#And that is simply not an option given how my doctor works 1 day a week and his next availability isn’t until 3 months from now

[lestappenforever]

Something feels inherently wrong about wishing for my period to start asap, despite all the dreadful symptoms that come with it.

Oh, how I love being a woman.

[copperbadge]

hi, I just came across your grocery post on how your ADHD task coping mechanisms don’t align with performing the task while medicated. Do you have any thoughts/advice for adjusting to doing work/job tasks when your previous coping mechanisms don’t work while medicated? As someone who was diagnosed after I finished undergrad, my coping mechanisms for finishing schoolwork tasks are to intentionally trigger RSD to trick my brain into making the consequence of failing the task greater than my executive dysfunction. This is 1) not healthy for me and 2) difficult because Adderall softens my RSD and emotional dysregulation. So where unmedicated I would panic and make an entire presentation the night before it was due, my medicated self sits there anxious the night before my work presentation but still incapable of starting the work. I’d love to hear your ideas on this if you have a moment (no worries if not, have a great day either way)

I hope it's okay I posted this! My readership may also be able to offer suggestions. (Readers, remember to comment or reblog, as I don't post asks sent in response to other asks!)

So, as the kids say there's a bit to unpack here...I do have some coping mechanisms to offer, although I have a strong policy of "do what works for you" so if these aren't helpful, please don't feel as if you've somehow failed -- these are just what works for me. If they don't work for you, that may be a good jumping-off point for thinking about what would, but they simply won’t work for everyone. 

First, I want to say that while I'm not a psychiatrist or a doctor, it sounds like it's possibly an issue with the medication. If it's working well enough to help with your RSD but not well enough to help with the action paralysis you're describing, it could be you're on the wrong medication or the wrong dosage of it. So above all I would strongly recommend talking about this with your prescriber to see what they say. This may be as simple as a tweak to your prescription. My psych has me on 10mg immediate release at 8am and 1pm, but after discussing the rhythm of my day he has also given me permission to occasionally take 20mg at 8 and no second dose. 20mg is an option if I’m tired or struggling and gives me a little extra push to get stuff started and/or completed, and it helps a great deal, but it’s not always needed. 

As for solutions to the actual issue...so, I know that with ADHD it's often the case that once you start something, you may be able to focus deeply on it and bang it out very quickly, like you have been doing. Also can I say, using the RSD to kickstart the executive function is a wonderfully imaginative workaround but sounds super unpleasant to do, so I'm sorry you've had to do that. Anyway, I think people who are capable of doing this, of kicking into action and completing a very complicated task all at once, tend to think that's the only possible way to do it, because it’s the only way that has worked in the past. So I have two suggestions.

The first is to try and reframe the project as something you can work on before the last minute, now that you have medication helping your executive function along. You can try, for example, saying “I’d like to get some work done on this thing that’s due a week from now” and just see how far you get. This can be tricky and can lead to a lot of guilt if you can’t manage it, which I want to stress a lot of people can’t. But if you are capable of saying to yourself “I’m just going to work on this a little”, every time you do that, it gets slightly easier because you know you’re not starting from the beginning. I have sometimes set alarms to be like “Okay, I’ll take my meds at 9:30. At 10am, as they’re kicking in, the alarm will go off and I’ll work on the project a bit.” It could be that you are now capable of spreading the work out over time, but you haven’t been doing that simply because you’re so accustomed to being unable to. 

In some sense it’s a matter of identifying what the medication does for you and adjusting that to help you in your life. ADHD meds can have varying effects -- they can help you start stuff, they can help you focus, they can keep you from running around full of excess energy, but they don’t always do everything for every person. So if you know that your meds help you focus but don’t necessarily help you start on something, maybe you need someone to body-mirror you to help get started. If the meds calm you down, maybe use the calm time to set up your workspace and arrange everything so that it’s easier to get started later. Identify the changes the meds make and try to strategize around those changes. Like how without meds at the grocery store I have trouble finding things, whereas with meds I tend to get stalled out taking in all the information. So maybe I need to be at the tail end of a dosage period when I go, or maybe I need to make a list that includes BRANDS so that I’m not label-comparing, and tell myself I will not browse. Or give myself extra time so I can do those things! 

The second suggestion may be more helpful, but it too involves doing preliminary work early on. This is one I do when I have something I’m not feeling confident about, but you can do it about anything even if you WANT to do it but can’t seem to get going. 

As early as you can, set up some time to sit down and make a list of all the granular parts of a project, rather than doing the project itself. This isn't universal, some people stress out about lists, but it can ease the path towards starting if you think you don't have to do "a project" all at once. If you're making a power point presentation, your list may be something like

Open Powerpoint. Open prompt for presentation. Open research website or get out research books. Read research (just one!). Read research (another). Repeat until finished. Review and develop ideas for the presentation. Make an outline for what the presentation should be. Pick out a template for the slides. Begin entering text into slides.

Et cetera. I've found, and you may too, that once you've started making the list, or once you've gotten to step 3 or 4 of actually doing the list, you're on a roll and the rest comes naturally. Like, I can't do this fucking project! But....well, okay, I am capable of just....opening powerpoint. And once I've done that I can start knocking down the rest, a little at a time. I think it is very hard for people with ADHD to learn how to segment out work that they feel “goes together” over time, like we are always under the impression we have to do The Whole Thing Right Now. Learning to orchestrate smaller steps, with the help of medication, is one way to spread the work out. 

But yeah -- all of this is predicated on the idea that the medication can help you get started and focus enough to keep going. If it can’t do that, then the problem is not with you but with your meds. Learning how to observe your medications’ effects, and learning how to use those to your advantage, will be more helpful than any tips or tricks I can provide, in any case, but making sure they’re actually doing the job is first and foremost. 

[subatoism]

God okay so another thing that gets my gears turning is that one bit in Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges when Julian says he’s incapable of making a diagnosis by simply looking at a man, to which Sloan replies, “Oh, your genetically enhanced friends determined that Gul Damar killed a woman just by watching him give a political speech. I’m sure you can do better than that.” Which he then very much does.

Because like,, up to this point in the series, I was kind of writing off the discrepancy between the abilities the other Augments have (learning Dominionese in one day, reading Damar’s entire backstory from his nonverbals, etc) and what we see from Julian both before and after Doctor Bashir, I Presume as purely a result of the writing problems that inevitably occur when you throw in a revelation like that so late in a show.

Which, yeah, I still think it is that. But in-universe, it makes the question of how Julian has so thoroughly managed to hide any signs of his augmentation this whole time much more immediate. Obviously this is something that a lot of other people have already examined, and probably more eloquently than I can, but I just want to work through my own thoughts on the topic.

So, assuming that Julian has roughly the same intellectual capacities as the other Augments, there are a couple possibilities:

[1] Julian is a brilliant actor. Since the very beginning of the show, he has been subtly playing up his own spotty observational/deductive skills in certain areas specifically to maintain his cover. This, of course, has profound implications for interpreting almost any scene he is in pre-DBIP (and particularly for all of his relationships with people who only ever see this persona). I mean god!! Confronting how complete an enigma the real Julian Bashir is if you accept this interpretation makes me feel insane.

But it also says something about all of his scenes after DBIP: That he can’t let it go. Can’t drop the façade, either because it’s ingrained habit to pretend or because he still believes (rightly or wrongly) that displaying his full potential will eventually lead to Starfleet changing its mind about letting him go free. Like, this guy is 3x more traumatized than he appears at any given moment.

[2] Julian intentionally avoids knowing/paying attention to things.

Not when it comes to medicine, for the most part. Sacrificing the well-being of a patient to keep his own secret is absolutely antithetical to his core values, and I’m unwilling to entertain the idea that his fundamental motives are a falsehood. At the very least, if he did ever hold himself back out of fear and put someone else at risk by doing so, it would eat him alive for the rest of his life. So that’s a whole ‘nother level of trauma that the show never gets a chance to address.

But, anyway, he avoids thinking too hard about what he’s capable of— forces himself not to think through problems that it would be suspicious for him to solve; possibly even denies himself access to information that it would be alarming for him to memorize too quickly which, given his deep curiosity and hunger for knowledge, would be an almost painful act of self-denial. And, again, this behavior is so ingrained that he keeps doing it even after his secret is out. He doesn’t even think to try doing what the other Augments have clearly demonstrated they can do (at least, not outside the events of Statistical Probabilities, which may have actually reinforced his self-limitation given how all that turned out).

So, yeah, both of these options are just absolutely fucking tragic and make me want to cry but I cannot stop thinking about either one.

[nightfoot]

So I’m not a historian, but I just finished posting my medieval AU fanfic that included a medieval trans character, so I thought I’d ramble a bit about some of the research I did prior to writing it.  There’s this idea that Western society believed in an absolute binary of men and women until Stonewall happened and introduced Western cis people to the concept of gender not being rigidly set in stone, but that’s just not the case.  So here’s a brief overview of some specific cases I found along the lines of “Medieval and early modern people were thinking about gender too.”

The first is the one I think about most often.  This is actually a little bit after the medieval period, in the 16th century, but still interesting.  There was a person in the little town of Vitry-le-Fran ois who lived as a man. He was married to a woman and worked as a weaver.  Tragically, his marriage lasted only 5 months before someone recognized him as “[birth name]” and he was tried and condemned (for the crime of using a dildo).  But, he was given the option to go back to wearing skirts and live as a respectable woman.  He rejected the offer, and chose to be hanged rather than live as a woman.

I just think about him a lot, and how much I wish he could come to the 21st century and see how the world has changed.  He is also the person I always think about when I see the claim that all trans men in history were just “women trying to live with more freedom.”  Because if it was only about trying to live a better life, then choosing any life at all would be better than death. 

The second story involves another person from France in 1601.  Thankfully, his chosen name was recorded - Marin began sleeping with a woman while they were both working as chambermaids in Rouen, but after a few weeks, he told her he was in fact a man, and proposed marriage.  Before their marriage, though, Marin was accused of sodomy for being a “woman” trying to marry another women.  However, he plead his case and asked for a medical examination, and after a genital exam, the doctor declared Marin had “a hidden but functional penis.”  I read this as him being intersex.  The court demanded he dress as a woman for 4 years in hope that the situation would clear up, but after those 4 years passed, he was allowed to go back to presenting as male, married his wife, and lived the rest of his life as a man.

This story is interesting because it demonstrated that people in 1601 were ready to accept “huh! sex and gender are complicated! I guess it is possible for someone to change from one thing to another!”

And the reason they accepted this is because of the “one sex model,” the idea that male and female are just two ends of a spectrum and all humans fall somewhere on that spectrum with the potential to shift position.  This model is not exactly correct, because they also believed that it had to do with body temperature and that if a woman’s body temperature raised too much she would spontaneously grow a penis, but it is very interesting that 400 years ago, academics realized that sex is much more complicated than “you’re either A or B” but in our enlightened 21st century, we have to argue about that again.

Cross-dressing saints are also common in hagiography.  One example is Joseph von Schönau, a celebrated monk who joined the abbey of Schönau in 1187 after a life of travel in Europe and the Middle East.  What’s interesting is that during his deathbed confession, when he came clean to the priest about all his other secrets and sins in life, he said nothing about his sex.

There is another story I recall that, for the life of me, I can’t find the source for now.  In that one, a saint lives his entire life in an abbey as a man. During his life, a local woman accused him of fathering her child.  He could have easily disproved the accusation by explaining that he didn’t have a penis, but instead accepted the child as his and accepted the shame and disdain from his fellow monks.  They only realized he couldn’t have been the father after his death. 

My next two stories are fictional:

The first is the 13th century French story Roman de Silence.  This is the story of a woman whose father needed a son to inherit, so when she was born, he decided to raise her as a boy.  Throughout the story, personifications of “Nature” and “Nurture” argue over which of them determines who a person is.  Throughout the story, Silence becomes a knight, captures Merlin in a prophecy twist (of the “no man can defeat Merlin” sort), reveals her sex in the end and marries a king.  I actually think it’s more interesting to read Silence as a trans woman, despite being what we today would “assign female.”  She was assigned male by her father, and grows up feeling conflicted about this.

Silence isn’t an example of a real life trans masc knight, but the story overall is exploring the question, “What exactly is it that makes someone a man vs a woman?”  This says to me that Medieval People Were Thinking About This Too, and the idea that man and woman could be more complicated than looking at a baby’s genitals has been around for a long, long time.

My favourite fictional story is Yde et Olive, another 13th century French romance.  This one tells the story of Yde, a princess being forced into a marriage she hates.  Rather than go through with it, they dress as a man and run away.  Over the course of Yde’s adventures, they learn how to fight with a sword, take down bandits, and end up as a knight in a foreign king’s court.  The king is so impressed with Yde that he arranges for them to marry his daughter, Olive.  Yde confesses to Olive that the marriage will never work because of his sex, but Olive says she doesn’t mind and will keep their secret, which, y’know, #Bi Princess.  But someone overheard the conversation! And now the king will have them put to death for same-sex relations! (even though... he’s the one who insisted they marry).  Yde prays to God for a miracle, and God responds by magically transforming Yde into a cis man.  The day is saved and Yde lives happily ever after as a man with his wife.  They have a son named Croissant.

My research mostly focused on transmasc stories, but I have to at least add the suggestion to read up on Choisy, an 18th century French transfem person.  She wrote a novel (Histoire) about a child who was raised as a girl with no idea that having a penis meant people would think she was a boy.  When her mother eventually tells her that she is “male,” she simply does not believe it.  She goes on to marry a Marquis, and realizes she must tell him that she is allegedly male, only for the Marquis to tell her that he is, in fact, "female.”  They go on to live happily ever after as a t4t couple.

Anyway, as I said, I am not a historian and this is not academically rigorous, but some interesting stories I came across while researching.  I wouldn’t say any of these suggest that trans people were common and accepted by broader society throughout history, but they do show that people over the centuries have been thinking about gender, what it means to be a man or woman, and how the line between those can be blurry.  This is far from being a 21st century exclusive discussion.

Unfortunately, hand-wringing hysteria about trans people is also nothing new, because I also came across several instances of medieval writers fretting about the idea of “men disguising themselves as women to sneak into convents and have sex with nuns.”  Truly, the world never changes. 

Sources:

Ferguson, Gary. "Early Modern Transitions: From Montaigne to Choisy." L'Esprit Créateur 53, no. 1 (2013): 145-57.

Hotchkiss, Valerie.  “Clothes Make the Man: Female Cross Dressing in Medieval Europe.” Garland Publishing, 1996.

[little-mad]

Downsides of Thievery Pt. 1

~ Next Part ~

“Maybe stealing from an interdimensional diplomat wasn’t my greatest idea,” Gavin thought to himself from his current position in a jail cell.

He’d been hesitant about the job right away. Stealing from humans was one thing, but stealing from alteons was on a whole new level. However, the payment the client had offered Gavin had been too tantalizing to refuse. Who knew it was bad to be greedy?

“Shit,” he grumbled under his breath. How was he supposed to know the diplomat would have some weird magical artifact thing that could detect and identify trespassers? That was just unfair. Gavin was a good thief, so good that he’d managed to make a career out of it. If he had been caught due to his own ineptitude maybe he wouldn’t be so peeved. But this was just a matter of not having enough information. Thus making it unfair.

Prison was something every criminal feared, but it was also something every criminal prepared for in some sense. If Gavin was headed for prison, he might not be so worried. Sure it would suck, but at least he felt sure his undeniable charms would make him friends in no time. But Gavin wasn’t headed for prison--no, he was being extradited to the alteon dimension.

Gavin shivered at the thought. Despite having stolen from one, he had never actually seen an alteon in person. Pictures and videos could only do so much, at least that’s what people said. Apparently the true gravity of an alteon’s massive size couldn’t be understood until you saw one in real life.

Not only would Gavin quite literally be put in the hands of an alteon, but he would also be getting taken to a completely different dimension that only a few very important humans had ever visited before. Maybe he should’ve felt special.

Were the circumstances different, Gavin might’ve even felt excited for the adventure. His work had taken him all over the world, it would be thrilling to get to see a whole new one. However, he had a feeling he wouldn’t exactly be getting the grand tour.

It was at that moment that Gavin began to hear footsteps approaching his cell. A few moments later, two business-suit clad federal agents appeared. Gavin scrambled to his feet and took several unconscious steps towards the back wall. The key jangling in one of the agents’ hands told him exactly what time it was.

“Your ride is here,” the female agent announced, a slight smirk playing at the corner of her lips.

Gavin scowled.

The key carrying agent swiftly unlocked the door and beckoned for Gavin to exit the cell. “Come on, we don’t have all day,” he stated impatiently.

“Aren’t you going to cuff me or something?” Gavin questioned, taking note of the fact that neither agent had brought handcuffs with them.

The woman’s smirk grew but she remained silent. “The alteon won’t need cuffs to restrain you,” the man responded.

Gavin instantly felt the pit of fear in his stomach grow. Horrible images of himself trapped in gigantic hands were invading his mind. Being given over to the alteons meant that his civil rights would be essentially irrelevant. Unless alteons had laws protecting humans, which he doubted, then they could do pretty much whatever they wanted with him. Gavin swallowed hard.

“A-actually, I’m okay staying here…” he stammered. God, he hated how pathetic he sounded. Gavin’s line of work required a lot of guts, and while a healthy dose of caution was always good, he had never considered himself to be cowardly in any sense of the word. But now...well now he felt like the biggest fraidy cat in the whole world.

The male agent gave Gavin what almost seemed like a sympathetic look. “Sorry, but that’s not an option,” he said, once again making a beckoning motion with his hand.

“Dad was right. I should’ve become a doctor,” Gavin thought miserably to himself as he very reluctantly exited his cell.

The trip up from the cell block to the roof of the building pretty much felt like a march to death. Federal employees stared unabashedly at the man practically being sacrificed to giants. Some wore looks of pity, while others had smug expressions on their faces, as if to say “serves him right.” Were Gavin in a better mood he probably would have scowled at the nosy jerks, or at least stuck his tongue out at them. But as things were, he was in no mood.

~

Rael sighed as he shifted his feet impatiently. It didn’t elude him that every human in the vicinity stiffened at his movement. He refrained from rolling his eyes. It was irritating how the humans constantly acted so skittish all the time, as if he would suddenly go on some sort of rampage.

“Why did they have to give me this assignment?” Rael mentally groaned.

Unlike many of the members of the Imperial Guard, he hadn’t joined with some idiotic fantasy of glorious duels and honorable battlescars. Rael joined because he knew it was the easiest way to elevate his station. Plus standing guard at the palace was easy work that he was perfectly content with. That’s why he had been less than pleased when he'd been informed he would have to venture to the human dimension to retrieve some human criminal.

Prior to today, Rael had only seen a human once, it had been from a distance and only for a second as they were being escorted into the palace. Therefore, he’d had no personal reason to dislike humans. It was just that from everything he had heard about them, they sounded so...annoying. And so far, his experiences with them today had proven that to be fairly accurate.

Rael suppressed a sigh as he glanced around. Thankfully the building he’d been told to go to was at the edge of a human city, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with civilians gawking at him. The federal agents gathered on the roof in front of him were bad enough.

The stories about how giant being in the human realm would make you feel rang true. Rael felt positively colossal next to people who looked to be barely taller than his fingers. Not to mention the building he was standing beside, which appeared to be three stories, reached no higher than his knees. “Humans are lucky our imperialistic urges died a century ago,” Rael thought. Taking over the human realm would no doubt be a piece of cake, even with their supposed technological advancements.

“Sir!” Rael’s attention was caught by the shout of one of the humans standing on the roof below. He looked down to see the speaker was the woman who appeared to be in charge. “We apologize for the wait, the prisoner is being brought up now,” she announced. It was almost amusing, the way they had to yell for their tiny voices to even be perceived by him.

“Good,” Rael responded simply, electing not to mention the fact that the prisoner should’ve been ready and waiting for him when he arrived.

After a few minutes, Rael caught sight of the door on the roof entrance swing open. Three humans stepped out. The two dressed similarly to all the other federal agents practically had to drag the third one out. It was difficult for Rael to see from so far away, but the odd one out appeared to be a young man. He had light skin, a crop of messy brown hair, and appeared to be quite slim.

Rael raised a single eyebrow. “This is the prisoner?” he questioned as he eyed the man. He didn’t look like much, which was applicable to pretty much all humans, but Rael found it hard to believe that this one could’ve successfully stolen from an alteon.

“Yes, sir!” replied the woman in charge. “His name is Gavin Stone, he’s believed to be associated with many high profile robberies,” she explained.

Rael spared the human called “Gavin Stone” one last look before giving a shrug and reaching for the miniature iron cage attached to his belt.

The cage, which had been especially made for this occasion, was quite simple in its construction. The thing didn’t even have a lock because the latch to open the door was too big for a human’s miniscule hands to manage. It would do perfectly for keeping the criminal contained throughout the duration of the trip back to the palace.

The moment Gavin had laid eyes on the alteon, his body had practically separated from his mind. Physically, he was moving forward with the guidance of his two escorts, but his mind was still struggling to process the impossibly large person looming above him.

If the alteon’s size wasn’t strange enough, the guy looked like he’d stepped right out of a Renaissance Fair or something. His skin was a soft brown color, and he had long black hair that was tied into a loose ponytail behind him. His eyes were a striking teal color that stood out against his angular features. As for his clothing, he looked to be wearing what appeared to be some kind of light leather armor over top of a forest green tunic. Oh yeah, and then there was the fact that he had pointy elf ears.

Gavin had known the alteon dimension was almost medieval in nature, and he’d known the alteons had pointy ears, but it was still so damn bizarre to see in person.

As Gavin was in the middle of gaping, the giant began to move. He flinched at the action, and he noticed everyone else on the rooftop tense up as well. Clearly nobody was comfortable around this--this thing! “How can they hand me over to that?!”

It wasn’t until he had been practically shoved to the edge of the roof that Gavin’s brain caught up with what his body had been doing. Frantically he looked around him. All of the agents, including his former escorts, had backed away from the edge of the building closest to the alteon. This left Gavin stranded, with a giant man a mere few feet away.

With a hard gulp, Gavin tilted his head back to look up at the creature who was about to snatch him away. Those teal eyes were glancing down at him, and in his hand was a cage the perfect size for holding a stupid human who really should’ve just become a damn doctor.

[spacedikut]

how to ask a girl out ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x reader

summary: elle sees an opportunity to teach spencer about asking a girl out. 3275 words

a/n: based on this scene. this is the longest fic ive ever written so sorry if it’s a painful read 

Spencer feels creepy staring at you like this.

There’s no other way to put it. He feels like he’s twelve again, the youngest in his Las Vegas high school, staring at all the pretty girls that get his heart racing just by existing. But you’re more enchanting than those girls. He could watch you do anything, he thinks, because no matter what you’re doing you look picture perfect, like you don’t have a single bad angle.

Spencer still has the social skills of twelve year old him, though. Especially when dealing with cute people.

“You know,” The voice makes Spencer jump, “If you stare long enough, she just might notice.”

Elle is smirking with her arms crossed, shooting Spencer an incriminating look. He tenses.

Seeing his discomfort, Elle relents, “I’m teasing, Reid.” He visibly relaxes against the door frame he’s half hiding behind, half leaning against.

“I’m not trying to be weird.” He mumbles. Elle thinks he sounds like a kid that was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I know you’re not. Have you… spoken to her?”

You’re somewhat new to the unit. Some kind of assistant to JJ who joined several months ago (three months and three days, if Spencer counted correctly) (he did), which means the team don’t see you that much, just enough that you’ve been the topic of discussion a few times. It doesn’t help that JJ sings your praise, and Hotch recently revealed you made yourself available for babysitting his new-born if he ever needs it. Every time someone mentions you, it’s followed by some kind of compliment. Everyone loves you. Spencer has said all of five words to you, and he’s smitten.

“Hi. I’m Spencer. A doctor.”

When you were introduced you didn’t pay him much attention. He can’t blame you, it was overwhelming for you – being introduced to a whole bunch of FBI agents and then thrown head-first into sorting cases for them. But Spencer paid attention. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Derek’s caught him staring one too many times, but it isn’t Spencer’s fault he can’t stop thinking about you. You enter the room and Spencer’s attention is pulled to you, like a magnet.

Derek thinks it’s time he made a move. Spencer agreed and maintained that confidence for all of fifteen minutes, until he heard your joyful laugh dance down the hallway and his tongue felt too heavy to form words.

That’s when Elle noticed.

Across the room, you’re laughing at something Derek said with JJ. Seeing you smile makes Spencer smile, and Elle nudges him.

“Have you considered approaching her? Rather than, you know, watching her from afar like she’s prey?”

Spencer huffs, “You think I haven’t tried?”

Every time he’s moved to start a conversation, he finds himself unable to complete a single sentence. After he says hello, then what? He dies?

Elle breathes through her nose in frustration. “She’s a nice girl. I’ve spoken to her a couple of times. She mentioned the other day she wants to visit the local museum, since she just moved and hasn’t really explored yet. Shame no one is available to accompany her, right?”

“Are you implying something?”

“Yes.”

“I-I don’t. I can’t-“

“You can’t or you won’t?”

Spencer’s always admired Elle’s ability to be blunt and fearless. But he isn’t Elle, Elle isn’t him, so to him it doesn’t feel like he simply chooses to pussy out of talking to you – it feels like he’s physically constrained. Like he’s fighting against the tide of the ocean to reach you, and he keeps getting pushed back, further and further away from you.

Elle’s eyes shift between you and Spencer, like she’s watching a tennis match. “Just go up and ask her. It’s that simple. If she says no, she says no. No big deal!”

Spencer shakes his head, “I can’t do that. It’s Y/N! She’s-she’s-“

“A normal human being. You know, like you and me? The second you start putting people on pedestals is when things start falling apart.” She pats him on the shoulder as encouragement, “Have some confidence, Reid.”

And she walks away, as if just telling him to have some confidence will make him suddenly have the courage to whisk you off your feet.

He wishes he could whisk you off your feet.

+++

The paperwork is never ending. Times like this, Spencer considers recanting his stance on technology – maybe having everything on an online database would be a good idea. The stacks upon stacks around him would agree.

A paper ball hits the back of Spencer’s head.

He turns, slowly, and Elle gives a wave from her desk. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Can I… help you?”

“Yes, you can.” She nods to the paper on the floor, “Read it.”

He leans and grabs the ball from the floor, opening it with furrowed brows.

Step 1: Actually talk to her.

Suddenly, Elle is standing right next to him, looking all-too-pleased with herself. She leans over him.

“What does this mean?”

“You wanna date Y/N? Talk to her. That means marching right up to her pretty little face and saying more than, like, a few words to her. You need to have a conversation with her to let her know you’re interested.”

