#she liked to knock the thermometer off the glass and hide it

[tagerrkix]

Eden was their ✨disney princess era✨

[shinygoldstar]

Midnight Snack

DannyMay Day 11: Midnight

(Also DannyMay Shadow, Scars, Power, Nature, Seasons, Teeth can you find them all?)

Word Count: 2271 (not beta’d. experimental writing)

Warning: mentions of ghost cannibalism, nothing explicit

@floralflowerpower ​ – for that ghost cannibalism post

(it’s 1 am so i’m gonna sleep now. might post on AO3 later)

Edit: AO3 Added!

.

It was mid-October. The leaves are starting to turn yellow heralding the approaching autumn. Danny was happy because that meant the unusually hot weather is almost over. It wasn’t that he’s melting from the heat- quite the opposite, he’s probably the only person in Amity that isn’t sweltering under the sun with his cold core. But due to this exact same reason, his cooler body temperature also drew in water vapor which condenses on his skin, pooling into beads of water dripping down his shirt, making him appear extra sweaty. He can’t wait for the temperature to be cool enough to not change clothes every few hours. Good thing his clothes are purchased by the dozen; no one really noticed him wearing new sets of clothes throughout the day.

.

It was the contaminated fridge foods that disappeared first. No one missed them. At least until they can’t find the mutated turkeys for their annual Thanksgiving hunting event.

.

Danny yawned as he and his friends entered Fenton Works. Autumn is comfy. Just the right temperature where he can wear loose clothing and not be stared at for being underdressed for the weather. No ‘sweating’ either. His mouth closed with a click, a bit too fast on his new fangs. Danny winced. The fangs seemed to have grown longer overnight again. At this rate Danny won’t be able to pass them off as normal pointy canine teeth for much longer. It didn’t hurt but the itch is annoying. Danny took a detour to the fridge, grabbing an ice cube from the freezer and popped it into his mouth, absentmindedly chewing on the cubes to take the edge off the itch as they walked down to the basement lab. His parents are at a paranormal convention at a nearby city and won’t be back until tomorrow. Danny and his friends gladly took the opportunity to do their ‘Danny’s quarterly fitness test’.

Danny flipped on the light switch and walked to the center of the lab, transforming into his ghost form. “Okay I’m ready. What’s first on the list?”

Tucker dropped his bag and took out a piece of notebook paper, “Okay, first we gotta do the baseline measurements. Height, weight, temperature, and the ecto reading.” Sam dug through her sports bag, pulling out the measurement tape. She held it against Danny, eyes scanning the tape measurement numbers. “Still the same height.”

Tucker nodded, noting down the measurement in Danny’s health notebook. “Next, weight.” Danny stood over the scale. “Yup, still the same weight too.”  

.

Then it was the ecto-samples that Jack misplaced in the kitchen fridge. Jack warned everyone a few days later (everyone knows to avoid glowing food on normal basis so the delayed warning is mostly just courtesy), but no one could find where it went and assumed it grew legs to join the other tiny ecto-samples lurking as their equivalent of household pests. (No matter how often Maddie tried to patch up the mouse hole it keeps reappearing in the same shape but in a different part of the house as if the original mouse hole got transplanted from its original location)

.

“Lunch Lady’s right. You need to eat more. You’re still as skinny as ever.” Sam remarked as Danny took the thermometer out of his mouth. “76 F. The ghosts keep attacking me all day and night. You’d think my parents would notice when a ghost sneaks pass them while they work in the lab but I triggered all their ghost alarms just by being in the house so they deactivated the system when I’m around. They must’ve kept it turned off during the day too.”

“Tough luck dude. Ecto scan next.” Tucker passed the scanner to Sam while Danny stood still for her to scan. The machine beeped, “Wow 6.8, that’s quite a jump from last quarter’s 5.1”

“Maybe it was from all the ghost fighting I did over the summer?”

.

As the leaves began to fall from the branches, ghost attacks lessened in frequency. Not looking the gift horse in the mouth Danny happily enjoyed the lack of ghost attacks to focus more on his studies. If he did well enough, he might even get Bs for his efforts. He also managed to avoid getting detention for the entire week much to the relief of everyone involved.

.

Two days before Thanksgiving, the Fentons finally remembered their turkeys. But by then it was gone. In a rush, they quickly purchased a pre-made turkey instead. While Danny enjoyed the fact that they’re having a normal family dinner for once, he can’t help but feel like there’s something off about the chicken. As if it’s missing a particular tangy or zingy flavor that would’ve made it richer in flavor. ‘Must’ve been because it’s overcooked.’

.

"Honey? Have you seen the new ecto-samples I placed in the basement lab fridge?" “Again Jack? This is the third time this month. Have you checked the upstairs fridge?” “I-ah was pretty sure I placed them in the correct fridge this time. Must be some no-good thievin’ ghost.�� “I’ll set up the ecto-anti-theft, that’ll get ‘em good! No ghost can escape Jack Fenton for long!”

.

*Intruder Alert* *Intruder Alert*

Red lights peppered with robotic voice and alarm noises lurched Maddie into full alert mode. She quickly took stock of her surroundings and tried to wake Jack up. But Jack had his earplugs on and continued to snore blissfully. A loud knock on the door caught her attention. “What’s going on mom?” Jazz’s voice floated through the door. Maddie quickly rose to open the bedroom door, swiftly pulled Jazz in and locked the door. “Jazz dear, try to wake your dad up. I’ll go check on the intruder.” Maddie strode quietly to the door then paused, “Have you checked on Danny?” Jazz bit her lips and looked away for a moment “-ah yeah! Danny’s snoring so loud he can’t hear the alarm.” Maddie twisted the doorknob but paused, hesitating. “He’s fine mom.” Jazz reassures her. “If Danny wakes up, he’ll come here first. I’ll let him know what’s going on.”

The alarm rang loudly in her ears as she walked down the stairs to the basement lab, its loud ringing noise effectively covering up the sound of her footsteps. Reaching the basement floor, Maddie quickly crept over to hide behind the shelf on her left, eyes scanning the lab for the intruder.

The glass jars clinked as a shadow moved about the fridge. A very familiar shadow. That didn’t glow. Maddie turned on the lab lights. “Danny?” she started, carefully walking over to face him, her eyes still scanning him to check if he’s really her Danny. The faint, barely noticeable scar on his eyebrow from his attempt to fly off the tree when he was five is there confirming his identity.

“What are you doing down here-?” Maddie noticed the glowing jar in his hand, “and what exactly are you doing?” Danny hazily stared at her; eyes half-lidded. Maddie snapped her fingers to get his attention. Danny didn’t blink. “He's still not awake, Danny come on wake up!”, she shook his shoulders. “Huh? Wuzzat?” Danny groggily woke up. He blinked in confusion.

Finally aware of his surroundings, Danny looked down at his right hand that still held the glowing sample. “Aah!” Danny yelped dropping the sample, then realizing he dropped the sample, tries to catch the jar, fumbling clumsily. Maddie would’ve laughed if it was anywhere else but in this situation. “Danny, do you remember what you were doing?”

“I was doing my homework and was craving for a good cheeseburger?”

---

“And the half-opened jar of ectoplasm?”

“Pickles?”

---

“Dude are you for real? That was priceless!” Tucker crowed with laughter. Sam leaned away from Tucker to avoid the meat spittle, “Urgh! Gross Tucker! Swallow it before you speak!”

Danny grumbled into his glass of milkshake, “’s not funny Tuck. you didn't see her face. She was about ready to scan me for signs of ecto-possession. Good thing my lie about craving cheeseburger and opening the wrong fridge worked. Otherwise I’d be in big trouble if she scanned me now with my latest ecto-reading. Anyways I'm banned from the lab now.” Danny bit into his burger.

“So what really happened there dude? Did you seriously sleepwalk into the basement lab?”

“I think so? I don’t really remember anything before Mom found me in the lab. Only that I was feeling a bit hungry.”

.

The ghosts stopped coming. Everyone in Amity held their breath when there were no ghost attacks for two weeks straight, then a month. Then two months, three. No ghosts. They let out their collective breath. It might be too soon to hope but for now they will enjoy their ghost-free, perfectly ordinary life. It feels a bit strange to not have ghost related interruptions as part of their daily routine but they didn’t miss the ghost-related reconstruction expenses. The local insurance company employees received a nice bonus for the ghost-free month.

.

By the time March rolled in, Danny is restless. “Guys, there's definitely something big going on.”, he waved his hands for emphasis. “The Fenton portal is still open yet no ghost came through? Not even Boxy since the North District warehouse thing last month. There’s definitely something big going on. I've been taking the ghost-free break for granted for a while now and it helped save my grades but this is too big to ignore.”

“Dude, maybe it’s because you’re much more powerful now? Your latest reading last week is 8.2. None of the ghosts we’ve met so far is above 6 except for Vlad and the Ghost King.” Tucker suggested.

“You might have a point there, Tucker. We haven’t seen any of the ghosts bothering Vlad so far and he’s definitely higher than 6.” Sam added.

Danny frowned, “Maybe you’re right but I just have this nagging feeling that that’s not quite it.”

.

Danny entered the Zone with little fanfare. The area around the Fenton portal looked normal enough, the usual rocks and clouds of debris are still floating around in their usual areas. Danny aimlessly passed through the nooks and crannies, ducking under the endless spiral staircase, not entirely sure of what to look for. The Zone felt a bit quiet today but Danny haven’t been to the Zone that frequently to be certain about it.

.

The Ghost Zone, while still filled with random bits of odds and ends felt empty somehow. It wasn't until he sighted Skulker that he realized he hasn't seen any of the tiny blog ghosts nor the occasional passerby ghosts through his trip.

.

Luckily or unluckily, Danny quickly spotted someone he knew in the distance. As if called, Skulker turned his head towards Danny, then veered sharply to the left and flew fast in Danny's opposite direction, a first for the self-proclaimed hunter to not hunt his favorite prey. ‘Something's not right and Skulker definitely knows something.’ Danny thought.

Danny quickly chased after him; Skulker could never beat Danny at speed chase even at his best, and he won't be winning today's unplanned race either. “Hey Skulker! What’s going on?” Danny yelled over the gap between them but Skulker gave no reply, diving down deep into the reddish forest ravines of the island below. Not to be deterred, Danny did a quick aerial flip, adjusting his flight angle to follow down Skulker’s path. Danny soon caught up to Skulker and launched him into a nearby rock with sticky ectoplasm to hold him still long enough to talk. Skulker ejected from his metal suit but Danny was faster and caught the real ghost before he can escape.

.

(Why is Skulker fleeing?)

.

"Hey Skulker, not hunting me for once?" Danny asked teasingly.

Skulker paled (Danny never knew ghosts can turn pale) and squirmed even more. Danny's smile dropped.

"What’s going on Skulker?" he asked worriedly. “None of the ghosts have appeared in the human world and the Zone looks empty somehow”

Skulker squirmed a bit more but realizing he’s stuck finally said, “Ghost Child, haven’t you ever wondered why the Infinite Realms is never overcrowded?”

Danny frowned, puzzled as to where this leads to. “How is this related to this situation?” Skulker stared at Danny stunned.

“What?” Danny asked, suddenly self-conscious, “-was there something I was supposed to know about?”

Skulker sighed, unconsciously loosening a bit of his tension, “You’re so young. So very young. We Ghosts don’t fade as fast as Newcomers arrive from your world. In the Realms, there's a natural system that keeps the population under control. An ecosystem. There's predator and there's prey. And then there's the Apex Predator. There's a reason why Dark was feared. It wasn't just for his harsh rule. It was because he was the Apex Predator.”

Danny struck at the odd wording, "’Was’? Was that because he got sealed?” Danny paused, “But wait- if he's sealed, he would still be the Apex predator. So how-? Wait. Did I?"

Skulker nodded, "Good you're catching on fast. By defeating Pariah Dark, you have proven to the Realms that you're the best candidate for the Apex Predator. And with the new status comes sets of conducts, one your body instincts know well. You've been culling down the uncontrolled excess from Pariah Dark's sleep quite fast. Your hunger would settle down soon of course once balance has been re-established in the Realms."

“But- How- Wait- What-?” Danny looked down at his hand “Hey Skulker--!” but his hand is bare.

.

Danny’s lips tasted oddly tangy, energized.  

.

.

.

-----

(Skulker might've slipped out of Danny's slack hand while Danny is in shock. Danny might've bit his lips hard enough to bleed. It's not that hard with his new fangs. But this is just speculation...)

[roberttchase]

Fluffy - comfort for brettsey 🥰

This...got away from me a bit. I didn't mean for it to get long, but I'm a big comfort fan. This is set late season 8, when the pining was intense. Enjoy 2k of sick, soft Matt and overly worried Sylvie.

“Has anyone seen Casey?”

Herrmann shakes his head from where he’s talking to Mouch about an idea for Molly’s. When Sylvie gets a head shake from both Ritter and Gallo, she sighs, not sure what else to do. She’s looked everywhere- his office, Severide’s office, the locker room, his rig, the common room. He’s nowhere to be found. Grabbing water from the fridge, the paramedic huffs and heads back to the bunk room, when she collides with Stella in the doorway.

“Woah! What’s up?”

Looking up, the blonde meets her best friend's eyes. “Have you seen Matt anywhere?”

Stella cocks an eyebrow and tilts her head a bit, a smug look overtaking her features.

“What?”

“Nothin’ just...I may have seen Matt somewhere,” her tone is teasing, and Sylvie wrinkles her nose at how foreign it sounds for the firefighter to say the mans first name.

“If you have something you want to say…” Sylvie inclines her head towards the other woman, who smirks.

“Nope,” Stella pops the end of the word, then rolls her eyes. “Last I saw, Casey was heading towards the turnout room to see what jackets needed to be ordered.”

“Thank you.” Sylvie turns before she can get another word in about her and Matt, and heads out to the apparatus floor. Moving past the squad table, she half heads Tony and Capp talking about some movie, but her head is mostly focused on finding the Captain, wanting to tell him about the good phone call she’d had with Amelia and Scott the night prior. Taking a left into the turnout room, she pauses when she sees the person she’s been searching for.

Matt’s leaning against the wall, clipboard loosely in his hand, head tilted back, eyes shut. He looks tired, like he’s purposely chosen this room to be in so the chaos of the rest of the firehouse can’t touch him. She debates on turning and leaving, letting him have some time alone that he clearly needs, but then she’s brought back from her thoughts when Matt makes a noise.

“Hey, sorry. Got lost in thought. Fancy meeting you here.” Though he smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes like usual, and Sylvie’s already letting her eyes sweep over him, checking to make sure he hasn’t hurt himself.

“It’s okay, I can go and let you have some alone time.” She says it lightly, as if to be joking, but she’s serious. She doesn’t want to keep him if he needs to decompress- they’ve all been there- even if she hasn’t heard of any bad calls for truck today.

“No, it’s fine, like I said, lost in thought,” he clears his throat and stands up straighter. Sylvie swears she can almost physically see him put on his Captain persona. She hates it, hates that he can’t just be himself, even if she does understand it. She’s the paramedic in charge, which means she’s responsible for her and Foster. Matt’s responsible for the whole house.

Taking a breath in, Sylvie’s about to start telling him how her phone call went,  but she’s cut off when Matt coughs. The firefighter ducks his head away and into his arm, letting the coughs come as quietly as it sounds he can manage, finally straightening back up and clearing his throat again.

“I’m sorry.” He’s blushing, Sylvie notices, which is kind of adorable.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You know you can talk to me Matt.” She reaches her hand out and puts it on his shoulder, their eyes meeting. She tries again. “What’s going on?”

Matt hesitates, swallowing, and then rubs at the back of his neck, avoiding her gaze, eyes snapping down. “I’m just….I don’t….” She gives him a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder as he tries to explain. “I didn’t really sleep well last night. Guess it’s just catching up to me is all. Don’t feel all that great. But it’s fine.”

Oh. Without thinking, she moves closer, her hand moving from his shoulder upwards, palm gently connecting with his forehead. It’s warmer than it should be. Frowning, she notices his eyes have shut at the contact, and he looks younger. Matt’s eyes flutter back open when she moves her hand.

“Come on…” Sylvie jerks her head towards the door, walking through it, knowing Matt will follow. Sure enough, he does, even if he looks confused as he trails after her and into the ambo when she opens the back doors. “Sit.”

She almost laughs when he sits on the bench to the side immediately. Turning, the paramedic rummages through one drawer, and then another until she finds the small, white, plastic instrument. “Put this under your tongue.”

“Bossy...Sylvie, this is silly, I’m f-“

“If you say you’re fine, Matt Casey…” she trails off and lowers her stare at him. Slowly, he takes the thermometer she’s holding out of him, a little plastic cover on the tip, and guides it under his tongue. As they wait, Sylvie’s struck with how young and vulnerable he looks. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him sick before, or if she has, it’s been when he’s hiding it.

After another fourteen quiet seconds, the shrill repetitive beep sounds, and Matt takes it out, glancing at it. His shoulders sag and he lets out a breath, and it’s all the confirmation she needs to know he’s got a fever. Taking it, she looks at the little screen that’s lit up red, the numbers ‘100.5’ flashing.

“Matt.” She knows he must feel bad. Keeping her voice low, she hesitantly reaches out and brushes some hair away from his forehead. The atmosphere around them is suddenly, intensely intimate. She finds that she doesn’t mind, that it doesn’t bother her. “I’ll tell Bo-“

“No! No, I’m...I can do my job just fine Sylvie. It’s barely anything, really. I’ll be alright.”

The look Matt’s giving her makes her nod, but then she levels him with her own. “Fine. But I’m checking your temp every hour. If it hits 101 I’m telling him. That’s putting yourself and your team at risk.” She knows he wants to argue, so she goes for the low blow. Her hand is resting on his arm now, but she has no intention of moving it. If she’s honest, she has no intention of ever breaking this spell cast around them, but, as if the universe wants to tease her, the alarm goes off for ambo and squad. Of course.

“Be safe out there,” Matt says with a genuine smile this time, getting out of the rig slower than usual, as if his body aches. She’s sure it does, even if he won’t admit to it. She moves to the front, and just barely catches the look Foster gives the Captain as she jumps in. Watching the rear view mirror, she sees Matt slip into the firehouse, unnoticed with all the commotion. Maybe he’ll get some rest.

Sylvie fully intends to bring Matt back a smoothie, but while they’re on the way to the coffee shop that has the best ones in Chicago, they’re called to another company's scene to help transport another victim. By the time they’re leaving Med it’s close to ten at night, both she and Foster are tired, and the idea to bring back a smoothie isn’t even in her mind anymore.

They get back to an empty firehouse. Sylvie wonders how long they’ve been out, and after checking with one of the temps in the bullpen, it sounds like they’ve been gone a while. She hopes it’s not a bad fire, though she’s sure if it was they’d have heard about it by now over the radio or from main. Starving, the paramedic goes to root around in the fridge, but when she opens the door, she sees two covered plates with a little sticky note on top.

Saved for Brett and Foster. DO NOT TOUCH.

It’s written in Matt’s neat but scribbled handwriting, and it makes her body feel warm. Even when he’s not feeling well he’s looking out for her. As she heats the plates up, Sylvie hears the apparatus bay doors slide up, and the missing rigs park back in place. Minutes later everyone is bustling in looking exhausted.

“Bad?” Emily asks as Stella drops herself into a chair next to them at the table. When the firefighter only grunts, they both wince sympathetically.

“Not bad, but we had two back to back calls. Even if they weren’t bad, it was just…a lot.”

Matt walks in and heads straight for the bunk room, not acknowledging anyone. Sylvie watches him go, playing with her watch anxiously. Stella shrugs when they make eye contact, as if to say she doesn’t know what’s going on either. Deciding to take action, she excuses herself and grabs her plate, ignoring the looks from her friends. The paramedic follows the same path the man had, but when she gets to his quarters, she sees the door is shut, and the blinds are drawn. Worry pools in her stomach.

Quietly, Sylvie knocks, knuckles hitting glass. When she’s been standing there for almost fifteen seconds, the blonde starts to turn to leave when the door opens, revealing a disheveled Matthew Casey. His skin is just slightly paler than normal, dark circles under his eyes becoming more visible. What stands out to her is the way he’s got his right hand’s fingers pressed gingerly against where she knows his lymph node would be on his neck.

“Hi...you can come in, sorry. I just don’t have the mental capacity to deal with Severide right now.” His voice is just shy of raspy, though that could be from having to call the shots at the scenes.

Stepping inside, Sylvie sits on the mans bunk, then pats the small open area next to her, hoping to coax him onto it, and eventually get him to lay down and rest. “How’re you feeling?”

Matt freezes, then shrugs. “Like I have some silly little bug that you’re getting too worried over,” he decides, looking at her pointedly. Setting her plate in her lap, she mirrors the same gesture she had done earlier, hand going to the firefighters forehead again.

“You feel warmer. Why don’t you get some rest. You can do paperwork later, you need to get some energy back up if there’s another call,” Sylvie tries to reason with him. It’s a testament to how he must be feeling that Matt just nods. She’s about to move when he puts a hand out on her knee.

“Will you stay? Just for a little while.”

Her first instinct is to pull him into a hug and hold him close. Instead, she nods and smiles. “Mind if I eat while I’m here?”

“Of course not…” Matt shifts so that he’s lying on the bed instead of sitting. The space makes Sylvie move too, sitting next to Matt, propped against the back wall. Eating with her right hand, she reaches out her left and plays with Matt’s hair hesitantly. She pauses when he looks at her.

“No, no...you can keep...it feels nice.” The pink on his cheeks increases tenfold, and Sylvie wishes she could take a photo. Instead of responding, she merely continues the motion, and soon Matt’s asleep head falling to her shoulder.

Looking down, she tries to memorize how he looks, so young and at ease, sleep allowing him to get away from the heaviness of being a Captain. The urge to kiss his hairline is strong, but instead she continues to play with his hair, mind wandering and imagining what it would be like to get to take care of him every day, call him hers. There are worse ways to spend shift.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Have you ever gone into the full list of reasons why the show failed as bad as it did?

I’m not sure, but I can give it a shot.

Short answer: The show doesn’t have enough budget for a live-action sci fi epic that requires exotic animals and several wildly inhuman aliens.  Its attempts to get around the budget constraints are often not ideal.

Long answer: 

Far and away the biggest problem is the limited budget, but there’s a second almost-as-large problem with the showrunners not knowing how to work within a limited budget to create an action-adventure show.

As an example, AniTV episode “The Forgotten” (S1E13) adapts the Rachel-gets-amnesia plot line from Megamorphs 1.  It has approximately similar beats – Rachel hits her head in bird morph, demorphs partway while still concussed, wanders around the woods for a while with no idea who or what she is, encounters an ex-host who mistakes her for a controller, and eventually gets found by her friends — but on a severely limited budget that precludes grizzly bears or sentient tornadoes.

However, the way that the show conveys the tension of Rachel being lost in the woods is to have her... run and then trip over a tree root.  And then to play the footage of her falling on her butt in slow motion with dramatic percussion music.  And then she gets up, runs some more, and trips over a different tree root.  This doesn’t appear to be a way of conveying that she’s going in circles (although she is, judging by the way they keep filming the same stretch of woods from different angles) or that she’s dizzy from the concussion.  It appears to be a way to try and get tension and excitement out of a character being lost in the woods.

Eventually Rachel stumbles on Fran (the ex-host who lives in the woods) and has a whole debate with Fran about whether either one of them is a controller.  The scene has a decent degree of tension, as all they have to do to amp up the creepiness factor is have Fran wave around a yeerk in a jar and rant about a conspiracy that sounds crazy to Rachel but scary to the audiencey.  This scene works.  Draw this scene out.

Only pretty soon Rachel breaks out of Fran’s house and is back to... running through the woods and tripping over roots.  Again.

After several other close encounters with inconveniently-placed tree parts, Rachel then stumbles onto a camp of helpful volunteers — yay, she’s saved!  The dramatic irony immediately kicks back in when the audience realizes that the volunteers are from The Sharing.,  But Rachel herself has no idea that she shouldn’t let that nice man put that thermometer in her ear.  Again, the scene works and it’s relatively low-budget — it requires six or seven extras, a handful of inexpensive props, and dramatic percussion music to let us know something bad is happening.

But wait, Jake and Marco are here!  Crouching behind a tree, in clear view of every single one of the controllers, because we can see them in the same camera angle.  Nonetheless, Jake and Marco save the day by... turning into dogs and barking, which causes all the controllers to leave, which means they can go get Rachel because the controllers just left her there.

So there are two interlinked problems, as I said: the limited budget, and the show runners’ inability to work within a limited budget.

The limited budget is part of the reason that Rachel has to spend so much time alone.  They can’t afford to have a lot of extras or props, so they can’t afford to do a scene with her running onto the highway or one with her breaking into an abandoned house.  Much less have her turn into an elephant and get hit by a truck.  However, there are more interesting ways to get across that she’s lost and confused that don’t rely on — dun dun dun duuunn — tree roots!  Have her repeatedly attempt to morph partway, only to get grossed out and stop.  Have her attempt to converse with a real bird because she was herself a bird when she woke up.  Let her figure out she’s walking in circles.  There are possibilities.

Same principle applies to Rachel’s actual crash.  She doesn’t get mobbed by jays in an eagle morph, because no way that’d fit into the budget; she just turns into a hawk identical to the one that plays Tobias and then... flies straight into a tree.  The budget’s the reason there can’t be jays, but surely there was a better way to have her hurt than for her to just smash into a tree for no reason.  (Maybe all those roots from the rest of the episode are the trees’ revenge?)  Have her lose control of the morph because it’s new.  Have her be in a rush because she needs to get to gymnastics camp.  Have her get knocked off-course by sudden wind.  Find a way to explain the scene better using voiceover, even if the footage itself is necessarily limited.

Fran is cool.  Keep her on screen for longer, even if you can’t afford to burn her house down.

Same goes for the Sharing controllers.  “Aliens mimic humans” is the oldest sci fi movie trick in the book, for a reason.  All you have to do to convey that the human-controllers are scary enemies is to pay your actors to act like aliens.  What do aliens act like?  Whatever the hell you want, as long as it gets the point across.  Heck, if you need to save money on extras, have Tom be the one who finds Rachel.  It works in-universe: “I’m your cousin, so you can trust me!”  It’d use a guest star who’s already trained in the part.  It’d amp up the dramatic irony because the audience already knows he’s not trustworthy.  Heck, let Christopher Ralph play a controller in a giant red wig and glasses while you’re at it — goodness knows he’s wasted on providing voiceover for hawk footage the whole time.  But either way, let that scene play out for longer.

And for love of Toomin let Jake and Marco be better at hiding.  Half the episodes of the show have scenes with these two crouched partway behind waist-high and/or foot-thick barriers with large parts of their body clearly visible, watching controllers who stand less than five feet away and somehow don’t notice them.  I understand that you can’t have them morph most of the time, but work with what you’ve got a little better than that.  It cannot cost all that much money to have a sequence where a controller looks over suddenly, only to have the camera angle show us that nothing of Jake’s and Marco’s position is visible from the controllers’ perspective.  Instead we get footage of the controllers talking where Jake and Marco (always those two for some reason) are clearly visible onscreen, less than 10 feet away.  Heck, you could also toss some plastic spiders on the ground and add a voiceover of Jake and Marco thought-speaking.

Anyway, that episode is a microcosm of the whole show.  

Problem: the show can only afford to use domestic animals (cat, dog, lizard, rat) in most episodes.  Workaround: have The Gardens simply not exist in this universe and necessitate the kids needing to work with limited DNA they can find at home.  What actually happens: the show does a big reveal for Jake’s tiger and Rachel’s lion and Marco’s wolf... only to have those go unused in 95% of future battles, making the kids look careless and terrible at tactical planning.

Problem: the hawk can’t act.  Workaround: have Tobias get his morphing power back a lot sooner in the show.  What actually happens: Tobias just isn’t there most of the time in Season 1.

Problem: there’s no budget for battle sequences.  Workaround: focus on the atmospheric horror instead.  What actually happens: stock footage of a tiger gets intermixed with Richard Sali (who plays Chapman) doing his best to react to a nonexistant tiger, and all conflicts resolve themselves with the controllers running away the moment the kids start to morph.

So on and so forth.  There are other issues with the show — including some seriously unfortunate decisions about ethics and some cringe-inducing gender roles — but “can’t work within the limits of our budget” is at the root of most of the biggest problems.

[sometimesiwrite]

Sick of This

 A/N: Modern AU inspired by a random piece of dialogue from TW2 (Roche’s Path) in Vergen when Geralt and Zoltan speak with Yarpen and Burdon (I think). We hear a story about how Geralt took care of Triss while they were travelling together and she had a horrendous illness. I’m working with hybrids of these characters, but primarily drawing on game dynamics with a bit of book influence for Yennefer and some Netflix influence for Triss. 

Summary: Geralt and Yennefer are in town for a an important political dinner when Geralt learns that their friend, Triss is down for the count with a terrible stomach flu. With some time to spare, he visits her, intending to stay a short while, but her condition worsens to the point where Geralt feels he can’t leave. Internal and inter-personal conflict arises as Geralt vies to skip dinner in favour of caring for a friend in need. tl;dr: Going through a relationship rough-patch (again) and realizing you might have feelings for a close friend makes for a difficult night.

