#I’ve had brain fog the last two days and it was particularly bad today

[asimplearchivist]

I’m sorry I haven’t been very active lately, the hormones have been a bitch and I am just. so tired. Hitting the point in the semester where I’m feeling a little choked with some bigger assignments coming up so I’m getting overwhelmed with the thought of trying to get ahead of all of it so I can at least have on weekend to play Veilguard (but even then I know I’ll have to deal with that bs naggy little voice in the back of my head that always guilt trips me for doing nonproductive things when I could be doing other stuff—maybe I’ll take breaks by swapping laundry and dishes loads or cooking or smth, that might help). Anyway yeah I feel like shit but we keep on trucking as always👍🏻🥲

[storiesforallfandoms]

the day after ~ aaron tveit

word count: 1505

request?: yes!

“Aaron Tveit smut?”

“Can I get Aaron Tveit smut?”

description: after a night of rough sex, he decides to make her feel good before he has to go to work

pairing: aaron tveit x female!reader

warnings: swearing, smut (oral f receiving, mentions of sex from the night before)

masterlist (one, two)

You woke up to the sound of someone shuffling around your room. You rolled over - although your aching body protested against this action - to find the space in bed next to you was empty. You opened your eyes and found that the source of the noise was your boyfriend, Aaron, attempting to silently get ready for work. When he heard the bed make a subtle noise, he turned to see you looking up at him and smiled.

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t, don’t worry. Do you have to go already?”

Aaron nodded, a solemn look on his face. You pouted at him, which made him chuckle. “I know babe. I’d much rather spend the day in bed with you.”

“Not like I can really go anywhere after last night,” you muttered. You meant for it to be a comment to yourself, but when you saw the cocky smirk on Aaron’s face as he pulled his shirt over his head, you couldn’t help but feel a tingling sensation between your still sore legs.

“I really did a number on you, huh?” he said. You nodded. “Mind if I inspect the damages?”

You opened your mouth to question what he meant, but he moved before you could answer. He slowly pulled the blankets from under your chin, pulling it down just enough to expose your still naked breasts. In almost a perfect line from your jaw down your chest and over your breasts was a trail of hickies that Aaron had left. To say he had attacked your neck with kissing and sucking would’ve been an understatement. It was like he was making it his life mission to make you as his, while also railing you till you couldn’t walk the next day.

He smiled at his work as he ran a finger gently over the hickies. You shivered, feeling goosebumps rising where he had touched.

“You’re gonna have trouble covering those,” he commented.

“Who says I want to cover them?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He smirked as his hand trailed to your breast. He flicked one of your nipples with his finger, causing you to gasp. He seemed to like the response and began to play with your breasts, cupping them in both hands and kneading at them, occasionally pinching or flicking your nipples. You started to moan, your throat burning and feeling scratchy from the screaming the night before.

Aaron took one hand from your breast and used it to pull the blankets the rest of the way down. You were laid on your back and still completely naked, your legs slightly apart to give him a good view between your legs. Your pussy was still pink from the excessive abuse it got the night before, a fact Aaron looked at with pride.

“Maybe I should just call in sick today,” he said. “I wouldn’t mind spending the day like this with you.”

His hand started to trail towards your swollen clit. While you would normally encourage this, you pushed it away before he reached there.

“I don’t think I could physically handle you having the day off today,” you told him. “I’m still sore from last night, I think you’d break me if you tried to have sex with me today.”

Aaron’s smile dropped and he looked genuinely concerned. “Is it really that bad? I’m sorry, babe, I didn’t mean to go that hard last night.”

Trying to conceal your wince, you sat up so that you could reach Aaron’s level. You cupped his face and kissed him lightly, looking into his eyes. “Don’t actually worry about it, love. I’m okay, just a little sore. It happens! I’m not upset about it, and I’m not actually hurt. If anything, I would love to re-create the actions of last night when I’m no longer sore.”

He smirked and kissed you again. You felt his hands on your ass, giving it a squeeze for just a second, before they ran up your back. Gently, he lowered you down onto the bed again. He took your legs and positioned you in such a way that they were hanging off of the bed. He hovered over you for a moment, kissing all over your face before moving to kneel in front of you.

“Well, even so, I’d like to help you feel better,” he said. “If this hurts too much just tell me to stop.”

Before you could ask anything else, you felt his tongue against your clit. You gasped and moaned, arching your back involuntarily as he started with long strokes. A tingling sensation went through your entire body as you tried to grab for whatever was within reach. One hand gripped at the sheets beneath you as the other found its way to Aaron’s hair. You tightened your grip, holding him against you as you did so. He must’ve liked that, because he moaned against you, the vibrations radiating through your body.

The aching feeling you had felt since you woke up started to dull a bit. It was replaced with the cool feeling of Aaron’s tongue against you, a well needed cool down, as well as immense pleasure. Of course, being a singer, Aaron was particularly skilled with his tongue.

You felt the tip of it poking at your entrance as his strokes became quicker and shorter. Every time he teased you like this, your body twitched with pleasure. You wanted nothing more than to feel him inside of you, although you knew you should take some time to rest after the night the two of you had just shared.

You looked down to watch Aaron concentrating on his work. His hair was falling in front of his eyes, creating a sort of barrier between the two of you. You let go of the back of his head to run your hand through his hair, pushing it back so you could see him. He looked up at you, the breathtaking blue eyes capturing you the moment they locked on you. Despite his mouth not being visible, you could see the smile in his eyes as he looked at you. You tried to smile back through the whimpers that were escaping your lips.

“Oh,” you breathed, feeling his tongue teasing your entrance again. “Oh fuck, Aaron, that feels so good.”

He hummed in response, a new kind of pleasure building in your body.

Usually, you could take foreplay for such a long time without the fear of finishing. You loved when Aaron prepared you like this, and you loved to prepare him in return. But you were so lost in lust that you could feel the familiar pressure building within you. Your legs started to tense as you draped one of them over Aaron’s shoulder, trying to keep him as close as he could be.

“F-Fuck,” you moaned. “God, Aaron, I think I’m g-gonna c-cum!”

He pulled away from you just long enough to tell you, “Cum in my mouth baby” before pressing his tongue as far into your entrance as he could. His dirty words were enough to drive you over the edge and you threw your head back, screaming his name and tightly holding his hair as you moaned in pure ecstasy.

He continued to lick around for a while, lapping up your juices as you came down from your high. You were having a hard time trying to focus your eyes. When Aaron pulled away, you whimpered at the loss of contact.

You looked up at him through the fog of lust that clouded your vision. Seeing his mouth and chin slick with you was enough to turn you on again. You’d be ready for a morning quickie, if only the aching feeling between your legs hadn’t been trying to make a reappearance.

You sat up and pulled Aaron close by the loops of his belt. You started to fiddle with the button on his jeans, attempting to open it but struggling with your post-orgasm brain. Aaron chuckled and took hold of your hands, pulling them away.

“I have to go to work,” he told you.

“But don’t you want me to do the same to you?” you asked, furrowing your brows together in confusion.

Aaron smiled and cupped your chin. He kissed you lightly and passionately, the taste of you still lingering on his lips.

“I just wanted to make you feel better,” he said, “and I think I’ve successfully done that. If you’re not as sore when I’m finished, though, we can gladly do a second round of last night.”

You smiled back at him. “Oh, I think I’ll definitely feel better for that.”

Aaron kissed you again before getting his things together to leave. You laid back down on the bed, laying in a way that showed Aaron everything he was going to miss. He let his eyes linger over you for a moment, cursing under his breath before finally walking out the door.

[bluesfortheredj]

A spanner in the works.

Your forehead is resting on the cold, hard kitchen table and the warm breath passing through your open lips is making your face hotter than it already is; it’s an uncomfortable position but the thudding pain in your head is even worse than your current pose so it’s the lesser of two evils right now and there’s something comforting about being curled over while feeling so ill. The last time you looked at the clock it was something past 3 in the morning and you’d escaped the bedroom as quietly as possible so as to not wake Gwilym from his much needed sleep. You were hoping that the tablet you’d taken when you got to the kitchen would work it’s magic on your migraine and you’d be feeling fine for the day ahead but it was looking less likely with each passing second of excruciating pain.

“(Y/N)?” Gwil whispers groggily from the doorway, “are you alright?”

You’re unable to lift your head so you give him a thumbs down and a groan of pain to go along with it, then you hear him sigh sadly before feeling him take a seat next to you.

“Do you want anything?” he asks quietly as he places a hand on top of yours.

The response is a slow shake of your head from side to side on the hard wood and he grimaces at the thought of your head rolling about on the rough surface.

“Lift your head darling, please,” he encourages, squeezing your hand.

You groan again as you slowly lift it up, squinting into the dim light coming from the hallway, and he can see the large dark circles underneath your eyes that indicate it’s a particularly bad attack.

“Oh, (Y/N),” he pouts, “sweetheart, come to bed.”

“I can’t...” you begin, unable to finish your sentence.

“I’ve got you.”

He stands up then squats next to you and scoops you from the chair as you manage to move your arms up and around his neck, then he carries you gently up the stairs and back into the bedroom where he carefully places you down onto the mattress and rushes to turn off the landing light. You soon drift off to leave Gwil alone with his thoughts, and he opens up his bedside table drawer to lift out a small box that was meant to be the main focus of tomorrow. His eyes move from the burgundy velvet box over to your face which was etched with pain even in sleep and he flicks the lid open to check the ring is still there before shutting it quietly and placing it back in the drawer. He couldn’t help but feel a deep disappointment at your plans for the day being thrown into jeopardy by one of your migraine attacks, but he knew that you’d be feeling just as down about it even though you hadn’t a clue as to the real reason for your outing.

“Gwil?” you croak out in the darkness.

“Yes love?”

“I’m so sorry,” you apologise before drifting off again but seconds later.

Gwilym smiles to himself at your slurred sorry then leans over and kisses the side of your head delicately, “don’t be darling,” he whispers.

The next morning you wake to find an empty spot next to you in bed and your arm glides over the space lazily as you try to focus your thoughts and clear the fog that had gathered around your brain from last night’s painful interruption of sleep. When your eyes decide to finally sharpen for a brief moment you see the clock already reading 11am, and you pout sadly at the thought that you should be sipping coffee in central London with the love of your life instead of stuck in bed feeling like shit. As if he knows what you’re thinking, Gwil pops his head around the door and opens it fully when he sees that you’re now awake.

“Hey you,” he smiles, “how are you feeling?”

He perches himself on the edge of the bed as his fingers weave their way through your tangled hair, smoothing it and tucking it behind your ears as he goes, and you give him a weak smile back along with a shaky thumbs up.

“I’m sorry I’ve ruined our day,” you sigh, “I’ve been looking forward to it for weeks.”

Today was meant to be for the two of you to do things you hadn’t for a while; get a morning coffee, stroll the streets of London, go to the cinema, and then top it off with a meal at the beautiful restaurant Gwilym had taken you to on your first date. The romance of it all had you weak at the knees, and the dizzy heights of love must have been the cause of this particular migraine.

“It doesn’t matter,” he reassures, pausing his movements through your hair so he can stroke his thumb along your cheek, “we’ll do something tomorrow when you’re feeling a little better, yeah?”

“It won’t be as good as today was going to be though, will it?”

“Of course it will! I’ll be spending it with you, so what on earth makes you think it won’t be as good?”

“You’re too nice to me,” you blush, bringing a hand up to your face and covering your eyes shyly.

His lips turn up into a grin that shows off his pearly whites and you melt at the sight from behind your fingers, “I’ll make you some toast,” he says as he takes your hand away from your face and kisses the back of it.

You spend most of the day either laying in bed or laying on the sofa watching him type away at his laptop and staring at the screen intently, and by nightfall you’re just about feeling ready for a small outing the next day.

Gwilym’s still fast asleep when you wake earlier than usual thanks to the naps and rest you got the previous day, and you manage to shower and dress before he even opens an eye lid. He finds you downstairs on the sofa with a plate perched precariously on your lap as you watch the telly, and it takes you a moment to realise he’s there from how much concentration it’s taking you to listen to what’s going on and process it inside your still lagging brain.

“So where do you fancy going today then?” he asks when you finally turn to see him.

“I was thinking the Tate Britain, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to of course, I just don’t think I can handle coffee, a huge cinema screen, and any rich food today,” you laugh, grimacing a little as you place a hand on your stomach, “we’re a little delicate this morning.”

“Sounds perfect,” he sighs happily, “I’ll get ready.”

He bounds down the stairs less than an hour later, shoves some toast into his mouth, then drags you out to the car in an excited whirlwind and you’re left laughing at his enthusiasm as he helps you with your seatbelt. No words are uttered during the drive but the radio fills any silences and you both end up dancing to the same songs when you hit a spot of traffic which says more than any sentence could. Luckily there’s plenty of space to park outside the gallery on a Sunday and you’re soon clambering out of the car and making your way inside hand in hand. It’s exciting; you hadn’t been here in a long time, and it was the perfect remedy for your spoiled Saturday with a nice calm atmosphere where you could take your time wandering around the galleries. Your hands refuse to let go of one another as you make your way around the first part, and wherever he goes you do to until you move into the next space and a David Hockney catches your eye. Gwilym hangs around on the other side of this room, watching you carefully as he stays out of your eye line and simply enjoys the way you inspect every single detail inside the picture, then he taps his pocket to make sure the little box is still tucked away safely before he makes his way over to you.

“There you are!” you whisper excitedly as you link your arms around his nearest one to you and cuddle it close so you can rest your head on his coat, “if you had to pick one work of art from this room to have in our house, which would you choose?”

“Are we art thieves now?” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Maybe...” you reply with a cheeky grin.

“Well then… I’d better make it a good choice,” he hums, looking around the room and guiding you both to the lone bench in the middle, “right… okay… I’d go with Scylla over there.”

“A conversational piece, of course,” you nod, “something you can judge a person by when they say what they see in the image.”

“You know me too well.”

You shuffle closer to him on the bench and rest your head on his shoulder with a contented sigh, and the two of you stare at the wall of paintings in front of you in a blissful silence until you feel Gwil rooting around in the pocket of his coat, and he takes a quick glance around the room to make sure you’re both alone before he breaks the peacefulness with a deep breath.

“(Y/N)...” he says, almost nervously which makes you lift your head to see if he was okay, “I, uh… I have a question...”

“I’d steal R.B.K.” you grin as you nod towards the brightly coloured painting adjacent to the two of you, “it reminds me of waiting for you to come home when you’ve been away for a while; me, the blue figure staring out of the window as I wait for my love to return, signified quite aptly by the red heart.”

Gwil smiles as you drag your eyes away from the painting towards his face, and he can no longer keep the words inside, “will you marry me?” he blurts out, bringing his other hand in to view with the now open ring box clutched in his palm.

You flinch back from him but your arm stays linked with his and you glance from his hand to his face at least five times before opening and closing your mouth like a fish out of water as your brain tries to process what’s going on. Tears prick your eyes as you realise this beautiful man in front of you wants to actually spend the rest of his life with you, and a gasp finally makes its way up into your throat.

Gwilym looks at you anxiously as the seconds seems to drag on like minutes, “you don’t-”

“Yes!” you half laugh, half cry, “yes I will. Of course I will. Are you sure?”

He laughs as he too begins to tear up a little, “I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”

You shake your head in disbelief as he gets the ring out of the box, takes your hand, then slips the silver band down your finger until it lands safely at the base, and you’re both left staring in awe at the piece of jewellery that now sits where it’s meant to be. The gallery is still as quiet as when you walked in, not a soul around you as you soak in the sheer joy you’re both feeling, and you tilt your head up to kiss his waiting lips before cuddling into his side once more; the two of you now wearing the giddiest of grins.

Gwilym proposing. That’s it that’s the plot. I trust you to do it however you want! That’s my request, write how you wanna be proposed, make it with Gwil (and cute pls)

@painthatiusedto @winnielinleigh @queenslandlover-93 @excellentbecca @peachllobotomy @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @readinghorn @godohammers @timeandpixiedust @lv7867 @fuckyou-imspiderman @aynsleywalker @the-baby-bookworm @chlobo6 @drivenbybri

[k7l4d4]

Midnight Striga: Fairy Tail/Owl House Cross Fic Episode 2 Part 2

Hello all, here’s another chapter of Midnight Striga! Everybody Clap Your Hands!!!

“So Luz, what kind of magic are you gonna use to help deliver these potions?” King, ‘innocently’ asked.

Luz snorted. “Hopefully none. As much as I would love to just bulldoze through everyone who ends up bugging me, causing trouble is just going to lead to trouble. Plus, that potion I took may have gotten me energized, but it’s a quick fix.” She glanced down at King. “It gets me up to a point where I can function normally, but if I exert myself, like using magic, I’ll end up burning through a lot more energy than I should. I really don’t want to end up captured by some creeps because I lost my temper and got too tired to defend myself.” She carefully made sure not to mention the unspoken “again” of that statement.

King huffed, but didn’t try to push it. “Fine. But just to let you know, while Eda’s probably right about people not caring too much about you being human, you should expect some of her stupider customers to try and cheat you.” As magnanimous of a King as he was, King was nothing if not blunt and to the point with his subjects; he wasn’t going to have his latest vassal humiliated by fools stupid enough to underestimate her.

Luz snorted. “Pfft. If these guys are dumb enough to short change me, than they’ll have to answer to Eda. And, to make sure she knows just how much to shake down punks like that for, I’m planning to write up a list of who pays me what amount, so Eda can see for herself.” Luz finished, a satisfied smirk playing across her face.

King giggled mischievously. “Oh, the looks on their faces when Eda comes calling is gonna be priceless!” As Luz herself cracked up at the thought, the two friends laughed all the way into town, the slight gloom that had been hanging around them since leaving the Owl House all but gone.

As they finally approached the town, the two had markedly different reactions. Luz gave a wry grin, a mix of apprehension and eagerness crossing her face. King, on the other hand, just gave a tired grunt at the sight before him; in the end, the town was no different than any other day.

King turned a side-long glance at Luz. “You sure this’ll go alright? I wasn’t kidding about people here being willing to take advantage of you.”

Luz just grinned back. “Eh, nothing I haven’t had to deal with before.” King wanted to ask, but was prevented by the pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his torso, lifting him off the ground.

“OH MY TITAN YOU ARE SO ADORABLE!!!!” The Witchling who was responsible for King’s predicament squealed. The echoing squeals revealed that the Witchling in question was just one of a group. The lead Witchling, a girl with a pink tone to her skin, purple-fuchsia hair, and a third eye, was currently cooing over King, who was vigorously struggling to escape.

“And enough of that.” Having realized what was happening, Luz easily yanked King from the girl’s grip, plopping him on the ground.

“Hey!” The girl shouted, her group pulling up behind her. “Who do you think you are?!?”

Luz cocked an eyebrow, completely unimpressed by the almost stereotypical display. “I think I’m late for my deliveries,” she gestured to King, “and he’s the one guiding me around. Later.” Her piece said, Luz turned on her heel, swiftly walking away from the annoyance.

Said annoyance rapidly grew red in the face at the blatant dismissal. She reached out for the human, expecting to stop her. “Do you have any clue who I am?” Just as her hand touched Luz’s arm, her wrist was caught, painfully twisted to the side, all while Luz’s eyes stayed fixed to the map King was holding up to her, effortlessly dragging the witch along.

Luz idly responded to the girl, clearly not paying attention. “I don’t know, and I don’t particularly care. I’ve got a lot more important things than dealing with a kid on an ego trip.” As the girl started struggling against her grip, Luz released her, sending her sprawling into the dirt.

“My name is Boscha, remember it!” The girl, Boscha apparently, shouted. “And I’m not going to take that kind of disrespect from a human of all things!” With her declaration made, Boscha quickly cast a fireball, holding it aloft for a second before chucking it.

“Light-Make: Shield.” Not even turning to the oncoming threat, and utterly heedless to the rapidly growing muttering of the bystanders, Luz effortlessly blocked the, by her standards, mediocre fire spell launched her way.

Finally bothering to turn to the Witch, Luz gave her an unimpressed stare. “Cute. Try that again, and I’ll send you to your parents in a full body cast.” Still holding the shield in place, Luz dismissed it, and headed on her way.

Boscha couldn’t breathe. What just happened, it should’ve been impossible. That was one of her best fireballs, and a human of all things blocked it with magic! Light magic, the most basic magic of all times! How was that even a thing!? Humans can’t use magic, everyone knew that, so how did a weakling human block her flames? She didn’t understand. As her mind started to spin, Boscha’s legs grew weak, buckling under her as she fell to her knees. What just happened, it couldn’t be.

Even as her followers (friends, her brain whispered), shook her shoulder, she wouldn’t respond. Eventually, Skara decided enough was enough, and hoisted the other Witch over her shoulders, visibly exerting over the strain of lifting Boscha’s more athletic body. Boscha didn’t respond. What just happened, she needed to understand.

Utterly indifferent to the stir she had created, Luz carried on her way, following King’s instructions to navigate to the letter. As they worked their way down the list, Luz couldn’t help but feel progressively more and more annoyed. Every time the customer opened the door, she either got screamed at, an attempt to eat her, or both. And to add injury to insult, over eighty percent of the customers had short-changed her!!! Needless to say, Luz was in a pretty bad mood after a few hours of dealing with that.

Luz groaned aloud, utterly exhausted from the ordeal. “Ugh, this is so annoying!! Everyone, absolutely EVERYONE, on the list acted like I was diseased or a wild animal!! I get it, humans aren’t normal here, but did they have to act like I was some half-trained pet!?” She growled.

King hummed, hiding his own frustration. Any insult to his court was an insult against him, so of course he wouldn’t stand for it. “As much as I hate to say it, that probably isn’t that far off. When me and Eda said that humans aren’t thought too highly of here, we meant it. They treated you like a pet because, to a lot of people, you might as well be one. Humans aren’t just seen as weak, they’re also seen as pretty dumb too. Sorry you had to find out like that, though.” And he meant it; Luz was one of the few people who consistently treated him with respect (so far at least), so seeing her disrespected was seriously frustrating.

Luz shot him a crooked grin. “Eh, it’s no big deal. I’ll just have to put more effort into changing their minds than I thought. That’s all.” She hummed to herself, idly tuning out the memories of the last time she had been treated as a “pet.”

King gave his best shot at a grin. He didn’t really get Luz all that much, but if she was gonna try, the least her King could do was offer his support of a worthy goal, and the respect of the masses is always a worthy goal. “Still, we got one last person to check off the list before we head home; some guy called Adegast.”