Elle’s clearly confident in her plan, but it seems she’s forgetting an important detail – this is Spencer that she’s dealing with. Not Derek, who can charm anyone out of anything (or into anything), not Hotch who, when he wants to be, is the smoothest criminal ever. Not even Gideon, with his soft eyes that make anyone that stares into them feel safe. He’s Spencer Reid who, according to one guy, looks like a pipe cleaner with eyes.

Spencer’s hesitant to take any of Elle’s advice.

“What would I… say to her?” He asks. If he does talk to you, what does he even say? Do you even want to talk to him? What if you immediately hate him and JJ beats him up? She could do it. He’s seen her guns.

Elle looks at him incredulously, “Reid! C’mon! Anything! Ask how her day has been, if she had a good weekend, are there plans for this weekend… Literally anything.” Spencer gives a look of distrust, “You’ll know if she’s interested, trust me. She’ll reciprocate. If she doesn’t, she’s not up for it, and there’s your answer without even asking her out.”

At that moment, you and JJ appear from thin air, whispering to one another with your arms full of files. Both Spencer and Elle’s watchful gazes follow you right up until JJ’s office door is clicked shut and when you can only slightly be seen through the blinds, Spencer still stares. Elle hits him over the head.

“Pay attention!”

“She’s distracting!”

“She walked by you, not gave you a lap dance! Focus on the plan!”

With a sigh, he looks back to the crumpled paper in his hands. “What’s step two?”

The paper’s yanked out of his hands and Elle furiously scribbles something before handing it back to him.

Step 2: Make her laugh.

“I can’t do that.”

She scoffs, “Reid.”

“People laugh at me, Elle, not with me. The only way she’ll laugh is if I make a complete fool of myself and when I do that, I’m running away and never looking back. You’ll never see me again.”

Sick of the self-deprecation, Elle leans close to Spencer’s face and begins to whisper menacingly.

“Listen, bud,” She threatens, “You need to stop being so hard on yourself. You’re young, you’re inexperienced – that’s why approaching Y/N is so terrifying. Not because she’s out of your league, or you’re not good enough, it’s because you’ve never done this before. It’s simply a fear of stepping out of your comfort zone, so stop being so hard on yourself.”

Spencer isn’t sure how to respond, silently wishing something could get him out of this situation. He’s not used to being complimented so ferociously.

God answers his prayers. In the worst way possible.

“Incoming. Make her laugh, Reid.” Elle says, slinking off back to her desk.

Spencer quickly realises you’re approaching and his hands grip the armrests of his chair. He’s not ready for this. He wishes he had time to prepare, maybe google how to woo a woman, but you’re in front of him, all precious smiles with a manila folder in your hand.

“Hi, Doctor Reid.”

Your voices sounds like heaven. He can’t help but think, despite only listening to classical music, he could listen to your voice and only your voice if given the option. It’s like honey, sweet and smooth, and something inside him stirs. Everything about you is lovely.

He clears his throat and nervously wipes at his nose, “Hey. What can I do for you?”

“I was told to bring this to you,” You hand him the folder, “And JJ wanted me to check up on you. She said you’ve been working non-stop and that you probably consumed your bodyweight in coffee with enough sugar to give a small army diabetes. My guess is she wants to check your heart is still beating.”

Spencer laughs at that, which encourages you to giggle along. He freezes when he sees the way your eyes scrunch and smile widens when you laugh – he’d only seen it from a distance, up close it feels intimate and causes his throat to tighten. When your laughter dies, you’re left with an awkward silence as he stares. You shuffle your feet.

Elle is trying to look like she isn’t paying attention, but in her head she’s screaming at Spencer to say something!!!

“Sorry for disturbing you if you’re – um – if you’re busy.” You gesture to the mess on Spencer’s desk, and it’s then that he realises how his silence could’ve looked – to him, you quite literally took his breath away, but to you? He’s a weirdo that is still holding the file mid-air and hasn’t said a thing for far too long.

“No! No,” Spencer brushes his hair back, “Thank you for the file. JJ’s right, I should probably take a break-“

He looks up then. This is his chance, right?

“Are you busy right now?”

You glance around and your eyes find JJ’s office, where she’s signalling for you to come over, “Yeah. Sorry.”

It feels like a punch in the gut – is this rejection? – but there’s a look of sadness that crosses your face. Your mouth falls at the edges and your brows slightly crease – do you wish you weren’t busy?

If Spencer didn’t feel like he’s seconds away from vomiting, he’d ask. Maybe. That sounds a whole lot like flirting and he isn’t sure he can handle that.

You quickly leave, not before you tell him to look after himself (his heart swells), and the second you’re far enough away Elle is marching right over and throwing the paper at him, again, even though she’s standing right in front of him.

“She rejected me.”

“Yea- wait, what?” Elle starts to celebrate, but stops at her words, “No she didn’t. Did we see different things?”

“It sure felt like rejection. Felt weird.”

“That was the perfect chance to ask her to go out after work or maybe on the weekend, but, in your defence, that’s a Derek-level response and we’re not quite there yet. Step three, go.”

Spencer unfolds the paper ball begrudgingly, wondering if any of this is actually worth it.

Step 3: Get JJ to back the fuck up.

Spencer laughs.

“Either you tell JJ you like her assistant and ask for her help, or you tell JJ you like her assistant and that she needs to stop using her so much.” Elle sounds matter-of-fact and confident.

“You want me to tell JJ to stop giving her assistant work?” Spencer asks, face scrunched.

With a shrug, Elle says, “Or you could ask her to help you. She knows the most about Y/N.”

Looking up to JJ’s office, he realises how true Elle’s statement is. JJ knows you better than anyone else here, you’ve quickly become good friends, and JJ wouldn’t lie to Spencer about you if it involved his feelings. He trusts JJ like that.

But then you throw your head back in laughter, a hearty laugh that JJ follows with her own tinkling chuckle, and Spencer is reminded of the sinking feeling he’s had when he’s been rejected before. The emotional slap in the face that causes you to lose all confidence. In his head, he rationalises that attempting to ask you out is pointless. You won’t like him, scrawny profiler who follows his team members like a lost puppy, the guy unable to maintain eye contact for more than four seconds. The logical side, however, the side that runs the show when Spencer is on a case and hides his feelings, tells him he has nothing to lose. Morgan would be proud of him, not ashamed, because Spencer had the guts to ask someone out – Spencer! Elle would understand and tell him something about learning for next time, and the rest of the team wouldn’t really care.

He has nothing to lose and everything to gain. A date with you? A relationship with you? That’d feel like winning the lottery. It feels more likely than winning the lottery, too.

Then Morgan walks past him, more like swaggers, all good looks and charm and everything Spencer doesn’t have.

Spencer decides he’ll save himself the rejection.

+++

JJ gets involved without Spencer realising. He connects the dots on the way back to Virginia, after a case in which you were brought along instead of JJ.

There was a “family emergency”, apparently, after the debrief and right before take-off. Although it wasn’t your first case, it was your first time travelling with the team. When you pad in, sparkling eyes gliding all around the jet, Spencer zeroes in on the gruesome scene photos to avoid being caught staring.

You fit into the role flawlessly. It’s like you were born for the part, effortlessly slipping into the job of communicator between the team and the police force, standing fearlessly in front of the press as they piled on the pressure.

In the conference room where the team set up, he noticed you actively try to stay out of the way whilst simultaneously help in any way you could. You offered coffee every two hours (Spencer counted), cleaned up any and all rubbish the team left around – burger wrappers, useless post-it notes – and mothered the team by reminding them they need breaks, too.

At the hotel, you jokingly poked Spencer in the shoulder and said, “No more coffee for you. You’ll get a sugar rush and won’t be able to sleep.”

“Like a toddler?”

“Exactly like a toddler. Straight to bed for you.”

You grinned at eachother before you separated to go to your rooms. Around three am, Spencer instinctively went to make himself a drink but stopped and thought of you. He decided for that night, just that night, he could get a somewhat decent amount of sleep.

Now, on the flight home, Gideon pauses before his move in their third game of chess to stare at something behind Spencer’s shoulder. When he notices, Spencer turns to see what has his mentor’s attention and stutters when it’s you. You, looking like you’re straight out of a cheesy romance movie when you push your hair back while reading your book.

Gideon switches from staring at you to staring at Spencer.

“She’s a pretty girl, huh?”

Spencer knows where this is going.

“Elle told me you’re sweet on her.”

“Elle shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Elle has been watching you two the entire case.”

“Elle-“

Gideon clears his throat, making Spencer finally make eye contact, “You scared? Worried?”

“About what?” Spencer asks.

“Rejection. If she’ll laugh in your face, say something about never wanting anyone like you.”

Sometimes, Spencer is terrified of Gideon’s ability to read people. He swears he has this inhuman ability to take a peek into people’s minds, read their most intrusive and negative thoughts, and confront them about them. Like he’s doing to Spencer now.

“Something like that, yeah,” Spencer murmurs. He shuffles uncomfortably in his seat, “It’s your move.”

“I know.” Gideon nods to you, making Spencer look again, “Don’t you think, in twenty years’ time, you’d want to look back at this moment and be glad you asked? No matter the outcome? Rather than wondering if she’d said yes, asking all kinds of what-ifs…”

“You’re telling me to ask her out?”

Gideon gives Spencer a smile that fills him with confidence. He doesn’t know what it is, but he trusts Gideon with his whole life. If he tells him to go for it, then he should go for it, right?

“I happen to know the Virginia museum is having a deal on tickets if you order them online. Might be something to look into.” He sounds borderline smug now.

With one last look to Gideon, he stands and slowly waddles to the chair opposite you.

“Mind if I sit?” He asks, a hand gently resting on the back of the empty seat. You startle slightly at the unexpected voice, but gesture for him to sit with a smile.

“How are you feeling?” You wonder, squinting slightly as the sun shines in your eyes. It makes them sparkle, and Spencer has never understood wanting to drown in someone’s eyes until that moment.

“Just glad the case is over. You did a great job, by the way, filling in for JJ last minute.” Spencer is surprised that his voice doesn’t crack or stop completely.

You beam at the praise, “Thank you. JJ’s got some big boots to fill, even if it’s for one case.”

He shrugs and pulls a face as if you’ve said something ridiculous, “Don’t sell yourself short. When she realises how good you are, she’ll start taking all kinds of holidays.” He jokes.

He can’t help but grin when you laugh.

Elle passes. In the very brief eye contact they make, Elle’s eyes are wide and jumping from you to Spencer, Spencer to you. She’s sending him a message, and he bets Gideon is watching, too.

“Hey,” He starts, leaning on the table between you. You instinctively lean closer, too, which Spencer takes as a positive sign, “How would you.. like…”

He has to take a second to inhale a shaky breath and nervously push his hair behind his ears. You wait, all patient and divine, and his eyes dash around your face.

“To go to the museum with me?”

It comes out rushed and you look confused. “Huh?”

Spencer tries again, after clearing his throat, “How would you like to go to the museum with me? When we get back. As a date.”

“You’re asking me on a date?”

“…Yes?”

If you weren’t staring directly at him, he’d think you were making fun of him and about to unleash a nice bout of rejection.

You move one hand to lean your face against, moving in a little closer, “I would love that.”

Spencer is speechless. You would love that?

“Oh- wow. Yeah, thanks. Good.”

Who says thanks when someone agrees to go on a date with them?

You giggle.

“We’ll plan when we get back?” You ask.

“Yes. Definitely.” He nods three times.

You can’t help but bite your lip, he’s too cute, and it immediately draws Spencer’s attention.

Behind you both, Gideon turns to Elle. “Success.”

Elle rolls her head against the back of her seat and stares out the window, “Step four: Get Gideon to get the job done.”

[marshmallow-phd]

Healing Touch

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Summary: Medical school abroad was the last line on your to-do list before starting the rest of your life. Everything was going according to plan. Everything, that is, until tragedy strikes your campus. In the wake of a professor’s untimely death, you’re partnered with the cute boy with a breathtaking smile in the newly combined labs. You find yourself unable to resist the dimples and shy glances, but his life is here with no plans of leaving. Will you continue on as planned or will you accept the hand that Fate had dealt you?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Final

**

The smell had not changed in all the years that you used to call this place home. Pinecone potpourri mixed with traditional cooking spices and a hint of citrus from the constant dusting. Your aunt had always been a bit eccentric, a bit off beat. It had made being raised by her both adventurous and anxiety-inducing.

In the privacy of your home, her random dance parties and unfiltered way of speaking made you laugh. But when you were in public and she was pretending to be a mannequin in a window display, you ran away to the food court to hide behind a cup of boba. The explanation was always the same no matter what antics she was pulling: she wanted to break you out of your shell. It seemed like a lost cause. You were comfortable in your shell. It protected you and kept you warm.

“I don’t see how you expect to go trialing off to a place you’ve never been before,” your aunt had complained when you first told her about applying to the far away college.

“They’re two entirely different situations,” you had argued. “I can go to class and go back home without any issues.” These days there was your phone if you ever got lost or in need of food but didn’t want to leave the comfort of your apartment. Modern conveniences only enabled your shut-in ways.

“But what about, you know, friends?” She looked at you over her stylish, cat-eye glasses that she had no use for with her perfect vision.

“I have those,” you insisted. So, you might not have had a best friend, but you had people that you occasionally hung out with and collaborated on. Then there was Victoria and Amber from high school. You still spoke to them regularly, despite them going to different colleges out of the area. Your aunt didn’t realize that not everyone needed multiple circles of friends to bounce between.

Pushing her glasses back up her nose, your aunt pouted. “I just worry about you, that’s all. You still don’t like getting into cars, especially by yourself, and if you happen to be studying late….”

“I don’t mind taking the bus.” A bit of a stretch. You did mind but would still take it if the situation were dire enough. Walking was good exercise. And better for the environment. Someone had to look out for the little bunnies.

“Alright,” your aunt huffed as she sipped on her now lukewarm tea. “It is your life. I’m just a spectator of it.”

“At least you have premium seating,” you teased.

That had made your aunt laugh. She was back to her more carefree self.

“Is that my favorite niece?”

“No, it’s your least favorite nephew.”

Your aunt poked her head out of the hallway, the edge of her pink fuzzy robe telling you that she was getting ready to go out.

That was the exchange the two of you always had when you came to visit. The first time around, you had rolled your eyes and given the sarcastic answer for the cliché greeting. As your mother and aunt were the only siblings in their family and your father was the single offspring from his parents, there were no other nieces or nephews to put above or below you.

Without prompt, your aunt passed through the living room and onto the kitchen. When she came back, she had two wine glasses filled with bubble pink liquid. After handing you the lesser filled glass, she sat down on the couch while you opted for the loveseat, letting your purse drop to the hardwood floor by your feet. Your aunt leaned back on the arm rest with one elbow as she sipped on the wine. “It’s watermelon,” she informed you when you hadn’t taken a drink. “Try it.”

Shaking your head, you did as she asked. Oh, no. It was delicious. That was dangerous. You took another, larger swig before putting the glass down on the coffee table.

Growing up, you’d felt bad for your aunt. Sometimes you still did, though not as much after her many lectures as to why you shouldn’t.

She’d always been the carefree one. As a marketing consultant, she was constantly flying all over the globe, having adventures in between work meetings and bringing those experiences back to you in the form of expensive souvenirs. When your parents volunteered to go help a poorer nation with their health crisis, your aunt was quick to lend her babysitting services. It was only supposed to be temporary, after all. Then tragedy struck

Your parents never came back and suddenly your aunt was now your permanent guardian. The carefree spirit took it in stride. She shifted her strategy to more web-based conferences until you were in high school and able to be on your own for longer periods of time. She never turned into your mother; she never wanted to. For that, you were even more thankful. She was still the spontaneous, forever young aunt that you had always known. That stability in her personality was exactly what you needed. Too much had changed in your world on a dime, the less that was altered the better.

“What prompted this little visit?” she asked, a curious half smile on her lips.

You shrugged. “I hadn’t seen you in a while, so I thought I’d stop by and say hi. It looks like you’re getting ready to go out, though.”

Your aunt waved her hand limply. “Not for a few hours. Besides, anything can wait for you.”

Shifting in your seat, you smiled at the affection she had for you. “I finally heard from the university,” you told her.

Her eyebrows shot up. “You did? They finally decided to stop dangling the carrot and just give it to you, did they?”

“Not exactly,” you cringed. “They said they wanted to see how this semester went and then they would let me know.”

Your aunts face fell into a scowl as if something awful smelling had made its way into her nose. “What sense does that make?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. But at least it’s not an outright no.”

Clicking her tongue, your aunt leaned forward so she was now balancing her elbows on her knees. “You know, there are still other options. Closer options.”

“I know,” you said with a monotone voice. “But Plan A is my focus. I’ll look to other options if that falls through.”

That knowing look you were all too familiar with formed on her face. A long, reminiscing sigh blew out from her lungs. “You are so much like your mother. It’s scary sometimes.”

You never knew how to respond when she said things like that. Should you be happy at the comparison? Sad because your mother wasn’t here to tell you herself? You were a child when your parents passed away. You remembered vague moments, birthday parties and movie nights. But when you’re that young, you don’t get a good idea of your parents’ personalities. You don’t learn what they like or don’t like, how they act in crowds versus a small group of people. You have to rely on the memories of those left behind.

You stayed at your aunt’s house for another hour or so, talking to her about her latest clients and nights out with the girls. You told her how your days were going and how you were adjusting to the new routine with the combined class. The news of Yixing sat on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to mention him. Her reaction would have been too predictable.  She’d ask when the two of you were going to go out and when you explained that it wasn’t like that, she would ask why not. For that, you didn’t have an answer.

While you wanted to say that the two of you were just friends, it didn’t feel like the truth.

You saw more of Yixing than of anyone else, including Ran. He would walk you to class multiple times a day and the two of you would talk. Not about anything too deep. You weren’t at that level yet. He was funny and charming, never speaking a word that wasn’t kind. You learned that he lived in farmhouse in the woods with eight other people, all men. He swore it was never too crowded and that he actually enjoyed the company. He got lonely easily.

He also told you about how he took a few years off of college to figure out what he wanted to do. You’d asked him how he came to the path of becoming a doctor. He said he simply wanted to do something that would help people. He thought about opening a low-income clinic once he had his degree. Suddenly your heart was pumping under your sternum. When he asked why you went pre-med, you gave a shrug and said your parents and left it at that. These conversations were usually nice and lighthearted, you didn’t want to be the downer.

Yes, spending time with Yixing was nice, the highlight of your day, sometimes. But he also felt like a secret. One that you should keep to yourself for now. Good things didn’t always last. You wanted to see if this was a long-term investment for him before you invited anyone else in.

The next day, you needed some fresh air, so you decided to take a walk in the nature center on the edge of town. Although the woods would be a no-go area since they still hadn’t caught the animal terrorizing the area, the center would be full of people and should be quite safe. It couldn’t really be considered part of the woods given the infrastructure and the observation building, could it? Deciding to go anyway, you packed your bag with a few notes, snacks, and a water bottle. As your hand landed on the doorknob to leave, your eyes fell on the jacket lying on the back of the couch.

You hadn’t worn the comforting fabric since that day. The weather had been nice and putting it on would have seemed a bit obnoxious in your eyes. But this morning the weatherman had mentioned a chilly breeze. It wouldn’t hurt.

Arms through their designated holes, you left the apartment and started the walk to the outskirts of town. It wasn’t too far of a walk, maybe thirty, forty minutes at the most. You thanked yourself for wearing the jacket. A “chilly breeze” was an understatement. A few families and couples were dotted among the trails of the nature center that wound near and over the small creek. You passed by them all until you came to a spot that was deserted. Resting your legs, you sat on a bench with your back to the trees. The sun was shining up above. The only noise seemed to come from the rustling leaves and trickling creek. It was peaceful, just what you needed.

With your bag beside you, you took out a piece of paper with yesterday’s notes and started to review them. Some of the words were smudged and the edges were already crinkling, but you could make most of it out. The paper flopped in the wind. You thought you had a good enough grip on it, but a gust of air proved you wrong.

The paper went flying over your head and straight for the trees. Panic made you jump up, slinging your bag over your shoulder as you ran after it. The wind – now relentless – was enough to keep the paper continuously out of your reach.

It finally came to a stop when it caught on a tree root sticking out in the ground. You snatched the paper up and stuffed it into the bag to keep it from running away again. Straightening up again, your eyes settled on the horizon.

Then you screamed.

**

Yixing’s eyes snapped open.

He was no longer a wolf. He was human again. Sitting up, he brushed off the leaves from his arms. What time was it? Was it even the same day? He’d blacked out again. At this point, it was almost routine. His only consolation prize being the fact that he was alone. He still needed to figure out what was happening to him. He wasn’t ready to take this to his brothers. There was enough to worry about at the moment.

Getting on his feet, Yixing headed in the direction of where his things were stored. In order to avoid the others wanting to run with him, he’d entered the forest from a different area, storing his things in a bush to get back to later. He flicked his jeans to get the dirt off before pulling them on and then stuffing his feet in his shoes.

A piercing cry for cut through the air.

The hair on the back of Yixing’s neck stood up.

“Help! Somebody help!”

It was your voice.

He gasped. Then he took off. If anything happened to you-

Yixing skidded to a stop when he saw you kneeling in the grass. A body was laying in front of you, the clothes ripped and stained dark. It was lying face down, but Yixing could tell that it was a man and that he’d been attacked.

“(Y/n), what happened?”

You stared at him with wide, confused eyes. “Yixing? What are you doing here?”

He ignored your question, more worried about your own wellbeing. “What happened?” he repeated.

You shook your head as you dropped your eyes to the man lying on the ground. “I don’t know. I just found him like this. He’s still breathing but I’m not strong enough to move him.”

Yixing analyzed the situation. His car was only on the other side of the trees. The man was still alive. From Yixing’s point of view, he could make it, but they needed to act fast. Slipping his arms under the man while careful not to move him too much, he picked the man up and motioned with his head for you to follow.

He said nothing and you asked no questions as the tree line broke. Yixing scanned the parking lot of the nature center until he found his car. He rushed to the vehicle with a few glances over his shoulder to make sure you were keeping up with him.

“(y/n)?”

“Yeah?” You were huffing. Had he been running? He’d tried to go at a pace that you could keep up with.

“In my front right pocket are my keys. Can you fish them out and unlock the doors?”

You nodded. Yixing could feel your fingers trembling as they slipped into the denim opening. The shaking was even more obvious once the keys were free, the house and car keys clinking together as you searched for the fob to unlock the doors. Without prompt, you opened the back door to allow Yixing to slip the man into the bench seat. He told you to get in the front. You tossed him the keys and the two of you rushed to the hospital.

A pair of doctors rushed out of the automatic doors as soon as the car pulled into the emergency entrance.

“We found him in the woods,” Yixing explained. The doctors quickly examined the man as two more nurses came out with a stretcher.

“I think that animal attacked him,” you added.

Yixing’s eyes flickered over to you with worry. The doctors nodded in acknowledgement then helped the nurses move the man to the stretcher. The two of you followed closely but were forced to stay behind in the waiting room. Yixing sat next to you in the uncomfortable plastic chairs that were connected to the wall.

“You never answered the question.”

Yixing frowned. “What question?”

You turned to look at him with your eyebrows furrowed, making him want to reach out and smooth the creases they created. “What you were doing out in the woods.”

Yixing stiffened. He pressed his foot into the tile floor to keep it from bouncing. “I was… hiking.”

“Without a shirt?”

He looked down. Crap. He hadn’t even realized that he wasn’t finished getting dressed before he took off. “I get warm easily.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. Yixing fought to keep his face neutral. It was a pathetic excuse, he knew it. But you didn’t call him out on it. Instead, you leaned forward, unzipping the polyester bomber that was easily recognizable as his own, taking it off, and holding it out to him.

“I’m fine,” Yixing said, ignoring the jacket.

“You really should put it on. I heard the front desk call the cops. They’ll be here soon, and it’ll look suspicious. What would you tell them the reason was for you not having a shirt?”

A cheeky answer came to mind. Yixing bit down to hold it back, even if it would have caused your face to heat up in an adorable fashion. The instinct of making sure his mate was okay was almost too great to ignore. You were the one who needed to stay warm, stay protected. But you had a valid point. And you were inside, out of the wind. So, he accepted the jacket and ran the zipper almost up to his neck to hide the lack of shirt underneath.

The police arrived about twenty minutes later. They separated you, making him anxious. Over the next hour or so, Yixing gave his side of the story to the officer. They took him at his word that he was strolling through the woods. The doctors had already informed the officers that the wounds were clearly animal made. While severe, they weren’t life threatening. That gave Yixing a small amount of relief.

“Would you two like to see him?” one of the nurses asked another hour later. You nodded eagerly. Yixing stayed a bit behind as the nurse led you through the halls to a large room that held several beds separated by plastic curtains.

The man was awake. Black stitches covered his arms. Three claw marks ran down the left cheek. From what Yixing knew of the other victims, this guy was lucky. He was talking to a nurse when he looked to see who his visitors were. As soon as his eyes landed on Yixing, the heart monitor spiked and his breathing quickened.

“Hey, it’s okay, these are the people who found you,” the nurse said to try and calm him down.

“Oh.” The man’s heart rate started to slow again. Each breath was deeper until they were back to normal. “I’m sorry.”

“How are you feeling?” you asked, taking a step forward. Yixing fought the urge to put himself between you and the man you’d rescued. He was probably harmless, but he had also been through a traumatic situation.

The man nodded. “I’m… alive, at least. Thank you.”

You gave a small smile. “I’m glad I came along when I did. Did you,” you bit your bottom lip nervously, “happen to see what attacked you?”

Yixing held his breath.

“It was a large gray wolf,” the man answered. “Huge. Like a mutated one you would see in the movies. He came from nowhere, knocked me down. I thought I was going to end up like the others as he clawed at me. Then he was gone.”

Yixing’s fist tightened at his side, his throat constricting. He forced down a swallow. He couldn’t panic. Not here.

You frowned. “I wonder what scared him off.”

“Maybe you did?” Yixing said with a slight tease. It was more to keep his own mental state calm than for the benefit of everyone else.

“I’m not that frightening.”

“Whatever it was,” the man shook his head, “I’m thankful.”

“He should really rest now,” the nurse said sternly. Yixing nodded in agreement and, after the goodbyes were given, led you away.

Once outside of the hospital, Yixing stopped you. “I can take you home.”

“That’s okay,” you countered, “I can walk.”

He didn’t like that one bit. Besides, he really needed you by his side right now. “Where do you live?”