Characters/pairings: Geralt x Triss; Geralt x Yennefer; Yennefer x Istrid; Jaskier

Warnings: Infidelity, verbal abuse/toxic partnership, detailed descriptions of vomiting/severe nausea/stomach pain.

MASTERLIST

Triss looked down at the illuminated screen of her phone: “In town for a few days,” the text read. “Long story. Yen has a work thing. Anyway, let me know if you want to grab a drink.” The number didn’t belong to a name in her contacts—but then again, Geralt’s number never did. Every few months, he’d get a new pay-as-you-go so that old clients wouldn’t try to contract him under the table. It only took two calls from the same tight-assed, penny-pinching hypocrites who’d tried to low-ball him on his first case to make him realize an ever-changing phone number was a good idea. So: burner phones. As a nice added bonus, it made it harder for the Redanian Secret Service to keep tabs on him which meant a little more… investigative freedom when push came to shove. The few people he ever contacted regularly—Triss, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert, Jaskier (Vesemir didn’t text)—never bothered putting his number in their contacts. By the time they got around to updating his number, he was changing it within a few weeks anyway. Besides, he insisted it was safer for all of them if they didn’t have his name in their phones in the first place. By now, everyone knew that if they got a text from an unknown number, there was a 99.9% chance it was Geralt. 

The toilet gurgled as Triss returned to the sofa with a groan, scrunching her knees up against the pain in her stomach. She checked her phone again: “Only if you’re free, I know Foltest keeps you pretty busy…” She rolled her eyes and replied, “Thanks, Ger. Ordinarily, I could use one right about now, but I’m feeling pretty sick. Think I should stay home </3” She smiled weakly as the text fwiipped its way up the screen. Too bad she was laid up. Would’ve been nice to see him. Her friends always said he was too grumpy and moody to be any fun, but Triss always thought of him as being quite mellow and calming to be around. He never imposed expectations on their time together, unlike her other friends who were always scheming, gossiping, or bitching about their bosses. Just easy conversation and a few good laughs as they caught up on the past few months or years or however long it had been since they last saw each other. 

She checked her phone again and fired off a few brief “not today, babes, sorry, I’m just so sick” texts before her mouth started watering again and she headed into the bathroom: a routine by this point. A few girlfriends had offered to keep her company with rom coms and ginger tea, but she was already feeling so exhausted and it was only 1pm. Besides, Triss wasn’t sure she was prepared for anyone other than her cat (who was hiding under the bed) to see her like this: tawny cheeks flushed with fever, tight brown curls haphazardly bunned on top of her head in a pragmatic attempt to keep them out of the toilet and away from her face, frizzy ringlets falling loose down the back of her neck… and she was acutely aware that she smelled of sickness. Her body’s best attempt to rebalance itself meant that her underarms would overpower even her best deodorant. IF, that is, she cared enough to put any on which she Did Not. She was also, like any sensible woman in her current state, not wearing a bra. 

Nope. Today was a day of horrendousness. Her phone pinged. “You need anything?” 

“A new body might be nice. If you happen to see one that would suit me… 😝” 

The fwoop! came in before her screen went dark: “LOL, I’ll see what I can find. Any preferences?” 

Triss smiled despite the pain in her stomach. “Hmmm I did always want to be a physiotherapist. Oooh! Or a gymnast!” Fwiip!

Fwoop! “Still at your same place? I can send it by courrier. Should get there before 3:00”

Triss was trying hard to come up with a witty enough comeback, but her head was starting to ache. Hmmm. Yes, body, I would love to hydrate you, but you keep rejecting everything I put inside you. “Ugh,” she groaned again and made her way to the toilet. When she got back a few fruitless minutes later, she checked her phone again. Nothing. She just replied, “Thanks, Ger. BRB, going to go die now. When the courier gets here, just tell him to transfer my soul into the new body. I’ll leave it under the Welcome mat.” The TV flipped on as its owner began the endless Netflix Scroll of Indecision. She finally settled on Blue Planet for the 50th time hoping that slow-moving sea blobs would be soothing in some way. 

It didn’t. Another excruciating hour of bathroom visits every ten-to-fifteen-minutes had her googling ‘pressure points to relieve nausea’ by 2:30. She had just pinched a spot on her wrist between her thumb and forefinger when she heard a soft knock on her door. “Ugh, no, GO AWAY! LEAVE ME TO DIE IN PEACE!” she called out from her nest on the sofa. It was too late. The she heard the door brush against the spongy beige carpet as someone poked their head inside, “Triss?” It was Geralt.  

“Oh gods, no, Geralt, stay back, save yourself!”

He gave a low chuckle and Triss already felt a little better. How does he always manage to do that?  “I don’t have a new body for you, but I might have the next best thing. Permission to enter?” 

Triss let out a rueful groan, “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She heard him step in quietly and toe off his shoes as the door closed. A second later, he came around the corner with a Rexall bag in hand. He’d been to a barber recently, and his silvery hair was looking more stylish than usual—cut shorter on the sides and stylishly swept back from his face. Paired with his dark-teal flannel shirt and grey denim jeans, Triss thought he looked unusually striking. 

Geralt tilted his head sympathetically at the sight before him. Triss was bundled on the sofa in an oversized sleep shirt and sweatpants, fuzzy socks bunched around her ankles, and what looked like any and all home remedies gathered around her: hot water bottle, cold pack, three mugs of tea (ginger, peppermint, and chamomile by the smell of them), a glass of ice water, a barely-touched bowl of chicken broth, a mangled bag of oyster crackers, and a thermometer. 

“You’re really down for the count, huh? Got a fever?” before she could object, the back of Geralt’s hand was on her forehead. It felt cool and refreshing against the dry heat of her face as he assessed her condition. “Meh. Could be better, could be worse.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Triss retorted with a halfhearted smile. “Ugh… sorry, um, I have to…” she pointed towards the bathroom and Geralt raised his hands (‘say no more’) as his friend scuttled exhaustedly around the corner. He busied himself with watching manta rays gliding through the open ocean until he heard the toilet flush and Triss emerged again, looking ragged and a little sheepish. “Sorry,” she said, pouring herself back onto her nest of blankets and stuffed animals. 

Geralt shrugged, “No need to be, you’re sick. Here,” he reached into the pharmacy bag and brought out a box of ginger Gravol tablets and a medium-sized bottle of Cherry Punch Pedialyte—she was allergic to most over-the-counter cold and flu medication.

“Geralt, you didn’t have to do all this for me. How did you even know I had the stomach flu?”

He looked over her shoulder at her laptop which was still open to the page of various nausea-relieving pressure points, “Hm. You should have this stuff around anyway,” he paused as Triss swallowed heavily and went to the bathroom again. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to take care of herself, her mother had been a nurse practitioner for heaven’s sake. Still, Geralt was never one to leave a friend in need if there was something he could do about it. A particularly visceral sound drew him from where he was perched on the arm of the sofa. Triss was crouched on the bathroom floor, shivering with her forehead resting on her elbows over the toilet bowl. She spat. Geralt sat on the edge of the bathtub. “How long has it been like this?”

“Since about... 10am,” she managed to get out before her entire body heaved. Geralt instinctively reached out to place a hand on her back. She didn’t object. She never objected to these little shows of affection from Geralt. There was always something reassuring about them, and it felt particularly nice to be reminded that she wasn’t alone just now.

Geralt rubbed slow circles across her back as he coaxed her through retching and dry heaves. “You know you could've just asked.”

“I know but—”

“Stubborn?”

“Uh-huh,” Triss admitted, sitting back on her heels and flushing the mostly-empty toilet. “Besides, the last thing you need is to be taking care of a gross friend right before getting ready for a fancy business gala.

“You clearly don’t know just how little I’m looking forward to this evening,” Geralt grumbled, passing Triss a cool glass of water to rinse with. 

“Not looking forward to talking the talk, Mr. Slick P.I.?” Triss’s eyes gave a twinkle as her freckled cheeks pulled into a cheeky smirk.

Even when she’s a mess she still finds a way to light up. Geralt furrowed his brow at his own thoughts. Where did that come from? “You know how it is, all this high-society stuff, rubbing elbows, laughing at tasteless jokes. It’s just not me. But Yen—well…” he sighed heavily, “I dunno. She’s right in that it’s a good way to get the information we need, stay visible to the right people but… I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I know she’s your friend.”

Triss raised an eyebrow, “Oh, go on. Trust me, there’s nothing you can say about Yennefer of Vengerberg that will surprise me. Besides, you’re my friend, too.” 

“Hm.” Geralt stared down and fiddled with his crossed thumbs. “Lately I can’t get anything right. I’m always asking the wrong questions, or I’ll try and talk to her about something I want us to work on and it’s never worded the right way and then it just turns into a fight which is what I want to stop doing in the first place. And then I’m either too sensitive or not sensitive enough and… it’s like she has a set of rules inside her head she won’t tell me about. Feels like it’s harder than it should be. But who am I to know?”

“I’m sorry, Geralt. Yennefer can be so unfair sometimes. I don’t think she understands how much she can push against the people she cares about. It’s one thing to be a friend, at least I can take a breather every now and then if I need to. But it’s different for you. You don’t like taking time apart.” Triss offered an apologetic smile before groaning and leaning back over the toilet and Geralt’s hand took up its place on her back again as he worked her through another round. 

Geralt’s phone rang as Triss flushed the toilet. “Sorry, it’s Yen. I should take this. Be right back. Yen? Yeah, I’m with Triss, got a stomach thing, I stopped by to bring her some...” his voice disappeared around the corner as he went into the bedroom. Triss couldn’t make out their whole conversation, but it sounded tense. The phrase, “...just trust me to dress myself, I’m not a—,” came through the drywall. Triss sighed sympathetically. It certainly hadn’t been smooth sailing for the two of them. Geralt had his own flaws and foibles in the romance department—he could be callous and insensitive in favour of honesty at times, and never shied away from pushing buttons—but Yennefer was mercurial, brazen, rash, and brutal; all excellent qualities for a powerful and influential chief advisor. But as much as Geralt was his own handful, she’d never known him to willfully hurt someone he cared about, and was quick to apologize when he did. 

When Geralt came back, Triss was trying to push herself to standing. He caught her as she swayed on her unsteady legs. “Whoa, whoa, Triss, easy. Here, sit back down, wait here for a second.” Triss did as she was told and settled miserably back onto the bathroom floor. Geralt immediately returned with two blankets before disappearing again. A few minutes later, he returned once more with a tea tray on which was balanced Triss’s laptop, a small glass of Pedialyte on the rocks, the pack of gravol, and the box of oyster crackers. 

Triss let out a soft giggle, “What is this?”

“You need to try and get something in you. Might not be pretty at first, but if you don’t get some fluids soon, you’re going to be in bigger trouble.”

“Really. I had no idea. I can take care of myself, you know… sorry that was,” Triss sighed. “It’s been a long day

Geralt hunkered down next to her on the floor on top of a throw pillow, “Hey, I get it. But that’s not why I’m here. Just because you can doesn’t mean you have to. So take this, with a sip of this,” he handed her a blister pack of the Gravol and the glass of Pedialyte, “and let’s see if you can keep it down.” 

“Cherry Punch. How did you know this was my favourite?” Triss could no longer hide the fondness that was welling up despite her unrelenting discomfort and growing exhaustion. Geralt gave a muted smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “How’s Yennefer?”

The lines on Geralt’s face became more pronounced, “She’s… fine.” Triss tilted her head (‘really?’) and Geralt relented, “There’s a chance Istrid will be there tonight.”

“The head of the Archeological Association? I don’t get it, what’s he got to do with you and Yennefer?”

Triss could guess the answer from Geralt’s pause. His words merely confirmed it, “They have history.” 

“You don’t think that Yennefer will—I mean, she wouldn’t—”

“She has. She doesn’t know that I know, but…” Triss’s heart sank. “I don’t know why I’m waiting for her to tell me. Guess I don’t want her to feel like I went out of my way to find her at fault—which I didn’t, by the way. I found out by accident.” 

“I’m sorry, Ger.” The weight of Triss’s head against his shoulder brought Geralt out of his daze and he looked down at the messy updo of mahogany hair. He smiled again, a delicate, private, unconscious thing that sparked from an unconscious uplifting somewhere in the middle of him and pulled the corners of his eyes. He thought about ignoring it, not wanting to have to go digging inside himself for what it meant. Instead he wrapped an arm around Triss’s shoulder and pecked a chaste kiss to the top of her head. 

“How’re you feeling?”

The answer to that question proved complicated. Triss’s spirits were a bit better thanks to Geralt’s stubborn-yet-easygoing caretaking. But the introduction of contents into her contrary stomach was yielding less-than-desirable consequences. Painful cramps persisted between more frequent bouts of vomiting—which by this point was mostly dry-heaves followed by the occasional expulsion of bile. Meanwhile it was 5:30 and Geralt’s phone beeped a notification. He checkecked the screen with one hand while he soothed Triss with the other: Where are you??? Yen. Who else could it be? He’d have to call her.

“Geralt, go! Really, I’ll be fine I promise. You’ve got to rub elbows and laugh at bad jokes, remember?” Triss propped herself up on wobbly elbows over the toilet bowl, not trusting the wave to be over. 

Geralt was already dialling. Triss heard the faint echo of her friend’s voice on the other line as she answered with, ‘Where the HELL are you?’ 

“I’m still with Triss, Yen. Things aren’t looking good here, she’s just gotten worse. If I can’t—Yen, listen if she doesn’t—if she doesn’t get any fluids in her I’ll need to take her to the hospital.” Geralt pulled an apologetic face and Triss gave him a reassuring wave that she’d be fine if he stepped out for a minute. “Yen, please, I thought we talked about this, please don’t use that tone, it makes me feel…” The conversation continued, though this time in the living room: “I know this is an important night for us to both be there, Yen, you’ve been reminding me for the last month, but I can’t just leave until… what’s that supposed to mean? That’s not—no, hang on, that’s not fair, Yen… Well if you already don’t believe me I don’t—Okay, then you tell me what I’m supposed to say! I’m tired of this, Yennefer, I am so. Exhausted trying to figure out exactly what to say in order for you to not react like this every time I… can I finish?...”

Geralt was pacing back-and-forth now, and Triss could tell from the tone on the other end of the line that Yennefer wasn’t backing down anytime soon, “Geralt, if you don’t leave Triss’s apartment and come back here and get dressed this instant, I swear I will—”

Geralt paused outside the bathroom door for Triss to flash a wilted thumbs-up as she tried to drink more Cherry Punch Pedialyte, “Or you’ll what, Yen? Count to ten and then chuck me in the coi pond? I—you know what?” he moved back into the living room, “No, you know what? How ‘bout this: I’m staying here with our friend who needs help, and you can go to this big event, embarrassment free, and do what you do best without the big idiot holding you back. Whatever needs to get done at this dinner tonight, I bet you’ll do better on your own than worrying about me screwing something up.” 

Triss heard his phone flip shut followed by a heavy sigh before his sock feet padded back into the bathroom. Unfortunately, just then, her suspicions about not being finished proved correct as her mouth, once again, began to water. Thankfully Cherry punch wasn’t nearly as bad coming back up as other flavors were known to be. In less than a second, Geralt was there with a warm hand and a blanket around her shoulders. They didn’t talk much over the next little while as Geralt continued his attempts to soothe Triss’s stomach enough to hold something down. After an hour, Triss finally was able to rest a little, albeit still in quite a bit of pain. But with the toilet no longer an ongoing necessity, the sofa once again became a viable option. Geralt scooped up the blanketed bundle and carried her back into the living room to continue their journey under the sea, complete with cold compress and bendy straw.

By 7:30 Triss hadn’t needed the toilet at all in the last hour, and some of her stomach pain was starting to diminish. However, she was still shivering and achy, and not interested in food. She kept insisting that Geralt had time to meet Yennefer at the gala, that she would be perfectly fine on her own, but Geralt wasn’t convinced. Showing up now would not only put Yennefer in the awkward position of having to save face by not murdering him in cold blood in front of a dozen or more foreign dignitaries, but it would also mean having to face Istrid who, if he wasn’t already, would doubtlessly be very interested to hear Yennefer’s thoughts on a great number of things before the night was over. Geralt didn’t trust himself not to do something he’d regret—or at least that Yennefer would regret.

Another hour in and Triss was starting to perk up: minimal stomach pain, and she was making a decent dent in her Cherry Punch. Geralt decided it was time for a little chicken soup. He made a freezer pizza for himself and cracked a beer while he warmed up a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle, ladelling out all the broth into a mug for Triss so she wouldn’t be tempted to eat more than she could handle. Geralt had only one goal for her tonight: keep everything down. If she could do that, then he had at least been able to do something for her. If not… Geralt tried very hard not to listen to the voice that said, ‘then you’re no use for anyone’ in the back of his mind. Thankfully, Triss finished her broth without concern and he didn’t have to worry about that voice for the time being. Instead, he settled a little deeper into the sofa cushions as Triss resumed a comfortable spot against his shoulder. 

After another little while, a miracle happened: Triss started to have fun. That characteristic sparkle came back to her eyes, and the two friends quickly began to actively enjoy their evening. They watched The Fellowship of the Ring and took a drink of beer or Pedialyte every time Frodo had a dramatic closeup, was stabbed, or rolled his eyes for dramatic effect. Geralt microwaved a bag of popcorn, and Triss cautiously had a few oyster crackers as they laughed and caught up. Finally. It may not have been the original vision for what drinks and casual hangs would look like, but it was good. It was nice. Relaxed, and pleasant. Easy. Geralt’s mind wandered as the Fellowship fled the Balrog, and he didn’t notice the little line his thumb was leaving on Triss’s blanket as it traced up and down her shoulder. He also didn’t think twice when she shifted, half-asleep, to lie her head in his lap and his hand moved to the curve of her waist. It wasn’t until he looked down in the direction of soft snoring that he was reminded exactly who was lying in his lap. 

His initial thought was, ‘shit,’ as he slowly removed his hand from her waist, not wanting to wake her, but also not knowing what to do. It was suddenly all so intimate, though he didn’t quite know why. As he watched her, peacefully asleep in his lap, he realized he didn’t want to break away. Didn’t want to wake her to adjust to a more ‘appropriate’ orientation. He touched her shoulder again. That was nice. That felt… nice. She stirred, and Geralt wondered if she was comfortable as he brushed a tight ringlet behind her ear. She smiled in semi-consciousness and his heart sang. This was bad. This was very very bad. He reached for the remote and flicked the tv off. It was after midnight, and high time everyone went to bed. Alone. 

That was the only option. Right? In theory, no. There was another option, and a significant part of Geralt wanted to go with that one, stay in this soft warm place where everything felt easier… where he felt happy. But a louder part of him knew that wasn’t right, wasn’t fair; that even if he was unhappy—even if Yennefer had spent the night with Istrid (Geralt tried not to think about that). The bottom line was Triss felt well enough that he no longer needed to stay with her to make sure she was alright. That was why he’d come. If he stayed for other reasons, it wouldn’t be fair to anyone. End of discussion.

“Triss,” Geralt murmured, rousing her as gently as he could. 

“Hmm?” Her eyes fluttered open to see Geralt staring down at her. She didn’t remember lying down in his lap, but she must have just before she fell asleep. “Did I fall asleep on you?” 

Geralt’s eyes crinkled, “Hm. Yeah. You were pretty out of it.”

“Ah, shit, I’m so sorry!”

“You needed the rest. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s passed out on me, and you’re significantly easier to deal with than Lambert.”

Triss bunched her blankets around her shoulders and shivered sleepily, “You should go. Yennefer’s probably waiting for you.”

“Hm. Yeah, probably,” Geralt heaved himself off the sofa as Triss released her hair and gathered her nest to head to the bedroom. Geralt waited until she was bundled in bed. “All set?”

A little smile peeked over the tops of the covers, “Mmmhmm, thanks.”

“Need anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Goodnight, Ger.”

“Goodnight, Triss,” Geralt flicked off the light. In the entranceway, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, took a deep breath, and left, locking the door behind him and putting the key back in its usual hiding place. Enough now. Done. He was determined that whatever he had felt, whatever warm, unexpected thing had bubbled to the surface, would forever exist behind that locked door, frozen in time. A blip. The important thing was nothing was acted on. Not really. At worst, they wandered into a grey area by accident. These things happen. The key now was not to dwell on it, to move forward. 

Geralt’s stomach soured as he slid his keycard into the slot of room 622. The lock clicked open as the little light on top flashed green and Geralt turned the handle, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He toggled the dimmer switch next to the door; the lowest setting would give him enough light to get changed without waking up—Yen? The bed was empty, still freshly turned-down, with his pre-approved evening attire laid out as he had suspected. He fucking hated that tie. He put the suit back in the garment bag from whence it came and checked his phone. Nothing. No texts, no missed calls. Might still be out. It wasn’t unusual for these events to turn into afterparties which was where most of the juicy information was gathered. He hit speed-dial. 

“Hi, Jaskier? It’s—yeah, hi. Listen. Are things still going over there? I just—hm? Yeah, she’s doing okay now. Took awhile for me to get anything in her, but no hospital visit so… yeah, she finally got to sleep just as I was heading out, made sure she was hydrated and had a little something… I’m sure she’d appreciate that… Actually, that’s why I’m calling, I just got back and she’s not in, I was wondering if you knew where she…When?…Okay…No, archeology… Mmm no, they’re very different fields. Nevermind, thanks, Jas…Yeah, no it’s, um, I just wanted to make sure that she was okay. Didn’t want to bug her in case she was in the middle of—something. Yeah… Well don’t let me interrupt that. Okay, all the best. Go get ‘em tiger. ‘Night.” 

Geralt tossed his phone on the bed and flopped heavily on top of the duvet and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Goddamnit, Yen.”

__________________

@the-space-between-heartbeats 

@just-a-sad-donut 

@oxenfurt-archives 

@thirstyforred 

@titaniafire 

@belalugosisdead 

@lonelygayz 

@awkward-turtles-world 

@iloveyouyen 

@criminaly-supernatural

@friendlybelladonna

@enkelikauneus 

[dastardlydandelion]

Please post the sickfic prompt turned corpse disposal. 😂

sure! that one’s p bloodless, i can post that one. 

ao3 link 

content warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced spousal abuse, minimally described fresh dead body, illness description 

Billy isn’t sick.

Billy doesn’t get sick. He really doesn’t. Hasn’t had so much as a cold in years, albeit he’s claimed one as cover here and there whenever coke overuse made him maybe sorta sniffly and Neil started to eye him up like he might be suspicious.

Billy isn’t sick.

If he’s feeling achy, well, he’s just sore because Neil laid the belt on him pretty hard two days ago after he got sent home from school midday Monday, written up and suspended. If he’s coughing, well, it’s just because he’s been smoking more than usual. Neil’s been stressed out lately, so that means Billy’s stressed out too.

“No,” his father says sharply when Billy takes a seat at the breakfast table.

And Billy blinks at him, confused but careful.

“You’re not going to sit with us and cough all over the food like a human biohazard. I raised you to show more courtesy than that.” Neil gives him a stern look. “Go back to bed.”

“I’m not even—“

“Go back to bed, Billy.”

Billy hears the warning heighten in his father’s tone. He doesn’t argue. He hauls himself back to his bedroom and it’s whatever. He wasn’t really hungry anyway.

* * * 

Okay, so Billy is sick.

He got himself suspended because he felt something coming on. He knows his body. He was feeling off kilter and sluggish, uncomfortable in the chest when he inhaled too deeply. So he put his boots on the desk in history class and flipped the teacher the bird when she asked him to sit properly. Even went the extra mile and sneered, told her to blow him when her jaw hit the floor.

He figured it’d buy him enough time to recover without having to call in sick, or get in trouble for skipping class. A suspension was one indiscretion and only likely to invoke one punishment. Skipping multiple days would’ve been multiple indiscretions and more likely to invoke multiple punishments.

In retrospect he should’ve just called in sick because the whole point of avoiding that route was avoiding having to admit it, but he can’t really hide it. Whatever he’s got came on hard and fast, doubled-down by Monday evening. It hasn’t gotten any better. Billy feels bad all over, the cough is near constant, and he’s shaking with chills. Puts his leather jacket on before he buries himself under the blankets and still can’t get warm.

And the coughing, ugh, the fucking coughing. Billy knows he’s being loud. He tries to hold it in but he just can’t. Spasm after spasm squeezes his lungs until they’re aching for air. His chest feels like it’s full of swamp muck and all he can do is ride it out, clutch at his ribs until he makes it to the oxygen on the other side.

Billy should get up. He should make himself get off his ass, go buy some cough drops or at least refill his glass of water. He’s going to make it happen. He’s definitely going to make it happen…just maybe not yet.

He never really gets around to it. Spends most of the afternoon slogging through coughs and trying to get comfortable even though it doesn’t really matter which way he tosses or turns, he’s still cold to the bone, chest stabbing with every burdened breath. The day drags and Billy catches snippets of the other members of the household moving about, knows it’s evening when Neil sticks his head in.

“I dug this out of the cabinet for you,” he announces, holding up a blue container. “Vapor rub. It’ll calm your cough down. Help you sleep.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

His father pads across the carpet, sets the container down on Billy’s nightstand, right within reach. He hovers uncertainly, eyes narrowed. Opens his mouth to say something and maybe he does, but Billy doesn’t catch it, snapping upright to bury another flurry of coughs into his closed fist. It’s a forceful fit and before he knows it, his father’s thumping him on the back. He’s probably trying to help but the heel of his hand connects with one of the bruises the belt buckle left and Billy can’t stop himself before he flinches.

Neil retracts his hand, leaves without another word. Billy rakes in breath at the coda of the coughs, air scraping against his roughshod throat. He goes as deep as he can even though it hurts, snatches the container of vapor rub.

Billy begins to unscrew the lid and notices some of the ointment is crusted under the lid. It flakes off. This stuff looks old. Billy checks the date on the label. Sure enough, it’s been expired for close to a year.

He throws it across the room in frustration, watches it bounce off the wall. Lies back down and pulls the covers up to his chin.

At some point Neil bangs on his door and demands he cut out the racket, probably thinking Billy rebuffed his generosity. Billy’s too exhausted to bother explaining the shit’s expired. Instead he turns his face into the pillow and smothers his fits into the fabric, hoping it muffles the sounds.

* * * 

Sometime later Thursday morning, Susan knocks on his door. Billy contemplates pretending to be asleep. Really, he wishes he was. He’s feeling pretty rundown but he can’t seem to get more than a wink before he wakes up coughing.

But if he doesn’t answer it now, she’ll probably just bother him later. So Billy plods to the door and pulls it open.

“What?”

“Um,” Susan begins eloquently, blinking at him as she fiddles with the thin object in her hands. A thermometer.

“Neil tell you to do this?”

“N-No, but, uh. It’s probably a good idea to check your temperature. No offense, Billy, but you don’t sound so good and you’re awfully flush…”

“If I cared, I’d check myself,” he snorts irritably. “Try to stick that under my tongue and I’ll break it in half. Save your mother hen shit for Max.”

With that, he slams the door in her face. They’ve no love for each other. On infrequent occasions Susan will forget this and make some half-assed attempt to get closer to him. Billy’s always quick to remind her where they stand. It doesn’t take much.

Afternoon rolls around without Susan bugging him anymore. Billy isn’t a big reader but he doesn’t feel up to much else between increasingly productive coughing bouts that leave him hacking up gross, greenish globs into his small wire mesh trashcan. So he flips through some music magazines and the book he’s supposed to read for english class until he gathers enough energy to kick himself into gear.

He didn’t bother changing out of his clothes yesterday so he doesn’t need to change now. Just sprays himself with some cologne, figures he probably smells because he’s sweating nonstop. Discomforting drenching cold sweats like getting caught outside in icy rains, an experience Billy was blissfully unfamiliar with until Neil decided to leave sunny California behind.

He browses the small medical selection at Melvald’s, grabs a couple bags of cherry flavored lozenges  and a bottle of cough syrup. Covers a couple fits with the crook of his elbow on the way to the counter. He swallows the gunk that comes up because there’s nowhere to spit it into and scrunches his nose in disgust, feels like freaking slime sliding down his throat.

It’s the town cuckoo who rings him up. Or that’s her reputation anyway but she doesn’t seem particularly nutty to Billy. Hell, seems less weird than Susan does when she’s doing shit like talking to the spiders she takes outside.

“Time to go, Little Creepy Crawly,” she’d singsonged last week, shaking a daddy longlegs out of her tissue on the front porch. “Go be free.”

“You need fucking friends,” Billy had told her after the fact. Sound advice, he’d thought. Susan only ducked her head and disappeared into the next room.

Town Cuckoo gives the amount. Billy digs through his wallet and comes up two dollars short. Ugh. Fucking brandname linctuses. Shit’s a ripoff but there was no generic equivalent on the shelf.

She tells Billy it’s on the house, forehead crinkling just a bit as she studies him, eyes all melty with sympathy. Screw that shit. Billy isn’t anybody’s charity case. He gives her a pointed glower as he stamps a five down on the counter, takes the two bags of lozenges, and leaves.

He eats through half of the first bag until his throat tingles with menthol and artificial sweetness, and actually manages to sleep for a few solid hours. He knows it’s been hours because when he wakes himself coughing, it’s dark out. Nighttime.