Luz groaned. “Ugh! If this turns out like all the rest, I swear I am going to burn his house to the ground. Seriously, if this had been one of my novels, we’d have already been recruited by some kind of quest granting Wizard and drafted into a mission against the forces of evil. If this guy doesn’t at least treat us with some basic decency, I am going to lose it.” Luz was seriously done. Today just seemed to keep getting worse, and she was almost at her wits end.

As they arrived at the destination, King and Luz both pulled up short. Standing before them was, to put it bluntly, a fantasy-style castle you’d see in a fairy tale. Luz sent a sideways glance at King. “I’m guessing castles in Bonesburough are new to you too?” She tried to play it off, but her battle instinct was itching.

King gave a wary nod. “Yeah, that’s definitely new.”

Before they could continue, however, the doors of the castle opened on their own, a mystical-looking fog spilling out. Striding forth was, by all accounts, a stereotypical wizard, beard, staff, robes and all. Luz was instantly suspicious. “Hello travelers! Are you the ones sent to deliver to me my potions order?” His voice was deep, one could even call it wise sounding, but to Luz and King, it just sounded like trouble. A familiar bitterness built up in Luz’s throat.

Shaking her head, Luz brushed off her personal feelings, putting on her most pleasant expression, no reason to needlessly antagonize a customer, after all. “Hello sir, we’ve got the potions you ordered right here!” She held up the sack of potions, now heavily depleted compared to how it started, and tried hard to hold in her dislike of the situation. Her suspicions increased when the “wizard” closed in.

“Nonsense! Please, come inside, come inside! You two must have worked yourselves to the bone handling such dreadful deliveries.” Before they could protest, he hurriedly ushered them inside, revealing an opulent interior. “Please, make yourselves at home, I insist!”

“As nice as this all seems,” Luz began, hesitantly rubbing her arm, “We really do have to get going soon.”

“Adegast’s” eyes widened in apparent distress. “But young lady, you’ve only just arrived! Please, you and your companion simply must join me for some tea!” He gestured to his table, tea and scones already set out and ready. The alarm bells were ringing even LOUDER in Luz’s already wary mind.

“Luz, let’s go, this guy’s seriously creepy!” King fervently whispered.

“Trust me, I know.” Luz murmured back. “But if we offend him, Eda might permanently lose a customer.” And like hell was Luz going to sabotage her Land-lady’s business just because one of her clients gave her the willies.

As the two reluctantly sat down, Luz did her best to keep a pleasant look on her face. King allowed his concerns to ease as he dug into the scones, focusing on them over the eeriness of the situation. “Adegast” leaned forward. “I dare say, I never thought I’d see a true human before mine eyes. Pray tell, how did thou find thyself upon our fair Isles?”

While Luz was sure this guy was hamming it up way too much, she felt caution was better than full-blown paranoia, and decided to answer. “To be honest, an animal stole my book, and I followed it to here.” Her eyes caught sight of something; a small cart loaded with potions. “Do you run a potions business yourself?” The sinking feeling was getting stronger.

“Adegast” nodded, a pleased gleam in his eyes. “Indeed, I run a small stand of procurements for those in need.” The admission did nothing for Luz’s nerves; if anything, the pit in her gut grew deeper. “But enough about me, what about you, dear one?” It took a lot for Luz not to snap at the overly-familiar title. “I see something special in you…”

Luz recoiled. “Me!? Special!? Oh no, nonononono, you’ve definitely got the wrong girl.” She wasn’t bluffing, as experience had amply taught Luz that, personality aside, she was utterly ordinary as a person in terms of abilities, nothing exceptional about her beyond her own determination and stubbornness.

“Adegast’s” eyes shone with sparkles; Luz found it creepy. “But you are!! I believe you to be the one to complete the great quest!” 

Luz pulled up short at that. “A quest?”

“Indeed!” The self-seeming wizard stated. “You are the one who can retrieve the Celestial Staff, and vanquish the great evil plaguing these lands!! Look, I even have a map!” He revealed the map, and while it certainly looked old, all of Luz’s instincts were on edge. Still, she put on a cheerful face, hiding the bitterness building inside.

“I-I thank you for this quest, sir.” She stated as politely as she could. “As soon as I return to my master, I will inform her of this development.” With her piece said, she stood up, bowed, and dragged King out the door, “Adegast” waving them off behind her.

“Pfft. Chosen one. What a load, eh Luz?” King joked, clearly in disbelief of what the “wizard” was trying to pull. King froze at the look on Luz’s face; cold-blooded hate was etched across her face, almost stone-like in how still it was. “Luz?”

Luz’s face cleared, a look of tired despondency on her face. “Sorry King. I just… I just want to get home.” With that said, she and the demon made their way back to the Owl House, neither saying a world over what they had experienced.

As they crossed into the house, the two pulled up short. Before them, sprawled across the couch, utterly coated in trash and feathers, was a completely exhausted Eda, the snoring form of Hooty laid across her torso.

Luz’s face fell into a deadpan. “He got into the potion, didn’t he?”

Eda turned a weak glare her way. “No duh kid. This menace was ripping his way around the house for HOURS!!! I couldn’t even stop him, all I managed was to minimize and repair the damage, and wait for him to tire out. Say, why are you all looking so glum?”

King glanced at Luz, before speaking up. “One of the customers said she was some kind of chosen one, or something.”

Eda blinked, before cracking up in tired laughter. “A Chosen One!?!? Pleeeassseee don’t tell me you believe that kind of malarkey!?”

Her laughter stilled at the baleful glare Luz leveled at her. It cut deep, just how much pain was in it. Luz gave a grin, one filled with the kind of bitterness Eda usually only saw on herself after a run-in with Lily. “We’ve got a saying in the Human Realm: fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” With her piece said, Luz marched up the stairs, heedless of the concerned calls from behind her.

[kindofcashton]

𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕕  •  chapter 14  (Calum Hood AU)

THE BUZZING OF my phone woke me up the next morning.  I had no idea how it ended up in the room, the events of last night a jumbled up blur.  I remembered the bickering, the voicemail, then the crescendo of pent up feelings and repressed emotions when Calum’s lips touched mine.  

I attempted to roll over and check my phone, but a heavy arm was weighing me down.  Once again Calum and I were tangled up in his bed, him laying on his stomach and me on my side with his arm draped over my waist.  I didn’t want to wake him up, so very gently I shifted so I could reach for my phone.

A new message read “Loved waking up to your voicemail.  I’ve got plans tonight already, so how about a lunch date?”  Suppressing a sigh, I had no idea how to answer Nick.  The voicemail was a brash and ultimately stupid thing to do, but I needed to rub it in Calum’s face.  Now, though, in the cold light of day, I had no idea which boy I wanted to spend the day with.

Despite the euphoric night I had with Calum, the anger and hatred that spurned our actions was still there, just laying dormant.  I could feel how closed off my heart was, firmly refusing to open even slightly in fear I’d dive too deep into my feelings for Calum.  We were constantly hot and cold, and right now I needed stability and ease.  No matter how good it felt to be with him, he wasn’t good for me, and I was sure I wasn’t good for him.

Glancing over at him, I saw a strip of his exposed back from the lopsided blankets, swallowing a lump in my throat as I watched the muscles rise and fall with each gentle breath.  His curls were haphazard from all of my pulling on them last night, and although his face was turned away from me I could picture his lips perfectly.

Snapping my attention away from him, I bit my lip, recalling how our previous night together had ended  This time I would flip the script, because I was not going to let him walk out on me again.  Slowly, I pulled the covers off and realized I was practically naked when the cold air hit me.  I was only in panties, my dress in a heap on the floor.  For a second I was tempted to grab Calum’s discarded shirt, not wanting to put a tight dress back on.  But that would give him a certain satisfaction, and the last thing I wanted to do was make him think I was his.

So, with much reluctance, I padded across the floor to retrieve my dress and quickly pulled it up my body, not bothering with the zipper since it was almost definitely broken.  I heard Calum shift in the bed, and set my jaw.  I couldn’t bear to look back over at the bed where he was sleeping.  He looked far too innocent when he was asleep, and I knew it would hurt my heart to watch him in such a peaceful state.

Inhaling deeply, I squared my shoulders and breezed right by the bed towards the door, ignoring the fact that Calum was stirring awake as I fled into my room.  Wasting no time, I grabbed a change of clothes and bolted into the bathroom, locking the door behind me and falling against it with a sigh.  

A hot shower will do you good, Scar, I tried to convince myself, shedding my dress once again and stepping into the searing water.  With every massage of my hair I felt the stress and anxiety melt off of me and swirl down the drain, my brain clearing up after a night of intense fog.  By the time I stepped out and toweled off, I’d made up my mind: I was going to lunch with Nick.  I barely remembered the guy’s face, but knew it was what I needed to do.  I had to get Calum out of my head, and what better way to do that then with another guy?

As I retreated down the steps I ignored the voice in the back of my head telling me this was a bad idea.  Instead, I typed out an enthusiastic reply and hit send without even double-checking it.  It was like hooking up with Calum had totally rid me of all of my inhibitions and self-doubt, and now I was just doing what I wanted when I wanted to, no thoughts plaguing every decision.  

Michael and Luke still weren’t back yet, and it was just Hannah eating breakfast when I joined her in the kitchen.  She mumbled a greeting, completely unaware of the antics that had ensued two floors above her last night.  I poured myself some coffee and sat across from her, mindlessly chatting about whatever was in the magazine she was reading.

“Got any plans today?” I asked her as she flipped absently through the pages.  She was clearly hungover, with dark-ringed eyes and sallow skin.  Hannah’s hangover routine was always the same; drown herself in coffee and lemon water and stare at the TV for the whole day.  Once she’d watched an entire season of a baking competition after a particularly hard night of partying.  I had a feeling today would be another one of those.

“There’s a Chopped marathon all day,” she answered.  “And we’ve got enough lemons to last me the week.”

I nodded, finishing my coffee and leaning back.  “I’ve got a lunch date with that guy from the club.”  This peaked her interest, and Hannah looked up from the magazine.

“Really?  But what about...”  She trailed off, and I inwardly groaned.  I’d totally forgotten my confession to her about Calum, and really didn’t feel like dissecting it this morning.  I shook my head at her silent question..

“I thought I’d give the guy a chance.  Besides, he asked me, so.”  I left out the part about the voicemail, still slightly embarrassed at how irrationally I’d acted.  I was sure I’d divulge everything to Hannah eventually, like I always did, but neither of us seemed up for a deep chat at the moment.  

Nick said he’d pick me up at around noon, which didn’t give me much time to get ready.  Just as I was going back upstairs, I saw Calum coming down.  He looked like he’d just showered too, his hair glistening against his forehead.  Bracing myself for whatever harsh comment he had for me, I paused on the steps.  But once he reached me he just brushed right by, brown eyes not even giving me a second glance.

My lips parted, but out of relief or hurt I didn’t know.  Was I even surprised he was ignoring me?  It was routine for us at this point, and I didn’t have time to dwell on the implications.  So I just trudged up to my room and proceeded to get ready for my date.  Nick had mentioned strolling through the city and window-shopping after we grabbed some lunch, so I opted for simple jeans and a big denim jacket.  I appreciated the casual plan, not in the mood for anything fancier.  Maybe walking would help clear my head even more, especially if the arm of a tall, attractive guy was around my shoulders.

I glimpsed a car rolling up outside the window, and didn’t say goodbye before I left.  I didn’t want to deal with Nick coming to the door all gentleman-like, and I also didn’t want to face Calum.  Let him think what he wanted about where I was going; I hoped the possibilities killed him.

Nick was surprised when I got in the passenger seat, his smile breathless and his blue eyes warm.  “Wasting no time, eh?”

I clicked my seat belt and shot him a smile, hoping my face hid the thoughts brewing within.  “I guess I’m just excited.  And a little relieved, to be honest.  That voicemail was pretty humiliating.”

“No way, I loved it.  I dig it when girls make the first move.”  He pulled away from the curb and I leaned back against the headrest.

“So what are you doing later?”  I hadn’t thought about the words before they tumbled from my mouth, and blushed.  “Sorry if that’s, like, invasive.  You definitely don’t owe me an explanation.”

His smile was easy and relaxed my tense mood.  “No, it’s cool.  I would’ve loved to have dinner but I’m grabbing drinks with my dad.  He’s only in town a few days, and he thinks we really need some father-son bonding or something.”

So he’s got a stable relationship with his father, I thought, thinking of Calum’s estranged family.  Just as the thought crossed my mind I bit my tongue, angry at myself for even going there.  What’s with the comparison?  

I attempted to pay attention as Nick explained where we were eating lunch.  “You like pizza, right?”

I rolled my eyes and laughed.  “What am I, an alien?  Of course I do.”

“Great, well a family friend owns this amazing little shop right in the city and they’ve got the best pies in the whole world.  It’d be a sin to go anywhere else.”

“My friends are always ordering pizza,” I told him, thinking of Michael and feeling my heart squeeze.  Were we even friends?  I liked to think we were, but after learning how Ashton felt I wasn’t so sure.  And the fact that he and Luke had been AWOL for the past few days was not comforting.

“Well tell them to start getting it here, it’ll totally change their life.”  He parked the car and we started walking down the busy sidewalk, the city buzzing with activity today.  I liked a simple stroll through town, and walking hand in hand with Nick felt nice.  He pointed out a few of his other favorite places, a small bar and a vintage music shop.  I told him vague stories about school but didn’t feel pressured by him to say more.  So far this date was incredibly easy, and I was absolutely thrilled.

The pizza shop was small with only a few tables, but the smell alone had me intoxicated.  We joked with the owner who asked me why I would date a chump like Nick, and I laughed as he pulled me into his chest.  The pizza was warm and flavorful and totally worth the wait since it was the lunchtime rush.  As I bit into a cheesy slice I remembered the flavor of the grilled cheese Calum had helped me make, and found myself preferring that.

Again, Scarlett, really?  I frowned, pushing the pizza away as I felt sick to my stomach.  What more was I going to compare between the two?  That Nick’s hand was nice to hold but I’d rather have Calum’s on my skin?  That while Nick’s blue eyes were gorgeous I preferred a certain shade of brown?  I’d spent all morning telling myself to forget about Calum and here I was ticking off all of his boxes.  Why would I want to be with him, a moody, sarcastic jerk, when I had Nick right in front of me, a sweet, friendly flirt?

I must have hid my inner turmoil well because Nick didn’t question my sudden silence.  We finished lunch and headed back out, popping into various shops and browsing through stores.  We must have walked the entire city, lost in idle conversation and the pleasantries of window-shopping.  I joked about our risque activities in the dark of the club last night, and Nick offered to do them again.

His cheeky expression made me chuckle, and we paused beside his car as the date wound to a close.  “I wouldn’t be averse,” I replied coyly.  “Although you’re a terrible dancer.”

He grinned as he opened the passenger door for me.  “Only for you, baby.”  I laughed as I climbed in, but once again the pesky thoughts returned.  Did I enjoy dancing with Nick more than fooling around with Calum?  How is it fair for me to be thinking about another guy on our date?  What was supposed to be a relaxed lunch date had spiraled into a comparison of the guy I should be with and the guy I seemed to always end up with.  No matter how sweet Nick was he’d never pull me in like Calum, and last night proved that.

I barely registered that we were back home when Nick slowed the car to a stop.  Blinking rapidly to take in my surroundings, I turned to see him giving me a sheepish smile.

“So...I take it we’ll be going out again?”  His voice was nervous in an adorable way.  I sighed, and leaned forward to kiss him.  He seemed pleased at my up front action, and slid his hand to cradle my neck as our lips molded together.  I tried my hardest to ignore how different his lips felt, how foreign his hands were.  I just melted deeper into him, probably giving him the wrong idea.  And then I pulled back, told him to text me with a sly wink, and practically ran back into the house to get away from the suffocating emotions whirling around my brain.

I thought I’d escaped the suffocating feeling, but I knew something was off the minute I set foot inside.  No one was outwardly yelling like I always seemed to walk into, but there was definite tension.  Panic that Calum had told Hannah about what we did coursed through me, but when I glimpsed Michael and Luke in the living room I knew it was something else entirely.

“What’s going on, guys?” I asked shakily as I approached the group.  The four of them sat on the couches stiffly, like they were in detention.  Hannah looked ill, partly due to her hangover and partly because of what I assumed to be nerves.  Michael’s expression was stern and cold, and beside him Luke looked like he’d rather be getting a root canal than sitting in this room.  Calum just looked tired, but of what I couldn’t tell.

“Nothing, I just asked about Ashton and they got all defensive,” Hannah explained, causing Michael to scoff.

“Well do you blame us?  Dealing with you two is like trying to mediate world war three.”  

Hannah scowled in his direction.  “I’m trying to be civil about it, you heard me yesterday.  It’s Ashton who’s causing the problems.”

“Right,” Luke responded curtly.  “And Ashton is telling us the total opposite about you.  That’s really helpful.”

I tried to jump in and alleviate some of the tension.  “I’m sure both of them think they’re right, but--”

“Look, all I’m asking is that you guys support me because I’m getting treated like total shit here,” Hannah begged, and I winced; that was the wrong thing to say.

Michael caught on to this as well, and stood up angrily.  “He’s our friend too, you know.  We have a responsibility to support him too.”

Hannah stood up to match his height, not backing down.  “But he’s being irrational!  He’s the one making all of this mess!”

Luke ran a hand through his blonde hair, casting an impatient glance at Calum before speaking.  The latter was staring off into the distance, hardly paying attention to the argument.

“Bouncing back between here and Ashton’s is giving me whiplash,” Luke snapped.  “I’m sick of it.  You guys are turning this stupid fight into a civil war and we’re all in the middle of it.”  He gestured to Michael and Calum, and I bit my lip.  Of course I wasn’t included; I was also an enemy here, as I was automatically on Hannah’s side.

Michael turned his glare from Hannah to Calum.  “I don’t think Calum is in the middle of anything; he’s not even involved!”

This got Calum’s attention, but he only looked mildly annoyed.  “And I’m not getting involved, this shit is between Hannah and Ash and I don’t see the point in butting heads when it isn’t about me.”

I actually respected his diplomatic answer, but it only set Michael on more of a rage.  

“Of course you would take the easy way out,” Michael accused.  “You’re barely even our friend anymore, all you do is lay around and bitch and make your stupid jokes.  I mean, what the fuck is your problem?”

Finally Calum shot up from the couch, chest heaving.  “No, what the fuck is your problem?” he hissed through gritted teeth, and the sheer anger in his eyes scared me.  I took a seat beside Hannah, shrinking back from the boys’ fury.

“You’re a useless flake, Calum,” Michael fired back.  “You’re here when it’s convenient for you and gone when it isn’t.  I wouldn’t be surprised if you just up and left one of these days.”

I gasped sharply.  Michael was dangerously tip-toeing around a sensitive topic.  Surely he knew about Calum’s father?  It sounded a lot like he was comparing the two, and I could tell by the change in his expression that Calum thought this as well.

“Maybe I will go,” he said icily, fists balled.  

Michael didn’t back down, instead squared his shoulders.  “And if you do, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

My heart was in my throat as I waited for Calum’s response.  A few seconds passed, torturously slow, and then he was storming right out the front door.  I could only be shocked for a second because the sound of quiet sobs grabbed my focus.  I whirled around to see Hannah softly crying, holding her knees to her chest as our world crumbled around us.

I was conflicted.  My head was telling me to grab Hannah’s hand and take her away from the accusing eyes of Michael and Luke.  But my heart was screaming at me to run after Calum, to stop him from running away from his problems and beg him to face them, to face them with me by his side.  I would kiss him, the way I did outside the diner, so he would know I was there for him.  Even without seeing him I knew he needed comfort, despite his constant pushing away.  

My heart almost overwhelmed my head, but at the last minute I made a decision.  I grabbed Hannah’s hand and stood up briskly from the couch, giving Luke and Michael a stony look before leading her out the door.

We didn’t catch a bus or call an uber.  We just walked side by side, mindlessly looping through the neighborhood.  Hannah’s sobs lessened as we went, until she was sniffling away the last of her crying.  There was an ache in my heart after what I’d chosen to do, but I pushed this down for my best friend’s sake.

After a while we stopped to sit on a park bench, gazing out at the empty playground and swing-set that gently swayed with the late afternoon breeze.  Hannah was breathing hard, probably trying not to cry again, and I leaned my head on her shoulder as I hugged her from the side.

“It’ll be okay, Han,” I whispered, trying to convince myself as much as her.  I’d never seen Michael or Luke so hostile, but their anger wasn’t entirely unfair.  They were being torn between two friends, and it wasn’t easy being loyal to both of them.

Hannah sniffled.  “I don’t know why I thought they’d pick me over him.  How stupid could I be?”

I frowned.  “They didn’t pick him, they just...don’t know what to do, and it can’t be easy with Ashton avoiding all of us.  I don’t think they abandoned you.”

She sighed, and I hoped my message got through to her because she was silent for a long time.  But silence with Hannah always meant a thought brewing, and I leaned up to see her face.  Sure enough, she looked contemplative, and I braced myself for what she was about to propose.

“We should leave,” she finally announced.  “I mean, we only came back because we needed a place to stay and because Ashton was here.  But now, that’s all out the window.  You’ve got a job and I’ve no longer got a boyfriend, so there’s no reason to stay at the house.”  She shifted to face me head on, optimism building in her voice.  “We could get an apartment.  A small one, obviously, and it’ll probably be sort of shitty, but that’s the fun of it.  We always talked about living together after school, so why not do it now?”  At my apprehensive look, she pressed on.  “Come on, what do we have to stay for?  You said yourself you have no idea what’s going on with Calum, and if he is the useless flake Michael said he is then you don’t want to be with him anyway.

I pursed my lips, trying to organize my thoughts.  Her offer was tempting, as I was feeling guilty about taking advantage of our living situation.  But a small part of me didn’t want to leave because that meant I wouldn’t be near Calum all the time.  Shaking my head to banish this thought, I said, “I don’t know, Hannah.  I don’t think we should give up on the guys after one bad argument--”

“We’re not giving up, we’re just...getting space.  It would be the best thing for all of us.  Come on, please?  What’s the harm in at least looking at places together?”  Her desperate and earnest expression plucked at all the right heartstrings, and I sighed as I realized how hard it would be to say no to her.

“Fine, we can look,” I conceded, causing her to squeal with delight.  My reaction to this decision wasn’t nearly as gleeful as hers.  I was too busy wondering where Calum had gone, and if he was waiting for me to go after him.  I wondered how long it would take for him to give up on me.

[alleiradayne]

Cowboys and Angels

A COCKLES X READER RPF SERIES

Filming for the last season of Supernatural is underway and Y/N, long-time set photographer, finds herself the center of attention for two of her co-workers, Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles. A roller-coaster of emotions ensues over the year as the three of them attempt to balance work, the end of an era, and experimental love.