“In an apartment near campus.”

No way. “That’s nearly halfway across the city. I can take you. It’s not a big deal.”

You shifted form foot to foot, refusing to meet his eye. “I don’t… really like cars.”

“You made it here alright.”

“That’s because I was too worried about him to think about it. The adrenaline blocked everything out.”

“I’m a safe driver, I promise.”

“I believe you. I just-” You blew air out between your lips, which ended in a growl. It was actually kind of cute. Yixing pushed back a grin. It wasn’t appropriate right now. “My parents were killed in a car crash, so they kind of freak me out.” You sucked in your lips as if you hadn’t meant to reveal that vital information.

Oh. That explained… a lot actually. At least, in terms of what you had been holding back from him. He never wanted to push, but he felt better knowing more about you.

“I understand,” he said sympathetically. “Can I walk you home then? I can come back for my car later.”

You shook your head. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe so. But I need to make sure that you get home safe.”

You weighed his alternative for a minute or so. Yixing kept his patience. He refused to push you farther than you were willing to go. He just needed to see you walk safely into your building and then he would be okay until he saw you again.

“Okay,” you sighed. “You can drive me home.” He could have leapt with joy.

Yixing waited for you to get in the car before sliding behind the wheel himself. The death grip you had on the side handle didn’t escape his notice. He made sure to slow down easily and to take each turn with care. The only words you spoke were to give him directions. It wasn’t until the car was in park outside of your building did you finally relax.

“Thank you,” you told him in a strained voice.

“Any time.”

“I’m sorry if I was a little dramatic. I—” the growl of your empty stomach interrupted your speech. You groaned from embarrassment. Yixing couldn’t help his laugh.

Knock, knock, knock.

Leaning over and looking through the passenger window of his car was a strange girl Yixing had never seen before. He rolled down the window barely enough to be able hear what she was saying.

“How the hell did you get (y/n) into a car?” the girl gasped. You visibly cringed in the seat, sinking down a few inches.

Yixing blinked, unsure of how to respond. “Um, I—”

“Yixing, this is my roommate, Ran,” you interrupted, saving him. “Ran, this is Yixing. We have class together.”

“Oh!” The inclination behind her exclamation was more than obvious. And Yixing didn’t object to it. “I just ordered pizza and I know (y/n) usually gets hungry around this time. Do you want to join us?”

You flashed your roommate a panicked look, but Yixing couldn’t resist the opportunity. “That sounds great.” He caught you flinching, so he added, “As long as (y/n)’s okay with it.”

“Yeah,” you relented. “It’s the least I could do. For the ride.” You flashed an annoyed glare at Ran before getting out of the vehicle.

Yixing shouldn’t be this elated as he nearly sprung from the driver’s seat. He walked around the car slowly and let you and Ran lead the way, in case you changed your mind. You didn’t, thankfully, and Yixing walked up to your door with anticipation so great that he almost was able to forget what the man had said back at the hospital.

Almost.

[captainpikeachu]

So having recently rewatch the first Cap movie for my MCU rewatch, I have so much feels about the ways many things about Steve in this film actually echoes John’s story in TFATWS.

-----------

Steve: Bucky, come on! There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me. Bucky: Right. Cause you got nothing to prove.

In a way, Steve did have something to prove, to prove that he could do his part for the war effort and not be left behind, forgotten, considered worthless, and not given a chance. He fights to have the chance to prove himself. In this way so did John. John comes into the story with a chip on his shoulder, to prove that he could live up to the legacy and the mythology set by Steve. His chance to prove that he could do the right thing and help people.

The thing is though, Erskine did give Steve a chance to prove himself, he believed in Steve and had faith. John never really had someone who would fight for him and believe in him on his behalf to others.

-----------

Phillips: Hodge passed every test we gave him. He’s big, he’s fast, he obeys orders. He’s a soldier. Erskine: He’s a bully. Phillips: You don’t win wars with niceness, doctor. You win war with guts.

I know that everyone consistently compares John to Hodge, that John is what Erskine was afraid of happening and what would have been if Hodge had been given the serum. But that surface level comparison is misleading at best, because when Phillips throws that fake grenade to test everyone’s guts, Hodge runs away. John would have jumped on the grenade just like Steve did. John wouldn’t have hesitated. Hodge was a bully who purposefully tried to mess with Steve in training and mocking him. John didn’t purposefully try to mess around with anyone, he only ever just wanted to do his duty just like Steve did. In fact, John has far more in common with Steve than he ever does with Hodge. 

Phillips said that you win war with guts, and Steve jumping on that grenade showed that he had guts, this links directly to John's comments while doing that GMA interview, he specifically brings up that he may not have flashy gadgets or super-strength but that he has guts and that’s what Captain America always had and needed. And John does have guts, nobody earns 3 Medals of Honor without having guts.

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Erskine: The serum amplifies everything that is inside. So, good becomes great. Bad becomes worse. This is why you were chosen. Because a strong man, who has known power all his life, will lose respect for that power. But a weak man knows the value of strength, and knows compassion.

This comment from Erskine is often used by fandom to show why John is the wrong choice as opposed to Steve. He’s the bad that becomes worse or the strong man who has had power all his life. But that interpretation is only there if you take everything Erskine says to be a binary choice of good and bad. It’s this automatic assumption that because John is not Steve, then he has to be the bad. Except John is really the middle ground. He has light and darkness within him, it’s a constant civil war, the serum didn’t just amplified everything bad to become worse, it also amplified the good in him to become great. The interpretation that John is a representation of only “bad becomes worse” plainly ignores John’s decision in Episode 6 to let go of revenge to save people. This choice was made AFTER he got the serum, if he is only bad that becomes worse, then he wouldn’t have saved those people. By saving those people, John shows that the serum doesn’t simply work on a binary standard, just like people aren’t binary of only good and only bad. John’s story deepens what the first Cap movie set up about how the serum works, and shows a story progression that is very much like how in real life as kids, we are first taught those fairy tale stories of good versus evil, but we grow up and learn the world is more complex and that people aren’t just one thing or another.

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

Senator Brandt: With all due respect to the Colonel, I think we may be missing the point. I’ve seen you in action, Steve. More importantly, the country’s seen it. Paper. The enlistment lines have been around the block since your picture hit the newsstands. You don’t take a soldier, a symbol like that, and hide him in a lab. Son, do you want to serve your country on the most important battlefield of the war? Steve: Sir, that’s all I want. Senator Brandt: Then, congratulations. You just got promoted.

---

Steve: I don’t know if I can do this. Brandt’s Aide: Nothing to it. Sell off a few bonds, bonds buy bullets, bullets kills Nazi’s. Bing bang boom. You’re an American hero. Steve: It’s just not how I pictured getting there.

---

Peggy: I understand you’re "America’s New Hope"? Steve: Bond sales take a ten percent bump in every state I visit. Peggy: Is that Senator Brandt I hear? Steve: At least he’s got me doin’ this. Phillips would have had be stuck in lab. Peggy: And these are your only two options? A lab rat or a dancing monkey? You were meant for more than this, you know?

Steve’s desire for service and duty being manipulated by politicians to sell bonds is the exact same scenario as John’s desire for service and duty being manipulated by politicians to make him the new Captain America. It’s even echoed by Val’s continued manipulations in using John’s loyalty to service and country into getting him to do what she wants. 

Steve was nervous, reluctant, and unsure of going on stage to perform. We saw the same concerns that John had in that locker room before his big interview. Neither Steve nor John wanted the fame and pageantry, they just wanted to do the job, they just wanted to help, but both having to accept that the “dancing monkey” aspect came with the job description. 

But Steve breaks free of the confines of others’ demands of him because Peggy not only points out that he has other options, but also because it was in that moment he discovered that Bucky was either missing or dead and he could do something about it. If Steve wasn’t having that conversation with Peggy, if Steve hadn’t heard that Bucky was missing, then he might have just stayed with the USO tours and been a dancing monkey his whole life. Circumstances arose in Steve’s favor, and he had people who believed in him helping him to get to the goals that he wanted. John on the other hand lost the one person who did have faith in him and there was no way to bring Lemar back, and Val swooped in at the exact right time to give a lost and in-mourning person the opportunity to feel like not everything had been lost.

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

Senator Brandt: I am honored to present this medal for valor to my personal friend, Captain America!

This is an interesting moment because I don’t know if this “medal for valor” is a Medal of Honor or not, but if it was, then it makes Steve’s story and John’s story even more of a similar parallel.

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

Private Lorraine: I read about what you did.  Steve: Oh! The…yeah! Well, that’s you know? Just doin’ what needed to be done. Private Lorraine: Sounded like more than that. You saved nearly four hundred men.

When Natalie Dormer’s character comments on how Steve was able to save nearly 400 men and get them back alive, all I could think about was Lemar’s line to John in Episode 4, “think of all the lives we could have saved that day if we had that serum.”

If John and Lemar had the serum on the day of the event that gotten John his Medals of Honor, maybe everyone could have made it back alive, maybe it wouldn’t have been the worst day of John’s life, maybe he wouldn’t have looked at those medals like badges of failure because he couldn’t save everyone.

And it also reminded me of comments from Wyatt Russell during an interview where he mentions that John was in the service while Steve was still operating as Captain America and going around to save the day, but Captain America never saved the day for John. In a way, there is almost a sense of resentment, that Captain America could save the day for everyone else, but John still had to fight through the horrors of war and find a way to survive on his own and protect his men, all without the serum, without Captain America’s help.

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

Peggy: He damn well must have thought you were worth it.

Peggy’s comments to Steve about how Bucky must have thought Steve was worth dying for just reminds me of how Lemar jumped in to tackle Karli and stop her from killing John, all knowing of the risks to his own life, because Lemar definitely thought that John was worth dying for. 

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

Anyways, these were just some of the moments that really jumped out at me in regards to how Cap 1 laid a very interesting foundation for what would be John’s story in TFATWS. This is why I love doing occasional rewatches, it really makes you look at the story in new ways when there’s new information that recontextualizes the film.

[elisaphoenix13]

Once Upon A Summer (Ch.1)

This first chapter is for @chocopiggy (thanks for the commission, and hope it's to your liking)! This actually won't be connected to the Mama Bear AU, but Stephen will always be a mom in my heart. 😂

It all started because of an alert that Tony received from Friday. It wasn't one that told him that Peter was in danger...just that something had happened with his suit. Maybe a malfunction? Friday couldn't tell him either but she made sure to let him know that the teen was safe. When Tony checked Peter's location, his eyebrow shot up.

"What the hell is he doing out of Queens?" He mumbles to himself.

When the little dot shows no signs of moving, Tony walks over to his balcony and suits up to go check on the teen. Peter never really left Queens and if he did, it was to visit Tony. Well...until now that is. Peter now permanently resided in the tower penthouse with Tony and now the roles were kind of switched. He patrolled on the way to Queens, stayed there for a few hours, and then made his way back to the tower. Then again, Greenwich Village wasn't really out of the way. Maybe Peter followed a perp in that direction and...got lost.

Tony was even more confused when he landed in front of a building that he knew housed a couple of sorcerers he only really knew about. He never actually met them but he supposed now was as good a time as any if his tracker was accurate. He stepped forward and knocked on the door, and the door opened to let him in.

"Great. Place is haunted." Tony says as he walks in.

"It took you long enough." A voice says and he looks to the side to find one of the sorcerers.

He was the first thing Tony noticed because press photos didn't do Stephen Strange justice. He was much more attractive in person and Tony could feel butterflies in his chest. Not his stomach, because that would just mean he was nervous, but his chest...it warmed. It had a tingly feeling that was nice and unconcerning for a change. Stephen's eyes were beautiful and it was even more attractive to see him make butterflies fly around...a baby? A baby wearing the Ironspider suit…

"What did you do to my kid?!" Tony accuses immediately.

"Not me. Another sorcerer." Stephen dispels the butterflies he had been keeping baby Peter occupied with. "He was caught in a crossfire of spells and this happened."

"The enemy tried to turn you into a baby?" Tony asks.

"I have no idea. Possibly. Or he was hit with a different spell that affected him differently."

Stephen carefully picks up Peter, who looked to be about six months old, and carries him over to Tony. He wasn't sure what to do with a baby, but he took him regardless and Peter cooed as he reached for Tony's sunglasses.

"Why haven't you changed him back?"

"This is something that needs to wear off on its own." Stephen replies with a sigh.

"How long will that take?" Tony asks suspiciously.

"Anywhere from weeks to months."

Tony balks. "What?! No! I'm in no way qualified to take care of a baby. At least for that long! You're a better option Doc."

"I'm a neurologist Stark. Not a pediatrician."

"I'm sure you've made the rounds though." Tony says and moves his head back a little to keep Peter away from his sunglasses. "This is partially your fault."

"He'll be fine." Stephen huffs.

"What if there are some magical side effects?" Tony counters. "That's apparently your area of expertise and you have to help until he's back to normal. I swear if he grows a tail-"

"He's not going to grow a tail."

Tony could practically see the thoughts running through Stephen's head and he watched as the sorcerer finally sighed. They both knew Tony was right and that Stephen had to take some kind of responsibility for what happened. If some magical side effect came up, Stephen would be the one to deal with it, and he kind of was a better choice to take care of a baby. Tony was willing to do what he could, but there was very little he knew about babies.

"Alright. I'll check in every day." Stephen acquiesces. "Fortunately it seems his powers are dormant so neither of us will need to pry an infant from the ceiling." He points at the baby. "He's been diapered and fed but he'll likely be hungry again soon. I'd get baby supplies if I were you."

"Guess we're going shopping, Doc."

"...we?"

"Who's the medical doctor here?" Tony huffs. "I know less than you do about child rearing. I'm not sure what to feed him or anything like that!"

Stephen answers with another sigh and nods. With some magic, he changes into some normal clothes and walks over to the front door. It was enough of an answer for Tony and he followed Stephen out of the Sanctum and to the nearest store that sold baby items. From food to furniture. Which happened to be a Target. To Tony's relief, Peter was old enough to sit up by himself so he could sit in the shopping cart and Tony's arms could get a break. Stephen simply led the way to the furniture items first and both men looked at the collection apprehensively.

"Am I the only one who feels like we stepped in some strange land?" Tony jokes.

"Good to know it's not just me." Stephen mumbles. "I may have worked with babies before but that doesn't mean I know what half of this stuff is."

"Bare essentials then." Tony grins and grabs a set of plastic keys that they walk by and he hands them to Peter. "Here you go kid."

Peter babbles as he accepts the keys, immediately stuffing them into his mouth, and both Stephen and Tony watch as some drool drips from the baby's mouth.

"Bibs." They say in unison.

"Oh, you know what those are?" Stephen asks immediately after and Tony rolls his eyes.

"Oh very funny wizard."

"Sorcerer...and it's Stephen."

Tony smirks. "I know. I like watching your eyebrow twitch when I call you wizard though."

"You would." The younger man scoffs.

"So what's the bare minimum I need? Crib?" Tony asks, changing the subject.

Stephen shrugs. "I suppose you could buy a portable changing pad to change him on instead of getting a table."

Tony winces. Right. Peter wasn't currently potty trained anymore and the thought of changing him made him a little uncomfortable. He didn't know how to change a diaper in the first place and he didn't raise Peter from birth. His kid was just a temporary baby…

"It's going to have to happen eventually." Stephen says, as if reading his mind.

Maybe he was.

"Maybe a playpen too. It's portable and it can keep him out of trouble if you have to take your eyes off of him to make dinner." Stephen continues.

"That's definitely coming." Tony says as he grabs the box to throw in the cart.

Stephen, meanwhile, stands in front of Peter and gently sticks his thumb in the baby's mouth. Peter babbles around the sorcerer's finger and Tony watches curiously as Stephen gently opens his mouth. It was clear the doctor was looking for something, but before he could ask, Stephen removed his finger, earning an audible protest from the mini human. When it became clear that Peter wasn't getting the finger back, he turned his attention back to his plastic keys as Stephen grabbed another toy off the rack.

"He's at the age where his teeth are coming in." Stephen finally explains. "You can put this in the freezer and also get some teething gel to numb his gums. You might be in for some long nights."

"Not like I have a regular sleeping schedule anyway." Tony bemoans.

"If you're lucky, a little gel before bedtime should do the trick."

They finish up in the baby department by grabbing some bibs, toys, burping cloths, bottles, and even a sippy cup before heading to the area of the store with the food and diapers. Stephen showed him what size diaper Peter would need, the cereal and fruit purees he could try feeding him, and also grabbed formula. It was still important at his age since it had the nutrients a baby needed. Once they finished by grabbing some wipes, they had to go back to the previous baby section because they realized they had forgotten to grab clothes. Onesies, pajamas, tiny shirts and tiny pants...Tony couldn't decide whether to freak out, tear up, or laugh when he saw the socks because it was a reminder that Peter was currently tiny and fragile and was relying solely on Tony (and Stephen) to survive.

He considered buying bubble wrap.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this...but kids are expensive." Tony remarks as they wait in line.

"Incredibly. People do it multiple times too."

"They can't be trusted." Tony jokes. "Anybody who puts themselves through that over and over again are closet sadists."

"You're an idiot." Stephen rolls his eyes as Tony unloads the cart onto the belt.

The cashier, and even a few nearby customers, gave them both a curious glance but nothing more was said. Probably because it was him buying baby stuff and was accompanied by another man. Fortunately they were in a day and age where for the most part, people didn't bat an eye when they saw a child with a same gender couple. Of course, Tony decided that he was going to have fun with it and looked over at Stephen who had grabbed a magazine to flick through.

"Honey, can you grab the keys from-" The billionaire is promptly interrupted when Stephen rolls up the magazine and smacks Tony with it before tossing it on the belt as well.

Peter found it hilarious and laughed which made Stephen smile and Tony to get that fuzzy feeling in his chest again.

"You can pay for that too since I had to resort to ruining it." Stephen huffs and gently takes the keys from Peter.

It was a quick ordeal. Peter had the super strength that every baby seemed to have when they didn't want something taken from them, and when Stephen finally won, his lower lip wobbled dangerously. The doctor held out the toy so it could be scanned without the cashier having to touch the drool covered keys, and then given back to Peter before his fussing could turn into full blown crying. Stephen may have some experience with children but it was like he was made to be a parent.

It kind of turned Tony on.

Which was weird? Sort of. He appreciated both men and women, and he and Pepper broke it off for the final time a while ago so it wasn't like he was in a relationship. But he barely knew Stephen. All he knew was what the tabloids had of him on his work, his car accident that ended his career, and then his supposed disappearance. Tony only knew about Stephen's new "career" because of chance. They very briefly fought together when Stephen had a mystical threat to take care of and Tony had been in the area, but everything happened so quickly that he didn't get a proper look at the sorcerer or a proper conversation.

Tony didn't mind looking at all.

"Do you mind?" Stephen suddenly asks, holding up a chocolate bar.

Tony motions to the belt. "Not at all."

"We should get water too. I didn't feed Peter so I'm sure he's getting hungry." Stephen says as he places the chocolate on the belt and grabs a couple of water bottles from the small fridge nearby.

"Oh, yeah. Good idea. I don't think those keys will keep him occupied much longer."

It didn't take long for the items to get scanned and for Tony to pay, but when they got outside, he realized his predicament. He flew to Greenwich Village in his suit. He couldn't fly back with a baby and all of the items he suddenly accrued. But then Stephen directed him to the side of the store where they would be out of sight and opened a portal. To his kitchen at the tower from the looks of it. Tony was a little uncomfortable with the idea of using magic to get home, but it was efficient and he didn't want to be caught in the middle of New York with a baby in the dark. The sun had nearly set.

So he takes a deep breath and gets the purchases through the portal as Stephen carefully pulls Peter out of the cart and walks through the portal. Tony had the mind to return the cart to a nearby corral before following the sorcerer through, and he watches as Stephen looks around the penthouse as the portal closes behind Tony.

"A playpen was a good idea." Stephen finally says. "This isn't exactly a baby friendly environment."

"I should probably set that up." Tony says. "I have a feeling holding him doesn't feel too good on your hands."

"Let me make him a bottle first."

Stephen hands Peter to Tony and digs through the bags on the counter to fish out the needed items to make him a bottle. Tony made sure to watch closely and listen to the amounts Stephen said to feed Peter and soon enough, the sorcerer took the baby back and sat on the couch with him where he handed Peter the bottle. He fortunately didn't have any trouble holding it himself and was able to drink from it while Stephen held him on one of his legs and Tony set up the playpen and the crib. The latter he was told to set up in his bedroom.

When he finished (to his enormous relief, there were some things he never cared to put together again), he exited his room to find the tv on a child friendly cartoon and Peter bouncing happily on Stephen's knee while he watched the pretty colors fly across the screen. What was surprising was seeing the younger man looking so content as he wipes Peter's mouth with one of the burping cloths. No irritation. No expressions to betray that he hated every second of this. In fact, Tony was pretty sure Stephen was enjoying it.

"Want to stay for dinner?" Tony blurts out and Stephen's head snaps up in surprise. He recovers quickly and shakes his head.

"I have things I need to do. Thank you though." Stephen gets up with Peter and holds him out for Tony to take. "I'll come by tomorrow."

"Alright," Tony replies, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "See you then."

"Good night."

And he was gone through another portal. Just like that.

"Bud…" Peter looks at him and Tony smirks. "I think you're going to end up being my little wingman."

[eloquent-vowel]

Part 2 "I am" Bucky x OFC (#043)

Description: #043 is Dr. Leeb's greatest success. He took immense pride in raising her to be the perfect combatent and it was finally time for her skills to be put to use. His only worry is bringing outside variables into his perfect equation but when the heads of Hydra give you orders, you follow them. #043 is sent on her first mission and things do not go as planned.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, very much a slow burn. Bucky Barnes x OFC, Winter Soldier X OFC.

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Here is the second part of #043's story! I'm sorry there is no Bucky yet but I can promise that he will be coming in soon! (I did say that this would be a slow burn). Enjoy! <3

Part 1

Dr. Leeb sniffed again, those damn cleaning products always set him off, he had tried his damn hardest to get used to the smell of the sterile facilities but even after thirteen years his nose would not stop running, it was so embarrassing. Especially at a time like this, when he was in conference with the very head of Hydra. They had contacted his lab about using #043 in the field, he had agreed without hesitation- he knew his project was ready and he could hardly contain his excitement as the General laid out the mission briefing. It was finally time to show the whole of Hydra just what he could achieve, they would finally respect his mind.

"Dr. Leeb we have read your reports, #043, code name Eris, sounds very promising. Can you back up your claims?" The man known as The General spoke, his voice although tinny through the speakers of his office carried a deep undertone of threat. If Dr. Leeb was not sweating before he was now, he had rehearsed for this moment all he had to do was speak. He cleared his throat, sniffed and dapped at his forehead with his handkerchief.

"Well, General." He cursed his voice for coming out higher than normal. "As you know former experiments for the Eris project came up negative but #043 is different, whether this is due to her age or her biology I do not know, there is a possibilty-"

"Dr. Leeb, cut to the chase, what can she do?"

"Ah, right" He loosened his tie a bit, were the fans even working in here? "Yes, #043 is the perfect blend between technology and humanity. She arrived to us in a... less than ideal state this has meant that her left leg had to be amputated above the knee and her right leg was amputated below the knee, her legs were replaced with advanced prosthetics, based upon the Winter Soldier project. These were replaced to grow with her, it was a marvel really how we managed to make them grow perfectly wi-"

"Doctor!"

"Ah, sorry, yes, well. These legs allow her to run faster than the average human being, she has reached over speeds of 60mph - this of course is helped with the super soldier serum that she has adapted to perfectly. The serum, of course, has made her taller, stronger and altogether better. She is only 16 and has already grown to be 6 feet tall, it is likely that she can grow more, she can lift her body weight easily. She has also received the benefits of advanced healing, there has yet to be an injury that has not healed within the day. #043 is trained in Muay Thai, Judo, Comat Sambo to name a few, she has mastered firearms and the use of close combat weaponry- being most proficient in the use of brass knuckles. Her senses are enhanced by the serum have given her a great skill in prediction. She is brutal, cold and most importantly, loyal to Hydra."

Dr. Leeb nervously pushed up his glasses, it was impossible to read what The General was feeling. The man's face was eternally stuck in a position of serious anger- it was rather intimidating.

"This sounds promising Dr. Leeb. I read that she was trained intellectually as well?"

"Yes, yes #043 can speak Russian, English, German, Chinese, Japanese, French, Romanian and Spanish fluently and has been taught how to use the most advanced technologies. Her physical training has always taken priority, however, but I can assure you General that if you have a wall to break through she can do it."

There was a beat of silence as the General seemed to mull something over, there was a rustle of paper on the other side of the monitor. Dr. Leeb took in some deep breaths as he waited for the General to say something, dabbing at his forehead once more to try and get rid of the sweat dripping down his brow.

"Is it true, Dr. Leeb, that you believe she could take out the Winter Soldier?"

"Yes." Dr. Leeb answered without hesitation. "We are waiting for confirmation from the scientist on the Winter Soldier project but we are scheduling for them to meet. Remember she is has yet to reach full maturation, there is no doubt that she could best the Soldier when she is fully formed, we just wish to... encourage her to see him as a threat and enemy."

"Your faith is evident, Leeb, very well, here is the details of the mission- if she fails it will be on your head Doctor."

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

#043 was training, as usual, she was in the middle of combat training facing of against a large group of hydra soldiers. While she knew she could defeat them one on one, having six of them attack at the same time was proving much more difficult. It was practically impossible to dodge and block every hit coming her way, much less think about landing a punch. She currently unarmed so at least two hits on vital areas would be necessary to knock one soldier unconscious. As she was dodging she began to form a plan, she would have to spread the soldiers out, she could tackle one down and run through them but they would see that coming a mile away, she could try throwing one away but that would take far too much time. There was only one option left, to jump.

#043 stopped dodging and planted her feet, she doubled her efforts to block incoming blows and began to tense her knees. The mechanical legs clanked and whirred as the cogs inside them tightened- the only warning any of the soldiers got was the hissing of hydraulics as #043 released the tension within her legs and shot straight over the heads of the group of soldiers. She twisted in the air and landed heavily in the ground with a loud cracking sound as the concrete broke below her. She was now facing the bewildered looking group of soldiers, she smirked, as they began to run to her. Just as they reached her she jumped once more, landing right at the back by the slowest member. They were down in two swift blows to their kidney's and temple. This unfair game of cat and mouse continued until it was only two soldiers remaining.