Billy curls inward with the spasms, tries to catch his breath between stabbing pains. This sucks so much. He’s hacking up more gunk. Attempts to rub some of the discomfort from his heavy, congestion leaden chest to no avail.

He just keeps coughing and coughing and he knows before long, Neil’s going to get in his shit about the noise so he forces himself to throw off the covers. His bruises are still healing. He doesn’t need any more.

Billy crams his feet in his boots and drags himself down the hall. To his surprise, Susan’s sitting at the kitchen table. She’s crying. The sobs wrack her whole body the way the coughs wrack his and her cheeks are blotched cherry red just like his lozenges, tear tracks shining under the kitchen light. It throws him, really. He’s lived with Susan for years and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her cry. She just. Doesn’t show much emotion at all, let alone displays like this.  

Billy watches it the way he’d watch a car crash. Susan doesn’t even notice him until he’s coughing again. He curls his fist around his mouth, muffles them as best he can. Fumbles for his car keys when he’s made it through to the other side.

“Where could you possibly be going?” Susan asks, her voice thick, like there’s a bubble in her throat.

Maybe Neil hit her. Billy’s seen it so he knows it happens sometimes even though he’s pretty sure it’s not often. Not like how Neil hits him. Or hit his own mother. Susan is probably Neil’s favorite, obedient like a well trained dressage horse following all of his cues. Isn’t anything like his own mom who defied Neil like a wild mustang he couldn’t tame, who went braless and smoked hash with the hippies, screamed her lungs out at Neil in furious harpy volumes and called him names no matter how mad it made him. Who did her best to give back as good as she got even outmatched, even if it made him madder, throwing things or fists or swinging Billy’s Little League bat.

Susan is submissively behaved and tepid tempered, always wears her bra under the clothes Neil buys her in the fashions he prefers her in. Susan speaks softly and sweetly, never stays out unscheduled and doesn’t smoke anything at all, always smells like floral perfumes and lotions, never ever, ever like cigarettes or marijuana or other men’s cologne. When Neil hits Susan she goes slack and sloth and silent, and does not lift a finger to fight. It is the only thing she and Billy have in common.

“Nowhere,” he answers. “Gonna sleep in the car before Neil gets on me about making noise.”

“Billy, it’s too cold for that…besides, Neil isn’t going to wake up yet.”

“How do you know?”

What, does Susan think she’s a fucking fortune teller now?

Sure enough, she doesn’t have a straight answer for him. She stumbles over syllables that don’t shape into sentences and the last thing Billy feels like doing is indulging her.

“Pfft. That’s what I thought. By the way, you’re ugly when you cry.” Billy glares at her until she turns away, timid, bowing her head. He heads out to the Camaro, gets in the driver’s seat and pulls it back.

Yeah, it’s cold out but he can’t get warm inside under the blankets anyway. Neil’s already in a bad mood. He’d only barked about the racket last night but his father’s bite is worse than his bark and Billy knows better than to expect a second warning.

* * * 

Friday morning, the frosty air scrapes Billy’s throat raw and makes him cough so, so hard. He’s beyond done with this shit, fuck everything. He takes shallow breaths to avoid the pangs of going too deep. The coughing still brings up gunk he spits out and he can feel the congestion crackling in his chest like thick, goopy molasses drowning his lungs, sticking between every rung of his ribcage.

It’s actually. Kind of. Beginning to concern him.

Is being sick normally like this?

Billy hasn’t been sick in so long, he seriously doesn’t know. But it’s been days and he’s not feeling any better. He feels worse. He really does. Breathing has become a grueling travail. Even to his own ears, his exhales sound wet and ratty. The coughing was a nuisance when it first came on but now it’s just downright exhausting.

But.

Well. He’s gotta be okay. He’s too young to be like, seriously sick. It’s probably just one of those things where it’s going to get worse before it gets better. A lot of things are like that, right?

Everything gets worse before it gets better. He’s fine. He’s definitely fine.

Billy goes inside. Everyone’s at the breakfast table and he doesn’t take a seat because he’s a biohazard and Neil already looks dour. Susan’s pouring him coffee. Max nibbles at a piece of toast. She has a cut on her cheek that wasn’t there when Billy saw her yesterday. Doesn’t look bad, just a simple scratch stretched under her eye, but when he peers closer is that…is that a bruise?

Yes. It’s pretty small. Faint. He would’ve missed it entirely if the thin red thread of her cut wasn’t so stark against Max’s pasty skin.

He’s smart enough not to ask in front of Neil. He doesn’t say anything. Gets the juice from the fridge and pours himself a glass. He’s two sips in before he has to set it aside, covering his mouth as another fit takes hold.

Neil is glaring when he makes it through. Right. Don’t cough around the food. Billy isn’t even sitting with them but whatever. He’s not gonna poke the bear. Heads off to Max’s room and waits.

Eventually she comes in to get her backpack, frowning at his presence. “What’re you doing in here?”

“What happened to your face?”

“Geez, Billy, you sound terrible.” Her nose crinkles.

“I asked you a question, Max.” Billy impatiently twirls his finger, slightly annoyed. He already knows he sounds bad, doesn’t need to be reminded.

Max turns away from him with a shrug, starts stuffing her textbooks into the bag. “I fell on the pond yesterday when I was playing with my friends. Where I fell…the ice wasn’t smooth. It was rough and it scratched.”

Billy narrows his eyes and measures her up. It isn’t a particularly unlikely story. But he wants to be sure.

“You’d tell me if it was Neil, right?”

“…of course I’d tell you if it Neil.” Max looks up from messing with her stuff and faces him with clear resolution in her gaze. “Neil hits you all the time so if he hit me, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

Billy keeps his eyes on her as he goes over what she said. She doesn’t look like she’s lying. She doesn’t sound like she’s lying. Besides, Neil’s striking hand probably would’ve left a bigger bruise and he can’t place anything on it that would’ve scratched her skin like that. Neil’s fingernails are short and blunt, smoother than Billy’s, which get jagged when he bites. He doesn’t wear rings beyond his wedding band, and his is smooth silver, no shiny rock cut in the middle like Susan’s.

“Alright,” he concedes, turns to leave.

The coughing fit hits heavy, like a wrecking ball to the chest. Billy hangs onto the doorframe with one hand, covers his mouth with the other. It’ll pass. It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

Christ, he’s sick of being sick.

It passes. Billy keeps his grip on the doorframe as he works on drawing in air.

“You okay?” Max asks from behind.

And he can’t actually answer that just yet, still catching his breath.

“You sound really gross, like you’re literally dying.”

“I’m not…I’m fine…even run you to school, if you want.” Billy relaxes his grip on the doorframe and turns back to her.

“Oh.” Max perks up at that, eyes bright. “Yeah, can you?”

She lowers her voice as she adds, “I’m mad at my mom. I don’t really wanna ride with her.”

Billy doesn’t ask what for. It’s probably something stupid. Susan getting after her for not zipping up her coat or touching yellow snow or some other dumb shit. He’s too tired to care, really.

“Sure I can, s’what I just said, isn’t it? Finish getting your stuff together, bus leaves in five.”

* * *

Billy does’t go home for a long time. After dropping Max off, he just sits in the parking lot for awhile, rests his head against the steering wheel while the heat blasts from the vents. He’s got it all the way up and he’s so sweaty his hair’s plastered to the back of his neck, but he’s still freaking cold.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve this.

Or.

Okay, maybe he does.

Eventually he pulls out of the parking lot, drives around listening to music just to be doing something. Winds up in another lot, an empty lot, where the rumor is they’re going to build a mall next year. Billy hopes so. Hawkins is mind-numbingly boring. Sometimes he just wants to scream about it, set fire to the fucking cornfields and scream at the top of his lungs.

His lungs aren’t really up to screaming right now though. Neither is his throat, really, tender from coughing spasm after coughing spasm tearing it up. Billy doesn’t know if he’s even been this sick.

He’s even considering bringing it up to his dad, maybe even. Asking Dad for help. And that.

That means he’s either desperate or delirious, and neither is a particularly reassuring thought.

Fuck.

Billy despises the fact it even crossed his mind. He can’t go to Neil. He won’t. That’s stupid. Neil would probably just dig him out some more expired vapor rub. Definitely wouldn’t take him to a doctor, at least not until the bruises heal. Maybe he’d compromise and get him the cough syrup Billy didn’t have enough cash for…

Between musings, Billy finds himself squeezed in another fit that pummels his chest like invisible fists. It’s so bad he’s left battling for just a breath of air, so forceful for one very scary second he’s even worried he won’t get it. That the coughing will go on and on, and he’ll never take another breath again. That they’ll find his body right here in the empty lot where maybe the mall will be one day.

Except the coughing eventually does subside and Billy does manage to get some air. But the fit spooks him a little. Takes enough out of Billy that he decides he’s probably going to have to go to Neil. Shit.

He puts it off as long as he can. Doesn’t even go home until he knows everyone is done with dinner. To his surprise, Neil isn’t watching tv. Billy heads down the hall. The light is on under Max’s door. The light is on under the master bedroom door too. Billy hesitates before knocking.

Does he really need to go to Neil?

Maybe he was exaggerating when he was worried earlier. Billy’s hand retracts from the door. It's promptly clamped around his mouth for what must be the hundredth time. He’s hacking hard into his palm, chest throbbing.

He doesn’t actually mean to open the door. But he grabs the knob for support and jerks when the metal is shockingly cold under his fingers. The next thing Billy knows, he’s stumbling over the threshold.

Susan whips toward him, eyes as wide as dinner plates and mouth frozen open in horror. At first Billy thinks it’s him. She’s so disgusted she’s horrified by him and his biohazard germs and any second Neil’s going to pick his head up from the bed and bark at Billy for intruding without so much as a knock, and then—

Then his eyes fall to the long bloodied baiting needle in Susan’s suddenly trembling hands.

“S-Self d-defense,” she quavers, backing away, that needle outward in her shaky, shaky hands almost like she thinks Billy’s going to advance on her. “It was s-self defense, B-Billy, I had to.”

Because Neil’s still motionless, facedown on the bed even though his son’s still coughing, making a racket and expelling biohazard bacteria in his very bedroom. He’s still coughing, fuck, his eyes are watering, but they aren’t so watery he can’t see what’s right in front of him. Billy plants a hand down against the dresser and tries to breathe.

“Self defense,” he rasps at the end of the fit, blinking at the acupuncture kit open inches away from his hand on the dresser.

“S-Slightly preemptive self defense,” Susan amends, swallowing. “Make no m-mistake, I had to. I had to, he— he was right on the verge of a b-blowup. You know your father, Billy.”

That is true. Billy knows his father well. He doesn’t speak to Susan as he shuffles up to the bed. Gulps down some of the gunk in his throat, grazes his father’s cheek with his fingertips. There’s blood welled up in a hole at the base of his skull but he’s warm, kinda, so maybe Susan didn’t kill him after all. He moves his fingers to feel for a pulse.

It isn’t there. Neil’s dead? Neil’s really dead?

“Dad?” he tries. It comes out a hoarse squeak. He clears his throat and tries again. “Dad? Dad, c’mon.”

Billy jostles his father’s shoulder. It yields no response. The bare skin is still warm, deceptively so. There’s not so much as a flicker of life beneath it.

“Holy shit,” Billy gasps.

Susan presses back against the wall, eyes still very wide, clutching that baiting needle so tight her knuckles are blanched. Her hands shake and shake.

“What are you going to do?” she asks in a whisper.

“What am I going to go?” Billy echoes. “I— I don’t know! What are you going to do? Call the cops?”

Because even if her self defense was preemptive, to use her description, maybe it’d still fly. Billy has bruises. Maybe Susan has some too hidden under that deep cranberry dress.

“Cops?” Susan’s mouth tightens as her head gives a firm shake. “Of course not. Don’t you know what police are like? Your father would’ve fit right in.”

Billy considers this as he coughs, stuffing them into the sleeve of his leather jacket. He can’t say his own experience with the law has ever been positive. And Neil was a security guard. What’s a security guard if not a wannabe cop?

“You planned this,” Billy heaves out when he’s done coughing.

“I’m….I mean, y-yes, but I—“

“What was your plan?” Billy interrupts. “Where were you going to go from here?”

“I didn’t expect you to show up,” Susan says, soft and frowning.

“I live here,” Billy points out and he laughs. Strange, strained laughter peals out of him until it triggers another bout of coughing because. What. The. Actual. Fuck.

“Oh, Billy…do you want some water? Maybe you should sit down.”

“Where?” he rasps between coughs. “Next to my dead dad?!”

“Keep your voice down,” Susan urges, waving the needle like a conductor’s baton. “Max is still awake.”

Billy wipes the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand. Stares at Susan as he does his best to take even breaths.

“You’re wheezing.”

“You’re deflecting,” he fires back. “What are you going to do?”

“Um, uh…chop him up,” Susan admits quietly. “I’d p-planned to chop him up.”

“That’ll make a mess,” Billy blurts out, blunt.

“Messy, yes, but it’s the easiest way. I can’t exactly carry him.”

Billy touches the small of Neil’s bare back, skims his fingertips between hair thin acupuncture needles. He probes at the small of his own back, winces when dull pain pulses through the bruise. His throat is thick with something other than phlegm and his heart is racing rabbity fast. In this moment, Billy makes a decision.

“Not by yourself.”

Susan gapes.

“Where we taking him?” Billy asks.

“I…I honestly didn’t have an exact location mind, but farther away. Not here in Hawkins, the town is too small.” Susan swallows again and tugs at her sleeve. “I planned to bag his parts in pieces and drive a few hours out and spend the night disposing of the bags in different areas.”

That makes sense, he thinks.

“Sometimes I go to this gay bar about two hours away. Pretty big dumpster in the back.”

Billy tries to hit it at least once a month, if he can save up enough of his allowance for gas. Sometimes he collects enough chump change from idiots at school who forget to close their lockers, and isn’t above duping people outta their dough by turning on the charm, either. His interest in girls isn’t exclusive, he finds a helluva lotta guys interesting too. It’s just nice to get out of fucking Nowheresville even on the nights he doesn’t end up fooling around with anybody.

Susan looks absolutely bewildered.

“Gay bar,” he repeats slowly. “You know. Pride pub, homo hub?”

“I know what a gay bar is, Billy. Why on earth are you going to one?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m secretly a drag queen bingo champion,” Billy scoffs in annoyance and it turns into a cough. The one sets off a fit.

“Billy, um…I don’t, um. I’m not judging your preference in partners or your private life, but you’re too young to be going to the bar. Any bar. It’s not legal, you’re a teenager.”

Jesus, he can hardly breathe. He feels like he’s going to fall over. Maybe he actually should’ve sat down next to his dead dad.

“Oh dear. I’m— I’m going to get you some water.”

Billy doesn’t fall over. He has good stamina. He’s hard to knock over, prides himself on that fact. He makes it through the fit upright. His chest is sore from the stabbing and he’s a little dizzy, perhaps from fatigue or breathlessness, but he’s steadfast.

Billy accepts the glass Susan holds out to him upon her return. Her fingers feel like icicles as they brush his and he suppresses a shiver. Takes slow sips and finds a little relief. Eventually sets the glass down on the dresser when he’s done.

“Technically, it’s not me who goes to the bar. You’re right, I’m not twenty-one yet. But Jason Scott on the other hand, well, he’s twenty-five.” Billy fishes his wallet out and frees his fake ID from its fold. “Looks pretty legit, right?”

Susan silently studies the piece of plastic and worries her lip between her teeth.

“But we don’t actually have to go into the bar to put my dad’s body in the dumpster anyway. I mean, going inside would really be a pretty bad idea…”

“Indeed it would, but I’m glad you showed this to me. It wouldn’t be smart to put Neil anywhere you or I associate with at all. But if you’re not actually associated, it’s an option.”

“It’d take less time than the way you were gonna go about it. Cleaner too.”

Susan nods her agreement. “However, I still might…mm, Billy. I’m not sure if you’re going to like this. But in order to prevent him from being identified, I think I’m going to chop off his head…and his hands. Well, perhaps those I’ll just burn with the clothes iron, um. Either way, his fingerprints need to be destroyed.”

Billy’s gut lurches as he soaks it in. It sounds logical. He can’t deny that, but something about the idea of his dad’s decapitation doesn’t sit. Kinda gives him the heebie-jeebies. And that’s weird. That’s really weird because he’s okay with everything else.

Well.

Okay, maybe he’s not okay with it, but. He understands it. It’s Neil. Of course he understands the bruises she may or may not be hiding, the fear in her heart regardless.

“Do you have to chop his head off? Can’t you just smash his face in?”

“I considered that,” Susan says, nodding again. “Those cast iron lion bookends on the shelf are nine pounds each. I weighed them this morning.”

Billy likes the sound of that better. Neil is going to be dead and disfigured either way. He’s not sure why it makes a difference. Maybe it doesn’t, really. He thinks he might have a fever. Maybe the fever’s just getting to him, making him a little loopy and pulling his thoughts in less than rational directions.

“I could do that part,” he offers. It’d probably take him less time to bash Neil’s face in than it’d take Susan. He has more physical prowess, after all, more power to put behind the blows.

“Are you up for that?” she asks, eyeing him skeptically.

“Yes,” he snaps, somewhat defensive. He’s sick but he’s not helpless.

Billy’s claim isn’t undermined by the brief bout of coughing that overtakes him. He halts the reflex to clutch his ribs. Not now, not in front of her. Especially not with what they have to do.

“There’s two bookends,” Susan points out, seems a little nervous as she watches him cough. “We could take turns.”

With that, she disappears from view. Billy hacks some more gross globs into his hand and for convenience’s sake, just wipes it off on his jeans. When Susan comes back, she has one of those big black contractor trash bags. Spreads it out on the bed beside Neil’s form.

They roll him together and Billy doesn’t know what to make of what he feels when he actually sees his father’s face, features devoid and dead. Very, very dead. Tears do not sting his eyes. They just well up watery because he’s coughing again, battling for breath again, so, so wrung and exhausted, lungs like sodden sponges sopped with sputum.

Then he’s holding the bookend, cast iron artistically sculpted, the maned king of the jungle bearing his teeth in a roar. Billy looks at his father’s dead face and hesitates for only a heartbeat. When he brings the heavy object down, he puts all the force he can muster behind it and it makes an utterly atrocious noise Billy will never forget, but—

Some part of him has always wanted to do this. For that part of him, it is the only thing he’s ever truly wanted. And when Susan takes her turn Billy watches her face and realizes, oh, going slack and sloth and silent with the taste of Neil Hargrove’s hand isn’t the only thing they share at all.

* * * 

They wait until late to don gloves and roll Neil up in the shower liner. They stuff him in the bed of his own truck for transport. Billy takes the torso end because it’s heavier, Susan hefts him under the legs. Billy drives because he knows the way even though it’s the last thing he feels like doing.

It goes mostly okay. He only has a paroxysm bad enough to make him pull over once.

Susan reaches across the seats and rubs his shoulder. Billy’s too busy getting his breath to shrug her off.

“I’m sure you’re not going to love this idea, but I think it’s time to see a doctor. This could be bronchitis, Billy, or even pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia isn’t real,” Billy grouses tiredly. “It’s like the boogeyman. Just some story old people made up so their grandkids wouldn’t play in the rain and track mud all over the house.”

“Uh…um.” She blinks owlishly, forehead creasing. “No, that’s not quite accurate…”

“I’m screwing with you, Susan.” Because that’s easier than conceding to her.

It would’ve been one thing with Neil. As fucked up as things were, Neil was his dad. Neil was supposed to take care of him.

But Susan. Susan is different. Susan is mostly Max’s weird mom who displays about as much emotion as a mannequin whenever she isn’t (wasn’t) dancing on Neil’s puppet strings or talking to the spiders as she shakes them free from soft tissues. Albeit tonight is a game changer. They’re very literally partners in crime now.

“We could even go to the ER after this,” she suggests uncertainly, wary edge to her tone.

“That’s for emergencies. I can wait.”

“If you’re sure.” Susan hums in her throat and draws her hand away.

They have good timing. The bar’s been closed for almost an hour by the time they get there and all the cars have cleared out. Billy backs up to the dumpster so he and Susan can stand on the bed and lift Neil in that way, rather than having to drag his deadweight out and struggle to raise his cumbersome bulk up over the side.

He doesn’t want to be out here any longer than he has to. Whole thing gives him the heebie-jeebies. He feels like a cop is about to pull up any second now and frankly, it’s cold as fuck. He’s cold as fuck.

Not as cold as the unearthly chill that seems to pierce through the plastic liner when Billy lifts his father’s trunk for the second time tonight.

“Do you feel that?” he irresistibly asks Susan, watching her adjust her grip on Neil’s legs and searching her face for the eeriness he’s feeling.

“Feel what?” Susan asks, frowning.

Death itself? Billy doesn’t know.

“Nothing, it’s…just cold, I guess.”

“Oh, Billy, I think you have the chills.”

And he knows he does but it’s not the same thing. He doesn’t comment any more on it. Together they get Neil up on the metal rim of the open dumpster, push him over. Garbage crunches and crinkles beneath his deadweight. Billy feels another coughing fit coming on and manages to suppress it until he gets back inside the truck.

“Do you want me to drive home?” Susan asks.

“No. I know the way better, it’s easier if I do it.”

“You could, um. I mean, you could direct me if I get a little turned around. You’re looking pretty tuckered out.” It’s dark but Billy can hear the frown in her voice.

“Alright,” he sighs out. “Fine.”

Because she’s not wrong. He’s drained at this point. Shoving his dad’s body in the dumpster spent the last store of energy he had. He and Susan swap places. She doesn’t have much trouble once she actually gets back on the main road.

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually. “If I had to do this myself, I’d still be in the middle of it.”

“Yeah…sure thing, I guess.” She killed his dad. No big deal. Billy blinks, isn’t sure what else to say.

“…so, um…you like the fellas, huh?” she asks, voice light and not a bit unkind.

“Uh-huh." He shrugs. "Guys, girls, I mean, I'm not that picky. A hole’s a hole, a mouth’s a mouth, fingers are fingers.”

Susan chokes on a scandalized gasp and Billy gets a chuckle out of it, even as it turns into a cough.

“That’s, uh. T-That’s certainly crude.”

And it’s funny really, that Susan seems more creeped out by a boorish comment than she did by holding his dead dad’s corpse legs.

By the time they get home, Billy’s so beyond spent he knows he can’t even make it to his room. Doesn’t bother to try. Collapses on the couch cushions without attempting to take his boots off. Smothers what has to be the goddamn millionth round of coughs into the throw pillow.

When he picks his head up, Susan’s standing there, fiddling with the thermometer again, fretful expression on her features. Oh, fuck it. Fine. Billy bites the bullet and takes it from her, begrudgingly jamming the thing under his tongue.

[agustdef]

With All My Heart

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Hoseok x Doctor!Reader.

Genre: Established Relationship; Angst; Fluff

Word Count: 11K

Warning: Angsty. Language...?; Mention of Death; Mentions of mental health struggles

Rating: PG15

Banner Maker: @httpangelicjimin​ who was wonderful enough to remake this one after realized the other wouldn’t work and then proceeded to use it for I Found You.

Beta Reader: @suhdays​ who knew I was in a rush and was kind enough to offer to beta it for me without me asking. 

When Hoseok came home from his last appointment, he found the apartment mostly silent and way cleaner than when he’d left that morning. Probably cleaner than after the weekly Sunday morning routine was finished, which was impressing and worrisome. But also made him hopeful.

After discarding his shoes and jacket at the door, he headed to the bedroom where he found YN already settled into bed. She wore a large shirt – with the words fight me with a leprechaun on front – that she’d probably stolen from Yoongi’s closet during their last visit, her bonnet, and a koala face mask. Her eyes were focused on the TV on the wall opposite their bed and she hummed along with the intro to the anime she was watching.

It was the most relaxed he’d seen her in weeks.

“Hey baby,” he said.

That drew her attention towards him, and she smiled when they locked eyes, though that stopped as soon as her mask shifted. She was happy to see him and had missed him after the day she’d spent alone. Not that she was lonely or anything, but it felt nice to break away from being by herself.

“Hi. You’re home early. I thought you had to work on that big piece tonight?” she said.

That made Hoseok annoyed in an instant. He huffed and rolled his eyes while his fingers ran through his hair. The memory of the evening he had before, and after he finished what turned into his last client filled his head.

“She called and said she couldn't make it. Which was fine, because I wasn't up to working on it tonight anyway. I'm still feeling sick I guess. But, then she kept changing her mind, and when she finally decided to come - and said she was on her way - she didn't come at all. No response to calls or any of the messages I sent. But I was scrolling through the shop's feed while waiting for my other person only to see her at some other shop we follow getting a different tattoo. I just told her that if she wasn’t going to honor appointments and give me the run around, then we weren’t the right fit.”

In response YN frowned. It was clear how annoyed and tired he was, even without the added stress of a wishy washy, client who just thought they could do whatever the hell they wanted when requesting someone’s time. She wanted to knock the girl upside her head, but it wasn’t realistic, and she’d never go out of her way to attack someone. Though the idea of cussing her out if she appeared at the shop when YN was around didn’t seem too terrible of a plan.

However, that wasn’t something that either of them lingered on long because Hoseok sneezed five times in a row and by the third he seemed wiped out.

YN took off her mask and threw it in the trash near her side of the bed before hopping up. She opened her bedside table and pulled out a thermometer, which she quickly freed from its little bad as she rounded the bed to where he stood. Hoseok knew better than to argue so his mouth opened before she even raised her arm to stick it in.

They stood there for a moment staring at each other, until they heard the beep and when YN looked at the temperature she winced.

“You went up so much since this morning. You’re practically at fever levels. Go take a shower and get in bed. I’ll get some stuff for you to take,” she said.

There was no way Hoseok would argue with how he felt. It was like once he was at home and stopped moving his body had started to give up. He felt heavy and he ached a little here and there. His head also felt a little weird, but he chalked up part of that to being frustrated. So, once she stepped away from him he dragged himself to the bathroom.

By the time he finished his shower and pulled on some clothes, YN was already back in the room. She’d had a bowl, a mug, and a glass of water sitting on the table near his side of the bed. And she was unfolding a blanket, which Hoseok recognized as one the weighted ones. It was something that YN pulled out whenever one of them was having a tough time sleeping or in general, and when they got sick. Something about the thing eased the body into relaxation that neither of them had ever felt before.

When she noticed his arrival, she smiled at him and patted the bed. Hoseok moved as quickly as his body would allow him and plopped down onto the bed. Before he could do much else she placed the bowl into his hands.

“It’s a mix of the broths from the soup your mom brought and that Mama Min brought. You are to never tell them that I did this. Or that while both are good they taste next level combined. I will not be killed because I took care of you,” she said.

At that Hoseok laughed, and then drank down the broth. YN wasn’t wrong about it being better combined, which was part of the reason he downed it despite the burn he felt. Naturally, YN chastised him as he did because she could see the pain on his face, but he paid her no mind. Once finished, she replaced the bowl with the mug and one look inside had him sitting it down.

“You know I don’t like that version of ginseng. Why can’t I drink the other one?” he whined.

“Because it’s the kind that helps you the most and it hides the taste of the medicine you hate so much. This is your own fault for being a wimp and not wanting to drink it down by itself. So drink it,” she said.

Of course, he didn’t do it right away. Hoseok stared YN down and attempted his best puppy dog eyes and pout, but was met with an unamused expression that became more uncaring as each second passed. That didn’t deter hum though, at least not for about a minute or so when it was clearly she only grew more impatient with him.

With a huff he grabbed the mug and quickly downed the shot of ginseng and medicine. He winced in reaction to how bitter it was and immediately snatched the glass of water up as YN took the mug from him. Once he’d downed that as well she grabbed all the dishes and headed out of the bedroom.

“Get comfortable in bed,” she called back.

Upon return she had both of their 34oz water bottles filled up and ready for them to drink through the night if need be. Which for Hoseok was often while sick and because she’d caught a little of his cold she too needed a few sips at random times if she woke up.

After giving it to him, she climbed into bed and slid under the blanket. It may have been summer but they tended to keep their room on the colder side, which meant that they wouldn’t overheat just because they slept under them; which was good because YN needed to be under a blanket to sleep.

Getting comfortable didn’t take them long, since they were both so wiped out from their days. And despite Hoseok’s sickness they cuddled together, because unlike him YN continued her dose of medicine until it was gone. She knew she wasn’t one hundred percent better even when the symptoms appeared to have left her completely.

They stayed cuddled together for about half an hour watching what YN had on before he’d come home. Nothing felt tense or awkward in their silence, just comfortable and relaxed.

But as time went on Hoseok remembered the feeling he’d had upon his arrival home. The worry that filled him when he saw how much she’d cleaned by herself in the time he’d been gone. And the hope he’d had at knowing she’d found enough energy to even make the effort to clean that much in the first place. She’d been out of it for weeks and it was the first major sign that something changed. Or that’s what he wished for.

Hoseok turned his head to look at her, well more like assess her face. It was relaxed and she seemed genuinely interested in what was on the screen and not off in her own little world. Though once she realized he was staring she turned his way and his assessment was over almost as quickly as it began.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her brow raised.

For a moment Hoseok debated telling her no, but that didn’t sit right with him. He needed to say something or it would bother him until he blurted it out. Or there was a chance she’d bottle it all up and not say anything at all because she was fine or she didn’t want to dump on him because he wasn’t her therapist.