Part I - Acquaintances

Summary: Y/N peruses a clothing store in downtown Vancouver the week filming begins on the final season of Supernatural. Though it wasn’t uncommon to run into her co-workers in town, the last she thought she would find was Misha and Jensen. Together. Warnings/Tags: Fluff, flirting Characters/Pairings: Misha Collins, Jensen Ackles, Female Reader Word Count: 1,173 A/N: Once again, please assume everyone involved is consenting and polyamorous. No spouse hate. No wife hate. No Cockles hate. No Misha hate. No hate whatsoever. If you don’t like RPF, don’t read it, and don’t complain to me about it. Update: The oh-so-lovely @atc74​ made this stellar aesthetic for me in hopes that it wouldn’t get the Tumblr Ban Hammer™. Let’s test it.

If money were no object, she would have bought every single stitch in the store. And not just the women's department. Wardrobe always needed fresh styles and the men's selection carried a variety perfect for their cast. Pants that fit both leads. More coats then she could shake a stick at. And boots. So. Many. Boots.

Not to mention all the plaid flannel.

As Y/N flipped through a rack of men's shirts, she pictured Jensen and Jared in each of them, deciding which colors fit them best. Blue and grey on white. Clearly Jensen. Burgundy and black. Jared. Purple and green. Too bad Misha never got to wear the Winchester uniform. She grabbed all three anyway, as well as several others, then turned for the register.

Before she took two steps, Y/N spotted several racks of hats mounted on a nearby wall. Misha never wore much beyond a ball cap or trucker hat. But Jensen. He had an eye for extremely stylish hats. Wide brimmed fedoras, Panamas, Westerns, and Stockmans, Jensen wore them all. Not to mention the newsboy from last season. That had been a particularly attractive look.

Not that Y/N had ever thought that way about Jensen. After so many years working with him on set as a photographer, she had gotten to know him a little bit. But they were hardly friends.

“Y/N?”

She spun about as if caught red handed. “Misha?”

He moved in for a hug before she had a chance to gather her wits. “Good to see you! Ready to start the last season?”

His hug smothered her, cologne and fresh laundry and soap filling her nose as she hugged him. “Yeah, I'm… I'm not ready for the end. But I'm excited to be back.”

When he released her, Y/N looked over his shoulder to find Jensen picking through the rack of plaid. But then Misha's attention returned her eyes to his—damn their brilliant blue—and he said, “Good to see you. How was your summer?”

She hesitated a breath, unable to catch hers as Misha smiled his soft smile and stared into her eyes. “Uh, great. Busy! Kept up with some work. But I'm so excited for the last season!” When his brow knotted, she jumped back in. “It's bittersweet! I'm glad to have been such a permanent part of the show, but I'm so sad it’s ending. Been a major part of my life.”

“I can imagine,” Misha teased as he looked over his shoulder. Jensen considered a blue and gold plaid that she had already grabbed. “You’re not the only one that feels that way.”

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

“Me? I'm fine,” he said.

Had she not worked with Misha on a regular basis, his touch might have melted her on the spot. Good for Y/N then that she had known him for the better part of ten years.

Except she had never seen that look in his eyes before. Oh sure, during photoshoots and scene work, she captured all manner of devious stares from him. But there had always been a camera between them. He’d never looked at her that way. Not until that moment, in the middle of the little shop, with—

“Hey, Y/N! Been a hot minute,” Jensen said as he shouldered past Misha for a hug.

Fresh laundry, soap, beard oil, and… something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on filled her nose as she hugged him in return. “It has. Ready to put one more in the bag?”

“Stoked,” he said as he parted from her. “Is Misha bothering you? You look… red,” he added as he motioned to his face.

“I… ah, no. He's not bothering me,” she stuttered. “Misha is a saint, and you know that. I'm just picking up some things wardrobe might like.”

“Enabler,” Jensen mused. “They don't need any more plaid.”

“I disagree, keep sending more,” Misha interjected, “They might give me one eventually.”

Loud laughter filled the store as Jensen leaned back as he swatted Misha’s shoulder. “Sure,” he started, “the day you wear plaid is the day they put me in your trench coat.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip so hard the taste of copper filled her mouth. Between the two of them and their laughter, she could barely focus. Best she keep her mouth shut. Yes. Lest she say something stupid.

“We should get going,” Jensen said through a faded laugh. “Lunch, later?”

“I’ve got coverage while you’re on break, but I’ll catch you tonight,” Misha replied.

Jensen turned for the door and waved to them both. “See you then. Nice seeing you, too, Y/N.”

Misha waved him off, and Y/N smiled. “You on set today, too?”

“I will be, later,” she said as she hefted her arms full of shirts. “Gonna grab a few more—”

“I’ve got time,” Misha interjected as he freed her of her load. “What else are you getting?”

She turned back to the wall of hats. “I’m… not sure yet.”

A knowing gleam in his too blue eyes sent a shiver down her spine. “Middle row, third from the left.”

When she pointed to it, Y/N turned over her shoulder, and Misha nodded. She picked it up, black felt smooth under her fingers. A narrow band held a small group of understated feathers on the right, secured by a knot on the left. It might work. Not for the show. But…

“He'll wear it.”

She looked up to find Misha right beside her, the warmth of him radiating over her in waves. “You think so?”

He motioned her to the register. “I know so. Let's get you settled up, my arm’s gonna fall off.”

At the register, the clerk scanned and folded each shirt with great care, giving her plenty of time to think. Between the gleam in Misha’s eye and the attentive nature with which Jensen had spoken to her, Y/N's stomach churned with anticipation. Surely, her mind had played tricks on her, seeing something that wasn’t there. Something her brain had conjured to convince herself otherwise. But why? Because, deep down, she secretly wanted something more from them? Had she, after all those years, worked so closely with them that she had developed some sort of juvenile crush on both men?

“Y/N? You okay?”

Misha’s words sliced through the thick fog of her thoughts as the warmth of his touch spread from the small of her back over her entire body. She shook her head to mask a shiver as she dug into her bag. “Yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Distracted. Thinking about all the work I’ve got to do yet.”

“You sure?” he asked with a smile. “Anything I can do to help?”

She took her card back from the cashier. “Yeah,” she started as she handed him the bags. “Enable me further by carrying these out to my car?”

Misha’s devious smirk crooked the corner of his lips as he took the bags from her. “With pleasure.”

Fuck. Better start bringing a change of underwear to work.

If you want to be tagged for this series specifically, send me an ask or a DM! If you want in on any of my tags, you can ask for that, too!

COWBOYS AND ANGELS MASTER LIST ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

[where-the-wind-is]

A Little Birdy Told Me

The Arcana

Masterlist

Chapter 12

"You look tired, Birdy" Lucio commented suddenly, you were taken off guard by the out of place exclamation. You were just about to leave when the count hit you with the obvious.

"So?" You responded dully, careful not to let on how deep your fatigue truly ran.

"So...you should take a nap" he rolled onto his stomach and gave you a wink. You stared at him for a good minute, this was an odd turn in attitude. His face fell as if he'd read your mind. "Look I just...kinda feel yucky about getting you in trouble. Working in a place like that, you'd need to collapse once in a while."

Something had changed, you realize distantly, like a switch flipped. Like the facility never happened he'd switched back to his regular flirty self. No not regular...he wasn't fishing anymore, wasn't trying to trap you.

His face spoke to more than a game, it seemed almost desperate to keep you in the room. To keep you close to him. You'd blush if you had any spare blood to do it with, unfortunately all of it was in your legs trying to keep you standing.

"Intentionally sleeping on the job is grounds for termination" you parroted and he pulled back his lips in a grimace, eyes narrowed.

"But you're always on the job, and you look like death" he whined. You wracked your brain for a way to explain why you couldn’t just forgo your punishment. No simple explanation came, when he quirked an eyebrow at your silence you realized too late that not answering was just as bad. A sigh escaped your lips before you could stop it. You didn't have the energy to be angry at him and even if you did you don't think you would've been. He stared for a moment, face tense and avoiding eye contact as he tried to reason a way where the punishment wasn’t actually his fault.

"5 days huh?" He said at length, you nod once. "So today’s the last one?" he wiggled his meticulously shaped eyebrows.

"I thought you were on fire the other day" you deadpanned a reminder, staring him down. After a moment he barked a few sharp laughs.

"Yeah that's not a good sign" he remarked between cackles. "Here, you need sleep, lay down" he patted the bed beside him. For a second you thought you'd imagined the gesture, was he mad?

"You're delusional" you drawled blandly as he continued beckoning you.

"Only for you sweetheart" he rolled his shoulders in a way he must've thought was seductive before flying into a hacking fit. " Koff ah ehem ...don't look at me– hhakkk!"

"Slick"

" Cech alright just– cechkeck– lay down already"

"I'm not going to do that" you rolled your eyes.

"Oh come on, who's gonna know?" He teased. You felt your eyes sting from the effort of keeping them open and began to realize...you might not be able to resist that offer. "How about this..." he sat up, loose night shirt falling open and exposing his chest a bit. "Just sit with me" he patted the bed invitingly, a deceptively innocent smile graced his lips.

You couldn't, no matter how soft the mattress looked or how enviting the blankets you couldn't couldn't sit on that bed. Your bones were weary and your legs were hardly holding you but there was no way you could get away with sleeping in your patient's bed. But a small voice whispered the other facts to you.

They already think you do .

Your mind flew back to the facility, where your peers sneered and mocked you. They'd do the same of you returned right now, they'd do the same if you never returned at all. As the days progressed you felt ill at how close to the truth their jeers were getting. In the end Lucio was the only one who'd spoken to you with any kindness.

Your aching legs and pounding head begged you to accept. You hadn't sat down in... fourteen hours? With all the counting you'd been doing numbers were starting to blur together. Your breathing was difficult from the strain of being awake and you began to think of what this punishment was doing to you. Your heart was pounding and your reflexes were non-existent. Your memory was completely shot...

Slowly, almost against your will, you felt your knees lower onto the impossibly plush mattress. The silkiest sheets you'd ever felt in your life met your skin and you sighed audibly from the relief. No longer needing to stand. You crawled farther onto the bed and ignored the way Lucios smile grew wider, and his laugh was disgustingly smug. In his mind he'd won. You were only sitting down, you told yourself, nothing more. With his only organic hand the Count pushed your shoulder so you lied flat on the mattress.

"Hey…" you protested softly. His weakened arms weren't particularly hard to fight, but you were just so tired. The mattress met your back like heaven itself, sore spots and tension melting away. Lucio watched you in obvious relish as you practically melted into the plush surfaces. Finally finding respite after days without rest.

"Comfy?" He asked, but it wasn't smug or mocking. He searched your form wanting to make sure you were as comfortable as possible.

"I won't sleep" your answer was determined, he thought for a moment.

"I could make you tired" he teased, quirking an eyebrow suggestively.

"I've told you that's entirely inappropriate–"

"I'm not just flirting" again you saw that startling seriousness in his eyes. "I could make you feel very very good, Birdy. Something tells me you're not very experienced in it" his fingers traced tantalizingly down your collar, reaching to fiddle with the buckle that held your mask on.

"Lucio..." Your voice sounded distant to your own ears as you tried to deflect his shameless words, softly he continued.

"Don't worry about getting in trouble, love, I won't tell a soul I promise." He was practically pleading as his hand drifted off your shoulder and lower to tease your stomach and sides. You squirmed from the unexpected caress, you hadn't realized how touch-starved you'd become all alone in your work.

"I don't know…" your sleep-fogged mind could neither accept nor refuse. You couldn't think straight under his intense red gaze and the heavy blanket of exhaustion. You couldn't weigh the best course of action. After a long pause where he seemed to be talking himself into something he took his hand away from you. Instead he lied beside you and shifted closer. Just far enough away that the two of you had no physical contact. He pulled the impossibly soft comforter around the two of you and whispered close to your ear.

"Get some sleep then, you deserve to be awake for that."

That's all you remembered before blissful, traitorous sleep claimed you.

[prplzorua]

Sleep it Off

I've got a helluva head cold, so instead of y'know sleeping, I decided, why not write a sick fic with Remy? With the premise my fogged mind decided to give me. "Like what if he tries to hide it at first but then it gets worse and the entire mindscape starts to get slow and feel sluggish until the others find him?" Sooo ye, this the product if that lol. Sned halp I'm dying. ---------

It started off with a headache. A small thing that was easily ignored. It's not like it was the first time he had a headache, he could deal. Nothing was going to stop him from doing his job, no ma'am! Not today bitch.

Not tomorrow either.

...

Or the next day.

...

Or the next- look man, he had shit to do, places to see and people to be and all that...

Remy frowned, that phrase didn't sound right... places to see and people to be-wasn't it the other way around?

Remy raised a manicured hand and rubbed his tired eyes, but continued to stare forward into the Sand screens, sighing as he had to rewind them back for the few seconds that he had missed when is eyes were closed. He been at it for days, constantly searching. Searching for something, a disturbance, what that disturbance was he didn't know and that unnerved him.

He kept sensing it from beyond the gate, at best it could be a stray Nightmare at worst a particularly gruesome intrusive thought.

Turns out...

It was both.

-------

Fighting off the Nightmare was child's play compared to the fight the Intrusive thought was giving him, and that's wild to say, considering that the Nightmare had been the 12 foot version of Mothman and Godzilla's love baby.

Thankfully a perfectly timed Sand Spear to its heart downed the creature effectively, but that of course was after he got tossed around like a freaking ragdoll-

Hissing Remy dodged the shadowed claw aiming for his throat. That was the annoying this about Intrusive thoughts. Once they snuck their claws into you, once their shadowy bodies clinged and coiled around you, once they whispered in your ears...you were practically done for. Unless of course, you had strong will power, but that could only take you so far.

Crouching into a side roll, Sleep narrowly dodged again. The thing's shadowy form could stretch, allowing its claws to jab at him at any distance. It made things a little bit difficult- not that his job was ever easy.

Rolling once more Remy then pushed himself up, jumping to his feet and then bending back to avoid a swipe to his head-even though the movement was quick, the Guardian saw the swirling claw pass over the lenses of his sunglasses in slow motion- huffing he quickly threw his hands over his head, pushing on the grass below him to basically complete a backflip.

Once upright and now a slight distance away from the enemy, Remy smirked, lifted a finger and beckoned it closer.

The Intrusive thought, angered, rushed forward- only for Sleep to take a single step back- it ran into a wall of sand. Confused the Thought tried to go around in an attempt to rip the Guardian into pieces- except it ran into another wall...and then another...and another. And before it could even think to have climbed up, another wall was placed above it.

It was completely surrounded.

"What you thought I was rolling around for nothin'? Please, this jacket is too goddessdamn expensive for that. Everytime I rolled, I had my Sand spread out, enough to lift up into a cage. Nice trick don'tcha think?"

The Intrusive thought howled throwing itself against the walls of its Sandy prison.

"Thought so too", Smirked Remy, "alright then, lights out buddy!"

Sleep clapped his palms together- the Sand walls moved, closing shut and completely crushing the being it once held.

"Welp, that's all folks", mumbled the Guardian to himself. The annoying buzzing had finally stopped, but his head still ached something rude.

Wincing a bit, he headed back to the Dream Tower.

-----

Remy groaned.

He fixed the problem, so why does his head still feel like he got run over by the mob at Sb's when Pumpkin Spice first gets out?

Speaking of Starbucks, when was the last time he actually went there? Last week? Week before? Why can't he remember??

He'd been functioning on the castle's brew, which wasn't bad, just...not good.

Eh, fuck it.

Shower, coffee then a power nap, yeah- that's a good idea, it'll probably get rid of his stupid headache too.

One cold shower, a trip to Starbies and an iced coffee later...he was now on his bed with an even worse headache.

Grumbling to himself about 'stupid fuckin headaches', Remy downed the rest of his drink, tossed his cup in the bin by his door and proceeded to flop down face first into his pillow.

Maybe the nap would help?

------

It did not help.

He woke up, not even a half hour later, with his head pounding so hard he could feel his pulse though his eyes.

Placing a hand to his temple Remy winced and then groaned, "what-the-ever-loving-fuck?!"

To make matters worse, his phone began to ring.

The sound was so loud it made him jump and scramble to shut it up.

It was the ringtone he used for Thomas but he honestly couldn't bring himself to answer his Host. His body had near automatically curled up, hands pressed against his ears and his eyes squeezed shut. Remy honestly felt like his head was trying to explode, even the sound of his own breathing was too loud-

The phone rang again, Roman's ringtone this time. A louder, much more bass heavy song.

The sound echoed, the reverb practically shaking his brain into pained mush, tears pricked at his eyes and he could do nothing more than whimper-

Remy's sand then rose up immediately and just...ate?? the offending piece of technology.

Sleep found that oddly funny, the sand covered the phone...and then the phone was gone, like a magic trick...or like something getting swallowed up by waves off the beach. Funny, the sand was the wave this time. He wanted to laugh or cry or something! He didn't know, everything...everything just freakin hurt.

----

Roman frowned.

"He's not answering my calls either"

"Of course" mumbles Thomas, flopping down on his bed and throwing a pillow over his face. "Uggh! I'm so tirrreed!!

"Um, We could always go look for him for you sport?" Tried Patton, a sympathetic look on his face.

"You could do that?"

"Well, considering that we can't really summon him since he's an Aspect and not a Side, that would be the best possible way of bringing him here", piped Logan from the Host's door frame.

Virgil, who was on the floor, shrugged. "I mean, I guess, we probably should check the nearest SB's first though"

Thomas chuckles "true"

The Manifestor removes the pillow from his face just in time to watch his sides sink down, hopefully they can find Sleep so he could actually get some decent sleep for once.

-----

The Personalities pop up in the Commons before climbing up the stairs towards Roman's room.

"Soo", whistles Virgil, falling into step with the prince, "where exactly are we going to find him?"

"The gate, first"

"But its day? I thought he only guarded it at night?"

"No, he guards it at all times, he's the Guardian of the Subconscious not a freaking night guard!"

"Woah easy Princey, go off on him not me-"

"No, no sorry, I just- he never ignores my calls, if he misses it, he calls me back immediately, we made a deal about it in case of emergencies...I think- I think something's wrong"

The other three exchange a glance at each other.

Roman pushes open the door a bright light depicting the portal to his Kingdom, the Mindscape itself. With a bit of concentration the light disperses, showing the image of the Dream Tower's entrance.

-----

The moment they step in, Roman freezes.

Everything feels off.

The air feels slow and sluggish and no one is moving around. As a matter of fact, no one was there at all.

Frowning, he climbs up the stairs towards Remy's room. Something was definitely wrong, the Dream Tower was always bustling with, Aspects, Figments and Emotions.

The others follow behind Roman as he picks up the pace-he almost trips.

There's a tugging, he looks down...sand, Gold sand is wrapped around his ankle.

"Shit!"

-------

"The Sand's not gonna attack us right? I've never seen it like this before"

"That's because it's worried about him, aren't your shadows the same way?"

"Uh, sometimes? I think? There a hell of a lot less sentient than this sand is, that's for sure"

Remy's room...would make the Sahara Desert cry.

Everything, everything was covered in sand. Well it was more like wrapped in sand? The glittering, gold dust didn't drown anything under it, the individual shapes of everything were clearly visible but it was a lot of sand.

"Will you two stop ogling at it and help us get him out of it. The infernal thing doesn't seem to realize the more it covers him the less of him we can actually hold-" huffs Logan, as he keeps trying to brush the sand off of Remy. Every time he did so more sand would crawl over it master, hissing at the Teacher as it did so.

Patton places a hand on his shoulder.

"Logan wait- I think the Sand doesn't want us to touch him"

"But that would defeat the purpose of it asking us to help!?"

"No I think it's for a different reason. I have an idea-"

"Patton we-"

"Hear him out L, none of us know what's going on-"

"Thank you Virge, Roman can you conjure me a thermometer?"

"Um, ok?" The prince holds out his hand and after a brief second of concentration, a new prepackaged thermometer appears.

Patton wastes no time in grabbing it and tearing pack open. Gently he turns Sleep's head- the Sand hisses at him for this.

"Shh, I'm just trying to help ok"

If sand could look sceptical...though it quiets and let's the Prominent personality slip the thermometer between Remy's parted lips.

It's kept under his tongue until it beeped-

"104.6°F"

-------

Bonus:

"Sleep"

"Ngh, where-?"

"Hey Sleep!"

"Mnh?"

Remy blinked his eyes open. His vision was blurry and his head pounded. Honestly he was consider going right back to-

"Sleep!"

Remy sat up with a gasp. Wincing as a cold rag fell into his lap. He picked it up. "What?"

"You ok there pal?"

Remy tensed, only just realizing that someone was in front of him, that someone being a very worried-

"Thomas?"

"Yeah it's me-"

"Where-?"

"You're in my room, and you kinda brought the Sides here too"

Ever confused, Remy could only squint and mumble. "Wha?"

Thomas simply pointed down.

From the bed that they were on, Remy could indeed see Thomas' main sides in all degrees of sprawled asleep on the floor. They did look quite peaceful though.

"Um?"

"Yeah...that was my reaction too-"

"You said I brought them here?"

"Uh, ye, about that...what do you remember?"

Sleep placed a hand to his head, wincing... "Um, your- your phone call I think and ...Roman's? But other than that, I have no clue"

"I-uh, I guess I could tell you what they told me?"

"Better than nothing, go for it"

-------

"Pat said you had a high fever and according to him, the others were helping to lower it, but-"

"but?"

"But you...kinda woke up? Roman said you were out of it, mumbling something about protecting me and a fence-"

"Gate"

"What?"

"It's a Gate, huge ass Golden gate that separates the conciousness from the unconsciousness, the literal division and final protection of your subconscious"

"...ok wow, I didn't, um"

"I still can't believe that you've been inside the subconscious, the damn Dream Tower itself and still haven't seen the Gate"

"In my defense, I almost died"

"Fair. Now continue, what did my apparently fever drunk ass do next?"

"Um, well Virgil said you turned into a zombie, you like stood up and were trying to get outside, Roman had to hold you back but you kept shuffling forward-"

"Oof. Yeah...been there done that-"

"What? This happened before?"

"Ohh yeah. One time I was sick and my girls at the Tower had to legit lock me in my room so I wouldn't keep working"

"And here I thought you were lazy?"

"I'm far from lazy hun, I'm just always late. I don't like hard work, doesn't mean I won't do it, I just don't like it. Besides I'm cool do you think anyone this fine could look like this by being lazy? Please gurl, my work schedule could put Logan to shame"

"And yet-"

"And yet I'm always late, yeah- yeah. Look my sense of time and direction, are like, complete shit babes, but at the end of the day, I get my shit done and it gets done well. Quality over quantity and all that."