The following fight was easy to her. One of the soldiers was taken out by a high kick to the head from her left leg and a solid stomp to the sternum cracking numerous ribs and collapsing his chest. The other was simply ended by a push kick to the chest to put them off balance and #043 swiftly grabbed one of their legs and threw them into the far wall where they impacted with a harsh thud, leaving a rather large dent in the plaster. #043 drew in a deep breath and relaxed, letting her hands fall to her sides just as the voice of Dr. Leeb entered the sandpit.

"Well done, #043! You continue to improve day by day." She felt her eye twitch as he sniffed once more. "I have some good news for you, you are to go outside."

"Outside?" Her voice was gravelly from lack of use.

"Yes, you are about to go on your first mission, it is a rather simple one mind you- I think the General is just trying to test me with this- I have no doubt that you will succeed with flying colours, you are my perfect equation."

"What will I have to do?"

"You are to infiltrate the home of a Mr. Hugo Malet, a prominent figure in the arms trade. Hydra has a target on his head and you, my dear, have the honour of being the gun who aims for it." Dr. Leeb began walking away, gesturing for #043 to follow. She eyed her trainer waiting for permission. The stern woman just gave a nod and #043 was off walking just behind Dr. Leeb, peering over his shoulder to the files he held in his hand. He continued to brief her all the way to his office.

"Mr. Malet here has a holiday chalet in the French Alps, a rather modest six bedroom, five bathroom ordeal, wholly unnecessary for his family of four but if you have the money. Such a shame he got that money by selling weapons to the wrong people. Here." Dr. Leeb sat in his desk chair before sliding the file over to #043. "Look at him, memorise his face, his family is meant to join him in the chalet in a week but if there are any others witness you must eliminate them as well- do you understand?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Repeat it to me."

"Hugo Malet, Chalet, French alps, no witnesses, no traces left behind."

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

In the helicopter over to the Alps #043 did not know who was more nervous, her or Dr. Leeb who had insisted on monitoring the mission in person. The plan was simple, she would parachute down to the drop zone two miles away from the chalet and run to the chalet where, under the cover of night, #043 would erase the traitors.

"T-10 mins until deployment."

The announcement over the intercom spurred her into action, she began triple checking her harness and parachute, placed the night vision goggles over her eyes and ensured that the mask covering the lower half of her face was secure. Once she was sure she was ready she took her position. The side door opened to reveal the pitch black, snowy exterior of the alps, the temperature was immediately freezing . Dr. Leeb piped up behind her.

"Do not disappoint me #043, once this goes successfully the Eris project will be a reality. You know what will happen if you fail."

#043 shivered at the threat, memories enclosed walls, electric chairs and sore flesh flickering in her mind and with a single nod she jumped.

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

The run to the chalet had been uneventful and soon the chalet was in view. There was a warm glow coming from within and through the window #043 could see the figure of her target walking around the lower floors.

"Status report" The voice of Dr. Leeb crackled through her earpiece.

"Target sighted, moving to engage."

Armed only with a silenced pistol and her brass knuckles she moved stealthily through the pine trees until she found the backdoor. Much to her joy it was unlocked and she entered silently. There was the faint sound of some sort of soft music playing in the front room, following the noise she crept towards the slightly ajar door down the corridor.

She entered the room, pistol first, to see Hugo Malet sipping wine on the couch, sitting in front of the fireplace a woman - presumably his wife- under his arm. Without hesitation #043 shot both figures through the back of the head, killing them instantly. She approached the bodies, turning them both over to confirm their identities.

"Target is dead, his wife also."

"Great job, #043, no witnesses. Return to Location Alpha"

#043 stared at the two bodies for too long. They were slumped, still cuddled against one another, their eyes dull and lifeless. If it wasn't for the bullet hole through their foreheads'. Their lives had so easily been ended, they had not even seen it coming. She had taken lives before, but they had always been fighting her- it was her or them. This was new, the easy kills. The easy killing felt wrong, she felt wrong, her hands began to shake. Her mask began to feel too tight, the air in the room was too dense for her to breathe- desperately she made her way to the window- opening it to let the fresh air hit her face.

"Mummy? Daddy? Can I have some hot chocolate?"

#043 froze, the voice was high pitched, a child's voice, her head turned in horror to watch the door to the front room open and the Malet's youngest son enter the room. His face immediately creased into confusion, too young to understand why his parents were slumped, motionless on the couch. He was so small. #043 knew about the concept of children, she was certain she herself must have been one at some point, but she had never realised how small they are. This one must have only reached her knees, his small arms were reaching for his parent's until he caught #043 in his sight. She slowly raised her pistol.

"Who are you?" The small child asked

"I am..." she stuttered, who was she? A number? How old was she? Was she once this child, this small, this helpless, this clueless, this... innocent? The boy's eyes shone with tears and fear.

"Are you a friend of Daddy's?"

Such innocence, so small, every fibre of #043's being was screaming at her- no witnesses- but her hand was shaking, her hands never shook, there was some p[art of her that refused to harm this child. The longer she looked into his eyes the farther down she pointed her pistol.

"I am..."

But if she left this child alive she would be put in that chair again, she would be hit and placed in that tiny room, she would be a failure and Dr. Leeb would be disappointed in her. She slowly began to walk towards the small child who simply looked up at her, wide eyed and teary.

"Who..." The child's voice faded away as #043 was looked directly down at him.

"I am... Eris."

With that Eris hit the child over the head with the butt of her pistol , enough to knock him unconscious but not enough to kill him, then fired a shot into the ground by his head, she hoped that an ambulance would arrive soon. She took a deep breath before climbing out the window, leaving the crime scene behind.

"Returning to Location Alpha, No witnesses remain."

Part 3

[riversofmars]

We Don’t Have to Use Words Part 1/2

Back even though no-one asked for it: me writing more Liv and Helen. :D 

One thing I'll say, please don't be mad at me over Tania. I love her, I really do and I want her to be happy, but I would prefer Liv to end up with Helen, that's all. And I really hope i handled the issue well enough. Neither Liv nor Helen are intending to hurt her, okay? I hope that comes across. 

After Helen spends the day hearing about how their neighbours Ron and Tony got together, she confides in Liv about her gay brother. Things had changed so much since the time she grew up in, but some things were still difficult to say. Particularly when she was only coming to terms with those things herself. As they continue their conversation, both women consider their feelings towards each other.

Rating: G

AO3 Link

Part 1

“Am I still a mystery to you as well, Miss Sinclair?“ Liv followed Helen into the kitchen. They were alone in their flat at 107 Baker Street, the Doctor was still out.

“Very much so.“ Helen chuckled as she filled the kettle with water, relaxing a little as the conversation turned less serious. “You build walls around yourself like a fortress.“ She flicked the kettle on to boil while retrieving two mugs from the cupboard. It had become a ritual of sorts between them. They used to do it on the TARDIS too, unwinding over a cuppa after an adventure. Old habits die hard.

“I’m sorry.“ Liv said and Helen looked around, confused at how serious she sounded. The look on her face revealed the damage the off-hand comment had caused.

“That’s not… I didn’t mean that as a criticism…“ Helen back peddled quickly. Liv had given much more weight to her words than she had intended. It hadn’t been an accusation, just a fact. Liv always kept her cards close to her chest and that was just fine. Helen sat the mugs down quickly. Liv looked genuinely hurt, she was biting her lip, evidently considering her response.

“I’m not keeping you out, you know me better than anyone else.“ Liv said, her words strained as if she was trying to swallow frustration and hurt but couldn’t quite manage it.

“Oh no! That’s not what I meant! I don’t… we are the best of friends, Liv, of course I know you and I don’t feel like you’re keeping me at arms length.“ Helen reached out quickly and took Liv’s hand that had become a clenched fist in her jumper. “You’re just a private person and that’s fine. Like I said some things are just not… easy to talk about.“ She gave her a pleading smile, hoping she would understand that she wasn’t meaning to hurt her. Liv’s hand relaxed in her own and Helen was relieved. The kettle turned itself off as the water had finished boiling and Helen looked around. Saved by the bell! “Maybe you were right, we don’t have to use words, making a cup of tea for someone can say just as much…“

It was the way they did things. Those things were signs of a firm friendship. Doing things for each other. Spending time together. They didn’t always need to talk about deep and meaningful things. They had done their share of that for tonight and Helen was keen to move on from that. Her own words, the things she had revealed, were still echoing in her mind. She looked to Liv who was watching her, her expression unreadable, and she hoped she hadn’t revealed too much. The day had brought a lot of emotions to the surface already and she couldn’t bear to think she had made things more complicated with Liv, too.

Helen busied herself making tea, distracting herself from the heavy silence that had suddenly fallen between them. She felt Liv’s eyes on her and wondered how much of what she had said before was still playing on her mind as well.

“You know what else says a hell of a lot?“ Liv’s voice drew her attention and Helen looked around, surprised to find her standing right behind her.

Liv reached up and took her face in her hands, pressing a firm kiss to her lips. Helen froze up and grabbed on to the edge of the work surface behind her, giving her hands something to do other than pulling Liv Chenka close. Her brain couldn’t catch up with what was happening. Liv’s lips were soft and warm against her own, gentle pressure, not demanding but not without desire either. It was even better than she had imagined.

The kiss ended all too soon and Helen just blinked at Liv, perplexed. Liv, for her part, looked up at Helen unsure, seemingly wondering if she had made a terrible mistake. Her lack of response was more telling than anything else.

“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t…“ Quickly, Liv took a step back, retreating to a safe distance. She clenched her hands to fists again, tense and angry with herself.

“Liv…“ Helen found her voice at last, snapping out of her trance. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She felt panic rising inside her, her chest tightening, at the prospect of an impossible choice. She had wondered what it would be like to kiss her best friend, there was no denying that. She was brave enough to admit to herself that that was something she had wanted for a long time. Was it right though? For either of them?

“Did I… misread the… what you said earlier, I assumed…“ Liv struggled for words, she blushed deeply, she averted her eyes and grabbed the edge of her jumper more tightly.

“Yes! I mean, no…“ Helen didn’t know what to say. “What…“

“I thought you meant… when you said you were jealous and…“ The words burst out of Liv like a waterfall of justification, but almost an accusation as well: “And when you said some things weren’t easy to say, I thought you meant…“

“I didn’t, I was talking about Albie and… besides you’re with… Tania and…“ Helen exclaimed, avoidance seemed to be the safest option. She stood to lose so much. She couldn't risk it just because she had gotten emotional.

“That’s why I said, love doesn’t run to a schedule, this might be bad timing but…“ Liv’s voice turned more desperate. Had they both completely misunderstood the other? “I like Tania a lot but we’re just starting out and she’s not…“ Liv felt a twinge of guilt, of course she did, but honesty was the best policy, surely. She had started this so she had to follow through.

“What?“ Helen couldn’t keep up. She was confused.

“She’s not you!“ Liv exclaimed. “If I’d known…“

“Well, uh… you’re… wrong. I’m not… I was just…“ Helen was beginning to panic. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be the reason her friend broke off a promising relationship when she, herself, was still struggling to come to terms with them. She had no experience in this. Liv had been right. She had never talked about relationships much because it had never been of much interest to her. She should just carry on like that. It would be easiest for everyone.

“Oh…“ Liv’s face fell, Helen’s words hit like a punch in the gut, leaving her winded and disoriented.

“Sorry.“ Helen’s heart broke over the look on her best friend’s face. Did she really feel for her so strongly that her rejection would hurt her so much? Quickly Helen reached out, grabbed her arm before Liv could bolt as she was sure she was about to. “You’re… my best friend and… you’re brave and kind and intelligent and… beautiful, you…“ Helen so badly wanted to undo the damage her words had done.

“So what’s the problem?“ Liv shot back, angry. It didn’t happen often that she would share her heart with anyone and the rejection stung more than she could have imagined.

“I don’t know I… I didn’t even consider that I might… And then you turn up and you’re all confident and strong and, I’m not like that.“ Helen shook her head, hoping Liv would understand. Maybe she couldn’t find the right words to say it but surely she knew her well enough to grasp her meaning.

“You’re the strongest woman I know.“ Liv retorted and her tone was a strange mixture of accusatory and encouraging.

“Don’t make fun of me.“ Helen huffed and let go of Liv’s hand. She could deal with her being hurt and angry with her but she didn’t appreciate her making fun of her.

“I’m not.“ Liv replied, affronted that she would even think that was her intention.

“You can’t joke about these things with me, Liv. I can’t do that. I never… “ Helen shook her head.

“I am not joking. Is that what you think this is, that I’m trying to see if I can push your buttons?“ Liv demanded to know, frustrated. “I know how hard this is for you, I can tell.“ She shrugged and laughed at how ridiculous a conversation they were having. Fighting over something that shouldn’t be a disagreement at all: “And I wouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t think you felt the same way. You said as much earlier!“

“I didn’t know what I was saying, it just came out, I was just trying to make sense of everything and…“ Helen didn’t know how to explain. She couldn’t work it out, it was too big, too complicated to comprehend.

“Then let me help you do just that.“ Liv’s expression softened.

Maybe she could see how much she was struggling, Helen thought. Maybe she could forgive her.

Liv took Helen’s arms that she had hugged protectively around herself and pulled them apart. She ran her hands down her arms until they came to rest around Helen’s trembling fingers. She was trembling all over. “You want to know something that’s easy to say?“ Liv asked softly and Helen averted her eyes, she couldn’t stand the pity she found reflected back at her. “I love you.“ Liv said simply and without hesitation. “See, it’s the most fundamental thing between two people, the most human thing… I love you . You can say it as easily as that.“

“Liv…“ Helen couldn’t look at her, her eyes blurred, her voice became choked up. Liv couldn't even have meant it like that. She was just giving an example about how easily one could talk about their feelings. And yet, the effect those words had on her was profound.

“No, Helen, listen, please.“ Liv could tell that she was about to protest but she couldn’t let her. “I know this isn’t easy for you, I understand, but you can’t let the past dictate your future. This is not the 1960s anymore.“ She gave her hands a tight squeeze. She saw the tears gathering in her best friend's eyes.

“That’s not what it’s about.“ Helen tried to clear her throat but it only made her sound more upset.

“Then what?“ Liv asked. She let go of her hands and cupped her face instead, brushing away her tears with her thumbs. “Help me here, Helen, cause I really want to know.“ She whispered.

“It’s just, I can’t 'cause… timing and…“ Helen gave a desperate little chuckle. Why couldn't she have realised this before now? Any time really. It had been there for so long. Maybe even since the day Liv and the Doctor had broken into her office at the National Museum, she just hadn’t realised it at the time. She had thought about her when they had been split up from them, when she had been with the Eleven on Rykerzon and thought she would never see them again. She had noticed how much she liked being with Liv when they had been on Kaldor. She had accepted she couldn’t be without her in Salzburg. She had spent a lifetime to save her and the Doctor and Liv had spent her one wish on saving her in turn. They had sat together reading fairy tales to each other, held each other close… and yet, none of it had been enough to help her understand herself. Not truly, until today.

“Stop being silly.“ Liv interrupted her thoughts, almost as if she could hear them. “I love you, Helen Sinclair.“ She said, looking into her eyes to make sure she'd heard her. “There, I said it. Easiest thing in the world. And I would have told you sooner if I thought I stood a snowball’s chance in hell that you like me back.“ Liv laughed at how ridiculous a notion it seemed. “But you never said, Helen, you never said . You never spoke of any interest at all, interest in anyone, so I assumed that ruled me out as well.“

“And you didn’t think that maybe my past was holding me back?“ Helen said, barely audible.

“Have I or the Doctor ever given you reason to think we wouldn’t accept you, however, whatever you did?“ Liv asked, incredulous.

“No, of course not…“ Helen shook her head a little without looking at her.

“Then what is holding you back?“ Liv asked softly, stroking more stray tears off her pale cheeks.

“Well, you’re… dating now…“ Helen mumbled and Liv sighed, feeling that twinge of guilt again. Helen was right, the timing was terrible. She had been seeing Tania. Lovely, kind Tania. She didn’t want to hurt her. But they were just starting out, they were still getting to know each other whereas Helen… well, she was Helen . The person dearest to her in the whole universe. She loved Helen, simple as that. She had done so for a very long time but never considered the feeling might be mutual. But now that she did, what was she to do? Should they carry on like nothing had happened? Never speak of it again? Would Liv be able to forgive herself if she let it all go? And allowed things to get more serious with Tania? She liked her and perhaps, in time, she would grow to love her, but could she ever love her as much as she already loved Helen?

“Tania is great, she really is. But you wouldn’t believe the amount of times she has asked about our relationship. I'll talk to her tomorrow and she will understand. We only just met. But the fact of the matter is, Helen, that I’m in love with you.“ Liv said slowly, considering her words. At the end of the day, it was as easy as that. She leaned forward and kissed the tears off her cheeks. “I love how kind and considerate you are. Your quiet strength, your intelligence, your determination, your selflessness and your compassion.“ She punctuated every quality with a kiss. “You make me want to be better, be more like you, I admire you.“

“Oh Liv.“ Helen sobbed, her words only causing her to cry more. “Just stop!“ She blushed deeply, embarrassed by her compliments.

“No, I won’t stop. Not until you realise just how much you mean to me. How serious I am. How much I want you.“ Liv smirked a little, sensing she was wearing down her defences at last.

“Oh shut up.“ Helen leaned forward and silenced her the only way she knew how. The kiss was wet and sloppy with tears but she could feel Liv smiling against her lips, relieved and maybe even a little bit smug. Helen pulled back and wrapped her arms around her. She rested her forehead against hers. “I love you, Liv Chenka.“ The words came to her easier than she thought possible.

“Did I also mention how much I love the way my name rolls off your tongue?“ Liv smirked sheepishly and Helen laughed, her tears drying at last.

“Is that so?“ She chuckled.

“Most definitely.“ Liv nodded eagerly, biting her lip nervously, as if she was going to say something  but thought better of it.

���What are you thinking?“ Helen eyed her curiously, she knew her well enough to spot her hesitation instantly.

“Oh it’s nothing.“ Liv let go of her and reached past her for the mug on the work surface. “Best have this before it gets cold…“

“Liv!“ Helen exclaimed, playfully offended at her attention wandering. She didn’t appreciate the teasing. “What were you going to say? What were you thinking?“

“You really want to know?“ Liv asked, taking a sip of the tea, eyeing Helen over the rim of the mug. The tea was rather cold and much too strong as Helen had forgotten to take the tea bag out. She sat the mug down disappointedly.

“As it clearly relates to me. Yes!“ Helen playfully crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I was imagining how much I will enjoy hearing you say my name when we’re in bed together.“ Liv answered with a smirk. She had asked. She brought her hands to Helen’s hips, holding her so she couldn’t bolt.

“Liv!“ Helen exclaimed, mortified, blushing scarlet red, though her words made her feel hot all over, not just in her cheeks.

“Thought it might be too soon, but you asked.“ Liv chuckled in amusement. She couldn’t help herself, she pushed her hands up a little, just under the hem of Helen’s blouse.  

“Honestly that’s…“ Helen cleared her throat, averting her eyes, refusing to meet Liv’s piercing gaze.

“What?“ Liv tilted her head playfully. She wasn’t usually one for teasing but Helen’s reaction was wonderful and her proximity was intoxicated. “You think I haven’t thought about it?“ Liv hummed, running her fingertips along her waistline.

“Well, I…“ Helen didn’t have words. She couldn’t think.

“Haven’t you?“ Liv asked leaning closer, pressing her body to Helen’s.

“I… I…“ Helen swallowed hard, her heart was pounding and she felt a strange sort of pull in her gut that she couldn’t remember feeling before, at least not like this. She’d had sex before and she had enjoyed it but she had never felt that burning desire that people spoke of. That fiery passion… she was getting so hot under her collar now, she realised that maybe she had been missing out.

And then, Liv kissed her. Not like before. Not tentative and soft and loving, Gods no . This kiss was so very much like Liv herself: Confident, demanding, passionate, strong. And Helen leaned into it. She kissed her back with equal favour or at least tried to. Liv pushed her tongue inside her mouth and Helen moaned, it was intoxicating, she was making her head spin.

Helen pushed her hands into Liv’s hair for something to hold on to and Liv pulled back, just for a moment. She searched her face for clues, to find out how she was feeling. Was she going too fast? Was this too much? Did Helen even want her to kiss her like that ?

“I’m okay.“ Helen could read the questions in her eyes before the med-tech could voice it. She nodded encouragingly, slightly out of breath but eager to keep going. It was liberating. They had danced around each other for so long, she had taken this long to understand what her feelings even meant, she didn't want to wait any longer to delve into them. “Keep going.“

Liv ran her tongue along her lips that had suddenly turned very dry. She had been teasing Helen, that had been her only intention and kissing her like that, that was something else. Was she really suggesting what she thought she was? As previously proven, they had been known to miscommunicate on occasion.

“You… uh… you mean…“

“I uh…“ Helen blushed deeply when she realised the weight of her words. Was this a good idea? It wasn’t like they had just met and were acting irrationally. They had known each other for a lifetime. Perhaps she wasn’t thinking clearly but who could blame her with Liv Chenka standing so close to her. And there was that pull in the pit of her stomach…

“Liv? Helen?“ A voice called out as the door to the flat opened and they both froze.

“Oh God… It’s the Doctor…“ Helen breathed and Liv quickly put a few paces between them, just in time for the Doctor to stick his head around the door. “Ahh there you are. Had a nice day?“

“Yup, all good.“ Liv forced a smile and Helen nodded quickly:

“Yeah. Brilliant.“

“Great. Is there a cuppa for me?“ The Doctor asked, making his way over to them, eyeing the mugs on the work surface.

“You may need to boil the kettle again. Tea's got cold…“ Liv said, awkwardly folding her arms in front of her chest. She glanced at Helen, wondering what she wanted to do and Helen looked back at her helplessly.

“What are you doing drinking cold tea?“ The Doctor, meanwhile, was absolutely oblivious to their silent exchange.

“I’ve suddenly come over really tired, I might have to head off to bed. How about you, Helen?“ Liv said, giving a little nod towards the door.

“I uh… yeah, actually, been quite the day…“ Helen started nodding, catching her intention.

“What? You don’t even want to know what I’ve been up to?“ The Doctor asked, looking around confused as he filled the kettle with water.

“Maybe tomorrow? I don’t think I have the capacity to focus on one of your stories now…“ Liv gave him an apologetic smile. That certainly was no lie… When she looked at Helen, the prospect of what they could be doing right now was clouding her mind.

“You know the funniest thing happened when we were in the past, like someone trying to send an SOS across the time streams…“ The Doctor carried on but neither of them was really listening.

“Fascinating.“ Liv was halfway to the door already and Helen followed quickly.

“Maybe tomorrow.“

“Am I missing something?“ The Doctor called after them but didn’t get a response. He shrugged and turned back to make his tea.

[riannazabalaa]

A Floor for Comfort

Restrooms are a place for maintaining one’s personal hygiene, not for crying out my little weary and tired heart. “Rianna Mariel Zabala, Rank 1” was something I always wished to hear, not to actually earn the title but to feel as if my name actually meant something rather than just ‘another honor student’. And when another revelation day came and the same name kept popping up for first place, the last cubicle of the girls’ restroom became my place of comfort where I would dramatically slide down the dirty floor and bawl my eyes out while hoping no one could hear me. There would always be a little voice at the back of my head, sounding like she’s trying to fight back tears, that would always wonder when her time would come; I still do wonder everyday. But waiting is a gift, a superpower many have given up on, and it’s something I hope you wouldn’t let go either.

3rd grade was magical. Playing the lead role in “Connie, the Bossy Fairy”, discovering that you could actually sing well without falling flat, and garnering praise while juggling everything behind the scenes were definitely the highlights of that year. It gave me a sense of what I actually wanted to do in life: work in the entertainment industry. It was sad to bring that dream up to anyone I loved years later because it was continuously shot down as the stupidest idea one could ever have, it was even sadder to realize that no one had my back. I had tried manipulating myself into saying that I had potential to be a doctor, an engineer, or anything worth someone’s time. Nearly a decade in being an honor student proved that I did have the grades and the potential for those careers, but the thing I significantly lacked most was the passion to pursue any of them. So as I continued trying to find a possible job option, I still held on to my actual dreams.

I tried. I tried so much that I would discreetly cry in the cubicles around three times a week. I tried pushing myself to enter things I knew I could do to go for what I really wanted in life. But alas, I was rejected more than I could ever remember. The reasons were always the same. It was always because I lacked potential. And that little voice at the back of my head would always murmur, “They don’t even know you! How on earth would they know that?” Because of that, the journey to make myself known would always be cut short by another person getting that opportunity because they simply wanted it. I wanted these chances so much more than anyone could ever want something, the feeling was that strong. I pushed the best of my abilities to achieve them but to no avail, I was another sore loser. I could remember my broken sobs when I wasn’t selected for the national academic competition or an in-school singing contest. Those are just two out of the hundred, thousand, maybe million rejections I have faced. But as others would’ve given up at this point, I still chose to hold on to the unknown path of my dreams even if there isn’t any road. I was still endlessly carving that path for myself.

Restrooms then became bathrooms and college was slyly eyeing me in the corner. My whole 12th grade was just a complete mess of my near adulting phase. There were college applications lying everywhere, especially on the bathroom floor. They were soggy, not because of the faucet water, but because of my endless tears. Many would wonder why I would even cry when there’s so much I could do with what I have but I cried because I felt that there was absolutely nothing for me to do. This was probably the most painful moment I ever had on my grandmother’s bathroom floor where I realized that I had no dream, a practical one that is. I had the strongest envy for aspiring lawyers, doctors, and many of various professions that were considered enough to be called realistic. I was extremely jealous of children whose parents had the financial ability to send them to study abroad, a dream of mine. I was sad because I felt that I’ve burned myself out excessively to only find out that I had been working towards an empty void of nothingness. But the deepest, most secretive parts of me knew that my hurt was never for zero reward. I still held on because I knew that there was something in front of me lurking that I had to keep my grip on to finally see because it’s the bravest thing I could ever do for myself. 

When you’re reading this letter, I hope you’re in the last cubicle of the girls’ restroom where the cleaning supplies lie, sobbing for the very first time in that same spot. I hope that after this you’ll pick yourself up and cover your eyes when you go out. I hope you cancel your plans for the day because you need to take care of yourself and eat a bowl of whatever you have at home that day. I hope that you finally get some sleep, because feeling sad and frustrated is okay. Not being hard on yourself for not getting that opportunity is even better. These are things beyond your control and it takes strength to accept them. All you need to be doing is to keep trying, no one will blame you for doing so.