“How was your session?” he asked.

There was a momentary change in her expression, but she didn’t let it linger for long. That made him even more worried, but he waited for her to say something. Though he knew if she was holding back and if he should push her.

“It was fine, I guess. Less crying than usual. We talked about all my other issues and saved how I was feeling about my mom for last. I think she hoped that by keeping me in a time constraint of twenty minutes I’d be forced to get out the main issues first and avoid going off into tangents. She was very wrong about that and the appointment ran for half an hour longer than it should have. I’d gotten so worked up that it wasn’t wise to try to force me down quickly,” she said.

Hoseok nodded along and reached under the blanket to grab her hand but didn’t utter a word. Just like her therapist he wanted her to let things out at her own pace.

“I mean it’s getting easier, but I don’t know. How is one supposed to process the death of their mother? And it doesn’t help that on top of that it’s dealing with how we were estranged. Knowing that my mix of apathy and deep hurt are valid. That it’s okay that I’m not as torn up about her dying as I think I should be. That I’m not torn up about losing a chance at speaking to the sibling that I never wanted to deal with because he moved back to the US. Dealing with calls from a slew of aunts and uncles who regularly give no fucks about me, questioning why I’m not there, and why I chose not to be heavily involved in the process. Why I could only show up. Why I didn’t stay longer.”

The more she spoke the shakier her voice got and it broke Hoseok’s heart. She was getting better and he knew that, but he always knew it was a lot to overcome. The loss of her only parent, despite their relationship, was something hard to deal with or so he imagined it. It had even affected Yoongi a great deal since he’d been close to her before too, but he recovered faster.

More than anything, Hoseok wished he could find some magic way to lessen the pain and confusion for her, but he felt just as helpless as when she found out. She’d come to the shop when she still had six hours of her twelve hour shift left to go and looked in shock. Without a word she’d run into Yoongi’s arms as he’d come out of his room after hearing Jungkook’s frantic calls. There she burst into tears, and through the sobbing told them that her mother had been in a car accident and didn’t make it.

None of them, except Yoongi, had ever seen her cry that hard and he tried his best to be her rock, but he broke with her. They broke down in the middle of the shop, falling to their knees as they cried together. The boys decided to close after that and just let them cry, comforting them when they could. And at some point they called Beau and Mama Min to tell them what had happened.

From there, they had to wait until they were calm enough to get them in a car to head back to Yoongi’s place. There they were met by Beau and Mama Min, who accepted them with open arms. The sobbing started all over again and they slowly got them to calm down enough to eat and shower. Everyone assumed it was a sleepover kind of situation, so they’d gotten Jin and Taehyung to swing by their places to grab stuff for them.

The entire night was just everyone surrounding YN on the makeshift nest they’d made. She never once let go of Yoongi’s hand and he didn’t dare release hers. And as they slept she cuddled into Mama Min’s side holding onto her for dear life with her other hand.

Seeing her shattered like that was eye opening for Hoseok, and he tried his best to make sure she was okay. Work gave her two weeks off, but when she didn’t bounce back quickly they extended the leave for a little longer. Then when that ran out she used vacation time she’d saved up. That was the start of when she actually made progress in not being a shell of her former self and Hoseok would tell her to take off all the time in the world if it meant that she’d be better.

But, as Hoseok sat there thinking about how he wished there was something he could do to fix things he realized there was something he could at least try to make her feel a bit better. And it would allow him to do something that he’d been wanting to for a while.

Smiling at her he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling away and staring into her eyes.

“We haven’t gone out in a while. So, what do you say about us and everyone going out to the beach for a week? We can do it next week too. Go to the beach house and hang out, have some fun,” he said.

For a moment it felt like she’d say no, especially because she looked so emotional, but then she nodded. And Hoseok watched as a smile worked its way onto her lips, bigger and more genuine than he’d seen in a while.

“That sounds like what I need,” she said.

Happy with that, Hoseok leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before pulling away and snuggling into her. They continued their comfortable cuddly night in and slowly drifted to sleep together. Hoseok’s mind focused on planning things out perfectly until he knocked out.

The day before they were to leave to head to the beach house YN had planned to spend it packing and relax because the journey was tiresome. However, Hoseok had other plans and just as she finished packing her stuff he called her to come down to the shop for the night. Saying no was an option, but he sounded so excited that she couldn’t help but say yes.

So, on a Friday night when she could’ve been in her home eating and playing video games she found herself in Hoseok’s tattoo room by herself. Upon her arrival she’d been told he’d run out for a second and would be back in a bit. And in that case a bit meant thirty minutes or so after she got there.

Annoyed was an understatement, especially when she saw that he read the texts she’d sent asking him where he was. When it got too much, she got up to leave, but the moment she put her hand on the knob she was stumbling back because the door was being pushed open from the outside.

Hoseok – sweaty and breathing heavily – held bags of food and balanced multiple drinks in a tray. His eyes were wide and his mouth open in that uncomfortable mouth breathing way. Like YN could see the man’s uvula clear as day.

For a while they stood there staring at each other, that was until Hoseok regained control of his breathing.

“Were you about to leave?”

“Yes. You asked me to come at a specific time and you’re not here. Then I have to wait over thirty minutes where you open and don’t respond to my texts. How much longer did you think I was going to stay? Especially since you asked me to come here when I planned to not leave the couch until I absolutely had to all night,” she said.

At that Hoseok frowned. Moving past her a little he placed the stuff down in the tattoo chair that was reclined back. Then he moved to stand in front of her, his hands cupped her face. He stared at her expression and saw the slight bags under her eyes and the lingering sadness. She’d done so well for almost a week following his proposal of the beach trip, but the last day or two something shifted.

Her mother’s husband had found a way to contact her and it had thrown her off. Though the conversation had gone well it had brought her two steps back. Hoseok had woken up to her crying in the middle of the night and through the tears she’d managed to say that she felt like she was doing something wrong despite knowing she wasn’t. Despite knowing she was doing what was best for her and her mental state she felt like it was all wrong. Overthinking her decisions needlessly. The next morning – after he’d gotten her to sleep – she apologized and told him she knew that she was right and having a conversation with her mother’s husband that didn’t go horribly or fill her with anger felt off.

Things got better after that, but it took more than a moment of clarity and a talk with her therapist over the phone to get her back to where she’d been before. And that was why Hoseok had come up with the idea to call her into the shop. Well Jungkook and Taehyung came up with the idea to take her out before they all left, but he came up with what they’d do.

“I know, but I wanted to do something before we left. I swear we shouldn’t be here all night and I got that burger you were craving,” he said, a pout formed on his lips.

The usual thing would be for YN to throw the smallest of fits because she felt so tired, but his stupid face was there and she couldn’t say no. Plus she hadn’t left the apartment much in a week and needed the change of scenery even if it wasn’t a major one.

YN sighed. “Fine.”

With her answer and the small smile he saw fighting to take form on her lips Hoseok finally stopped his pouting. Leaning forward he pressed a quick kiss to her lips before releasing his hold on her face and moving over to the food. He carefully removed everything from the bags and then ran to put two of the four drinks in the tray into his mini freezer.

All the while YN stood and watched him; she hadn’t wanted to get in the way of what he was doing. The man could be anal about how things were handled when he was attempting to make some nice gesture and she’d been on the end of one of his glares before. Though she knew he wasn’t actually mad she knew not to push it further. There was no need for her to deal with a pouty baby later because things veered off plan; especially since she’d shown up before he could get back.

“Okay, so I know you were craving a burger and I went to the place you like and got you a double cheeseburger with extra pickles and a large fry. Also, a sprite and a chocolate milkshake,” he said.

Hearing him list the things made something stir inside YN. After giving into him she’d gotten less annoyed, but that hadn’t meant her mood shifted completely. Despite not being actively sad she felt down and having him get her the thing she’d been craving and getting her out of the house brightened her day. The corners of her mouth even turned up in a smile, something that hadn’t graced her lips once since she’d arrived – or all that day for that matter.

So, she watched as he excitedly continued and reassured her that the things she didn’t like weren’t on the burger and that he thought it would be good for them to sit in his room to eat. There was something about another plan of his, but she barely heard him as she smiled and watched him closely. His smile grew as he excitedly spoke of his idea, causing her own to do the same.

Hoseok was mid-ramble when he noticed that she was smiling at him. A truly genuine one at that. It made his heart beat a little erratically, but he didn’t mind at all. YN’s happiness was his priority and it felt good for him to see that she looked happy, even for a moment.

“Should we start eating?” he asked.

She nodded and he moved one of his chairs over to her so she could sit down to eat her food at the tattoo chair. In many cases she’d object, but the smell of multiple disinfectants told her that he’d cleaned the thing multiple times before her arrival. Plus, he’d laid a paper you’d see when you went to the doctor over the seat, so there was an added barrier from the food and the not so cleanly people who sometimes sat in it.

Though her mouth watered at the smell and the visual of her food YN waited until Hoseok was seat in his own chair across from her. He gave her a pointed look that she knew well from all the times he got annoyed at her not just eating and she dug into it without a word.

Not speaking was something they maintained for a few minutes before Hoseok swallowed a bite that he barely chewed.

“Did you finish getting everything ready?” he asked.

She nodded, because unlike him she liked to chew her food quite a bit before swallowing it.

“Yeah. Everything of mine is packed, as well as stuff we need for the beach, most of the snacks, and I grabbed all your stuff but didn’t pack it.”

Hoseok scoffed. “Good.”

At that she couldn’t help but to roll her eyes.

“You could’ve just let me pack it all for you. That way you don’t have to worry about it when you get home. Plus, you’re going to ask me to help when something doesn’t fit anyway,” she mumbled.

“I can back my own stuff. I’m a big boy. Besides who says I’ll need your help this time, I’m not even taking a whole lot with me.”

There was no verbal response to that, just a shake of the head as she gave up on the topic. At the end of the day she knew she was right and that Hoseok would come to her whining about something not fitting right or being unable to zip the bag. And the solution would be to refold something, rearrange how things sat, or make him realize he didn’t need as many pairs of shoes as he packed. And he definitely didn’t need to bring multiple colors of the same chunky, ugly pair of shoes that she hated.

She wished she could burn them but he loved them too much.

From there silence persisted for a bit and then she randomly turned her head to see a sketch on his wall of an anime she’d watched a long time ago. Naturally, that started a whole conversation about it and how much Hoseok hadn’t liked it as a kid. Something about his sister forcing him to watch it and him not liking the main character. Which led to a discussion about other main characters they both didn’t like. It spiraled into the difference between characters made unlikable as a part of their stories and how some were just not great and people played them off as unlikable on purpose. That didn’t stop people critiquing them though. Definitely didn’t stop YN.

As they talked their food lessened until it was gone. Hoseok took the initiative to clean it up and directed YN to the freezer. She grabbed their shakes and sat the one that was clearly white and black down on his side, grabbing a straw and jabbing it into her own cup. Her lips wrapped around it to pull some of the frozen treat up, but she struggled with how thick it was. When she finally got some out she pulled away with a smile.

“I see it’s up to your standards of thick. Sure you don’t want a spoon?” he asked upon his return to the seat.

YN shook her head vigorously and went in for more. Part of her brain hated the struggle, but the joy that filled her each time she finally got some was too great. The thick milkshakes were always the best.

While she did that Hoseok moved to his computer and turned on some music, his usual tattooing playlist blasted through the speakers. He turned it down when he saw YN flinch and then slid his chair back over to the seat. He grabbed his own straw and milkshake and sucked it down. It was thick, but the normal kind. No part of him had the patience to wrestle with his food or drink, so despite how much creamier it was her way he chose not to suffer.

About half the milkshake was gone before he got up from the seat and snatched YN’s from her hand – despite protest – to put back in the freezer. When he turned around he was met with her pouting and he wanted to give it back but they had other things to do as well.

“There’s another reason I asked you to come,” Hoseok said.

“Which is?”

He didn’t respond, just gathered a few things and prepped his small rolling table for tattooing before pushing towards her. There was no time to process what he meant by the action because then he was whipping off his shirt and taking a seat in the tattoo chair.

His intentions were beyond clear.

“Today?” she asked.

“Today.”

“But I-”

“Aht, no buts. You’re ready to do this and you were so excited to get to tattoo an actual person. So, today you’re going to do me and then Yoongi another time. Probably the others too since they’re all babies who can’t be left out.” He rolled his eyes while he said the last bit.

“That’s so many, I didn’t sign up for that. And why now? I’m not prepared for this. I don’t even have the stencil ready or-”

Again she didn’t get far because Hoseok pointed to a sheet of paper on the table that had various copies of the tattoo they’d agreed on and a pair of scissors.

The man had truly taken the time to make sure that everything was set. Which was sweet, but also spiked YN’s nerves. So much that any sadness that she’d felt was nowhere on her mind.

Hesitation was clear on her face as Hoseok watched her and he worried she was stuck amid her sadness, but then he noticed the nervous glint in her eyes. He found it cute that the woman cut open people for a living and was worried about how her tattoo would come out. Even though she caught onto tattooing faster than anyone in the shop and had the steadiest hand of all of them.

Reaching over Hoseok cupped her face and forced her gaze on him.

“You’ll do fine. We chose this tattoo because it was quick and basic. Line work and some shading. You even did it a million times on oranges, lemons, and grapefruit. It’ll be great,” he encouraged.

There was an urge to protest, but YN didn’t. She rose from her seat and walked out of the room. She went to wash her hands and then came back to slip gloves onto them. She lifted the arm rest and placed his arm on it, careful to look around for a good spot. Hoseok was tattooed almost completely on both arms, but there was a spot on his left forearm that had enough space.

From there she was kind of on autopilot. She cut the stencil and placed it on the spot to double check that it would work. Once pleased she set it back on the table and grabbed an antiseptic wipe to clean the area. She spent way too much time on that, but Hoseok didn’t comment on it. Before she knew it she was actually placing the stencil onto his skin and peeling it off, the thin purple lines transferred perfectly.

By then the nerves had returned and she was ready to back down, but then she made eye contact with Hoseok and he gave her an encouraging smile. She couldn’t stop then, she needed to see the tattoo through.

She got the gun and the ink ready, but the vibe felt off. So, without a word she rolled over to the computer and pulled off a glove. There were several clicks before Jonghyun’s beautiful voice filled the space. It was the first song on her surgery playlist and in a way tattooing was like that, so it was the perfect relaxer.

After replacing the glove she took off with another one she got to work. The tip of the needle dipped into the black ink and using her free hand she pressed Hoseok’s arm down and began the tattoo.

The design was a crescent moon – which would be shaded in – and a sun combined. Where the moon stopped lines and dots of varying lengths were used to make clear that it was the sun. Nothing intricate, but still something she worried about messing up.

Her movements were careful and steady, her hand moving easily as she traced the outline of the moon. It took her shorter than she thought even with her excessive wiping, but she wasn’t pleased with the outcome. It wasn’t bad at all, basically perfect. However, she’d been so nervous that the lines were too thin.

“If you want it thicker you can do it. I know Yoongi worked with you on that the last few sessions. I only taught you to start with thinner lines just in case you’re unsure,” Hoseok offered as if he read her mind.

YN nodded, chewing on her lower lip as she went in again. That time her lines were a little heavier and though part of her worried that it was a mistake to make them that thick, by the time she’d finished and wiped the excess she was pleased with it.

Being happy with her outcome meant that she felt more confident, which meant she went into the next part with less worry. She shaded the moon in with vigor and had to mutter a few apologies when Hoseok whined about her being too aggressive. It was just that she got excited and so into the work.

Which meant that she didn’t notice Yoongi when he’d silently entered the room. He stood behind her, though about a foot away so he wasn’t crowding her. Him and Hoseok watched as she finished the shading and went on to the lines to create the sun. Her hand moved carefully as she did and though there were a few curses when she thought she messed up, there were also those lightbulb moments when she realized she could make up the length with a few extra dots. Nothing ruined at all.

Once finished she set the gun to the side and carefully used the other items on the table to clean it. Seeing the cleaned version had her scared it was a mess, but the more she stared at it the more she liked it.

“You did good. How the hell did you get that to curve so fluidly?” Yoongi said, startling her with his sudden presence.

“She was so worried she’d mess up, I told her it would be fine,” Hoseok said.

Involuntarily, YN rolled her eyes. They enjoyed double teaming her on everything, but self-doubt was by far their favorite.

“Let the man see the new tattoo,” Yoongi said, playful nudging her shoulder.

Her eyes widened as she remembered he couldn’t see it well from the angle he was at and she moved away from the chair so he could get up. Hoseok immediately went over to the floor length mirror hanging near the door. He held out his arm and examined it closely – and for way too long – without saying anything. If he hadn’t smiled before he spoke she would’ve thrown up in fear he hated it.

“I told you, you’d do good baby,” he said.

Tension melted from her body at that and Hoseok watched on in joy. Not only had she accomplished her first tattoo, but she also appeared genuinely happy. There was nothing about her that exuded sadness or showed that she was even vaguely in a low place. It didn’t mean she was completely free from the thoughts, but it did mean that she wasn’t caught up in them enough to show any outward reactions. And since she wasn’t the best at keeping her emotions hidden and bottled up that was a win.

From the eye contact he made with Yoongi for a moment the older male also appeared to think so. Flashing Hoseok a thumbs up when YN wasn’t looking.

The first part of Hoseok’s plan was a success.

The trip to the beach was long and started early. They’d rented a twelve-seater van to drive there and alternated drivers. Jungkook, Yoongi, and YN switched out every two hours so no one got too complacent or tired with the six hour drive. It was trying sometimes because of stupid drivers or someone complaining too much, but they made it there without anyone killing someone else.

A true win.

They arrived at the beach house late afternoon and decided they’d spend that night in. None of them had enough energy from the trip to anything and they had a full week to venture out. Plus avoiding the massive crowd on a Saturday night was a win.

Food was ordered in front various places because everyone either wanted something different or couldn’t make up their mind on what they wanted at all. Dinner was eaten and though it started off with minimal conversation they all eventually started talking about random things and eventually it led to talk of what they would do the next day. Hoseok mentioned something about the amusement park nearby, which got YN excited immediately and everyone agreed with that.

However, the quickness in which they all said yes wasn’t lost on YN despite her excitement. Usually they all took forever deciding what to do on any group outing and when they did there was some sort of whining. But everyone had agreed and then went about eating like everything was fine. No questions asked. No adjustments to time. No concerns about being there for so long. Just compliance.

It was something YN planned to ask about and fight against if they were doing it because she wanted to. Them giving in just because it would make her happy because she’d been so down wasn’t something she was okay with. The thought was nice, but she preferred they did their own things if that’s what they wanted. But she didn’t get to ask because everyone finished and before she knew it Hoseok escorted her to their room.

And like clockwork her body felt heavy the moment her eyes laid on the bed. Not even the pretty view from their balcony could draw her in. Which made it easy for Hoseok to maintain control to get her in the shower and then bed in the matter of thirty minutes.

By the time her head hit the pillow she felt refreshed, but like she’d cried for a few hours straight. The kind of tired where you don’t really feel one with the world and everything is almost like an outsider looking in. Though when she looked at Hoseok he grounded her a bit.

He took a few minutes longer to get into the bed after she did, slipping in wearing nothing but his boxers. Which was fine because she was in short shorts and a crop top. Something that seemed to warrant him poking her stomach every so often, which she allowed to happen because she didn’t have it in her to stop him.

Hoseok knew what he was doing too and that he’d pay for it once she slept, though she tended to forget things when too tired. But he stopped his poking and prodding after a few seconds, preferring to pull her close so they were cuddled together. Her leg thrown over him and their faces resting inches away from each other. He wanted to stay up a little and talk, but her eyes were closed and her breathing slowing.

For once she didn’t argue about it only being 8:00pm and thus too early to sleep. She’d say that every time they went on a trip, but more than anything she’d been saying it since after her mother’s funeral. Even when she looked exhausted and mentally not there she refused to sleep that early. So it felt good to see her not do it for once and after placing a kiss on her lips that thought lulled Hoseok to sleep.

Because they’d fallen asleep so early everyone was up at around seven the next morning. Well, everyone except for Jin, Beau and YN. They’d all woken up and ventured out of their rooms at around five almost six and decided yoga was the move. They gathered on the back patio of the house where you could see the beach and got to work.

Yoga was something that Jin and YN did regularly. The hospital had classes for all the staff to take and they’d gone with no intentions to ever do it again, but then realized how good they felt the days after. From then on they went to the classes or met up in a secluded part of a park early in the morning to do it before going out for breakfast or something. Beau joined in once when YN did it at home and then usually join her anytime he saw her doing it. Sometimes even joining her and Jin when they ventured out.

It was a great first moment of the vacation and one of the few times she’d felt so at peace in a long while.

From there they showered, got dressed, and went down to make breakfast. They’d picked up some groceries before getting to the house so they didn’t have to worry about it later.

By the time they finished everyone was up. Food was consumed at an alarming rate and everyone got ready with the same quickness. They wanted to get to the park at opening so they could have a better chance to get on everything. Which led to a lot of yelling and rushing people to hurry up and get to the van.

Hoseok took it upon himself to drive them there and as the rides came into view the closer they got the more excited YN got. She bounced in her seat and almost opened her door before the car came to a full stop.

That was dangerous and with the way Yoongi looked at her Hoseok thought she’d get scolded, but in fact the older man was upset that she tried to cheat. Which confused Hoseok until he whipped the door open and sprinted towards the entrance, YN hot on his heels and yelling about who was the real cheater.

It was like watching two children and goodness did it make Hoseok feel good.

When the others reached them they both stood there with big smiles and holding wrist bands, all of them the kind that were used for those with fast passes.

Hoseok narrowed his eyes at them, but neither of them looked regretful about what they’d done. In fact, they both appeared way too smug.

“What did we say about you two buying everything before anyone gets a chance? It’s not allowed on this trip or any trip,” Beau said.

Yoongi and YN turned to each other and shrugged, then thrusted a wristband into everyone’s hands. Since it wasn’t their first time out with the two amusement park junkies they all knew to get the bands on quickly, as if their lives depended on it. Yoongi had once wrapped Jungkook’s so tight that it limited circulation in his hand and they had to get another.

No one wanted to repeat that.

Without missing a beat they walked towards the workers scanning people in, leaving the others to catch up. Both of them were several feet inside the park by the time the others caught up again. They stood perfectly still and took in the park. One could feel the excitement that radiated off them.

It took Taehyung clearing his throat multiple times before they turned to face the rest of the group. Though that only lasted for a second before they were focused on each other.

“We meet here in four hours?” YN asked.

Yoongi nodded. “Right here and then I kick your ass in everything.”

That made YN scoff but she refrained from any trash talk in retaliation, there was always enough of that during them playing the games. Besides her focus was on something else.

Off in the distance was a ride that was way too high and moved way too fast – by even her standards – but the expression on her face showed how much she wanted to try it. So, without a word to the others Hoseok walked forward, grabbed her hand, and headed towards it. Everyone else went their own way, except for Jungkook and Taehyung who followed behind them. Hoseok felt like he was going to be sick the whole way, but YN and Jungkook reassured him the whole time while Taehyung poked fun at him, though it was clear that was only to calm his own nerves.

Once on the thing they all were ready to shit themselves but pushed through and as the it reached the first drop. YN and Hoseok made eye contact for a second and there was a reassuring feeling that flowed through them, but the next thing they knew they were sailing through the air so quickly it took a moment for her to breathe properly again.

The entire ride there was no moment to relax or get used to it. Even knowing what was to come didn’t make it any easier to adjust.

It was exhilarating.

That feeling is why Taehyung and Hoseok ended up waiting as YN and Jungkook went on again. Neither of them wanted to relive that and the fast pass line wasn’t that long, so they just sat on a bench a few yards from where the line-up started.

“So, are you going to do it today?” Taehyung asked, his voice a bit strained.

At first Hoseok was confused by the question and then it dawned on him what he meant. A different kind of discomfort settled in him at the thought of saying yes and so he shook his head quickly.

“Definitely not,” he muttered.

Taehyung turned to look at him with a raised brow and confusion.

“I thought that was the plan? Get her all happy and then do it? Don’t tell me you’re chickening out?” he teased.

Hoseok reached over and lightly punched his shoulder, a soft – but nervous – laugh escaping his lips.

“I’m going to, just not today. I want to make sure she’s good first. I’d hate to do it while she’s still wrapped up in sadness. That would make the whole thing much more complicated than it already is.”

At that Taehyung shrugged and turned his attention back towards the ride. They sat in a comfortable silence watching it climb high and then drop, looping a few times before it climbed again. It was more nerve wrecking watching it move like that then being on it, but that didn’t mean that Hoseok wished he was on it instead. He never planned to get on that ride again if he could help it.

About twenty minutes or so passed before they both returned and then everyone was off to other rides. They were all their own level of terrifying, but as they ran from ride to ride Hoseok got used to the fear and thrill that came along with them. He’d even agreed to go on one twice, which made YN beyond happy. Especially since she could see the eagerness was genuine. As if him being the one to request they go again wasn’t clear enough.

They continued on like that for a while, though eventually Jungkook wanted to circle back to get on something they’d all said no to. He convinced Taehyung to go with him and then Hoseok and YN were traversing the park alone.

A few more rides after the departure of the others and Hoseok forced a stop for food. Which wasn’t a whole lot and less than Hoseok would’ve liked her to eat, but it was more than she’d had some of the days from weeks before. A win in his book.

Before they went to get on some more rides they stopped to get a dessert, which was ice cream wrapped in a crepe. The park hadn’t had it the last time they’d come to it and that made YN all the more eager to indulge. They reminded her of ones she’d had in Japan when she’d gone for six months to study in high school. They tasted like them too.

“I don’t know if I should get another one now or later when we’re about to leave,” she said.

Hoseok laughed as he watched her devour it.

“I think I saw a stand with it near the entrance so you can get it when we leave,” he offered.

Though she looked conflicted at first, she smiled and nodded after a bit. No matter how practiced she was at eating and getting on rides too much dairy was a mistake. Fifteen-year-old her learned that the hard way.

After food was consumed, they went on a few more rides and then headed back toward where they were to meet with fifteen minutes to spare. The walk was taken slowly and they intertwined fingers as they went.

It was a moment of peace among the chaos and when YN looked at Hoseok with one of the brightest smiles he’d seen in a while he felt near tears. She’d been so happy and never once did her expression falter or her body language shift negatively. There was so much freedom and joy radiating from her and despite his optimism he’d been scared she’d stay shrouded in darkness for forever. So to have that voice in his head silenced because she was there and existing outside of it was just the best thing to happen to him.

Everything wasn’t fixed, but it was better than nothing.

Yoongi was at the meeting point with an irritated Beau who held a large stuffed bear. Most would question why Beau looked that way, but by the shifting that Yoongi was doing and the wide smile it was clear that he’d challenged his boyfriend to a few games and then mercilessly beat him.

Upon seeing a smiling YN though Beau’s expression shifted to mimic the smile on her face and so did Yoongi’s for a moment. However, YN was in competition mode and when he noticed that he was as well.

Not a word was uttered between them as they left their significant others to head towards the games and neither of them said anything about it. They merely trailed behind them and watched as they tried to one up each other.

Who knows how much time passed or how many prizes were handed over to kids or anyone standing nearby before everyone was gathered together watching them. Though it was tiring to stand there and see them go on forever there was also this mutual contentment as they all looked on. It was as if they were all on the same wavelength with how nice it was to see either of them back to some sort of normalcy.

“Has she been like this all day?” Beau whispered.

Hoseok nodded, his eyes never leaving them.

“Yeah. She’s been so happy and carefree. I don’t think she’s thought about it once all this time. And it doesn’t feel like she’s faking it,” he said.

There was a nod from Beau in response and then all the focus was back on them.

YN being that happy that quickly wasn’t what Hoseok foresaw at all, but it was nice to see that the second part of what he planned worked out well. He only hoped that it was doing some actual, concrete good for her mentally and that the last part of everything would go as smoothly.

Four days into their trip YN decided that Hoseok was acting weird. Though weird was something normal for his behavior it was a different type. He was attentive and kind, but also drifted off into his own head a lot and didn’t put up a fight when asked to do something that wasn’t necessarily in his comfort zone. She hadn’t pushed his limits by any means and accepted no when he said it, but for the most he gave in without a second thought.

Of course, his efforts were appreciated greatly, but that was what worried her the most. She knew how down she’d been and how the call from her mother’s husband had changed her. It was clear as day to her how she was acting and she wished she could snap her fingers and stop, but that wasn’t possible. And since she knew that, so did Hoseok and that meant he’d ramped up on trying to keep her at the very least not actively sad. All his free time was spent trying to help and look after her. The trip was just another one of those things and though she jumped at the prospect of being away from home to enjoy herself – and had enjoyed herself – she feared him taking things a step too far to please her.

No matter her mental state there would be no excuse for any damage she could do to his if that was the case. So YN planned to talk to him about it one morning, but she was redirected by Yoongi to get ready. Apparently he wanted to take her out for the day, just the two of them. Something she happily agreed to on the compromise of her going to talk to Hoseok about a thing first, but that was shot down by being told he’d headed out a few minutes beforehand. Which meant she had no other choice but to do as she was told, but with a pout.

