to live!?" Taking advantage of his awestruck, flabbergasted face, Marinette crashed her lips against his. At first Chat Noir was frozen from pure shock, body as stiff as a board and lips unmoving whilst hers bruised his. Then, determination, selfishness and the urgent need to prove even further just how much he loves her pushed his senses back into action and he immediately kissed her back hungrily. It was anything but graceful, yet, it was better than anything he's ever dreamt of in his entire life. His mind and his senses were filled with nothing but Marinette. Sweet, sweet Marinette. His Lady, his Princesse, his amour, the love of his life and the girl he would do anything for in a heartbeat. The way his fingers greedily tangled up within her midnight hair and then traced the length of her spine just to make her curve into his frame made the experience so much more passionate and amorous and the way her hands cradled the back of his reddened neck made him purr with delight. Every sound she made, he swallowed. Every sound he made, she breathed in. Marinette slowly pulled away with a pant, eyes still fluttered shut and melting into her partner's touch as he trailed tender, tender butterfly kisses down her soft jawline. She didn't even need to open her eyes to know that he was lovingly peering at her under his unfairly long lashes, watching her every move as he rested one of his strong arms around her slim waist. "What was that for?" He finally broke the peaceful silence, murmuring against her flushed, heated skin before deciding to steal another kiss from her soft, dewy lips. And another. And another. And another. "And I want you to be honest with me, Marinette," He had her chin tilted up to face him with one of his fingers and then warmly tucked a few strands of stray, mussed-up hair behind her ear. "Please," She took the time to study his pleading and earnest face, memorising the way his dark lashes shadowed over his feline emeralds and enraptured by how they managed to peek under his messy, blond fringe. Marinette didn't even think to stop herself when she naturally placed a trembling hand on his heated cheek, the duo simultaneously melting into the considerate touch and their faces only a breath away. Then, she traced his bottom, peachy-pink lip with the pad of her thumb, tugging the kiss-bruised flesh down only for her Chaton to delicately nip the digit with the sharp of his fang. Her face was on fire but her heart was soaring. "For every battle you come out unscathed or without losing your life by sacrificing yourself, I'll kiss you." Her baby blues was the calm ocean and his fiery green eyes widened at the delectable deal she was trying to propose. "Isn't this a sweet proposition? You have nothing to lose if you agree." The only answer she got was him pushing her down on the bed this time round, his body perched on her lap and his hands on either side of her head. "I'm not going to let any akumas even have the chance to imagine hurting you, let alone touch you when I can easily stop them. And if my death guarantees your health and safety then I'm more than happy to never be able to kiss those lips of yours ever again." His expression remained firm and resulted despite the way hers crumpled. "Chat Noir...don't you see that seeing you die over and over again is killing me? Why can't you just do as I say for once!? Why do you have to be so stupid and selfless and selfish and just so stupid!" She didn't let him even breathe, bringing him back in for another harsh, powerful kiss that lacked any sort of finesse but set his entire body ablaze in the best way possible. But, what she whispered into his lips next both made and broke him. "Why can't you see that I love you too..." Once again, the injured hero was left speechless, lips parted in awe and eyebrows furrowed under the mask, not knowing whether to be elated by her heart-filled words or to cry from the excruciating pain written all over her sullen face. Either way, tears began to form in his eyes without much prompting and his vision started to blur into splodges of colours. "Wha...what?" His lips were captured by hers again, mouth insistent and teeth brutal. "Marinette, when? How? I thought there was someone else- mmph- you can't keep kissing your way out of this-" He pushed himself back up (reluctantly), cradling her tearful face and then pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Close enough to bask in her warmth but far enough to resist the temptation to kiss her senseless. "Always...I have always loved you." She quietly admitted, fingers running through his hair and her shyness prominent in both her expression and body. "And I also love him too...but..." "But?" "As much as I love him too, as much as I'll forever treasure the day he went out of his way on the first day of school to seek forgiveness from me and gifted me his umbrella..." She pushed his head down to rest on hers. "I can't help but keep choosing you. You. My partner. My other half. My future." She clung to him tight, unaware of the realisations that went through his head simultaneously. "I can't have you die! Never again! Please! I want us to be together and happy without worrying about Le Papillon or anyone else! I want to be your bride and even...I even want you to be the father of my children, Chat Noir! So please, just listen to this selfishness of mine!" . "De-transformation," She almost swore she was dreaming as her partner glowed with a brilliant flash of neon green and blinding white. His hair became shorter and neater, his bare, bandaged chest was adorned with a familiar shirt and his eyes... His green, green, green eyes. The very same gorgeous eyes that captured her heart on a daily basis both in and out of the mask. Oh, the way they sparkled and glittered and the way her reflection looked just so beautiful within. She couldn't utter a single word as her Chaton unveiled himself to her as her Adrien. "I want it too," His voice was so wrecked and so raw, his hands clasping hers tight and his nose grazing her softer one. Lips just a breath shy away from hers. "I want it so badly, so, so badly. I want to be with you forever, Marinette," He pressed his lips against hers. Once, twice, thrice and they lost count. "Adrien..." The way she breathed out his name with so much love and so much relief made his heart grow wings and skyrocket out of his chest to cloud nine. "Mon Adrien," "I can't promise that I won't get hurt again when saving you," He placed a firm kiss on her cheek. "But I promise, I'll try. I'll try my hardest. Because I want to be with you forever." "Forever, and always," . . . ~(x)~

[skatermusic]

5 times Optimus comforted his team, and one time they comforted him.

Ratchet

Autobot Omega Outpost 1

2:35 AM

Doctor Ratchet Pax was never known for recharging late, or going to recharge at a reasonable hour, even when Cybertron was still habitable. His line of work made him too busy to consider either luxury. The habit had only worsened upon the autobots' arrival to Earth, much to his conjunx and the team's concern.

Ratchet typed as quietly as possible to avoid waking the others, and drawing attention to himself. Unable to sleep, he figured he may as well make himself useful and scout for energon deposits or any Decepticon activity. He found three of the former, and, surprisingly, none of the latter. Ratchet saved the coordinates of the energon deposits, then kissed the blue and red bonding ring resting on a chain around his neck. As much as the doctor would love nothing more than to curl up under the covers with Optimus, and fall into recharge to the sound of the Prime's spark beat, a medic's work was never done.

Bumblebee had come down with the Cybertronian equivalent of a cold, and both Earth's primitive technology and lack of sufficient energon prevented him from recreating the antidote as quickly as he would have liked. What normally only took a solar cycle or less to make was taking upwards of a Cybertronian week, and to say Ratchet was frustrated would be such an understatement it would have been like calling the sun warm. The team shared his frustration. With so many of them in such a confined space, if one bot fell ill, they would take the entire team down with them, and they absolutely could not afford that during this war.

Ratchet checked on the remedy. Much to his relief, it was complete. Ratchet loaded it into a syringe, and snuck into Bumblebee's berthroom. He nudged the scout awake and, with his consent, gave him the medicine. Hopefully, the muscle car would feel better by morning. He returned to his console, updating Bumblebee's medical records to note the medical energon given, and the time. Just as he saved the edit, a voice broke the silence of the night.

"Ratchet?" Optimus yawned, his exhaustion deepening his voice even further. "Why are you still awake, sweetspark?"

"I couldn't sleep, my conjunx." Changing the subject, he added, "The remedy is finally complete, and I've located three energon deposits."

As Ratchet spoke, Optimus lifted Ratchet into his arms bridal style and carried him to their shared berthroom. Ratchet’s exhaustion hit him like a punch from Megatron. He fell asleep in his conjunx's arms.

Optimus smiled fondly as they lay down on the berth. He tucked his conjunx in with a kiss on the helm, and fell into recharge himself.

The next morning, Bumblebee awoke, completely cured. He thanked Ratchet with a hug, then left along with Bulkhead and Arcee to drive their human companions to school.

As soon as the two of them were alone, Optimus faced his conjunx. "Bumblebee's health was not the only matter preventing your recharge last night." The Prime's tone was gentle, but left no room for argument.

Lubricant overflowed Ratchet’s optics and spilled down his faceplate. Optimus cupped his conjunx's faceplate as he cried, gently kissing his forehelm.

Optimus allowed Ratchet to cry for as long as he needed, alternating between kissing him, and brushing the lubricant away with his thumbs.

"I want to go home." Ratchet sobbed. "I miss Cybertron."

"Shhh. I know, my sweetspark. I know." Optimus soothed. When Cybertron fell, Ratchet refused to leave, forcing Optimus to carry Ratchet just as he had carried him to their berthroom that night.

As Ratchet continued to cry, Optimus gently pulled him into a hug, allowing the doctor to listen to his sparkbeat in the hope that it would soothe him.

Ratchet clung to his conjunx like a lifeline, dripping lubricant onto the Prime's windshield. Optimus rubbed circles into Ratchet's backstrut, and began to sing:

The Prime's rich baritone echoed around the silo they called home as it slowly soothed Ratchet. The conjunx endurae were so lost in their moment, neither noticed Special Agent William Fowler's arrival.

For once, Agent Fowler was speechless. Normally, he announced himself by yelling Optimus' name, but today, he just couldn't bring himself to. If his existence wasn't a secret, Optimus would be winning Grammy's with that voice. The Prime acknowledged Agent Fowler with a nod, silently informing him that he would be with the human as soon as possible.

Ratchet pulled away from his conjunx as his tears slowed to a stop. Optimus handed him a cloth with a kiss to the forehelm and whispered to him in Cybertronian: "Dry your optics, my sweetspark."

Agent Fowler noticed an orange and white ring on Optimus' finger, but chose not to comment.

Ratchet retreated to his and Optimus' shared berthroom for some privacy.

"Good morning, Agent Fowler." Optimus greeted warmly, switching back to English.

William smirked. "Never took you for a singer, Prime."

Optimus summoned his battle mask to cover his blush. "It is.....a secret talent of mine. Excuse Ratchet. He has been feeling....." What was the word in English? "Homesick." Changing the subject, he asked, "Has there been any recent Decepticon activity?"

Fowler nodded. "Apparently they found an energon cache up in Alaska. Cons are swarming like bees to the Klondike Energon Rush, and I need you and the bots to make sure there are no human casualties."

Optimus nodded. "Bumblebee, Arcee, and Bulkhead took the children to school this morning. We will leave as soon as they return."

Man and machine nodded to each other. Agent Fowler took the elevator back to his helicopter while Optimus checked on his conjunx. Ratchet opened his arms for a hug from his seat on the berth, and Optimus happily filled them.

There was time to kick Con tailpipe later. For now, Optimus Prime and his conjunx shared a cuddle.

[alittlebitofeverythingsthings]

Me Oh My Migraines!

Let’s face it. Any kind of migraine or headache sucks... a lot. But the great thing about the internet is that everyone has a chance to share their experiences, as well as solutions. Read about my migraine journey and the tricks I've picked up along the way! I’ve had frequent headaches for as long as I can remember. Then the migraines started. At first, it was absolutely horrible. It felt like my eyes were going to fall right before my head exploded. I was forced on the bathroom floor a lot of the time. The tile was cool, and it was close to the toilet, which was a major plus for me at the time. Then I didn’t have any migraines for the longest time, but my ears started hurting. Just one or both; I was convinced I had double ear infections at least once a month. Onslaughts of vertigo started spinning my head into the ground and eventually landed me in the Emergency Room a few times. I was sent to what felt like 100 specialists before being referred to a neurologist who explained that my migraines had actually just transformed from the head pounds to making me think my eardrums were bursting.

Some of the things the doctors recommended helped, but some didn't. Like taking over the counter medication or lying down in a dark and quiet room. Nothing felt like it was working until I took to Google to see what I could find.

One thing I found actually did seem to help. I only had to make minor changes to my diet, like eating more veggies and shrimp (which I am definitely not complaining about). It’s Omega-3 fatty acids. I did some digging and actually found the website that I read it all on so you can read it for yourself right here if you like. To sum it up, the Omega-3 fatty acids help with inflammation and regulating pain. It might be wise to stay away from Omega-6 acids though. In a study, they were found to make pain worse and even induce migraines. Yikes.

A home remedy that also helped was the ice pack or cold rag on the back of the neck. It’s said that it helps because it slows blood circulation? I’m not 100% sure on that one, but hey! It sounds scientific, so why not,right? I sometimes sit on my bathroom counter with my feet in the sink while it’s filled with cool (not cold) water and have something actually cold on the back of my neck. It’s not an immediate relief for me, but it does help it stop faster.

Other quick fixes that I’ve found to be helpful are:

laying down in a dark, quiet, and cool room

drinking lots of water

or (sometimes) catch up on my caffeine doses

I hope something from this helps. I know that when I was at the rough end of the head pain journey, I was scouring the internet for anything that could help me. Let me know what you think!

[familydentalcare]

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[xhisokas-harleyx]

Your Hisoka headcanons were so good😭 and i completely agree with all of them- I wanted request something, u can ignore if u want. 🏃

I am just thinking of a scenario where Hisoka got hurt, by someone who 'cheated' in the fight maybe, and his first instinct was to go to his 'friend's place. And Reader helps him without hesitation, they're even worried and stuff. And he is just like "are they just so naive or dumb? Kind? What do they get from this? And tf is this feeling in my chest? A poison maybe-" Maybe hcs? Or an oneshot? Whatever you like to do. Have a good day or night!:)💛 damn i wrote too much lol sorry

This warms my heart. Thank you SO MUCH for your support!!! And no, you did not write too much! I love having my ego stroked ;) 😂 seriously tho I love hearing from you guys!

I love this prompt. I hope that I was able to bring this to life for you, please feel free to request more!

To be honest, I’m not really happy with how this turned out, but I haven’t written in a long time and feel really rusty. I may rewrite it at some point, because I thought of a different way this could also go! At any rate, I hope you enjoy it.

Word Count: 2880 (yeh, it’s a long one :o)

A little song inspiration I had:

As The World Caves In: Matt Maltese

Hisoka x Reader One-Shot: The Man Beneath the Monster

...

Well... this wasn't supposed to happen.

Currently, the jester of everyone's nightmares lay on the ground, golden eyes staring up at the dull night sky while shrapnel and debris etched patterns into his back, remnants of the attack he'd just barely survived. Hisoka didn't normally have much of a problem mowing through his opponents- but then again, they usually didn't possess the ability to play with their enemy's mind. It was insanely unfair, the way he'd been attacked, and while it had been an interesting battle to say the least, Hisoka had barely pulled through.

Admittedly, he was invigorated by the feeling of almost being beaten- save for the searing pain that inched its way through every nerve in his body. Hisoka wasn't usually so affected by pain in general- in fact, more often than not, it gave him a certain indescribable gratification. He tended to brush off the feeling of most wounds he obtained during battle, distracting himself with shuffling his cards or fantasizing about the next battle he'd be facing. Only this time, if he didn't get help, he wasn’t sure there would BE another battle.

Hisoka strained himself to sit up, and looked down at his body, analyzing just how much damage he'd sustained. A deep gash opened up his chest, revealing glimpses of the muscular content underneath, and it was oozing a lot of blood. His arms and legs were burned, and some of the skin was a little charred, which smelled just lovely against the night breeze.

This is going to be difficult to cover with Texture Surprise... he thought, forcing himself a bit angrily to his feet, when he heard the cracking of the joints in his left ankle, indications of a break. He needed medical attention, badly. His gash wasn't going to heal itself, and he would bleed to death within hours if it didn’t get bandaged.

But where could he go? Hospitals wouldn't dare take him- even though he was a hunter, most people wouldn't be caught within miles of him, let alone would provide him any remedy. In fact, most people thought the world would be better off if he were dead anyway.

Maybe they were right.

He chuckled a little at the thought, but as he tried to brush those creeping inner fears off, he soon realized that his normal detached approach wasn't going to work this time. Already, his legs were getting weaker, and his vision was getting a little darker by the second. In that moment of weakness, when he felt the most vulnerable, the magician was puzzled by the singular thought that came to his mind.

Y/N.

She was a girl he’d encountered more than a few times in his travels; not by accident, but through carefully orchestrated meetings he initiated himself. She was strong in his eyes, which was not a compliment that he offered freely, especially to someone who didn’t regularly seek out altercations to smash their enemies. She was strong in a different way- not because of her nen or battle tactics- but because of her resolve. He found it intriguing that she didn’t run at the sight of him (even when he popped up behind her in the park), and he liked that she wasn't afraid to tell him exactly where he could shove his cards, if warranted. Y/N was appealing to him in an indescribable way that made him continue to think up excuses to meet her ‘randomly’- but he could never put his finger on what it was that made her unique. However, through brief conversations and what he considered to be highlights of his travels, he’d gotten to know her only a little, but he hardly had enough contact with her to call her a ‘friend’.

It wasn't like she had any special sort of healing nen. She probably couldn't help him anyway. But if he did bleed out, and his last thought had to be of something...l it might as well be of her.

The pink-haired clown looked to the city up ahead in the distance- he was close to her house already. It didn't take him long to get there; Y/N lived on the outskirts of town in a small place away from most other homes.

It was a place he knew well, although he'd never been inside. He'd spent more than a few long nights watching the residence from the rooftop of a distant neighboring home as he denied his human emotions. He often watched her pack groceries, or try to figure out why her porch light wasn't working (which he certainly had nothing to do with), or watch TV on the couch all alone.

Hisoka quite liked those stupid romantic comedies that played late at night on the local channel. His only opportunity to watch them was through her window- and in his mind, he was sure that she left the subtitles on because she can somehow sense his presence. She usually fell asleep watching those, and missed the part where the hero gets the girl. He always watched that part with particular interest, but he can't figure out what makes the protagonists so special to each other. If there was a feeling that caused them to sacrifice so much for one another… he sure didn’t know what it could be.