Right now, I’m still lost but in reality, who isn’t? Don’t worry about your college applications because I already sorted those out and though I’m not a fortune teller, I can assure you that you will be just fine, everything will be alright, and your time will definitely come. When you feel exhausted from being repeatedly in pain, I’ll tell you that to be great is to go through so much more hurt than most people out there; then slowly by slowly, the restroom floor won’t be your comfort anymore. Life is hard but I’ll be the first one to ever say to you that you are here and your dreams will forever be valid; you are valid.

[janeyseymour]

Dangerous Desires- pt 5

chapter 1. chapter 2. chapter 3. chapter 4.

The night that Katherine had come home to live with Jane was like no other. Really, it was nothing out of the ordinary for the young lass. The family she had been placed with had enough and had turned to abuse. The father had grown annoyed with Katherine’s failure to be the perfect child they had wished for. She didn’t do what normal teenagers did. She was skittish and waited for the family to tell her what to do. She tried her hardest to be the perfect child, and it still wasn’t enough. One night, it had gone too far and the kind neighbor next door to them heard the commotion. When she saw Katherine attempting to run out of the house bruised, bloodied, and limping, she couldn’t let the girl disappear into the shadows with good conscience.

“Katherine?” The neighbor, an elderly woman named Margaret, called out into the darkness. Katherine would silently place a finger to her mouth and continue on with her journey. Or she would attempt to anyway. The slicing of the plate on her leg was excruciating.

“Katherine darling,” Margaret let out a breath of relief when she caught up with the teen. “Oh my god,” she mumbled as she looked the girl over. She was in worse shape than she had originally thought.

“Please just let me go,” Katherine pleaded. It wouldn’t work. The older woman would coerce the girl into her car and take her to the hospital, vowing to herself that she would never let another foster child step into that blasted household again.

Of course, the woman would not be allowed back with the girl as there was no familial relation, but she left her number with Katherine and made her promise to inform her that she was placed in a different household as well as to keep in contact about the healing of her injuries. (Katherine would call the woman once to tell her that her injuries healed and that she was supposedly going to be placed with a woman named Jane. She would thank her for her kindness, and never speak to the woman again.)

Katherine Howard had been in the hospital so many times that she was on a first name basis with most of the nurses. She was kind and courteous to each and every person who would enter her room. They were no strangers to the domestic abuse that the young teen had faced in the short time she had been alive, and most couldn’t believe that sweet and innocent Katherine could find herself in so many horrendous situations.

Kat’s social worker Abigail had briefly spoken to the girl about being placed in a different home before relaying the information that an emergency placement was on their way- a woman named Jane Seymour.

It would be approximately fifteen minutes before she heard muffled conversation outside her door.

“Before you go in and see her,” the teen could hear her social worker say. “I just wanted to talk to you about this girl and her situation.”

“Oh,” the newly arrived woman sighed. “Of course, yes.” She sounded quite put together, like most of the other foster parents who had arrived to take her into their care from the hospital.

“Katherine... She's come from a very hard life. It’s a shame really. But, this girl has been through a lot of homes. She doesn’t last places very long for differing reasons each time. Now Jane, I know we’ve worked together on cases before but-”

Her social worker, the woman who was supposed to be on her side, was warning this woman about her. She knew this woman would run for the hills just like every other first placement call to the hospital did. She was certain of it, or she was... until the woman who was supposedly going to take her to a different foster home spoke up.

“Abigail, you know that it doesn’t matter to me.” That was different. She had heard time and time again her social worker preparing the foster placement for her case, and almost every time she had heard that “she was just going to be too much for them” or “I don’t think we can handle that”. (Of course she was. Of course they couldn’t. How these people could become foster parents only to turn away a child in need was beyond Katherine. And how her social worker was mildly working against her when she should have been doing everything she could for the girl was even further beyond Katherine.)

“Jane,” the social worker continued on cautiously. “I know you-”

“Yes Abigail. You do know me. So you know that I am here to take this child into my

home. Whether it be for a night or the indefinite future, I will do my best to take care of her.”

“You’re positive you can handle this? She’s in pretty bad shape right now.”

The defiance in this woman’s voice was like no other as she stated determinedly, “Absolutely I can handle this. And I would advise you to stop opening her case like that. It’s not doing her any good. Let people make their own judgments of her. Perhaps she wouldn’t have gone through so many homes if you were a bit gentler with her case.” This woman couldn’t have been more different than the others.

Katherine heard a gentle knock, a knock different from her social worker’s. Abigail’s was slightly rough- tense. This one knock on the door had already conveyed a gentleness and kindness the teen didn’t know.

“Jane, are you sure?” Abigail’s voice rang out again.

“Stop trying to convince me otherwise Abigail. It’s never worked in the past, and each child that has come through my door that has left is not because I’ve decided I’ve had enough or they didn’t want to live with me anymore, or whatever these other foster parents do, but because they are placed back with their families. If I do remember correctly, isn’t that the entire point of fostering in the first place? To get the children reunited with their families?” Katherine could practically feel the condescending look this woman was clearly giving her social worker given her tone was rather pointed, and she hadn’t even met her yet.

“Of course, of course. Go on, knock again.”

Three gentle knocks rapped on the door again, and this time Kat responded with a meek, “Come in.”

A kind looking blonde woman walked into the room exuding elegance. Her eyes landed on the girl in bed, softening immediately.

“Hi Katherine,” she spoke softly. “I’m Jane. It’s lovely to meet you.” That was odd. Most people would have looked at her in this bed, bruised and bloodied (although the hospital had done what they could to get rid of most of the blood) would have turned to Abigail and told her they couldn’t do it. It “broke their hearts” too much.

“Hi,” the teen squeaked out. “Uhm, you too. Thank you for coming.”

“I’ll let you two get acquainted.” Abigail shot Jane a kind look before slipping out of the room.

Jane, who still stood at the door, asked, “Would you mind if I came closer?” Now that was really different. No one had ever given her an option before. They would simply come over and invade her space as if she wasn’t a trauma survivor.

Kat nodded, and with permission Jane moved into the chair next to her bed.

“So,” she began, just as gently. “The doctors are saying that they have to monitor you for just another hour to make sure you don’t have any reactions to the medicine before they can release you. And then, if you would like, you’re able to come home with me.”

Kat sat in silence for a few moments mulling over a few thoughts in her head. No other person to walk through those hospital doors or the social office doors had given her a choice before. In fact, she realized no other foster parent had even given Katherine this much time to think about it. She stayed silent for a few more minutes thinking about how no one else had ever treated her in such a kind manner or even looked at her with this much kindness in their eyes.

“Yes please,” Kat smiled shyly. “And thank you, of course.”

“Of course love. I’m more than happy to have you for as long as you’d like.”

“Why didn’t you give up on me right then? No one else wanted me. People have taken one look at me and turned away saying they couldn’t handle it, or me. Even my case-worker has worked against me and warned people about me. I heard her warning you,” the present-day Katherine sighed sadly before smiling slightly as she curled into her foster mother’s warmth. “But you... you were different.”

Jane sighed. She knew others had turned her sweet girl away, but it still broke her heart every time it was brought up. “Kat love, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I would never give up on any child, especially when that child is you.”

“I mean, I know that, but like... so many others have?”

“Let me tell you my side of the story,” Jane laughed quietly before diving in.

The night that Katherine had come home with Jane was like no other. The woman was used to being woken up in the middle of the night to run to a child’s rescue. Jane Seymour was at the top of the fostering list- mostly due to the fact that she had such successful stays that any child was considered lucky to be put into Jane’s custody. Most children who had been in Jane’s care at one point or another were still in contact with her, happy to tell her about their times back at home and to thank her for such kindness that not many other foster homes offered. But most of these children were brought back to the office for the blonde to gather. A one Miss Katherine Howard was still at the hospital and wouldn’t be released for at least another hour.

“It’s understandable if you can’t make it here until tomorrow morning but-”

Jane, who had already finished changing out of her pajamas and was slipping on her shoes, interrupted the social worker. “-I’m already heading out the door. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

The drive to the hospital was nerve wracking to say the least. What could have happened to this poor girl that she was still in the hospital? What kind of monster would cause such damage that this child was still in the hospital?

The woman parked her car and all but burst into the hospital, bombarding the front desk woman.

“Hi, my name is Jane Seymour. I’m here to meet with a social worker Abigail about taking Miss Katherine Howard into my custody once she’s been released?”

“Ah yes, Katherine,” the woman at the front desk softened her tone. “Sweet girl- poor thing has gone through so much in her young life. Follow me.”

“Jane, always nice to see you,” the social worker said cordially as she stuck out her hand for the blonde to shake.

“Abigail.” Jane took the hand. The two women would walk down the hospital halls quietly.

“Before you go in and see her,” the social worker looked at Jane warily.“I just wanted to talk to you about this girl and her situation.”

“Oh,” the newly arrived woman sighed. “Of course, yes.” What could there possibly be to talk about that couldn’t wait until she had met this girl.

“Katherine... She's come from a very hard life. It’s a shame really. But, this girl has been through a lot of homes. She doesn’t last places very long for differing reasons each time. Now Jane, I know we’ve worked together on cases before but-”

Jane cut her off rather hastily“Abigail, you know that it doesn’t matter to me.” From the way the woman at the front desk spoke of the teen behind the closed door, she couldn't fathom why the girl would bounce around from foster home to foster home.

“Jane,” the social worker continued on cautiously. “I know you-”

“Yes Abigail. You do know me. So you know that I am here to take this child into my

home. Whether it be for a night or the indefinite future, I will do my best to take care of her.”

“You’re positive you can handle this? She’s in pretty bad shape right now.”

“Absolutely I can handle this. And I would advise you to stop opening her case like that. It’s not doing her any good. Let people make their own judgments of her. Perhaps she wouldn’t have gone through so many homes if you were a bit gentler with her case.” How any case worker could speak of a child with this sort of connotation was beyond the woman. She noted silently to reach out to the offices later about Abigail's rather interesting take on this case.

Jane hesitated for a few moments before raising her hand to the door and knocking on it gently. Best to not scare the lass before she could even enter the room.

“Jane, are you sure?” Abigail’s voice rang out again.

“Stop trying to convince me otherwise Abigail,” Jane’s tone was rather annoyed at this point. “It’s never worked in the past, and each child that has come through my door that has left is not because I’ve decided I’ve had enough or they didn’t want to live with me anymore, or whatever these other foster parents do, but because they are placed back with their families. If I do remember correctly, isn’t that the entire point of fostering in the first place? To get the children reunited with their families?” She gave a pointed look to the social worker from behind her glasses.

The social worker cowered a bit at the look that Jane was giving her. It was quite mindblowing to see a woman of such elegance and poise give her such a dirty look. “Of course, of course. Go on, knock again.”

The blonde knocked again gently three times before she heard a rather mousy “Come in.”

Jane walked into the room as slowly as she could, making herself appear smaller in order to not frighten or startle the girl in the bed. Her eyes landed on the girl in bed, softening immediately.

“Hi Katherine,” she spoke softly. “I’m Jane. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Hi,” the teen squeaked out. “Uhm, you too. Thank you for coming.” She was shy and skittish- that was for sure, but her manners were already worlds above a few of the teenagers she had housed before (Of course they would all have impeccable manners by the time they left the Seymour household- even one night would fix the issue of no manners).

“I’ll let you two get acquainted.” Abigail shot Jane a kind look before slipping out of the room.

Jane, who still stood at the door, asked, “Would you mind if I came closer?” Rather than invading the girl’s personal space, she figured she should give the girl a choice. More often than not, this tactic had proven to be useful for the foster mother in making the children more comfortable and open to her.

Kat nodded, and with permission Jane moved into the chair next to her bed.

“So,” she began, just as gently as she possibly could. “The doctors are saying that they have to monitor you for just another hour to make sure you don’t have any reactions to the medicine before they can release you. And then, if you would like, you’re able to come home with me.” Jane silently prayed that Katherine would agree to come home with her, but she understood if the girl had her hesitations, especially considering the past she must’ve had if she had been through so many foster homes.

Kat sat in silence for a few moments seemingly mulling over a few thoughts in her head.

Jane’s gaze would never leave Katherine. She too would spend this time thinking. How could anyone look at this girl who was clearly so completely terrified and hurt- thinking that they simply couldn’t do the job of looking after her? Even though the girl had only spoken a few words to her, the blonde could already sense that this girl was different from what they had said about her.

“Yes please,” Kat smiled shyly. “And thank you, of course.”

‘What a sweet girl,’ Jane thought. “Of course love. I’m more than happy to have you for as long as you’d like.” And the woman meant what she said- she was more than happy to provide a safe and loving home to a girl who was so desperately in need of it.

The present-day Jane pressed a kiss to the girl’s hairline. “After so much heartache you must have gone through love, I knew that I had a chance to make a difference in your life and provide you with a safe place, even if just for a night.”

“You have made a difference. A good difference. The best difference,” Kat affirmed, finishing her tea.

The blonde had finished her tea a few minutes prior, and now that the teen was finished, she plucked the mugs up from the table. “Should I make us some more, or was that everything love?”

“I wouldn’t mind another cup, although do you think we could sit on the couch?”

“That sounds fine to me dear. Why don’t you head on in and make yourself comfortable? I’ll only be but a few moments,” the older of the two suggested as she made her way to the kettle once more.

“I’d rather just be with you tonight if that’s okay with you,” Kat admitted rather shyly as she followed her soon-to-be mother to the kettle and tucked herself into Jane’s side.

“That’s perfectly fine with me, my love.” The woman wrapped an arm around the teen tightly, a smile clear on her face as she looked at the girl before her with love in her eyes.

[physioblr]

How to get a 4.0 with ADHD-C and Dyscalculia

(Or, how to survive Uni as a disabled student)

Disclaimer: 

This is what has worked for me. I don’t claim that this will work for everyone. Not every ADHD brain is the same. Also other axis of privilege, time of diagnosis, and support are different between people. I have severe ADHD-C and was diagnosed as a young adult and had little support to help me deal with my symptoms until I met my partner. Psychiatrists aren’t trained to help you deal with the range of issues you will face. 

Do keep in mind as well that some professors are just ablest assholes. The idea that someone is kind, empathetic, or will always follow federal law just because they are in a profession that gives them a power differential is ridiculous. You may also run into professors that also take pride in their exam distributions looking like a statistician’s nightmare. Keep an eye out for the obvious dog whistles, and do research before registration when possible. If you end up in these situations, drop the class during the add/drop period if you can. If not, be prepared for your GPA to take a hit. 

I’m writing this from an American perspective, if you are in the UK/Europe I lived in Scotland for 5 years and would be happy to help if you have questions regarding the Equality Act 2010 and the UN convention of disability rights.

A. Lifestyle:

1. Sleep hygiene. Sleep = study retention.

I had trouble sleeping for most of my life. I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep or stay asleep at the appropriate times. A lot of people deal with this by being “night owls” — i.e. just accepting that our clocks are set later than neurotypicals’. Other people deal with this by sleeping on a biphasic or polyphasic sleep schedule. 

There is another option though. You can train yourself to go to sleep at the same time every night and wake up at the same time every morning. This might take a couple of weeks for your body to adjust. Here is how I did it:

Take your morning dose of medication about 30-40 minutes before you actually need to wake up. This allows medication to kick in. It’s similar to the trick of drinking a cup of coffee before taking a power nap. I have two alarms. One to take my medication, and the other to actually wake up. My medication alarms have a particular tone so that I don’t take my medication twice.

Wake up at the same time every day, including weekends. You can’t oversleep or your body won’t adjust. Do not press the snooze button. Get up right away to start your morning routine. The 5-10 minutes that your snooze gives you isn’t going to make you feel less tired. It will make your feel groggy, which is something called sleep inertia. Your body doesn’t get to complete a full sleep cycle, and it will donk you up.

Add going outside to your morning routine. Even if it’s the winter, or mostly dark. I have an adorable greyhound, and he has to go potty as soon as I wake up. In the very least open your blinds/curtains and open your windows to get some fresh air and morning light. Studies show that light effects our circadian rhythm. I find that even when it’s dark out though, going outside helps due to the cool morning air.

Keep a consistent morning routine. Do everything in order like you are going down a checklist of tasks. Make your bed as your final task. Don’t get back in your bed. Your bed is for sleep or sex only.

Go to bed at the same time every night, no matter what. Medication has likely worn off by the time you go to sleep, and contradictory to neurotypical belief, when your brain wanders it can make it harder to fall asleep. So can hyperfocusing. I find that reading can keep me up as I will hyperfocus, but listening to audiobooks doesn’t cause those problems. I turn off the lights, put a seep mask on, and play an audiobook with wireless headphones to help me get to sleep. I recommend reading/listening to something light like fantasy or science fiction.  Save thrillers, horror, and mystery books to listen to during the day.

2. Exercise.

I recommend exercising in the morning everyday, cardio and strength training. Even if you just do some cardio 10-15 minutes, it is still beneficial. Most exercise physiologists would recommend a rest day, but I’ve found that lighter days work better than complete rest days. You will see a noticeable difference in your hyperactivity symptoms. It’s not simply that it gets the fidgets out of your system, it is good for a hyperactive mind and helps with emotional dysregulation as well. It will help you sleep at night too.

Always speak to your doctor before you begin any exercise regimen, especially if you are taking 60+ mg of ADHD medication and have not exercised regularly on your medication previously.

3. Eating.

Eat at the same time everyday. Your body will tell you you’re hungry at those times. It’s also helpful to schedule your food around medication so that you don’t repress your natural appetite. Also, not that it needs to be said, but the brain uses up a lot of calories. You need to eat to retain what you learn.

4. Emotional Regulation.

This is one of the hardest parts of ADHD that no one ever talks about. You may not even know what this is, or that emotional dysregulation is a symptom of ADHD. It’s never mentioned in the DSM or ICD because emotions are hard (and expensive) to quantify. A lot of medical professionals have never even heard of it. If you want to read up on it, I suggest reading work by Dr. Russell A. Barkley. To give you the basics though, ADHD brains fail to self regulate emotions. We have emotional impulsivity. When we take in sensory information for conscious appraisal the pathway goes like this: stimulus —> thalamus —> cortex —> amygdala. Our frontal cortex is not the greatest at giving us context, or telling us to chill out, so our amygdala can be in the driver’s seat often. This aspect can make us really fun people, because it can make us get excited easily and enjoy life to the fullest. It can also cause us problems. For example, expressing anger at your boss or teacher (even if you are rightfully angry) might not be the best—diplomacy may give a better outcome. Our amygdala doesn’t know what is best for our future selves.

So, how does one regulate emotion when you’re brain doesn’t function like you want it? Try practicing mindfulness. And no, I’m not taking about attending to everything coming into your working memory or weird granola hippy garbage. When you are having an emotional response, check in with yourself. Are you feeling overstimulated? Are you feeling understimulated? Are you hungry, are you thirsty? Are you tired? Is your medication wearing off? Notice patterns, notice what triggers the emotion, write it down. Develop a proverbial toolbox that can help you when you are not regulating your emotions well. This toolbox is individual to you, and it may take some trial and error.

Keep in mind that trauma is different than emotional dysregulation, although our emotional dysregulation doesn’t exactly help. A lot of us ADHD brains have experienced severe emotional trauma via ableism and abuse from the school system, from teachers, or from parents. It never gets talked about because it’s usually caused by someone in a position of authority, and we are hardly ever given a voice to talk about our own experiences. Find someone you can trust to talk to about it. Find ways to self sooth in a healthy way when re-experiencing that trauma. You may have complex PTSD. It’s difficult for us to get help for complex PTSD because society doesn’t recognize that disabled people experience trauma in a very unique way. Keep in mind PTSD wasn’t even considered a disability under the ADA until 2008, one couldn’t get social security for PTSD until 2017, and the ADA didn’t exist until 1990. If you do seek out help though, expect push back from some medical professionals, have someone that will support you through the process, and do so when you will not be experiencing new trauma. Also, remember, fellow ADHD brains are here and we all love and support you.

B. Disability Services:

I’m not going to sugar coat this. We are barely recognized as human beings, so our rights are always under fire. Being disabled in this world is like walking through a mine field. Not every university or work environment is going to follow the ADA. The ADA became law in 1990, and the abled have been dragging their feet ever since. It’s difficult to enforce, complaining to the government often leads to nothing, and getting a lawyer is expensive. It’s also hard to prove discrimination in court. The ADA leaves a lot of room for improvement. Ableism is a systemic problem pretty much worldwide. I’m not trying to upset anyone, but you need to be prepared for what you are up against.

1. Keep the nature of your disability private.

Never ever ever tell a professor or TA the nature of your disability. Tell them you have a disability recognized under the ADA which is federal law, do not tell them what disability you have. There are lots of tips on tumblr that will tell you to inform professors that you have x disability, and that they will be empathetic and blah blah blah. Those uninformed tips are putting your legal rights, and your grade, in danger. There are so many biases professors can and do have when it comes to ADHD and dyscalculia. You are just asking to experience ableism if you divulge. Some professors don’t believe that ADHD is a disability, or they believe that vaccines cause ADHD, or that you just magically grow out of ADHD when you turn 18 etc.  It isn’t your job to deal with their delusions, their biases, or their ableism — that’s their therapists’ or HRs’ problem. You do not have to tell anyone but your university disability services. Under the ADA you have a legal right to privacy, but if you divulge to a professor you are waiving that right.

I also wouldn’t recommend telling other students the nature of your disability. Unless you are pretty sure the other student also has your disability, but even then internalized ableism is a thing. You never know who they are going to tell, if they are ableist, or how they feel about your accommodations. You never want an abled student crying to a professor because they think your accommodations are “unfair”. If a student wants to know what disability you have, and you want to tell them something because you have become acquaintances/friends but don’t want to tell them exactly, say that you have a neurodevelopmental disability and/or a learning disability.

2. Advocate for your legal accommodations.

Disability services are not going to hold your hand. They are not going to simply offer you all the accommodations that you are legally allowed or would make you successful. They deal with hundreds of other students and likely have accommodations they offer everyone, regardless of the type of disability you have. Request accommodations that actually put you on the same playing field as everyone else. Read the ADA, and understand what reasonable accommodations are.

If you have ADHD, I would recommend requesting extended time on exams and assignments, a private room to take exams in that is free of distraction, handouts/materials and textbooks in text-to-speech capable formats, the ability to take breaks in-class or exams, reduced course load, and the ability to record lectures for note-taking. You may be able to request a memory aid for ADHD, as a lot of ADHD brains have very low working memory (also called short term memory) capacity. Part of our attention difficulties come from low working memory capacity as sensory input goes through working memory before it is stored in long term memory. Anything stored in long term memory must be pulled back into working memory to be used and manipulated. Get a psychologist that specializes in ADHD adults to test your working memory capacity if needed.

If you have dyscalculia, I would recommend requesting a memory aid (used for formulas, constants, equations etc), the use of calculator on exams and assignments, extended time on exams and assignments, reduced course load, and a private room for exams.

3. Get accommodations implemented.

This is a different process than getting accommodations approved. My uni makes me contact professors at the start of the quarter in an ‘engagement process’. Due to re-experiencing trauma, I avoid setting up a meeting with professors and just email. Emailing prevents professors form cornering you or badgering you to divulge your disability, or subtly threatening you about your registration or degree, and puts everything in writing so there is a legal paper trail. 

Professors may try to get out of their legal obligations. I have had this happen multiple times. I’ve even had professors tell me that accommodations aren’t helpful for disabled students, or that they are not fair to abled students — I responded with “well it’s not fair that I was born with a disability and that you’re gatekeeping disabled people from getting an education”… they didn’t take that well. Do not try to argue with a professor about your disability rights or accommodations, it will only make you upset and they will likely accuse you of being hysterical or unstable. I’ve even had a professor say that I “threatened” them when I simply reminded them of their legal obligations under federal law as they were trying to not implement accommodations. This is why email is the best choice — you have time to respond professionally and having the receipts is important to keep you legally safe. If a professor is being belligerent about implementing accommodations, tell disability services what is going on (forward your emails) and remind them that accommodations must be implemented in a timely manner under the ADA. If disability services tries to make you argue with your professor, say that you do not feel comfortable doing so. If they push further, tell them you would rather not without an attorney or other representative present — mention you would rather the university handle it internally as you are concerned bringing an attorney or representative into an argument would escalate the situation which isn’t ideal for anyone.

I have a standard email that I send professors during the ‘engagement process’ that I edit slightly to reflect the course. It is professional, polite, and reminds them of their legal obligations as well as university policy. In it I also outline what my approved accommodations are and suggest how they should be implemented. 

4. Any paperwork you have to turn in, make sure to do it early. 

Create reminders on your calendar, write the dates in your bujo future log, whatever you need to do to get that paperwork in on time. Read everything slowly. These are legal documents. If you have a support system… ASK FOR HELP. Seriously, don’t be afraid to ask your support system for help with legal documents.

C. Studying:

1. Choose two places to study.

I don’t like studying in the library or in cafes. I know it’s not as aesthetic to study at home, but it prevents me from people watching and getting distracted. I have two designated study areas. One is my desk, the other is a cozy couch. Choose locations based on stimulation and comfort. My desk is fairly understimulating, while the couch is a bit more stimulation.

2. Learn to use your hyperfocus.

Most reading this probably know what you need to get in the hyperfocus zone. If you don’t, then note any patterns/conditions when it happens so you will have an easier time using the only ADHD super power you’ve got. When you are hyperfocusing on studying, ride the wave for as long as you can. However, make sure to set alarms to eat, go to the bathroom, stretch etc. Don’t let your hyperfocus keep you from taking care of yourself.

3. Create a study routine.

I know I keep blathering on about routines, but it helps. Treat studying like you would training as a professional athlete. When you have a study routine, you never have to decide to study. That decision is already made for you. When studying for exams, make a checklist of everything you need to cover. Ask the professor in advance about what is going to be covered on exams so that you can make an exam study plan early. If your professor is a garbage person and won’t tell you use the syllabus, textbook readings, labs, lecture slides, and snoop on the internet for past exams. Last minute learning is never a good idea. The human brain simply can’t do it, and your working memory capacity is too low to cram.

4. Accept that everything will take you longer, and that it’s okay.

It sucks, it really does. Those neurotypicals don’t know how lucky they are. It’s going to take you longer to read, to learn material, and to do basically anything in life. That’s okay, you do you. Don’t compare yourself to others, it will only cause you to feel bad about yourself. Guess what though, you are already a statistical anomaly. Only 32% of ADHD children graduate high school. Only 22% of adults with ADHD get into university. Only 5% of ADHD adults graduate from university. You are already punching those statistics in the face by existing. Seriously, do what you need to do and fuck anyone that has a problem with it. You’ve got this! 