Despite her mopey mood she didn’t take long to get dressed. Mostly because when she’d entered the room she found a pair of shorts and one of her long sleeve tops laid out for her. Yoongi promptly informed her he didn’t want her taking forever so he’d done it for her. It wasn’t out of the norm since he’d done it many times throughout their lives because supposedly she moved too slow or always grabbed the one thing in her wardrobe he hated with a passion. After a while she learned to just let it happen.

Once ready to go Yoongi grabbed her hand and practically dragged her from the house. It took some begging and mild threats to get him to not hold her hand so tight and slow down. From there he was less aggressive, but still held her hand firmly in his. She was fine with that because it was a habit from childhood that they never grow out of. As long as his bony fingers didn’t dig into her hand or squeeze too tight she was fine.

During their walk they didn’t speak, which was fine. They both tended to be quiet people and silences were rarely awkward. Walking for ten minutes to the nearby cafe bookstore was nothing in the realm of how long they could be around each other and not utter a single word.

“I wanted us to relax before dinner later. You know they’re all going to get drunk and it’ll be a mess. So, some peace and quiet for now,” Yoongi said once they entered.

That made YN smile wide. Even without the reason she loved the idea of spending a few hours there.

“You sure it’s not because they let you take naps here whenever we come?” she teased.

Yoongi laughed. “That too. A peaceful nap.”

With that she nodded and finally removed her hand from his. She shooed him away to see if any good seats were open and then headed off to buy their drinks. All of her will was used not to stop and look at books that caught her eye as she walked to the counter. The man wanted a nap, but him waiting too long for his favorite hot chocolate wasn’t on the table. Plus, there was something about being inside the place that calmed her so much that she was a bit tired herself.

After she grabbed the hot chocolates she searched for him and was beyond happy to find him at the reclining chairs in a back corner. Not daring to destroy the nice atmosphere of the space she merely handed him his drink and plopped down into her own chair. Her body relaxed instantly. It was asking her to sleep, but she wanted to drink her hot chocolate first. That lasted maybe ten minutes before she and Yoongi drifted off.

Sometimes she didn’t remember how much having a good time and being happy could drain from a person, no matter how much sleep they got.

When they finally woke up, panic filled YN because she’d misread the clock as saying four hours had passed, but it was barely an hour. The darkness only exacerbated that, but she was thankful her eyes adjusted before she shook Yoongi awake.

Since she felt refreshed from the nap the urge to explore books overcame her again. Instead of ignoring it she left Yoongi to continue his napping and looked around the store.

A lot of what did interest her were things she had read, were on her to read list, or by someone who wasn’t the greatest person despite their excellent writing. The things she did find that didn’t fit into that were all so tempting and she wanted to get them all but knew better than to do that. Her to read list was long and she didn’t need a million more books. So, she settled on getting the top three and took pictures of the others to buy at a later date.

By the time she made her purchase Yoongi had woken up and joined her at the register. He appeared rested and much peppier than he had before, which made her happy to see.

“Should we head back now?” she asked.

He nodded and then they were holding hands and walking back to the beach house.

The silence on the way back didn’t exist. Yoongi asked about what books she’d gotten and some other book she’d gotten a while ago that he’d been interested in. She agreed to give it to him and just as they reached the house and she prepared to ask if he wanted the book’s sequel as well he stopped abruptly.

Confusion coloring her face YN turned her head to look at him and was met with a tense expression. However, before she could question it he spoke.

“You’re okay, right? Actually okay, not the fake okay?” he asked.

YN felt a pang in her heart and her eyes watered for a second, but she pushed that all down. She wouldn’t dare make him more worried than he’d already been, especially when there was nothing to worry about.

“I’m okay. In fact, I’m as close to content as I’ve been in a while,” she said.

His entire demeanor changed when she said the word content. It was a signal of sorts. Something that they’d both learned they wanted through therapy. Happiness was great but being content and not so much good or bad was always the goal. As long as they could reach contentment all would be fine.

Though relaxed he didn’t stop staring her down for a moment and then after a firm squeeze of her hand – that she returned – he started walking again.

Inside the house everyone was putting the finishing touches on the dinner they’d decided on for the evening. It was a night in, which meant cooking and Jungkook had said that meant it needed to be an extra meal. So, him, Jin, Jimin, and Namjoon had spent a lot of time getting everything prepped and cooked. YN had wanted to help and even offered once Yoongi and her returned, but they were done and shooed her out to the patio so they could bring the food out.

Hoseok, who she’d seen maybe twice that whole day, pulled her down onto the seat next to him and immediately moved in for a kiss. That elicited some gagging from Beau which was met with a middle finger from both Hoseok and YN all without pulling away from each other.

They did part when the first of many dishes were placed on the table though. And without hesitation – once everyone was seated and Jin gave his go ahead – they began grabbing the things they wanted or moving them in range.

There was just so much. They’d made kimchi stew, bulgogi, pork ribs, fried rice, curry, and braised chicken. And of course, enough white rice that would satisfy even YN.

Bloated wasn’t even the word that truly captured how YN felt by the end of it all. Though happy was definitely a descriptor. They’d eaten, talked, and down alcohol. Jokes and stories were told, laughed about, and denied with intense vigor all around. It was a peaceful moment despite the chaos and watching her family just be together always filled her with such joy.

She could stay like that forever, but of course that was a no.

About thirty minutes after she’d had her last bite Hoseok suggested they go on a walk while they waited for the others to return with the chosen dessert. No was on the tip of her tongue, but he reminded her walking could help her feel better. Plus, he had a look in his eye that reminded her that she’d wanted to talk to him about something before.

So, they kicked off their shoes and headed down the beach. Hoseok laced their fingers together and led her away from the house. At first they said nothing, but then at the exact same time they spoke.

“YN-”

“Can we talk-”

They both paused and looked at each other with wide eyes before descending into laughter. It took a moment or two, but they collected themselves soon enough and continued their trek.

“You first,” he said.

YN nodded. “I want to thank you for all of this. It was what I needed and I’m so happy to have all this time with you and everyone else. Being with the people I loved most and who love me. Having fun that I haven’t had in a while. Having moments where I feel content, even if it’s fleeting. I haven’t had a bad day for the last few days and I haven’t even thought about anything really. And even if I did it was such a fleeting moment that I only barely remember it happened at all.”

“But?” Hoseok said when she paused.

“But I worry about taking advantage of all of you. I know that I’m not and everyone is happy to be here for a good time and to offer all the support in the world. I know that that feeling is for naught. But I realized how much you’ve given into me the last few days and it makes me feel like I may be crossing a line. You’ve had to deal with me being distraught and not myself for weeks. Never able to escape that unless out at work or I’m with someone else. And then you plan this and you give into my every whim. You do things that I know make you uncomfortable. Even if I’m not pushing you on certain things and I know I’m not crossing any hard lines it still feels wrong. And I’m sorry about that,” she said.

That ended in them coming to an abrupt stop. Hoseok released her hand and moved to stand in front of her, his hands moving to cup her face.

“Baby, you don’t have to worry about any of that. You have not crossed a line or made me do anything I didn’t choose to do. I’m fine. Did I agree to a few things that scare me or make me cautious? Yes. Did I do them partly because they made you happy? Yes. But like I said, it was my choice. I wanted to try them and that was an extra incentive. Seeing you smile or be in the moment was the greatest incentive in the world. I wouldn’t change doing those things. And I know you’re worried about what all this or your behavior could have done to my mental health, but I’m good there too. It hurt me to see you like that, but I processed that in therapy. Dr. Seo was more than willing to take me in more than once a month to process all this. I swear to you I’m fine.”

There was clear uncertainty in her eyes despite what he said. Hoseok could see it and though he wished she’d just believe him he knew that wasn’t how the mind worked. Sometimes things took a while to process or a little more assurance needed to be given.

After taking a deep breath he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, one she returned without hesitation. When he pulled away one of his hands slipped from her face as their foreheads pressed together.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too.”

The next few moments happened in a weird space where everything moved too fast and too slow. Hoseok’s other hand moved from her face and he pulled away from her, but before anything could be said or done on her end he was down on one knee with a ring in his hand.

YN had no time to process it before he started talking.

“This week was about making you feel even an ounce of happiness, but it was also about finding the right time to ask you. YN you know I love you with my entire being. How you love yourself, me, and our little family brings me such joy. How you live to be the best you and know that you’re not always going to get it right. How you know yourself enough to know how to handle your problems. You realize how off you’re being and take the time to self-assess, not just because of you but because of me. So you’re not doing anything that could affect me. That could lead to unintentional behavior that could harm me. You grow so much all the time and it feels impossible for you to put forth any more effort than you already do.

“You just make me feel so happy. Doesn’t matter if it’s from watching you be that way, you making me feel that way, or the reminder that I can be happy on my own despite you. That I can stand alone in happiness that doesn’t revolve around you or anyone else. Something I struggled with so much before. You’ve helped so much by just being you. And though I know that we have cemented our relationship already, I still want to do this. It would truly be the best thing in the world if you married me, baby.”

YN had worked through the initial shock and was much calmer than when he’d started talking. Her brain fought to keep up with the words and her heart soared as she took them in. It’s why she didn’t hesitate in responding with a yes.

Without missing a beat Hoseok slipped the ring on her finger and rose onto his feet. He pulled her into a tight hug and whispered ‘I love you’ over and over. In the distance there were cheers from their friends who had watched on from the back patio. She hadn’t even realized they’d turned and walked back towards the house once she’d started talking. But that didn’t matter at all. At least not in that moment.

The calm that she felt mattered. The excitement she felt mattered. The content feeling that washed over her mattered.

[the-l-spacer]

Summary: Lloyd Allen is sick and alone at his house. This is unacceptable.

Written for Day 7 of Shaperaverse week, for the prompt ‘Family, Home’ - and is a continuation of the theatre kids au in chapter 1! I had a blast writing for this event. Thank you for reading!!

- 

Lloyd Allen is sick. Like, sick sick. Not the sort where he gets a runny nose and maybe a hoarse throat that clears up in a day.

No, this is the everything-at-once, Chernobyl-nuclear-fucking-meltdown-anthropomorphised kind of sick. He’s hot (and not in the good way that, as Kelis once put it, brings all the boys to the yard). His throat feels like someone attempted to make him swallow hot control rods (to continue the Chernobyl metaphor). About every facial orifice is leaking steadily. Looking at himself in the mirror is an experience akin to staring at the Elephant’s Foot.

To put it sparingly, he feels like shit.

And, he laments, lying on his side on the living room couch, today is the absolute worst day to fall sick.

Through half open eyes, he gazes at the clock hung on the wall, — an old-fashioned thing circled with Roman numerals, because everything about his dad is old fashioned, a trait that passed from father to son — ticking steadily to 10am, when rehearsal is slated to start.

He briefly considers pushing himself off the couch, wrapping himself in a warm coat, and going anyways. After all, they’re just starting to rehearse Janissary in earnest, having almost memorized the scripts and choreography and blocking, and it physically pains him to be absent just when the real work is about to begin.

On the other hand, he can’t have the entire cast be bedridden because of him.

Mulling over his choices, he doesn’t remember when exactly he blacked out, only to be woken up again by the vibrating of his phone on the floor next to him.

Groaning, he reaches out his hand to answer it, and the very action feels like moving through slow, thick honey. He manages, but by the time he brings the phone to his face, the call ends.

The too-bright display tells him he missed a call from Asha.

A slight smile crosses his face. Of course she’d be the first to call him.

He dials back, and she picks up right away. “Lloyd?” Her voice is high and hurried. “Thank goodness you picked up. Me and the others are so worried. Are you all right?”

Try to sound like nothing’s wrong. “I’m fi-achOO!”

Well, so much for that.

“Oh Lloyd, you’re sick?”

“That- that much is obvious, Asha.” He forces the words out through a stuck throat, and is too busy cringing as sneeze-gunk runs down his face (gross) to regret his curt tone.

She sucks in a breath. “Sorry, sorry, god I’m such an asshole. Is it a fever?”

He wants to tell her that the asshole is him, that she shouldn’t waste her breath on someone as ungrateful as he, but all he manages is a short, “Yeah.”

“And from the sound of it, a sore throat and a stuffy nose as well. Do you have a glass of water somewhere nearby? Do you feel well enough to see the doctor?”

“No, and… no.”

“Lloyd- “

“Sorry.”

“- stop- stop hating yourself for one second. I was going to say I can come over right now, if you want me to.”

That’s enough to snap him awake. “NO!” He pauses, wiping his nose. “No. Continue rehearsing, take over for me. I want everyone’s lines fully memorized by next week.”

Now it’s Asha’s turn to be the naysayer of the conversation. He listens, with some grim satisfaction, as she splutters on the phone. “M-me? You want me to be- bu-“

“I’m sick, remember?” He coughs once, for emphasis. “You have to do what I say.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll do my best, and I’ll let the others know you can’t make it. In the meantime, you’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yyyyes?”

“And you’re sure you’re getting enough water? Did you take a panadol? I could get some soup delivered to you-“

The rest of the conversation passes in a blurry haze. He vaguely remembers telling Asha to very much not waste precious rehearsal time by ordering food for him, and was it a fever-induced hallucination, or did he tell David to take over as narrator? Did he comfort the fraught third year until he no longer could, Asha finally stepping in to tell him to rest?

Well that he can certainly do. As Asha says something about sleeping in a cold place, he is already drifting off on the couch. He watches the (decidedly not cold) living room’s ceiling fan turn lazy circles, he murmurs a half-conscious ‘I love you’ to Asha, and he finally surrenders to unconsciousness.

- 

Knock knock.

Knock knock knock.

“Lloyd? Are you there?”

What….

Lloyd stirs, and immediately regrets doing so. His hair sticks to the nape of his neck, and a layer of awful post-nap sweat coats his skin. Yet, despite the warm, stuffy air, he’s shivering, curling into himself, trying to figure out if the knocks on the door are figments of his fevered imagination.

“I think he’s still asleep.” The voices he hears are muffled, but definitely there. Is that David?

“Nothing else for it, we gotta pick the lock. I can use my hairpin.”

“Jill, NO!” His ears pick up Asha’s shrill soprano.

Michael’s telltale drawl comes next. “Doesn’t Lloyd keep a key outside the house somewhere? Was it the doormat, or the flowerpot…”

Lloyd’s eyes drift closed once again, until…

“LLOYD!!!” Two blurs bound toward him, but are quickly yanked back.

“Don’t crowd him! He’s way too warm as is.”

Lloyd rasps, “Asha... ? And Jill and Michael a.. And David? What are you all doing here?”

He feels himself being lifted, bridal style, and pressed against a sturdy chest, can feel the vibrations as Michael speaks. “We’re here’ta take care of our favourite stage manager, of course!”

“But.. you.. Rehearsals?”

“Done and dusted,” David says, hovering behind Michael as he carries Lloyd into the bedroom, depositing him gently on his soft mattress. “It went… not terribly, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Pfft, Davey here’s bein’ waaay too modest. As you predicted, he makes a pre-tty awesome narrator.”

David opens his mouth to protest, but Michael shushes him. “Go, set up the Switch so our boy Lloyd has somethin’ to entertain himself with once he’s feelin’ better.”

The obliging theatre techie in David wins out over his self-deprecating side, and he obediently trots off, leaving Michael in the room with a rather overwhelmed Lloyd.

“Don’t lie,” Lloyd begins, “was he really…”

“Yes.” Michael fishes out a thermometer from his backpack and takes Lloyd’s temperature. “Woof, 38 degrees. You’re burnin’ up. Aaanyways, David’s a little nervous, sure, I’ll let Asha fill you in on all the specific details, but he’s got potential. A loootta potential.”

Lloyd lets out a breath. “Good.”

“Now less talkin’, more tryna’ get better soon, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Lloyd gives a small nod.

The other boy pats his arm, and leaves Lloyd, giving room for Jill to breeze in, pushing cups of honey lemon and hot herbal tea and instructing him to drink, opening the windows to let the cool spring air in, and twining small flowers around his shelves and bedposts, before finally pulling his rolling study chair over to his bedside.

“Asha’s in overdrive,” she says conspiratorially, “been freaking out ever since the call. She tried to hide it, obviously, but we could tell. She’s, like, super worried about you, so real talk. Are you okay?”

The chamomile tea warms his throat as he drinks, and he finds his voice flowing freer than before. “I’m all right, really. Some irresponsible delinquent in my lit class came in with a flu, which no doubt passed on to me.”

“But you’ve never been sick before, at least, you haven’t been like the entire time we’ve known you!”

“When my immune system is down, it’s down, I suppose.”

Jill’s face pulls in a sympathetic pout. “Oof, that’s rough. Least it’s not anything serious. If it was something serious, you’d tell us, right?”

Lloyd must have paused too long, because Jill leans forward with sudden seriousness, necklaces adorned with tiny silver trinkets dangling in front of his face. “We care about you. I know Michael and I like to give you grief, but we really do. We’ve been friends for years now, and if something happened, it’d be like I lost my- my brother or something!”

His face heats. “Jill… I... of course. Of course I’d tell you. I care for you all greatly as well, even if I don’t show it.” His hand finds Jill’s. “Thank you, for saying that.”

She gives his hand a squeeze. “Just saying what we’re all thinking. I’m gonna go play Smash with Michael and David. You,” she stands up, tapping his shoulder lightly, “rest.”

“I will.”

She leaves Lloyd, a little confused at the interaction, though all that falls away when Asha enters the room, a bowl of hot ginseng chicken broth in hand.

“I’m sorry for being so curt on the phone, just now,” he blurts out.

Asha waves his apology off. “Water under the bridge. Eat up.”

Time passes, Lloyd savouring spoonfuls of soup as Asha sponges him with cold water, giving him a play-by-play of their rehearsal. The details remain hazy in his mind, though Lloyd does chuckle when his friend tells him of David forgetting he was so far downstage that he almost missed his cue and fell right off the raised platform, saved only when Michael yanked him backwards.

“That.. certainly explains why his shirt is hanging off of him a little looser than before.” Lloyd remarks.

Asha sweeps the finished bowl of soup from his grasp, replacing it with a glass of water and a Panadol. “Interesting that even with a fever, you notice how David’s shirt fits on him.”

It’s lucky that Lloyd only has the glass raised to his lips, else he would have done a spit-take. “Wh- what?!?? Who said anything about me staring at David’s shirt?! It’s just a- a casual observation, anyone would notice it!”

Asha grins. “Naturally, naturally.”

“What does that mean?!”

“Nothing!” She says breezily.

Lloyd stares at Asha, currently sending a text on her phone to someone. From the living room outside, he hears Jill snort.

Ordinarily, he would press, but as is, his information-overloaded brain begins to shut down once again.

“Sure,” he says finally.

Asha looks at him with surprise. “That it? You’re letting me off that easy?”

“ ‘m tired,” he simply says, sinking lower into his sheets. “I’ll ask again if I remember.”

Asha busies herself switching on the AC, drawing the curtains so they don’t let in the late afternoon sun. “Sleep, and properly this time, okay? We’ll be waiting outside for you once you wake up.”

“M’kay.” His eyes are already half-closed, watching Asha hover in the doorway.

“I love you, Lloyd.”

I really did say that on the phone, huh. 

Nothing else for it, then. “Love you too.”

- 

When Lloyd wakes, his senses come alive one at a time. He feels better than he did in the morning, the medicine doing its work so he’s no longer covered in a cold sweat. His nose is no longer stuffy, and the room’s cool air is permeated with the faint scent of chrysanthemum.

He sits up. It’s properly dark, now, and he can hear faint voices outside.

Gingerly, Lloyd pads out of his room, peeks around the entrance to the living room, and sees his friends, crammed together on the couch, whisper-screaming as Princess Peach beat the shit out of Link on the TV screen.

It’s hard to tell who it was who notices him standing in the shadows first, but it’s David who says, “Guys, Lloyd’s up!”, followed by a responding chorus of cheers from his friends.

His friends.

Is it his fever, or is the warmth he feels rushing through him as they make room on the couch coming from someplace else entirely?

Is him resting his head on David’s shoulder a result of fatigue, or… something else?

And is David tilting his head so it rests on his in turn coming from the same place too?

Later, they sit at the kitchen table, eating soupy noodles ordered in by Michael, and Lloyd wonders if it's the hunger from his previously light meals, or if the food, eaten as he sits surrounded by his friends, is the best he’s ever had?

Is it the thinking of his sickness-muddled mind, or is his house, filled with inane chatter and loud, boisterous laughter, so unlike the cold, quiet days spent with his father, more like a home to him than it ever was before?

And is it his imagination, or is this small group of theatre nerds truly his family? Family he never had, family that disappeared when his mother left?

Even after his father does return, frowning at the mess and noise, and his friends sheepishly clear the takeout boxes and unplug the switch and wash the dirty plates and cups, finally bidding him forlorn goodbyes and get-well-soons, the thoughts don’t go away.

Lloyd pops another pill and heads back to bed, sending a short ‘thank you’ in the main cast and crew group chat, switching off his phone as he sees the wall of responding texts and stickers flooding in.

He settles his sheets back around him, catches sight of evidence that the afternoon and evening truly happened - flowers adding a splash of colour to the space, a scribbled ‘gws’ post-it from David on his bedside table.

Lloyd Allen goes back to sleep with a small smile. After all, the sooner he gets better, the sooner he can return to the theatre. The sooner he can see his family. The sooner he can come home.

[awesometheydontknowiamhere]

We Will Make It Work

Connor Rhodes X Reader (Chicago Med Fic)

Summary: Connor and Reader are in a live-in relationship. As Connor is busy with his duties at the hospital, Reader is a little unwell and Connor fails to notice the Reader’s deterioration. A night in the ED puts both their feelings on the table, including about their roles in each others lives and feelings about Robin. 

Angst followed by fluff.

Warnings: Eating disorder (sort of), hospitals, mentions of blood tests.

Words: 1554

“Connor, you can’t force me to go to a party. Please, I don’t want to discuss this anymore,” you said, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice.

The whole evening was turning sour. Connor was late for dinner, and was already in a mood about that party his father wanted him to attend. You weren’t trying to be a bitch, but your nausea was killing you and you didn’t want to argue with him.

But there he was, reclining on the bed, asking you to be his date for the charity ball, while you were pacing in front of the bed.

“Honey, I am sorry. Come back to bed,” he said, patting the pillow beside him.

You started walking towards the bed, trying to ignore the exhaustion creeping up on you.

“I am going to get us reservations for dinner tomorrow, that new place that opened last month,” he said, smiling up at you.

Uh-oh.

Bad move, Rhodes.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” you muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“I said don’t make promises you can’t keep up. We’ve been down this road before,” you said.

“Really? Y/N, we are doing this again? You know I was suddenly pulled into surgery the last two times,” he said.

“And who’s to say it won’t happen tomorrow? Don’t want to get my hopes up,” you said.

He took in a sharp breath.

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

“Connor.”

“You know, let’s just go to sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

He leaned in to kiss your forehead and turned away, settling in his side of the bed.

“I am going to get a glass of water,” you said, not sure why you were announcing it.

You walked over to the kitchen. You were feeling bad for fighting with him, but you were having these bouts of intense nausea and cramps which prevented you from eating. Between that and your tiny arguments with him-

Woah.

Your head suddenly felt light. You gripped the edge of the table. The room started spinning and you hit the floor.

Shattering glass woke Connor up. He shot out of bed.

“Y/N? Honey? Is everything okay?”

He walked into the kitchen, only to find you passed out on the floor.

He grabbed the home phone and called 911, calling in an ambulance.

“Baby, can you hear me?” he said.

The medics rushed in through the door.

“Barry, I woke up to her passed out on the floor. She’s been out for three minutes, I think. I haven’t checked her pupils but her pulse feels slightly sluggish,” he said in a single breath.

“Connor, we are going to take good care of her,” Barry said.

You woke up in the ambulance with Connor attached to your hand.

There were people poking and prodding at you with pen lights and thermometers.

“Connor,” you said as you tried to get up.

“It’s okay, just stay calm, these people are here to help you. I am right here,” he said reassuringly.

The next time you opened your eyes you were in the ED in a trauma bay.

“Hey, gorgeous, gave me quite the scare today. How are you feeling now?” he said, stroking your cheek.

“Groggy, but I’ll live,” you said.

“You are groggy from the drugs. We had to sedate you, you weren’t coping well in the presence of all the paramedics and all the questions,” he said.

“Why am I even in the ED in the first place?”

“You passed out last night at the kitchen. I called 911.”

“I don’t remember any of that. The last thing I remember is us talking in the bedroom, and then this,” you said.

You cleared your throat, remembering the way you had been unfair with him. 

“Connor, about that charity ball, I will accompany you. I don’t know what had gotten into me-“

He cut you off with a finger on your lips.

 “We don’t need to talk about all of that now, you just need to rest,” he said. 

“Will you go to work now?” you asked, suddenly afraid to be left alone.

“Of course not, I already told Ms. Goodwin to give me a couple of days off,” he said.

“You didn’t have to do that, but I am glad that you did,” you said, pulling him in for a kiss.

You smiled against his lips when you heard a knock on the door.

“Y/N, sorry if I interrupted anything, I am Dr. Halstead. How are you feeling now?” a young, attractive male asked.

“I feel fine, all set to go home. When can we leave,” you said, a little too eager.

He chuckled and patiently explained that all your test results were normal, but you were slightly undernourished.

 “I think you should meet the hospital nutritionist and come up with a diet plan,” he said.

“What? No! Absolutely not. Dr. Halstead, I appreciate this, I really do, but I am fine,” you tried to sound as reassuring as possible.

Connor placed his hand over yours.

“Well, we will think about it and let Dr. Halstead know, right?” Connor said.“Yes, we’ll think about it.”

“In that case, I will check in on you in a bit. I am going to hang a bag. Connor, can I please see you outside for a minute?” Dr. Halstead said.

Connor kissed your forehead and followed Dr. Halstead out, pulling the curtains close.

“Connor, she needs more nutrition. Her BMI is lower than I’d like it to be. Do you need me to pull in Dr. Charles for this one?” Will looked concerned.

“I am going to talk to her when I get home. She is already startled by the ED, I really don’t her to reject help before she gets it.”

“Okay, just let me know if I can do anything to help her. I will get the discharge papers ready.”

Will patted Connor’s shoulder and left.

You walked into your shared home and headed straight for the bed.

“Not so fast, Y/N,” Connor said, grabbing your hand.

He spun you around, wrapping his arms around you.

“Let’s get something to eat,” he said and placed a kiss on your lips.

You felt a bit queasy, but you were sort of hungry.

You had let it get pretty bad, but in front of Connor you didn’t have the strength to discuss what you were feeling.

And you didn’t want to disappoint him, you wouldn’t be able to look him in the eyes.

“Okay,” you said and rose up on your toes to kiss him back.

“Please, something light.” You said to him as he got to work in the kitchen and you settled at the table.

He whipped up a light salad, and watched over you like a hawk as you hesitantly nibbled away at the delicately flavoured dish, nothing strong enough to incite a revolt from your stomach.

He poured you a steaming cup of chamomile tea and another for himself.

“Babe, why didn’t you tell me that things were getting bad? I thought we told each other things,” he said.

You busied yourself with the cup, feeling quite ashamed to meet his eyes. This was exactly why you hadn’t told him.

But he deserved the truth. You remembered how much the sight of you in a hospital bed had affected him. He had cried tears of concern and relief when he thought you were asleep. His eyes still looked pretty tired, and was missing work,  all thanks to you.

You placed the cup back on the table and took his hands in yours instead.

“Connor, remember when you were with Robin? Her condition took such a toll on you. You were worried sick about her. You weren’t sleeping or looking after yourself. When we started dating, I promised myself that I would never put you in that position,’ you said, completely failing to hide the tremors in your voice.

“Y/N, dear God! Is that what you think? Come here, baby,” he said as he pulled you into his lap.

“The only reason I was in that condition while i was with Robin is because i loved her and I wanted her to be healthy and happy. That’s all in the past now. I want you to know something and remember this for the rest of your life. Being with you is one of my life’s greatest pleasures. I plan on being here forever, through all the ups and downs, through every single cramp, illness and injury. I love you and that’s why it’s so important for me to look after you. How can I ever be happy if you’re unwell?”

The sincerity in his voice moved you to tears.

“I am sorry, Connor, I swear I didn’t know that it would affect you to such an extent,’ you whispered and touched your forehead to his.

“I am sorry, too, for not noticing the signs, not noticing that you weren’t eating at all. No breakfasts with me, no dinners too,” he said.

“It’s not your fault,” you said, “We are going to make it work, I promise.”

“Of course, we will,” he said and lifted you up in his arms carrying you over to the bed.

That night, you slept dreamlessly and peacefully for the first time in weeks.

[pattonsperfectfamily-asks]

Chapter 14- A Very Long Goodbye Chapter from Mod Iva

Masterpost

TW: past stalking (so much. so. much.), nonconsensual recording, crying, forcing someone to hit someone else, r slur, mention of almost forced contact, pushing someone into water, past kidnapping, murder, torture, flashback, breaking into someones house, brainwashing, electrocution

“98.2!” Patton cheers as he pulls the thermometer out of Damien’s mouth. “Now you’re all better!”

Damien sniffles, forcing his head down, his glare aimed passively at the floor. “I wouldn’t have gotten sick if you hadn’t been an idiot and put Virgil in the damn ice bath.”