Both Aspect and Host paused and then instantly started laughing.

"Ok,ok, what happened next? How did we all end up in here?" Asked Remy as he gained his breath back.

"Uh, yeah, um apparently while you were struggling against Roman, Logan had asked Patton how he thought this would have affected me-"

"And let me guess, I heard him mention your name and just popped everyone here huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much, basically"

Remy shook his head at himself.

"Alright, why are they all sprawled out? I doubt that Roman of all people volunteered to sleep on the floor"

"Yeah...about that. When you brought everyone here, you kinda passed back out. The others were trying to explain something about the sand in your room, when this Gold sand just appeared from nowhere and Moana-Ocean-style came up to each of them in like the shape of a finger and just.. shushed them. Like literally went "Shhh"

"Oh, God-"

"And then before we could question it, it retracted, like it crawled back over you and turned into your bag- wait! Is that why you always have this bag with you?!"

"No duh? It's my sand, just easier to carry it around in bag form-"

"H-how, how does it change color like that?"

"It doesn't, that's just the color it takes when it's dormant and bright Gold when awake-"

"Cool, and what about your shades and Jacket?"

"That...is whole 'nother story, one I have absolutely no energy to tell tbh"

"Oh. Ok, well the guys kinda just drifted right off after your Sand became your bag, so yeah, that's the whole story I guess"

"A mess, but good to know-" Remy chuckled only to cut himself off with a wince. His head was still hurting like hell, even throughout Thomas' recounting- but now it just felt worse.

Watching Sleep in pain made the Host's stomach coil. He didn't like seeing anyone hurt, especially his Sides or Aspects in this case.

Gently he grabbed Sleep's shoulders and helped lower him back onto a pillow.

"Ok, why don't you lay back down-"

"Yeah, ok"

------

Remy lays back, settling himself on the bed...and then he pouts.

Thomas chuckles, already knowing the reason for that pout. He easily pulls Remy onto his chest, patting his back gently. The Aspect practically melts into it.

"And you call me clingy"

"Shhh!"

-----

Thomas is woken up early next morning, by the sounds of hissing and mumbled cursing.

Sitting up, he bites his tongue so as not to laugh at the sight before him.

A disheveled Roman was carrying a very much asleep...Sleep, bridal style. The Aspect had his face burrowed in the crook of the Prince's neck, seemingly relaxed, completely unperturbed by the events. Right next to Roman was Patton, who was holding Virgil quite similarly. Every second or so, the Emo's foot or arm would twitch before he resettled. Honestly between Virgil and Remy, Thomas couldn't tell who was snoring harder. The kicker though, was Logan, sleepily holding onto Patton's cat hoodie,slightly swaying as he rubbed his eyes. The Logical side was obviously not a morning person.

Patton waved at his Host, while Roman gave him a nod, Logan mumbled something, but Thomas could not decipher any of the other's sleepy jargon.

The Manifestor simply waved as they sunk down.

Once gone, Thomas flopped right back down curling up comfortably- what? He was sleepy.

------

AN:// Hi guys, I did a thing! I should probably take a nap tho XD. The Innerworks update is still coming, I've just been busy and tired, but it's coming, just hang in there. But you can consider this lil ficlet a part of the Innerworks universe, it just takes place after the events in Innerworks....so canon lol.

[hey-kids-want-some-avengers]

A/N: Commission I did for @stuckysheart ! thanks so much, love, hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/OC

Tags: established relationship, polyamory, kissing, cuddling, shower sex, power play, praise kink, anal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, begging, light daddy kink??, sub!Bucky, Switch!Steve, Switch!OC, multiple orgasms, hand jobs, teasing. I think that’s it lmao??

Katie managed to drag herself into her apartment, even with aching feet and sore shoulders from being hunched over her desk all day. She loved her job and she loved her students, but sometimes after a particularly long day of lessons and students never showing up or turning things in, she just needed a break. It hadn’t even just been a long day, it had been a long week, and the idea of having a quiet weekend with her boys was just what she needed.

She pushed open the door to their apartment, surprisingly large considering how high the prices are in Brooklyn these days. Between the three of them though, they managed payments just fine. That and with Steve and Bucky both being some kind of modern-day superhero and war heroes. She was getting used to the special luxuries that dating them sometimes came with.

She could hear the TV playing some nature documentary from the other room, just loud enough she could make out the narrators voice. She hung up her keys and bag by the door, running her hands through her hair to try and destress a little. She’d had too many meetings today and too many students hanging around after classes to try and do last minute catch-ups. Now, she just wanted to unwind and probably order take out. Or have Bucky cook, since he was apparently quite the chef, to Katie’s and Steve’s surprise. It was just something he’d started doing after he moved in with them both, messing around in the kitchen, he liked to make her and Steve breakfast on Sundays, sometimes. It was good for him, she was glad he had found something he enjoyed that he could do when she was at work and Steve was busy.

Even though Steve had broken off from the Avengers for the most part after getting Bucky back, he was still often busy with conferences, guest speaking and other things that Bucky wanted nothing to do with.

Katie toed off her shoes and stretched, joints cracking and popping in a way that was a cross between painful and relaxing. “I’m home,” she called out, heading through the entryway towards the living space where the TV and couch was. As soon as she rounded the corner she could see Steve and Bucky curled up in a mess of limbs on the couch, Bucky’s head resting against Steve’s chest, their legs and arms mashed together. They looked peaceful like that, drowsily watching the screen. Steve perked up when he realized she was standing there watching them and he smiled.

“Hey there, sorry I didn’t hear you,” he smiled softly, scooching over a bit to give her some room to perch beside them.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky hummed drowsily, petting the side of her leg gently when she scooted in next to them, the show forgotten. “How was work?”

“It was fine,” she shrugged, reclining back against Steve’s broad shoulders. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long week.”

“Mm, I’m sorry,” Steve hummed, a little pout visible before he kissed her sweet.

“It’s alright, I’m glad I get to be home with you two this weekend, just tell me you don’t have to be anywhere?” she asked hopefully, relaxing back more as Steve played with a piece of her blond hair, twirling it around his finger.

“Nope, not a thing I’ve gotta do but be here,” he assured and Katie smiled.

“I missed you two today,” she admitted, closing her eyes as she let them dote on her a little. The physical contact felt like heaven on her overworked body and brain.

“We missed ya too,” Bucky hummed in response, wiggling his way out of Steve’s hold so he could kiss her quickly. “It get’s quiet around here without you.”

“With your big mouth?” she teased, poking him in his ribs gently.

“Excuse you? I’m not the loudmouth here, that trophy is tied between you and Stevie,” he huffed, though he wasn’t at all upset.

“Me?” Steve asked, looking down at them both. “When have I ever been loud?”

“All the time,” Bucky answered.

“Constantly?” she offered and Steve responded by covering their mouths easily from where he sat, mostly under their bodies.

“Right.”

Katie grinned and eventually Steve moved his hands away from her and Bucky’s mouths. They lay like that for a while longer in the enjoyed silence, comfortable in the closeness, until the show ended and some obnoxious show about sport fishing came on and Bucky moved to turn it off. “So, what can we do for ya?” he asked, tossing the remote aside after the TV was off.

“What do you mean?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at Bucky. “Just don’t make me cook tonight and I’m fine.”

Steve chuckled under her weight and Bucky grinned before shaking his head. “You had a bad week.”

“Long week,” she corrected.

“Long week,” Bucky amended with a roll of his eyes. “So what can we do to help? Besides order pizza?”

“Chinese?” she asked, batting her eyes and Bucky snorted, glancing at Steve before nodding. “Then I dunno, this already sounds pretty perfect.”

“How about a good relaxed evening of cuddling, movies and take out?” Steve suggested, rubbing her shoulders gently.

“Perfect,” she agreed. “I feel gross though, I’m all grimy from work. The AC hardly works there, I swear.”

“Shower first?” Bucky suggested, looking a little hopeful with that glint in his eyes. If there was one thing Bucky enjoyed it was the time they spent together in their bathroom and bedroom. The bathroom was one of the nicest rooms in the apartment, honestly. It was big, nicely finished with matching towels and bathmats. The shower itself was the largest part and certainly the most expensive part of the whole apartment, some luxury that had just kind of come with dating Steve, apparently. The tiles were gorgeous and hand painted, four panes of sliding glass doors outside the walk-in shower. There were two large benches inside, perfect to fit easily up to two or three people each. There were five shower heads too, in the giant expanse of the shower. They had eight different settings for the spray and pressure and they sprayed down beautifully into the big open space.

Sometimes the three of them would spend an hour under the warm spray of water beating down on their backs while lathering each other's bodies up or washing each other's hair. Steve loved nothing more than having Katie or Bucky washing his hair and scrubbing at his scalp. It turned him into jelly. Their sex life was great too, and there were very few times that they left the showers without some kind of orgasm. Needless to say, the shower had quickly become one of their favorite places, especially after a long day or any stressful events. It was the perfect escape in their home.

“I think a shower would be nice,” she hummed, tipping Steve’s head down so she could kiss him properly. “What do you think?”

Steve was already a puddle under her fingers, peppering his face and along the scruff of his beard with kisses. He nodded eagerly, eyes a little darker. “Yeah- yes please.”

“Buck?” she double-checked, looking over her shoulder at him who was perched like a cat beside them on the couch looking flushed and eager.

“Yeah- real good with that.”

She grinned and nodded towards the bedroom where their shower connected and Bucky climbed off the couch with grace, waiting for her and Steve to follow in suit. Steve waits for her to climb off the couch and stretch a bit before he gets up too, quickly catching up to Bucky who’s already trying to kiss them both whenever he can get the chance.

“You need to calm down,” Steve comments with a chuckle, shaking his head fondly as Bucky pulls off his shirt before they’re even in the room.

“Oh yeah, big boy, how come?” Bucky teases back, tossing the shirt to the side, leaving it somewhere on the floor. Steve just grins at him and pushes him into the bathroom.

Steve starts up the showers, hot enough that it doesn’t take long before the room is filling with steam, fogging up the big mirror above the sink. Katie takes the opportunity to lean in on Bucky, running her hands through the long bits of his hair, pulling just enough that she can reach to kiss him. Bucky goes easily enough, his hands finding her hips as they kiss, soft lips and a bit of tongue.

She likes the way Bucky puts on a show of defiance, always cocky and eager and then once the mood is set, he practically melts under the slightest touch of affection. He likes a little pain, a little order. He likes when Katie and Steve boss him around a little, tugging his hair and getting him all pliant and wonton. It makes Bucky practically glow. She loves watching the way Bucky’s face gets flushed pink when Steve runs his big hands over Bucky’s chest while kissing him with too much teeth and tongue. Nothing gets her going quite like seeing the way her boys love on each other, the way Steve likes to mark Bucky up and the way Bucky will pant and whine for her or Steve as he’s teased.

Steve likes to please, more than anything. He likes to make Katie’s knees go wobbly with too much attention to the gentle swell of her breasts and the tight peaks of her nipples after he spends too much time playing with them in his mouth, suckling and tugging at them with his teeth. He likes the noises he’s rewarded. He likes leaving Bucky a mess after he’s done sucking spots onto his thighs and teasing his cock, not quite mean but not nice either.

Their sex life isn’t all vanilla, they don’t think it ever has been, but there’s something about in the shower, not laying together in their bed, kissing and grinding and fucking, that brings something almost animalistic out. Where they feel raw and needy and so, so good, and nothing’s denying them of that, of taking their time, pulling each other apart and piecing each bit back together.

The water can stay warm forever, it seems. Forever is all they need.

She tugs at Bucky’s pants a little while still kissing, nibbling at his bottom lip, and he makes a noise of agreement, easily helping to shove his jeans down around his thighs. Steve comes up behind him after the shower is going, sandwiching Bucky between himself and Katie. Bucky leans back almost instinctively into the firm spread of Steve’s chest, groaning softly as she bites at his lip and tugs at his underwear while Steve rubs his hands over the small of Bucky’s back and ass.

“Too many clothes,” Steve grumbles into the back of Bucky’s head and Katie makes a noise of agreement before pulling off her own shirt, leaving Bucky to rest back against Steve with his lips pink and swollen and his pupils blown. He watches her like she’s a goddess, a look of awe across his face.

Katie can already feel how wet she’s getting, the inside of her thighs slightly damp. “You two look pretty like that,” she hums, unclipping her bra with no particular rush as she watches Steve suckle on Bucky’s neck, still grabbing needily at whatever skin he can get.

“Don’ tease,” Bucky says, grinning through his haze.

“I like teasing you though, baby,” she hums and Bucky and Steve visibly shutter. “Let’s get in the shower already.” she finishes removing her clothes, socks, and pants discarded onto the tiled floor.

Steve nods and gently nudges Bucky from leaning against him so he can get undressed himself, but Katie’s on Steve in an instant, tugging his shirt off and feeling over his chest and shoulders. she can feel the line of his cock filling out in his sweats, pressed up against her leg. She can hear Bucky breathing deep behind them, watching the way Steve’s torn between undressing and kissing, touching, feeling.

Their lips clash, teeth and tongue in an unbalance fight between their mouths and the need for more skin, more to ravage. Eventually, Katie’s naked, mostly from Steve’s impatient tugging at her clothes as they make out hot and wet. Steve’s only wearing his sweats, and Katie easily hooks her thumbs under the waistband while she rocks her hips against his.

Bucky makes a needy sound from behind her and Steve grins, eye’s cast over her shoulder at Bucky, undoubtedly. “Impatient?”

“Fuck off,” she hears Bucky say, but he’s breathless and his voice is raspy in a way she could recognize anywhere. She can tell he’s touching himself, stroking his cock while he watches them kiss and tease. It gets him needy and hot.

“Wanna join, baby boy?” she asks, licking her lips as she pulls away from Steve’s mouth. She flashes Bucky a look from over her shoulder as she tugs Steve’s sweats down slowly. As she’d guessed, Bucky’s braced against the bathroom door, his face flushed darkly as his hand works in quick strokes over his cock, already leaking.

He makes some kind of noise in his throat, almost a whine and he nods vigorously, his hair falling messily around his face. “Fuck- fuck, yeah,” Bucky pants and she grins.

“Come on then, hm? The water might get cold, boys,” she hums as she pulls away from Steve as he finishes undressing, his cock heavy and hard. She steps back into the shower and they follow like puppies, on her heels, flushed and needy.

The shower heads spray down in a warm rush, the steam rolling up into the air in thick swirls. She takes a couple of steady steps back until she can feel the spray wash over her shoulders and run down over her breasts and her stomach. Her hair gets wet easily, and she pushes it back from her face. It feels amazing, cascading over her tense muscles.

She watches Steve help Bucky into the shower after her, kissing on his neck and shoulder as he does. He can’t seem to keep his hands to himself and Katie certainly has no complaints. He watches the way Bucky leans into every touch, making light, needy whines whenever Steve so much as pulls back for air between their kisses.

It’s easy, sweet- just kissing and touching- not enough for anyone to get any real release. It’s relaxing and steady and she revels in the way her boys play along perfectly.

“Stop bein’ a tease,” Bucky whines finally after too long of being pushed up against the shower wall under one of the showerheads, his hair wet and dripping around his shoulders and his skin pink from the teasing and warmth of the room.

Steve grins at Bucky from where he’s currently sucking a dark bruise onto his collarbone. “Like teasin’ you, Buck, you make sweet lil noises,” Steve says and Katie grins.

“Come on Buck, ask nicely,” she teases and Bucky groans, leaning heavy into the wall.

“please- ?” he asks finally, his head lulling to the side so he can look at her from where Steve has him pinned.

The sight of him there, looking to her for permission, looking flushed and so, so needy, his cock hard against his stomach, it sends a shiver through her and her hand smoothes down over her body towards her pussy, wet and aching for attention. “I think he’s been a good boy,” she says to Steve, offhandedly and Bucky visibly shivers, preening at the attention. “You too, Steve.”

Steve makes an appreciative noise as he pulls back from Bucky’s bruised up skin. “Yea?” he murmurs almost hopefully. She can see the way he’s just barely holding back from fisting his cock in his hand, but he’s good. He’s always good and obedient, so tight strung into this need to please and obey.

“Mhmm,” Katie hums and Bucky tries rutting up against Steve’s thigh for friction, even at the slightest brush his eyes practically roll back. “Come on, why don’t you two show me how good you can be for me, huh?”

“Yeah-, yeah,” Bucky agrees quickly and Steve nods too.

“Make me feel good,” she says and Steve and Bucky both practically jump at the chance before she continues. “Put on a show for me, ‘kay? Lemme see how good and sweet you can be, huh? I wanna see you fuck each other, just for me.”

There’s a flash of something dark and possessive in Steve’s eyes, hungry for just that, and he nods- eyes wide. “Yes- yes please.”

“Such a good boy,” Katie smiles, her fingers gently rubbing against her folds and teasing around her clit. Steve’s eyes follow each movement carefully, lips parted. “Buck?”

Bucky’s still rubbing against the thick of Steve’s thigh, panting as he watches. “Uhuh, want that,” he says. “Want you to fuck me, Stevie,” he says, nipping at Steve’s earlobe to get his attention again. It works, of course.

“That’s it, baby, good boy,” she says just to see the way Bucky’s eyes lose focus at the praise.

Steve hums and bites down on the skin between Bucky’s neck and shoulder and they both let out a low groan. Katie can see the smear of precum over the head of Bucky’s cock as he grinds into Steve and she slips her fingers along her entrance, feeling how slick she is already.

“How you want it, Buck?” Steve asks, lapping at the bruised spots on Bucky’s neck. They all know the serum means any marks left on the boys will be gone by the next morning at the latest, which means Steve has no issues leaving large, dark, hickeys all over Bucky. He likes to do the same to Katie, too, but they have to be a little more careful about where.

Bucky tips his head back against the wall with a groan as Steve wraps his hand around Bucky’s cock. “Fuck, Stevie,” he grits out, his hands scraping at the title behind him. “Anyway- however you want me.”

Steve grins and kisses him, swallowing up his moans. “That’s a good answer,” Steve chides as he lets go of Bucky’s dick, only stroking him a few times.

“Don’t tease,” Bucky hisses.

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve chuckles. “He’s needy, Kate, see what I oughta put up with?” he asks as he grips Bucky’s hips and hoists him up against the wall, his legs instinctively wrapping around Steve’s middle.

Katie lets out a breathy sigh, her fingers pressing into her cunt gently, still just teasing as she watches them banter and start to work themselves up. “Shut him up then,” she hums and Bucky whines high.

Steve grins at Bucky who shares an equally eager look. “Gonna open you up and fuck you, Buck,” he says and it’s certainly a promise. “Let her watch, get off on the noises you make- the way you look on my cock,” Steve growls and Katie can tell Steve’s flipped like a switch from needy and coy to the animalistic, dominating, filth that he loves and takes whenever he can. He and Bucky switch, they all do, but Katie knows her boys and she knows the way her sweet talking and domination gets Bucky like nothing else, and the way Steve loves to make them both melt under his touch, likes the praise and sweet kisses. They like it all.

“Fuck, your mouth,” Bucky groans around a half hearted laugh.

Steve smirks and presses two thick fingers at Bucky’s lips. “Suck, pretty boy, hm?”

Bucky doesn’t need any urging and he happily takes the fingers into his mouth, lapping at them with his tongue, watching Katie through his hooded eyes as he does. He’s jostled a little when Steve starts to grind into him, maneuvering Bucky’s body around in search of friction.

“You like that, baby?” she purrs and Bucky makes a desperate noise. “Like having something in your mouth, knowing I’m watching. You like being good, right?”

Bucky grins around Steve’s fingers as he pulls them slowly past his lips. “Mhmm, love you,” he pants and Katie smiles.

“I love you too, Buck, you know I love my boys,” she says, gasping when her fingers brush along her g-spot, legs trembling under her. “Love watching you.”

A string of needy, desperate sounds fall from Bucky’s lips as Steve circles Bucky’s rim with his fingers, slick with spit. “Tell me you want it,” Steve says, not quite pushing in.

“Fu-uck, you know I do- Steve, please,” Bucky groans, eyes fluttering.

“Takes so little to get you needy,” Katie comments as she continues to finger herself open. Maybe after they’re done, she’ll have them fuck her.

Bucky groans again and grabs onto Steve’s shoulders to brace himself better, his back still pressed against the smooth, wet tile. “Please, please fuck me?”

Steve grunts and grinds up hard against the inside of Bucky’s thigh, cock angry and dripping. Steve’s better at keeping his composure, but his cock is always a telltale sign of how long he’s gonna last with the teasing before he starts fucking hard and raw, however he can get it. Even now he looks about ready to cum. “Yeah, baby- anything for you,” he says as he presses his fingers easily into Bucky. It’s not much of a stretch and Bucky moans around the digits greedily.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” Bucky gasps and Katie watches the way Bucky’s back arches away as Steve fucks his finger gently in and out, teasing his hole.

“He’s not even tight,” Steve comments with a grin, adding a third finger in. “so ready for it.”

The thought alone, Bucky’s hole ready and open for Steve to fuck, makes Katie’s breath hitch and she pulls her slick fingers from her cunt, rubbing circles around her clit, pleasure sparking in the corners of her vision. “God, keep going.”

“Ready for my cock, baby? Ready for me to stuff you full infront of her?”

Bucky’s eyes are heavy and his skin is flushed dark, nodding against the wall, his hair sticking. “Mhmm- please, yeah,” he breathes and Steve grins and slowly removes his fingers from Bucky’s hole.

Steve wipes them off on Bucky’s chest, still slick with spit. “Gonna make you cum watchin’ her pleasure herself, you like that?” he asks, teasing as he lines the thick head of his cock up with Bucky’s hole.

“Jesus fuck, Steve, please,” Bucky cries and Steve obliges happily, fucking up into Bucky, grabbing onto his hips so tight that Katie is sure it must hurt, it’s hard enough to bruise for sure, and Bucky just moans, mouth going slack at the pleasure of it.

“God, you feel good,” Steve groans, thrusting up into Bucky with quick and easy movement. “Look at him, baby girl, look at the way daddy fuck him,” he babbles and Katie whines, fucking herself again while still rubbing in circles at her clit, slick dripping down her thighs even under the spray of water.

“Oh fuck, Steve,” she gasps, her fingers fucking in faster and faster as she feels herself approaching her orgasm, pleasure building in her gut.

Bucky’s almost incoherent already, each thrust punching little needy sounds from him. “More, more, please,” Bucky says as he grabs his cock, stroking feverishly as it dribbles precum.

“You want more, baby? Want me to fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight?” Steve asks, forcing Bucky’s hips up and down to meet his thrusts so he can fuck deeper into him.