5. Create the environment you need for your brain.

Sometimes I’m feeling really over stimulated and I need complete silence. Sometimes I feel at a sort of stimulation equilibrium and I listen to lofi study beats playlists. Sometimes I feel understimulated or I’m doing something really tedious, and I need to put on a tv show or a movie in the background. I keep a list of TV shows and movies that I can put on in such cases. Pick things that you won’t really watch and that you are familiar with. It usually helps me transition so that I can start the studying task. Listen to your body and do what works for you.

6. Don’t use the pomodoro technique.

The pomodoro technique was made for neurotypicals. ADHD brains have difficulty transitioning between tasks. It’s better to study for as long as you can maintain focus or hyperfocus than rely on a set 25 minutes. Again, be sure to eat and use the bathroom! You don’t want to be taken off your meds due to weight loss, and you don’t want to get a UTI.

D. Tools of the Trade:

1. iPad Pro & Apple Pencil v.s. Echo Livescribe Smart Pen

I used to use the echo livescribe smart pen but now I use an iPad. It’s cheaper in the long run and I don’t have to worry about running out of paper. Apple has way better customer support as well as iCloud backups, plus they can find your device if lost. Now I only use the echo livescribe pen when taking exams. My university lets me use one from the disability office so that I can make verbal notes when doing long answer exam questions and to keep track of my thoughts if I want to skip over a question and come back to it. I requested it as an accommodation, it had to be approved by committee. They actually thanked me for being so creative and trained the person in charge of accessible technology so that it could be used with other students. It’s almost like asking disabled students about what helps us and our experiences is a good thing!

2. Notability

I use the app Notability for lectures as it can record the lecture and has great organizational capabilities. I usually copy/paste slides into my notes so that I can write on them as well. I also use Notability to read textbooks. It’s got fairly good text-to-speech compatibility, so you can move around if you need to. 

3. Goodnotes 5

I use the Goodnotes 5 app for a digital bujo as well as for making mind maps. It’s got some great shape recognition functions. Although Notability has improved their shape functionality, it’s still not as great as Goodnotes 5.

4. iWork 

I also use pages on my iPad to make condensed study guides / study notes. It’s also really great for writing essays or making tables. I used to hand-write study notes, but it takes way longer.

4. Omnifocus

Omnifocus is great for breaking down big projects into smaller tasks or making quick checklists. It’s a bit of a pain to learn how to use, but once you do it’s completely worth it.

5. Quizlet Plus

Quizlet Plus is completely worth it. I use it a lot for figures or structures I have to memorize, I draw figures in Notability and take a screen shot or grab it from my textbook. It’s a really amazing flashcard app. Also, if you have your textbook on your device, you can copy/paste definitions right into quizlet.

6. Studybreak

Studybreak is a great app for iphone. It tells you how long you have been studying, nags you if you’ve touched your phone to scroll social media, and can suggest that you take a break. You can program it to set how long you want to study for, how long you want to take a break for etc. You can also ignore the break suggestion which is nice when one is hyperfocusing. It also keeps statistics on how long you have been studying and for which subjects.

[theroyalmile]

No Returns, No Exchanges

Disclaimer: I have debated for quite a while whether or not I should post this blog.  Social media is such a curated space for joy and happiness, it can feel oppressive at times.  There is so much life-changing positivity, from engagements to new jobs; and don’t get me wrong, that happiness is great to see.  But on the other hand, all of that positivity makes me feel like sharing any kind of negative information is attention-seeking and an immense overshare.  So let’s ask ourselves why I feel that way.  Why is happiness celebrated while the sad, sometimes harsh realities of life are thought to be oversharing?  More specifically, why do we feel like life-changing news can only be shared when it doesn’t make other people uncomfortable?  Our expressions of pain should not be regulated by the comfort levels of the people who surround us.  There comes a time when not sharing something begins to feel like hiding something, and hiding something turns to shame.  That is a feeling that I refuse to welcome into my life right now.  So here we go. 

It has been a while since I posted anything… a really long while.  It has been rare, these past few years, that I have even felt I had anything much to say let alone write anything, mostly because my life has been fairly normal, fairly unextraordinary, and I am rather blessed to be saying that during such a difficult time for so many. The few moments where I have felt like I had something to say have been fleeting, and after a good 2am word vomit on paper, I have filed these musings under “not to be seen by the light of day” which is probably for the best.

 Sometimes in the past I would find myself wishing I had something interesting going on in my life, something worthy of commentary… I don’t know, I was thinking like a cool hobby, an interesting skill, a kick-ass career, or a run in with Tom Hardy like I’d always dreamed of… something.  

 Well, to whoever is in charge, this is not what I meant, and I would like to request a refund. 

 Because as its final parting kick in the ass 2020 decided to gift me with breast cancer.  This isn’t a bad punch line, it’s just the truth.Let me give you a second to process that one.  I certainly needed a few.

 The thing is, a little itty bitty 3-centimeter tumor- that’s not something I can give back, as much as I might want to.  It’s not a too-large sweater you can return with a gift receipt, and it’s not a bad haircut you can complain about and get your money back (though it certainly will include one in a week or so!)

 A lot of you already know this story and frankly it’s not one I can tell with much finesse or humor, so I will keep it brief.  It was a dark and stormy 6pm when I found a lump in my breast in the shower back in November.  My initial thought was “you’re a crazy lady and a hypochondriac, let’s give it a few weeks since this is probably nothing.”   A few weeks, when my imaginary lump seemed to not actually be imaginary, I figured okay, it’s time to see my doctor, it’s probably nothing but we need to make sure.  I was in fact so unconcerned about it that I didn’t even see my regular doctor. I figured I just needed a medical professional to feel me up and let me know what to do next.  I didn’t even bother mentioning it to my parents. (For context of my laissez-faire, when I was 14 I found a lump in my breast that turned out, after little fanfare, to be a cyst which was unceremoniously drained on a cold metal table by a male doctor in a somewhat traumatizing but ultimately benign event.  That’s a longer story for later). 

 Cue a physical exam, confirming I was not crazy and there was a lump, but it was probably nothing; an utltrasound, confirming the lump was a shape that they did not like, but it was probably nothing; and an ultrasound guided biopsy, in which the probably nothing was sampled.  The week between Christmas and New Year’s was spent impatiently waiting for the news, increasingly feeling that my probably nothing was maybe, actually something.

 On December 28 around lunch time I received a phone call in the middle of the work day from the radiologist, who while very nice, was someone I had only met once while she shot a needle in and out of my boob.  She asked me how I was doing and then told me my test results were in.  “I’m sorry to say it’s not good news,” she said.

 And believe it or fucking not my immediate thought was “It’s not good news… it’s great news!” My brain supplied this as if on autopilot like some kind of 90s game show host, knowing fully well that I would not be so lucky because we are not living in a Brooklyn 99 episode.  It’s weird where your brain goes under duress.

 It was one of the most uncomfortable phone calls I have ever had, wherein I found myself trying to reassure a complete stranger that I was okay and I’m pretty sure I even said, “it is what it is.”  I was told a breast surgeon and oncologist from my provider network would be in contact and the call ended. Ultimately, I was diagnosed with Stage 1B Triple Negative Invasive Ductal and Lobular Carcinoma.  No returns, no exchanges.

 I am two months into my diagnosis, and 1/8 of my way through chemotherapy, the first part of a three series treatment (to be followed by surgery and then likely radiation.)  This Friday, after my second chemotherapy treatment, I will begin to lose my hair.  Anyone who knows me at all knows that the hair loss will be a pill likely far harder for me to swallow than the chemo itself.  And while the look may have worked for Demi Moore in GI Jane, I do not have her bone structure, nor her body.  I anticipate I will look more like the yellow peanut M&M, which while obviously the best M&M of the bunch, I think we can all agree is not a cute look for me.

 I do not say this to be melodramatic, I just say this because I am cynical and pragmatic by nature: I am not particularly surprised that I have cancer.  And this is for several reasons, some of which probably deserve a longer blog later.  To put it simply, I have been surrounded by cancer, both by choice and by cruel fate and happenstance, my entire life. 

 Cruel Fate and Happenstance: Having several relatives who have gone through cancer, and a mother with a BRCA 1 genetic mutation (which I had a 50% chance of inheriting, and in fact did) I always figured it would eventually happen to me.  The odds this condition dealt me? “About 13% of women in the general population will develop breast cancer sometime during their lives. By contrast, 55%–72% of women who inherit a harmful BRCA1 variant… will develop breast cancer by 70–80 years of age.”  That 55-72% is the kind of percentage you want winning the lottery, but the lottery this most certainly is not, and that much I understood. So, I always figured something like this would probably happen.  Did I think I would be 28? No. But I figure that just makes me an overachiever. 

 Choice: I volunteered at a cancer support non-profit from the time I was 12 to the time I was 22, and I wrote my college senior thesis in anthropology on women with ovarian cancer, the cancer that killed my aunt Lizzy when I was 4 years old.  I have likely read more books on cancer than your average newly diagnosed person, which I find to be both a blessing and a curse.  On one hand, I know some of what’s coming.  On the other hand, I know some of what’s coming.  Of course I don’t think any of these things gave me cancer but you might say I have been training for this my whole life.  I think this joke is far funnier than pretty much everyone I say it to except my immediate family, because the Tenney/Koss folk are very big on gallows humor, in which case this is hilarious.  Comedy is our family coping mechanism, and I am guilty of occasionally forgetting not everyone is wired like that.   

 So where are we right now? Taking it day by day.  Do I frequently find myself wallowing in self-pity these days? Sure.  But all the same I feel truly lucky.  This is a feeling I am trying to hold on to, because I think the other options might be truly unbearable.  Why? Well, I found this tumor.  I’m 28-years-old, which means I am hardly old enough for a regular mammogram and MRI.  My last yearly physical was a TeleHealth appointment (hence no actual physical) and I will be honest, I never made a habit of regularly checking myself like I should have.  But this tumor just presented itself casually during a shower.  Breast cancer, when caught early, is highly treatable and curable, and I am fairly confident, knock on wood, that is where this particular nightmare is headed.  The fact that it was caught early: pure luck. 

Another reason I feel lucky is for the most part, I feel like I actually have the stability to handle the oncoming struggle.  I have a large and wonderful support system, an incredible and supportive partner, a savings account with actual savings in it, and a job where I am cared about as a human.  If this had happened to me three years ago, almost none of these things would be true.  There will never be a good time to have cancer, but some times are apparently better than others.  Of course, the ongoing pandemic means I can’t have people go with me to chemo, or my wig fitting, or my surgery consultations, and alone a lot of this seems much more daunting and difficult than it might otherwise have been, but I am trying to make a habit of counting my blessings, and despite this terrible thing I’ve been given, my blessings are many.

 There isn’t a “right way” to have cancer, but I think there might be a “right way” for me.  I am a private person and I find sharing some of these details difficult and more than a little uncomfortable, but I am also intimately familiar with the healing nature of writing and comedy, so I am going to give it a shot.  

 And now that I think of it… the peanut M&M is going to make a really great Halloween costume. 

[weaverlings]

bone beneath the gums

Summary: All the divinity in Hornet's blood cannot spare her from the demands of her mortal shell.

Content warnings: gore, discussion of self-harm (not acted on), body horror, emetophobia, disordered eating, body image, detailed (if scientifically inaccurate) depiction of spider eating. There's also a doctor appointment.

This deals, once again, with some degree of hypothetical post-Silksong character development having already taken place, and Hornet and Lace are living together in Pharloom.

Also no, I don't know how hunting works. I also did a smidge of research for spice re: molting, but mostly I'm winging it. They're fantasy bug people.

Finally, Lace is French unfortunately :( Poor petite champignon.

alt link (because this is super long)

chapter 1

The stillness of the forest broke to allow Hornet through. A flash of silver, a blur of red, and she landed in the earth beside the trap she had laid.

A lillifly had met its end there, unable to free itself from the tight configuration of blades. Hornet knelt down and retrieved it. The metal sprang apart for her at the press of a switch. Except one keen edge, stuck in the lillfly's layers of wing. 

She tilted it considerately, then adjusted it in her grip to scratch her wrist. Her claws clicked against her palm as she caught herself and pushed aside the itch in her shell. 

Here, she had a puzzle. As long as she focused, and did not rush, having her hands full would help keep her mind clear of any pesky prickling. 

Her clawtips worked to loosen the trap, pinging against the lethal pieces as she eased them precisely apart, peeling back the brittle chitin of her prey, until at last the creature came free. Then she cut it open the rest of the way, cleaned and packaged it, and stowed it away with the others that she had claimed. 

She would need to take the trap back with her for maintenance, but she had enough others to check. The day went on, and she found enough food waiting for her. 

But, in her few idle moments, she still found herself scratching. 

The itch would not abate. If anything, it was spreading, winding deeper, gnawing at the underside of her carapace where she could not reach it, but felt compelled to try whenever her hands were empty. 

Even knowing better than to indulge this impulse did not spare her. It undercut knowledge and appealed to reflex. Had she been bitten without noticing, or cut herself on some thorn, full of poison unknown to her? 

Unlikely. But it was not a risk she could afford to ignore. She found a place to shelter, quickly cutting free a patch of bramble - a plant she knew to be harmless - and slipped into her makeshift den to check herself over. 

She was unharmed. Only the familiar tracery of scars marked her, many from old wounds before she'd learned how to bind properly, but enough which were more recent. These had been deeper, from the bite of steel pins and the lash of silk.

So she sat there, hidden away in humidity and vine, in this little den so like the places she used to sleep. She sat there, and she itched, and she frowned to herself. Her shell was unharmed, but something was amiss. 

She found the first sign of what on her wrist. It took much of her will to avoid dragging her claws over where she brushed, but when she simply pressed down, the chitin crinkled and twisted. It burned, and she gasped. 

She understood now. She swore quietly. And then she stood and stretched, and slipped away into the forest again. Whatever problem this posed, for now it was only that. She'd be better off completing her work while she could.

*

 Lace had had an eventful day herself.

"And it took three of us just to wrangle it! And I know she knows better than to compose so carelessly, but she somehow believed the melody would..."  

Hornet tried to listen. She stared at her plate, tapping the prongs of her fork against the meal's centerpiece - silverfish with a citrus sauce. A favorite of hers. Beside it was a thick slice of bread with greensap butter, and she had been given an extra raspberry fruitlet, as well. An award for being such a delight, according to Lace. 

"...and here I quote her, 'work itself out'? Truly!"

Hornet wanted to eat the fruit. She could suck out the juice and nibble on the skin; a habit of hers which had once been discouraged, the last time she'd had regular access to fruit. It was, according to Lace, absolutely adorable. Hornet doubted anyone else would think a spider draining fruit dry like a prey bug was anything but vaguely unsettling, but it meant no one would stop Hornet now. She could eat how she liked. 

She touched none of it. She reached for her wine, and took a sip. She held it in her mouth. The bitterness was worth savoring, but it was more that she found herself reluctant to swallow.

She set her glass back down, and stared at her plate. She scratched her wrist absently, catching herself with her thumbtip digging in. The slight pressure still burned. Hornet hissed under her breath.

"In the end, we moved it to- Hornet?" 

"Hm? I'm sorry, what was that?"

Lace tapped the rim of her wineglass. "I know you're hardly listening, darling. And you haven't touched your dinner, and now… What's the matter?" 

"I'm molting," Hornet answered, and then reconsidered. "Well, not presently. When I am, you will know. It will be difficult to miss." 

Lace hummed, and spread her fingers on one side of her plate. Her gloves were off; her thin, fungal flesh was clearly visible. Her curiosity was just as plain, in the lilt of her voice. "My. I've heard that can get messy." 

Hornet grimaced. "You've heard correctly." 

"I suppose you've done this before?"

"Indeed I have."

Lace tilted her head. "Would it be a personal question to ask how many times?"

"It would. But you are allowed this. Four, I believe." Hornet fangs drew together thoughtfully. "It's been some time." 

"You're worried." 

"Somewhat. I could not have been much younger than I am now when it happened last, but it has nonetheless been some time," Hornet observed. An eerily casual perspective on the warping of time, as only someone who had spent so long so strangely alone in it could have. 

She slid one hand toward the center of the table. "Still. It's only some mess."

"So you're worried, and you're trying to convince yourself it's nothing to worry about." Lace placed her hand over Hornet's. "Come now, dear." 

"It isn't anything to worry about," Hornet said. She flipped her hand over to grasp Lace's. "Truly. Some would say it's a cause for celebration. Though I'm beyond that age, if you'd like, you may put a little candle in my prey for the night."

Lace laughed. "And what a fine cake you would hunt, no doubt." She jabbed her fork forward, and gave it a fine flourish. "But don't think you can evade the point! It's nothing to be worried about, very well. But you are nonetheless worried." 

Hornet leaned back in her chair, although she kept her arm stretched to hold Lace's hand. She said only, "Such persistence." 

"You deserve nothing less."

Hornet squeezed Lace's hand once, and let go. "I really rather would let it pass. It's bound to happen." 

"Very well." Lace recognized the boundary she had reached. "What about dinner, then? Can you manage that?" 

"I think not. I find that I'm not hungry." Hornet hadn't realized how true that was until there was food in front of her. The smell didn't precisely turn her stomach, but perhaps tilted it, just enough to put her off her meal. "Something lighter, perhaps? I'm sorry." 

"Nothing to be sorry for." Lace stood, and took Hornet's plate to wrap. "We'll just save this, and perhaps you can have it tomorrow. But if not, we'll have silverfish another night." 

Hornet joined Lace at the counter. While Lace stored the leftovers, Hornet put some water on to boil. Though significantly less appealing, her absent appetite made oatmeal the best option. At least Lace waited for it to be ready with her, lingering at Hornet's side and pulling her hand down when she noticed Hornet scratching. 

"Ah." Hornet gave her a rueful smile. "Thank you." 

In answer, Lace reached around and scratched the spot herself, more gently. 

Hornet shuddered. The relief, even from such a small gesture, was relentless. "Enough- enough."

Lace stopped. Hornet folded Lace's hand in both of hers and held it, still and pressed to her chest, until the kettle shrieked for her to finish her preparations. 

They finished their different dinners together. 

 *

 It had been long ago, but such a difficult lesson that Hornet had never forgotten the learning. It was one of the clearer memories she had of her mother - Hornet's pain had become a blur, absent even when the rest of the scene revolved around it, but she remembered looking up into her mother's face through her own tears. The rare fear there, as the yet-unnamed heir to the Nest squirmed and sobbed in her little bed, too soft in her shell for even Herrah to be sure of touching her safely. 

Midwife had been called for. The two beasts had run the heir a bath, and Hornet remembered the silk they'd wrapped her in, soft enough to make any flower envious, more than she remembered the way her old shell had scraped the new. No matter how gentle her caretakers were, there had been no helping it.

Still, they got the molt off. She'd heard from Midwife that she'd cried herself to sleep, and Herrah nearly did, too. But the joy when she woke up, as bubbly as ever and with all her limbs in proper alignment, was too mirrored by Herrah. No doubt this was among the greatest happiness ever experienced in the Nest. Yet another gift their heir had brought. 

She had been such a happy baby, Midwife had said. 

 *

 A rustling in the brush pulled Hornet from her thoughts. She scolded herself. She knew better. If she was to be so easily distracted, she may as well just wait at home. 

She stopped scratching at her shoulder, and tightened both hands on her weapon, drawing focus as always from the chill of the metal. She had left her traps to rest for a few days now. Needle in hand, she hunted. 

She listened to the underbrush, picking through the rustling around her to find its components - the breeze in the canopy above, the shuffling of creatures nearby too small to be of interest. 

Her shell itched. She let it alone. Her hands stayed firm on her needle. The rustling changed. She heard, not footsteps, but the barest displacement of fern and foliage around a creature. 

The head of a nowlet poked free of the brush. Her needle flew. 

Action. Reaction.

She pierced the nowlet's heart as it was exposed, halfway from the bushes. She yanked the creature back to herself, and peeled it off of her weapon, the shell around the edges of the wound crunching quietly. 

Action, reaction. If only the world could always be so simple, so exhilarating. 

She cleaned and packaged her prey. Her hands moved steadily, not straying from her task, and not scratching. Not scratching. Not scratching, blast it. 

Cleaned, packaged, and into the sack the creature went, with the rest of her catch. 

What she had was more than sufficient, for her purposes. She examined the sky through the trees. Dusk was far enough off, and she could carry more if she wished. She ought not to waste time, nor ability, while she had it. 

Certainly not, she told herself, closing her hand around her wrist, on account of some discomfort.

But such thinking was dishonest. Suffering in bed for a week would have likely been better for her health. Soon enough she'd have no choice. Until then her impulse was to run, and she allowed herself this because the alternative was clawing at her carapace until chunks came away. 

Focusing on her work as a hunter - even when she had hardly slept for two nights, even when each meal grumbled and grouched in her gut, no matter how light - was preferable to true endurance. She was hunting, her catch was proof of that, but she was also hiding. Cowardice. Children molted. 

She had done it. She remembered it well: her mother's face, looking down on her. She remembered.  

She pulled her needle close, and rested her head against the handle. A moment to breathe, that was all. A moment to breathe, there in the undergrowth. Then she would move on. She tugged a watershell from its pocket, and took a long drink - longer than she meant to, long enough that she was left nearly breathless when she stopped up the shell again. 

She felt awful and uneven and she was being foolish. She was misaligned, or becoming so. Unable to even tell how thirsty she was. Were she to waste her mother's gift on a hunting accident, she'd never be forgiven, although she did not spare the thought to consider who would hold this grudge. 

Lace, perhaps, would bear some resentment. But that was different, not a matter of debt.  

And yet, Hornet had come to the woods to hunt. She fulfilled these duties as a compromise. It was all the restraint that she could bear. Some part of her demanded that she retreat from the city, into the woods. Make another little den and camp there, just until this was over. The creation of her shelter the other day had reminded her: once she had only felt safe in such places, where no one could reach her. 

Once. Not anymore. All she could do was hold tight to the present, and draw focus from this: she had somewhere to return to.

 *

 She slept no better that night. It was hard to tell what woke her. She slipped out from under the covers, and into the bathroom. 

She kept the lamps covered. The mirror showed her only the thinnest outline of herself. A silhouette, barely defined by shadow. The gleam of her eyes and the twitch of her fangs. She was movement more than shape. Movement was more real than her shape. Her shape was due to change any day now. 

Form was a fickle thing. Shape had its own whims. She had every reason to understand that. 

As she stood there, with one hand braced against the countertop, the other found her temple, and she finally caught up with herself. Her disorientation was not only lack of sleep. There was a pressure behind her eyes. A sensation between fog and bunched fabric. Not a headache, but the promise of one. 

Is this normal? Is this how it happens? Gods. I don't remember.

It had been too long. She tipped her head back, and exhaled. Cursed carapace, cursed that she should have it at all. What had she done to earn it? Her father had given up so much for his, fool that he'd been. And her mother. Her mother. 

Gods. She laughed, short and bitter. Right. Cursed kin .  

She truly wasn't feeling well. And that truly changed nothing. This would happen. She could not run from it. 

She cupped her hands under the sink and let the water pool in her hands. She splashed some first over her face, and then gathered more to take several cool gulps.

There was a knock on the door. "Ma petite araignée? You've been in there a while. Are you alright?"

Hornet glanced over her shoulder, her fangs clenched. She hadn't meant to wake Lace again tonight, but they were both light sleepers, to put it kindly.  

"I am. I will be out in a moment." Hornet urged, "Go back to sleep. There's no reason both of us shouldn't." 

"I'm sleeping just fine. You needn't worry about me, dear."

Hornet dried her face, and opened the door to see Lace's outline in the dark. She was sitting up in bed, her bright eyes far too alert for what should have been a restful hour. 

"That is not sleeping," Hornet told her.

"Of course not. I wanted to wait for you. Come here?" 

Something in Lace's words caught at Hornet. There was no sharpness in Lace's melodic voice, and that absence dragged in Hornet's thoughts like claws in silk. She moved mechanically, returning to bed herself and drawing the blankets back over her lap. But she did not lie down. She had little enough hope for sleep, in any case. She turned to Lace, instead. 

Lace reached out and took one of Hornet's hands. "You've been so quiet, Hornet. How are you feeling?" 

"Poorly."

"What can I do for you, darling?" Lace's thumb brushed over her knuckles.

"There is nothing for it but time." 

"Nonsense. There must be some way to make you more comfortable."

"Your determination is enough," Hornet assured her. "More than. I know I've posed quite an inconvenience." 

"You know that, do you?" 

"Is it not true?" 

"Not at all. I'd never dismiss your suffering as a mere inconvenience."

"Don't speak so soon. I think, starting tomorrow, I will need to stay home for, mm, several days?"

"Alright. Would you like me to stay with you?"

"That won't be necessary." 

Lace hmm ed. "I did not ask if it was necessary; I asked if you'd like me here."

"I might." Hornet sighed. "I don't wish to become an imposition, but I think it will be that or leave entirely. I'll be unable to go back and forth." 

Lace angled Hornet's face down to meet her eyes. "One moment! Leave - you mean - what do you mean, exactly? Where did you mean to go?" 

"Nowhere. Unless you wished otherwise. In the morning, when I had meant to discuss this." She turned away, tucked her knees to her chest, and laid her forehead onto them. At such an angle, she could feel the weight of her horns tugging on the rest of her. 

"Did you think I'd want to be rid of you?" Lace did not demand, nor accuse. She only asked. 

Hornet laid one arm over her head, curled tighter, spoke into herself. "No. No, I only thought it might be best."

"And why did you think that?" 

Hornet was silent. At length, she said, "I do not have an answer that would satisfy you. It was only the first option that came to mind. Or perhaps it felt safe, but-"

She shook her head. had to hold on. Hold tight to what was in front of her, and draw focus from it.  

She felt Lace's hand on her back. "If that's what you're worried about, let me watch over you! It doesn't bear thinking about, oh, my dear Hornet… all alone out there, in such a state..."

Hornet's laugh was short and humorless, emerging from the cocoon she'd made of her limbs. "It isn't necessary. I've been through worse. I'd only come back, shiny and new for you." 

"Oh. Oh, I see. You've been through worse."

Hornet turned her head. Now Lace's voice had its keen edge back.

Lace drew herself upright, shifting to sit on her knees and fold her arms over her chest. "You have. I know it. Alone, out there. Haven't you had enough of that?" She offered one hand out, palm raised dramatically. "Be... inconvenient , if it helps you. Impose." 

"What a regal suggestion." 

"Fine. If you so dislike that, then consider..." Lace laid a hand against Hornet's cheek. "I'd miss you terribly."

"Is that so? No." Hornet shook her head, but she held Lace's hand to her face. "That is, no, I know you mean what you say. But I warn you, I'll be poor company." 