But he's not a hero, so why would he know what that feels like?

As Hisoka reached her door and lifted his hand to the doorknob, not bothering to knock, a pang of what could only be anxiety ripped through him. It was well past 2 AM, and he knew she had things to do early in the morning. Their previous encounters had been abnormal, to say the least, complete with him teasing her and being a douchebag. He's been nothing but an annoyance to Y/N, so why would she help him?

As soon as he was about to pull his hand away, the door swung open, revealing a disheveled looking y/n in its place. Hisoka was bent over in pain, holding his chest, but as she startled him a little, he straightened up and put on his mask, acting complacent and confident. He wanted to say something smart and witty like he always does- that always helped to bat the pain away. But his lips wouldn't move- his tongue wouldn't function as he stared at her, unable to reach out in a way that normal humans seem to find so easy.

He felt frozen in that moment. He was normally so deliberately irreverent, but seeing the look on her face made his blood run cold.

Don’t let her see this weakness. It was a plea to himself.

But Hisoka had no choice. He was broken, and he needed her to fix him. He wasn’t used to depending on someone else to save his life, but now his life rested in the hands of someone who most likely despised him.

"...Hisoka." Y/N breathed, her eyes widening as she placed a hand over her open mouth. Only seconds passed before her delicate hands were pulling him inside the door without hesitation. She didn't bother to ask what happened, what kind of trouble he'd gotten into, or whether she would also be in danger. Instead, she sat him down on the couch, laying a pillow under his head for comfort, which he annoyingly refused to use until he absolutely couldn’t hold his head up any longer.

Hisoka was a bit dazed from the loss of blood, and the crimson river was flowing all over y/n's lightly colored couch. He was puzzled by the swiftness of her reaction, and he watched tepidly as she shuffled frantically through the drawers in the bathroom for something to heal him. Though he was on the brink of death, his default deflection of emotions still shone through, a reflex that he didn’t even mean to activate.

“I don’t need your help, you know.” He said with an impudent grin, watching as she began to work on his wounds. “It’s just a scratch. But I can see how badly you want to touch me…” Why was he like this? Here she was, giving up everything to help him (a criminal and the scum of the Earth),yet he can’t so much as even show her an iota of gratitude. He knows, but will never admit that it comes from his inner vulnerability; that fear of getting hurt by these things called emotions. She could just as easily let him bleed to death in front of her; he knows she has the capability to be stone cold. But she won’t… why?

Why?

Y/N could have easily let Hisoka’s false complacency hurt her. But she knows that what he cannot express in his words, his heart cannot truly hide. It was the way he was built, she told herself, and she pushed on through his antics because she wanted to see him safe again. Through the laceration in his tough exterior, she could not only see the flesh beneath, but a glimpse of the man he tried to hide using the monster that he assumed everyone saw.

But she was different.

The jester was confused by her silence. Normally, she would have retorted at his smugness, but right now, she didn’t even seem concerned with it as she began to fumble with cleaning his wounds. The alcohol seared his flesh just as the emotions boiling within him burned his heart. Why would she ever care to help him when he’s been nothing but rude and degrading to her? Could it be that she really can see through the detached front and overbearing persona? Impossible, he’s spent years building that reputation!

Suddenly, he became enthralled with the way Y/N’s eyes focused on threading the needle to sew up his gash. The way that those fingertips danced over his pale skin made him jolt unexpectedly at her touch, exhibiting a softness that Hisoka has never known before. In fact, he can’t even fathom someone wanting to touch him without the intention to hurt him in some way.

The details slowly became a blur in his depressed mental state- but he still analyzed every motion Y/N made.

Oddly, the promised sting of death had never scared Hisoka before; he did as he pleased, without care for his own life nor anyone else’s. But as his vision faded, and he watched her through the gaze of someone nearing death, he realized that he did not want to leave this world yet. He wanted to live- and maybe he wanted to discover and experience what he’d been missing in those movies he’d watched through her window.

With that, Hisoka’s heart began to beat faster.

Blood loss. That’s what it is… Hisoka thought; but he wasn’t stupid; only unwilling to admit that he was beginning to exhibit the same qualities he saw in the protagonists of those hopeless romantic flicks. He was unable to accept that the tightening in his chest was not just because of her stitches pulling his lacerated skin together.

“Are they dead? Did you kill them?” Her voice brought him out of the trance-like state he was in, and his golden eyes focused on her face. Her hands were covered in his blood (which in itself made him feel delightfully feverish), but his gash had been mended, the bleeding stopped for now. Once again, he didn’t say anything. It was unusual for the smug magician to keep his mouth shut.

“Because if you didn’t kill them, I’m going to.” A protective tone dripped into her voice, bewildering Hisoka again. That quality in her voice was both threatening and comforting, and the duality sent a chill up his spine. It inspired him to use his voice, though it had lost some of its signature modulation.

“You have that little faith in me…” A cough escaped his lips before he could smile as if nothing was bothering him at all. “Of course I killed them, my dear.” Somehow, calling her ‘dear’ no longer felt right; that was typically a placeholder, a default name to use for someone he had no connection with, and she seemed to be worthy of more than that now.

As Y/N suddenly dipped to her knees, Hisoka refrained from any lewd thoughts that he normally might have had in such a situation. That sensation in his chest was too distracting to allow this memory to be defiled with something he often indulged in fantasies of. She began to slide the high-heeled shoe off of his swollen foot to wrap it. She began to struggle with ripping the fabric she’d gathered to act as a cast for the bone.

Surely, she knows who I am. Why would she bother to help someone like me? What is she gaining? She knows that with the flip of a card, I could end her life. She’s not even protecting herself in any way. She’s leaving her guard down right in front of me.

Perhaps it was his dark desire to set fear into everyone he came across, or his distorted need to drive away anyone who might care for him, but his body suddenly acted on its own. By instinct, almost as if it were a test of her intention, a card spawned between his middle and index finger, which was right against her neck. With just a slight movement of his knuckles, he could spill her blood. His golden eyes analyzed the way she froze for a moment, and he believed that to be the end of this fragile trust between them. That was until she lifted the fabric she was holding, sliding it along the edge of the card, and cutting it to the perfect length.

“Thanks.” She spoke, beginning to wrap and set the ankle in place.

At that small motion, Hisoka’s discretionary eyes widened, and his lips fell open in surprise. Rather than interpreting his advance as an attack, she’d innocently taken it as an offer of his help. Was this a joke? Was she stupid enough to trust him, or was she bold enough to outsmart his games? Was Y/N this confident that he wouldn’t just kill her? This naive girl at his feet seemed to be the only person in this convoluted world who didn’t see him as a disgusting, heartless monster… and that warmed his icy heart.

“I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before. I know you’re graceful, but high heels are always a recipe for a broken ankle.” She offset the pain of wrapping those bones by talking to him all through the procedure, and it worked wonders. He scoffed, but by that time, Hisoka’s snide comments and emotion-killing thoughts had been expended. Somehow, she’d broken through the barrier that he’d spent so long building around himself.

Unable to ignore his whims anymore, Hisoka reached out to touch Y/N’s hair, the soft delicate strands pleasing his senses. It’s the only movement he can make now, his body weakened from the loss of blood. His gilded eyes were barely open, but they looked directly into hers with an unfamiliar realization. His hand travelled weakly down her face, caressing her cheek with the most delicate touch he could muster, and held her head in his large hand as she froze there. He wondered for a moment if she was afraid, or if something deeper that he cannot see calms her.

A small, genuine smile is all he could muster for her before his hand dropped to the side of the couch, the same couch he watched her curl up on most nights. For once, it’s not a smirk, and it’s not a smug smile- but something she has never seen before- a true smile with good intention behind it. His eyes closed, with uncertainty that they would open in the morning.

After she’d finished her work, she stood up, and looked down at him. The only remaining light in the room was the silent flicker of the television set in the background, which illuminated both of their faces.

“I need you to be alright, Hisoka,” She cooed, unable to know if he could still hear her. He didn’t know if she even realized how much he wanted to kill her right now, because the way her kindness was attacking his heart while his chest was already sliced open was something he should not excuse.

As Y/N’s final healing gesture, she bent over his body gracefully. He was taken off guard when he felt the feathery soft sensation of her lips on his forehead, the kiss of an angel on his clammy skin. As she went to pull away, however, she was startled by the lunge of Hisoka’s hand initiating a death grip on her wrist. He used the last bit of his strength to pull her lips into his, causing her to lose balance and be forced to brace on either side of the couch cushion below him. His lips were cold, but Y/N graciously returned the sensation, and boldly moved to embrace both sides of his face with her mending hands. Before she pulled away, and he passed out, she felt that same smile against her lips.

And in that moment, before he fades away, Hisoka realizes what he’s been missing.

Y/N.

-----------------

Hmm... part two? I KNOW, it’s super freakin’ sappy. I could have taken a lighthearted approach to this (and maybe I will later), but I wanted to kind of challenge myself to write a more depth-driven version of Hisoka. Maybe I bit off a little more than I can chew :0.

Anyway, let me know what you think, and once again thanks to anon for the request! Hope you all enjoyed!

Mac

[dontcare77ghj]

Secret

Natasha x reader x Bucky

Y/N had one job her entire life, keep her secret a secret. A secret that could be the end of her if anyone ever found out. A secret that had ended her own mother's life.

Y/N was a mermaid.

From what she knew, Y/N and her mother had been some of the last of their kind. When Y/N was twelve her mother had taken her to the cove for the full moon.

Their little tradition that Y/N looked forward to after a month of legs. That night, the waters felt different. It was a warning they should have listened to. Men who Y/N would later come to understand as HYDRA, stormed the area and snatched her mother out of the water.

Urged by her mother's command, Y/N had swum as fast as her young body allowed her to. She had gotten away but had lost the only other of her kind she had ever known.

She had lost her mother.

After that night, Y/N had rarely used the abilities she was born with. Her tail was coveted by those who knew about it, her magic was wanted by terrible, evil, men. 

So Y/N ran. Ran from the coastal home she shared with her mother and ran from her past. 

Years later, Y/N had moved on as much as she could from that night. She had found a new life for herself in New York. It was here she met Wanda, at a yoga class of all places. Wanda quickly became almost a sister to Y/N. 

Wanda found out. Wanda was the only person to ever find out but that was merely because of her abilities.

Not long after meeting Wanda invited Y/N to one of Tony Stark's famous parties. It was here, Y/N met Natasha and Bucky.

It was easy to fall in love with the two. Harder to get them off her mind. Y/N was sure these feelings were merely wishful thinking on her part.

Bucky and Natasha were in love, and Y/N not be the one to ruin that for them. They were her friends before she gained these romantic feelings and she wished to remain friends.

Fortunately, Bucky and Natasha did want to simply be friends. It had been two years since Y/N met Bucky and Natasha and a year since the three became a couple. 

And yet Y/N had still not spoken of her secret.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over?” Wanda asked through the phone. “You sound like you need someone there.”

“I’m fine, Wand. I’m going to take some medication, take a bath, and pout that Tash and Buck are away.” You answered before letting out several harsh coughs. 

"If pouting causes you to make noises like that, don't please." Wanda giggled.

"You're so funny, I forgot to laugh." You deadpanned.

"I'm sorry but you need to stop pouting, they'll be back soon. Another week at the latest." She assured you.

"A week and I'm still not allowed to ask where they went?" You complained, rifling through your medicine cabinet. 

"Oh please as if they don't tell you everything," Wanda said, causing you to freeze. "Sorry should have thought that sentence through."

"It's not your fault." You sighed. "You didn't mean to make me feel like a terrible girlfriend."

"You are not a terrible girlfriend, Y/N." Wanda chided you. "You are guarding yourself. I know you're scared and when you finally tell them, you are going to feel much better. But until then, this is your secret. When you do tell them, they're going to understand." She told you.

"God why are you so sweet?" You teased her. "You're like sugar." You smirked and before coughing harshly.

"Don't you have any magic spells to help you feel better?" Wanda asked as you grabbed a box of medication.

"Not unless you have green coral on hand." You told her, downing the pills dry. "I already checked my mother's book, any type of cure needs about four things from the deep blue."

"Go to bed. Take your medication and go to bed. I'll come over later with some ciobra de perisoare. A Sokovian remedy." She said.

"Yes mom." You teased your friend. You and Wanda said your goodbyes and you made your way into your bathroom. 

Your apartment itself was in a shitty neighborhood but you did not mind the area because the apartment had all you needed. And your favorite part, by far, was the extra-large tub that was apart of your bathroom.

It was deep and large enough you could change without worry of overflow. It almost felt like residing in a small lake.

Stripping off, you sunk low into the deep tub. The water warmed your chilled bones and caused you to let out a loud moan.

A smile crossed your face as you allowed your legs to change. The vibrant shine of your tails scales glittered under the bathrooms lights. It had been so long since you felt the want to change, but you would never forget the luminous scales you inherited from your mother.

You weren’t sure how long you laid in warm water. Your head felt fuzzy from the medication and you might have fallen asleep in the luke-warm water if you didn’t hear your door open.

Your head snapped up when you heard multiple sets of footsteps walking towards you. Quickly you changed your tail back into legs and sat upright in the bath.

Your eyes remained on the door as you reached for the gun Natasha had stored under the tub.

“Y/N, doll? Are you here?” Bucky called, causing you to exhale sharply.

“In here.” You called back, putting the gun down and sinking back into the bubbles. 

“What a welcome back," Natasha smirked, leaning against the doorframe. Bucky came up behind her and smiled at you. Both were still wearing their mission gear and though they smiled at you, they were both clearly tense under their heavy uniforms.

"There's room for three." You offered, crooking a finger at them. The two didn't need any more encouragement before they were stripping off and climbing into the tub with you.

"How's our favorite girl?" Natasha asked, pulling your back into her front. "Anything interesting happen while we were away?"

"No, nothing interesting ever happens without you two around." You smiled sweetly at the two. “How was your week in Siberia?”

The three of you lounged in the tub until the water had long since turned cold, talking about your week apart. And never once did you mention the sight they could have walked in on.

Soon. You would tell them soon.

Soon was a four-lettered lie that you told yourself too often. It had been six months since you were almost caught with your tail out. The three of you had been together for two years now and you still had not told them.

This week would be the week. It had to be. The three of you had been together for two years. For your anniversary Tony had gifted the three of you the use of his beach house in Australia. 

This was your opportunity. If you couldn’t tell them now, you would never be able to and you didn’t know how much longer you could keep this a secret.

“I wish we didn’t have to go back.” Bucky sighed, pressing his face into your neck. The three of you had been away for four days and it had been four days of absolute bliss.

“I think Tony would have something to say about that.” You smiled, tracing shapes on his chest.

“Not if he wants his precious liquor collection to survive,” Natasha smirked, running her fingers down your side.

“This place is amazing.” You said, intertwining your fingers with Natasha's. "I'm so happy to be here, I'm happy to be here with you." 

"You get really sappy after sex, you know that right?" Bucky commented, causing Natasha to laugh and you to smile widely.

“How about I make dinner tonight? A nice lasagna and some homemade garlic bread.” You suggested.

“Doll, that sounds fantastic but we have a meeting tonight,” Bucky told you regretfully.

“I thought we agreed no work.” You said, sitting up in the bed. “We agreed, we’d come out here and we said no work.”

“We know and we’re sorry,” Natasha said as she and Bucky sat up too. “Steve called last night and they wanted us to come back but after a bit of negotiation we got them to agree to let us conference over call."

"We'll be in the study for most of the night," Bucky added with a frown. "We’re sorry doll, we didn’t have much of a choice.”

“It’s fine.” You sighed. “I can’t be too mad, it’s your job.” You said, giving them a weak smile. 

“God, you’re so sweet. What did we do to deserve you?” Natasha questioned, taking your hand in hers and pressing her lips to it gently.

“Do you want me to get the list?” You teased her. In a series of rapid movements you soon found yourself on your back and looking up at Bucky with Natasha peeking her head out next to his.

“We have about five hours before we need to call the team,” Bucky started, staring down at you with a smile. “I think we should thank our doll for being so sweet. What do you say, Nat?”

“You can have some really good ideas when you want to, James,” Natasha told him. 

Needless to say, the three of you really used the next five hours.

Natasha and Bucky had locked themselves away in the study hours ago. You’d managed to keep yourself busy for the most part but you couldn’t quiet the restless part of your mind.

It was a full moon. It was a full moon and you were on a private beach. 

There was no-one around for miles and it had been so long since you’d swam in the ocean. After a lot of deliberation you’d finally made your choice. Leaving a note on the counter, you made your way out of the house and down to the ocean.

The smell of salt and the sound of the crashing waves were a comfort that you held close to your heart. You had almost forgotten how much you happiness the glowing moon over the dark waves brought to you.

In an almost dazed state, you shed yourself of your clothing and walked into the water.

The change ended as swiftly as it began. The pain it once caused you as a child had faded many years ago. All your senses became heightened as your body adjusted to the change. You dove deep down into the waters and just let the above world slip from your mind.  

After swimming for what felt like years, you sank down onto the ocean floor. The full moon above looked twisted and morphed as the waves moved and it had never looked more beautiful.

You were laying on the ocean floor when you sensed a change. It seemed almost as if the waters went quiet and the ocean life stilled. 

Moving quickly through the water, you ended up in a small cave that was close to the house. Your intent was to change back and find the threat but you stilled at the two figures before you.

“Bucky, Natasha.” You breathed. You were sitting on a large rock, tail still flicking in the water below.

“Lovely night for a swim.” Natasha smiled gently. “Does your eyesight get better when you change?”