“Don’t be rude to your father.” Logan scolds, watching the angry look in Patton’s eyes as he pulled Damien closer to him. “And we do not swear in this household.”

“Ohh what, so you’re fucking brainwashed as well?” Damien snaps. “You know, Virgil is one thing, but you’re a grown-ass adult. What’s your excuse?”

Logan froze, tears welling up in his eyes. “I-”

“Punish him,” Patton says curtly. “Do it. Damien, your father is going to punish you for talking back and swearing.”

“W-What?” Logan was shaking. “What would you want me t-to do?”

Patton mimes a harsh smack, his eyes cold. “Do it, Bunny. Or we could go into my room to cuddle if you don’t want to…”

Logan’s eyes widen as he faces Damien nervously.

“Really?” Damien snarks. “Maybe you deserve to be here with Patton, seeing how you like bending to his fucking will 24/7.”

“Glasses, now Logan,” Patton said firmly.

“Sush, we’re just cuddling. This could be much worse, couldn’t it Logie?”

“Get in the box Bunny.”

Alex didn’t take his eyes off him.

“Just shut up and go back to sleep,” Alex says forcefully.

“If you tell, well I won’t be able to go back up and give them food,” Patton says cheerfully. “They’d starve up there, and it’d be all your fault.”

“Husbands are supposed to be faithful, Lolo.”

“You won’t be taking this ring off.”

Logan makes a noise in the back of his throat, a mix of a scream and a sob, and slams his hand down on Damien’s face.

Damien drops to the floor and Patton moves over to Logan, wrapping his arm around Logan’s waist. Damien gingerly touches his cheek, looking up at Logan in shock, who hid his face in Patton’s shoulder and sobbed.

“Shh, it’s okay bunny. You’re okay…” Patton presses a kiss to the top of Logan’s forehead, moving to sit him down on the couch.

Roman watched as the sun slowly set.

Dinner had gone quietly, and Damien sat across from Roman on his bed, sitting silently as Roman peered out the window.

“I think Patton will be asleep soon.” Roman muses.

“I hate him.”

“We all hate him, Dami.”

“Not Patton, I loathe him. I hate Logan.”

Roman looked over at Damien in shock. “He didn’t mean to hurt you Dami, you know that.”

“Yes, he did.” Damien crossed his arms, staring at the door, a seething look in his eyes.

“Logan is just hurting,” Roman says quietly. “He’s doing what he thinks is best for his survival. And Damien, if you hadn’t noticed, it’s working. You shouldn’t have sworn at Patton.”

“But I-”

“No.” Roman cuts Damien off with a shake of his head. “You need to control your attitude around Patton. You know how he’s like, if you act like a happy kid, he won’t bother you. He’s not the problem here.”

“Jason’s only a problem for you,” Damien mutters.

“That’s not fair. That’s not fair, and you know it, Damien.” Roman says quietly. “Patton only bothers you because you argue with him, Jason hurts me no matter what I do. You could ignore Patton for the most part, you just chose not too.”

“Because I’m supposed to be in college right now!” Damien protests, “Which, by the way, I had to work for all summer because I missed most of high school because I was kidnapped by a sociopath!”

“We’ll escape,” Roman says quietly. “We did it before.”

“We got rescued. When we were in the state we were taken from, and in a house that Patton owned.” Damien argues. Roman hides his head in his hands.

“Let’s just go, they should be asleep by now.”

Damien begrudgingly grabs the flashlight they had taken, and carefully follows Roman out into the hallway.

“The closets the only place he could hide something…Besides the basement.” Roman shudders, quietly opening the door and beginning to pull boxes out.

Damien shines the light for him as he opens the first box and began to rifle through the contents.

Inside was a small photo album, which Roman grabs and sets aside. “Old receipts…But they’re from all over America…Some pins…A children’s book, maybe we could convince Patton to give that to Remus? Some old glass figures…barbies…”

Roman gasped, hurriedly grabbing a camcorder and holding it to his chest. “Hurry, help me put this stuff back.”

Damien and Roman quickly shove the box back into the closet and hurry back to Roman’s room, the photo album, and camcorder in their hands.

“So what exactly are we looking for?”

“Maybe one of the pictures will have an address or a map. Something to tell us more of where exactly we are.” Roman says hopefully.

“Sure.” Damien rolled his eyes, beginning to flip through the pages. “There’s just normal pictures of small Jason, and what I’m assuming is his family. This one has Jason and that priest that’s also named Jason…And here’s one with Patton, Amelia, Jason, the other Jason, and Alex. All of them together.”

Roman shuddered at the reminder of Alex, looking at the photo curiously.

The five kids, around twelve, sat together in a treehouse, their arms around each other’s waist. Patton, priest Jason, and Amelia all had big smiles on their faces, but Jason and Alex looked like they were plotting something. In the back, a smaller figure with long hair and a blurred face laid curled up.

“They look like they were in a club.” Roman hums. “Who’s the girl in the back…?”

Damien shrugs, turning on the camcorder and going to the back of the gallery, to the first ever video.

“Here she is! Little Miss Amelia, all done with her initiation!” A female voice from off-camera spoke, and Amelia giggled, clumsily curtsying.

“Doesn’t she look gorgeous!” Another female voice compliments. “You two are so lucky!”

“Amelia, say hello to the video.” A male voice prompts.

The young Amelia tugged at one of her braids. “Hello.”

“Do you know why we’re filming?” The first female asks. Amelia pauses, her face falling as she shook her head.

“We’re filming this to celebrate darling! One last little test, alright?”

“Okay, Daddy!” Amelia smiles once more, and the camera shakes as it’s set down on a table.

An older woman appears in the frame, her hair and eyes dark, wearing a fancy silver dress. “Go ahead and sit down Amelia.”

Amelia sits across from the mother, her legs kicking slightly as she smoothed out her pink dress.

“Amelia,” The man rummaged in a box and held out a photograph. “Do you know who this is?”

Amelia peered at the man and woman in the photo closely. “No.”

“Do you know any girls at your school named Sarah Jonas?” The mother prompts.

“No.” Amelia giggles.

“What’s your full name?” The woman offscreen asks.

“Amelia Marie Lebent.” Amelia says with a little nod of her head.

The mother and father beam and the video ends.

Roman stares down at the frozen screen in confusion, worry growing in the pit of his stomach. “This belonged to Amelia’s family…?”

“But why were they asking her what her name was?” Damien asks. “Was she in an accident?”

Roman looks at Damien, deciding not to build off of anything, and instead playing the next video.

“Look! It’s huge!” A young Patton struggles to hold up a fish to the camera, his fishing pole knocking off his bucket hat.

“Careful!” The offscreen voice of a young Alex snaps as Amelia grabs Patton’s hat and puts it back on his head.

The group of kids were on a boat in the middle of a lake, a town in the distance.

“Mummy said we had to come home soon.” Amelia pouts, looking seasick as she tried to read her book amongst the chaos on the boat.

“Look at my fish!” Patton appears in front of the camera again, holding up the same trout.

“You already showed us the damn fish, stupid.” A young Jason snaps.

“Isn’t it cool?!” Patton asks excitedly, showing it again to Jason.

“Patton, you have to put the fish in the cooler, remember buddy?” Priest Jason says gently, guiding Patton off-screen.

“Patton! Come'ere, lookit this!” Alex says excitedly. From behind the camera, Jason snickers.

“What?!” Patton practically trips over his own feet as he rushes to Alex’s side of the boat.

“Look, do you see that fish, it looks like a shark!”

“Really?!” Patton hurriedly bends over the side of the boat.

Alex quickly pushes Patton in, who falls with a big splash.

“Alex!” Amelia yells, snapping her book closed and jumping up. She and priest Jason hurry to the side of the boat where Patton was pushed, while Alex and Jason laugh.

“It’s not my fault his parents fried his brain and made him a r*tard!” Alex laughs as Patton surfaces.

“You’re so funny!” Patton laughs, looking panicked. “Can I come back on the boat now…I don’t wanna get bit by a shark…”

“There’s no shark.” Priest Jason reassures him as he, Amelia, and Alex pull Patton back onto the boat. “We’re on the lake. Sharks are in oceans.”

Patton shivers. “Can we go home now?” He asks, his voice small. His entire chest was shaking.

The video ended.

"He deserved it.“ Damien had laughed when Patton fell in, but Roman simply looked horrified at the video. "What?”

Roman’s mouth stayed open in shock as he played the next video.

A girl with brown hair was on the screen.

“She looks like the girl from the picture…” Roman notices.

“What’s your name?” The mother from the first video asks.

“…Olivia…” The girl can’t even manage to get out her last name as a button is pressed. She writhes around in front of the camera, sweat pouring down her face as her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

“Your name is Valerie, say it!” Amelia orders, marching over to the girl. “Say it! Your my sister Valerie!”

“That’s enough Amelia. Come back over here please.”

Amelia quickly complies as the girl tries to catch her breath.

“I…I want to go h-” She cuts off with another scream.

The video cut off, and they began again, now outside, where Patton and priest Jason peeked out from inside a large hole in the ground.

“Get out boys.” A man demands.

“But we’re playing Pop!” Priest Jason complains.

“This is a funeral! Out!” A woman says firmly. The two boys groan and pull themselves out.

“I still want a sister.” Amelia’s voice says from off-camera. Amelia’s dad appears in frame, holding Olivia’s body.

“We can try again next year darling, mummy can’t invest in another one right now.” Amelia’s voice says.

The man lays the girl down in the hole and begins shoveling the dirt back in as the camera moves to face a small seated crowd.

“That’s why I tell you, you go younger. My Alex never gave me any problems.” A woman holding a toddler in overalls says to Amelia’s mother.

The mother sips at her champagne in thought. “I don’t know, I think we might have only the one.”

“But I want a sister!” Amelia protests again.

“Daddy will get you a pony instead darling.” Amelia’s father promises.

“I already have a pony. I need a sister to play with.” Amelia pouts. “I’m the only girl except for baby Madeline.”

“Madeline won’t be a baby forever, and you have fun playing with your cousins.” The mother waves offhandedly, taking another sip of champagne.

The video ended.

“They…They tortured her…” Damien gasps. “Ohh my god she was Virgil’s age and they fucking killed her!”

“I think Alex said they did that to Patton too…I think they did that to all of them…” Roman switches to the next video, before gasping.

“Careful!” The camera shakes and then straightens out, zooming in on a thirteen-year-old Roman and Remus, playing together in the river.

“Sorry, dad,” Fourteen-year-old Patton says quietly, laughing when Remus shoved Roman under the water.

Roman spits water in his brother’s face in retaliation.

Roman switches to the next video, cutting off Patton’s voice.

“Look, Virgil, I borrowed this camcorder from my friend!” Twenty-four-year-old Patton says, pushing it closer so that Virgil’s face took up the entire screen.

The five-year-old giggled, gently pushing the camera back.

“Can you show me your drawing?” Patton asks.

Virgil carefully grabs the blue piece of construction paper, showing the camera. “Isa puppy!”

“It’s so good!” Patton praises, “You did such a good job Virgey!”

Virgil giggles, bouncing in place. “When Kai an mommy an daddy gonna get bac’?”

“Don’t be silly Virgey, your dad’s right here!” Patton says cheerfully.

Virgil giggles. “You na my daddy Pat-Pat! You my fwend!”

“Aww!” Patton shifts the camera, holding it away as he quickly came into view, kissing Virgil over and over on the head, which made the boy giggle. “I love being your friend, baby!”

The video ended.

“I feel sick,” Damien says quietly. “That video…It’s creepy, I don’t want to watch anymore…”

“They’ve been watching us this whole time…Patton knew about Remus and me since we were thirteen, maybe sooner.” Roman hid his head in his hands. “Holy fuck…We have to get out of here.”

Damien stands, backing towards the door. “I’m going to bed…I…I can’t finish watching…”

He hurriedly leaves, and Roman skips a few of the videos of Patton babysitting Virgil, his heart sinking when he saw Damien on one.

“Just ignore the camera.” Patton encourages.

“I don’t think I can-”

“No you’ll be great! I have to document this!” Patton laughs. “C'mon Dami, you’re so talented.”

Damien looks up at Patton then nods, blowing out a slow breath of air as he placed his fingers over the piano keys.

The video plays silently as Damien plays a classical piece, Patton cheering loudly at the end. “You did so good kiddo! You could win the competition next week!”

“Competition?” Damien looks up, confused.

“That must have been a few days before the first kidnapping…” Roman says to himself.

A quiet creak sounds from the hallway and Roman covers his mouth, hoping whoever was in the hall wouldn’t be Jason, and wouldn’t open his door.

Footsteps pad down the outside, and suddenly stop.

Roman’s door swings open, and Logan stares in at him.

“Why are you still up?” Logan asks, suddenly noticing the camcorder, “Where did you get that?”

“Why are you still up?” Roman asks as Logan sits next to him on the bed. “And why are you upstairs?”

“I couldn’t sleep after what I did to Damien…” Logan looks down in shame, fighting back tears. “I came up to apologize…But I couldn’t do it…What are you doing with a camcorder?”

Roman looked miserable at the question, holding the camcorder out to Logan and switching to the next video.

“Is that me?”

Roman grabs it back and looks. Sure enough, you could see Logan from through a window next to a door leading into his old classroom.

Roman plays the video.

A few moments pass in silence as Patton zooms in on Logan, seemingly grading papers.

“We’ve known each other so long…” Patton says wistfully. “I…Today I’m gonna do it!” He hurriedly moves away from the door and heads down a hallway. “We’re the only one’s that teach on this side of the building…I’ll just run into him, and he can help me pick up my stuff!”

The video ended.

The next video played.

Patton zoomed in through a window, the camera shaky.

Logan, maybe seventeen years old, sat down at a table with his family, eating with one hand and reading a book with the other.

“Ohh my god.” Logan chokes back a sob.

The next video played.

Fifteen-year-old Logan laid fast asleep in his bed, and the camera stayed on him for a minute before Patton began walking around the room.

“He likes science, and the planets, and pluto!” Patton giggles quietly, gently touching Logan’s space poster. “His favorite food is Crofter’s jam, and we’re going to have it every day on toast for breakfast!”

Patton returns to Logan’s bed and gently kisses him on the forehead. “I promise Bunny. We’re gonna have the most perfect little house, and kids and my brother Roman is gonna live with us!”

Logan stifled a sob, silent tears rolling down his face. “Ohh gods and goddesses…He…He ran into me on purpose…He snuck into my bedroom…Roman, he could have done anything when I was asleep, what if he-!”

Roman wrapped his arms around Logan, doing his best to comfort him. “We have to get out of here. I…I always just thought I was in the wrong place at the wrong time…Fuck…I never should have let him sit with me at the damn cafe!”

Logan sniffed, pressing the button to start the next recording.

Logan, only seven, sat on the swings at the park, reading a book and lazily kicking his feet.

“Are you sure Patton?” Patton’s mother asks, looking down at Patton. Patton smiles up at the camera.

“Yeah! I really really love him, Mama!” The boy giggled, and Jason shoved him lightly.

“Patton’s got a cr-ush, Patton’s got a cr-ush!” Amelia sand teasily. Alex said nothing, simply stared ahead at Logan deviously.

Patton went red. “Stop it!” He whined. “Mama, please can he be my husband when I’m big?”

“Of course love, whatever you want. Only the best for you.” She says. Patton beams.

“We’re gonna get married and live happily ever after!” Patton sighs happily.

“Only if you do what I say love, adults are tricky.” The mother reminds him. “You must go slow.”

“But he’s gonna love me forever and ever?” Patton asks innocently.

“Of course.” His mother repeats.

The video ended.

“I-” Logan choked up, staring at the ending screen. “At least he wasn’t in my room, right?”

Roman smiles sadly. “Yeah. I don’t think he did anything. I think that was the only time he went in your house.”

Roman shuts the camcorder off before Logan can look through the rest of the obsessive stalking videos, hiding it under his bed and turning to Logan.

“Why don’t we make a plan, okay Logan?” Roman says gently. “We’ll do that, but first you have to be very brave and go sleep with Patton, okay?”

“Okay…” Logan nods.

Roman stares up at him sadly as Logan stood. “Goodnight, Logan.”

“Goodnight…” Logan whispers. “R-Roman…Can you do something for me?”

“Of course.” Roman nods. “Anything, what?”

Logan hurriedly sat down and stared Roman in the eyes for a few seconds, pulling Roman into a tight hug, Logan chokes out a “Goodnight Remus” before crying more and hurrying downstairs.

Words: 3150

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[seasinkarnadine]

Do you think u can write about how bow and glimmer reacted to adora being pregnant with the kitras and Them being like "BUT HOW?" btw I kitras are adorable :)

warning: the following contains graphic details of pregnancy and mentions of child abuse.

It takes a while before anyone realizes what’s going on.“Where’s adora?” Glimmer asks one morning. They’re supposed to be having a meeting regarding supply lines to the front in Thaymor.“Puking her guts out.” Catra responds, sliding into her seat.“And you’re not helping her?”“She wouldn’t open the door.” Catra shrugs. Glimmer won’t claim to understand their dynamic, but she loves Adora enough to tolerate the surly cat woman. Just barely.“She says we should get started without her.” “…fine.”

–It’s near midnight.“Hey…is everything alright?” She’s taken to knocking on the door instead of teleporting directly in after catching the two in flagrante delicto …more than once.“She’s sick.” Catra replies through the crack in the door. Her eyes are remarkably alert considering it’s the dead of night.“Again?” Glimmer asks, trying to see past Catra into their room. She can’t see Adora. But she can certainly hear her.Catra shrugs. “Guess it’s a bug or something.” “Is there anything I can do…?“The sound of renewed retching reaches their ears and they both wince.“No, thanks. I’ll take care of her.” With that Catra closes the door.

—

Catra takes off for a few weeks to help Scorpia out with some bandit problems in the crimson waste. Adora is something of a mess without her.Adora still behaves like she has a cold. Perfuma gives her a powder to mix with her drink to help with the nausea.

“Ugh. I’m crashing. I gotta take a nap.”

“Again?” Glimmer reaches over to place a hand on Adora’s elbow.

 "You’ve been taking a lot of naps.“

"yeah. I don’t know. it’s nice to be able to, though. Naps weren’t exactly allowed in the Horde.” Glimmer reaches up to feel Adora’s forehead. 

“Why are you doing that…?”

“To see if you have a fever… hm. you’re not warm.”

“You can tell just by touching?” Adora reaches up to touch her own forehead in awe. 

“Well, yeah…how do you know in the Horde?”

“They don’t check unless you’re really, really bad. And when they do they put this stick in your mouth called a thermometer." 

"You’ve been sick for like, three or four weeks now, haven’t you?”

“Yeah.” Adora blushes. She has this thing about getting sick. Catra, too. Like it’s some indication of personal weakness.

“Maybe we should ask Perfuma about it?”

“No, no! I’m sure it’s fine. she’s already done more than enough for me.” Glimmer narrows her eyes but decides not to push further

.—

Catra is still absent. Glimmer and Adora are visiting Mystacor for a celebration that Castaspella INSISTED they attend. Adora tried to wear the same one she had for the Princess Prom but just couldn’t fit into it.

“Weird. normally when I get sick I LOSE weight.” She gripes, turning around in the mirror. 

“You have been sleeping a lot. Maybe it’s a different way for your body to fight off whatever it is?” Glimmer suggests, eyeing Adora’s waist as she turns. They couldn’t get the dress over her hips or belly.

“Yeah. Maybe.” 

—

They find something that fits. Adora stands near a pillar and watches the other guests as they mingle.

“Here you are milady,” Glimmer chirps as she hands off a drink to Adora.

“You’re a saint.” She downs the fizzy drink in one go. 

“Do…they have any more?”Glimmer can’t help but laugh.

“Adora you’re gonna clear them out of house and home.”

“They’re sorcerers,” she reponds somewhat defensively, “they can make more, right?”

“You don’t have to be a sorcerer to make juice, Adora.”

“But it helps, right?”

“Well…there are probably juice sorcerers out there somewhere in the world.”Speaking of, one of the sorcerers (a woman in an elegant blue dress) approaches them.

“Hello, Mistress Glimmer, Mistress She-Ra. Please excuse my interruption. I wanted to stop by to offer a thousand congratulations to you and your partner. Your children will surely grow to be as beautiful and strong as their mother.”

Adora looks behind her and Glimmer nearly does, too. 

“I–I’m sorry, ma’am, I believe that you’re mistaken,” Glimmer says hurriedly. 

“Adora–She Ra, isn’t pregnant.”

“Oh!” The woman holds a hand against her chest as if the words have caused her heart to jump. “How embarrassing! I am ever so sorry! Please accept my most sincere apologies.” She sketches a half bow and then beats a hasty retreat.

“Uhh.” Adora look to Glimmer. 

“What was all of that about?”

“No idea. She probably had too much wine is all.” But the way that she said it with such confidence…

—

She forgets about it.

Until the middle of the night when she wakes to the sound of Adora hurling her half digested dinner into the toilet. 

“Oh, Adora.” She says softly, kneeling down beside her on the tile to pull back her hair.

“No–no, Glimmer, I–” She gets cut off as another wave of nausea forces her head back towards the porcelain bowl. 

“Where is Catra?” Adora murmurs when she next resurfaces. “I–I want Catra.” Her voice is so small. Broken. 

“Oh hun, I’m sorry, she’s not here.” Glimmer reaches over to brush sweaty strands of hair out of Adora’s face. 

“Do you want me to go?” She doesn’t understand Adora’s thing with wanting to hide when she’s sick, but she will respect it.

“I…” Eventually she shakes her head ‘no’.

“Okay. How about we get you into some clean pajamas, huh?” Her current ones are absolutely drenched in sweat.

 “Yeah.” Adora nods. It’s not easy, but with her help Glimmer manages to peel off the soft sleep shirt she was wearing (it’s one of Catra’s. Across the front in huge letters it says ‘ANARCHY’). She isn’t wearing anything underneath. It’s strange. Adora loathes to be seen while she is sick or injured, but has absolutely no problem stripping out of her clothes. And Catra’s more likely to kill Glimmer for having the audacity to hold Adora’s hair back for her than for seeing her topless now.Unlike in the Rebellion, where it’s kinda awkward. But Adora is Glimmer’s friend and right now she needs her. So she determinedly looks anywhere BUT Adora’s chest as she runs a wash cloth over her heated skin. And…there’s definitely a bit of a bump around Adora’s stomach. She noticed it before, when they were trying on dresses, but had attributed it to the weight gain. But now… They manage to get her into a clean shirt (it’s another one of Catra’s, this one just a plain red but covered in little orange strands of fur). Adora guzzles down a glass of water.

“Hey Adora?”She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.“Yeah?”“Have you…ever had sex with anyone besides Catra?”

Adora starts coughing immediately, and for a moment Glimmer’s worried she’s choking. Finally she manages a strangled,“WHAT?”

“Have you ever…had sex with a man?”

“No!”“And…you’re sure?”

“I think I would remember if I had!” She doesn’t sound angry at Glimmer, more…perplexed.

 “Okay, I believe you…only ever with Catra, right? And Catra…doesn’t have …a dick.”

“I’ve only ever been with Catra. And no she does not have a dick.” Adora looks just as confused as ever.

“Okay.” Glimmer breathes deeply to steel herself. “You remember the woman from earlier? The one who thought you were pregnant?”

Yeah?”

“Well…I am starting to think…maybe she was right.”

“How could she have been right? I thought–YOU told me that the only way a woman could get pregnant was sex with someone who has a dick. And I have not done that.”

“That’s what I thought, too. But let’s face it–all of your symptoms are remarkably similar to a pregnancy.”

“They are?” 

Right. Horde sexual education was pretty much nonexistent. Of course Adora wouldn’t know.

“Yeah. And…you say you’re gaining weight? That…could be a baby.”

“A…baby.” Adora’s face is blank.

“Yeah. Uh…when was the last time you had your monthly blood?”

“My period? Gosh. It’s been a while. Three months ago?”

“Three MONTHS AGO ADORA?”

“What? Why? What?”

“That’s–That’s not normal!”

“I mean it’s happened before?”

“IT’S HAPPENED BEFORE?!”

“Yeah! There was one time in the Horde when Catra and I were in huge trouble and as punishment we had to fast–”

“THEY FORCED YOU TO FAST?”

“Yes?? I? I mean it was only supposed to be a really serious punishment but–”

“How old were you?

”“Fourteen?”

“THEY FORCED FOURTEEN YEAR OLDS TO FAST?!”

“Okay now you’re starting to hurt my ears.”

“Sorry. Sorry. Okay.”

“They forced us to fast and my period stopped for two months. Which I guess…I’m eating MORE, not less, so that doesn’t really make sense, but what else could it possibly be? I’m just sick.”

“Hun, I do not think you’re sick. How long ago did all of this start? The nausea and food cravings?”

“Uh…th…three months…ago?”This is bizarre.

“And you’ve only ever had sex with Catra. Do Magicats have some sort of…weird anatomy…that could…I don’t know. Result in her getting you pregnant?”

“No. Nothing weird.” Adora pulls her legs up to her chest and hugs them. “I’ve never…I don’t…” her eyes go wide. “Could someone have …have done something to me, and then wiped my mind?” 

Oh. Right. That’s a thing that Shadow Weaver can do, isn’t it? Shit.

“I– I mean. You’ve been at Bright Moon castle. Shadow Weaver’s on Beast Island. I don’t think it’s likely…” but not outside the realm of possibility, is what she doesn’t say.

“I want Catra to come home.” Adora says in a small voice and Glimmer feels her heart ache. 

“How about…how about we go to sleep for now. In the morning we can talk to Casta, maybe she can connect us with the sorceress who thought you were pregnant and we can find out more details. She can also help us send a message to the Crimson Waste to get Catra over here. How’s that sound?”Adora closes her eyes and nods her head slowly.

“Yeah.”

“Good?”

“Good.”

“Okay.” They turn off the lights in the bathroom and climb into their respective beds.

“Glimmer?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”She smiles.

“Don’t mention it.”

[honeybee-babe]

Sharing is Caring (Except When You’re Sick) Chapter 6

Chapter 6 of the fic I wrote with @hargreevesstyles, the fic can also be read on her page!

TW: Vomit

~

Apparently, being bone-tired and wrapped in a cozy blanket isn’t very conducive to staying up. When Klaus next opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of Ben staring down at him, wide-eyed and worried.

“Jesus, Ben!” he hissed, instantly clutching at his throat as soon as the words left his throat. When did it start feeling sore? He was starting to feel a bit of pressure in his head, too. “You’re worse than the dead babies!”

“You saw dead babies again?” Klaus shut his eyes tight and nodded. Ben’s face fell; Klaus tended to see dead babies a lot when he was sick. They’d always assumed it was because babies so often died of infection, and they felt some sort of connection to him when he had a fever. Klaus sniffled.

“Take your temperature,” Ben said, reaching for the thermometer on the table. His hand went phased through it.

“It’s so far away,” Klaus whined, stretching out his arm but not quite reaching it. “You do it.”

“It’ll make you even more exhausted!”

“Then b- hihh’szhiuu! be quick!”

Before Ben could protest, Klaus was bringing his fists together. Ben quickly grabbed the thermometer and put it in Klaus’ mouth, just before he flickered. Klaus immediately released him. He coughed a bit over the thermometer, dry, hoarse coughs that tore at his throat. After it beeped, Klaus blinked down at the screen, unable to focus his eyes on the tiny numbers.

“103.9! That’s dangerously high, Klaus, no wonder about the babies!”

A knock at the door sent Klaus scrambling to hide the thermometer. He shoved it into the pocket of the sweatpants Diego had lent him and sat up in bed, wincing just a little at the pain that coursed through his back as he did so.

“Who is it?” he rasped.

“Vanya.”  That was a relief.

“Come in.” Vanya shuffled into the room with a glass of water. She had her violin case in the other hand.

“Hey, how you feeling?” Klaus shrugged.

“Been better, been worse.”

“I thought you were gonna sleep in. I was just about to leave for rehearsal, but then I heard you coughing. Drink this.” She handed him the glass and he gladly downed it. “Allison made lunch. You should eat something.”

“More soup?”

“Yeah. Come on.” Klaus wasn’t really in the mood for more soup; in fact, he didn’t have much of an appetite at all, which was really saying something about how sick he was. Still, he willingly followed his sister of the room, pausing outside Luther’s door when she collected him too.

“I don’t care!” Klaus raised his brows and put his ear to the door; Vanya rarely used that tone with her siblings. “Well, you haven’t eaten a solid meal in three days. So get your ass up.”

When Luther finally appeared in the doorway, he was wearing yet another sweatshirt and had his arms crossed over his chest, a sour expression on his face. And his hair was messed up. Yeah, he’d just woken up, too.

“Hey, sick buddy,” Klaus said with a sniffly, dopey little grin as they followed their sister down the staircase. “Hhh’etshu! Inxt-gntchu!” He tapped on his brother’s shoulder from behind.

“hiklaus.” Oof. Luther’s voice was completely shot. Klaus winced; he wondered if that was going to happen to him, too.

“Look who’s finally up!” The three of them turned their heads to see Diego standing in the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed. “I guess noon is the new morning.”

“Diego, they’re sick,” Vanya reminded as she sat her sick brothers down at opposite ends of the table.