“Yes, fuck!” Bucky gasps and Katie doesn’t miss the way his eyes keep darting between her and Steve, watching the way she pleasures herself and the way Steve’s cock disappears into his hole.

Steve picks him up easily so he isn’t leaning back against the wall anymore and stumbles over to one of the big shower benches across from where Katie’s leaning. He lays Bucky across it and pulls his knees up to his chest as he sink his cock deep into Bucky again with a better angle. “You like that, baby? That better?”

Bucky’s eyes roll back and he continues to fist his cock, mouth slack. “Fuck- fuck, fuck, Ste-eve,” Bucky gasps, hips jerking helplessly to meet Steve’s hard, deep thrusts.

Katie moans, biting down on her bottom lip as she feels her orgasm wash over her, her legs shaking underneath her as she keeps up a steady pace, finger sliding in and out of her pussy. “Fuck, that’s it, keep going- so hot,” she breathes, her cunt overly sensitive and wonderful, she loves the rush she gets as she keeps fucking herself, hungry to cum again with Steve and Bucky.

“Ya know she likes the way you look under me Buck, likes hearing you beg. I do too.” Steve catches Bucky’s mouth in a clash of teeth and tongue and they makeout around sloppy kisses and needy moans until Bucky has to pull away to breathe.

“Fuck, Steve- I’mma cum, please,” he cries and Steve moans, only speeding up his efforts as he then knocks Bucky’s hand away so he can take hold of his cock, jerking him quickly in time with his thrusts until Bucky’s practically screaming, back arching up off of the bench as he comes, come coating his stomach and Steve’s hand.

“Yeah, that’s it, you look so good like this, Buck,” Steve groans. Steve continues to pound into him until he’s whining and too sensitive, eye’s distant. “Fuck,” Steve curses as he pulls out, jacking himself off over Bucky until he spills over his hand too, splashing across a bit of Bucky’s chest underneath him.

Bucky’s panting hard underneath him looking blissed out and wonderful and Steve braces himself for a moment before he glances back at Katie whose fingers are fucking her cunt fast and deep, her mouth hanging open as little gasps come from her. “Lemme eat you out, please?” he asks with a grin, chest still heaving from his orgasm.

“Oh, fuck,” Katie gasps. “Get over here, please- need you,” she begs and Steve’s on her in an instant, dropping to his knees so he can lap at her pussy, running his tongue along her folds in quick, precise movements, flicking his tongue over her clit. “Fuck, Steve! Yes!”

She sees Bucky pull himself up from the bench on wobbly legs, looking fucked out and tired as he wanders over, running his flesh hand gently over her breasts, kissing oh so gently at her neck and collar bone. “Mm, love you- love you so much,” he mumbles into her skin and Katie groans, grinding herself down onto Steve. The combination of Steve’s rough, talented mouth and Bucky’s gentle kisses is enough to drive her wild as she climaxes again, her legs nearly giving out as she does.

Her vision swims and she lets Bucky and Steve help maneuver until the three were lying on the shower floor, all panting and tired, fucked out and blissful. Steve and Bucky sandwich her between their bodies, too tired to get up right now, the shower heads pouring down overhead, water splashing gently over their bodies.

“God, I love you guys,” Steve says groggily as he kisses her head and Bucky hums happily.

“I love you too,” Katie smiles, letting the warm water cascade down over them.

[pllandcompany]

Concentrate

Summary: Surgeon!AU. Dr. Logan Taylor is a jigsaw puzzle and it's up to his former enemy Dr. Roman Courtland to put all of the pieces together.

Warnings: brief discussion of surgical procedures/illness, some swearing, brief description of nausea/vomiting, anxiety attack, hurt/comfort

Pairings: Platonic Analogical, Platonic Logicality, Platonic Logince, squint and you can see it Moxiety

Tagged: @ziallwarrior  @thefallendog  @jakesmolbean  @a-ghosts @band-be-boss-blog  @thecatchat  @flyingfreeyt  @apologieslogan

Notes: Look, guys, I actually wrote a one shot! Yes, it is angst again but it's not all sad, if you can hang in there with me, hopefully you enjoy it! Also, this fic, while understood without it, does reference a previous one I've written so I'll provide links for that here and here (parts one and two, respectively). As always, feedback is appreciated!

The first sign of trouble came in the form of dizziness, a symptom so benign even Logan didn’t even think it meant anything more than what it was.

“That was a good save, man,” Virgil said, lightly clapping Logan’s shoulder, “thanks for the assist in there.” The cardiologist considered shrugging from underneath the younger man’s grip but decided against it. He had become close to the trauma surgeon as of late and while he didn’t typically indulge in such frivolities as friendships, he found Dr. Davidson’s (no...Virgil’s) company…pleasant. Logan didn’t want to risk doing anything to damage their tenuous bond. The contact between them ended up being a blessing in disguise as when Logan turned to respond to Virgil’s compliment, he swayed dangerously as a wave of vertigo rushed over his consciousness. Virgil reacted quickly, grabbing him by the shoulders and gently leaned him against the nearby wall, the surgeon’s head drooping into his chest with an audible groan. “Whoa, hey, you’re okay, I got you, I got you.” Logan didn’t respond, too overwhelmed by the shift of his equilibrium to do anything other than just exist.

Eventually, the dizziness passed and the fog lifted from Logan’s brain, a sense of embarrassment settling in its place. The older surgeon tried to move out of Virgil’s hold but firm hands simply adjusted to the extra movement, keeping Logan still. “Easy, dude, easy, just breathe. Stand up when your body is ready.” The stoic doctor groaned again but remained leaning against Virgil, taking deep, slow breaths to regain control. Finally, he gently lifted his head, a slight flush on his cheeks and avoiding eye contact with his current rescuer. “I am…adequate now, Virgil. I apologize; I am not sure what came over me.”

“It’s no big deal, dude, it happens to the best of us. Think you can make it to the chairs over there?” Logan opted for nodding instead of speaking out of tiredness, a move that concerned Virgil just ever so slightly. The two slowly shuffled their way to the plastic chairs against the opposite wall. Logan unceremoniously dropped into the seat and leaned his head back against the wall with his eyes closed. Virgil gazed at the side of his face, worry blooming in his chest that he fought to ignore. “Still dizzy?” His voice shook slightly and he hoped Logan didn’t notice.

“A minimal amount but it’s mostly passing.” Logan cracked open an eye to peer at his friend who looked just shy of grabbing a gurney and admitting him to the hospital. “You do not have to sit with me, Virgil. It’s just a dizzy spell. They come and they go.” The cardiologist's words trailed off at the end of his sentence; he was definitely still a bit out of it. Virgil sighed, releasing a bit of pent-up tension. “It was a long surgery. When you’re ready, you should eat something soon and hydrate. That’s probably all this is.”

“Precisely,” Logan said tiredly.

“I’m gonna hang out with you until you’re good, though, can’t have you collapsing on my watch. Although, if I knew complimenting you would make you swoon, I would’ve done it sooner.” Logan’s head turned slowly, an incredulous look on his face. “Are…are you flirting with me, Dr. Davidson?”

“Oh, don’t get formal on me now, Logan. It was a joke. I’ve been hanging around Patton a lot lately, my bad.” It was Virgil’s turn to be embarrassed, a sheepish grin gracing his features. Logan nodded and turned back to rest on the wall again. “Hmm. Very well. See that it doesn’t happen again,” he said with mock sternness.

The two promptly shared a smirk and a laugh, moving on as if nothing even happened.

****

The second sign of trouble was more alarming: nausea.

The first and second signs actually coincided in the most unfortunate way, in Logan's opinion, and in front of Dr. Patton Parker of all people. Logan was unaccustomed to being...mothered, particularly while being ill. His mother viewed almost any illness as weakness, a mere inconvenience that was to be worked through not “babied” in her terms. Subsequently, when he had an ailment, he did his best to secretly treat himself while hiding his symptoms and carrying on as usual. To his detriment, this particular symptom was not one easily hidden and as Dr. Parker was so obnoxiously adept at detecting…feelings, he knew he wasn’t getting out of being mothered on this one. The two surgeons were sitting in the fetal surgeon’s office discussing a case of an expectant mother with a heart defect when without warning, a powerful dizzy spell struck Logan mid-sentence. They had been coming on more frequently as of late but this one seemed particularly intense. Logan’s heart pounded and he placed a hand on his forehead, drooping alarmingly close to the edge of Patton’s desk as he leaned forward.

Patton was on his feet in a flash. “Logan? Logan! Oh my God, Logan, buddy, what’s wrong? Is it a headache? Are you dizzy? How can I help?” Logan had intended for the standard “nothing, I’m fine, it’ll pass” to come up but instead, his body decided to revisit his last meal and he gagged. The hand on his forehead quickly clapped over his mouth and his eyes widened in horror. Patton’s face remained calm as he grabbed a trashcan and quickly held it in front of Logan’s face, rubbing his back while his friend retched miserably. The mortifying moment seemed to last a lifetime for the cardiologist but finally, his body stopped convulsing enough for him to catch his breath and finally speak. “I am…so sorry, Dr. Parker. I should have been able to make it out of your office.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Patton’s face was firm but still caring, “you couldn’t help it. You’re sick, it happens.” Logan flinched at the word sick, his mother’s voice ringing in his ears. “Still, I am not a child. I should be in…better control of my body-…“ He gagged again and clamped his mouth shut to avoid a repeat performance. Patton rubbed his back again, shushing him soothingly. “Now hush. I don’t know where you got this idea that you’re supposed to be able to dictate a thing you can’t possibly control but that’s just nonsense! You’re allowed to be less than perfect, especially when you’re sick. That’s why you have people around you to help!” Patton noticed a flash of something cross Logan’s face. “At least…you’re supposed to. Was that not always the case for you?”

Logan sighed heavily. Damn his perception. “My mother…did not respond well to illness. I never took a sick day. She always…forced me to go to school or work. When I got sick as a child, she would have the nanny look after me. And she was nice enough but…”

“She wasn’t your mother,” Patton finished.

“Correct.” Logan went silent and stared at his hands. Patton frowned deeply for a second before straightening his face into a gentle smile. He struggled to hold back further commentary on just how awful he felt for little Logan and how disappointed he was in his mother who couldn’t even handle the basics for her own family. Logan didn't need pity or reminders of his past pain; he needed a friend. Instead, Patton simply pushed back Logan’s hair, checked his forehead for a temperature and said brightly, “Well, I’m here now to take care of you! Good news, I'm gonna check just to be sure but you don’t seem to have a fever so hopefully it was just something you ate and not a virus. Why don’t we get you to an on-call room so you can lie down and I’ll clean up here, don’t apologize, and the fellow can cover your post ops for you, okay?” Logan agreed shakily, still trying to recover from the physical effects of being sick. “Thank you, Patton. I appreciate your kindness.”

“Don’t sweat it, friend. That’s what I’m here for. I want to help.”

In retrospect, Patton was probably the perfect person to be vulnerable around.

****

The third sign of trouble initially seemed unrelated: mood swings.

Virgil Davidson was having a pleasant day. His patients were all thriving after surgery, his anxiety was well under control, and the Chief had actually complimented him twice today. He was simply taking a moment in his office to review postoperative scans when Logan burst through the door, red-faced and panting.

“Yeah, sure Lo, just barge in- holy crap, dude, are you all right?!”

Logan was pacing back and forth, chest heaving. “I lost a patient.” His voice sounded deceptively even to the average listener but Virgil knew better. Logan was on the edge and he needed to tread carefully.

“I-I’m sorry-“

“I shouldn’t have lost that patient. I did everything right. My approach was inspired, my technique was flawless, the patient was young. It should have been a success. I should be celebrating but now my patient is dead!” He was near hysteria now. Virgil stood carefully, planning to stop the man’s frantic marathon and talk some sense into him. “Logan, you know you can’t always-“

“No! Don’t you dare tell me it couldn’t be helped! It is our job to help and instead I killed her! If I can’t help anymore, if I can’t do my job, then what the hell am I here for? What is the point of any of it? What is the point, what is the point, what is the point-“

“Logan, Logan! Look at me! Breathe with me, okay? Count and breathe. That’s it, good job, Lo. Now I’m gonna take your hands out of hair…let go for me, Logan. Good, you’re doing great. Keep breathing for me.” Virgil waited a bit to continue, rubbing circles into Logan’s palms. “You with me now, Doc?”

Logan exhaled raggedly. “Yes, I’m here. I’m sor-“

“Gonna stop you right there, dude. It happens; you don’t need to be ashamed.”

“But it does not happen to me, Virgil. What…what is wrong with-with me?” Suddenly and to both of their horror, Logan began to laugh. Loudly. “I mean, seriously, what the hell is my freaking problem?! I’m crying like a child over a person I barely know! It’s…it’s…pathetic! And hell, I probably botched the damn surgery anyway! So why am I upset? Can you tell me, Virgil, can you tell me why I’m this upset because I am trying and failing to come to any logical conclusion here so please tell me what the actual fuck is my problem?!” The trauma surgeon stared on in shock at the deeply unsettling sight of Logan unraveling in front of him. He was right, this wasn’t normal at all and Virgil had a horrifying suspicion of what was causing it.

“Logan? Are you…are you using again?”

Logan immediately stopped laughing and glared at the accusation. “What?! No! Absolutely not!” A familiar clench twisted his stomach and Logan’s eyes bulged with panic. Oh God, not here. “Ihavetogo,” he mumbled hurriedly and bolted from the room, just barely making it around the corner before emptying the contents of his stomach in a hazmat bin. Once it was over, he lifted his head, gripped the sides of the container with white knuckles and for the first time since all of this started, he began to truly worry about what was really happening to him.

****

The fourth and last sign was the most terrifying one.​

"Dr. Parker, it appears the patient is experiencing a slight elevation in blood pressure, how is the fetus faring?" Patton smiled behind his surgical mask; working with Logan filled him with such a sense of joy. The doctor was normally so reticent and the opportunity for partnering was so rare with their specialities. It made him happy to see the cardiologist invested in teamwork.

"Heart rate is steady, Dr. Taylor. Don't worry, I will most certainly let you know if I need to step in. Hopefully we can keep the little guy in her a bit longer though, his lungs need more time."

"I am almost done here. Johnson, 2.0 silk please, I'm ready to clo-" A loud, metallic clatter filled the OR and left everyone frozen. Patton was the first to hesitantly speak up. "Dr. Taylor? Are...are you all right?"

Logan stared at his right hand in shock. "Yes, Dr. Parker, I am...satisfactory. I'm just...feeling a bit under the weather, Johnson, could you close? I need to step out."

"Logan." Patton sounded nervous. Logan turned around and tried his best to smile reassuringly behind his mask. "Don't worry, Patton. Johnson can close. It'll be all right." Once he was out of the OR, Logan snatched off his mask and gloves. He looked down at his hand again and started to walk, clenching his fist repeatedly. Open. Close. Open. Close. Stay calm. Open. Close. Open...

"Roman?"

Roman looked over his reading glasses, a smirk across his face. "Dr. Taylor! You must mean to charm me calling me by my first name. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit-"

"I want you to scan my brain." Open. Close.

"Ah, ever direct, as always. Now, why would I scan your perfectly healthy brain?"

"Because it's not perfectly healthy. I've been experiencing...symptoms. Headaches, mood swings, dizziness, nausea-"

"Oh, come now, Specs! You're been a heart guy for too long."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Open. Close. Open. Close.

Roman walked around to sit on the front edge of his desk. "Look, when patients come to see you, it's usually a worst case scenario. Their heart has taken all it can stand and they need you to fix it, which you do brilliantly. But it doesn't always work that way in neuro. You know as well as I do that all of that could be due to migraines or stress even. Your training is making you think the worst, you probably just need some time off-"

"My hand went numb, Roman! In surgery." Roman looked up and gasped at the tears filling Logan's eyes. "There is something wrong. And there has been for weeks but I've foolishly ignored it. But now I can't be a surgeon because of just how wrong that something is. You're the best neurosurgeon in this hospital, there's no way you can't figure this out. Please...help me."

A moment of silence went by then Roman nodded solemnly. "We'll get you admitted and do a full workup then I'll schedule a scan for tomorrow. It's gonna be okay. Just breathe, Logan. It's gonna be okay, I have this."

****

"You can't be in here, Pat," Roman said sadly. Patton ignored him and marched straight to the seat next to the neurologist, flopping down into it with a stubborn glare. "Like hell I can't. He's one of us now. He's family."

"Dr. Courtland, it's fine. He broke protocol on my case with your brother; it seems fitting he does it here too." Logan's sarcasm sounded over the intercom, drawing a mock gasp from Patton and a snort from Roman. "Truly, though, I don't mind. I probably terrified him during surgery, he deserves to know what's going on."

"No worries, Logan. I just want to make sure you're okay." Patton spoke up, trying to squelch his nerves to make way for something more cheerful. He wasn't totally sure he succeeded.

"Agreed there, Doc," Roman chimed in. "All right then, just give me a minute and we'll get started."

"Wait!" Roman and Patton's heads snapped up at Logan's shout. "Dr. Courtland...before you do this, I need you to promise me something. Promise me that you won't treat me like a patient. If you find something, anything, you tell me immediately. I may be sick but I'm not weak, I'm not fragile, I can take it. I've dealt with every illness I've ever had alone, I can handle...handle this too..."

"He's panicking," Patton stated firmly.

"I can see that," Roman shut off the intercom and hopped out of the booth. "Logan? Logan, look at me." Fear-glazed eyes finally met with Roman's gentle gaze. He grabbed the cardiologist's hand while he spoke. "Logan Taylor, you have my word that I will do anything and everything I can no matter what we find. If it's benign, cancerous, or absolutely nothing, we will handle it. And you're right, you're not my patient, you're my partner. We are now in this together and whatever we find, we face it together. You are not alone anymore. That sound good to you, Specs?" Roman smiled down at the trembling man, patiently waiting for the eventual nod of agreement. He ran his hand through Logan's hair and felt him finally relax. "Now try to hold still, okay? Got to get you from your best side." Logan rolled his eyes and laughed through his nose, surrendering his care to Roman who was already settled back in the booth. "Starting the scan now, Lo. Just relax."

Patton smiled at Roman and rubbed his knee gently. "You were good with him just then. Look how far you two have come." Roman smiled sheepishly. "He saved my brother, Pat. I owe him."

"You find anything yet?" Virgil rushed in twisting his scrubs anxiously. "Damn surgery, I almost missed it, did you find anything?"

"He just started the scan, Virge, let him work." Patton whispered, eyes never leaving the screen.

"God, I accused him of using drugs. If he dies-"

"Stop that! No one is dying here, all right? Don't do that to yourself, kiddo, not now. Right now, we have to be strong for Logan-"

"Guys. Look." Roman pointed at the tumor illuminated on the screen.

"Damn," Patton and Virgil both muttered.

"It's likely benign but...the good doctor was right, it's definitely something. Thank God that's he stubborn."

"Please tell me you can operate." Virgil sounded desperate. Patton reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing gently. Virgil had gotten to know Logan the best out of all of them. It was no surprise he was taking this the hardest. "For God's sake, Roman, tell me you can save him."

"You're damn right I can, Virge. And I'm gonna do everything I can to do just that."

"Roman? It's a tumor isn't it?" Logan's voice shook over the intercom.

"Yeah, Lo...it is. But I can get it. I'm gonna get it, don't you worry. Partners, remember?"

Logan nodded, holding back tears. "I'm holding you to that."

****

Three months later, when Logan was back to work with full use of his hand, he marched right into Roman's office and hugged him impossibly tight, thanking him for being a man of his word.

[docholligay]

A Stopped Clock: Chapter 8--Here and Now and Then and There

I think this fic series is ALMOST done? I think next month will be the last installment. Please thank @katrani for sponsoring this! This series has been the source of some of the stuff I’ve really loved, and has been so much fun for me to do, and this installment in PARTICULAR has let me toy with Lena’s past a lot and I’ve really enjoyed it. All of A Stopped Clock is here! 

The sidewalk came up hard and fast as the toe of her tennis shoe caught her heel, sending her soaring to the ground, elbows digging against her sweater and the corduroy of her pants failing to cushion her tiny knees.

She stared at the dark grey of the damp walkway for a moment.

“Brush yourself off, Lena,” She looked up to see her father smiling at her kindly, offering her his hand, “Come on then.”

Lena Oxton, three years old and not yet Tracer, pushed her hands to the cement and got to her feet. She nodded at her dad, brushing away his hand with great confidence, and made a great show of brushing off the front of her pants and the front of her shirt.

She grinned at her father. “All better!”

Her mother wrapped an arm around her father, smiling at Lena. “What about Biscuit?”

Lena nodded quickly, eyes wide in the disbelief that she had forgotten his needs, and brushed off the stuffed sloth in her hand, kissing his elbows, just in case he had a booboo.

“That’s a girl.” Her mother reached out her hand, and Lena took it.

“All better now, innit?” Her father took her other hand.

They walked down the street, the cool grey fog of London surrounding them, towards home.

Tracer sat in the small bed of what was now her bedroom, in an old warehouse in London, watching the rain drizzle down the glass, wrapped warm in her sweater and a pair of fluffy socks, Biscuit still resting, after all these years, up under her arm.

She was better. This was impossible to deny, and she was grateful and happy. She had a wonderful friend who’d uprooted his life for her, and a fantastic family that did and gave everything they could, and her life and her care was assured in a way that few people’s ever were. This was also impossible to deny, and she was doubly thankful for all of it.

But better was not fully well, and this was where she struggled.

Her pen was a brightly colored metallic ink, the sparkles inside the barrel moving with each stroke as she doodled and wrote in her small journal with the stickers on the cover. She wanted to feel like this pen again, the pen Mercy had given her because she’d seen it in a store in Zurich and had immediately thought of Tracer. She wanted to sparkle and shine again.

When you’re hurt really badly, you don’t have time to to think about it long-term.

She looked at the sentence she’d written. That was the whole frustration of it, wasn’t it? When she’d first come back, everything hurt. Every gentle touch, every kind word, it was all agony. It was suffering or sleeping.

Which didn’t leave her much time to worry that she’d never be well.

But now home, in London, cared for and relatively comfortable, she worried.

She would go along, doing the dishes or making dinner, walking down to the river or doing some shopping, trying to get a beer down at the pub like a normal person. A siren would be too loud as it went by, and her nerves would fray away all over again. Her brain was too fast. It was like a TV that kept flipping channels, and everything was so loud, why was the music in the pub so loud, why was everyone talking so much, their voices overlapping each other? Didn’t they know Tracer heard them all? That every word entered her ears, her brain struggling to follow all of it at once?

She’d throw her pounds down on the bar and leave, trying to find someplace quiet, someplace still where she could let herself reset, and yet another sensation she didn’t need, the hot tears of her own embarrassment, would join the chorus of ‘this is your life now. This is as good as you’ll get.’