“I was going to tell you, I swear. It was going to be tonight but you had a meeting and my plans got kind of ruined. And since that didn’t work I was going to tell you in the morning I swear-” You began to ramble as your heart quickened in fear.

“Hey, hey, hey. You’re okay, doll. We’re not mad.” Bucky cooed, moving forward and grabbing your flailing hands in his. “Doll, you’re shaking, you need to take a deep breath.”

“What do you mean you’re not mad? I’ve been lying to you both for three years.” You cried, going limp in Bucky’s hold.

“We haven’t exactly been 100% honest either,” Natasha admitted, sitting next to Bucky and taking your hand.

After you calmed yourself and changed back the three of you headed back into the house.

For Australia, it was a cold night. Neither appeared angry as Natasha set a blanket around your shoulders and Bucky lit a fire. The three of you almost seemed to collapse into seated positions in front of the warmth of the fire.

“How do you know?” You croaked after several silent seconds.

“Well first you should know two things about us,” Natasha began. “We’re about as human as you are.”

“Continue.” You whispered when she went quiet.

“It was a side effect of my serum,” Bucky stated. “It was an unplanned side effect but it made a good weapon.” He explained before his eyes flashed a deep red color and his incisors grew in length.

“You’re a vampire.” You nodded to yourself. Bucky nodded and allowed his teeth to shrink and eyes to fade back to their usual blue. The man smiled as you took his hand and squeezed it.

Turning back to Natasha she took a deep breath as she centered herself.

“I’m a witch.” She said bluntly. “I was born like this, I’m not sure which parent gave it to me but I’ve had to keep it a secret for whole life. I never told the red room and before today only Wanda and Bucky knew.” She explained.

Natasha’s hands were shaking, clearly she was worried and you didn’t like the sight. Opening your arms and the blanket towards the woman, Natasha gratefully sat with you.

“How did you know about me? I was so careful.” You questioned her.

“You really were. If I didn’t know who Natasha was or what she was capable of, I would have thought she was crazy.” Bucky chuckled.

“I knew from the moment we met.” Natasha admitted. “Every person I’ve ever touched, I’ve seen images, memories of their lives.”

“So when I shook your hand at that party...”

“I saw your mother, I saw the two of you on full moons, and I saw what happened to her.” Natasha nodded.

“I should have told you myself when we got serious.” You said, eyes plastered to the fire in front of you.

“We understand why you didn’t.” Natasha said, squeezing your hand.

“And it’s not as if we were honest ourselves,” Bucky commented, throwing his arm around both your shoulders. “Doll, we’re not mad. We still love you, Y/N.” He added, lifting your chin with his other hand.

“With all we have.” Natasha agreed, capturing your lips with hers.

“You’re not angry with us either, are you?” Bucky asked as you and Natasha pulled apart.

“Of course not. I can’t ever be angry with either of you.” You said, pressing your mouth to Bucky’s.

That night, the three of you fell asleep bare in front of the fireplace. Wrapped around each others limbs, there was nothing between the three of you anymore.

There were no more secrets to weigh on minds or on shoulders.

There was no more secrets to be found in your relationship

Taglist

@rvgrsbrns @smilexcaptainx @hopingforbarnes @starlingelliot @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @jelly-fishy-babie @skeletoresinthebasement @agent-barnes40 @reann-loves-sebstan @skadikh

Natasha Romanoff Taglist

@5aftermidnight @ohfuckno

Coming soon

Dean x reader x Cas

Meg x reader x Cas

Wanda x reader x Vision

[maraudererasmut]

Experiment MJ001

TW: Drug and alcohol use. Mentions of drugs and alcohol use by minors. 

Marjiuana is legal in my country. It has been for a while.

I’ve always been very nervous about things in my life. Not anything in specific, just things in general. I had spend so long being repressed by my parents, I had cotten it in my head that drugs = bad and since marjiuana = drug, QED marjiuana = bad. 

Today, I decided to do something out of the ordinary and purchase a (legal) chocolate bar from the pot store and try it out!

So, I am currently high for the very first time in my life! (I’m in my late 20s)

I had an idea that I thought was brilliant at the time to write Wolfstar fan fiction about Remus getting high for the first time WHILE I was high and see what happened!

I also decided that I’m going to POST IT. Without editing it! (Pure, unadulterated chaos!!!) Now, for your viewing pleasure, the ramblings of a T on Pot. I have no idea if this is good or not. I haven’t read through it yet. I’ll probably wake up tomorrow, read this, regret it and delete it. But until then... enjoy!

((I’m sorry if it’s terrible!!!))

((I am also currently still high while typing this, so I apologize for any errors!!))

Remus had never consumed marjiuana before. Growing up, his parents had been very strict with what kinds of medication he was allowed to consume, particularly in regards to his lycanthropy. “You don’t know how it will affect the wolf, Remus.” “You don’t know what will happen…” “We can’t predict how the wolf will react…” 

Magic had always been the go-to remedies for colds or maladies; Muggle drugs were never to be trusted in the LUpin home.

So when Remus got drunk for the first time, he made sure that his friends were around to help him through the experience. 

Now, in his seventh year of school, Remus finally built up enough courage to ask his friends to, once-again, monitor Remus while he was testing the waters.

Remus sat with the three other Marauders, staring at the brownie in his hand.

“Are you sure this is safe?” he groaned, internally terrified of what may happen. The scent of the brownie wafted through the air, and Remus cursed his wolfish senses as his mind began convincing him that this might be worth it for the chocolate alone.

“”Yeah, I’m sure, Moons…” Sirius teased, licking his lips like a cartoon wolf sizing up a prized pig as he stared at his own brownie.

“Yeah, Pads and I have done this hundreds of times!” James chimed in, already  half way through his. “It’s fine!”

“You’re not werewolves,” Remus grumbled as he turned to Peter. “You’re the sensible one, Wormy. What do you think?”

Peter stared at Remus for a moment before breaking out into a smile. 

“I say fuck it!” he said, taking a bite out of his own brownie. “You only live once, Moons!”

Remus closed his eyes, took a bite from his brownie, chewed and swallowed. 

Nothing happened.

No big bang, no swirling in his brain, no sudden rush of feeling. 

“It’s… not working?” He said, turning to Sirius.

“Give it a bit, Moons! It takes time to work! It’s like alcohol!”

“Okay,” Remus said with a shrug, finishing the rest of his brownie. “So… what do I do until then?”

Sirius shrugged, but his smirk gave him away. He sat back onto the pillows and blankets that they had dragged to the ground, his head resting precariously close to Remus’ lap. He grinned up at Remus before reaching for his wand and giving a lazy flick into the air. 

Sirius’ record player began to spin, and All Along the Watchtower began playing, filling the entire room and seeping into Remus’ bones.

Remus laid back on the pillows, his head next to Sirius’. He closed his eyes and let Hendrix drift through his mind, trying not to let Sirius’ scent drive him crazy. 

Remus didn’t feel anything.

Not for a while.

He didn’t think it was even working.

The boys had spent the next hour talking, chatting, chilling, as they usually do on Saturday evenings. They talked about girls (James complaining about Lily), boys (Sirius’ trists with that Ravenclaw boy), and everything in between (Peter’s insistence that, yes, James, he is still Asexual. And no, James, he doesn’t need to double check.) 

Remus didn’t notice the time passing as he laid on the pillows next to his friends, for the first time in his life actually being able to participate fully. They normally spend evenings hanging out in the middle of the room. James and Sirius always got high. They had since they had discovered Muggle weed last year. Peter had partaken on occasion, but usually insisted that he preferred a couple of beers over weed. Remus, on the other hand, remained sober all night, watching his friends fall into various states of inebriation, testing their limits, seeing new sides of themselves. 

This was his first time.

Remus smiled to himself, thinking about how much fun it is to participate, even if he didn’t know what being high felt like yet. 

“What’re you smiling about?”

Sirius’ voice was practically a purr in Remus’ ear, and he felt his heartbeat quicken. 

“M’not… Not really. Just… happy to be here with you lads....”

“Mmm, same, Moons. Happy to be here… Today’s a good day to be alive…”

“That’s a weird thing to say…” Remus rolled over and looked at Sirius. 

Was Sirius always that handsome? Did his eyes always sparkle silver in their conjured lights? Did his hair always look that soft and touchable? What would happen if Remus touched it? Was his skin always so pale, so milky while, Remus had to resist leaning over and tasting it. Remus edged his arm over slightly, comparing his own freckle-dusted arm to Sirius’. One was slender and perfect and tattooed and lovely. One was broken and scarred and ugly. 

It was no wonder Sirius never noticed Remus.

“Whatya thinkin’ ‘bout?”

Sirius’ voice distracted Remus from his thoughts. 

“Mm? What’d’ya mean?” 

I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles…

The Who was playing in the background and Remus watched as Sirius’ head bobbed up and down to the music, a wide grin spread across his perfect cheeks. 

“I mean you’re thinkin’ of stuff. We all are… I am… That’s what makes things so cool when you’re high… You think of stuff…”

Remus blinked. What was Sirius even saying? What had he been doing? Was he thinking? He seemed to be thinking…

His brain felt like the needle was skipping across the record. Or that more than one record was playing at a time. Everything that was said out loud was one record in one player, and a vision of him talking to Sirius from a bird’s eye view was another record. And the way the music blended into his brain was another record. 

Was this what being high was?

“I’m thinking of the music… I guess. And… Mrs. Robinson…”

“Ha ha! That’s that one Hufflepuff chick, ya?”

“What? No… it’s… coo coo ca choo?” Remus closed his eyes. His mind was feeling a bit foggy. 

Put it in your pantry with your cupcakes…

“Oh! Yeah! Jesus holds a place for those who pray…”

“Hey hey hey!” James’ voice came from miles away. Or across the room. To Remus, it felt like both at once.

“Yeah,” Remus said with a grin, rolling over onto his left side to face Sirius. “Coo coo choo, Mrs. Robinson….”

“BOYS!” Peter hollered from the other side of the room. “Hot Blooded! This is my jam!”

Remus grinned, listening as the sound of guitar filled the room. He tapped along to the song, watching Sirius watch the ceiling.

“What are you thinking about, Pads?”

Sirius tilted his head towards Remus and gave a wink. 

“That I’m hot blooded,” he said, his tongue resting on his fang. 

“Pfftt… You’re just a horny mutt…” Remus teased. He felt an immediate pang of regret as Remus realized that Sirius was likely horny for a certain Ravenclaw boy. 

“Mmm, bet you are too. Not that you’d ever date anyone… But I bet you’re real bad, Moons… “

Remus rolled his eyes, trying to keep his heart from exploding from his chest with terror. Why was Sirius talking about how horny Remus was? That wasn’t something Sirius ever talked about. 

“You know how it is… not allowed. The whole… furry little problem…”

Oooh, I’m picking up good vibrations, oooh she’s giving me excitations…

“I’ve told you, just date one of us…”

Remus chuckled, trying not to show how much he wished he could. 

“Oh yeah, James would totally ditch Lily for me,” Remus teased, listening to the Beach Boys suddenly start the quiet part of Good VIbrations. 

“I didn’t say date James…”

“Oh, Sorry… Peter then… Yup. That seems like a great idea…”

Good good good good vibrations!!

“Are those really your only choices?”

Sirius was on his side at this point, facing Remus head-on, giving a sly grin. 

Normally, Remus would laugh this off as a joke and change the subject. Perhaps talk about the fact that Sirius had American Woman on his magical mixed-record. 

Today was different though. Today, Remus was feeling a little bolder. A little dizzier. A little more capable of looking at the situation differently.

Most days, from the very beginning of his life, Remus had been taught to be small, demure, less than other people. He knew not to make waves or say what was on his mind, because he was not to draw attention to himself. Today, for the first time in his entire life, Remus was starting to understand what it felt like to be a normal person. Someone who wasn’t a werewolf. Someone who didn’t grow up being told that they had to hide themselves because of societal pressures. Today, he could suddenly just say whatever he thought and felt and there was absolutely nothing keeping him from saying it. 

“I can’t very well date you, Padfoot. What would that poor Ravenclaw boy do without you in his life?”

“Who, Spencer? Nah, we were never an item. Just fooling around…”

“Fine then,” Remus said with finality, trying to shrug while on his side. Whoooo are you? Who who, who who? “I suppose you’re the only person in all of Hogwarts who I can date.” 

Sirius grinned his wicked grin, inching closer to Remus, his eyes positively smouldering. 

“I suppose so. Guess we’re to call it, then. We’re dating now…”

Whooo are you? Who who? Who who?

Aaaawww, who the fuck are you?

“Hear that Prongs,” Remus said, playing along with the joke. “Sirius and I are dating now.”

“Well it’s about goddamn time,” James yelled back.

Remus chuckled to himself, but when he opened his eyes, Sirius was there. In front of him, their noses almost touching… There was a moment…

Whoooo are you? Who who? Who who?

Remus inched closer, rubbing his nose to Sirius’, just playing along, just being silly, just keeping up with the game.

Sirius closed the gap.

Remus sank into the kiss, feeling Sirius’ lips against his own, Sirius’ tongue tasting like chocolate and pot, Sirius’ hands suddenly around his waist. 

Then Remus pulled away.

Who are you? Who who? Who who?

“Who the fuck are you?”

Sirius laughed, pulling himself slightly away from Remus.

“I just wanted to see how far you’d be willing to play along! I didn’t realize you’d actually let me kiss you!”

“Fuck…” Remus swore, starting to feel angry at Sirius. “Shit... I thought maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“Nothing…”

“Maybe what, Remus?”

“Nothing, Sirius.” Sirius’ lips were against Remus’ again, but the werewolf knew better this time. He pulled away, his eyes narrowing. “Stop dicking around.”

“I’m not dicking around…” Sirius whispered, his voice dropping low and rumbly. Remus felt a chill down his spine as House of the Rising Sun played in the background.  

“Don’t kiss me if you don’t mean it,” Remus grumbled, before he had a chance to think about his words and and regret saying him, Sirius was kissing him again. Remus tasted his tongue and lips and the thrill of kissing someone he had wanted to kiss for as long as he could remember. Sirius pulled away, his eyes gleaming and ravenous. 

“I mean it,” he cooed. “I—”

Before he could continue, Remus was pressed into Sirius, taking advantage of his inebriated state and lack of over-thinking. 

“Get a room, you prats!” James called across the room. Remus didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything except the feeling of Sirius’ body against his own, Sirius’ hands around his hips, Sirius’ tongue in his mouth, Sirius’ teeth nipping his lower lip. Everything was Sirius.

Remus closed his eyes and lost himself in his Padfoot. He silently prayed that things could stay this easy forever, but deep inside, he knew that would be a dangerous path to head down...

[confessionsofabiguy]

LONG POST: So, I recently got engaged to my gf of 3 years about a month ago. I’m 36 and she’s 25. Everything is good “on paper”...she’s a great person, she had a good spirit, very intelligent, comes from a great family, nurturing, etc. She’s the first woman I’ve dated in over 10 years. My most recent ex was with a guy that lasted 4.5yrs. We’re still good friends til this day. However, something is missing is my current relationship and I don’t know how to process it.

Earlier this year, I was diagnosed with moderate anxiety and depression and I began medication to help treat it. I’d dealt with this in the past but never had been prescribed meds for it. I used to pride myself on my ability to always be “even keeled” mentally but with the pandemic and other drastic changes to my life, it became too overwhelming for me. I’m grateful for the meds bc I now feel a lot better. I also recently began therapy but the results are still pending since it’s so new.

With the meds I’m taking, it has seriously drained my libido which has, in turn, affected my sex life. I have absolutely no desire to have sex whatsoever. As a recovering sex addict, it’s been one of the best changes of my life. However, my fiancée is on the opposite end of the spectrum. She wants it ALL THE TIME. We’ve had numerous conversations about this with her explaining to me how she feels it’s not fair for her to not be able to express herself sexually like she wants. I actually agree with her. It’s not fair and I don’t know how to remedy this. I’ve explained to her about my past addiction and my current issues with my libido to no avail. She also suffers with anxiety and depression but refused to get back on meds or even begin to do the work with therapy. Again, I feel like I’m doing the work and working on changing and she’s not.

She was very sheltered growing up and hasn’t had much life experience whereas I’ve had a very full life up to this point which includes of course sexual experiences. She doesn’t like masturbating (she says it doesn’t feel right) so the only way she has orgasms is if I give them to her. She doesn’t want to use toys. I like all of that stuff and have very extensive sexual interest. None of which she’s interested in.

Another thing is...she hasn’t grown or changed one bit since we’ve been together and I’ve grown/changed quite a bit. She has no hobbies. She doesn’t know what she likes. She doesn’t really have any friends. She’s self-described as “very low maintenance”. Getting her to try new things is like pulling teeth. I once offered to pay for her to get her hair and nails done and I was given excuse after excuse why she didn’t want to do it. When it comes to the women I’m attracted to, I like certain things. I like a woman who takes some care in her appearance. Not necessarily a face full of make up or anything like that. Just switching up hairstyles or dressing up every now and then. I’m pretty thorough with my style and would like to see her match my fly sometimes. She’s only done this once where she had her hair braided for about 12 hrs and then took them down. I spent $100+ for her to do this and was so excited and turned on with the change. She looked so good! However, I felt extremely let down when she took them out. She only wears jeggings and t-shirts and wears her hair in a ponytail or bun. I understand the need to be comfortable but I just expect to only see her like this for the rest of our lives. This, in turn, feeds into my lack of desire for sex. I’m bored with it. It doesn’t turn me on. I have nothing to motivate me to even be turned on enough to be horny for sex. She just expects me to just be horny from being around her and I’ve explained that that’s just not how it works for me. When we do have sex, I feel like I’m just doing it for her. I feel like a character from Westworld where I’m only using my body for her sake. I feel like a robot just going through the motions. I feel pressured and I hate it so much. Not to make light of it or anything, but I feel like I’m somewhat being r*ped when I’m being put in a predicament where I have to have sex just to please her when I don’t want to.