“They seemed to forget all about that last night.” Diego sat down directly across from Luther at the table. He looked him dead in the eyes. Luther looked down at his lap and shrunk in on himself further. Klaus picked up on his uneasiness and responded by crawling across the seats between them and sitting down next to him instead.

“Get away from him, Klaus, that’s how you got sick in the first place.” Just then, Allison entered with two steaming bowls of soup, placing them in front of her sick brothers.

“He’s already sick. Diego, leave him be.”

“I care about him, sue me! Someone’s got to look out for him.” He glared at Luther again. “Right, Number One?” Of course, Luther’s body chose that exact moment to betray him.

“hhr’KSCH! Heh-KSCHIEW! Ow.” They came on so suddenly that he barely had time to react, turning away from Klaus, and he only managed to bring his arm halfway up to his face, clutching his throat afterwards. Vanya flinched in response; Diego’s lip turned up in disgust. Neither of them had seen Luther sneeze freely this entire time, and they hadn’t been prepared.

“Bless you!”

“Cover your damn mouth,” Diego said with a sneer, taking the napkin from his placemat and throwing it with perfect accuracy to land on Luther’s chest. “And you wonder how you got Klaus sick.”

“fuckoff.” Luther swiped at his nose with the napkin. Klaus just rolled his eyes.

“He didn’t mean to. God, Diego, stop being such a dick!” He winced slightly at the pain that coursed through his own throat after raising his voice.

“I’m not being a dick, I’m just looking out for you, Klaus. Someone has to. Ape Boy over here clearly isn’t cut out for the job.”

Vanya checked her watch. She was pretty late, and besides, she really didn’t want to watch Luther and Diego go at it. Which, by the look of things, was the inevitable outcome of this conversation.

“Uh, listen, guys, I gotta run. We can talk about this later okay?” And with that, she was out the door, conveniently avoiding the rising conflict before it got ugly.

“Diego, what the hell are you talking about?” Allison asked, taking the chair across from Klaus.

“You tell her.” Diego pointed his finger directly at Luther. Klaus jumped in, instead.

“Okay, so last night I couldn’t sleep and-”

“I want him to say it,” Diego cut him off, pointing directly at Luther. Luther cleared his throat, but to no avail.

“I…” he rasped. “Last night we-” he cut himself off with a wince, shaking his head.

“Oh, so now you conveniently can’t talk?”

“Diego, leave them be,” Allison chastised. She looked down at the two bowls of soup, still completely untouched. “Please try to eat your soup.”

“mnothungry,” Luther mumbled, voice practically nonexistent.

“And why is that?” Diego sat down across from him at the table. “Maybe it’s all the ice cream you guys ate at three in the fucking morning!”

“Wait, what?” Allison furrowed her brows in confusion at Luther; he was never one to stay up late. “You were up at three am?”

Klaus cut in, “Yes we were because neither of us could sleep! Luther came downstairs and then I joined him in the kitchen and I got out the ice cream and-“

“You shouldn’t be throwing off your sleeping or eating schedule when you’re both this sick! Why would you eat ice cream at three in the morning, Klaus?” Allison’s tone became more serious.

“Our throats hurt so I thought it would be a good idea!”

Allison scoffed, “Oh, did you now?”

“Allison get off his back! Luther was the one who woke him up in the first place, right Klaus?”

“No, I was alr-“

“Klaus was the one who got out the ice cream instead of going back to bed like they should’ve!”

Diego snapped, “Well he was already up thanks to Luther and I doubt he could’ve fallen back asleep with Luther’s monstrous coughs and sneezes!”

“This is enough!” Five’s authoritative yet squeaky voice shouted. “Look at them!”

Both of the ill boys had tears streaming down their faces. Only Allison’s expression softened. Five swore he saw Diego’s expression flicker, but it remained one of anger. Allison walked over to Klaus and wrapped him in a hug from behind. She kissed him on the forehead and apologized.

“Diego? Where’s Luther’s hug and kiss?” Klaus joked maybe a tad too soon.

Diego shook his head, “I’m not going near him. I’m not getting sick. Speaking of, Klaus I have to take your temperature again.”

Klaus gave an exaggerated groan and a wet sniffle. “I swear this is the most I’ve ever had the same thing in my mouth! Well–except for-”

“Can it,” Five said.

Diego took Klaus’ temperature. There was a strong look of concern painted over his face when he read the results.

“104.6, Klaus. That’s not good. We’ve gotta get you in an ice bath and get you some more fever reducers. Damnit.” Diego started pacing around the room.

Allison took the thermometer out of his hands, rinsed it off in the sink, and took Luther’s temperature.

“99.4, that’s a lot better than what you’ve been dealing with. You don’t need an ice pack but I’m getting you some more fever reducers and a cold washcloth,” she said.

Diego was still pacing around the room. Five rolled his eyes, blinked out, blinked back in with a needle, and presented it to Diego, prompting him to pass out.

“Five, what the hell?” Allison shouted.

“He’s too panicked right now about Klaus. He’ll wake up and he’ll be more relaxed. Allison, I’ll take care of Luther, you get Klaus in the ice bath,” Five said.

Klaus asked, “Are…are we just supposed to leave Diego there on the ground?”

Five shrugged. The only other person capable of carrying Diego was Luther, and Luther definitely didn’t have the energy to do so right now. So they left him there.

The tallest and the smallest made their way up to Number One’s bedroom, Five had the bottle of fever reducers in hand along with a plus size box of tissues. Luther was blowing his nose almost nonstop now and his coughs were so productive that…well, you can imagine.

Five stayed with Luther until his fever finally broke, which was around forty-five minutes after another round of fever reducers and several wet washcloths. Five was able to get Luther a lot of tea with honey and cough drops to help his throat. He even took a look at it, and he was shocked at how raw and red it was. Maybe they needed to take Luther to a doctor. Five quickly dismissed that thought as Luther’s fever broke.

Back in the bathroom, Klaus was wearing a long pink robe and sitting on the counter while Allison drew the bath. The thing about Klaus was that he was so skinny and bony that he generally ran cold. And Klaus hated the cold. He hated being chilly, even though his normal clothes did little to warm him, and he was not happy about the idea of taking a cold bath.

The thing that Klaus loved about taking baths was how relaxing and comforting they were. There was absolutely nothing comforting to him about freezing cold water. But, he knew that he was burning up and he was hoping for some relief. Fevers always made him feel like the ghosts were louder and more aggressive and he had a lot less patience for them.

“Bath’s ready. Strip down to your boxers and get in,” Allison said.

“Wait are you staying here?” Klaus asked. Allison nodded. “Oh. Why?”

Allison said, “Someone has to keep an eye on you.”

“Oh.”

Klaus just sat there for a moment.

“Klaus, get in the bath,” Allison ordered.

“Oh, oh, right, right the bath, okay.” Still, he didn’t move.

Allison took a step closer to her brother. He was so completely dazed, Allison wondered if he could move even if he wanted to. “Klaus?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Uhhhhh….no? No.” He was more sure with the second answer. He was looking at her but he wasn’t really looking at her. He was looking in her general direction but his eyes were somewhere else. “Why?”

“You look like you’re gonna - Klaus!” Allison rushed to hold out her arms underneath Klaus’, just before his eyes rolled back in his head. His body rocked forward onto her, and she nearly fell down underneath him. Skinny as he was, it was still pretty difficult to support his 6’0” frame. His skin burned against her, so hot that she felt herself starting to sweat underneath him. After some awkward stumbling around the bathroom, she finally managed to set him down to sit on the edge of the tub.

“Klaus! Klaus, wake up!” She slapped his face a few times. It wasn’t working. “Five!” The smallest Hargreeves poofed into the bathroom, jaw going slack when he saw Klaus.

“Get him into the tub!”

Allison looked into the freezing cold tub. Klaus wouldn’t like it, but it might be the only way to get him to wake up right now. And besides, she needed to get his fever down ASAP.

“Okay. Grab his feet.” With Five’s help, Allison lowered Klaus into the tub. She hurriedly put her hand beneath his neck to support his head.

Klaus immediately started shivering when his skin hit the water, whole body shuddering wildly. After a few seconds, he awoke with a gasp, green eyes shooting wide open. He looked around disorientedly for a few times, slashing around in a panic in the bathtub.

“Stop, leave me alone!” he cried. Tears were brimming his eyes. His focus was directly in front of him, not on Allison or Five. He put his face in his hands. “Go away go away go away!”

“Klaus!” Allison said sternly, shaking his shoulders in an attempt to snap him back to reality. He finally lifted his head up and looked at her. “It’s me, Allison. You have a fever, you just passed out.”

Klaus blinked around at his surroundings as things finally started to come into focus. After a few moments, he buried his face in his arms again.

“I’m so c-cold,” he said weakly, eyes fluttering shut as another huge shiver wracked his body, followed by a shivery sob. “I don’t want this.” He tried to climb out of the tub, but Allison held him down. He was way too weak to break free of her grasp.

“I know, Klaus,” Allison said softly. “But you need to bring your fever down, okay?”

He shook his head sternly, wet curls flopping wildly around his head, even though he didn’t put up a fight anymore as she settled him back down into the water. “I want Dave.”

Allison still held him down in the water, but her grip softened. She brought a hand up to Klaus’ fevered cheek.

“I know, honey.” Klaus just shook his head and continued to shudder and sob. Allison could feel her hand growing damp against his cheek.

“Think you can handle him?” Five asked softly after a few seconds of this. Allison turned back to look at him. She was about to insist that he help her lift Klaus out of the tub, but then she saw the way he stood there, tapping his foot nervously with his arms crossed over his chest. He seemed antsy for some reason, like he was itching to get out of there. It must be important.

“Yeah, you can go.” Five nodded and immediately poofed away. Allison turned around and smiled softly down at her sick brother, who was now sitting upright in the tub on his own, apparently becoming more lucid by moment.

“Allison,” he said weakly. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay. Hold still.” She dipped a plastic cup in the water and poured its contents down Klaus’ forehead. He shivered and sputtered, coughing up a little bit that got in his mouth, which resulted in more hacking from his torn up lungs. Klaus let out a loud sob and Allison’s heart broke. “Hey, you’re alright. You’re okay, I promise. I’m here, okay?”

Klaus sniffled, “Yeah.”

Every move he made caused him to shiver even more.

“Honey, let me pour some more water on your head,” Allison said. She had only been able to do about two cup-fulls before Klaus had choked on the water. Klaus braced himself and Allison filled up the cup. She gently poured the water over his head, putting her hand on his arm as he shuddered into it. “Lean back, I want some on your forehead.” Klaus did as he was told. She did about two more cup-fulls successfully.

She was in the middle of her third when Klaus interrupted her, “Stop stop stop. HahhhhIgotwaterinmynosehehh-ohgod. Fuck it burns I-hhh… hih'DZTshiew! Nxgtshh-etshiuu!” He pitched forward with the uncovered sneezes, the spray hitting his bare thighs.  “Ihhh….Hihh?…Heh-xntshieu! Fuck-kst'chjuu! Ehh’nXGTzhiuu! Ugh!”

“Jesus Christ, Klaus, bless you!”

Klaus sniffled wetly. He groaned, “Fuck, I’m so stuffed up.”

Allison noticed his sopping wet hands–from the bathwater and the sneezing fit–and she grabbed a wad of toilet paper. “Here.” She held it up to Klaus’ face. “Blow.”

“No, no, Allison I can’t,” Klaus looked up at her. “I-it’s disgusting!”

“Klaus, I’m a mom. Do you know how many times I’ve helped Claire blow her nose?” She argued.

Klaus sighed. He gave in, “Okay okay okay, but we’re never telling anyone about it at all ever, okay?”

His rounded consonants left Allison chuckling. Allison moved the toilet paper back up to Klaus’ nose and held it up firmly.

“Blow,” Allison said when she was ready. Klaus did as he was told, his cheeks slightly pink–not from the fever this time. After the wad of toilet paper was too soaked to be used further, Allison grabbed another one. “Come on, again.”

This time, Klaus obeyed without resisting. This one cleared him out a lot better than the first, but Allison still had to get a third bit and wipe underneath his nose. Allison smiled, “There you go, good as new.”

“Thanks. Like I said…please don’t tell anyone about this,” Klaus pleaded.

“I won’t tell a single soul.”

Sighing contently, Klaus leaned back. He was thrown off by the cold water splashing back at him.

“Can I please get out?” He cried.

Allison nodded. He had been in the tub for about fifteen minutes, and she was worried about what would happen if he stayed in any longer. She helped lift him up to a standing position and he stepped out. Allison wrapped a towel around him and held her arm around him protectively.

“Hhhang on ehhh! I’m gonna sneeze!” He reached out and grabbed her arm blindly, and Allison tightened her group around his back. “Inxghtshiew! NGXT’uh-isshiew! Wait. There might be another one. Hihh….nope. Damnit.”

“Bless you, you alright?” Allison spoke softly.

Klaus nodded. “Can you help me back to bed? I’m exhausted and I…I don’t want to pass out on you again.”

The two of them took a long trip back to Klaus’ room. Allison held her eyes shut as Klaus got changed into some dry clothes, and then Allison helped him into bed. She took his temperature again, it dropped to 100.4 which was a lot better than what it had been earlier. It wasn’t the best, but it was better than nothing.

After that Allison pulled Klaus’ blankets up to his chin and tousled his hair.

Allison turned around and picked a few things up, threw the used tissues in the trash, and dimmed the lights. By the time she turned around Klaus was fast asleep.

This put Allison at peace for a moment. There was no chaos going on and she could finally relax without having to worry about her brother dying on her.

And then Five blinked in.

“Allison! Oh, thank god you’re here. Luther’s coughing really hard and I think he’s going to throw up but I can’t be in there because I-I just can’t! You have to go in there please!” Five rambled.

Allison nodded and instructed Five to stay with Klaus for the time being. Five still didn’t look like he was too happy with having to stay with another one of his germy siblings, but hey, this was better than vomit.

When Allison walked into Luther’s room he was hunched over the tiny garbage bin he always kept by his desk. He was coughing so hard his face was red, and with one final heave, something finally came up. Allison was shocked at how he was able to come up with anything seeing as he hadn’t eaten anything in almost three days, but he had been drinking a lot of liquids.

Allison slid onto Luther’s bed and started rubbing his back. He jumped a little, not having noticed Allison’s entrance. The gasp he let out only further irritated his throat and he started choking up more liquid. Allison continued working small circles onto Luther’s sweaty back, hoping that would help calm him down a bit.

Luther was coughing so hard there was thick mucus dripping out of his nose into the bucket. It came to the point where Allison couldn’t tell if it was mucus or vomit.

Luther finally stopped puking. He hid his face from Allison who then grabbed some tissues off of his bedside table and offered them.

Luther wiped his nose and then blew it.

“Sorry…about that,” Luther spoke shyly. His voice was somehow even more scratchy than it had been earlier. Allison heaved a sigh and turned around for a second to collect herself. She hated seeing him like this.

“Don’t be sorry, you couldn’t help it. Better out than in, right?” She turned back around and was greeted with the sight of Luther not only out of bed, but stumbling towards the door, bile-filed bucket in hand. She could see his knees shaking; yup, he’d definitely just dehydrated himself.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going? Put that down!” She rushed over and grabbed the bucket from him, quickly setting it down in its proper place next to his desk, before ushering him back to bed. “Just let me handle it, okay?” she asked, tone a bit more exacerbated than she’d intended, judging by the way Luther flinched. She took a deep breath before continuing. “You really need to lie down, you’re probably low on electrolytes. I am not about to have another one of my siblings pass out on me today.”

“Klaus passed out?” Luther looked so wounded it broke Allison’s heart. She bit down on her lip, regretting having said anything, and nodded reluctantly.

“He’s okay now,” she insisted, reaching out a hand to squeeze Luther’s shoulder.

“Diego was right. I-it’s my fault he’s so sick.” Allison could kill Diego. She shook her head and pushed his hair back in place from where it was stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“Hey, hey, it’s not your fault, okay? It could have been any one of us. You know he’s just… a bit protective of Klaus. We all are.” Luther nodded, though his eyes were scrunched up tight. Allison couldn’t tell if it was physical pain, embarrassment, guilt, or some terrible mix of the three. She cupped his cheek in her hand. It was hot and flushed, but she attributed it the vomiting – plus the tears that were starting to stream down his face for the second time that day. Yup, Diego was going to get an earful from her later. But for now, she had to push her anger down and focus on making her brother feel better.

“You’re okay, Luther. We love you,” she said softly, wiping the tears off her face with her thumb, trying not to visibly wince at the smell of bile that still lingered on his breath. She plucked a few tissues from the box and went to wipe his face for real, which he prevented by suddenly bringing both of his gloved hands up to cover his face. She tried to pry his hands apart, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Allison I have to-”

“Luther, stop it.” He shook his head. “Just let me - oh.” Seeing Luther’s chest expand, Allison released his hands. He immediately steepled them over his nose.

“hnnG’TCHU! Hih-INGXTtchiew!”

“Bless you!”

“Ohgod-hh’GNXTchiehh! Itgotupmynose-ih’GNXT!”

“Well then let it out, Lu.���

“I’m tryinhh-nnG’NNKT!-uhh.” He pressed his fingertips down tighter on his nose.

“You’re gonna make it worse!” Allison grabbed Luther’s hands again, only this time she successfully pulled them away from his face. The fact that her normally super-strong brother didn’t have the energy to fight back really spoke volumes for how shitty he must be feeling.

“Allison, s-stop, I still have to… hih!” realizing there was no escape, Luther turned his face down onto his pillow. “Hhh’KSCHhh’KSCHHT!Ohgoditburns — Hh’KschOO! Hih-KSCHEHH!”

As soon as the last sneeze was out, Luther broke into a harsh bout of coughing. Allison instinctively grabbed the garbage bin again, just in case. Thankfully, Luther’s breathing evened out before he could trigger his gag reflex this time.

Allison noted the reappearance of the thick fluid from earlier that she’d seen dripping out of his nose. Yup, that was definitely vomit. In a repeat of earlier events, she held a tissue up to her brother’s nose and pinched. To her surprise, Luther didn’t even wait for her command before he blew his nose willingly into the tissue. He must really be miserable.

[secret-rendezvous1d]

D E C E M B E R  1 S T

REQUEST someone else mentioned pubes talk, and I thought it would be hilarious if Harry was trying to do something romantic like cooking a Christmas Eve meal but naked and there was singe-ing (not singing!).

Hello.

Hi.

Welcome to Blogmas, 2018!

I’ve been so excited for December to come around and it’s arrived so quickly. I love this time of year and I get to be festive on here and away from here and that makes me incredibly happy; Blogmas is one of my favourite things to do on here and I’m pleased that it’s back again... and I can only hope you enjoy this year as much as you have other years. 

Feedback is welcomed, as always - please let me know what you think of my pieces, send me any constructive criticism you think would help out, any ways to make my writing better, anything. It really helps me and keeps me motivated to write and we get to work as a team to make things better, for me to write and for you to read. 

This little something takes place during the December of 2017. When they’ve conceived Persephone and are on the verge of finding out that they’re going to a mum and dad! It’s not too Christmas-y but I can assure you that the rest of Blogmas will be festive, all around.

Enjoy! xx

When he’d woken up that morning, Harry had been in a specific mood where all he wanted to do was show off love and affection towards his wife.

A glance to his left showed him fluttering lashes against pale cheeks and a face that looked a little worse for wear after having been hit with a rough, sleepless night from the moment they had decided to settled down and had routinely started getting ready for bed. After a cruel round of nausea, that didn’t seem to let up and leave as just a phase, that had knocked her for six. She had had an excitable demeanour that had been filling the house with laughter and her shrill cackles throughout the evening, cracking jokes and giving his bum pinches and squeezes when he passed her by, singing Christmas songs into a makeshift microphone (which was a clenched fist that she held in front of her mouth) and she had managed to keep a conversation about sex and having a night of pure passion - ”to bring Christmas in with a good night” what she had won the argument with - on the table. 

But that person had moulded into someone that lost all strength to cooperate within the click of a finger and had depended on Harry tending to her every need; waking her up when her head lulled to lay on his shoulder, guiding her up the stairs when she made it clear that her eyes were bleary and misted over, holding her tightly when her balance had been thrown off with a guttural feeling that she struggled to hide, and undressing her when her limbs felt heavy and dead.

An empty bucket occupied the space in front of her bedside table, a glass of water sat upon a woven coaster that his mother had gifted to her on her very-first Christmas spent as his girlfriend, a crumpled and dirty tissue had been thrown onto the top of the table, and a thermometer - that had been used in a frenzy, by Harry, after he’d finished panicking about her sudden illness and after he had tucked her up in bed once he dressed her into something warm and comfortable - was placed upon a book that sat adjacent to her lamp. A receipt sticking out from a page because she had lost her bookmark and needed a little something to keep her place. The painstaking silence that filled the bedroom as she slept, that was usually a silence that he liked to use as thinking time or as a time of reflection or to use to his advantage as he thought about song lyrics for new singles and songs for future albums, allowed him to hear her jagged breathing, the bubbles of her gut and the whistle that came from her nose with each out breath that pushed through from her lungs.

And even though she looked somewhat serene and peaceful, she still looked sick... and he hated that.

He hated seeing her so low, hated seeing her so down in the dumps and with a pucker on her brows that didn’t seem to loosen up, hated hearing her be so self-critical of herself and homing a permanent frown upon her face whenever she looked at herself or saw a glimpse in a shiny surface. He hated seeing her look so unhappy that a kiss and a cuddle and a crack of a silly joke couldn’t even bring a smile to her lips, hated how she felt so lethargic and he hated how she wanted to be on her own so she could sleep and get better without passing anything to him - because she had always deemed him as more important and never wished to tear away his happy spirit for more than a day - and he absolutely hated how he couldn’t take away any aches and pains.

He hated that one the most.

Because not matter where her aches and pains came from, he wanted to take them from her in an instant. Just so she never had to endure something so bad and so unpleasant. 

Rolling onto his side, the mattress creaking beneath his weight, he delicately brushed his fingertips over her forehead and brushed her fringe away from her clammy skin. Thankfully, she didn’t feel as flushed as she had done before they both fell asleep but she still felt tacky and sticky and there were traces of sweat that had trickled down her jawline and disappeared behind her ears in a trail that was purely controlled by gravity. Resembling the look of tear-streaks but in no way were they. She squeaked in her sleep, her mouth moving in a motion that looked like she was chewing on something and sounded like a wet muscle sucking upon another, before her eyes fluttered open to start the day. A faint glimmer from a street-light outside their home, that was one of the many consecutive lamps that lined their Hampstead street, shone through the slit in the curtains and allowed a glow to form silhouettes on the walls and shadows upon her face from her features. Glowing in the colour of her eyes before she rubbed them with her fists.

“Good morning,” she rasped, a lopsided grin on her dry lips as she brought her hands up, groaning in delight whilst she stretched her arms above her head and pushed her knuckles into the fabric headboard behind their heads. Mewling and arching her back as she removed the kinks and the sleep of her limbs and let her whole body relax and flop beneath the duvet. His eyes watching her with concern. “What’s up? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You just look very lovely this morning,” he crooned, cupping her cheek with his palm and running his thumb across her cheek. He sounded cheesy and he knew that because, well, how could he see her in the dark? But she had grown so used to his sweet nothings being vocalised over the years, which always made her feel better, that she would take them over a simple ‘good morning’ any day of the week. His bare fingers feeling strange against her skin, since she was used to the sharp tingle of the cold metal of his rings against her warm cheeks, and she rather loved how they stroked her so mutedly. Her head tilting into his touch as a show of her appreciation. “Are you feeling better? You sound much better.”

“I feel a little sick still. A little wobbly, as well. Knees feel a little bit like jelly. And, is it weird that I can’t make proper fists with my hands?” She asked curiously and innocently and looking at him with a concerning look in her eyes. Sleep still evident in her voice as she spoke, stretching her arms into the air and fanning her fingers out for them both to look at, before wiggling them and curling them into a loose fist to prove a point to her question A gentle laugh leaving his lips as he rested his arm over her belly, hitching her t-shirt up with his wrist and palming the soft plump of her tummy - because that had always helped with period cramps, and belly-aches in general, and he had an inkling that it may have helped with making her feel a little more content. “But I’m fine. Yeah, I’m fine. I don’t think I’ll projectile vomit like I did last night. A sleep did me some good.”

He bumped his nose against her shoulder, inhaling a musky scent that he had always seemed to associate with sickness and being poorly, and puffed out the deepest sigh. He knew, firsthand, how she was feeling; regardless of being ‘a freak to staying healthy’, so she would call him. Because even ‘health-freaks’ fell ill. 

Particularly as an active youngster with a social-life that took him off all over Holmes Chapel, he was prone to catching illnesses - from his friends at school to his sister, who liked to bathe in the sympathy she gained from those around her (and still did, and she found herself boldly admitting that), to the strangers that he passed, who seemed to have no respect for anyone around them as they coughed with no hand covering their mouth and sneezed with no tissue. Whenever he fell sick, or whenever he woke up with a poorly stomach or a sore head or clammy skin that, once he jumped on Google, he found out were symptoms of something yet to come, there was a smell that lingered in the air and it was one that he had grown to associate with having to be lazy, having to eat soup and dry toast and having days off for a reason. 

Not so much as he grew older but he caught the odd germ, that lingered in the air and clung to everyday objects ,and the occasional tummy-bug from something that didn’t quite settle well with his stomach  and the smell always seemed to find a way back to him. That made him smell odious, more than he would smell after a hard session at the gym, and made him feel gross. To the point where he would have slept in the bath if it was safe enough. It made him feel young, like he was the young pre-teen who wanted nothing more than to disappear from the world and watch Lord Of The Rings on the television in his bedroom and drink cups of warm tea and eat bowls of tomato soup until he felt better again. 

And he couldn’t wait for the day when he felt fresh, smelt good and looked youthful and radiant again.

“Sure you’re feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling okay,” she confirmed with a nod, “I’m a bit hungry though. I could do with some toast. Maybe some porridge drowned in sugar.”

“Shall we, uh, let’s just go easy on the thick porridge and go for something a little softer, yeah? A couple of pieces of dry toast, maybe?” He suggested. Her elbows pushing down into the mattress and holding her upper body up from the bed, hair knotted at the back of her head and tendrils sticking to her face with dried perspiration, as she frowned at him with distaste. If there was one thing she hated... it was dry toast. The neck of her t-shirt looked worn-out and over-stretched and sported the occasional hole within the dirty-white cotton that had a picture of Fleetwood Mac peeling off of the front, in tiny flecks that looked like paint peeling on a vintage wall. “I know you hate it but I think some dry toast would be best for you this morning. Maybe an apple or a banana, too. Just to see if you can keep that down.”

“And what if I do? Will you let me have some porridge then?”

She sounded seductive, her voice lowering an octave and a pout on her lips that only came out when they were in the bedroom, and he shook his head with amused disbelief. That was just like his wife. The woman who could still crack jokes, still play on their hormones, still make him horny and turn him on and still be in the mood for sex when she was ill. 

“We’ll see, baby,” he hummed tiredly and rolled onto his back, clasping his hands over her belly and staring at the ceiling as YN kicked away the duvet and sat up on the mattress, “we’ll see. I’ll make you something better for lunch.”

The silence lingering in the air felt tranquil. Cars driving down the street, kids screeching and cackling their high-pitched laughter on the way to Hampstead Heath, parents calling out their names and scolding them to ‘be careful by the roads’, birds tweeting their birdsong in the trees and the neighbours’ gates creaking closed as they arrived and departed their homes to embark on long and tedious journeys to spend Christmas with their families. 

She reached over and placed a flat palm on his ribs, scratching his skin lightly whilst his eyes fluttered shut, her eyes lingering on him as he laid beside her; his long eyelashes resting on his prominent cheekbones, his eyelids wrinkling as he squeezed them shut in an attempt to salvage any more sleep he had, his short fringe curling at the ends and in need of a thorough wash because it was starting to look like straw. His jawline was decorated with patches of messy scruff and his upper lip seemed to be adorned with a stretch of stubble that he, quite probably and much to her dismay, would shave off during his morning routine.

“Are you busy today?” She asked, breaking the silence capturing his attention as he peered at her with one open eye, “I don’t want you to be busy today. I want you to stay inside and look after me.”

“I thought you were feeling better. You don’t need someone to look after you if you’re not sick,” he breathed out and smirked in her direction, “did you lie to me? You know what happens when you lie.”

She feigned a cough, before faking a heavy groan and gripping her side, before she sniffled and attempted to reach for the bucket beside the bed.

“Don’t muck me around, darling,” he cackled, “said you were fine.”

She sighed and her shoulders dropped south. Like a reversed shrug that didn’t quite make it all the way. 

“I’m not busy until the new year, baby, no. You know that. I told you after me and Jeffrey had that argument over the phone about me going to America for an appearance on a show out there. I’m all yours till you have to share me again,” he teased, pushing the duvet off of his body and kicking it towards the end of the bed with his bare feet, “but I wouldn’t be obliged to you wanting me to stay here, forever and ever, so we don’t need to share each other with anyone.”