Lena burst into tears, wriggling away frantically from the crowd, the noise echoing in her ears from everyone’s conversations, a dozen concerned people touching her too softly, in that way that was meant to be comforting but only made every nerve more sensitive.

From behind, her father picked her up in a quick scoop, holding her tight against him as he leaned across the bar and gave a quick remark to Mickey, the man who had tended bar there for most of Lena’s life.

He opened the door to a tiny room behind the main pub, and set her down on top of a keg, and sat on a box next to her, his face carrying all the exhaustion of a man trying to figure out his life as a single parent over the last year.

“‘S all right, love.” He squeezed her shoulder tight. “We’ll just take a minute or two to ourselves.”

She was six, then, old enough to be embarrassed that it was all too much, and too young to hide it well.

“Sorry.” She sniffled, the quiet and dark of the room already soothing.

He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry over, Lena.” He thought for a moment. “My sister, your aunt, Annie. When we was little, she ‘ad this ‘appen too. Used to sit with her in the quiet.” He smiled at her. “Gets easier as you get older, or so she said.”

She brushed away her tears. “Really?”

“Really really. You ever know me to lie, Lena Bean?”

She shook her head and climbed into his lap, hugging him close. “I miss Mummy.”

He held her tight against him, and she relaxed against her shoulder. “We’ll be alright, me girl. It’s you and me. Just takes time. Everything takes time.”

Everything takes time, she wrote in her notebook.

Her father had been right, hadn’t he? Everything had gotten easier as Tracer had gotten older, as she’d learned how her mind worked and how to enter into a truce with it, how to play with it, how to enjoy it, how to love the way she was as her family did. Life had been easy, before the Slipstream.

Coming back had been a fight then. And here she was again.

The worst was when the chill damp of her beloved London slipped under her warm sweaters and touched her, and there it was,London becoming the void, that sharp cold that was the only feeling in the void of timelessness, the one that cut through her and ate her. She’d gasp, her body tight, her mind screaming PLEASE NO NOT AGAIN I WON’T MAKE IT I’LL DIE I’LL DIE PLEASE.

Tracer set down her journal and looked out the window again, hugging her sloth close to her.

“Today’s better than yesterday, Biscuit. Tomorrow’ll be better than today.” She nodded as she said it, her brow furrowed in determination.

There was a knock at her door, as Winston gently stepped through the timelock, two mugs in hand.

“Someday,” he said, letting the door shut behind him, “I am going to invent a network that covers the whole house. You can take your accelerator off anywhere in it.” He extended one of the mugs to her. “Cocoa?”

She took a deep breath, shedding the melancholy that was, she reminded herself, not really helping her anyhow, and smiled at him. “Love some!” She took the mug from his hand, a large swirl of whipped cream and sprinkles on top.

He sat on the large beanbag chair across from her bed, where he stayed sometimes when the nightmares got bad.

“I’m serious,” He took a drink of his cocoa, “”I’m already working on the technology, but it--”

“Winston,” she laughed, “I believe you. Can’t be easy.” She patted his hand. “Particularly not with you working so much.”

Her voice was a little sad and guilty, and Winston rushed to comfort her, shaking his head.

“Oh, no, my job is wonderful--”

“You repair mobiles.” She looked at him skeptically. “You don’t ‘ave to lie to me, Win, I’m not a child.” She gave a weak laugh. “Suppose I should be grateful, I sit ‘ere and nip down to the pub, bit of the washing up, meanwhile, you work all day, Ang’s testifying before the bloody UN--”

“I--I don’t mind,” He looked at her kindly, “I don’t mind doing it for you.”

And there was the truth of it, which was even more painful to Tracer. Winston didn’t love what he was doing, but he did love her.

“What if,” She tried to bite back the fear, to bite back her embarrassment and shame, and choked back her tears. “What if I never get any better than I am right now?”

“Then I’ll take care of you.” Winston said, in his is kind and loving and all wrong way.

“I don’t want that!” Tracer gave in to the tears, gave in to the sliver of shadow that had been following her.

He reached out to her. “Lena, you’re doing so well. It’s only been a few months, and you’ve come so far, it’s, I mean come on, this isn’t like you at a--”

“Oh Winston, what if it ‘appens again?!” She sobbed into his shoulder, the strong wave of emotion that was so very her, whatever Winston hoped, “I’m so scared, all the bloody time, I-- I can’t do it Win, not again. I’ll die! I can’t--I’m not--” The sob broke form her, taking over her speech and flooding the room with the overwhelming sense of her sorrow.

Winston was possessed of a soft soul, and to see anyone upset touched his heart, whether he cared for them particularly or not. And so, to see Tracer: bright, sunny, unbreakable Tracer, his friend, his person, lost in her own moment of sorrow and despair and fear, that was the most painful thing of all.

Worse was the he could not reassure her. That she might be right, that it could happen again. That it would only take the accident of a moment.

All he could do was draw his arms tighter around her, as if the will of his own love could hold her in time.

“Oh Lena,” Her father held her tightly on the couch, her tears pouring into her father’s blue shirt, “I know it ‘urts, love. I know.”

“Never asking out another girl ever again!” Her voice was muffled.

“Tell meself that plenty of times,” he laughed, “always a lie. We’re suckers for the ladies, love.”

She pulled away from him and flopped back on the couch, wiping her nose. “It’s too much. I ‘ate it.”

“You remember what I told you, when you was a girl?” He leaned back next to her on the couch and tapped her knee, the girl who was Lena, who would be Tracer, who would be lost and would be found. “You remember?”

She took a deep breath, pushed herself off of Winston’s shoulder, over to the window,  and looked up at the sun peeking out of the clouds . There shouldn’t be sun in London. It shouldn’t be able to make it through the clouds.

But it did, didn’t it? No matter how many clouds there were, the sun always came through, eventually.

“Brush yourself off, Lena.” She nodded. “Brush yourself off.” She gave Biscuit a hug. “We’re all right.”

She looked over at Winston, who watched her carefully, wiped her eyes, and smiled.

“What you say we go out for a bite, you and me?” She stood up out of the bed and stretched.

It was her body, and she was in it. She was here, and even on the days it felt too much, she was feeling, wasn’t she? It felt good to stretch. It felt good to lay under her weighted blanket.

Every day, new things felt good. It was getting better. Better every day. She just had brush herself off, Just had to keep trying.

She walked over to her closet, taking out a pair of corduroy pants.

“Could use a pie, to tell the truth,” she smiled over at Winston, “Let it be me treat, yeah? ‘Ave a bit of bread and ‘oney from me aunt Lil,” she laughed, the clouds moving from her mind, “well then on ‘er, I guess.”

Winston adjusted his glasses nervously. “Are you feeling--”

She took a clean purple sweater out of the dresser and beamed at Winston.

“I am, now as you mention it.” She brushed off her pants. “Feel great.”

[eldritchsurveys]

o66.

Have you ever been in a love triangle? >> No. How bad are your hangovers? >> The most I’ll get the morning after drinking is some brain fog and a sour stomach (nothing a good meal and a ginger gummy or two won’t fix) What color are your nails currently painted? How about your toenails? >> Black, but it’s chipping and peeling everywhere so I gotta get my executive function together and redo them. Would you rather have a $50 gift card to Starbucks or a $50 gift card to McDonald’s? >> Starbucks, because what I like from there is more expensive than the stuff I like from McD’s. Do you think Taco Bell is nasty? >> I don’t like everything they sell, of course, but in general I’m always down for some Taco Hell.

Do you have a jacuzzi? >> No. Have you ever broken a bone? If so, what was the cause of it? >> No. Do you still talk to the person you liked four months ago? >> Yeah. Where were you last night? >> Home. Are you afraid to tell your true feelings? >> I think the childhood-development root of my emotional reservation (aside from natural disposition, of course) is that I was taught to devalue my feelings, and that no one else really cared to hear about them. At this point, I know better (a lot of people don’t care, of course, and that’s fine, but there are also people that do), but the behaviour is independent of its root by now. It’s just what it is. Can you commit to one person? >> I suppose I could, technically, but there’s no reason I’d have to right now, so. Did you talk to someone until you fell asleep last night? >> No, I watched The Almighty Johnsons until I fell asleep. What movie do you want to see? >> There are a lot of them. Is this the best year of your life? >> I don’t know about best and worst and all of that. I know it’s been a good year to me overall. I’m not inclined to look negatively at anything that’s happened to me this year. What was the first thing you did when you woke up? >> I don’t remember. Probably looked at the time on my phone. Is anything bothering you? >> Nothing comes to mind.  Is life good? >> Life is what it is. But yes, I have an optimistic view of my life right now. Do you remember who you liked on New Years? >> Sure. Do you still like them? >> Sure. Do you still speak to them? >> Of course. Told your parents you were going somewhere but went somewhere else? >> I’ve done that before, yes. And it landed me in the psych ward, so.

Do you like being home alone or does it freak you out? >> I don’t like being home alone when my mind’s doing its delusion thing, because having someone around is grounding. But otherwise I’m fine with it. Would you ever kiss anyone you texted today? >> I haven’t texted anyone. But I’ve left comments today which is almost like texting, and sure, I’d kiss Hallie. Do you have any bruises on you? >> No. How was 2011 for you? >> Holy shit, uh... let me think... what even was 2011? The only thing I know is that I was with Hallie for at least a couple of months in that year, because I know I was there three winters in a row and 2012/2013 was the last one, so 2010/2011 and 2011/2012 are the other two. I don’t know where I was or what I was doing for the rest of the year, though... maybe I was at 7F, or maybe not... ugh, this is why I wish old accounts of mine were still active, so I could rebuild timelines.

Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream? >> I do sometimes. Honestly, have you ever crashed a party before? >> No. Do you hide things in your underwear drawer? >> No. Have you ever gone out in public in pajamas? >> Yeah, to go to the mailbox. Or, when I lived in NY, to go to the bodega. Because, like, who cares.

If you had to recommend a movie to somebody right now, what would it be? >> Keanu. It’s by two of my favourite comedians. It’s silly and it stars a gangster kitten, what more could you want?

Can you say “Sally sells seashells by the sea shore” fast without messing up? >> Yeah. Is your hair naturally straight, wavy, or curly? Do you like it? >> Naturally kinky. Meh.

Have you ever considered your mom to be your best friend? >> No. She’s not anything to me, in fact. Is there anything plaid near you? What is it? >> No. What is your opinion on tongue rings? Trashy or cute? >> They’re just piercings, I don’t really have a subjective opinion about them. What color do you think you look best in? >> Most of them, tbh. The last time you went out to eat - what did you order? >> The last food we got from somewhere that wasn’t the house was Burger King, and I got a chicken sandwich and fries and a Sprite. Was today a bad hair day for you? >> No. I did buzz my head again, so it’s actually a good hair day. Do you have all 32 teeth? >> No. Have you ever been sent a postcard in the mail? From who? >> I don’t remember. Probably not. Do you spend more time on your hair or your makeup? >> --- Do you know how to do the moon walk? >> Technically, yes, but I’m not completely efficient at it. How old were you in the year 2000? >> I turned 13. Which subject are you better at - science or history? >> I wasn’t particularly great at either one. What is one of your favorite comedy movies? >> Coming to America. Has anybody ever told you that you have a good singing voice? >> Yes. Do you have any plans tomorrow? What are they? >> I forget what we’re doing tomorrow, actually. Maybe going down to Wayland to see the kids again? Onion rings or french fries? >> French fries all the way. On a scale of 1-10 how lazy are you? >> I don’t know. I don’t like to think of myself as lazy because it’s an unnecessarily negative connotation used for a lot of what I think is perfectly reasonable behaviour. (Maybe some people are literally lazy. But I wouldn’t know.) When was the last time you ate a doughnut? >> A couple of days ago. Sparrow’s mother brought Krispy Kreme to Sparrow’s job when she brought Katie (Sparrow’s niece) in for a manicure, and Sparrow brought a doughnut home for me. Are you the youngest person living in your house? >> No. Has anybody ever described you as a heart breaker? >> No. Are you wearing pajamas right now? >> No, but my outfit could function as such, and will when I go to bed tonight. Has anybody ever told you that you talk too fast? >> Probably. I was a New Yorker, after all. But I think I talk pretty average now. Name something that is the same color as your eyes. >> Rich, fecund earth. Who is the best cook that you know? >> Hallie, probably :3 Which meal throughout the day do you skip the most? >> Breakfast, because by the time I eat the first meal of my day it’s usually around lunchtime. Can you name 3 different dinosaurs? >> Yeah, but I’ll let someone else do it. Have you ever completed the 99 bottles of beer on the wall song? >> No. When was the last time you attended a barbeque? >> I don’t remember. :( I miss bbqs. Did you have a party for your last birthday? >> No. One day, maybe. Do you know how to dance the electric slide? >> Yes. Are Frosted Flakes REALLY more than good? >> I don’t know, I do think they’re pretty GRRRReat though. What’s the largest amount that you can juggle at one time? >> Three, maybe, if I really focus. What was your favorite thing to go on at the playground as a kid? >> I don’t remember what I liked best as a child. I was a little freaked out by a lot of playground structures, but I did like the tire swing in Warinanco Park. And those plank bridges you run across. Do you know how much you weighed at birth? How much? >> Around six pounds, I think. How old were you when you learned how to ride a bike? >> I don’t know, six or so I guess.

Where do you spend most of your time at? >> Home.

What noise does your favorite animal make? >> Otters make funny noises, snakes hiss, I don’t know what capybaras do. Do you have a garden shed in your backyard? >> I don’t have a backyard. Who is the tallest person you know and how tall are they? >> I don’t know who’s the tallest, I know several people over six feet. What was your lowest mark on your previous report card? >> ---

[5hfanfiction]

Parting Shot: Episode 2 - A Mighty Harmonist

Camila

She was all I had. Every weekend morning without fail, she would wake up long before I did and cast some sort of magic spell that made eggs appear in the kitchen. The house would start to warm up, sun rising and the scent of breakfast crawling along the ceiling before wafting down the hall. Disoriented and still tired, I managed to fumble down the hallway and find her tending to the stove in the attire she slept in every night. Pant-free and in an oversized white tank-top, Lauren never seemed as laid back as she did on weekend mornings.

The scent of fresh coffee hit me, already dappled with the half-and-half that always seemed to be stocked in the fridge and Lauren’s homemade vanilla flavoured sugar. “It’s Saturday.” I managed to whine, leaning on the side of the fridge. “This is one out of the only two days of the week where you can sleep in purposefully rather than because you hate first period. Why do you have to get up so early?”

Without responding, she turned around with a spatula in one hand and the handle of a burning pan in the other. Whatever was inside moved to a plate on the counter, a long string of steam rising with it. “You complain without fail every single weekend.” She held the plate to me in one hand, the other running idly through her deep black hair. Sitting in the middle of the plate were two aesthetically pleasing fried eggs. “Then you turn around and eat like you’ve been starving for days.” 


“You’re the best Lauren Jauregui.” I grinned, taking the plate and stalking past her to the kitchen table. Food had always tasted a million times better when someone else was behind it, and I made the fact known to her with a chorus of approving noises followed by the wolfing down of both eggs in a matter of seconds. She joined me in the seat opposite, not before setting an unpeeled banana and fresh cup of coffee next to my plate.

I knew only what I needed to about Lauren. I knew she had the bravery to pull over to the side of the road on a fatefully dark night and roll her window down to grab my attention. She had the bravery to unlock her passenger seat door, get out herself and haul the two bags I was dragging through the rain into the backseat of her car. Most important to me - she had the bravery to withhold any questions, hold back all judgement and simply drive with a soaking wet, deeply bruised stranger curled in the front seat.

Lauren hadn’t touched her own coffee, seemingly content with sitting at the other side of the table with her chin balanced on her folded arms. There was a small sliding glass window embedded above the kitchen table, and as every morning, when the sun rose it’s light streamed directly through it and pooled around her. Lauren’s eyes had always been brighter during the day, my own darker at night.

“Record time.” She mumbled, nodding at the empty plate with her lips pursed in a knowing smirk. “Can I make some more?” 


“Let me do it.” I stood, setting the empty plate down on the vacant counter-space and fishing through the fridge for the carton of raw eggs. Lauren hadn’t replied, leading me to glance over my shoulder and see she had turned her head to the side and was watching me with amusement flickering in her eyes. “What?” I straightened, the fridge door slowly suctioning closed. “What’s so funny?”

“No nothing, it’s just that I know you’re going to find a way to screw this up.” She laughed, tone light and teasing. “The eggs are on the inside of the fridge door, not on the shelves.“

The carton was unbalanced, six eggs sitting on the far left, and none on the right. After clumsily setting them down, I upturned the lid and carefully cracked two more into the warm pan. "So what’s happening today?” I asked, re-igniting the gas stove and watching as the artificial blue flame folded to life. “Are we doing anything exciting?”

Lauren had her eyes fixated on the pan. In a world of stark abnormalities and constant chaos, she was a wave of relief for me. A breath of fresh air thousands of feet below the ocean’s surface for a creature who just didn’t belong there. I waited for a response, using a plastic spatula to gently nudge the eggs around the heat and watching the clear, colourless centre slowly turn an opaque white.

“I don’t know.” Her reply was monotonous. “Judging by the number of eggs in the carton I’d say we need to take a trip to the grocery store. Then I’ve got a paper to write for third period psychology, so I’m going to have to drop by the library and do some old fashioned book research.”

“Why?” I gave the eggs a moment more before transferring them both to my plate. “Book research was only a thing back when women wore hoop skirts and could’t vote. Society invented the internet for a reason you know.” 


Lauren’s eyes followed the food until it landed in front of her, a fork and napkin at it’s side. “She wants a print based bibliography.“ She clarified, licking her lips eagerly. "No web sources allowed.”

“And does she know that society invented internet for a reason?”

“Apparently not as well as you do.” Lauren had a bad habit of talking and chewing at the same time, which to most would be worthy of scolding. To me it had always come off as charming, her stone cold facade sometimes adapting a childish sparkle that so many else lacked. I sat down on the other side of the table, resting my chin in my palm to watch her eat. “You’ll come with me right?”

“I love going to the library.” I nodded, leaning forward to drag my chair further towards the table. “I wish Cecily would let me go into the back room and poke around the new arrivals, but I guess that’s just me hoping against hope.”

Lauren looked up briefly. “Maybe she’s just frustrated that you’ve exhausted their resources Belle.” She teased, the light in her eyes flickering. “You can’t wholeheartedly believe a woman named Cecily Gunnderman has even a single patient bone in her body when it comes to the yearning members of Gen Y.” I folded my self against the table, looking stoically at her half-empty plate. Lauren had a good point. I had been fostering a reputation of being a particularly pesky member of the technologically heightened generation.

“Maybe if she got herself a Mr. Gunnderman, she can untwist her lace-lined granny panties and cut loose for once.” I stood up, taking Lauren’s plate from her and setting it in the sink. A steady stream of cold water did good to wash the sticky egg yolk off the centre of the plate. “Then maybe I could get back there and soak up all the Ernest Hemmingway and Edgar Allan Poe I can before she turns into a widow again.”

Lauren was on her feet, her hand resting lightly on my hip as she moved to linger just behind me. “You know, sometimes you’re my charming princess who skips through a french village with a book in her hand, and other times you turn into the pure evil concentrate that comes out of those green vents from the Lion King.” She patted me gently, then turned back to the fridge.

I rolled my eyes, keeping my back to her. “I’m just saying Lauren, love does wonders. At least it would for the three quarters of this town who spend their evenings sulking by the Harry Potter themed coffee shop downtown.”

“Hey don’t say that, you love Expresso Patronum. You even bought one of their mugs the last time we went.” She paused. “Besides, how would you know the wonders love does? You’ve never been in it.”

The gentle scrape of my plastic spatula on the used frying pan filled the silence while I put together a reply. Lauren seemed taken aback by my hesitation, and migrated to lean against the counter again. “You’ve never been in it… right Camz?” She asked, looking up with nudge to my side with her elbow. I couldn’t help but curl up, emanating an unintentional giggle from the contact.

“Right.” I nodded, meeting her glance for a moment with a soft smile. It was the truth, plain and without any veils. Lauren seemed satisfied, straightening up and leaving a quick kiss on the side of my head before returning to the bedroom. I abandoned the dishes a few seconds later and opted instead to peel my banana at the kitchen table and take a happy bite. Our relationship was one of platonic intimacy. Most nights, there was nothing I wanted more than to curl up with her, have a deep conversation or simply snuggle in silence.

Polishing off my banana, I left the peel on the table before starting down the hallway. When Lauren and I had met, we were both lying deep against the bottom of the ocean. We were trapped, encircled by the grape-sized amoebas and fragile coral that needed no sustenance. It was the darkness that made our relationship so seamless, the only place on the earth where the sun was unable to nourish and the moon unable to guide. We no longer had either in our lives, and were forced to become them for each other.

“Here.” Lauren was standing in the centre of the room, her arm extended and laptop balanced on her palm. She had changed from her lazy morning attire into a pair of black jeans and grey long sleeve shirt with a low v-neck. The neutral colours looked perfect on her, jet black hair visibly silky and parted elegantly to the side. “You’ll need this so you don’t spend the entire day annoying the hell out of Lauren when she’s trying to read.”

Taking the machine with a nod, I tucked it into my bag and coiled up the white charger at it’s side. I felt a nudge to the small of my back, angling my body to see her blinking at me with the most curious expression on her face. “That’s the first time you haven’t laughed at my joke Camz, no matter how many times I make it.” She reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder to turn me around. “Are you okay?”

“Brain fog from the weed last night.” I shrugged, doing my best to grant her a smile. It wasn’t complete lie. Most of my high-hangovers consisted of heavy fatigue and serious dehydration, neither of which were aided by the early rising to eggs and her delicious coffee. While Lauren sat and watched from the bed, I quickly swapped my pyjamas for a tank top and jean shorts before lifting my laptop bag’s canvas strap over my shoulder. “Okay, I’m ready.” 


“That’s what you’re going to wear?” Lauren sat forward, smiling sweetly. “It’s the middle of the fall Camz, you don’t think you’re going to end up getting cold?”

“I might.” I turned in the mirror to get a proper look at my butt. “But it’s not like we’re going to be outside for very long, right?”

Lauren sighed playfully, hauling herself up and vanishing down the hall. The jingling of keys followed, then the sound of the garbage can’s lid being opened and shut. I smiled in the mirror at the realization that she had found my banana peel.

The town library was a few minutes by bike from our house. It had been a year or two since we’d committed to keeping Lauren’s 2005 Ford Taurus tucked away in our locked garage for as long as we could. Gas wasn’t cheap, and becoming less so by the day, whereas two bikes that I had flirt my way into getting from the local cycle shop did the job with flying colours.