Lace shifted, drawing Hornet's arms around her and the rest of her forward. Hornet let Lace pull her close. Hornet let her body do all it seemed good for now: understanding the way they fit together, her cheek settling improbably well on Lace's shoulder. Hornet could feel Lace's soft, cool flesh against her face, through the sleeve of Lace's nightgown. 

Lace asked, "Tell me. Tell me this, do you want to go?"

Hornet fixed her arms around Lace, clasping her hands again between and below Lace's shoulders. She confessed, to herself as well as Lace, "No."

It was more that she didn't know how to stay. Inaction was always the harder path. 

"Then I won't allow it," Lace promised. 

 *

 Hornet had been confined to her bed. That was fine. 

Everywhere else was too big and too bright, so bright it felt like there was no air to breathe, only light. She could never shake the feeling her father was watching when she stepped out of her room; she was sure he was, at least he could have done the courtesy of pretending otherwise. 

But she had been left alone in her room for the better part of a week now. Bugs molted alone, and she was one of her father's subjects, his daughter, a bug of Hallownest. That was fine . It was just how she wanted it to be. She wanted to be alone. 

She didn't remember the moment that her shell gave. It must have. 

She remembered being dragged to the royal tailor after, whining about it. And, well, she stood by that to this day. Their handling of fabric had been an insult, compared to the weavers' work. 

She remembered that when it was done, she wished she could do it all over again. At least if she molted, she could be alone. 

 *

 Morning came. Sunlight through the curtains had turned the room pale.

Something was wrong.

Hornet's heart crashed against her shell. Beating and beating. Ruthlessly alive. 

A warning. Too fast. 

Something was wrong. 

She untangled herself from Lace and shoved herself upright on the nearest surface, which was Lace's side. Lace jolted awake, coughing, the wind knocked out of her, but already reaching after Hornet.

She was halfway to the bathroom, and her body hated her for this turn of speed. Her sides were coming apart, not the shell, not what was meant to happen - as if the muscle itself was splitting.

What is wrong with me?

That painless sense of pressure had fulfilled its promise, built into a drumming that blurred her vision, into vertigo that pitched her stomach into her throat; she swallowed sour but it would not stay down. 

At least she made it to the toilet before she was sick. 

She knelt there even after it was done. Retching up nothing. Shuddering and tensing, trying to force herself to be still. She finally sat back on her legs, and slowly regained her breath. She laid her hands on the cold tile. Her own gasps echoed in her head, but she focused on the smooth, carefully-laid floor under her hands as a reminder - she was not being too loud , the noise would not draw any foe to her, to see her weakened state. 

She was in the bathroom. She was home. There was movement nearby, but she could recognize Lace's light tread from the other room. Coming closer. Closer. Hornet's breathing was so loud.  

She lifted her head and hissed. Her fangs rose in warning. Lace met the eyes of a frightened demigod beast, one prepared to bite. 

Lace knelt down next to Hornet, her nightdress fluttering against the tile. Her hands were clearly visible, and in them were two objects, a cup and a bowl. She held out the cup, and instructed, "Rinse." 

Hornet snatched it so quickly that water sloshed over the edges and drank. Lace offered the bowl up. She said, "Spit." 

Hornet did. She repeated the process, draining half the water that way, and then swallowed the rest. 

"Thank you," she rasped. That voice didn't sound like hers, but then, she didn't feel like herself. It sounded like a voice that belonged to whoever this was. 

"Hornet," Lace said. "What's the matter?"

"Something," Hornet answered, and as vague as that was, her desperation was so plain that Lace reached out to stroke Hornet's cheek, but she could not be soothed so readily. She shook her head. "I don't know. I don't - it's-"

She grasped at her side. Lace leaned in, "May I take a look?"

But Hornet withdrew.  "Limbs. New limbs." 

She could feel a knot in the chitin under her claws. The chitin wasn't right, wasn't fixed in place - it shifted under her touch like a blister, and beneath that, something. Something. She found a matching lump on the other side. "Arms? It must be. Unless something has gone wrong."

Lace's delicate voice only emphasized her insistence. "Has something gone wrong?" 

"I don't know ."  

She tried again to remember if this was at all normal. But it wasn't. None of it was. Time and distance had made this all strange to her. "Has it been too long? I don't know. I don't know what it did to me." 

She should have grown past any resentment by now. She would have thought that she had, long since. But it seemed that she was not done growing at all. 

If something had gone wrong, she might well be in danger. Was she doomed to lose yet more to Hallownest? Her hand was still clamped over her side, and her stern gaze was locked onto her hand, as if she could interrogate her own chitin. 

She had borne worse pain. If someone had threatened her in that moment, or Lace, or this kingdom where they had carved out shelter, then Hornet would raise her needle and fight. But there was no foe to stir her blood, and so she was stuck here on the floor of the bathroom, trembling. And it hurt. She hurt. There was no disguise or distraction she could claim. 

"Hornet," Lace whispered. "What do you need? Can you tell me, darling?"

"To tear it off," Hornet spat. Her grip tightened, and her own touch seared. "If something has gone wrong… Perhaps it's best to remove it, here and now." 

The pain become as thin and watery as the rest of her. Her head was all murk and depth, and her thoughts were swimming in it. If she could only pull free of herself. Just once. Resolve this by claw, as she had so many other problems, as that damnable itching itself seemed to demand.

Lace threaded her fingers with Hornet's, and pulled Hornet's hand into her lap. Lace promised, "I forbid it. I'll catch you in your own silk if you try." 

Hornet's mouth dropped open. Then she snorted. "I would not. I know that much, I know it would only- I don't know what to do."

She bent her head, the tip of one horn coming to rest on Lace's shoulder. Lace squeezed the hand she held, and laid her other palm over the horn. When Hornet did not pull away or protest, Lace stroked there. 

"I wish I knew, darling, but I don't. Would anyone?" 

"What? Who could possibly-"

Gods, this kingdom isn't dead. 

It was not, in fact, just her and Lace. This was beyond their power, and if it was truly a matter of the stasis warping her, then there might be nothing anyone could do. But certainly, there would be those better suited to handle something as crucial and as common as a troublesome molt.

All the tension coiling in her gut unwound viciously. Hornet's laughter was so sudden that it turned blunt, throbbing down her sides. It didn't last long. "Lace?"

Lace's answer came perfectly prim. "Yes?"

Perhaps this was larval behavior. Hornet was no infant, to seek soothing for every ache. Nor did she. She'd never done what she was about to do. "There are doctors in this kingdom, yes?" 

"Yes, of course."

Although it might have been easier for Hornet to invite Lace to duel her, Hornet asked, "Will you help me summon one?"

Lace's eyes lit. "Certainly, dear. Let's get you back to bed, shall we? And then I shall fetch someone at once."

"Alright." 

Lace helped her up, and then to lie down again, as promised. Lace even pulled the covers over her, and Hornet considered asking Lace to stay, in spite of the task Hornet herself had set out. Only for a moment, only enough that she would not have to stew in her thoughts for so long. 

But when Lace kissed her forehead and promised to be back as soon as she could, Hornet was in no position to argue, much less follow after. 

 *

 Lace's search took her across half the city. Not that it took her long to traverse, but she was acutely aware of every second. It would have been worse to sacrifice quality for speed, however, and she had a suspicion. Pursuing this line of questioning, speaking to several laypeople and doctors alike, she finally found the doctor that would suit Hornet's needs.

She let herself in without knocking, and closed the door firmly behind her. 

The bug behind the desk kept at their writing, but said, "You may as well have a seat, then. Is it an urgent matter?"

Lace stayed standing. "Quite. You are Iris, aren't you?"

"That's right." The doctor dotted their quill on the page, and looked up. Their eyes narrowed. They spun the quill in their clawtips. "And you - how do I know you?" 

"My name is Lace, and I-"

They stilled their quill abruptly and thrust the tip at her. "You are the princess' partner."

"Hornet's," Lace corrected, covering a coy smile with her hand in a way that made it more obvious. "Only I may call her otherwise."

"Quite a turn from the norm. But I suppose... Well. I'm afraid I must ask, since you've come to me: how is she?"

"In need of your services." Lace folded her arms. "She's molting. Which she tried to insist was merely inevitable, and I suppose it is, but she was ill this morning and has clearly been unwell."

"Normal? Well, I suppose she'd have to do that, same as anyone." They tapped the point of their quill on the blotter for a moment, then shoved what they'd been working on out of the way and claimed a fresh sheet of paper. "Ill in what manner?"

Lace huffed, "Isn't it better for you to just come and see? I'll bring you to her."

"I need to know what to expect."

"We can talk on the way, then. Come along."

The doctor frowned, but pushed away from their desk. "You're fortunate that I have no other appointments this morning. Nothing I cannot miss for her sake, at least."

Lace beamed. "I'd thought that might be the case. Let's be off! I have some questions for you, as well." 

"Naturally." 

Iris gathered their supplies, and the two of them set out.

chapter 2

In the Hive, Hornet had lost her ability to smell honey long ago. She was surrounded always. The noise was constant. 

So of course someone came to check on her regularly, until she indicated more icily than she should have that she would rather have been alone. She would apologize later, she told herself, but in truth she would forget.

And then she was alone, and it was what she had asked for. Alone in her shell that didn't fit right.

She had thought about the midwife and her mother. That had been - that was the past. Even then, that was the past. 

When her shell finally split, she thought of nothing. Not her mother, not Queen Vespa's kindness. Certainly not offering apologies.

At least there was plenty of honey to eat when she was done, and she stood a little taller than she had before. Her needle fit better in her hand. 

She would yet live up to her name.

 *

 Hornet heard the front door open. 

A voice she didn't know spoke. "...somewhere comfortable. Or at least have some blankets ready."

"Hmm. I see." Lace said, "Wait here. I'll go and get her."

So Lace had succeeded at her task. As expected. 

Hornet set down the cradle of thread she'd fidgeted into existence, and stood up. She was feeling - not better. But resting had given her some energy back, to combat her symptoms, to think through her headache. She stood and reclaimed her cloak, and then sealed her mask over her face. Lace opened the bedroom door to find Hornet waiting before the threshold.

"Hm, and I was going to provide you an escort. Never mind, I suppose." Lace leaned in to whisper, "How are you?"

Hornet answered in the same low tone. "I'd like to finish this, and we have yet to start. You trust this person?"

"Yes. Although we're only just acquainted." Lace took Hornet's hand, and kissed it quickly. "But your kin are quite skilled in many fields, after all. I found a weaver to tend to you."

Hornet drew back, and looked over Lace's shoulder. She said, louder than she'd meant to, "A weaver?" 

The weaver in question raised their head only to incline it politely. They had affixed a silver disc to their forehead on a strip of cloth, and it made them look even rounder than they already were. They unwound a stethoscope in their top set of hands, while setting various instruments on the coffee table with the other two. 

In spite of their preoccupation, they said, "It's been some time. Thank you again for what you did." 

"Ah. Yes. Think nothing of it," she said. 

"It was hardly nothing," they said mildly. "But neither is it why I'm here. And I suppose I have you at a disadvantage - my name is Iris, and Lace has told me you require some assistance."

Hornet nodded warily, but did not move otherwise. It was one thing to ask for help, another to receive it from a stranger, weaver or no, in her own home. A third thing altogether, to realize how close she would have to stand to this stranger, unarmed. As though she didn't have other means to defend herself, and certainly, certainly, it would not come to that. She risked letting her nerves get the better of her.

Lace squeezed Hornet's hand again. "Let's get this over with, yes?"

Hornet stepped forward. "Indeed." 

They joined the doctor by the coffee table. Lace took a seat on the lounge, but made sure to leave Hornet with another kiss on the cheek. Hornet returned the gesture swiftly. 

She had understood Lace's reasoning in finding a weaver. As the examination began, Hornet was grateful for the choice. 

The doctor asked her to remove her cloak, and she did, folding it carefully before setting it aside and standing stiffly, her arms crossed. Her body was an error from the weaver template - not her words, nor words she was meant to have heard, but they had always sounded right enough. She'd held onto them, even when she'd gone beyond minding. 

Still this true weaver made no remarks as to her physiology or nature. They only asked, "Lower your arms, please? Thank you."

She complied. They heard her heart and her breathing with their tools. The icy metal on her shell stung, but she held still. So still that they had to remind her to breathe at one point, in order to finish. Otherwise, they spoke only to question her as they worked, and she went over her symptoms in more detail. 

Iris frowned as they returned certain implements to their bag. "I see. You've eaten recently, haven't you?"

"I have had little appetite lately. But I have made sure to eat what I can."

"Oh- No, you see…" They snapped their bag shut, and asked gently, "It's been some time since you last molted, you said? Since Hallownest, I'd imagine?"

She nodded. "Indeed."

"Before molting, usually about a week or so, you aren't meant to eat. There are several theories as to why. Most of these resolve around considering... the magnitude of the process is such that even digestion is… Well, I won't bore you. That, however, is why you were sick." 

"That's all?" 

Something so simple. She wasn't sure whether to feel relief or shame, as if she had a choice but to feel both.

They answered, "I expect so. It would be a textbook case. However, you mentioned some other concerns… May I continue?" 

"Yes, you'd best."

They checked her sides next. Her breath quickened as they tested the shell around the protrusions. When they brushed the spots themselves, she grunted and stepped away. They straightened up again, and did not call her back. 

"Those are sore," she repeated inadequately, but they didn't seem to mind.

"No doubt." Iris only confirmed what Hornet had suspected. At least this time she was more distinctly relieved, when they said, "You'll be getting some new limbs soon, it seems. They're going to be very stiff. I think they're doing well, otherwise, but be gentle with them." 

The mention of her headache had caught their attention, as well. Until then, Iris had said nothing about her mask, but in order to carry on, they had to. 

"I'm afraid I'll have to ask to see your face." 

Silently, Hornet touched the back of her mask. She did not part the seam. Her face, they said. 

She'd have to shed it soon enough, anyhow. 

"Very well," she agreed, and lifted her mask away. "Lace, hold this for me."

Lace had already leaned forward to receive it. "Give it here, darling." 

Hornet passed it to her, and Lace held it to her chest in one arm. 

Hornet turned to the doctor. Their hands were careful on Hornet's face. Clinical and quick. She kept her eyes open and her own hands still, claws ready at her side. They brushed beside her eyes, and she tilted her head reflexively, enough to meet theirs. Whatever they saw there, they drew back and frowned, showing a flash of anxiety for the first time.

Then they jabbed her straight in the eye. She yelped, and snatched their wrist even as they were already withdrawing. Even with their hand gone, her head pulsed from the blow, down her neck, all the way to her sides. 

Lace hopped up from her perch again, but Hornet waved her away with her free hand. This, she was prepared to handle. 

"What do you think you're doing?" She demanded. She could feel their chitin straining in her grip, and the irritation under her own. She held on.

The doctor lifted their other hand in a disarming gesture. 

"I'm sorry. Did I catch you in the eye?" They asked, quiet, thoughtful. 

"You most certainly did!"  

They gave her a reassuring smile, one for an upset patient, and not a lost princess. She let go of their wrist, and they immediately took it into their own hand, stretching it out as they explained, "There isn't an eye there. Not yet." 

Hornet's hand flew to her face. She felt at her forehead, just above her eyes, even as the doctor said, "Wait-"

She pressed down sharply enough to draw a hiss from herself. There it was. Still deep under the shell, waiting in its new socket.

Iris winced sympathetically, and Hornet glared, drawing herself up as best she could, a certain lofty bearing that spoke of her birthright over her better judgment. 

They assured her, "Now, I can tell you: you should be fine. This may not be common, but it seems normal, for such new growth."

"Normal," echoed Hornet flatly.

"Thankfully. Unfortunately, that means all I can advise is rest. If you must take something for the pain, you may, but bear in mind-"

"There is a reason I may not eat, even if no one knows it."

They nodded. "That's right. I know this is a great deal to hear at once, but I think you ought to know..."

Iris turned to Lace. "Both of you. Allow me to give you some general information, what to watch out for from here and such. You ought to know such things."

Hornet agreed readily, her relief apparent. "That sounds wise. Yes. Please."

She wandered around to the other side of the coffee table, and sat down next to Lace. Lace took Hornet's hand, and when Hornet squeezed back, Lace dropped her head onto Hornet's shoulder. Lace whispered, "You're doing so well, dear."

Hornet squinted at her. By all metrics of performance Hornet could think of, she was… doing. If skill was a concern, then well would not have seemed like the correct word. But she knew Lace well enough, and if Lace was trying to mock her, Hornet could not have mistaken it. So she only said, "Perhaps." 

Iris coughed. "When you're ready?"

Hornet nodded. "Go on."

So Iris offered their medical expertise, anticipating as many questions as they could, and concluded, "You seem healthy enough - just stop eating until you're done, and then it is my professional and personal opinion that you'll require a feast." They nodded. "That's all, unless you have any questions."

There was only one, and Hornet decided she would only have this chance to ask it. "Why now?" 

They considered this.

"There's quite a bit we've yet to learn about this process," the doctor explained, "So I can't say for sure. Especially given your heritage and circumstances."

"Indeed," Hornet agreed drily. 

"However, I will say, we do know - or strongly suspect - that a bug must be secure in order to begin the process. One would think that the symptoms of delay would complicate that, but- That's not relevant to you, you aren't showing any of those."

"Then what is your point, praytell?" 

"From what we know of molting, you have to feel safe enough to do it. And from what we know of you, you wouldn't have, for quite some time." The weaver dropped their gaze. "So you'll pardon me, if this is too bold, but I'm glad to have needed to make this visit. I wish you a speedy recovery, of course."

Iris bowed to her, and nodded to Lace. They gathered their things, and Lace saw them out.

Hornet tucked her legs up onto the lounge, and slumped back. She hadn't felt the interaction draining her; it was only now that she registered a complete absence of energy. 

"I'm a fool." 

Lace tsked. "No, you're not. You didn't know. I didn't, either."

"You are a mushroom. I have enough spider in me for that."

"You asked." Lace tilted her head. "That's what you do when you have questions, isn't it? Or have I been dreadfully mistaken?" 

Hornet grunted, and buried her face in her elbow. As if her questions were ever answered so easily. And yet, what else had just happened? Asked and answered, whether she liked it or not. 

Lace's fingers brushed the tip of one horn. A considerate touch. Gentle. And yet it tangled in Hornet's nerves, thorny as they were. She tensed, and that sent a wave of fresh pain through her, and she raised her head enough to reveal one eye. She commanded, "Do not touch me." 

"Oh, I'm sorry, love."

Hornet saw Lace hop off of the armrest, where she'd come to rest, and wander into the bedroom. Hornet lowered her face again. She counted her breaths, trying to force her pulse into submission. 

Lace came back. Hornet did not look up at her, and Lace spoke before Hornet could make any inquiries of her own, "One question." 

"Ask it." 

"Aren't you cold like that?"

"I'm sorry?"

Hornet looked up, and Lace unfurled a quilt with a flourish, showing all the colors as if it were the proudest banner. 

"Oh. Not especially, but I'll take that."

Lace waved the quilt high, and let it settle over Hornet. Hornet grasped it and pulled it up to her chin, curling up tighter to make sure it was covering her. 

"Thank you." 

"You needed something, yes? And I know better than to let you brood." 

Hornet looked up at Lace and flicked her fangs in a rather rude gesture. Lace smiled at her.

Hornet scoffed. "I should have known, Lace. Such a simple thing, and I have done it before." 

 "Alright, two questions." 

"Yes, yes. Ask."

"Did anyone tell you what was happening? Did anyone ever talk to you about it, or did they simply mind you?" 

"That was three." Hornet thought, anyhow. "I don't know that they minded much." This time, consternation showed in her twitching chelicerae. "I hardly recall much, one way or the other."  

"Well, there you have it. Even if you were told, you were otherwise occupied."

"That is one way to put it."

"You were a child being shuffled around like a doll moved from one shelf to the other?" 

Hornet snorted. "True enough." 

"You're here now, and here you'll stay." 

Lace perched on the armrest again, and slid down onto the seat proper. Hornet lifted her head, and let herself down again in Lace's lap. Now, Lace stroked down one horn. 

'It is customary," Lace told Hornet, "to have a treat after one does well with the doctor."

"For children, yes? Though I think most children do better than I did."

"And many adults do worse. If you won't give yourself credit, then I shall," Lace proclaimed. "So what would you like?"

"It would hardly help anything."

Lace tilted her face into one hand. "I don't think you understand what a treat is."

"Perhaps not."

"Fortunate, then, that best way to learn is through experience!" Lace repeated, "What would you like?" 

Hornet teased the quilt in her clawtips, tearing open a seam and then binding it again. "There may be something I have been missing."

"Perfect! What is it?"

"Goodness, give me a moment to say!" Hornet huffed. "Those meat buns. From the dragonfly's stall." 

"Just over the way? Oh, certainly, certainly-"

"Wait. A feast, they said? Did they not?" She hit upon a rare streak of petulance, bitter humor dragged out of her by this mixture of exhaustion and comfort, lying on the lounge. "And it would be foolish of me to ask for advice and not heed it. So I want a dozen, when I can eat again." 

Lace's mouth twitched, and then settled into a smile. She giggled. "That can be arranged. But I won't help you eat them, remember that." 

Hornet turned onto her side, settling more comfortably in Lace's lap. "I shall." 

Now she had something to look forward to.

 *

 The infection had resurged. The stasis held Hallownest squirming in its grip, trapped but not yet dead. Unable to die. Her own mangling metal was less cruel.

And so this had come upon her once again. Likely it had been creeping up on her slowly, and only just reached her.

Shivering, wrapped in her cloak like a blanket. Until she shredded it off. Her flesh went not long after.

Days lost in a webbed-over den. 

Shades of color behind her clenched eyelids, blue and orange and beyond naming. The taste of blood in her throat.

And when she was done, she stood up.

 *

 Days lost. 

The ache had set in. A deep, bitter thing, pinning her. 

At least she had something to occupy herself. A comparative study of various kingdoms' weaponry. Entertaining, and simple enough. She read.

But these blades were often poorly balanced, unless the grip could be...

She marked her place in the book with one claw and scratched at her side, avoiding the knot in the chitin there. Lace caught her hand, anyway. Hornet mumbled something vaguely grateful and flipped the book open again.

But these blades were often poorly balanced, unless the grip could be...

Her new limbs. Better not to disturb them, to let them do the last of their growing. It was something to look forward to, greater than even the promised feast - what new tricks might she master with her needle and thread, with the number of arms a weaver ought to have? 

But these blades were often poorly balanced, unless the grip could be...

Except now, the mere thought of movement left her tired. This was a slow unraveling; various discomforts and pains picking her apart. She longed to strike back at these, to lash out at anything at all - perhaps movement would finally tear her open, when her body seemed to be stalling. But the doctor was clear about that, delays were not her concern. 

Yet if Hornet could marshal her will for even a moment, stand and grasp her needle now, recall her own power, then perhaps she could best this. This fraying form. This lapsed shape.

She did not. She could not. It was not within her power. She hadn't eaten in days. She had slept no better. For this to be what pushed her, what broke her, was infuriating. It was normal, perfectly so, painfully mundane. 

And here she was. She couldn't even focus well enough to read anymore, not really.

At least she was healthy enough to be bored.

"Shh," Lace soothed.

Hornet hadn't realized she'd made a sound. She wondered what it had been. Pitiable, no doubt. She said, "This will pass. I know."

"But that doesn't make it easier, does it?"

Hornet pressed her arm over her eyes. "I'd just rather it have passed already."

Just another memory, vague, nearly absent, the details blurred by their intensity. 

"What if I promise you it will be over soon?" Lace lilted.

Hornet groaned. "Then I shall grant you a swift death when I am able. Anyone else would not be so lucky." 

"What mercy. I'd have gutted anyone who tried to tell me that, were I in such a condition." 

"You have always been more ruthless."

"Why, thank you." 

Hornet laughed. Short and strained, but with unmistakable fondness. "You'd be right, in any case. I'm sure it will be soon."

Lace was silent, at first. And then she asked, "You'll need to be alone, won't you?"

"I believe so. Yes."

"Then you will tell me when you're ready. When you're done. Call for me."

Hornet only nodded. 

 *

 Days lost in a webbed-over den. 

Shivering, wrapped in her cloak like a blanket. Until she ripped it off. Her flesh went not long after.

Shades of color behind her eyes, blue and orange and beyond naming. The taste of blood in her throat.

 *

 Days lost, and not Hornet's alone. 

Hornet spent as much time as she could curled loosely in on herself, with her aching head in Lace's lap. She understood that this could not continue. 

All she wanted was a little warning. "When will you be resuming rehearsal?" 

Lace said, "Hmm? It isn't as if it's stopped." 

"Mmm. Let me know… Only let me know before you depart, then?"

"Before I… Oh. Oh, no." Lace hummed. "Did you think you'd be rid of me that easily?"

"I was not trying to be rid of you," Hornet answered frankly. "But you are busy. I know."

The train of thought had her already half-upright, pushing herself away to let Lace up. Lace merely scratched between Hornet's shoulders, and the sudden relief had her sprawled out again. Lace drew the motion out, from the base of Hornet's neck to the small of her back, and Hornet made a noise dangerously close to a whine. 

"I was teasing, sweetness." Lace assured her, "I gave them all the warning they need. They know I have more important matters to attend to." 

"Nonsense," Hornet muttered.

"What is? That I'd rather be here with you than anywhere else?" 

Lace said it so easily. Hornet sighed. "I'll be alright. I have no wish to keep you from your responsibilities."

"Of course you'll be alright. I'm here. I'm here," Lace repeated, "because I want to be. You couldn't keep me from anything I wanted, and right now, that is to give you what you want."

"And what if I did want to be alone?" It was ungracious, and Hornet knew it. 

"Then I would leave you," Lace said. "But I would come back if you changed your mind, or when you were ready. Do you want to be alone?"

"No." 

"Then I'm not moving, and neither are you." 

 *

 The taste of blood in her throat. Shivering. Wrapped in her cloak.

Tearing it off. No longer able to stand the passive sensation of fabric on flesh.

It wasn't long after that.

 *

 Hornet's heartbeat spiked. Again. Harder. This time was different. She could it rippling in her own blood, the membranes of her organs quivering from the force of it. 

She stiffened, and pushed herself out of Lace's arms.

"I. Need a moment."

She staggered forward, toward the bedroom, into the coffee table, the coffee table which had been their since before she had lived here and which she had always known was there and which she was now damaging, her claws digging into the wood for purchase as she fought to rise. 