“Told him to sod off and he didn’t know what that meant,” she snorted and ruffled her fringe with her fingers, to remove the tickle that was brushing over her forehead. Sitting himself up, he crossed his ankles and reached over for his mobile that was charging on his bedside table, pressing the home button and revealing a photo of himself and YN, from the year of 2012, with complete awe on their faces as they sat on the stage at Madison Square Garden and took in the view before them. A smile on her face as she scooted closer to him and nestled into his side. “It would be nice if we could stay here forever and ever. I like spending time with you.”

“You can spend time with me for forever and ever,” he said, grabbing her hand and rubbing her knuckles with the calloused pad of his thumb, “got married a few months back so you’re stuck with me forever. Which means I’m stuck with you forever.”

“Unfortunately,” she joked, turning her face to press a kiss to his cheek but catching his ear lobe as he jerked away from her in fake annoyance. Her lips pressing against the shell of his ear in a kiss before she realised where she was laying her mouth. 

“Oi,” he struck her with a flick of his foot, catching her ankle with the tips of his toes, “don’t kid me around, baby. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I adore you and I love you and,” he paused for what seemed to be a dramatic effect when, in reality, he was letting his mind work wonders on how he was going to show off his love, “and I’m gon’a prove it to you later, n’all.”

“How?” She wondered, a glint in her eyes as she looked at him, “tell me. Don’t make it a surprise.”

“I’m going to cook you dinner. We’re going to go against our typical tradition of a takeaway on Christmas Eve and I’m going to cook you everything you could ever dream of. Mash, chicken, chargrilled veggies. The lot. Since you’re feeling better and all,” he grinned and pressed a strong kiss against her forehead, dropping his phone to the space between them and scooting his bum towards the edge of the bed, “you’re not going to do anything but put your feet up and relax. Do some blog writing, edit some of your photos, plan recipes or photoshoots, or whatever else you do. Let me do something for you since you’ll be on your feet Christmas Day.”

Despite them having this year to themselves and not having that many people to cook a meal for - what with YN’s parents away on a warm getaway for the festive period and with Gemma and Michal heading off to Michal’s parents and Anne spending Christmas Day with her friends in Manchester - they still had people to see and presents to gift to those nearest and dearest to them so they both knew, and they knew every year, that they would never be able to have a proper sit down, with no unwanted interruptions and no sudden invitations to hang out at the local pub with Nick, until the evening. When they could wind down with bottles of wine and left over pigs-in-blankets and stuffing balls whilst watching the soaps and the Christmas television that was scheduled to air. When they could kiss under mistletoe that was put up just for them, when they could wear ugly jumpers without anyone having their say in how hideous they were, when they could go to bed before nine and get away with it because it was just the two of them. 

And they couldn’t wait. 

“Aren’t you just a darling, huh?”

“I do my best to impress,” he threw over his shoulder sent her a strained wink with a green eye. A click of his tongue partnered that motion before he stood up and stretched his back. One hand braced on one hip as he arched his body and rubbed his belly with his other hand. “Come have a shower with me. Freshen up.”

“Fuck!”

His profanity startled her.

Her tea having spilled over the brim of her mug when she jumped at the break of the pleasant silence, dribbling down the white ceramic held between her hands and landing upon her knitted sweater in brown droplets, that looked like a children had drawn raindrops. The sudden jerk of her body shooting a chill through her limbs since she’d been so content with one specific position, set up perfectly so she could rest her laptop on her thighs and her camera on the thick cushion at the back of the sofa and where her mug was in arms reach and the television remote was right in front of her, that the air had a sudden temperature change and goosebumps rose upon her skin.

“What did you do?” She called, apprehensively letting her fingers hover over the lid of her laptop before deciding to close it and take a look at what damage he had done. Lifting her feet from the arm of the sofa, she placed them upon the ground and pushed her laptop to the empty sofa cushion beside her, leaning over to set her camera and her SD card delicately upon the coaster Harry had previously used for his own coffee mug before announcing that he was going to disappear into the kitchen to start cooking them dinner. “Harry?”

There was a clatter of pots and pans before his  head peered around the frame of the kitchen archway with a displeased look upon his features and his hands clasped over his apron-covered crotch. A heavy handful of the laminate material scrunched in his palms, forming pleats up the chest, and revealing a little bit of fuzzy thigh from the red hem.

“So, uh, do you remember that discussion we had this morning?”

“We have a lot of discussions,” she reminded him, standing from her place before halting and allowing herself to take in his exposed shoulders, his bare hips and a nipple peeking out from the chest of the apron hanging down his body, “are you cooking naked under there?”

“Yes,” he rolled his eyes and released a hand to run his fingers through his hair, “the discussion in the shower that we had this morning. When I asked if you preferred me shaved or... messy,” he prompted, cheeks flushing pink as he watched a smirk toy with the corner of her lips and a raise of her eyebrow that made him want to cower with embarrassment. A look of ‘I know where this is going’ threading her features together and he huffed out a heavy breath, blowing a few strands from his forehead, “don’t. I know what you’re about to say.”

“Why were you cooking naked?”

Her cackling laughter entices a reflexive smile to appear upon his lips, revealing two front teeth from a pillow of pink flesh, as his green eyes looked down towards his pigeon-toed feet clad in a pair of her woollen socks - which had proven a difficulty when he was a good few shoe sizes up from her own - with one pulled up to his mid-calf and one bunched around his ankle.

“I was, uh,” he coughed into his free fist and gave her a sheepish smile, “I was trying to be, uh, I was just trying to be sexy for you, you know? But I think I might have, uhm, I think I might have singed some hair down there when I reached up to have a play with the fan of the cooker because the vegetables got a bit too steamy and, I was bloody lucky to have missed the goods, but-”

“H,” she sighed, stretching her arms out and wiggling her fingers as she forced herself to step closer to him, a frown on her face as her amused expression disappeared into a look of concern and worry, “you know that I already find you insanely sexy. Even dressed in this monstrosity,” she snorted and snaked her arms around his waist, wrists ducking underneath the cotton strands tied at the middle of his back and letting her fingers tickle around the broad stretch of his back, “you don’t need to impress me anymore. We’re married.”

“Heeey,” he grumbled into the thick material of her sweater. His hands hitching up the heavy hem before settling his palms above the elastic of her pyjamas trousers and upon her hips, squeezing her to his front as she hummed with content against his naked shoulder, “I do need to keep impressing you or else you’ll see through everything else and realise I’m not as great as you think I am.”

She scoffed and shook her head; “that’s rubbish and you know it.”

He chose not to respond and felt her lips press against his shoulder in a gentle and reassuring manner. 

“I think I burnt the chicken, as well. Or, at least I did something to it because it looks black.”

“I love you because you tried but I will love you even more if you stopped what you were doing and didn’t end up burning the house down the day before Christmas,” she mumbled against his skin, tiptoeing and taking a sneaky glance over his stature to scan the mess he made (that she would most likely clean up whilst he disappeared to dress in something much warmer for the time of year). A bowl of lumpy mashed potatoes, a chopping board covered in carrot skin and chopped red onions and tomato juice that had seeds floating in the puddles, the microwave door left wide open and there was a pan on the cooker that was steaming away - and she dreaded to know what he had concocted. Or had planned to concoct. “Do you want me to order in a takeaway? I’ll save you ruining your dignity.”

He gave her a sarcastic smile before unravelling his arms from around her waist.

“So long as it’s a takeaway Wagamama’s then I’m good with that decision. I’m in the mood for-”

“Chicken katsu curry with extra curry sauce and some chicken dumplings on the side,” she guessed and he pinched her hip with his thumb and forefinger, “I can read you like a book, mister.”

“Oh, so it’s not because you’ve ordered that for me a thousand times before?” He scoffed and strained away from her with a cheeky smile on his mouth, “or is it because you’re going to order something you don’t really want and then ask me to swap meals because you really want the chicken katsu curry because it’s ‘your favourite’?”

“Well then,” she gave him bare bottom a pat with her fingers and wiggled out of his hold, “if you’re not going to offer your wife your meal when she wants it, then, a divorce may be on the cards.”

She spins on her heels and attempts to walk away from him, in the direction of the ‘menu drawer’ in their hallway cabinet to grab the takeaway menu, but his hand wrapped around her wrist before she was out of his reach. His arm pulling her back towards him.

“How about you go nuts? Get whatever you fancy. We can have some for a midnight feast if we get hungry.”

“It’s Christmas Eve, I’m exhausted and I’m feeling a little achy so the only thing I’ll be doing, come midnight, is sleeping.”

“I doubt you’ll be sleeping after we’re done giving Santa a show,” he waggled his eyebrows, “he won’t be getting mince-pies and milk tonight. He’ll be getting a live sex-show.”

“You’re gross,” she squawked with surprise and pushed his chest with her palms, pushing herself away from his body, “go upstairs and get dressed into something warm, please. Before you do yourself and your body hair any more damage.”

[braincoins]

“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice. I unexpectedly had an open morning.” Shiro was already unbuttoning his shirt.

“For what you’re reporting, I would make time for you,” Dr. Ulaz said. “Can you describe it for me again, now that I have my recorder going?”

“Oh, sure. Well, I can try. It’s...” He shrugged out of his shirt. “...it’s like a hum, sort of? But not audible. And not really tangible. It’s just this... this sense of something being off, like something’s misaligned or like... I don’t know.”

“But it works okay?” The doctor held his hands out.

Shiro extended his arm so he could look at it. “Works fine. It works just like an arm.”

Ulaz was poking at it, turning it over and back and looking at it carefully. “Does the sensation change at all when you’re showering, when you’re doing delicate hand movements, when you’re... well, I don’t know if you’ve been scuba-diving with it.”

Shiro chuckled. “No, I haven’t.”

“So no pressure changes.”

“None. And no, there’s no change at all, no matter what I’m doing. And, like I said, it’s just like my regular arm and hand. I forget it’s not, most of the time. I even...” He stopped as he realized what he’d been about to say.

Dr. Ulaz looked up from the arm. “What?”

Shiro could feel himself blushing. “Nevermind.”

The doctor arched an eyebrow. “You’re using it in all ways as a normal hand and arm.”

“Yes, let’s just leave it at that.” He wasn’t going to get into some of what he’d been doing with his right hand yesterday. “But that weird sort of not-really-hum never goes away. I can generally ignore it, if there’s something else to distract me - work, or whatever - but whenever I have any mental downtime, it’s there again, and I can feel it, and...”

“I can deactivate it,” Ulaz offered. “That would let us see if this ‘hum’ persists even when it’s not powered on. Of course, it would have to be turned back on again, and...”

“And it’ll light all my nerves up again?” When the doctor nodded, Shiro winced. He could still remember that moment, as clear as glass and as painful as shards under his fingernails. He didn’t want to go through that again if he didn’t have to. “What else can we do besides that?”

“Hm. Well, you’re due for your check-in. I’ll send Krolia in to start that while I see if I can get hold of a scanner. Just wait here.” He turned his recorder off, picked it up, and left.

Shiro shivered a little - why were doctors’ offices always so freaking cold? - but figured he probably shouldn’t put his shirt back on just yet. There was a knock on the door and, when it opened, he was hit in the face with a gown. 

“There you go, I’m sure you’re dying of hypothermia,” Krolia said, shutting the door behind her. 

He laughed as he pulled it on. “It’s like you’re psychic.”

“Every patient complains about the cold,” she said. “Frankly, I would, too.” She had a cardigan on as she looked at her tablet. “Okay, you know the drill.”

He sighed and held out his left arm as she approached. “I am maintaining normal daily activities and have nothing unusual to report, other than what I’ve already brought up with Dr. Ulaz.”

She put the little wristband computer on his left wrist and he dutifully bent his arm to bring it close to his heart. She pushed the button to start it, then grabbed the thermometer. “Getting enough sleep?”

“For the most part.”

She arched an eyebrow at him as she swiped the thermometer across his forehead. “And what does that mean?” It beeped, and she glanced at it, then typed in the results. “Normal temperature,” she murmured.

“It means I have a new girlfriend.”

She snorted without looking up from her tablet. “Oh, I see. Well, any complaints on that front then?”

“No, everything’s fine and she’s not freaked out about the arm.”

“Good, I’m glad. Keith will be glad, too.” The wristlet beeped, and she came over and took it off of him. “BP’s good.” She set it down and recorded that as well. “Here comes your favorite part.” She started pulling on her gloves.

“I hate needles,” he groused as he held his left arm back out and made a fist.

“So do most people. Be glad you have nice, easy-to-find veins.” She fetched an already-labeled collection tube out of her cardigan pocket, and started gathering the rest of her supplies from the drawers.

“I am.”

“Also that I was top of my phlebotomy class.” She wrapped a blue tourniquet around his arm, just above his elbow.

“I’m very glad about that.”

She poked at his inner elbow. “So tell me about the new girlfriend.”

“She’s amazing.”

She laughed. “That’s all I’m going to get? ‘Amazing’?”

“Smart, funny, gorgeous... the whole package.”

“You sound like you’re already head over heels. Little poke.”

He hissed as she stuck the needle in. “Well, that’s only because I am.”

Krolia was keeping her eyes on her work, ever the professional. The tourniquet released with a snap sound. “Oh, is this someone you’ve been pursuing for a while?” She was filling the tube.

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that. More like someone I didn’t think I’d ever have a chance with.”

“Well, I’m glad it worked out.” She pressed some cotton squares down and pulled the needle out. He took over holding the squares down for her. “Thank you.” She wrapped around his arm with that clingy purple stuff hospitals always used - well, the stuff they had here was purple, anyway - and she tore off the end. “Thirty minutes, you know the drill.”

“Yes’m.”

“Do I get to see a picture?” she teased.

“I don’t have any that are suitable for showing to the general public,” he replied.

“Naughty!” she said with a laugh.

“No, really, I just don’t have any yet. We, uh... were too busy to take pictures.” He cleared his throat.

She just kept laughing and patted his shoulder. “I’m very happy for you, Shiro.” 

Dr. Ulaz came back in then, and Krolia rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to knock before you come into a room with a patient in it,” she reminded him.

“Sorry,” he said, sounding distracted. He was looking down at a device Shiro hadn’t seen before. 

“What is that?”

“Scanner,” was all Dr. Ulaz said. “Made especially for this sort of thing. I still don’t know how to work it very well. We only have the one for the whole floor, so I don’t get to use it much.”

“Hell, I’m surprised you found it,” Krolia put in. “I swear it hides. Here, let me see it.”

He passed it over to her and she fiddled with some buttons. “You have to select the prosthetic study function,” she told him as he looked over her shoulder - he was much taller than she was, “and then... this is an MX... attached and active... where did that menu go?”

“Is it that one?” 

“Let’s see if... yes! Okay, good to go.” She handed it back to him. 

“Sorry,” he apologized to Shiro.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” He held his right arm out this time but then his phone pinged at him. “Wait, hold on! That’s my girlfriend!”

“Middle of the day booty call?” Krolia teased.

“Unlikely. She's just bored at work,” he lied smoothly. In fact, it was Allura screaming at him about why he hadn’t texted her. He typed in an apology and an explanation of his check-up.

“He has a new girlfriend,” Krolia explained to Dr. Ulaz. “Clearly they’re not past the ‘sickeningly sweet’ part yet.”

“Oh, that explains it.”

Shiro cleared his throat and sent the text, then held his right arm out again. “Sorry about that, go ahead.”

Dr. Ulaz pressed a button and the device lit up. He ran it over the arm, then asked, “Turn it over,” and did it again. “Thank you,” he said, and Shiro lowered his arm.

His phone pinged again: Allura double-checking with him that he was okay. 

“No sexting while we’re standing right here,” Krolia told him with a grin.

“We’re not sexting. Yet.”

“Yet,” she repeated with a laugh.

“Everything’s reading as it should be,” the doctor said. “Perfectly within parameters, not even close to a high or low end.” He looked up. “Yet you’re the only one with an MX model who’s complained of such a hum.”

Shiro shrugged. “Maybe I’m just a sensitive flower.”

Krolia barked a laugh. “Okay, you two have fun; I have to run this sample down to the lab. Tell your girlfriend that your friend’s mom says to treat you right or I’ll kick her ass.”

He laughed. “That’s a fight I’d pay money to watch, actually.” 

She chuckled as she left, but Dr. Ulaz was still frowning at his screen. He set the scanner down and looked back to Shiro.

“No headaches or migraines? Dizziness, vision problems?”

“Nothing like that,” he confirmed. “I’m fine, aside from this hum.”

“Well, according to our protocols, I ought to send you to the hospital for overnight monitoring.”

Now it was Shiro’s turn to frown. “I can’t do that; I have a story to cover this afternoon.”

“I did say ‘according to our protocols,’“ Ulaz reminded him. “I don’t see a reason to do that, however. And, frankly, the person who wrote the protocols is no longer with us.”

“Dr. King?” he guessed.

Ulaz nodded. “She designed the study, the protocols for it, and the prototype prosthetics. Personally designed; she wouldn’t let anyone else help her with it, even. That is... unusual, to say the least.”

“Maybe a little worrying?” he asked, feeling uneasy himself.

Another nod from the doctor. “I gave you my personal number, yes?” When he nodded, Ulaz continued, “Do not call here for me on this issue again. Call only my private number. You seem to be in good health, but I have... misgivings. Any hour, day or night, if something goes wrong, call me. I will meet you at your home if need be.”

That gave Shiro pause. “How worried should I be about this?”

“About this hum? I don’t know. And that, combined with the unusual... procedure behind this study is what has me worried. For now, just keep an eye on it, on any changes, good or bad. I’m going to extend your check-in period though; it will give you a good reason to come in here once a week, so we can make sure you stay in good health. Any emergencies, go to the hospital, but give them my name and number, yes?”

He nodded. “Got it. Thanks for not just writing this off as my imagining it.”

“You are welcome.” Ulaz eyed the arm as if he distrusted it personally, then left Shiro with that lingering sense of uneasiness.

He frowned as he swapped out the gown for his shirt. What is this thing I have attached to me?

{The Adventures of Starlight & Paladin}

[catholicdaredevil]

Bucky Barnes x Sick!Reader

A/N- First of all I’d just like to apologize it took me so long to fill this, I’ve been going through a lot of stuff so writing has been on the back burner. Here I am though!!! Requests are open if you have anything you’d like me to write! Also I didn’t know how to end this so it’s gonna be at least two parts. 

Request-  Uhh could I ask for a fluff fic with Bucky comforting his sick s/o? I'm getting sick all few weeks and it starts to suck lmao

Word Count- 1.4k

Warnings- Some mentions of vomit/sickness

//

Your phone dinged on the bedside table and you groaned, your head was pounding and you had felt nauseated all day. Every light in your room was off and your curtains drawn as tightly as possible, because every sliver of light made everything worse so you dreaded even looking at your phone. When you heard it ding again you knew it was Bucky and you had to answer or else he’d get worried, he always got anxious when you didn’t respond his mind immediately going to the worst possible situation.

‘Hey, you didn’t come to training or breakfast today are you alright?’

‘You shouldn’t still be asleep, do you need anything sugar?’

Now Bucky had been calling you sugar since way before you started dating, always claiming it was because you were the sweetest thing in his life, which always made you roll your eyes but grin nonetheless. Even you were surprised at how incredibly romantic Bucky could be, since he looked so gruff and intense, but when you were in eyesight he melted into a puppy.

‘Yeah, Buck, I’m alright. I think I caught something the other night, I just feel like shit so I’m probably just gonna stay in bed today, try and recharge.’

Within minutes of replying to your boyfriend and covering your face with an extra pillow, there was a soft knock on your door, you grunted nonsense just loud enough that you knew Bucky would be able to hear you and the door cracked slowly. Bucky’s bright blue eyes peaked in, his hair falling down at the sides of his scruffy face, he smiled at the sight of you and stepped into your room. You lifted the pillow of your face and despite the pain your face broke into a grin at the sight of Bucky looking so soft in your doorway, walking forward he sat at the edge of your bed and reached out to take your hand his thumb rubbing your palm in gentle circles.

“Hey sugar, I’m sorry you’re not feeling too hot. Is there anything I can do?” His other hand reached up and he pressed the back of it to your forehead not even trying to hide that he was checking your temperature like he usually did. Bucky was for lack of a better word, protective, he had this primal need to look after you in any and every possible way he could. Which lead to quite a bit of babying and you insisting you were fine more often than was probably necessary. You were an Avenger, you could take care of yourself, you could handle yourself, you would say; so he’d try to be more secretive. He’d act like he was brushing hair off your face when he was checking your temperature, or when he’d pretend he was just running his fingers up and down your arm absentmindedly as you flew back from a mission when he was really checking you for bruises or broken bones. Before you could answer his question and tell him you just needed some rest and to keep drinking the water next to your bed, he frowned deeply.

“You’re hot Y/N, like really hot.” Bucky mumbled, worry already etched onto his previously calm face. Now it was your turn to frown, you didn’t feel that hot, he must have been exaggerating.

“That’s true Barnes, I am hot.” You snorted and winked obnoxiously trying to change the subject as to not worry him. Instead of laughing like he usually would he just frowned deeper and looked like he was going to chastise you for not taking your health seriously, a look you were familiar with.

“‘M’fine it’s probably just like a cold or whatever.” In Bucky’s eyes you pushed everything off as not a big deal, which frustrated him to no end. He grew up taking care of Steve so no injury you ever got was new to him, he even teased you for being embarassed to tell him when your cramps were bad. In contrast the way you were raised was if you were alive, you were fine, there was nothing to complain about. You loved your parents but they weren’t very nurturing, you can remember handfuls of time where you were yelled at for crying. It wasn’t fun at the time but meant that now, you could get shot, or have your arm break on a mission and be able to continue on for longer than most humans. It came in handy, but since dating Bucky, if you got injured he would be yelling at you to step down immediately; to which you never listened, if you could keep going, you did.

“Sugar, honey, please can Bruce come check you out?” He begged, tearing you out of your thoughts his eyes pleading and you knew he wouldn’t drop it until you said yes so you groaned and pulled the blanket up over your head.

“Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck,” You whined and shivered, what felt like freezing air coming in from the door Bucky had left open. For being a super soldier Bucky was notorious for leaving doors open, it was never something he had to worry about when he was on missions, which translated now into leaving doors wide open and people walking by often seeing way more than they needed to. He pulled the blanket back from your eyes, and you could see he was pouting like a child and you busted out laughing. “Fine, fine, Bruce can check me out. No one else can know though, the way you’re gonna tell it people will think I’m dying.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed your forehead softly and stood up, walking out and this time closing the door behind him. Leaning over you took a long drink from your glass of water, it was kinda warm from being in there all night long and you grimaced as the pounding of your head continued. It wasn’t much longer than twenty minutes when you suddenly lurched to your feet, throwing the blanket halfway across the room to get it off of you. You stood briefly unsure of whether or not you were going to puke, but then as the vomit came up your throat you rushed to the bathroom and barely made it to the toilet in time. By the time Bucky came back with Bruce trailing behind him confused you were groaning on the floor of the bathroom curled up into a ball, the glistening of sweat on your forehead and cheeks as you clutched at your stomach.

“So she insists it’s nothing serious but well you know, I’m worried, I’m always worried Banner. Especially when it comes to her,” Bucky was saying as he walked in, freezing when you weren’t in bed. Anxiety filled his body for one moment before he heard you groan loudly from the bathroom and start to puke again and Bruce gently patted Bucky’s shoulder to try and convey some supportive message that he would take care of you. Bruce stepped past Bucky towards the bathroom and frowned sympathetically at the sight of you curled up in pain on the rug.

“Hey, Y/N. It’s Bruce, I’ve got my bag here I’m gonna come check you out. You look pretty shitty not gonna lie,” He teased and you rolled your eyes pushing yourself up into a sitting position against the edge of your bathtub. Bruce sat down in front of you and pulled a thermometer out of his bag and held it out for you to open your mouth, and he let it sit under your tongue for a few moments until it beeped. 102.3. Bruce hummed and prodded at your stomach gently, apologizing softly when you winced quietly. “You poor thing. I don’t think it’s too bad, can’t say for sure but I’d go with that you have the flu. I hate to say this but it’s just gonna get worse before you get better. You’re gonna be exhausted and feel like shit for like a week, but then you’ll be fine. Worst part is there’s little to nothing I can do to make you feel better, but I’ll let Bucky know you’ll be fine.” Bruce packed all of his stuff back into his bag and wet a washcloth and wrung it out before setting it on your forehead to cool you off, he stood awkwardly for a moment then nodded and walked off.

Tag list- @tokoyamisstuff @tropicalcap @vinyloider @hootyhoobuckaroo @spiider--boy @bucky-fanfiction

[theoddcatlady]

Blood Donation

Three months ago I was in a car accident.

It wasn’t great, I’ll tell you that. Legs got crushed, cracked some ribs, and it was touch and go for a while. But thanks to the advantages of modern medicine and several blood transfusions, I got wheeled out with the promise that if I got lucky I’d be able to get around with a cane.

It was a miracle when I started walking.

But miracles apparently don’t come for free.

I just wanted to continue living my life, if I’m honest. I’m an office worker, single, live in an apartment with a cat… which is far better than living with my mom, but it gets a bit drafty in the winter.

I started having dreams first.

I was alone in the hospital I was treated at. No nurses. No doctors. Just me in the impersonal white hallways. The pictures were replaced by black spaces. The lights would occasionally flicker but they didn’t go out. It was eerie. I preferred being alone though before he showed up.

When he first showed up, he was a bit like the paintings. His eyes and mouth were replaced with black empty holes, even though I could feel him staring at me. I felt like I knew him, or that he knew me. I’d run away, of course, I mean there’s a monster nearby in a dream, you run. He’d follow behind. I could hear him attempt to say something but it came out as a hollow rasp.

I woke up feeling like I’d run a million miles and I still hadn’t gotten away from him.

It wasn’t just dreaming I was running though. I started sleepwalking.

I had a problem with it as a kid, so many times mom would wake up to find me in the kitchen or standing at the foot of my bed, not really awake with my eyes staring blankly in front of me. This was a little more extreme though. I started waking up in seedy motels across the city. In the backroom of bars I’d never been to before. A couple times I even woke up in back alleys with a pounding headache.

The weird part is I clearly didn’t act like I was asleep.

I’d talk to the people around, the women that were on the other side of the bed, the bartenders, hell, I even made bros with the hobo that was in the alley near by. I’d play off I’d drunk a little too much and needed my memory refreshed. I was apparently quite a charmer, I’d gotten drinks for free, slept with women that were way out of my league (to put it mildly), all the stunts I’d never have the balls to pull sober… or awake.

I went to the doctor of course. This was a little concerning, to say the least. It was a headscratcher but not unheard of, especially if I had a sleepwalking problem as a kid. Stress, they told me. Stress about the accident, about the fact I nearly died. I got on some medication and told that in a few months I should be back to normal.

I feel like the sleeping meds made it worse. I would wake up back in my own bed, thank god. But I’d wake up fully dressed, and I’d have pictures in my phone that were taken the night previous.

I was a whole new man at night. Party crasher. Womanizer.

But in my mind I was trapped in the hospital with… him. Always running. I’d hide under cots and pray he couldn’t see me, but like a hound tracking my scent he’d always walk into the room I was in and I’d have to scramble away to keep his bony hands from reaching out and grabbing me.

About a month in I began to change.

I thought I had a fever when I woke up burning hot at around midnight. I stumbled to the bathroom and grabbed the thermometer out of the cabinet. When I closed it, I saw the man from my nightmares in the mirror, right behind me.

I screamed and spun around, nearly whacking my hip on the sink. Of course there was no one there. But when I turned back to the mirror, there he was.

He wasn’t reaching for me. He was just standing there, like a twisted guardian angel.

The thermometer beeped and I took it from my mouth.

My body temperature was 90 degrees. I was cold.

I didn’t go the doctor, god knows why, maybe I didn’t want to get checked into a psych ward when I brought up I was hallucinating an eyeless man watching my every move. I just crawled back into bed and prayed that this was going to end soon.

I woke up feeling like I had gone three weeks without food.

I cleaned out my kitchen, peanut butter sandwiches, several servings of pasta. It wasn’t enough. It was just as useful as throwing it out the window, it didn’t make a difference. Well, it did, kinda. I ended up violently throwing it all back up at work in my cubicle later. Talk about embarrassing. I was sent home and told that next time I was sick to call in.

Nothing was satisfying. I was hungry, I was burning hot, and above all, I was starting to believe I really was going crazy.

That’s probably why I confronted the eyeless man in my dream a few nights ago.

I stopped running. I turned around. And I screamed at him to leave me the hell alone. Stop showing up in my reflections. Stop following me in my dreams. Just leave me alone.

He stepped forward. I screamed at him again. He took another step, and another, until he was centimeters from my face. He leaned in next to my ear and he whispered a sentence into my ear.

“You’re finally ready, my boy.”

I woke up the next morning soaked in blood.

My entire apartment was fucked up. TV was knocked over. A glass was smashed in my kitchen. Furniture was lying on its side. Also there was a dead girl in my closet.

I didn’t know who she was. I probably had met her last night sleepwalking. The name Aurora sounded right. Her throat was entirely shredded, like a dog had attacked her.

But I was finally full.

Tonight I’m at the bar. The house has been cleaned the best it can, but now I’m looking for him.

He’s a lot different looking from my dreams. For one, he has eyes and a mouth. He looks a bit younger than me, has a great smile. Very charming. Women are all over him.

But he looks at me and I know he’ll be over to talk to me soon.

And I want to finally meet the man who made me.