“Keep up!” Lauren called over her shoulder, white earbuds flying in the wind as she flashed a wide grin at me. The roads in the early morning were virtually empty, the residents of a dying town typically tucked away in their beds until mid-morning and then again only hours after an early dinner. I wedged my hand into the pocket of my shorts to crank up the volume on the music in my own ears, letting the underlying beat propel me forward.

The building itself wasn’t particularly special. A stone structure, towering four floors up and beveled with concrete ledges and cutouts to give it a very old-fashioned, high class feel. Foxcastle didn’t pride itself on architecture, the weather often dreary and grey to the point where most standing establishments looked the same. It was because of this that the library was a hot-spot for visiting relatives and curious by-passers, boasting an impressive stash of literary genius. I screeched to a halt by the racks, swiftly hopping off my bike and shooting Lauren an apologetic smile for the tangle of limbs we easily could have become if not for my brakes.

“Ah, hello ladies. I figured I would see you two pass through here this weekend.” Cecily Gunnderman, the town’s resident crazy lady was seated at her post behind the front desk. I couldn’t help the shiver that crawled up the back of my neck when I laid eyes on her, for not only was the woman withered with age, but it was well known that she had outlived a number of husbands. There was even rumour she retained her maiden name from the beginning for anticipation of just that. In front of me, Lauren was unfazed as ever.

“A research paper a day keeps the doctor away, right?” Lauren had the front half of her body leaned across the desk as she plucked a string-attached pen from it’s base and wrote our names down on the wrinkled sheet of chart paper. “How are you this morning Mrs. Gunnderman?”

“Very well dear, thank you.” The woman’s back was pin straight, hair tied back into a tight bun. Her glassy blue eyes shifted to me, and she dipped her chin down politely. “And Camila. I see the two of you are just as attached by the hip as ever.”

“A Cabello a day keeps the doctor away, right?” I rhymed, granting the elderly woman a sweet smile and stepping forward to wrap my arm around Lauren’s waist. “She loves me.”

Cecily lifted a light eyebrow. “I’m sure she does.” The woman nodded to Lauren, who finished marking our names down. “Simply because of how loveable you are, Ms. Cabello.”

I decided to ignore the deep sarcastic undertone to the woman’s voice and lean against my friend’s shoulder with a giant grin. Lauren’s head turned to me, the kind smile on her face suddenly making any kind of criticism okay, even if it came from a cynical old woman. “I’ll make sure she behaves.” The black haired girl then nodded across the desk. “No shelf climbing, no ordering pizza to the front door.” She looked at me once more, dipping her chin down. “And no prank calls to the manager’s office.”

“You’re a good kid Lauren.” Cecily nodded again, withered lips turning up just a hint. I had concluded that Lauren Jauregui was Foxcastle’s only citizen who managed to make the old bat smile. She took me by the hand, and the two of us ventured up to the fourth floor common area.

Like the roads, the populous of the library was loose and sparse at the very best. The two of us found a comfortable space near the corner of the room, blocked in by a series of shelves and sitting beneath a perfectly circular patch of sunlight. While Lauren set her belongings down and dipped off to scan the alphabetical shelves, I pulled out my own silver laptop and powered it up.

Days at the library was admittedly some of my favourite. There didn’t need to be any kind of conversation between us, no sort of words exchanged to pick up on small subtleties and shifts in mood. When Lauren was frustrated, her shoulders would tense up and the muscles in her upper arms would flex inadvertently. When she was bored, her bottom lip would become trapped within her top teeth as a means of remaining awake. My very favourite was when the green eyed goddess would prove satisfied in her progress, and one eyebrow became lifted in a pseudo-sultry gaze that was meant only for the screen before her.

A few minutes later, Lauren had returned with a armful of books. Most were hardcover journals, stuffed full of articles and studies based on psychology in the literature, while one or two were smaller, soft poetry pieces. One in particular landed at my side, the cover featuring a spectrum of pale blue mountains fronted by a white serif font. William Wordsworth The letters read. A Complete Book of Poems: Volume 1.

“What’s this?” I questioned, peeling back the front cover to reveal a long list of contents. The pages were worn, smelling strongly of the antique, dusty aura that most of the library’s old works retained. Lauren moved her chair over to me, the shift in air cloaking us both in the scent of her flowery vanilla perfume.

“Are you going to work on your demon story from last night?” She asked, leaning forward upon the desk to stare down at the table of contents with me. “If you wanted something new, I have an idea.” 


I pondered the question for a few beats. Lauren’s ideas were often gold, whether she was the one creating the realities, or giving the prompts it never seemed to matter. Letting her proceed, I angled myself back to let her find the poem she wanted down the list and flip to the page. Lauren gestured for me to lean forward, and I did so just in time to see the title of the page pop out in stark black lettering. ”On the Power of Sound”  I read softly, not wanting to disturb the few people around us. “Lauren, you know I’m no good at analyzing poetry.”

“I’m not asking you to analyze anything.” A playful amusement was evident in her voice. “I’m not an English teacher Camz, not yet at least.”

“Oh— okay.” Looking back at the page, I gave her a shy nod to continue.

“Take one of the stanzas from the poem, any stanza. Write based on one line in that stanza, but don’t go any further than that.” Lauren pressed her weight against my arm. “Take the line and bring it to life independent of the poem’s message.”

“What’s the poem’s message?” I scanned the title a few times. “On the Power of Sound.”

“Just that.” She didn’t need to consider her answer; Lauren’s speed with literature continued to astound me. “Wordsworth was known best during the era of the romantics. He believed that poetry in itself should be simple and sincere, easy to understand like the language that everyday people use. The man was one of the first to insist poetry should be freed from all the “conceits” and “inane phraseology”. The message of the poem is exactly what the title says. And whispers for the heart, their slave; and shrieks, that revel in abuse. Of shivering flesh and warbled air.

I could see the images as she spoke, the round and mature tone to her voice painted an active photo that my own could never manage to. Lauren backed away from me, sliding her chair and herself back to the adjacent side of the table where her laptop was blinking with inactivity.

That Ocean is a mighty harmonist. The line sat on the eleventh line of the twelfth stanza. After reading the six letters over again a few times, I pushed my chair back and ventured into the forest of bookshelves. I didn’t need to turn back to know Lauren’s eyes were on me, and took her curiosity as a compliment. “Wordsworth capitalized a noun.” I murmured to myself, peering up and down the spines until I found what I was looking for. “He wanted to make it seem like the ocean was something worth emphasizing. Something worth saving. A harmonist is one who brings together worlds of nature, science and spirituality… who unites two notes together in song.”

Oceanography. I brought the large, blue-spined encyclopedia back to the table and set it down with a dull thump. Lauren didn’t look up at the sound, but her eyes flitted up mid-type. The book was aged, featuring a orange-white clownfish on the cover slinking through off-white coral. It wasn’t the information I was seeking, but the glossy photographs that dappled nearly every page.

The idea in my head began to take form. Crion 81J, a planet distant from our own is composed of nothing but sparse islands and surrounding water. It’s an ocean planet, the physiology of which forces creatures to adapt, birds learning how to swim for miles and fish developing wings to escape surface predators. I flipped to a photograph of a turtle, taking my pencil and copying an image of it down to the yellow legal pad before me.

In a world where we cannot find a way to unite those who tip the balance, the ocean is the mightiest harmonist. I wrote. The humans who live on this planet do so only on the islands, harmonizing with the finite resources that Crion 81J gives them while needing no more and no less.

There was a story locked away in Wordsworth’s line, it was only a matter of finding the key. The last thing I wanted was for Lauren to turn and uncover it for me, yet she proceeded to anyway.

“I like it.” The girl smiled. “Even on our planet, something as precious as the ocean is worth saving. Maybe the strongest force on the earth has the power to bring humans together, just as it does to connect one nation to another.”

Before I could open my mouth to agree, Lauren arched over my arm and took her black pen to the yellow paper. A story about an environmentalist that takes place on a small island amidst an ocean planet. The future of peacemaking is a major part of the plot, and it ends with a victorious celebration.

I scanned the lines, the last in particular sparking my amusement. “You always like a happy ending, don’t you Lauren?” I whispered, tilting my head against her upper arm. A gentle vibration against my cheek followed as she wrote.

“Always.” Lauren acknowledged, her tone of voice equally as soft as not to disturb those around us. I was left with the fragmented idea once again, and leaned over to fill out the prompt.

Paul Abbey Lowell I wrote, letting the words flow as they did. A drowning incident orphans him at the age of six, and he spends his mid-pubescent years loathing the water. Love flips his views upside-down, turning a young adult Lowell into a socialist, anarchist and atheist who advocates not only for the preservation of the ocean, but all it’s life. When a sea-faring war breaks out among islands, the future of the ocean world is threatened, and Lowell fights to preserve not only his home, but peace for the taker of his parents.

I sat back, looking at the handwritten passage with a small smile. A story was about forgiveness and retribution, and a statement on how important it is to preserve the things that give us life. I slid the legal yellow pad over to Lauren, who had a pen trapped between her teeth and was studying a book that boasted ridiculously small font. “The victorious celebration.” She whispered, sliding it back to me. Brow furrowing, I swiped up my pen again and started to scribble down some more notes.

The relationship Lowell grew over this time alone is put at stake, his love taken away just as his parents were. I scratched down, sitting up straight and rolling my shoulders back. Lauren didn’t seem to take notice of my hesitation, and in one fell swoop and grabbed the pad of paper and started through the library.

Behind the front desk, Cecily Gunnderman hadn’t moved from her post. People were feeding in and out of the building, most of which were parents and young children taking advantage of the day off. Approaching the desk, I planted my paper down before her with a bold smile.

“Can I help you Ms. Cabello?” The woman’s icy blue gaze shifted to me.




“How do you cope with losing people you love?” I asked, sitting down in the stool opposite her and tapping the end of my pen against the paper.

“Excuse me?” 


“You’ve lost multiple men whom you clearly cared about, at least enough to marry.” I continued without hesitation. The woman had two wedding bands on her ring finger, and that didn’t include the ones that likely sat tucked away in a velvet jewelry box. There was quite literally nothing to lose from partaking in the conversation on my end. “How did you cope that with? Did it change who you were?”

Cecily exhaled, her gaze narrowing to slits. “There is one thing that changes us more than losing those we love.” She replied, looking down at my paper and scanning the paragraph I had previously written. “And that’s gaining them.”

I sat up a little straighter.

“Love is the strongest force.” She continued. “Gaining and losing it is only the course of life. Every man who has lived and died in my arms has contributed to the person I shall die as. Have the losses saddened me? Yes. Have they changed me? Yes. But did I have to cope with them? No. The loss of love and loss of life went hand in hand, so only coping with one followed through to coping with the other.”

“So you believe something as powerful as love sits at the centre of everyone?” I watched her elderly features shift as I spoke.

“I believe the centre of everyone depends only on who you are.” Cecily replied, un-moving and seemingly unable to smile. “Not who I am, not who this protagonist of your story is, but who you are Camila Cabello.”

I swallowed, nervously taking the pad of paper back with a soft expression of gratitude. Back at the table, I was able to finish the beginning of Lauren’s prompt with little struggle.

Lowell discovers that the love he gains and loses matters little, the peace he fights for becomes the victory he is able to celebrate.” I continued. “For some, peace and love go hand in hand, for others, the sacrifice of one means the prevalence of the other.”

Lauren had looked up from her work, cloaking me in the realization that I had been openly speaking as I wrote. She inevitably slid herself out of the sunlight patch and over to me again, sidling up to read what I had progressed with.

“What would you call the book?” She asked, the light in her eyes settling a warm comfort over my shoulders.

“A Mighty Harmonist.” I replied, holding my breath and awaiting her approval. She gave it a moment later, signifying her satisfaction with a sweet nod.

Love was an emotion that I thought about often, yet remained just that. An emotion. It wasn’t a yearning, nor a desire to experience something as profound as romantic feelings towards any one person. Looking at Lauren however, that desire found a way to change. I thought often about the person who would end up loving her. I had no idea who they were, yet pondered constantly at what kind of person they would turn out to be, how they were going to slot into our lives, and whether I would end up back where I began. I had no desire to be lost and alone again.

“Camz.” Lauren’s voice startled me.

“Sorry?”

“I said I liked that title.” She repeated, the corner of her mouth turned up in a small smile. “I like that you took the line straight from the poem, most authors would try to beat around the bush and make their readers think.”

I nodded slowly. “You said that Wordsworth was a man who enjoyed writing words for what they were. Breaking the barriers of inane phraseology so men intelligent and unintelligent alike can understand great literature.”

Lauren laughed softly. “Camz, I think any man who took the time to study great literature can be marked as intelligent.”

“Why’s that?”

The yellow pad of paper angled towards her shifted back to me. “Intelligence is a mark of what you aspire to achieve, not your achievements in the past.” She clarified. “This is a wonderful idea, you definitely have potential to master the science fiction genre, genius.”

I dipped my chin down, fighting the blush that would inadvertently rise in my cheeks each time she complimented me. Lauren didn’t seem to acknowledge it, setting the pen back against my page before returning to her own laptop. Taking the prompt from the pad of paper to the screen of my laptop, I spent the rest of the afternoon bringing it to life.

“You’ve been writing about love a lot recently Camz.” Lauren commented as we bid farewell to Cecily at the front desk and returned to our bikes. “Any reason why?”

“Because love gives you answers.” I replied, pulling these strap of my canvas bag up higher on my shoulder. “Love is everything. It consumes us, and consumes literature. It makes money, it stimulates emotion, it makes us laugh and cry—“

“Camz.” Lauren placed her hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I shrugged back. “Why?”

“Why?” Lauren lifted her eyebrows. “Because after you complete a prompt, you always seem so satisfied. Right now it seems like you’ve lost your life savings over one night in Vegas.”

The ocean in which we hovered had always been dark, and it was that darkness which led me to fear what would end up changing everything. Who would change everything.

“Would love ever change your mind Lauren?” I asked, the words etched onto my legal pad burning a hole through the shoulder-bag. “About me?”

Her green eyes held my gaze for a moment longer, grip on my shoulder tightening.

“About you Camila?” She shook her head, lips turning into a smile that could one day make millions. “Never. I’ve made my choice.”

***

A/N: Hi, so I’m going to put in a little bit of story background here, which I really should have done in the first chapter but better late than never I guess. Typically this is something I would let the readers discover on their own, but I think it would be beneficial for people to be aware of this as they get to know these two very interesting protagonists. 

I’m giving Lauren’s character two distinct traits: Mirror-touch synesthesia, which is the ability of an individual to feel the same sensation of touch as someone else. For Lauren, it’s going to be linked heavily with the sensations of trust and empathy. She’s also got a condition called hyperalgesia, which is the higher than normal sensitivity to pain, typically in undamaged tissue. 

Camila is going to have Dissociative Identity Disorder, and one confirmed alter who will play a significant role in the future. We don’t know a terribly large amount about the disorder itself, and by no means is her character going to be 100% accurate based on what we do know, but it should be interesting. You see a lot of writing about themes like depression, anxiety, self-harm, drug addictions and eating disorders, and less about the more "B-list” psychological abnormalities.

I’m basically going at this blind. I have no pre-written chapters, no overarching message, no outlines or writing prompts. All I have is two dynamic characters and a gloomy little town that just screams Netflix drama. What I do know for sure is that every chapter is going to feature a made up story idea and a skeleton concept for a book to go with it. The “chapter” titles will double as the title to that theoretical piece of writing. 

Thank you for reading. :) 

~rory (wattpad/tumblr)

[gooeyguy]

Fibromyalgia linked to ptsd?

Fibromyalgia, what is it?

You might have heard this word before, either from a family member or a friend but you probably don’t know exactly what it is and how it affects the people diagnosed.

So hey guess what homie? today i’m here to tell you all about it and my experiences with it, if you decide to keep reading of course.

 Fibromyalgia is a relatively recently-known disease, so there is still much to be learned about it. More and more research is being done on it and there are now set diagnostic tests. It seems part of the disease is caused by the pain nerves misfiring and interpreting every sensation as pain. Fibromyalgia more commonly affects women than men, and often shows up during young adulthood. There are many symptoms that can occur with fibro, but i’m gonna do my best to narrow it down as much as possible, as to not run my mouth all over an assignment for class.

Chronic widespread body pain is the primary symptom of fibromyalgia. You may have heard this and thought that’s all there is to it, unfortunately most people with fibromyalgia also experience moderate to extreme fatigue, sleep disturbances, sensitivity to touch, light, sound, and cognitive difficulties. Many individuals also experience a number of other symptoms and overlapping conditions, such as irritable bowel syndrome, sleep disorders, anxiety, depression, chronic headaches, joint hypermobility/ Ehlers danlos syndrome, lupus and arthritis. I cannot begin to elaborate on the extended side affects of these side effects, but the most important to note is PTSD or C-PTSD, it is believed to be a huge cause of fibromyalgia and symptoms of the illness, but we’ll get to that in a second.

Many of these symptoms are also found in other chronic illnesses. A person most likely won’t experience all of these at once but can. Symptoms might be constant or they might wax and wane. New symptoms may develop any time. Everyone is affected by fibro differently.

Fibromyalgia is very hard to cope with and will affect so much more of your life than you’d expect.

Here are some personal symptoms i experience to help explain.

WIDESPREAD PAIN AND STIFFNESS: Fibro people experience many types of pain. Muscle and joint stiffness is also common, especially after sitting for a period of time. I always am feeling some level of pain, but the type and intensity and sometimes location varies: flu-like ache all over the body, burning pain as though my whole back is on fire, sharp pain as though someone stuck a dagger behind my shoulder blade, joint weakness and pain--almost like a light sprain, and others. For me, getting dressed, repeated bending (such as laundry or loading the dishwasher), and standing still are three of the biggest basic function pain triggers. But even tiny things like wearing jewelry or using a fork can cause more pain on bad days.

FATIGUE: This can be anything from a constant tiredness to a debilitating fatigue so bad I can’t do much but sit and stare (or cry). This clashes with the pain/night terrors i experience making it difficult for me to sleep. It can mean I have trouble staying awake during lectures or class, or even a chat with a friend, no matter how much I want to hear it. If I'm having a worse fatigue flare, I will start having trouble walking straight, much less thinking straight, and often notice myself talking very slowly.

I am currently taking a stimulant called adderall that helps me stay awake but unfortunately gives me a bad crash after wearing off.

SLEEP DISTURBANCES: Fibro causes an alpha wave sleep disorder where the brain experiences bursts of alpha waves (normally only experienced during awake times) throughout the night. These bursts either fully wake me up, or at least bring me out of deep sleep. On a good night I’ll wake up fully two or three times and on a bad night I wake up as often as every twenty minutes, if I sleep at all. The frequent awakenings not only mean a loss of sleep, but also interrupt the important sleep cycles of the body. The time of deep sleep is vital for your body to repair itself and prepare for the next day. Fibromyalgic’s get very little deep sleep, and often another important sleep cycle, REM sleep, is minimized as well. Sleeping better or worse is not typically related to emotional stress.

COGNITIVE PROBLEMS: This includes memory and concentration problems, as well as language use problems, commonly called brain fog or FibroFog. It’s called that for a good reason. It’s as though you’re having to grope through a heavy fog to try to grasp thoughts, and as soon as you latch onto one, it slips away again. The short-term memory problems mean I don't always remember the answer to the question I just asked--or even what the question was! Or I'll be listening to someone and can't quite understand and connect all the words together into something that makes sense. Sometimes I have trouble talking clearly, or will use a random wrong word, or simply be unable to think of common words. This makes me feel as if i come off stupid and does not help my self esteem. Dissociation ties into this and is linked to my C-PTSD. More than simple detachment or loneliness, C-PTSD sufferers tend to experience themselves as "outside looking in," as though they are no longer a part of life's events but are beyond a transparent barrier, restricted to the role of an observer. Making everyday feel unreal.

HEIGHTENED SENSITIVITY: to bright light, touch, sound, and smell. The feeling of clothes can be painful, but to describe what i mean a bit better, the running of my finger along the skin of the top of my arm is irritating. Its as if i’ve gotten a fresh rugburn after getting my arm numbed for a surgery. So theres an ache in the muscle as if it’s bruised and an irritation to the skin but in the same instance a partial numb feeling. Any flashing, flickering, or bright lights or loud sounds can be very painful to the eyes and ears. On a bad day even quiet sounds like someone walking or ruffling through papers can be painful. Certain smells can be painful, as well as certain cleaning products, triggering smells and even perfumes. DIZZINESS: I sometimes have a slight balance problem, especially if there are other people milling about close to me, on a staircase, or if it is not well lit. I have fallen numerous times, but when I don’t I have to take a sudden step to catch myself, quickly grasp the stair beam, or touch a wall or friend’s shoulder to balance myself. It’s not uncommon for me to try to walk through the doorframe or look a tad tipsy if I’m particularly exhausted. Other symptoms of Fibromyalgia are Irritable Bowel Syndrome, muscle tremors, numbness or tingling in hands and feet, mood changes, chest pain, painful menstruation, and dry eyes, skin, and mouth. Many people also struggle with anxiety and depression.

Fibromyalgia is a newly studied illness and there isn’t much to find as to what causes it, Although, talking to my doctor has really brought a new light to this issue. So bear with me while i try to explain.

I had been diagnosed with ptsd as a young child but was never followed up with therapy. And to be more specific I am now diagnosed with C-PTSD (Complex Post traumatic stress disorder) The difference between the two is PTSD is caused by a single event whereas C-PTSD is caused by prolonged or recurring events.

C-PTSD symptoms are believed to be the cause of the symptoms I have regarding fibromyalgia, here is a list and explanation of some of them.

FIGHT OR FLIGHT: You’ve probably heard of this term. The fight or flight response refers to a specific biochemical reaction that both humans and animals experience during intense stress or fear. The sympathetic nervous system releases hormones that cause changes to occur throughout the body. When you are in a stressful or dangerous situation and experience fear and anxiety, your body goes through a number of changes: Your heart rate may increase. Your vision may narrow (sometimes called "tunnel vision"). You may notice that your muscles become tense. You may begin to sweat. And your hearing may become more sensitive.

Now i want you to think about what would happen if someone was in a constant state of “Fight or Flight”. Eventually you’d be exhausted right? If your body is in a constant state of fear and anxiety eventually the tensing of muscles is going to take a toll on your body.

And that is exactly what C-PTSD does.