Which leads me to this. This morning, one of the first things she said to me when I got up is requesting that I ask my doctor to change my prescription to another med that supposedly doesn’t have the side effect of altering my libido so we can have more sex. I immediately felt so bothered, offended, and quite frankly, disgusted by this which triggered my anxiety and depression. I feel like how dare she ask me to change yet another thing just for her pleasure. I’ve changed the way I smoke 420 (she hates it but tolerates it bc it was something I did before being with her). 420 is important to me bc it helps with my anxiety. I’ve started wearing more colors in my wardrobe (I mainly wore a lot of black and other neutral/earth tone colors) because she asked. I would grow my hair out at times bc she likes when it’s longer and curly. I just feel like asking me to change my meds so she can have more sex is crossing the line.

It’s really making me question if I want to spend my life with her. This isn’t something that’s just going to go away. I’m probably gonna be dealing with anxiety/depression for the rest of my life. I don’t want her to have to alter her needs/wants for my sake and vice versa. It’s not fair to either of us. Like I said, everything on paper is good. But things are off. I love her and her daughter. We’re financially in a great place and I love the life we’ve built together but sometimes I just want to be alone. I’m at my happiest and most at peace when she’s not home. I could handle all the financial responsibilities by myself but the same is not true for her. I sometimes imagine what life could be like without her living here and I hate to say it but I’m ok with it. I really do love her as a person but these other things that are off are slowly chipping away at my mental and spiritual peace. I don’t know what to do.

[grandtheftstarship]

Quietly (Spock x Wife!Reader) [Request!!]

“Hi! I’m a huge fan of Star Trek as well, and it’s funny that I’m close to your age! I’ll be sixteen very soon. I was wondering if perhaps you would write a Spock x Wife! Reader fic where Spock’s wife is generally very nervous and quiet, but very sweet, and she deals with a lot of Anxiety and Insomnia? And perhaps he tries to comfort her and aid her in sleep and being calmer? It would really be great bc I deal with both of those on the daily :) thx, LY! Live Long and Prosper, friend! ❤️ ~R”

Hiiii R!! This is so crazy because we are basically the same person omg. I’ve been meaning to write something like this for the longest time and then you requested!!! Stay strong sister!! Live Long and Prosper :D

p.s fun fact i wrote this entire thing and then ended up hating it so i rewrote it and now its so much better i really hope you like it

Warnings: a little angst, anxiety, basically 90% just fluff, short but sweet Word Count: 1571

request something!!

masterlist

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder, gently coaxing you awake. No, it couldn’t be morning already, could it? You had only just dipped your toes in the intoxicating pool that was sleep; how could it be over so soon? 

Your eyes peeked open and you were met with a lovely image of your husband leaning over you, the slightest smile on his lips. 

“Good morning,” Spock pressed a small kiss on your cheek before settling himself back down, head resting in the crook of your neck. You reached up to run your slender fingers through his soft hair, bliss soaring through your veins. Despite your lack of sleep, you would be happy to wake up like this any day. 

But, alas, it was all over so soon. Your fantasy of waking up on Earth to the sun shining through your bedroom window curled up next to Spock felt so close, yet so far. Space was your passion, but Spock was your home. You knew which one felt more important. 

Spock sat up and rolled out of the bed, stretching.

“Did you sleep?” He had learned that it wasn’t a question of if you slept ‘well’ anymore. He still asked every morning, but he always knew the answer. 

You frowned, shaking your head. Spock pulled his Starfleet shirt over his head before bending over the bed to kiss you quickly.

“I’m certain the doctor could prescribe some melatonin or a similar medical remedy to ease your situation.” And, every morning, he tried to offer help for your condition. It was endearing, truly, but you wished he would just quit mentioning it altogether.

“Thank you, but you know I don’t react well with medication,” you replied, yawning and dragging yourself up. You pulled off your sleep shirt and tugged your red dress over your head as you walked to the bathroom, giving Spock a kiss on the cheek as you strode past him. 

“Are you prepared for the away mission tomorrow?” he called from the bedroom. 

Shit. Your heart dropped with such force your knees felt weak. Shit shit shit!! Your mind immediately went into overdrive and suddenly you were spiraling down a rabbit hole of different scenarios - all ending with either your death, Spock’s death, or just death in general. What if you got attacked? What if you killed everyone else in a shuttle crash and you had to live with the guilt for the rest of your life? There were so many things that could go wrong; one misstep, one miscalculation -you shook your head violently, snapping yourself out of it. You gripped the counter tightly and started taking deep breaths. It's fine. You were going to be just fine. Yeah... fine. It’s nothing. You were only going to be operating a shuttlecraft with twelve people aboard for the first time, three of which were your best friends. Fine. Just fine. 

You had barely noticed your hairbrush slip from your other hand until the clatter shook you from your thoughts. Spock rushed in without missing a beat, placing a comforting hand on your back. Using his other hand, he brushed stray hairs from your eyes and lifted your chin up so he could meet your gaze. This wasn’t the first time he was there to ease you back down to reality. 

“Hey, Hey. You are going to be okay,” he cooed softly, rubbing circles on your back. You shut your eyes and took a long, deep breath. 

“I will be with you for the duration of the mission,” he reassured you. “I promise you, I will not leave your side.”

You felt relieved, but a lingering sense of unease remained. You threw your arms around your husband before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Thank you,” you beamed up at him. “Really, you don’t need to do this.”

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do to help you, [y/n],” the smallest of smiles danced on his lips. He gave you a quick kiss on your forehead before exiting the bathroom, letting you finish getting ready. You bent down, picking up the hairbrush, frowning at the cracked handle. You would have to put that on the list of things to grab at the next starbase. 

As you brushed your hair anyway, you thought hard about your schedule for the day, planning out things to do to avoid dwelling on the events tomorrow would hold too much. It worked, A little. 

As you were putting the finishing touches on your morning routine, Spock poked his head in. 

“Are you ready to leave?”

“Yep.” You sighed heavily, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from your uniform. Before you could stop yourself, you turned away from the mirror and headed for the door, grabbing Spock’s hand and pulling him into the hallway.

                                                        ᓚᘏᗢ

After you and Spock ate breakfast, you went down to engineering for your job assignment. Unfortunately, Scotty didn’t have much for you to do, so you did ensign-level jobs for him to pass the time. Anything to quell the storm that was your anxiety.

You had tried so many times to find remedies for your condition; work, sleep, staying as busy as possible. Hell, Spock had quickly become a coping mechanism for you and was more successful than any of your other less-desirable options. Unfortunately, since he was a real person and an officer, he couldn’t be there for you all the time as you worked on opposing ends of the ship. This typically ended up with you spiraling and having to pull yourself out on your own. 

Out of your four options, work was probably the least effective. There was too much time to think; too much time for your demons to sink their claws into your brain. And, since the one person who was able to fully calm you down was unreachable, escape was sometimes impossible. 

Scotty had given you the small job of making sure the heating and cooling pipes on the starboard side of engineering and since the job was oh-so-simple, there was way too much time for your mind to wander. You tried so hard, you really did, to think about anything else, but the looming mission continued to push itself to the forefront of your mind. It wasn’t long before it would take over you once again. 

                                                        ᓚᘏᗢ

You didn’t know how long you had been lying awake. The minutes ticked by like days, seconds passed like hours. Spock was curled around you tightly, trying to make you feel safe enough to sleep and it had worked for a little while, but fear had wound itself into a tight knot in your stomach. You had never been assigned to an away mission before and you were absolutely terrified out of your mind. Horror stories of officers going missing, getting mauled or eaten by monstrous aliens, dying painful, horrific deaths in any way you could imagine plagued your thoughts. You remembered back to the instructional class about manning a shuttle, the sole reason you were going on the mission, and your stomach lurched at the thought of the graphic photos they had shown of shuttle crashes during the safety portion of the course. Panic started building in your chest, your legs began to shake and you knew what was coming. You tried not to wake Spock, but a sob you had tried to contain wrenched its way out of your mouth as some sort of strangled gasp and your husband was instantly awake and leaning over you. You heard him speaking to you, but the only sounds you were able to make were choked cries and before you knew it you were in the midst of a full-on breakdown. Panic set your body on fire, lightning-fast images of possible outcomes to the mission flashed across your eyes, tears streaming down your face as you bawled into Spock’s bare chest. 

“I can’t!” you sobbed over and over. “I can't!”

Spock had never held you so tightly, grasping across your back with one hand, the other tangled in your hair, clutching you into his chest. He rocked you softly as you started calming down, humming soft tunes in your ear as your wails turned to sniffles. Despite your trouble sleeping, mere minutes after you had stopped crying you had fallen asleep. 

Spock didn’t let go of you for the rest of the night. He leaned back down on the bed, curling back around you and holding you close. He contemplated canceling the away mission until you were more up for it, but he decided it would probably be best to discuss it with you in the morning. 

He eventually drifted off, only to wake a mere two hours later to the sound of your alarms. He quickly shut them off, not wanting to wake you since you had finally gotten the sleep you so desperately needed. Without moving too much as to wake you, Spock reached for his padd and canceled the mission anyway, as well as excusing himself and you from duty for the day. You needed your rest, especially after a night like the one you had just experienced and he knew he needed to be there for you. 

He set the padd back down on the bedside table before climbing back under the covers and wrapping his arms around you. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for you. He loved you, after all.  

[royalcordelia]

This Home is Vast

Summary:  Delphine Lacroix wants to write a tale of adventure and romance, so naturally she writes the story of how Uncle Gil and Aunt Anne fell in love.

“The ache for home lives in all of us. The safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.”  -  Maya Angelou 

1908.

Delphine Lacroix had a meager few memories from her very young days of girlhood. There were some things she wished she could recall, like the wide, bright eyes that her mother had and the melodic tenderness of her voice. Sometimes it’s enough for other people to have those memories for you, Aunt Anne had said when she was very small. I made sure I memorized every little bit of your momma so that when I tell you stories, you’ll feel her with you. Close your eyes, chickadee, and I’ll tell you of her wedding day. It’ll be like she’s right here

And it was. When Anne spun her words into yarn of gold, Delphine could close her eyes and imagine her face on her mother’s, and soft arms around around her chest. Dellie would lay with her head in Anne’s lap and listen to all the stories the freckled girl could muster, even the ones that weren’t about her mother - tales of adventure, courage, strength, and grace. She could find pieces of herself in the protagonists that Anne spoke of because, It’s important to see yourself in the people you aspire to, Dellie. I see these traits in you, and I admire you for them. 

But aside from afternoons curled up into Anne’s side, the youngest days of Dellie’s girlhood were distant from her. She wished she could write down the things she did remember, tell a story of the home she’d flowered in. 

“Uncle Gil?” she asked. From where she stood at the window, she could see Uncle Gil look up from his clothbound text and smile.

“Yes, honeybee?” 

“Do you have any empty journals in your study that I could use? I want to practice my writing.” 

Gilbert closed his book and leaned forward, always pleased to hear his niece take on new academic endeavors. Even at the humble age of ten whole years, she was as bright as both her mother and father, and had somehow learned Gilbert’s insatiable motivation. 

“Of course. Are you planning on writing one of your Aunt Anne’s tales of ‘grand adventure and romance?’”

Dellie turned around and leaned on the window frame, pursing her lips as she considered her options. 

“I want to. But I think I also want to write a story that I know, one that I lived through. I haven’t been on any grand adventures.” 

“Now that’s not true. Come here,” Uncle Gil replied, pulling her into his lap. Dellie leaned her head onto his shoulder and let out a sigh. Even when she preferred to keep her worries private, Uncle Gil had a way of snagging the truth right from her.

“All the heroes in Aunt Anne’s stories ride to far off places and battle the greatest forces of evil ever known by mankind!” 

“You’ve tamed plenty of tempests,” Gilbert countered.

“Like what?” 

“You marched right up to the Avonlea school board and demanded that you be allowed in the school with the rest of the kids. I think that was very courageous.” 

Dellie frowned, burying herself as deep into denial as she would go. 

“That was nothing.” 

“It wasn’t nothing! You’re the first child who looks like you to ever go to the Avonlea school.” Gilbert bounced her on his knee to ease her drooping mood. “What about the time those women in town were saying something mean about your mother? You poured their lemonade down their dresses.”

Dellie’s lips formed into a pout that had her Uncle Gil wrapped around her finger even from when she was a baby. “Daddy punished me for a whole day after that.”

“Because it’s impolite to ruin dresses, not because you weren’t brave. He didn’t want to tell you, but he was so proud. You’re more like you mother than you know.” Gilbert pressed a kiss to her cheek. “How’s that for a story idea?”

Delphine twirled one of Uncle Gil’s curls with her pinky while she considered this, but ultimately shook her head in adamant finality. 

“I want to save my story for when I’m older, so I can write bibliography of my life-” 

“ Biography , darling.” 

“- and make it a best-seller, like Aunt Anne’s book on Avonlea. But I think there’s one story I know just as well as my own.” 

“Oh yeah? Which one is that?” 

Delphine smiled with trickster eyes she learned from her uncle, then poked his nose. 

“Yours and Aunt Anne’s.”

*

1899.

Back in the days of Gilbert’s apprenticeship with Dr. Ward, the aged man had seen the weary circles beneath the boy’s eyes and cocked a brow. 

“Girl trouble?” he asked with a hint of humor. Gilbert fought the urge to shoot a panicked look toward the door, the other side of which held a very quiet secretary. Yes, there had been girl trouble - what with Gilbert trying to figure out the cause of his seemingly endless tachycardia. No, his tired eyes were not the result of his own uncertainty. 

“Delphine is teething. Poor thing hasn’t slept or eaten much in days,” Gilbert confessed. 

“That’s a simple fix, my boy. Why didn’t you ask me sooner?” 

This was how the Blythe-Lacroix home had been saved by a simple scrap of paper with a list of safe, at-home teething remedies. Gum massage, a cold spoon, a damp washcloth… At the kitchen table where he always seemed to sit with Delphine, Gilbert pulled a spoon from ice cold water and placed it into the baby’s open mouth. The tension on her tiny forehead disappeared, and her relief seemed immediate. 

“Dr. Ward acted like I should’ve known this already,” Gilbert lamented, rubbing Dellie’s back as she cooed. “But the medical journals don’t really report on anything other than bacterial transmission and obscure cases of rare disease. Where’s a fellow supposed to start with the basics?” 

Dellie took out the spoon and waved it in Gilbert’s face, before sticking it right back into her mouth.

“I suppose you’re right. I should’ve learned these things from my mother. Not like I would’ve enjoyed asking dad about these things, even if he was still around.” Gilbert paused, pressing a kiss to the top of the baby’s head. “Don’t worry, Dellie. You can always ask me anything. No matter what it is. And I’ll tell you all of my secrets so that we’re equal.”

The little baby could not know then that she would grow to share every little secret with this scrawny uncle of hers. He would know of every fear that clutched at her heart, and he would soothe them with his steady reassurance. He would let her reveal all of her misbehavings, and absolve her of her childhood guilts with forgiveness that came as easy as breathing. He would understand on the day that she’d confess that she’d fallen in love with a white boy at her college, and how desperately she wanted to earn his respect (Gilbert  knew she’d already had it). Those days were a long ways away, but he’d know it all.

If he wanted it to be fair, he had to begin the exchange himself. So he did, with his tender words.

“Delphine, I think I’m falling in love with Anne.” 

Dellie ceased her cooing, staring up at her apprehensive uncle with understanding eyes. Gilbert peeked up at the doorway to make sure Bash wasn’t eavesdropping before quietly continuing. 

“It doesn’t feel like I thought it might. I always knew that I wanted to be around her, and that she was really pretty, but lately…” Gilbert sighed. “She’s just seriously beautiful. And so smart and courageous. And she’s so good with you and never has anything unkind to say about anyone.”

Dellie grabbed his finger with her whole hand and shook it excitedly. 

“I know what you’re thinking. What about that blonde lady you met one time? Winnie is...a friend. She’s charming and nice, no one can deny that. But Anne appeals to a different part of me - complements and cherishes it. She held my hand and it felt like she was supposed to.” He scoffed. “I don’t know, I sound absolutely ridiculous.” 

“I don’t think that’s ridiculous at all,” Bash interrupted from the doorway. Gilbert jumped, pulling Dellie a bit closer to his chest, then glared at the intruder. “Sorry, Blythe, I didn’t mean to overhear. I just wanted to check up on my daughter.” 

“I think she feels better. She hasn’t cried in a while,” Gilbert stated shortly, handing over the girl who’d reached grabby hands up towards her father. Bash settled the baby on his shoulder and sat down at the table opposite of Gilbert. The young boy looked like he was steeling himself for battle, but kept his lips locked together. 

“So...Anne, huh? Can’t say I blame you.” 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Gilbert said sternly, but only half heartedly, the way people quietly cry out I need to tell someone !” 

“Why not? You’re not embarrassed are you?” 

“Of course I am!” Gilbert snapped. “Or...I don’t know. No, I’m not. At least, not because of her, she’s amazing. It’s embarrassing because I see her and…” 

“Spit it out, Blythe. It’s okay.” 

Gilbert released a shaky sigh. Then, he muttered, “These days I can barely breathe when she’s around, and it’s all I can do to keep myself from grinning like an absolute idiot. It’s entirely overwhelming and I don’t like it.” 