Her nerves existed in duplicate, each sensation rang twice, blindingly. She was breaking. She was going to die. Her heart was beating as though a blade was bearing down on her. She was going to die, if, if she didn't-

Lace caught Hornet around her waist, and she cried out. Lace did not lift her gently, knowing better than to try, and in doing so prolong this. She moved with speed, instead, cradling Hornet against her chest. 

Hornet's claws rumpled Lace's puffed sleeve.

Lace asked, "Come on. The bathroom, yes?" 

Hornet nodded, her fangs clenched tight. Lace took her there, but after she crossed the threshold, Hornet convulsed. There was a crunch. Squelching. A stain spread down Lace's shirt, too pale for blood.

Hornet hissed, "Put me down!" 

"Let's just get you-"

Hornet thrashed. Unable to loosen her fist, she claimed the chunk of fabric she'd been clutching from Lace's sleeve. 

" Now! " 

Lace only lingered enough to make sure that Hornet was on her feet before she left. She closed the door behind her. 

Hornet was alone. 

"You will call me when you're ready, understand?" Lace called. 

Almost alone.

Hornet did not answer. She stood there, and she needed. She needed something. No. Somewhere. Her gaze swept the bathroom. Something, somewhere.

She reached the bathtub. She stood trembling, feeling herself, feeling how she would break, with her hands braced on the edge. She stepped into the tub, and even there, her focus was not something she could switch off. She could not merely permit herself to collapse. 

She lowered herself against the back of the tub. Her head dropped back against the porcelain, resting on her horns. She reached up, and set her clawtips against the sides of the tub. The silk came readily, thread after thread drawn over the top, sometimes dragging her body forward on the strands, until the top was shrouded over.

At last she lay down on her side, then rolled onto her stomach. Her heart was stuck pounding in her throat, the sensation of her own pulse thick enough to gag on. 

Her shell gave. Her nerves, too.

chapter 3

No pain. Just ripping. A sucking sensation as the too-tight carapace slid down the sides of her back. She fought to get her hands under her, pushing up into the convulsions, her fangs parted in a snarl she had no air for. They couldn't even part wholly, trapped in their old casing. 

Then she sucked in a mouthful of fluid.

Coughing, she fell into the side of the tub. Her limbs tensed, crackled, and ripped like damp paper. She kicked, and her legs came free. Her arms next. She could feel shredded strips of chitin trapped in and around her joints. But otherwise. Otherwise, she was free.

chapter 4

Hornet slid down to the floor of the tub. The tension went out of her limbs at last, those that held her. Now she had no strength to keep herself from collapsing, her head spun, her body was something soft and strange to her. 

She had so many nerves. She'd never really noticed how many nerves she'd had until that moment, and now nerves where there had been none before, too. 

Her new arms were loose, unfurled over and under her sides, but the muscles were so weak that they seemed jointless. She made the effort to stretch them, to turn onto her back.

It worked. She swore loudly. It left her trapped on her back, helpless and sick, eyes wide. 

Eyes and eyes and eyes. She brought her hand, one of those familiar to her, to her face. It was at once clear and shrouded in a milky fog. Her perception fought itself. 

She pressed her hand to her face and scrubbed away the film over the lenses. Then she could squeeze her eyes shut, all of them. 

She didn't know how long she lay there. Long enough for the remnants of fluid to grow sticky over the tub, and on her. 

Long enough - and with such a complete lack of awareness, of time passing, of lingering soreness, of anything at all - that she must have slept for some of it. She opened her eyes, hoping to prevent herself from drifting off again. 

Her head protested, ringing soundlessly. She closed her eyes again, but, no, pried them back open. She couldn't stay here. She could have stayed there, possibly for days, but she didn't want it. The fluid was drying onto her shell. 

She remembered: You will call me when you're ready…

Was Hornet ready? 

Did she need it? However great her discomfort, it was only that. She'd be fine soon enough. Better for her to be patient. There was no blood, nor missing limbs. None of the complications she'd been warned about. This was hardly a matter of life or death now, and apparently it never had been. 

And what might Lace think of what she saw? All this gore and trouble, and Hornet's own discarded shell, lying limp beside her. 

No. Even in this condition, Hornet dismissed that thought. Lace would think what she always seemed to think of Hornet, which was: handsome. 

Then what did she need? 

A list, some structure. Pull herself together. Determine the steps she must follow. First, she needed food.

Food, and. 

Gods she was so hungry.  

Now that she thought of it, she needed something to eat. She needed food. She dug the claws of one hand into her palm. They were too weak to make much of an impression. 

Food was but one thing. Surely there were more. There had to be more. But it was no use. Her hunger was sharper still, such that it had turned rapidly to nausea. She could not evade it. 

The steps would have been clear, before. A few days recovery. Take up her needle, tear free of her hideaway, prop herself up until she could find a slow enough crawler to eat.

But now was not then. She was not bound to a ruined kingdom. She was in an apartment in a thriving city.

And she was not alone. Lace.

She forced her eyes open again. She hadn't meant to close them. 

Enough of this.

"Lace?" She did not call out, as such. It was a question, in fact more to herself. To hear how the name sounded in her mouth, to test her resolve - could she handle being seen, right now? 

But Lace must have been waiting nearby. Perhaps right at the door, because there was an immediate answer in that melodic voice, "Yes, Hornet?"

So immediate, in fact, that Hornet hardly understood. She had no time to process, she simply hadn't expected-

There was a polite knock on the door. "Hornet? May I come in?"

"Lace-" Hornet caught her breath. She wasn't sure how she'd lost it. "Yes. Come in." 

Lace stepped inside, and smoothly closed the door behind her. Footsteps echoed in the small room, and then there was another tap, soft against the webbing over the tub. 

"Darling?"

Again only, "Yes… yes."

A gloved hand tore through the messy thatch of silk, and Lace leaned over the opening. 

Hornet looked up at Lace.  Lace looked down at Hornet. 

The old shell lay crumpled beside her, a warped, papery echo. Scraps of silk had fluttered down and stuck in the molting fluid, and her chitin was dull under the mess, fragile, tender. But all her eyes met Lace's with too much alertness. 

Lace's hand curled over the rim of the tub, her fingertips tapping silently. "You're not going anywhere any time soon, are you?" 

Hornet shook her head. 

"It's a good thing I brought this, then, isn't it?" Lace held up a limp lillifly, its blood still wet around a single puncture wound. Fresh in the extreme. 

Hornet pushed herself upright, so driven that she caught herself on both arms on one side. She shook with her own weight. Her fangs quivered; she was hungry enough that they dripped venom. She rasped, "Give it to me."

"It's all yours." Lace passed her the bug with a smile.  

Hornet snatched it. This left her with only her new arm to support herself, which didn't last long. She fell onto her back, but it didn't matter. She smothered the offering in silk, and dug in. 

She pumped it full of venom. The organs softened into nothing, the membrane of heart and gut dissolving into the blood. The smell was more divine than anything she, personally, could recall experiencing. She hissed into the creature's flesh, starving even with food in her face. When she pulled free, strands of melted viscera glistened on her fangs. She tipped the contents of the shell into her mouth, and drank. It was gone in too-few gulps. 

She hadn't even set the shell aside when Lace handed her another. She was panting from eating too fast to breathe, but that received the same treatment, and then a third went a little more slowly.

Lace cooed, "There now. That's better, I hope." 

"Yes," Hornet agreed. 

Lace peeled away more silk. "May I join you?"

"Yes… Oh." Hornet frowned. "You. You will certainly get dirty." 

"Oh, however will I live?" Lace lilted. She hopped into the tub and slid down beside Hornet in a single, graceful movement. "Can I hold you? I won't hurt you, will I?"

"I think not. I am. I should not be so fragile as. As that."

She gathered Hornet into her lap, heedless of the dark smudges this left on her bright outfit. "Poor dear. You must be exhausted." 

Hornet clutched at her, and shook her head. "It. It's done now. That's all. It's done. I'm alright."

"Mhm." Lace held Hornet as close as she dared. "You were screaming."

"Ah. I just," Hornet tried, "Just. I'm alright. I just need…"

"Tell me," Lace murmured, "Tell me what you need, dear, and you'll have it."

"Such a simple thing. Is it?"

"Of course. I just can't say no to you."

"You could." 

"Fine. I don't want to," Lace conceded. "Now, tell me what you need."

"Mm." Hornet sighed, "Sleep."

"Hornet." Lace sounded. Something. She certainly had a specific tone. Affronted, perhaps. 

It was hard for Hornet to distinguish much about Lace, beyond how soft she was. 

Lace pressed, "Is that all?"

"A bath. Perhaps."

She did feel disgusting. Now that she thought about it. Now that she was no longer so ravenous that she could think about it. There had been quite a lot of fluid. There still was, so. She could do to get rid of that. But such things would have to wait until after a long nap and, likely, yet more to eat. 

She added, "But it can wait until I get a chance to clean up in here."

"Hornet, beloved. Listen to me."

"Mmm? What is it? "

"I am entirely capable of cleaning out a bathtub. Would you like me to do so, my dear?" 

Hornet gave her a bemused look. "I will be capable, soon enough."

"Oh, ma petite araignée." Lace leaned down, and purred into Hornet's ear. "Would you like me to clean out the tub while you rest, so that you can have a warm, lovely bath?" 

Hornet opened her mouth, but Lace did not stop.

"And then I'll bring you some fresh pajamas? I've just brought in some laundry, you see, it's still warm from the sun..."

"I suppose…"

Lace put a finger to Hornet's fangs, and finished, "And then you can sleep as long as you'd like in those soft, clean sheets we have out there, waiting for you on our very own bed? Doesn't that sound simply delicious?"

Delicious did not begin to describe it, as Lace well knew. Hornet murmured, "You're an awful temptress."

Lace giggled, "I'd like to think I'm rather skilled."

"Doubtless," Hornet said solemnly. "I suppose. If it is not too much trouble." 

Lace turned her gaze up, and lifted her free arm as if to entreat, "Oh! Oh, what a troublemaker you are, to ask for even the meanest help after you've just kicked free of your own flesh!" And then that arm was around Hornet, too, and Lace's gaze, flawlessly serious, met Hornet's. "You're worth a little trouble, Hornet."

"Lace." An admonishment, although Hornet wasn't sure what for, and spoken into Lace's chest as she was held close. 

And Lace just had to ask, so innocently, "What's the matter?" 

"There's no cause for that," Hornet tried. 

"Why, yes, there is. Did I not just say? For you," Lace went on, as if she were musing, as if she hadn't already thought all of this out, "I'll bring you all the food you want. You can sleep in for a few days. Let the rest of them worry about the hunt. Just until your handsome shell hardens." 

"You're fawning on me," Hornet accused. 

"No," Lace assured her airly. "I'm giving you nearly the minimum of care that you deserve. But now that you mention it, I ought to fawn on you. Spoil you, perhaps."

"It isn't as if I could stop you."

"It isn't as if you would want to," Lace teased, and then, once again, grew serious. She invited, "Do you? Perhaps I misunderstood?"

"No. No, you didn't. I only expected…"

"Nothing?" 

"I suppose. Nothing."

"Then allow me to defy all your expectations," Lace sang. "To start, the promised bath, yes? Give me just a moment. Ah, and I suppose there's but one barrier to begin-"

"And as you so wisely observed. She is not going anywhere any time soon."

"We shall see. Can I lift you safely?" 

"Careful of the joints. Especially those new." 

Lace leaned forward and secured her arms under Hornet. She stood, balancing easily on the slick floor, and stepped out. Next to the tub was a pile of towels and old blankets, worn soft. When she had assembled them was a mystery, but one Hornet quickly forgot about, once Lace set her down again. 

Hornet curled up on her side among the bedding. The cold porcelain had done her no favors, and this, haphazard as it was, was like paradise. She secured an armful of blanket and buried her face in it. 

Lace hummed and fussed about the bathroom. There was the sound of running water, blending with her thoughts, turning them gently to fuzz, and then-

"Hornet? Are you awake?"

"Mm! Now! Yes." She scrambled at the bedding, pushing herself upright, gasping as her arm threatened to fold. 

Lace caught her shoulder. "Gently, gently."

"Right. Yes." Hornet flexed the arm gingerly. "I'm alright. Everything is still the right shape. It's alright." 

"I'm very glad to hear it," Lace said primly. "I'm sorry for waking you, but your bath is ready."

"Ah. Thank you." She felt the blankets shift as Lace knelt, and shook her head into them. "Wait. I must try…"

Hornet held out a hand. Lace took it, and allowed Hornet to brace against her.

Hornet stood. The simple motion came apart into several, more complex. Her balance was not where she expected it to be. Her arms stretched out, but the one Lace supported made it worse on that side, such that she tilted forward and grabbed Lace's waist with the lower arm to catch herself. Her chest heaved with exertion. Her legs quivered; she could feel her own weight on her limbs - they could bear her, but she could feel them threaten to bow where there was no joint. 

She stepped forward, and Lace stepped back. Lace let Hornet lean on her stepping into the tub, and helped her settle back into it - into the water this time. The warmth enveloped her. She inhaled sharply, and then measured the air on its way out. 

"Thank you," she said again. 

"Of course. Take your time."   

Hornet scrubbed herself lightly. The water soon turned murky around her, and each sweep of sponge was rougher than it should have felt. She persisted, and with each pass, she observed. Many of her scars were gone now, save for faint traces of the most heavily marred tissue. 

She soaked only enough to let the frayed fragments of shell soften, too, and pick them from her joints. The water had cooled around her by the time she finished. 

Lace gathered up the blankets and shoved them into a laundry bin, and finished some swift mending of her own, to have clothes ready for Hornet. Loose-fitting and well-worn, the nightshirt's side had been cut partway, from the sleeve down. It would easily accommodate all of Hornet's arms. 

She changed into it as soon as she was dry. The fabric was no longer warm from the sun, but it was clean, and so was she. 

Lace said, "Time for bed?"

"Past time." 

The blankets folded around Hornet like they had missed her. If the little nest Lace had arranged for her was like paradise, then this was the truth of it. Her bed, their bed. Whatever desperate chemical in her blood had kept her awake was faltering now. She was going to sleep. Not an action, an inevitability. 

Lace was by the window, drawing the curtains shut, banishing the light for an afternoon nap. She was, for a moment, a haloed silhouette. And then shadow restored her definition - her flouncing steps, the smile she wore, always a little cutting, the way Hornet loved, her own fondness for sharp things unerring.

Hornet reached out. Two hands one one side, unintentionally; one of them caught under the sheets. "Lace?" 

Lace was already coming over. She sat down, and pushed back the sheets just enough to take both offered hands. "Yes, darling? What is it?"

"What is it…" Hornet echoed. She'd had something in mind a moment ago. Watching Lace. Being here. A fluffed pillow under her head, and a comforter almost as plush over her. No matter her condition, she was cozy - it was as undeniable as it was unbelievable. 

And yet, selfishly, she wanted more. Right. That was what she'd thought.

She tugged on Lace's hands. All direction and no force. "Stay with me."

"Of course! Of course, I will. Anyone who tried to remove me would taste my pin." 

Hornet only repeated, "Stay…" She was falling asleep. Not an action, an inevitability. "I do not…" Her grip tightened. "Don't want to be alone." 

"Then," Lace said, as if it was simple, as if it was as plain as could be, as if it was anything like how the world worked, "I won't leave you."

The mattress shifted as Lace did, easing closer to gather Hornet into her arms again. 

 *

 And when she was done, she stood up.

 *

 Hornet stirred in the same place where she had fallen asleep. Lace was lying high on the pillows, so that Hornet rested against Lace's chest. Hornet shifted, nestling closer, encouraged by a hand rubbing her back.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty. How are you feeling?"  

Hornet only sighed, "Lace..."

"And none other." Lace repeated, "How are you?"

Hornet tipped her head back. She saw too much of the world. What had once been periphery now filled her vision; there was too much of the wall and ceiling above Lace. She would adjust, but for now, it made her head hurt, and she buried her face against the other woman again. There was nothing she could say.

"Mmm. Just a moment." 

Lace nudged away. Hornet tried to hold on, but Lace said,  "I'm only going to get you some water, dear."

That did not sound so terrible. Hornet nodded, and relaxed her grip. It made little difference. Lace could have freed herself easily.

Hornet maneuvered herself into a sitting position, hunched over, with her head in her hands. The old two. The top two.

No. She already had a headache. 

She accepted the water when Lace brought it, drained it, and dropped back onto the pillows. "Thank you." 

"You're quite welcome. To that, and more; I'll see to it." Lace set the cup aside, and drew the covers back up to Hornet's chin.

Hornet sighed. She needed Lace to understand. "No.... No. Thank you for staying."

Lace tilted her head into her hand. "I said I would." 

"Of course," Hornet murmured, with that specific kind of honesty brought on by exhaustion, "But you see, you are the first to do so." 

Lace's eyes narrowed. Her hand settled on her hip, although her pin was elsewhere, and those who hadn't stayed were yet farther, or dead. 

"There is no worthwhile vengeance," Hornet said quietly.

 Lace hummed. "I see. So instead I shall have your company all to myself. How lucky I am."

Hornet said nothing. How she had spoken was a testament to something rooted deeply in her, something from far beyond the soil she tread now. She couldn't even wish to dislodge it. She couldn't know this in herself. 

She could only lean into Lace, and that was answer enough. Because Lace was still here. Hornet wrapped her in a tangle of fragile arms. Lace held her back in the dark of their room, feeling Hornet's claws fix in her shirt. 

Hornet needed to sleep. She tried to, and perhaps that was the problem. But now she had recovered enough to be aware of how vulnerable she was, and whenever she drifted close enough to rest, she lost touch with her surroundings, their room, their bed, Lace's arms. 

Back on that old soil, too familiar with isolation to be lonely. Or back in the brightest-gilded places of Pharloom, high up and hunted, before they had done their work. In the Nest, before Hallownest had changed her and she'd called it Deepnest like the rest of them.  

Lace noticed, felt Hornet tense, felt her slow breathing turn short and sharp again. Knowing her arms were not enough, Lace sang. 

Not a song Hornet knew. Not words she needed to understand. Nothing of the past. All that mattered was, Lace would not let Hornet's sense sit empty. Lace sang in her delicate voice until Hornet finally relaxed.

 *

 Hornet was growing, now that her shell was soft enough for it. And this meant a great deal of soreness and stumbling, when she did try to move. 

Which was more often than she should have done, but otherwise she'd have done nothing but to curl up and wait, and when she grew stiff that was an issue best resolved by stretching anyhow. 

Ten repetitions, twisting at the waist. A simple exercise. Lace watched her, sprawled out on the bed, her satisfaction undisguised. 

Hornet flexed her claws. "Some might find a beast's nature frightening."

"Some people are cowards. Are you accusing me of cowardice, my love?"

"Never," Hornet answered solemnly. She dropped back into bed beside Lace. Already it hurt less than it had yesterday.

But it still hurt. She reached out. Her hands tightened; one around Lace's hand where it found hers and another on the same side, rumpling the sheets. She buried her face in the pillow, further muffling a faint groan.

Lace stroked a thumb over Hornet's knuckles. "What is it, dear?" 

"I would like some tea."

"Anything else?" 

"My needle."

"Far be it from me to stand between you and your needle. I can bring it. But-"

It wasn't as if Hornet was in any danger. "I know, I know. You are on watch, as such. Tea, then. Please."

Lace kissed the back of Hornet's head, and hopped out of bed. 

Hornet was left alone in their room to wait. 

Their room. Walls around her, not just dirt and moss, and within those walls, almost anything she could ask for. Tea to calm her tormented nerves, and food to nourish her. Their bed with its clean sheets. Even the book she'd abandoned in the living room, so that she wasn't bored while all she could do was curl up and wait. Lace had brought it to her.

She flicked through the pages with a clawtip. Here, within these walls, she had time to worry about being bored. Even her restlessness seemed like an indulgence. As much as she longed to move, she did not have to. 

She pressed her hand to the cover of the book. It took up more space there than it had a few days ago. Lace found Hornet testing the joint of her wrist with her thumb. 

As Lace set the tea down, Hornet asked, "Is this what it's like to have such soft flesh? How do you stand it?" 

"By being too fast to cut." 

"How bold. We ought to evaluate such a claim."

"I'll prove it to you soon enough." Lace pressed a mug into Hornet's hand. "But for now, drink your tea."

Hornet took a slow sip, and then held the mug close to her chest. The warmth spread through her shell. The smell was bitter, clarifying. Even inhaling the steam unwound some of the tension in her. She stared into it, watching the liquid settle again. 

"I am glad I stayed." 

Lace pressed a coy hand over her smile. "We're of a mind about that, then." 

"I suppose I should not be surprised." Hornet took another sip of tea, and frowned. "Why am I surprised?"

"You've never been appreciated. Poor thing." 

"When you put it like that, it only sounds pitiable." 

"It's sympathy, dear. Or it's meant to be, anyway." 

"I see. Well, enough of that."

"I can hardly switch it off, can I?" Lace tutted. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Hornet set down her mug, and opened her arms. All of them. "I love you. I'm glad that I do." 

 *

 Lace beckoned Hornet into the kitchen. "Come now, my love! You've waited long enough!"

There was a plate on the table. There was a foil-wrapped bundle on the plate. There was a flickering candle jammed into the food, through the foil. 

Hornet recognized the packaging, and the mark holding it shut - a lattice like a dragonfly's wing. She barked a laugh. "Truly?"

Lace bowed, and swept an arm out at the table. "Remember what I said about your treat?"

Hornet sat down. "I do. But it was hardly necessary."

"You're feeling better. That's certainly cause for celebration." Lace fluttered into the chair across from her, and instructed, "Blow out the candle, and be sure to make a wish when you do."

Hornet regarded this gift. She leaned forward on her elbows, with her lower arms folded over her stomach. 

"I have no interest in wishes," she said.

"Oh, no?"

"No. I have more than I had ever imagined having right here before me. I have no interest in more." Hornet considered, and then smiled faintly. "But if it pleases you. I have decided."

Lace nodded coyly.

Hornet blew out the candle. Then she stood and braced herself over the table on both pairs of arms, which brought her mostly to Lace's side. "Kiss me now. That is my wish."  

Lace threaded her fingers behind Hornet's neck, and pressed her mouth to Hornet's. Then she whispered, so close that Hornet's raised fangs brushed Lace when she spoke, "Your wish is meant to be a secret. But just for you, I'll break the rules."

She gave Hornet another quick kiss, and plucked the candle out as she pulled away. 

Hornet tore back the warm foil, and the scent of fried dough and meat was overpowering. Not that it sickened her, she just had half the bun in her watering mouth before she comprehended it. 

Her delighted exclamation was caught against the perfectly-seared pilplit inside. She forced herself to slow down and chew properly, to savor this. She needed to breathe, at least.

Lace plucked a bag from under the table, and withdrew another bun from the bag. She placed it in front of Hornet. "No, no, go on." Lace sighed, "Well, I suppose it wouldn't do for you to make yourself sick. But there's more than enough."

"Indeed, I would rather avoid that," Hornet said, once she'd finished. She eyed the bag Lace held. "Lace. How many of these did you buy, exactly?"

"One dozen," Lace announced proudly. "Don't worry, I ordered them in advance." 

Hornet laughed. "Why ?"

"Because you asked, ma petite araignée." 

"Ah. That I did," Hornet muttered. Then she jammed the rest of the first one into her mouth, finished it off, and said, "Fine then. I'll have another. And you have one. More, if you'd like."

"Hm! I seem to recall saying I wouldn't help you with this." 

"I am not asking for help. I am asking to share this with you." Hornet gestured with her bun, giving it her needlepoint's gravity. "If it is my celebration, then you will join." 

"Oh!" Lace laughed. "I couldn't possibly deny such an invitation." 

They ate until neither of them could anymore. 

chapter 5

Needle and pin joined. The clang of metal against metal resounded over the rooftop, echoed by the light song of Lace's laughter. 

Hornet leaped back. Her cloak flared around her as she caught herself on her lower hands. She held her needle in the top set, and with her balance so well-kept, she recovered and had Lace on the defensive in the same breath. 

Her needle came down overhand. "Ha!"  

"Oh!" Lace caught it on her own blade, and smiled up at her.  

Hornet only changed her grip, pulling her needle down in both right hands and slashing inward. The flat came to rest against Lace's side.  

Then Hornet smiled back. "Match."  

"Hmph. Only because you're having too much fun." 

"Nonetheless, the match is mine." 

Lace bowed, before twirling her pin into its scabbard. "So it is, ma petite araignée."  

They stood together, breathless as much with delight as from their bout. Lace laid a hand on Hornet's shoulder, and traced down to her upper arm. She squeezed appreciatively through Hornet's cloak.  

"Though I suppose you're not as little anymore."

"But I have no hope for another term of endearment?"

"No," Lace giggled. 

"I thought not." Hornet nodded wisely. "Then I'll have to claim another prize." 

She scooped Lace into her arms, one under her knees and one around her back. Lace threw her arms around Hornet's shoulders. "Oh my! What is it you have in mind?"

Hornet strode to the edge of the roof. The wind whipped cold and cutting, where they stood. Hornet pointed with her needle. A tower, on the other side of the courtyard.  

"There." Hornet mused, "I wonder who it's really a prize for… But I've been stuck in one place for too long. Would you like to fly with me?"  

"Oh, yes!" Lace tightened her hold, and stretched up to kiss Hornet's cheek. "Take me soaring!"  

That was all Hornet needed to hear. She cast her needle out, and it caught on the tower's window ledge. She yanked on the thread. It held firm.  

She jumped twice. First onto the parapet, and from there, into the air over the courtyard far below. 

For one instant they plummeted, and their hearts and stomachs did, too. Lace shrieked with laughter. 

Hornet grasped Lace close to her. She laughed, too, as the sensation of height turned to speed. She wound them both up on her thread, and then it was the very next instant that she caught the side of the open window in her free hand and swung them through. Her needle came free of the wood cleanly, and she pulled it in after them. 

Lace did not let go, or make any move to get down. She was still giggling. "Marvelous, oh! Marvelous! Can't we do that again?"

"Oh? Would you like that?"

"I most certainly would."

"Hmm. Perhaps I shouldn't, then. Perhaps it should be your prize, for next time. If you can win, that is." 

"Oh! Oh, you're dreadful!"  

"Am I, now?" 

"Yes! And I love you for it!"  

"How fortunate, then, that I love you, as well." 

Hornet sat back on the windowsill, with Lace in her lap, and tilted her head down for a kiss. Lace obliged her eagerly. They kissed, Lace caught up in all of Hornet's arms, and Hornet held in place by Lace's fingers threaded behind her head, and all Hornet wanted to do was stay.