Re-experiencing the past: In the form of nightmares and flashbacks. While in PTSD flashbacks tend to be visual, in C-PTSD they are often emotional. That is, a sudden, overwhelming rush of emotions such as anger, shame, humiliation, abandonment, and of being small and powerless much like a child would feel when abused.  These are referred to as Emotional Flashbacks (EFs) and can last for minutes, hours or even days. Avoidance: of thoughts, feelings, people, places, activities relating to the trauma (e.g., dissociation, derealization) Emotion regulation: Emotional sensitivity; reduced ability to respond to situations in an emotionally appropriate and flexible manner.   Negative self-concept: Feeling of worthlessness and defectiveness. Doctors suggest that those with C-PTSD suffer from toxic shame and have a virulent Inner and Outer Critic. Interpersonal problems - Difficulty feeling close to another person; feeling disconnected, distant or cut off from other people (depersonalization, social anxiety and reactive attachment). So overall is it understandable to see where a lot of this shows C-PTSD could be the cause of Fibromyalgia?

 Long-term prognosis of Fibromyalgia, what is it? Fibromyalgia is a chronic illness that goes in cycles of severe flares and milder symptoms. It typically never goes away completely and can be debilitating. Thankfully, it is not believed to be degenerative and does not actually damage muscles, joints, or organs, although it is linked to heart issues.

About 2 percent of the U.S. population suffer from widespread pain and have tender points that are painful to the touch. There is no cure for fibromyalgia, and pain medications often aren't very helpful, so patients can have pain that is bad enough to disrupt their everyday lives for the rest of their life. People with fibromyalgia also have higher rates of psychiatric illness than the general population, and about 90 percent of those with the condition are women. Some with fibro learn to have successful lives, though they typically will be able to do less activity than a healthy person, and less than they were previously able to do.

Unfortunately the rate of suicide from people with this illness is quite high. Each year, about 30,000 people in the United States take their own lives total. It is the 11th leading cause of death in our country and accounts for about 1.5% of all deaths in the US. Three out of four people with this illness will commit suicide.

As said earlier, chronic widespread pain is the main symptom of fibromyalgia. And to de diagnosed it must include: Pain for at least three months Pain above and below the waist Pain on both sides of the body

Pain in more than 11 of 18 the following points in the following image

This could include combinations of neck pain, shoulder pain, back pain, hip pain, knee pain, feet pain, and pain in just about every part of the body. People with fibromyalgia may also have: Hyperaglasia  (increased pain in response to normally painful contact) Allodynia (pain in response to normally nonpainful contact) None of this pain will show up on an x-ray or blood test. That’s one reason why getting a diagnosis of fibromyalgia from your doctor may take so long. In fact, it takes an average of more than 2 years to get an accurate diagnosis of fibromyalgia. Leaving sufferers confused and more likely to lose their job, fail school, or even commit suicide.  What is the long-term prognosis? Fibromyalgia is a chronic illness that goes in cycles of severe flares and milder symptoms. It typically never goes away completely and can be debilitating. Thankfully, it is not believed to be degenerative and does not actually damage muscles, joints, or organs. Most people with fibro learn to have successful lives, though they typically will be able to do less activity than a healthy person, and less than they were previously able to do. What treatments can help? The most effective help for fibro is pacing, that is doing a small bit of activity and then resting. Those with Fibromyalgia need to learn how to listen to their body and know when to stop and when to say no to things, including others. This can be difficult because what may be fine one day may be too much another day, and often the effects of overdoing it aren’t fully felt until the next day. This to others can be marked as laziness and can also greatly affect child to parent relationships. Self help pain management such as ice and heat, special back supports, hot showers or baths, and naps can be used to calm the pain. Walking or other light exercise is also helpful, as is stretching. Sensory issues can make some of these uncomfortable but some work.

There are a number of medications that can also help control some of the symptoms of fibro, especially the pain. Most medications pain related are addictive and aren’t advised to be used by doctors though. There are also antidepressant,anxiety and sleep medications. But of course the meds i’ve personally tried haven’t had much of an effect on me or have given me an allergic reaction.     Alternative treatments such as chiropractic, naturopathy, acupuncture, light massage, and avoiding certain foods or household chemicals (cleaners, body and hair care products, etc.) can be helpful.  How you can help a friend/family member who has fibro or another chronic illness. There are many ways to reach out to help, and of course the needs will change for each person. Big things like helping clean the house or cooking meals can help, but often it’s the little things that are the best, like opening the door for them, or remembering to ask for permission when touching you. Here’s a list of a few things that can help (with thanks to many other websites I‘ve read similar lists on over the past year): ~ Don’t be afraid to hug them gently (with permission), but please no bear hugs. ~ Understand that just because the person looks fine or is laughing and talking, doesn't mean they are not experiencing symptoms. And even if they feel halfway okay while they’re with you, they may pay the consequences of the outing later. ~ Invite them to join you on outings, but if they say no don’t be offended, and don’t be afraid to keep asking in the future in case they are having a good day. Let them know what to expect--if there will be a lot of sitting or standing, a long walk, bright or flashing lights, etc. ~ Be willing to make plans for activities and to be the first to phone or email. It may be hard for them to put energy into contacting you and making plans, even though they’d probably like to get together. This goes for overall conversation as well, don’t be upset if they don’t feel up to talking. ~ Realize that just because they come to an event doesn't necessarily mean they are feeling great. ~ Offer to drop them off at the front door before you go to park. ~ Hold the door for them--I can’t tell you how many times I’ve hurt my wrist just opening a door man. ~ Ask if you can carry anything for them. ~ Warn them before you turn on the light or something that makes noise-- Any sudden noise, light, touch i’m not expecting will make me jump and it’s not comfortable, it in fact can cause me to dissociate. ~ Don't yell or scream in their ear. ~ Realize that a normal poke or elbow dig might cause pain. You can touch them gently on the arm or back, but be soft and don’t surprise them. Try not to jiggle their chair. ~ Let them set the pace when you are walking. ~ Don't be annoyed if you have to repeat yourself several times, or think of a different way to say something. ~ Don’t be afraid to laugh with them about the quirks of fibro. ~ Ask if you can come over and help with housework, or if you can bring over some frozen meals (if they has food allergies, check what they can safely eat). ~ Ask them how they’re doing, and listen to the answer-- do not get upset with them please. ~ If they’re having a bad day, don’t just tell them you’ll pray for them, but ask if you can do anything for them, and if they respond with “not really” stay calm and reassuring.

~ Ask if they are okay every once in awhile. ~ Don’t tell them to try harder and give unreasonable goals that they don’t have faith in reaching, encourage them instead of bringing them down about it.

~ Don’t be afraid to complain about the little things in your life. Tell them about your problems too, everyone wants to feel included. Sure, a stubbed toe may not seem that bad compared to a lifetime of chronic pain, but that sure doesn’t make it not hurt when it happens! Thank you for reading if you’ve gotten this far, i’m sure the person who sent it to you or the person in your life with Fibromyalgia, really appreciates that you took the time to read about their illness. 

-Phoenix S.

[andrewdburton]

How to prepare for a natural disaster

My world is on fire.

As you may have heard, much of Oregon is burning right now. Thanks to a “once in a lifetime” combination of weather and climate variables — a long, dry summer leading to high temps and low humidity, then a freak windstorm from the east — much of the state turned to tinder earlier this week. And then the tinder ignited.

At this very moment, our neighborhood is cloaked in smoke.

I am sitting in my writing shed looking out at a beige veil clinging to the trees and nearby homes. The scent of the smoke is intense. My eyes are burning. After everything else that's happened this year, this feels like yet one more step toward apocalypse. So crazy!

Fortunately, Kim and I (and the pets) are relatively safe. We're worried, sure, but not too worried. Our lizard brains make us want to flee. (“Fight or flight” and all that.) But our rational brains know that unless a new fire starts somewhere nearby, we should be safe.

Here's a current map of the fire situation in our county. (Click the image to open a larger version in a new window.)

The areas in red are under mandatory evacuation orders. (And the red dots are areas that have burned, I think. They added the dots to the map this morning.) Residents of areas shaded in yellow need to be prepped to leave at a moment's notice. And the areas in green are simply on alert.

See that town called Molalla? That's where my mother and one of my brothers live. My mother's assisted-living facility was evacuated to a city twenty miles away. My brother and his family voluntarily moved from their home to our family's box factory. But even that doesn't feel 100% safe. (The box factory is located just to the left of that cluster of red dots at the top tip of the yellow area around Molalla.)

Kim and I live near the “e” in Wilsonville. We're more than twenty miles from the nearest active fire. We should be safe. But, as a I say, we're worried. So, I spent much of yesterday prepping for possible evacuation.

Update! Barely three hours later, things have changed. Now Molalla is under a mandatory evacuation order. My brother can't go back to get anything. He didn't film his house and belongings, so he simply has to hope for the best. Meanwhile, the level two alert has been shifted to cover more of the county, including the town where I grew up (Canby) and the surrounding areas. The caution zone ends at the Willamette River, which is maybe four miles from us. Kim and I are on edge. Here's the latest update to the evacuation map…

The scariest part of all this? The main fire that's threatening these communities is zero percent contained. Zero

Natural Disasters

We Oregonians don't have a protocol for emergency evacuations. It's not something that really crosses our minds.

While the Pacific Northwest does have volcanoes, eruptions are rare enough that we never think about them. And yes, earthquakes happen. Eventually we'll have “the Big One” that devastates the region, but again there's no way to predict that and it's not something we build our lives around. (Well, many people have been adding earthquake reinforcement to their homes, but that's about it.)

In the past fifty or sixty years, the Portland area has experienced four other natural disasters.

My father used to talk about the Columbus Day Storm of 1962, a cyclone that blew through area when he was in high school.

On 18 May 1980, Mount St. Helens blew its top. There was plenty of warning before the eruption, though, so most everyone had cleared away from the peak.

On the morning of 25 March 1993, we had the “Spring Break quake”, an earthquake of magnitude 5.6. (This was also my 24th birthday, so I personally call it my “birthquake”.)

The Willamette Valley flood of 1996 was pretty spectacular.

Now, in 2020, we're experiencing the worst wildfires the state has ever seen. That's roughly one disaster every ten or fifteen years, and it's the first one during my 51 years on Earth that's made me think about the need for evacuation preparedness.

Kim and I have been asking ourselves lots of questions.

If we were to evacuate, where would we go? What route would we take? What would we carry with us? How would we prep our home to increase the odds that it would survive potential fire?

Let me share what we've decided and what we've learned. (And please, share what you know about emergency preparedness, won't you?)

Evacuation Preparedness

The first thing we did was brainstorm a list of things that were important to us. Without reference to experts, what is it that we would want to do and/or take with us, if we were to evacuate.

Our animals (and animal supplies).

Phones, computers, and charging cords.

Important documents from our fire safe.

A bag for each of us containing clothes and toiletries.

Sleeping bags and pillows.

Sentimental items. (We have no “valuable”.)

Create a video tour of the house for insurance purposes (be sure to highlight valuable items).

Move combustible items away from the house.

After creating our own list, we consulted the experts.

In this case, we looked at websites for communities in California. California copes with wildfires constantly. (And, in fact, Kim's brother and his family recently had to help evacuate their town due to wildfires!) For no particular reason, I chose to follow the guidelines put out by Marin County, California. I figured they know what they're talking about!

The FIRESafe MARIN website has a bunch of great resources dedicated to wildfire planning and preparedness. I particularly like their evacuation checklist. While this form is wildfire specific, it could be easily adapted for other uses, such as hurricane preparedness or earthquake preparedness.

The ready.gov website is an excellent resource for disaster preparedness. It contains lots of info about prepping for problems of all sorts. You should check it out.

Creating a Go Kit

FIRESafe MARIN and other groups recommend putting together an emergency supply kit well in advance of possible problems. Each person should have her own Go Kit, and each should be stored in a backpack. (In our case, I have several cheap backpacks that I've purchased while traveling abroad. These are perfect for Go Kits.)

What should you keep in a Go Kit? It depends where you live, of course, and what sorts of disasters your area is susceptible to. But generally speaking, you might want your kits to contain:

A bandana and/or an N95 mask or respirator.

A change of clothing.

A flashlight or headlamp with spare batteries.

Extra car keys and some cash.

A map marked with evacuation routes and a designated meeting point.

Prescription medications.

A basic first aid kit.

Photocopies of important documents.

Digital backup of important files.

Pet supplies.

Water bottle and snacks.

Spare chargers for your electronic equipment.

That seems like a lot of stuff, but it's not. These things should fit easily into a small pack. Each Go Kit should be stores somewhere easy to access. Kim and I don't have Go Kits yet, but we'll create them soon. We intend to store them in the front coat closet.

Writing this article reminds me of one of the first posts I shared after re-purchasing Get Rich Slowly. Almost three years ago, I wrote about how to get what you deserve when filing an insurance claim. This info from a former insurance employee is very helpful (and interesting).

Final Thoughts

I spent much of yesterday prepping for possible evacuation. This isn't so much out of panic as it is out of trying to take sensible precautions. I gathered things and put them in the living room so that we can be ready to leave, if needed. If authorities were to upgrade us from level one to level two status, I'd move this stuff to my car.

Also as a precaution, I moved stuff away from the house and thoroughly watered the entire yard. (Not sure that'd make much difference, but hey, it can't hurt.) I created a video tour of the house that highlights anything we have of value. And so on. This took most of the afternoon.

This morning, I can see that the neighbors are doing something similar. We're all trying to exercise caution, I think.

Kim and I will almost surely be fine. Although the smoke is thick here at the moment — it's like a brownish fog, and it's even clouding my view of the neighbor's house! — there aren't any fires super close to us. And barring mistakes or stupidity, there won't be any threat to our home.

Still, it's good for us to take precautionary measures, both now and for the future. And it's probably smart for you to take some small steps today in case disaster strikes tomorrow.

Updates!

The situation here in Oregon is evolving rapidly. I'm going to use the space at the end of this post to post updates. These will be fragmentary thoughts, for the most part — not coherent paragraphs.

Here is a terrific Reddit post about what one person wishes they'd known when evacuating for wildfire.

Last night, it became clear that the family box factory really could be in harm's way. We're worried. We're not freaking out yet — it's a good distance from the fires and it's located in a “prairie” — but the workers there are trying to formulate some sort of plan for if things do go bad.

There are crazy rumors floating around that the fires were started by far-left political operatives. This is blatant bullshit and it pisses me off that (a) anyone would believe this idiocy and (b) spread the (unsubstantiated) rumors. It's causing actual issues as armed vigilantes are threatening people now because they're worried they're liberal firestarters. Simply insane.

Kim and I intend to spend most of today (Friday, September 11th) prepping the house as if it were indeed going to get hit. We realize that it probably won't, but better safe than sorry.

That's it for now. More later.

from Finance https://www.getrichslowly.org/emergency-preparedness/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[gaiatheorist]

Four years.

Four years today, I left hospital after a brain haemorrhage. I usually refer to my ‘discharge’ in snark-marks, and I’m trying very hard to consign the rage to the imaginary file ‘That happened, accept it, and move on.’ There were systemic failings, and personal ones. The last four years started with the ex bringing me some uncomfortable boots, that I didn’t wear often, but he liked, and, once I was in his car, telling me that I might need another operation. That information shouldn’t have come from him, and I shouldn’t have spent the next few days pecking away at Google, trying to figure out what had happened in my brain, and the likely prognosis for the repaired aneurysm-rupture, and the two remaining ones. 

It was, in part, his coercive control. He wanted me ‘home’, and he was going to ‘look after’ me. I accept that my near-miss was terrifying for him, he saw the 10 days I have missing from my memory, he had the medics take him into a quiet side-room, and explain that I might not live through the surgery. I wasn’t ‘there’ for that bit, and nobody knew how much of ‘me’ would make it back. 

I’ve just checked my Facebook ‘memories’, it’s routine now, I originally started doing it when I went off work sick, deleting anything derogatory or inflammatory, it’s as purged as it’s going to be now. I’d posted some confused babble about having been in hospital, but being home, and there were 41 comments, mostly “OMG! Get well soon!” from people I’d not seen for decades. Posting that status update, after two weeks of nothing at all was very important to me, I’m not a particularly sociable animal, the light-touch of social media suits me, I’m also a sarcastic git, so “I’m not dead!” amused me. What didn’t amuse me was feeling that I ‘had to’ make that announcement. I have almost two weeks of my life missing, between the initial brain-fail, the induced coma, the drug-fog, and the ex having my phone. During the two weeks I was MIA, I have no idea who knew what. I do know that the ex bought a charger for my phone, the “Let me know you’re OK?” messages were on the lock-screen when he eventually allowed my son to hand it back to me. Unread, unopened, not-responded-to, the ex didn’t have my pass-code. He’d told me I “wasn’t allowed” my phone, and, when I asked him to bring in my Kindle, he told me there was no WiFi in the hospital. He lied, there was WiFi, it just didn’t occur to me to ask the staff how to access it, I spent ages trying to work-around it myself, on the Kindle, and on the over-bed TV screen, round and round in fruitless loops of ‘information for patients’ and details about pharmacy and laundry services. 

I know he was confused and frightened. So was I. I expect some of ‘my’ people were, too. He deliberately cut me off from the outside world, and then took two weeks off work to ‘look after’ me. The man can barely look after himself, so, as well as suffocating me with his presence, and threatening to ‘strap me to the roof-rack’ and take me to hospital if I deteriorated, he ate lots of toast, and made lots of mess, which I ended up cleaning up. SNAFU. The hospital had told him there might be some personality changes in me, and I genuinely believe that he hoped I might go all ‘Stepford’, and forget my side of the conversation we’d had early in February, about ‘trying’ to make the marriage work. Flogging a dead horse, there, we’d had multiple discussions about ‘staying together’, for our son, for the father-in-law. We hadn’t been ‘together’ for years, when he asked me to ‘try’, I’d explained that I had done nothing but try for the biggest part of 20 years, that I’d bent over backwards to please him, for nothing in return. I’d been cold-clear and he didn’t like it, he wanted tears, and capitulation, and me to suddenly become his subservient shadow again, his housemaid-with-holes. No.

After the brush with the Reaper, he started referring to me as his ‘warrior woman’, and proclaiming loudly to anyone who would listen that I was ‘too stubborn to die.’ He was half-right, I wanted to live, but I hadn’t been ‘his’ anything for a very long time. I pushed him away, physically and emotionally, I started to conceal my pain, because I couldn’t stand his fussing, and I decided I’d go back to work as quickly as possible, despite him suggesting I should sue my employers on grounds that the haemorrhage had been stress-induced. Control-issues, almost two decades of him deciding where I could go, what I should wear, who I could speak to, culminating in him buying me rotten pink ‘shortie’ pyjamas to wear in hospital, knowing perfectly well how much I hate having my skin exposed. 

I misjudged myself, and my capacity for recovery. I was going to ‘get better’ through sheer force of will. Brain injuries don’t work like that, it’s not like a broken leg, you don’t ‘get better’ as such, you just get better at covering up how unwell you are. The ex’s threat about taking me to hospital by force if I ‘got a migraine’, and then, back at work, the feeling that I was inconveniencing other people, not pulling my weight, this year’s Oscar for ‘acting normal’... (Stop laughing, this is my normal.) 

Four years of constant headaches, vertigo, visual disturbances, fatigue, sleep disruption, emotional lability and enormous sensory overload. Four years of muscle tics and tremors, sporadic episodes of weakness in my limbs, and that weird ‘Alice in Wonderland’ thing (Which may or may not be Todd’s Syndrome, I’ll ask at the hospital next month.), where my perception of where an object is in relation to myself goes all hall-of-mirrors wrong. Four years of ‘you were lucky to survive’, and ‘that might ease in time’. For almost two of those years I’ve been wading through DWP/PIP systems and processes that first assumed I was fully-fit, and then decided I was faking being ill. Guilty until proven innocent, 300+ pages of “As she can ‘x’, it is reasonable to assume she could ‘y’.” ‘Reasonable’ goes out of the window with some brain injuries, and I saw a Facebook post the other day of “People with chronic conditions aren’t faking being ill, we’re faking being well.” 

The formal referral for Mental Health support was a little over a year ago, MH didn’t want to take me on until neuro-psych assessment of my functional capacity was complete. Fair point, there wouldn’t be much point allocating me therapy if I was just going to dribble, and eat their leaflets. Neuro-psych assessed me as functional-with-reasonable-adjustments, so MH had no get-out-clause. The poor practitioner was very apologetic about the way the system worked, in order to access provision, I’d have to attend a three-week ‘class’, they don’t say ‘group’ any more. Three excruciating sessions of death-by-PowerPoint, lowest-common-denominator information on anxiety, that I already knew, because I used to be a Learning Mentor. Back for a review, and the therapist doesn’t see any value in referring me for any further therapy, stating that I lack the emotional vocabulary to articulate myself in a meaningful way. (That’s not the case, I’d already answered her question at the start of the session, I shut-down on her because she kept repeating a question I’d already answered.) Next week, I get to explain myself all over again to someone new. I’ll take a note-pad, with bullet-points.

Next month, I have an appointment with neurology. Four years I’ve been living with the after-effects of the haemorrhage and emergency surgery, and almost three years with the after-effects of the second, elective surgery. Statistically-theoretically, there’s a plasticity-plateau 24 months after brain injury. This might be ‘as good as I’m going to get’, but it might not. I’ve compounded the NHS-negligence with my obstinacy, years of no-response and “That might improve over time.” led to me stopping asking for help, there didn’t appear to be any, so I got-on-with-it. There is the potential that some of my symptoms could be relieved with medication. (Not the Nitrazepam in the kitchen drawer, that’s for absolute emergencies, and will probably expire without me ever using it, the ‘common’ side-effects are too similar to the brain-fog I’m trying to avoid.) I’m not naive enough to think it’ll be a quick fix, there’s the possibility of trial-and-error ahead, the somewhat co-morbid existence of physical brain injuries and Mental Health issues are going to take some balancing out, anything MH want to try me on is likely to impact on my lucidity, and anything neurology want to prescribe could well impact on my emotional well-being. Vicious circle, but I’ve tried to self-manage the ‘vicious’ in me for four years, I can’t do it alone. 

I’m deflated, I’m not defeated. I know this is going to be a difficult phase, being ‘under’ 3 different hospitals that don’t communicate with each other, permanently on-edge in case I have a bad spell, and can’t complete my Universal Credit commitments. The PIP-award expires a year tomorrow, and I’ll need to re-apply 14 weeks before that date. I’ll still have brain damage, but PIP/DWP/ATOS might well shift the goalposts of disabled-enough. I was ‘lucky’ to survive, but just-surviving is no kind of life, four years of adapting to life with brain injuries haven’t been pleasant, I’ve done all I can by myself, and now I’m asking for outside help. If they tell me I’m ‘Doing really well, considering.’, I’ll eat their leaflets.