Bash smirked the way he did when he thought he knew something Gilbert didn’t.

“I’ll grant you that it’s overwhelming, but let me give you my advice on something. Look at this darling baby girl.” Bash lifted Delphine up in the air, and she giggled in delight. “Every time I see her, the air gets stolen from my lungs and I smile like a moke. There’s nothing more overwhelming than the love I have for my daughter, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Gilbert, your budding love for Anne with an E? Cherish it. Nurture it. Let it grow. I promise it will be worth it.” 

Gilbert turned his gaze down to the table, fighting the rising blush on his cheeks. 

“See, even little Dellie agrees?” Bash added, waving the baby’s hand. Dellie giggled as she bounced, causing a little smile to dimple the corner of Gilbert’s lips. 

“So, what do I do?” Gilbert asked after a silent moment.

“I don’t know, Blythe. That’s for you to figure out.” 

But the realization had been enough excitement for the young lad that night. He nodded, then pushed himself up by the heels of his palms. 

“I’m off to get some sleep before another tooth pops up,” Gilbert said. 

Bash placed his hand on Gilbert’s shoulder as he passed by, giving it a reassuring squeeze, then shoved the boy off in the direction of his quiet room.

*

1903.

Five-year-old Delphine saw things that no one else did. The endless orchard in her backyard was a vast kingdom of magical apples, guarded by tree soldiers who protected her against all the evil monsters that lurked past the corn field. Tiny faery people danced around the enchanted apples, and talked to Dellie when she was lonely and anxious for what Anne called “a bosom friend.” 

“Do you have bosom friends, Anne?” Dellie asked one day when Anne was kneading sweet bread in the kitchen. 

“I do! I’m very lucky to have a few kindred spirits.” 

Delphine tried out the mouthful of kindred spirit on her tongue, but was quick to remember to adhere to her point. 

“Who are they?”

“Well, for one, your uncle Gilbert.” 

Delphine jumped from sitting to kneeling in her chair with a cry of glee.

“Uncle Gil is your bosom friend!? ” 

“Of course he is,” Anne laughed. “Bosom friends are people that know you very, very well. They’re kind to you and make you smile. They’re people who belong in your life.” 

“What do you mean belong? ” 

Anne wiped the back of her wrist across her chin, smearing flower over her starry freckles, and thought about it. 

“Remember that Venus Fly Trap I showed you in a book a few days ago?” Dellie nodded, always paying close attention to anything Anne had to say. “Would you ever want a flower like that? Would something like that ever belong in your garden?” 

Though Delphine had been stunned speechless by the by the carnivorous flower, her face twisted into disgust at the thought of ever owning one. She shook her head slowly, scowling as if she’d smelled something sour.

“What flowers would you rather have instead?” 

“The pretty blue ones from momma’s garden!” Dellie decided. 

“Exactly. Just like flowers, some people just belong in your life. They’re the people that you like to see and be around. You sometimes don’t know why you need them, but they’re there. A bosom friend isn’t just any flower from the garden. It’s a friend that makes your heart swell up big like a balloon because you’re so happy to be with them. It’s someone you really love.” 

Delphine took in this flurry of information quietly, considering with all the seriousness her young brain could muster. 

“So you really love Uncle Gil?” 

Anne flushed, knowing that Delphine didn’t know quite what she was asking, and forced a smile on her face. 

“I do, Dellie.” 

The little girl spun to look in the doorway with the brightest smile she’d ever donned. Anne looked up from her bread, meeting eyes with Gilbert who was gazing at her with eyes heavy with some unnameable emotion. 

“Uncle Gil! Did you know that you’re Aunt Anne’s bosom friend because she loves you very much?” 

Gilbert’s eyes snapped to Anne, but he was quick to cover up his surprise.

“I did!” he replied easily, though his eyes spoke a message that was much more timid. 

“Then is she one of your bosom friends? ‘Cause you love her very much too?” 

“That’s right, honeybee.”

But he wasn’t looking at Delphine. For a moment, Anne felt like leaving her doughy bread on the table and running back home to Green Gables. Gilbert loved her as a friend, certainly, but the way he’d say it just then meant more, and that terrified her. But as soon as he gave her a small smile, Anne’s worries melted away. A barely perceivable thought flitted into the back of her mind - What if she didn’t mind the romantic look in his eyes? What if it’s what she wanted? Unable to fight the urge to return the shy smile, Anne’s gaze lingered on him without her realizing it. 

Delphine, on the other hand, was entirely oblivious to the moment transpiring between the two blooming adults. She grew bored with the silence, and hopped onto the floor, scurrying across the room to the door. 

“Kay! Well, I’m going to go look for bosom flower friends in the Enchanted Orchard,” Delphine said sliding out. 

“Be back before supper!” Gilbert called before the door could slam shut behind her. 

Later that night, when the sun had begun to hug the horizon in a far off place Dellie wasn’t allowed to travel to - Daddy had told her so - she skipped back to the house with a handful of flowers that she wanted to give Aunt Anne. That way, Aunt Anne could have more bosom friends, since sometimes Uncle Gil was a little serious. But what she found in the living room gave her pause.

There was Aunt Anne and Uncle Gil standing in the middle of the living room, so close together that Delphine was sure they’d hug each other. Isn’t that was bosom friends did? He was tall compared to her, and Anne had to look up to stare into his eyes. They were speaking to each other, but it was too quiet for Dellie to hear. Most of the time they used words that were too big for her to understand, anyways. 

She’d had never seen people act like this before. Uncle Gil’s hands held Anne’s, but instead of looking happy, Anne looked like she’d seen something very scary. Surely Uncle Gil didn’t scare Anne. They always smiled when they were together. Dellie had a vague thought that the scene looked right out of her fairy tale books, and Aunt Anne was the most beautiful princess in all of Avonlea. Her prince looked like he agreed. 

Just as Gilbert bowed his head and grazed his lips against Anne’s, Delphine broke the silence with her unmistakable, curious voice.

“What are you doing?” 

The pair split apart across the room quicker than a stray cat darting from sight. Uncle Gil leaned on the window, hiding his face from Anne with a vengeance.  Even Dellie could see the gears turning in his head, but she didn’t know why. 

“What do you have there?” Anne deflected, voice shaking.

“I brought you some flowers so you would have lots of bosom friends.” 

Anne let out a half-hysterical laugh and leaned over to hug the blessed child, a tear sliding down her cheek. 

“These are lovely, Delphine, but I don’t need more bosom friends! Not when I have you! ” 

Delphine’s own eyes became misty at that, and she clung to Anne with determined fierceness. Later that night, Dellie told her father all about her new bosom friend and how excited she was to see her again. 

But Aunt Anne did not come back to the Blythe-Lacroix house for many, many months. 

*

1904.

Anne once told Delphine that she had a thing called empathy. She’d taken the little girl’s hands in hers and kissed the backs of her palms. It means that when people are happy, you’re happy. And when people are sad, you’re sad. You feel the things they do, and it makes you such a beautiful soul. Empathy then became Dellie’s new favorite word. She explored outside and felt the peace of the trees, and the exhaustion of Uncle Gil’s bees as they labored away. She felt the warmth of the growing flowers and the joy of some of the neighbor kids laughing in the forest. She took on the world’s heart and made it her own, and by the time she came home, she was ready to just be Delphine. 

Dellie moved through her quiet house, smiling at the lingering scent of fresh bread Dad had made a few hours ago. Just as she was about to head to her room for a nap, she heard a quiet sniffle come from inside Uncle Gil’s room. 

She knocked on the door - as she’d been taught by stern faces - but Uncle Gil didn’t answer. Nudging the door open with worried fingers, Dellie’s heart plummeted to the floor. Uncle Gilbert was lying on his bed, a few tears dripping from the corners of his jaw. His eyes were blank, but when he saw Dellie standing in the doorway, he turned his face away and quickly wiped away his tears.

“No, it’s okay, isn’t it?” Dellie rambled. “You always tell me it’s okay if I cry. You can cry too...if you want.” 

She couldn’t see his face, but she did hear the quiet sob that escaped his lips. For a moment, Delphine wasn’t sure what to do. Uncle Gil always had an explanation, a reassuring word, but this time he was the one crying. It would’ve been easier if he said that he was okay, because then the utter sadness blooming in Dellie for her uncle would’ve disappeared. Suddenly, she didn’t like having empathy anymore. She just wanted Uncle Gil to feel better.

Climbing into the bed, Delphine hugged Gilbert from behind and nuzzled her nose into his back. Gilbert’s hand came up and grabbed hers lightly. 

“Why are you crying, Uncle Gil?” she asked quietly. His back rose and fell against her as he took in a deep breath. 

“Sometimes you lose things, honeybee, and you cry because they’re gone,” he whispered. 

“What did you lose?” 

Uncle Gil didn’t answer. Delphine wondered for a moment if he’d heard her, but stopped herself from asking again. When she was this sad, she never liked to talk about it. She liked to be quiet. So for a few long minutes, Delphine held Gilbert the way he’d always held her when she cried. 

Eventually Gilbert turned around, bashful because of his red eyes. But Delphine didn’t laugh or tease. She only wiped away the tear streaks with her thumbs and pressed her lips to his cheek. 

“I love you, Uncle Gil.” 

Another tear slid down Gilbert’s nose. 

“I love you too, honeybee.” 

She thought for a moment, then offered, “When I’m sad, I like to be around my friends. Should I go get Daddy for you? Or Aunt Anne?” 

Something in what she said made Gilbert’s face darken with heartsickness, but he had the strength to shake his head. 

“You’re all the company I need,” was all he said. 

(When she was all grown Delphine would ask Gilbert about that occurrence - her, exploring his expansive library, and him, completing patient records. The question had left her lips in the quiet of the night: why had he been crying alone in his bed all those years ago? Was it because he missed his father?

But Gilbert only peered down at the gold band around his finger and gave a sad little smile. No, he’d said. That was the day he’d first proposed to Anne. It hadn’t gone well, and though it ended up okay in the end, the devastation that broke Gilbert’s heart in half had been very real. 

“It must’ve been hard. To be strong for me when I was so young and didn’t understand,” she murmured. 

Gilbert shook his head. 

“You understood, Del. You understood better than anyone.” 

These quiet talks in his office were decades away, but the moments leading up to them were ones that Delphine would hold onto always. )

*

1906.

Knock knock knock.

Anne’s fog laden eyes rose from the tea kettle, but she didn’t have the strength to turn around. Still, it could’ve been Doctor Ward, or Elijah, or...someone important. She just needed a few more moments to collect herself. 

“Delphine, could you see who that is, please?” Anne paused before adding, “If it’s a stranger, I’ll answer it.” 

The little girl of nearly eight had been solemn at the table, sipping her tea to keep herself from asking questions. Questions, it seemed, made Anne cry. What was Uncle Gil sick with? Why can’t I go see him? Is he going to die? She’d asked them all once, and that had been enough to learn that she should never ask them again. At Anne’s request, though, she rose from the table and swung open the door. 

Before her was a very tall, very beautiful woman who looked like one of the dolls girls brought to school. Her hair reminded Delphine of stories of Goldilocks, and she smiled down at the little girl with warmth that made Dellie shrink away. Returning to Anne’s side, she muttered, “I’m sorry, I don’t know who it is.” 

Anne nodded, and she turned with heavy movements, only to jolt at the face in the doorway. In all the different instances Anne had seen Winifred Rose, she’d never been displeased to see her. But something about the hopeful, desperate look on the woman’s face made Anne’s stomach turn sour. 

The women were silent for several moments. Winifred seemed to be aware of the thin ice in the kitchen, and maintained her position in the doorframe.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Miss Rose?” Anne stated, perhaps unfairly caustically. 

“I heard Gilbert is sick.” 

Delphine’s eyebrows shot up. How did this woman know Uncle Gil? 

“I’m sorry, but you can’t see him,” Anne replied.

“And why not?” Winifred had matched Anne’s stern tone. 

“Because he’s sick. He’s contagious. ” 

“It’s typhoid, Anne. I’m not going to drink his bedside water. I just came to-” 

“To what?” 

Winifred didn’t answer right away. A tender spot in Anne’s chest made itself known, revealing some of her hidden fears. What if Winifred Rose was here to make amends with the young man she’d turned away all those years ago? Would he be happy to have her by his side? Anne clenched her teeth. What right did this woman have? To come into this house now when he was already halfway gone, when Anne had been the one nursing him, changing his chamber pot and wiping his sweat? What right did Winifred Rose have to come in and suggest that she- 

Delphine’s hand buried itself in the skirts of Anne’s dress, and Anne brought an arm up to wrap around Dellie’s back. No matter how scary it was that Uncle Gil was sick, or that Anne was fighting with a woman in the kitchen, Delphine always felt safe as long as Anne was beside her. It was the innocent child at her side that reined back Anne’s fury.

“I came to say goodbye,” Miss Rose said finally. “Dr. Ward said the case is dire. I just wanted to see him one last-” 

But just like that, the rage was back. Anne tore away from Delphine and stepped into Winifred’s space, jabbing a finger into her perfect pale face. 

“Do not speak that way around her. She’s already frightened enough,” she whispered sharply. “Do not come into this house and suggest that he won’t recover.”

Understanding washed over Winifred, and she peered over Anne’s shoulder at the frightened daughter of a widow. Maybe Anne hadn’t only been speaking of Delphine. 

“Anne,” she began, voice compassionate. “I know this isn’t fair to you. I can’t imagine what it must be like to have to be strong for Delphine. I know that you love him, and to have to watch him wither away with all your history still unresolved must be awful. Trust me, I know what’s it’s like to have regrets, but I didn’t come here today to resolve any. I came by to say goodbye to a friend, and to check up on another. You’re a stronger woman than I am, Anne Shirley Cuthbert. It’s unfair, all of it. And I’m sorry.” 

Anne’s eyes were concrete, and she glared at Winifred as if she were the plague doctor delivering Typhoid directly to Gilbert. But she wasn’t. She was an old friend, one who cared for her and Gilbert very much, even if she did surface for Anne all of her tired insecurities. 

“That’s not true,” Anne stated, face still hard. “If you loved someone enough, you’d do it for them. You’d see you could weather it.”  

Right at that moment, a cry of agony resounded through the house from the room above. Agony and fear filled Anne’s eyes, and she looked like she might collapse into Winifred’s arms, but she heard a tiny whimper behind her. 

Delphine Lacroix was shaking, frightened for her life and for her uncle’s. She wished she was in some other house where she couldn’t hear him in so much pain. It was all too much, she didn’t want to be here- 

Anne knelt to the ground and wrapped Delphine in her warm arms. The little girl wept and wept into Anne’s shoulder. 

“Shhh, honeybee. Remember what I said? Deep breaths. In through your nose, out through your mouth,” Anne soothed. “He’s going to be alright. He’s stubborn, just like us, you’ll see.” 

Eventually Delphine’s tremors lessened and she pulled back. Anne kissed her forehead before rising to her feet. Behind them, Winifred’s face had grown pale. 

“How long as he been like this?” she uttered quietly. 

“Two weeks, getting worse by the day. The doctor says it won’t be long now.” Delphine shuddered. Long now until what? “You can’t come into the room, but you can see him from the doorway. Would that please you, Miss Rose?”

Winifred nodded, only moments away from taking it all back. For a life spent seeing sick people every day, she’d never been so frightened. Delphine took her by the hand and followed behind Anne up the hollow, rickety stairs. 

Even when the door to Gilbert’s bedroom opened and released the scent of disease out into the hallway, the little girl at her side did not falter. Not when her uncle was thin and colorless under his blankets. Not when he released a groan of pain in his sleep. 

Sebastian was at the young man’s side, wiping sweat from Gilbert’s brow with dark eyes. Anne took the cloth from his hands, gesturing for him to sit down across the room and rest. She leaned over Gilbert’s bedside, taking in the withering face of the man she loved beyond all measure, and bit her lips against a sob. When Anne leaned over and pressed her trembling lips to Gilbert’s forehead, a tiny tear slipped down Dellie’s cheek. 

Finding her voice, Delphine began to recite a prayer she’d forgotten she knew under the softness of her breath. 

“Lord, make me an instrument of your peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love. Where there is injury, pardon. Where there is doubt, faith. Where there is despair, hope. Where there is darkness, light. And where there is sadness, joy…”

Uncle Gil would always joke that her prayer saved his life - along with the heavenly favor of her mother who’d had a partiality to prayer. But he also attributed his health to the tender attentions of Anne, and when he learned she’d barely left his side in his illness, he all but dissolved into bliss.

It was in the days following the turn of Gilbert’s illness that Delphine realized just what Aunt Anne was to Gilbert, and what Gilbert was to Aunt Anne. She’d known it instinctively, realized she’d been watching them grow all along. 

But if she needed any confirmation, she had it the day the weather turned warm and the rain broke away - just thirteen days after Uncle Gil’s fever broke. Dellie was walking along the outer edges of the orchard collecting flowers for the house when she saw Uncle Gil pass by a few rows over. At first, Dellie was merely delighted to see him up and walking away without swaying in dizziness. It was only when he let out a loud cry of laughter that she realized he was walking as fast as he could toward something. 

Anne met him halfway, falling into his arms with a grateful cry that made all the apple blooms on the trees keen to the sound. If Gilbert had been healthier, he might’ve lifted her up and spun her around, but his muscles were still gaining their strength back and Anne seemed to be the one doing the supporting. She was glad to do it, and she showered his face and hair with kisses and tears. 

In the warm Avonlea sunlight, surrounded by the apple trees Gilbert’s father had planted all those years ago, Anne took her love by the face and finished what they’d started in his parlor all those years ago. Their kiss swept the wind into the trees and birdsong into the air. It was strange to a child’s eye, but Delphine still recognized euphoria when she saw it. 

*

1907.

Delphine could count on one hand the things she really knew about weddings. One - she knew that when Uncle Gil and Anne had their wedding, they would be husband and wife, like Momma and Dad had been. Two - she knew that Aunt Anne would wear the prettiest white dress Dellie had ever seen. Three - she knew that Anne had to have something, blue. Dellie wasn’t sure why this was, but she decided to give Anne her prized blue button, the big one that came from one of Momma’s old coats. Four - she knew that Uncle Gil and Anne weren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding. She was still trying to find a fifth thing she knew for sure, since she never trusted what the girls said at school.

That’s why when she heard Aunt Anne’s laughter on the back porch the day of the wedding, she froze in her tracks. Peering outside the window overlooking the porch, Dellie found Anne and Uncle Gil hugging against one of the beams. His face was buried in her neck, and Aunt Anne laughed with a sunny grin. Gilbert held the side of Anne’s face and pressed a kiss to her other cheek, whispering a sweet secret into her freckles. Roses flooded onto Anne’s face, but she kissed him anyways, smiling into his lips. 

Delphine had seen enough. She swung the door open and tapped her foot like a parent catching a misbehaving child. Uncle Gil pulled away from his love, but kept an arm wrapped around her waist, smirking down at the stern little girl.

“Yes Delphine?”

“You aren’t supposed to see each other!” she exclaimed. 

“Oh sweetheart, that’s just a superstition,” Aunt Anne explained, though Dellie’s nose crinkled at the word. “Besides, I’m here to collect you. You wanted us to get dressed together, remember? Like princesses.” 

Dellie’s resolve crumbled a little as she remembered why Aunt Anne was here. She’d always wanted to watch her mother dress in all the old dresses that were left in her trunk, the hidden gems with the baby blue lace and soft fabric. Anne’s wedding dress was a lot like it, extravagant with all its elegant details and beads, and she’d been dying to see Anne get dressed in it. 

“Alright,” Delphine decided eventually. “I don’t understand why you aren’t allowed to see each other anyways, so I guess it’s okay.” 

By the end of the day, Delphine could fill a book with all the wonderful things she’d learned about weddings. She learned that brides sat in front of their mirrors while they did their hair, speaking the way women in love do about the future. Anne was quiet, her thoughts only on the incomparable man who was likely adjusting his tie in front his own mirror. Miss Diana and Aunt Marilla chatted as they tied Anne into her dress and adjusted the lacy skirts to perfection, but Delphine could only stare up in wonder. She felt a strange homesickness for the woman she’d grow to be, even if she couldn’t name the feeling, and ached to one day wear a wedding dress of her own. 

She couldn’t explain why her throat was oddly caught as she watched Uncle Gil and Aunt Anne stand in the Blythe Orchard together. Maybe it was the way they clutched at each other’s hands, or breathed out their hellos to each other the way people said prayers. It could’ve been the birdsong in the trees that sounded just what Dellie imagined angels sounded like when they sang. With the sweet morning sun on her face, she could not be aware of her own wisdom - how somewhere in the depths of her heart, she recognized the coming together of two souls. And when Uncle Gilbert slid a glimmering golden band on to Anne’s finger, Delphine finally understood what marriage meant. 

The fragrance of the sweet apple blossoms swept over Delphine’s nose as she listened intently to the reverent vow that one day she might repeat herself. 

“I take you, Gilbert Blythe, matched to my intellect, proponent of my happiness, friend of my heart, to be my life mate and my husband. I promise to have you and hold you -  for better, for worse as long as we both shall live.”

Uncle Gilbert repeated the words smiling so much that Delphine’s own grin split her face in two. When he pulled his bride into his arms and kissed her, cheers of jubilation sounded from their friends, family, and small Delphine, of whom no one was happier. 

*

1908.

“I didn’t realize then that Aunt Anne would be moving into this house,” Delphine admitted to Uncle Gil as he listened to her finish her story. “I really liked going to your wedding. I wish I could go back to that day and do it all over again.” 

Uncle Gilbert smiled warmly, rubbing Dellie’s shoulders affectionately. 

“Me too, honeybee, me too.” Suddenly, Delphine took his cheeks into her hands and stared seriously into his face. His cheeks squished against her hands as he smiled. “What are you doing?” 

“Memorizing every little detail about you so that I can write it down. Now I think I might need Aunt Anne’s help, there’s a lot of pieces of your face to know.” 

“I’m sure I’d be happy to help out,” called a warm, familiar voice. Dellie dropped her hands, launched herself out of Uncle Gil’s lap, and fell into Aunt Anne’s warm hug. She loved the way Anne ran her fingers over her hair, and smiled into Anne’s apron when she felt a kiss deposited on the top of her head. 

“How was your trip to Kingsport?” Dellie asked when she pulled back. 

“Very productive. My publisher is quite pleased with this new draft of Averil’s Atonement, ” Anne answered nonchalantly. She turned to her side where Gilbert had wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She kissed him gently, fixing a sprig of hair in his eyes.  “Hello darling.”

Gilbert slid his arm to her waist, glancing down at her flat stomach to see if there had been any growth of the baby sleeping there. It was still much too early to expect any sort of noticeable difference, but the presence of his own child in the room was delightfully distracting. He was anxious to meet the baby, to hold her and see her play with Delphine, to teach her everything he knew. 

“It looked like I walked in on a serious conversation. What are you two scheming up this time?” 

“Delphine has it in her head that she’d like to start practicing her prose composition. I can’t possibly begin to imagine where she learned that from.” 

Anne grinned at this - this news delighting her even more than her publisher’s satisfaction. 

“I want to write about your love story with Uncle Gilbert!” Delphine explained excitedly. Anne snuck a pleased glance at her husband.

“That’s my favorite story! You’ll let me be your editor, won’t you?” Anne pleaded. Dellie laughed and nodded, slightly embarrassed at her Aunt’s eagerness. 

“I have to write it down first!” 

Gilbert’s ears perked up at this. 

“Speaking of which, give me just a moment.” 

Uncle Gil hastened from the room, only to return a few moments later with something in his hands that made Dellie’s pulse quicken. She beheld the journal of caramel gold with a momentous feeling in her chest. As Gilbert handed her the journal, he knew he was handing her a world of possibilities, and an endless expanse of possibilities. She could write the mysteries of the Universe, or solve suffering with her words. When she grew older, if she wrote for real, she’d gift the world with her uncomparable spirit in a way that would cause ripples in her readers. 

But for now, Gilbert thought there was nothing he’d love to read more than the story of how he fell in love through the bright eyes of his wondrous girl. 

[lifblogs]

@felix-the-white-wolf, @its-me-theicequeen, @evilwriter37 Finally got this done, but I can’t put a keep reading because my laptop is broken, so I’m posting this on my phone.

Sam dragged himself out of the shack, escaping just in time to miss the end of the fight — he told himself it was alright; Dean was finishing up. The violent, rushing sound of fire spewing outward as gas left a canister, sparking before blasting into the air (and hopefully, at the remaining monster) met Sam’s ears. The sound was soon followed by an unearthly scream. It sent a chill down Sam’s spine despite how long he’d been doing this.

He dragged himself a little farther, wanting to be closer to the Impala, closer to safety, to home.

His left leg was on fire, and it was sore, more sore than there were even words for. It was a pain he could barely handle. Yes, Sam Winchester knew pain, but it had been awhile since he’d been hurt so badly.

That last wendigo he’d killed in that shack had dug its claws into the back of his thigh and then he found he couldn’t use it to walk. He’d been hamstrung — if only partially. The son of a bitch hadn’t gotten the other leg. Thank God… or whoever the hell was up there who gave a shit. Maybe no one.

Sam felt weak, woozy, his vision fogging. Nothing seemed to make sense to him anymore. He didn’t know where he was, what was happening. He just knew that he felt like absolute shit.

That was when he threw up, and as reality came back to him he shifted to lie away from the vomit. Body shuddering fiercely, muscles tense till they ached, he tried to push himself up onto his hands and knees. But he failed at that.

Dean was running out of the shack, covered in blood, blowtorch still in one hand, a silver knife in the other.

“SAM!”

Immediately, he was at Sam’s side, and Sam was reaching out for him with fumbling fingers, only able to reach his brother’s bloodied and dirt-stained boots. Dean dropped the weapons and started scanning him.

“H-hamstring…” Sam forced out through trembling lips.

His leg had gone cold, but the rest of him was doused in flame. Dean grabbed something — Sam thought maybe the silver knife — and started cutting into Sam’s jeans to expose the wound further. The cold air against hot blood was a strange sensation, sending Sam into a mess of warring temperatures, sweating profusely while shivering.

Dean worked fast, taking off his belt and tying it around Sam’s upper thigh.

“Let me know when it hurts,” Dean told him.

Sam grunted as it tightened, and tightened…

Then, when he knew the pressure was just right, the pain throbbing incessantly, he just let out a simple, “Fuck.”

Dean pat his back with one hand.

“It’s okay. I got you. I gotta get the med kit. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry, Sammy. Everything’s gonna be just fine.”

Sam watched as Dean came into his view, and then rushed away from him, dirt kicking up under his boots. He made his way over to the back of the Impala, and dug around furiously before he came back with a duffel bag they’d hastily Sharpie’d a plus sign on in red to designate it as their medical bag (a regular first aid kit didn’t always cut it for them). There was a bottle of whiskey in his other hand.

Sam’s stomach started churning again, nervous from the further torment he would be put through. It would help him, but at a great mental cost. There was only so much pain in one moment that the mind could take, and it was already far past what Sam could handle at the moment. His pain threshold was drowning in blood.

Don’t be a baby, he told himself. You’ve had worse.

But that didn’t seem to matter right now. Nothing seemed to matter except the screaming and throbbing agony in his leg. It took his breath away, numbing all thoughts as he lay there, helpless, vulnerable.

His head began to spin, and he felt weak, though he wasn’t even moving. And then reality seemed to start fading away. He heard Dean talking to him, telling him it would be okay. The bit they had with their supplies was gently, but sternly, put into Sam’s mouth. He bit down, tears leaking from his eyes. Still, he couldn’t see. The world didn’t seem to matter.

Blood was leaving him…

Everything felt wrong.

And then the pain of alcohol being poured over what was left of the back of his thigh burst into his senses, and he screamed, biting down hard on the bit. He moved, trying to drag himself away, finding a hidden well of strength. Dean put a knee to his lower back. Sam kicked feebly with his other leg, demanding to be released.

“I know, Sammy. I know.”

Then there was the godawful sensation of something in him. Dean seemed to be mopping up the blood and alcohol. And then there were large wads of gauze being shoved into his leg. The pain shot down to his toes, and up his spine, till even his teeth hurt.

Sam dropped the bit out of his mouth to throw up again. It was an effort to keep his head up so he wouldn’t lay back down in it. Dean took care of that problem almost immediately, shifting Sam to a puke-free area on the damp earth.

And then there was fierce tugging, stinging, yet there was still that painful and foreign wad of gauze in his leg. God, it was bad enough to have to pack it?

Dean’s needle didn’t reach all the parts where he was in pain, letting Sam know that the injury couldn’t be fully stitched up. He seemed to try to remedy this with long strips of butterfly bandages. Through the whole process, he had to keep cleaning his skin, washing off blood.

“Okay, I’m gonna lift your leg back,” Dean told him. “Don’t kick me.”

“But I want to,” Sam joked in a voice that barely wanted to come out.

“You can later. After I save you.”

“That a promise?”

“You can punch me too.”

Sam was too tired to smile at their joking. Dean probably felt guilty about Sam getting hurt, so that’d be why he mentioned a potential future punch in the face.

His leg was being lifted up and back, and Sam clawed at the ground, little bits of sediment digging under his fingernails. Then bandages were being applied, wrapped quickly and efficiently. They were tight, restricting; just enough so Sam wouldn’t bleed out.

“Alright,” Dean said, mercifully lowering Sam’s leg back down, “we’re gonna go over to the Impala. Alright? You got this?”

Sam tried to nod, to say something, but he just groaned.

Somehow Dean got him off the ground, and Sam was wavering on one leg, leaning heavily against Dean. Both were blood-covered, but Sam was pale, and had a green tinge around his mouth. He thought he might have cried out and screamed the entire way to the Impala. When he was safely buckled in the back, lying down, he realized someone was moaning and whimpering.

Sam saw the leather in the car, smelled the familiarity of it, and then he faded in and out of consciousness.

He would’ve thought it’d be peaceful to be unconscious, but for some reason he had a hard time breathing, and his chest hurt, and he could still hear somewhat.

He gasped, a breath wheezing into him.

“Sam?!” Dean asked in apparent alarm.

Suddenly, the door near Sam’s head was opening, and there were hands on his face, lifting up his head.

“Hey, hey. Look at me. Look at me.”

The next thing Sam knew was that Dean’s jacket was resting over him, and his brother was driving, telling him he was going to get him to a hospital, that everything would be fine.

Sam had to believe him.

There was simply nothing else to do.

That faraway person was crying, and Sam felt their tears on his cheeks. Faintly, he thought, they tasted like his own.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part twelve)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

I’m on the bus with no WiFi, so I’ll add a read more and put the links in when I get home

Word count: 2317

——————————

“You WHAT?!”

Isabella winced at Catalina’s shrill tone, ruffling her feathers in agitation. Today, she was dressed in a long, flowing copper dress with onyxes embedded into the fabric around the train and bust. Ruby rings clicked against the arms of her throne as she tapped her fingers in annoyance.

“Child, please,” The queen said, rubbing her temples. “Lower your voice. You are being terribly noisy and it’s starting to give me a headache.”

“You work for HENRY?!” Catalina yelped loudly, ignoring her mother’s words. “Wh-why?!”

“Support, of course.” Isabella answered as if that should have been obvious to her daughter. “And power. And treasure.” She examined her shiny rings with a crooked smile. “The deal was that if we let Henry fight and take shelter on our land, he would pay us handsomely. And pay he did.”

Ferdinand grinned toothily at her side, running his fingers over the golden chains hanging around his neck.

“When did this happen?” Catalina asked.

Isabella narrowed her eyes. “Why does it matter to you? You ran away. This is hardly your home anymore after you left us.”

Catalina winced, but Katherine could see phoenix gold feathers bristling out of the back of her tunic.

“Regardless of if it’s my home or not, I will not let it fall beneath Henry.” Catalina said. “You can’t keep this deal up. Henry is awful. His soldiers tortured Ilam, who you GAVE TO THEM! They ripped his wings out!”

“That was his own fault,” Isabella said breezily. “He shouldn’t have been getting involved in the troops anyway.”

“He’s one of our PEOPLE! YOUR people! You’re his queen and you--”

“Hush up!” Isabella roared. “I will not allow you to speak to me this way any longer!”

“I think what Catalina is just trying to say is,” Katherine said, stepping in calmly, “that Henry shouldn’t be trusted and she’s worried over the safety of you and the other people here.”

“Shut your mouth, Dagger-Head.” Isabella snapped. “Stay out of this.”

At her side, Catalina’s expression contorted with pure rage, fury flashing in her eyes. Feathers bristled up further as she yelled, “You will NOT speak to my sister that way!”

There was a beat of silence as everyone stared: the guards, looking from between the princess to the queen in bewilderment; Ferdinand, blinking; Katherine, pleasantly surprised at being called Catalina’s sister; Catalina, seething; Isabella, glaring.

And then, Isabella snorted.

“Your sister?” The queen snorted again. “Don’t you want to know where your REAL sister is?”

Catalina went silent.

A minute later, Katherine and Catalina were being led down a side hallway by Isabella. They were taken into a room built around an oasis pool, which seemed to be steaming with warm water. Bristling aloe vera plants were bunched in the spaces between white-clothed beds, and sandstone shelves were neatly packed full of vials and plants with healing remedies. Two Aasimar nurses were inside, one with dark skin and one with greenish-grey skin. There was only one patient in the bed, a small Aasimar with faintly tangerine tanned skin and wings the color of goldfish scales.

“Izzy!!”

Catalina raced across the space, startling one nurse into nearly toppling into the pool. She dropped to her knees and clasped one of her unconscious little sister’s hands in both of hers.

Katherine walked over, and realized just how young Izzy really was. She was only slightly older than Joan, maybe sixteen or barely seventeen. Her face was youthful and round, with sprinkles of dark freckles all over her nose and cheeks. Bandages were bright white against her orangey skin, wrapped tightly around her chest, left leg, and right wing. A fresh scratch was across her throat, but didn’t look deep enough to do any real damage.

“The other side did this to your precious little sister,” Isabella said, looming over the bed. There wasn’t an ounce of concern in her eyes when she looked down at her youngest child. “And it was Henry’s troops that brought her back here instead of leaving her out in the sun to die. They definitely sound very cruel.”

“When did this happen?” Catalina asked softly, squeezing Izzy’s hand.

“A week ago,” Isabella answered. “I’m disappointed to find that she has yet to get up. I didn’t realize there was so much weakness in my bloodline. Though, I shouldn’t be surprised.” She touched the medallions around her neck and chuckled lowly.

Catalina growled softly, gritting her teeth in a flash of rage. Katherine knelt beside her and set a hand on her back for support.

“Has she woken up at all?” Katherine asked the nurses.

“She has,” The dark-skinned one said. “But she’s still very weak.”

“She may have to relearn how to fly,” Said the other. “The gash across it was bad. But it’s healing well.”

Katherine heard Catalina take several deep breaths to try and calm herself and she rubbed her back. “She’s going to be okay, Lina,” She whispered to her friend. “She’ll be alright.”

Isabella scoffed lightly, and Katherine glared at her fiercely. Isabella quirked an eyebrow at her.

“Do you have something to say, elf?” The queen said. “Let’s hear it.”

“When did Izzy start fighting in the war?” Catalina asked, stopping Katherine from snapping at her mother. “She isn’t a fighter.”

“Clearly,” Isabella said. “She joined a year ago. I’m quite surprised she even lasted this long.”

Catalina looked absolutely devastated. She ran her thumbs over Izzy’s knuckles, whispering things to her in a Celestial language that Katherine couldn’t understand.

“Don’t you see, child?” Isabella said. “Henry’s forces are good. He is treating us very well. And it was the other side of the war that hurt poor little Isabella II. They sure do sound like saints.”

Catalina shook her head. “I’ve seen what Henry can do. He kills people. Innocent people. He can’t be trusted, Mother.”

Isabella stared down at Catalina. “Hm.” She said, and then took out her hidden curved knife and began slicing through the bending membrane of Izzy’s right wing.

“NO!!” Catalina shrieked, throwing herself at her mother. At the same moment, Izzy jerked awake and began screaming in pain. “Don’t hurt her!!”

But it was too late. A long, jagged gash had been cut from the base of the wing, across the patagium, and all the way to the wrist, severing muscles and tendons in the process. Dark red blood rapidly began engulfing goldfish orange feathers until it looked like Izzy had actually been born with one orange wing and one red wing. After a moment of spasming in pure agony, Izzy went limp on the bed and Catalina lunged back to her, shaking her frantically.

“Izzy?! Izzy!!” The princess cried. Her little sister’s blood dripped down onto her trousers, staining them in dark, grueling patches.

“I’m not sure why you’re panicking so much,” Isabella said calmly. She wiped her knife clean on a bloodless area of Izzy’s bedsheets. “We aren’t losing anything. The stronghold you and your little leaf-licking, oozebait companion destroyed was going to be delivering medical supplies that would help her. Not anymore, though. Might as well put her out of her misery.”

Catalina shook her head furiously. She looked at Katherine, tears brimming brightly in her eyes, and begged, “Help her. Please, help her.”

Katherine nodded and quickly got to work, joined by the other two nurses. Isabella rolled her eyes and walked out like nothing had happened.

Katherine and the green-skinned nurse began applying heated towels to the wound on Izzy’s wing, pressing down when the blood kept bubbling out. The dark-skinned nursed prepared aloe vera and gauze to wrap the cut with. In the middle of the procedure, Izzy stirred and her dark amber eyes cracked open.

“Wha…?” She slurred.

“Izzy,” Catalina perked up at her side. She cupped her little sister’s cheek to make her look at her. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

“L-Lina…?” Izzy’s cloudy eyes widened. “You’re…you’re back! You’re home!”

Catalina smiled shakily. “Yeah, I’m home. I’m here.”

“I missed you,” Izzy whispered hoarsely, leaning her head into Catalina’s palm. “I missed you so much…”

Catalina sniffled, fighting tears. “I missed you, too, sweetheart. I heard you’re fighting now. I’m so proud of you! That takes so much strength.”

Izzy beamed at that, despite the pain she had to have been in. “R-really? I was scared, but…I’m glad you think I’m strong.” She then winced, letting out a soft whine. “L-Lina? M-my wing hurts. R-really bad.”

“Shh, shh,” Catalina caressed Izzy’s cheek. “I know, honey, I know. But the nurses and my friend are gonna take good care of you. You’ll feel better in no time.” Trying to distract her little sister, she took one of her hands and pressed it against her belly. “Guess what? You’re going to be an auntie soon!”

Izzy’s eyes lit up as she looked at the baby bump. “Woah! Really?”

“Really,” Catalina smiled. “You’re gonna be the best auntie ever, right?”

“Right!” Izzy grinned weakly. “I’m gonna-- I’m gonna…” Her head lolled to the side and Catalina went ridge, the color draining from her face.

“I-Izzy? Izzy?!”

Katherine darted to Catalina’s side and wrapped an arm around her shoulders to ground her in her panic. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. She’s just unconscious. She’s still here.”

Catalina took several shaky breaths, teetering on the edges of full blown hysteria. “W-will she be okay?”

“We’ll do everything we can, princess,” The green-skinned nurse said.

And they did. They really did. But the tendons and muscles in Izzy’s wing had been badly damaged. The nurses began to worry that she would never fly again.

“She’ll live,” The dark-skinned nurse said in a hushed whisper, glancing at Izzy in her bed. Her wing was wrapped up thoroughly, with stitches lying beneath the thick bandages. Catalina was no longer in the room, she had rushed out in tears a long time ago to be alone, but they all still spoke quietly to avoid waking the patient up. “But her wing… I’m worried it won’t be functional, even after it heals.”

Katherine frowned. “I see…” She said. “I’m going to go see Catalina. Thank you for your help.”

The nurses dipped their heads.

Katherine spent a few minutes looking for Catalina, but couldn’t find her anywhere. And then a pair of guards whistled to her and nodded towards a staircase that led up to a balcony. When Katherine walked up, she found an area that she could use to climb onto the roof of the palace, so she did.

There, sitting near the edge with her knees pulled close to her chest, was Catalina, her wings open and out.

Her wings were absolutely magnificent. They were the color of phoenix feathers, and the sunset beaming down on them seemed to set the plumage ablaze with glistening fire-like light. Deep golden yellow bled down into candlelight and dusky orange and turned to gradients of ruby red with veins of copper-gold streaking through them.

Katherine had never seen them out before.

Katherine sat down next to Catalina, and felt the soft feathers brush against her arm.

“Is she okay?” Catalina whispered.

“Yes, she is.” Katherine told her. “She’ll be fine. She’ll recover, she just--” She faltered, but had to break the news: “She may not fly again.”

Catalina sobbed softly. “Maybe I should rip my own wings off, then.”

“No.” Katherine said instantly. “Do not do that. Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” Catalina looked at her, and her dark eyes held so much grief. “It’s what I deserve. I couldn’t protect her, even when the danger was right there in front of me. I couldn’t stop Mother fast enough.” She tentatively touched her stomach, then ripped her hand away, like she thought she may hurt the baby inside of her. She sobbed. “Kat, if I can’t even protect my sister, how could I possibly protect my own child?”

“Hey, hey, shh,” Katherine murmured, wiping Catalina’s tears away with her thumbs. “It’s not your fault, Lina.”

“It is!” Catalina cried, fresh tears exploding from her eyes. “It is, Kat! I can’t protect ANYONE!” She buried her face in her hands and shook her head miserably. “Do you know what Mother did after Maria died?” She peeked out and looked at Kat, despair written all over her expression. “She put her head on the Bull statue’s horn as a symbol for what happened when she was challenged. As a sign of her dominance. And she left it there until it turned into a skull. Izzy and I had to watch our big sister’s decapitated fucking head rot out in the sun for weeks, getting her eyes pecked out and eaten by birds and her skin decaying right in front of us every day. We couldn’t even bury her with her head! Mother restricted us from taking it for the burial even though we BEGGED and PLEADED!” Her voice cracked and broke from her outburst and she sobbed. “And I couldn’t do anything about it. But now, with Izzy, I could have saved her from Mother and I DIDN’T!”

“Oh, Lina,” Katherine murmured, realizing how scarred her dear friend was. “Oh, honey… Come here. Come here.”

Catalina collapsed into Katherine’s arms, sobbing. Katherine held her protectively against her chest, rubbing up and down her back. She could feel Catalina’s wings twitch around her, soft and warm to the touch.

“It’s not your fault, Lina, it isn’t.” Katherine said. “You stayed with Izzy, didn’t you? You were there with her when she woke up. Did you see how happy she was to see you?”

Catalina sniffled against her collarbone, whimpering.

“You’re a wonderful sister, honey.” Katherine went on. “And you’re going to be an amazing mother. I know you are.”

Catalina said something watery in response.

“Shh, shh,” Katherine soothed. “It’s okay. Go ahead and cry. I’ll be right here until you’re ready to talk. I’ll always be here.”

[sheps-shepherd]

Title: Dizzying Dynamics

Pairing: Mikleo/Sorey; Mikleo & Sorey

Rating: T (for non-graphic mentions of death/dying)

Written for SorMik Week 2020 Day 1: Waxing Crescent - Declaration; Commitment / Rigel - Benevolence; Happiness

*Reposted because Tumblr messed up my formatting so badly I just decided to redo it all.

A/N: This is my first time doing any kind of fandom week in three years so of course all the plans I had for it fell through, hence why this is being posted at the very last minute of the first day. I'm not the happiest with how this came out but it's fluffy and what more can any of us ask for.

All of my works for SorMik Week 2020 will take place in this same AU, which has its own story that I wanted to post before these and still haven't finished. It's a BBC Merlin AU, and all you really need to know is this: magic is banned in this world, Mikleo was born with magic, and Sorey is the sunshine prince we all love and deserve. Other necessary world-building happens within each work itself.

Enjoy!

Read on AO3

---

Mikleo was getting used to life in Camlann. Slowly but surely. 

When his mother had first told him about the arrangements she’d made for him to come live in the capitol, he’d expected to spend a majority of his time with the grandfather he barely remembered in the medical wing of the castle, studying the basics of being a physician by day and honing his magic under the cover of night. He’d expected to spend his days reading, picking herbs, and learning how to properly make various medicines and remedies. Which was okay with him; Mikleo liked to learn, and these types of things were good to learn, and when he went home to Elysia maybe he could put it to use and be more than just the quiet village boy with the magical secret he couldn’t tell anybody.

As it turned out, living in Camlann was nothing like that. Mikleo honestly should have known better, especially when he ended his first week by saving the crown prince’s life and agreeing to take up the mantle as his manservant. 

“Which is a completely glorified title, by the way,” Sorey had told him, on his first official day with his new title, when Sorey had come to get him before he could start worrying about what he was meant to do. “All the things you’re technically supposed to be doing, I’m capable of doing myself. And I don’t mind doing them either. That’s why I always told Arthur I never needed one.”

“What am I supposed to be doing then?” Mikleo had asked, and Sorey had smiled at him like that was the funniest question he’d ever been asked. 

“Stopping wannabe assassins from killing me, apparently,” he’d responded, in a tone that was definitely way too bright and cheerful for the words they’d been paired with. Mikleo had found out right then and there - Sorey Collbrande-Crowe was fearlessly and unapologetically optimistic. 

If Mikleo was being honest, it was rather refreshing to be around someone like that. 

He spent most of his time with Sorey after that first week. When Sorey was in meetings or off wherever his princely duties took him, Mikleo was out doing all the things he originally expected to be doing. The times in between were spent wandering the castle and getting into absolutely everything they could find. 

They spread out maps across the large table in the drawing room. They snuck cooling pies off the windowsills in the kitchens. They read all kinds of things in the library: history books to fables and fairytales to preserved journals. But Mikleo’s favorite times were the nights they holed up in Sorey’s room, with books or treats or stories to share. 

Despite the odd circumstances that got them to this point, they became friends. Genuine friends. The prince-and-technically-servant dynamic didn’t exist. 

But the prince-and-secret-sorcerer one certainly did. To Mikleo, at least. The magic in his blood always seemed harder to ignore whenever he was in Sorey’s presence, a glaring reminder of the impassable space that stretched between them. 

He was lying next to Sorey in the prince’s bed, propped up on pillows with one of the larger history books opened between them, his arm pressed warmly against Sorey’s when the thought hit him - that maybe he was in way too deep, and it had only been a few months. 

Sorey was still the crown prince. Artorius was still his father who hated all things magic. Mikleo had long since given up his avoid the royal family at all costs plan, but falling asleep in the prince’s bed was definitely too far. Risky things like that would put him on the king’s radar, and if Artorius found out- If Sorey found out- 

But we’re already here, Mikleo considered, one afternoon spent watching Sorey scribble away, annotating tomes in the library. This will just be where we stop. No farther. No problems. There was no reason he and Sorey couldn’t be friends; Mikleo just had to tread a little more carefully moving forward. Simple. Even his magic seemed satisfied with that plan, glowing in his chest when Sorey peeked up from his work and smiled at him, and Mikleo smiled back. 

And then the second assassination attempt had happened. And Mikleo had saved Sorey again. And then Sorey had saved Mikleo. And Mikleo spent the days recovering from being poisoned by staring up at his bedroom ceiling and wondering how the hell he ended up here. 

Some destiny this turned out to be. 

“Hello? Anybody home in there?” 

Mikleo blinked his reverie away, turning his head to see Sorey standing there, dressed to the nines in his street clothes, head cocked with a curious look on his face. He beamed when Mikleo focused in on him. 

“There you are! You spaced out on me.” 

“Oh.” Mikleo gave his head a shake, as if clearing the last of the thoughts away. “Sorry about that.” 

“Go somewhere good?” Sorey asked, nudging Mikleo over a step so they were back on the cobblestone road. Mikleo hadn’t even noticed he’d pulled them off. “Or is this a side effect of poison recovery that you didn’t tell me about?” 

“Sorey, I’m fine. Just a little tired. Stop blaming everything on my recovery.” 

“Just checking,” Sorey sang before taking a bite out of his apple - which him grabbing from the kitchen as they left had sparked their usual argument of: “That’s not breakfast.” “It totally counts as breakfast.” 

Sorey was impossible, in the most endearing way. 

“But,” the prince continued after swallowing his bite, “if you are fine, that means you shouldn’t have any problem making good on our deal today. Sure you don’t want to change your answer?” 

Mikleo rolled his eyes. “Are you sure you don’t have anything better to do with your day then talk about poison?” 

“Nope!” Sorey grinned around another crunch of his apple. “Already checked with Arthur. He actually thinks it’s a great idea that I do some research about this kind of stuff.” 

“It is a good idea,” Mikleo agreed. “You were bound to have one sooner or later.” 

“You wound me, Mikleo.” Sorey clutched at his shirt, and Mikleo rolled his eyes again at his dramatics. 

Impossibly endearing. And maybe the slightest bit mortifying, too. 

“I’d guess most people wouldn’t be so excited to research different kinds of poisons,” Mikleo mused as they stepped off the castle road and headed into the Lower Town. They fell in step beside each other, their arms brushing as they walked, assuring they didn’t lose each other in the morning rush of townspeople. “A bit morbid, don’t you think?” 

Sorey shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m not like most people.” He gave Mikleo a cheeky grin. “What’s your excuse, huh?” 

I’m not like most people, either.

“Gramps doesn’t like to leave things half-done,” Mikleo said aloud. “It’s something I need to know as a physician.” 

“But shouldn’t it be something I need to know as the you-know-what? Why isn’t that something Arthur had me studying already?” 

“That’s what physicians are for.” Mikleo was quiet for a moment, then carefully bumped his shoulder against the other’s. “That’s what I’m for. I have to be doing something as your manservant.” 

Sorey chuckled, but the light in his eyes was dimmed as he looked over. “I know,” he said softly, and Mikleo could just barely hear him over the dull roar of people. “But you got hurt because I didn’t know better, and I’m not okay with that.” 

“Sorey, you saved me-“

“You wouldn’t have needed saving if I had known in the first place.” 

“You are not the reason I was poisoned,” Mikleo insisted. “The maid who put the poison in your drink is the reason.” He crossed his arms. “And again, you saved me by going out and getting what Gramps needed to make the antidote. So we’re both still here and we’re both fine. We’re even.” 

“Are not.” Sorey chewed another bite of apple. “We’re two-to-one. Or have you forgotten about saving my life when we first met?” 

Mikleo rolled his eyes again, but couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Of course not.” But as far as Mikleo was concerned, that was a debt Sorey had already paid back in full. 

He didn’t admit it out loud, but Sorey must have read something in his expression, because he smiled and gave Mikleo a nudge of his own. 

“Guess we’re just gonna have to keep saving each other and see where we end up, huh?”

“Yeah,” Mikleo murmured. “I guess so.” 

Sorey suddenly wrapped his arm around Mikleo’s shoulders and tugged him into his side. He blinked as he found himself pressed against the prince’s chest, his hand coming up to steady himself so he wouldn’t completely crash into the other. His hand landed at the center of Sorey’s chest, right where he had grasped it a moment ago. 

He tipped his head back, knowing his face was probably bright red but also ready to demand just what Sorey thought he was doing. Then the group of children came hurtling by, practically trampling over one another as they raced down the cobble, calling out hello’s to Sorey as they ran along. 

“Be careful, guys!” Sorey called back. “Watch where you’re going! Don’t run anybody over, I can’t save ‘em all!” 

The children laughed but didn’t show any signs of slowing down. The little boy bringing up the rear of the group bounded past them. 

“I got them, Sorey!” he exclaimed. “Don’t worry!” 

“Thanks, Videl. I’m counting on you.” Sorey tossed his half-eaten apple at the boy, who caught it gleefully. “Say hi to your mom for me, yeah?” 

“Okay! Bye, Sorey!” Videl took a large bite of the apple and turned around to chase after his friends. 

It wasn’t until Sorey was pulling away that Mikleo realized he hadn’t even thought about trying to pull away himself, which he certainly could have done once the crowd of children had passed. The realization made his face grow even warmer. Sorey’s hand staying between his shoulder blades definitely didn’t help.

“You good?” Sorey asked, taking a half-step forward to see Mikleo’s face. “Still have all your toes?” 

“Ah.” Mikleo cleared his throat. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you.” 

Sorey studied him thoughtfully. The sun was behind him in the sky, silhouetting his messy hair and casting odd shadows across his face, but Mikleo could make out smears of pink across the apples of his cheeks from the heat. He hoped Sorey chalked the redness on his own face up to that, and not to poison recovery or other things. 

The beaming grin that broke out across Sorey’s face surprised him. But really, he shouldn’t have expected otherwise. 

“I believe that evens our score then,” the prince chirped. “Two for you and two for me.” 

“Evens our-?” Mikleo sputtered petulantly. “You did not save my life from a group of children.” 

“And have you ever been bowled over by a bunch of kids on the run before? Because trust me, Mikleo, it is not fun.” 

“Why am I not surprised you got yourself into something like that?” 

“Hey, be nice about it! I had bruises for weeks!” 

They bickered back and forth as they headed down the road again, continuing their walk through the town. There were no more clusters of rambunctious children trying to barrel through them, but Sorey still kept his hand on Mikleo’s upper back, fingers hooked comfortably around his shoulder. And Mikleo let him, telling himself it was because their playful banter was distracting him and nothing more. The magic fizzling beneath his skin made sure to let him know he wasn’t fooling anyone. 

Living in Camlann was absolutely nothing like Mikleo had expected it to be. 

But he was in way too deep to do anything about it now, so he might as well enjoy it. 

[brooklynislandgirl]

Volentine's Wishes

Keni,

I remembered what you said last year, about the small rodent-giving practices. It took some time to gather both information and the rodents, but I did it. Apparently, it is cruel to keep just one of them, which makes sense. This is probably why they are a symbol of love! It is very important that they stay together once in love.

So, I procured two of them. However, two has turned into seven in the time it took me to return with them. They should all be very friendly, at least, I’ve been petting them daily as I was advised. By the time the five babies were born, both parents stopped biting me during these pettings, so it must have worked. They are very friendly now!

I hope they will bring you much happiness and love, as you do me,

-A

~*~  ~*~  ~*~

It wasn’t until she’d reached her quarters that Melakeni Ivers allowed her composure to come apart. She leans back against the door almost the moment before it seals itself into place and takes a deep and shuddering breath, letting the ache flow through every fibre of her body. Her eyes squeeze shut and she rolls the back of her head against the solidness behind her. It is a grief that she’s held onto tightly, until now, where she can set it free. He had been so close. And she hadn’t so much of a glimpse of him before he was gone again.

She is used to having an Anakin-shaped hole living inside of her. She is used to traversing through her day offering comfort and healing to those who are sick and hurt without a second thought, be they Jedi or civilian. Consulting with other healers, the medical droids, the Masters who are terribly good at exhibiting external compassion when very little stirs them within. She is used to running her fingers through the soil of the medicinal herbs, feeling their life thrive in the vibrancy of their leaves, the aroma their oils leave behind that in some ways faintly remind her of a home she has not seen in too many years.  These kinds of days drift by with an ease that blurs and blends them into the back of her mind into a quiet sort of white-noise memory. Those days Anakin’s Presence is simply a close and often soothing companion, the thing that gives her softest smiles their brightness. That keeps the glow of her eyes alive and glimmering even when she is wilting from exhaustion.  There are days when she is accompanying her Master as either a tool or a prop or an extra set of senses, hands and so on. She has never been able to explain once she overcame her fear of the man why it is that he appeals to her so, beyond what is normal through the bonds Jedi and their apprentices. She cannot explain because she doesn’t know what it is, or why it still remains as strong as it does. When she is with him, there is very little time for introspection, and Anakin’s Presence is a buffer against the too much; too much pain, too much heat and awareness and agony. He is the softness that keeps her focused, keeps her thriving.

But ones like today? The ghost of him cannot fill the hole left behind. The abject yearning that claws its way through her until everything feels like it is in tatters and the only remedy is to find herself with arms wrapped around his waist. Breathing him in and assuring herself that he is alive and as whole as he can be, and that harm’s way has not found a way to sink its teeth into him. The want of his lips on her neck as she presses her face into his hair or his chest. There need be nothing wanton about any of it, just the language they speak of and to each other in their own way, that connection and completion they feel with no one else but each other.

When the quiet little sob of grief is finally swallowed down she opens her eyes and squares her shoulders. Straightens her robes and smooths her hair back into place. Reaching out with the Force, she trips the switch of the small lights of her chamber, and feels everything settle around her. Feels she is being... stared at.

The room is not so large that she cannot immediately find what is amiss, not so filled with all the possessions that they are not, by rite and tradition, allowed to have. The pillows have eked by as necessary bedding for frail limbs. The chest to keep her robes and secret things likewise, traded and bartered and smuggled for through illegal channels. The Council does not know that at least three of the grandest cities belong to her city and that she has made use of them in her private hours.

She cannot help but smile to herself. One of these days, she will bring Anakin. A moment later, green like forests, she shakes her head to diminish the daydream that springs up from that particular thought, and she makes her silent barefooted way to where the little enclosure is draped with one of her spare robes. It is the note that finds itself in her hand first. There is no residual warmth on the flimsi of his touch but she can imagine the sweeping strokes of his stylus. She runs a fingertip over the letters and feels the bright bloom of his excitement conveyed within them, as well as the near painful preciseness used to make every letter correct, the verbal equivalent of his wording and cadence. There is a pulse that rushes through her as her nastic responses quicken. She lifts the note to her lips after the seventh read-through. A dozen kisses saved for later.

Each time her giggles come a little louder until they fill the small room with joy. She can imagine what his hand will look like, the nicks and scars from having taken repeated torment to befriend their new little family. She will need to make a salve for it. For now though, she can feel herself humming within on an oscillating frequency normally reserved for more intense moments of Inevitable Doom. Her hands actually shake a little as she reaches out to pull aside her robe. And there within their containment, one peeking out of the doorway of what looks like some clay-moulded bark, is a tiny rodent. All twitchy nosed and sleek mottled fur and those restive dark eyes that had spied her even from across the darkened room. A few investigative sniffs proves her not to be Anakin and there is some hesitation as its little fight-or-flight instinct is engaged, though when she sets the lid aside and drapes her knuckles against the gravel, it eventually comes to see what she is. 

And this is inherently the danger of herbivores, because he does try to make a snack of one of her fingers. Right then. She rises and gathers bits of clover and mint and other greens from the neat little plants kept along shelves of her walls. Ones that she mists morning and night and whispers her truths to, the very ones that Anakin always seems to enjoy visiting, one of the things he likes about her chamber, that brings him a kind of only-slightly-guilty happiness. The little vole makes quick work of most of the meal, then drags away some for his mate, or so she presumes. She will have to research their care and feeding, though it seems that Anakin has, in fact, provided them a lovely little home to the best of his ability. She goes to sit at her desk and pulls out her datapad.

M-D-A The specimens that you have delivered to me are exactly perfect for the research project. They seem satisfied with their current conditions and of course I will keep them under the strictest observation. You have my absolute gratitude for being able to assist me, and you find me in your debt. I would be most glad to share the results of these observations with you upon your return to Galactic City, where I may properly thank you for going out of your way for me, my oldest friend.

I hope your latest mission sees you in good spirits and that the Force keeps you safe. I very much love hearing of your adventures off-world and the holo-net can hardly make up for the personal details your telling of them brings.

I am unaware of having to travel in the near future, so if you should have any need of me in the meantime, I of course will gladly look forward to your messages. Until then, know I wish you health and good cheer. May the Force be with you, always. With deepest respect and admiration, Melakeni

It seems cold and brittle and distant, like starlight on a moonless night. It feels like there is so much left unspoken because that is how it must be, in coded messages and aching spirit.  Anakin understands and she would never trade any of this save for another life where they might be free of constraints put upon them by the Order. Though she does wonder if that would make him happy or if what is now frustration would become something dull and listless, the bound-up denial of his natural compassion and desire to help those that need him most. It is a thing to consider, because as far as she is aware, they must be together as well, or suffer the same kind of separation sickness as the two little rodents tending each other and what she assumes are their five adorable children.

And what does she hope that he sees?

That they are loved already, mostly sight-unseen and bite-unfelt. That through their tiniest little glimmers of presence she feels even more connected to Anakin in his absence. That her message carries all of her love and hopes for him. That he has but to think of her and she will reach out to him across time and space and anything else that dare come between.

With or without the Time of Voles, with or without his physical proximity, there is no one that can occupy the shape of him inside of her.

[drunklander]

Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 502

Watched this episode after winning Wynonna Earp trivia (fuck yeah, The Shit Tickets!) at a bar, put on by a queer af podcast, followed by going to see a queer af movie, and was all ready to get my Beauchamp fix... And it was like oh here’s a taste and a hint that we’re gonna end up in a story line similar to what we’ve already done multiple times, but now on to the menfolk.

For real though, this episode was like an OL greatest hits clip show. It had all the stuff we’ve seen before. A time traveler who wants to go home? Check. Rape PTSD? Check. A man being a dad to a kid who isn’t/might not be his? Check. That same man being the absolute worst? Check. Claire being reckless with future medicine? Check. Townsfolk questioning Claire’s medical knowledge in favor of the local Man of Importance? Check. Jamie trying to be on both sides at once? Check. A villain who seemed to have died the previous season and should have fucking stayed dead? Check.

We’ve literally seen all of this stuff before.

For a show that spent the first part of season two claiming to be a political drama and then last season claiming that they “weren’t political” I see we’re back to just leaning hard into politics that have direct parallels today.

No fucks left to give about the system Murtz is kind of my favorite Murtz. Like this dude spent his whole life living by a code and an oath and was fucked over by the system so many fucking times that he’s ready to just burn it all down. Curious to see how they walk the domestic terrorist vs. freedom fighter line with him for the rest of the season.

Got all excited about the bread title card because yay medicinal mold, but of course, the lead character was relegated to the B story.

Old timey medicine baffles me. Like the fact that bleeding someone was like a catchall remedy boggles the mind.

I feel rull bad for Mrs. Whoeverthefuck though. She tried.

Also, shit like this makes me be like, yo Claire, you sure you wanna stay here? Jamie’s really not all that and a bag of chips. But you do you, boo.

Speaking of Jamie, his hair looks really good. A thousand fruit baskets to the new wig person.

Lulz at Knox thinking the Gathering was about being loyal to king and country. Dummy.

Srsly though, Murtz Valmurtz is really getting under their skin. Is he like the *only* Regulator leader?

The convo between Knox and Jamie is literally as relevant today as it is in the 1770s. But yeah, the show IsN’t PoLiTiCaL.

The fact that fuckers think those at the bottom should be happy with their lot because “lol it could be worse” need to be punched in the face and taken out of power. Stat.

Also any time someone in power talks about civility as a reason not to rise up against injustice, I want to punch them. Because they deserve it.

I want to punch a lot of things.

This whole episode is very Les Mis, tbh.

Literalol at Claire covering dead guy’s face and not his body cavity before Bree comes in.

Aw Bree, why you gotta be a buzzkill? We were cheated of badass Doctor!Claire in S3. Let us have this.

Also, yeah, Claire, Bree’s fucking right. Which you’d think you’d know by now what with alL THE FUCKING TIMES YOU’VE BEEN CALLED A WITCH. AND NOW YOU’RE UPPING YOUR GAME TO LIKE NECROMANCY?!

Also the more she says no one will find out the more annoying it is because *clearly* someone *is* gonna find out and we’re gonna be back on the “she’s a witch!” “I’m not a witch!” “you literally have a dead guy in your closet!” merry-go-round again.

Today in most on-the-nose shots ever: How convenient that Marsali just happens to be doing some butchering right there, right then.

Petition for the show to go full Shondaland and just turn into a backwoods medical drama with Claire and Marsali, and all the others (cough the men cough) can fuck on off.

Tarring and feathering is like the old timey version of #AlwaysPunchAFascist but dialed to 11.

Oh the baggage behind Jamie saying redcoat man will someday wear his scars with honor that none of these fuckers know about...

Ok so clearly the English know that Claire’s a doctor so whenever shit hits the witchy dead dude fan, can we please have a quick resolution and not that dumb af “Claire goes to jail and of course her cellmate is a lesbian because Diana sucks at writing queer characters” nonsense?

Man Jamie is *not* subtle with this convo at the jail. Like Knox is right there and he’s just like hey buddies, I have people and we’re Scottish and y’know how we feel about protecting people vs. obeying the English.

I AM SPARTACUS FITZGIBBONS!

Aaand, naturally, the fuckwit preaching civility is the one to kill a man in cold blood. Rise up, motherfuckers. Rise up.

THANK FUCK ROGER IS A TERRIBLE SHOT BECAUSE IF THAT SQUIRREL DIED I WOULD LEGIT QUIT THE SHOW. RUN AWAY AND BE FREEEEEE YOU PRECIOUS LIL WILDERNESS FLOOFER!

Roger is, and I cannot stress this enough, the fucking worst.

He’s like look how shitty I am at being a soldier but then bitches about having to try to learn. And then he bitches about how dumb it is to shoot at squirrels as if being able to hit a squirrel wouldn’t make hitting a much larger thing, like a man who is shooting back at you, that much easier. And also, how the fuck does he think they get meat to eat? Shooting it, you twatwaffle.

And he’s like so fucking butthurt about being left behind. Like no shit, asshat. You’re bad at being in the past and have made no real effort and you whine a lot and are generally the worst. Of *course* you were left behind. Stop being emo about it and maybe actually try.

“He doesn’t respect me, Bree.” Yeah, no shit. Because you’ve done LITERALLY NOTHING to earn his respect. WHY ARE YOU SO TERRIBLE IT’S LIKE THEY’RE INTENTIONALLY TRYING TO MAKE HIM SUCK.

He also is like butthurt that his wife is a better shot than him when she gets the turkey he misses. How the fuck are we supposed to ship this. Ugh.

#BreeDeservesBetter

Oh Bree, sweetie, Jem won’t get hit by a car, but there are like eleventy million ways to die in the past. Just stick with the “you want to stay with your family” stuff.

Roger clearly doesn’t want to stay and is gonna pull a Fred and make Bree feel bad about wanting to all season, isn’t he. Fahkin’ doucherocket.

“I want to go but I’ll stay for you and look how magnanimous I am as I whine about it and make no effort to acclimate to the time.” Take your martyr card and shove it, Rog.

Shorter Jamie Fraser: “If you stand for nothing, Knox, what’ll you fall for?”

I’m already over Roger singing all the time tbh. Mostly because it reminds me that soon he won’t be able to do that anymore and we’re gonna be subjected to like half a season of him being more insufferable than he already is.

Wait, was Joan already born last episode? Or was there another time jump? Is Marsali preggers with baby #3? I lost track.

I love this scene between Claire and Marsali with my whole heart. Marsali especially.

CAN WE PLEASE JUST HAVE A WHOLE SHOW OF THESE TWO BEING ALL BADASS AND DOCTORY TOGETHER!?

Although, quick question, how fucking long is Claire planning to keep that un-embalmed body lying around in an un-refrigerated surgery/root cellar? Just curious...

Because you know someone’s gonna find it eventually and that’s gonna be a whole to do and I really need to stop being preemptively annoyed at plot lines that haven’t actually happened yet.

And with all this talk of plowshares and swords, I really am going to be singing Les Mis for days...

How long have these biddies been living on the Ridge? The fucking Leoch folks spent like a minute with Claire before they were like yep, she knows what’s up. These folks have apparently been here for months and are like loool, pass. They live in the fucking woods. You’d think they’d be more open to Claire’s brand of medicine.

Omg are they like the accidental antivaxxers of the Ridge?

#VaccinateYourFuckingKids

I mean, Bree, I think there’s some difference between Claire pretending to be a dude doc and telling folks to wash their hands and Otter Tooth.

Season 2 Claire and Otter Tooth on the other hand...

Ok so Jamie needs more men so that means next week is AHS: Beardsley Farm and then maybe (hopefully) instead of being like lol jk you can all go home, it actually goes right into the battle thing. Still not sure if they’re gonna do Roger getting hanged as the mid-season big thingy and then do the Bonnet nonsense in the back half or keep trying to do both of those at once.

Hey, Roger, pro-tip, next time you see Morag MacKenzie, maybe don’t fuCKING MAKE OUT WITH HER YOU FUCKING DUMBASS.

Claire’s totally right about how they should go back. Honestly, they should. But instead of talking with her like Claire is now with Roger, he’s just being all moody about how he’s bad at the past and wants to go back. You’re shooting yourself in the foot, broski.

Oh hey Husband the Quaker. And is that a fellow Quaker named Hunter with him? Are we gonna get Denny and Rachel this season?! Please and thank you that’d be great, I love them.

Murtz talking to his squad is full on Enjolras being like don’t worry fam, Marius will stand and fight with us. His place is there, he’ll fight with you.

The two very different but very similar ways Murtz and Jamie approach being Laird of their squads is fun to explore.

Bree lecturing Claire about changing the future by saving a few backwater hicks like Claire didn’t spend years trying to fucking change all of Scottish history is a bit rich. Like writers, we get it, you’re trying to be like oh snap, wait for the consequences of this bread!science! But like come the fuck on. We sat through all of season two.

“You’re a good dad, you know that?” Oh man, I’m getting that déjà vu about a shitty man getting kudos for being a good dad to a kid as if that negates all of his shittiness.

Oh hey, Bonnet’s back. Clearly we couldn’t have just let him die last season. Gotta drag shit on for longer than it has to. This is the [Outlander] Way.

If they were gonna keep him around as a villain, they shouldn’t have (in addition to all the other reasons) included him raping Bree. Jamie, Murtagh and Bonnet all making choices within and outside of the law to various degrees in order to make their living in the Colonies would be a really interesting contrast. But nope, gotta just go all in. BeCaUsE tHe BoOk.

Also I hate with the passion of a thousand fiery suns the Jemmy’s paternity stuff. Le sigh.

Remember in season one when the show was about Claire and she was in episodes for longer than 10 minutes?

I miss Claire.