#THE FEVER IS BECAUSE I HAVE A RAGING EAR INFECTION

[science-doyourstuff]

I had to do client counseling for a euthanasia today at the vet clinic while extremely delirious with a fever and I am pretty sure I fucked it up

[swooningdelirium]

temperature taking <3

• a hand on the forehead and thermometer under the tongue at the same time. their temperature hasn’t registered yet, but the poor thing is definitely running a fever.

• a mindless little forehead kiss followed by a second more prolonged forehead kiss followed by “… are you sick?” when they realize their partner is far too warm

• having to check someone’s temperature in their ear while they’ve got a raging ear infection.

“i know it hurts, but you have to be still. you’re burning up and i gotta see how bad it is, okay?”

•sick stubborn character insisting there’s no reason to check their temperature because they don’t have a fever. they’re sure of it. stop asking. but when they zone out for a moment, they come to with a thermometer beeping between their lips.

“one hundred and four?!” their friend exclaims in equal exasperation and horror. “you fucking idiot.”

[somber-sapphic]

hi!! how are you doing? is it ok to ask for a wandanat x reader with R having an ear infection, please?? (asking foi it bc I have one rn and it HURTS)

No Questions

〖Notes: Oh anon, I'm so sorry. I've only ever had sinus infections but damn those suck. I hope you feel better soon &lt;3〗

〖Summary: You're feeling a bit clingy when you have an ear infection and your girlfriends are there to make sure you get better.〗

〖Word Count: 1.2k〗

〖Pairing: Wandanat x Sick Reader〗

☾Masterlists☽

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

It had started with Natasha, who had woken up to you squirming in bed, one hand cupping your ear. She had woken you up by shaking you, an intense panic gleaming in those emerald, green eyes, the worry lines set deep on her forehead. You had frowned at her, tears brewing in your own sad eyes.

She had asked the problem and you had just whimpered your response, in too much pain to really do much else. The look on your face was enough to make her freak out a little bit because the next thing you knew you were curled up in her lap in the medbay, being checked over by Bruce.

He, after about ten minutes, diagnosed you with an ear infection and due to the severity sent you back to your room with some antibiotics and made you promise that you would take them.

You weren’t exactly interested in talking due to the pain, but Natasha had promised that she would make you take them. She was good to you like that. She even carried you back up the stairs while you cried quietly, well aware that you were too old to be crying over something so trivial.

Now you were curled up against the headboard, in too much pain to lay down. Natasha was by your side, trying to convince you to try one of the things that she had found online to soothe the pain. She had her laptop open and was reading about remedies for ear infections, sharing with you the ones she thought would help the most.

“How about a warm compress? We could try that for a little while, hm?” She suggested stroking your hair with one hand as the fingers on her other hand danced across the keyboard. She was incredibly good at typing with one hand, probably due to her work as a secretary while undercover. The woman had a wide array of skills, some completely useless.

 Like how she could tell that you and Wanda were getting sick even before the two of you had any idea. She would say things like “cancel the meeting for tomorrow, you’ll be sick.”

You knew better than to tell her off after the first time she’d said something, and you’d woken up the next morning with food poisoning and a raging fever. Then she’d said, “I told you so” and chuckled about it while Wanda adamantly told her to stop it because you were miserable.

Maybe it wasn’t a useless skill, but it didn’t do anyone any good because Wanda and you never listened no matter how many times she was proven right. It always ended in everyone overworking and falling into bed late at night to be pampered.

“Okay, how about something over the counter? It’ll help with the fever.” You shook your head (which made you dizzy) and groaned softly, squeezing your eyes shut as your hand flew up to your ear. There was no way that it was helping, but in your mind, it was doing something so why not, right?

“Why not baby? You know it’s going to help.” she murmured, resting a hand on your warm cheek. Her affection was only making you feel worse, she was trying so hard to help but all you could do was give her misery in return.

“M-my throat hurts.” You rasped, the only full sentence you’d uttered since you’d woken up. You weren’t sure why an ear infection was affecting your throat, but it felt raw, as if you had swallowed a punch of sandpaper and followed it with a shot of lemon juice.

“Oh Y/n/n, I’m sorry.” Natasha sighed, pulling your head down so that it rested against her chest. You leaned into the touch pressing your head against her. She made you feel better, even when medicine wasn’t doing it.

“Make it stop.”

“I really wish I could sweetheart. Wanda will be home soon, maybe she can use a little bit of magic to help.” As if on cue, the witch burst into the room, her eyes flaming red with her hair flowing around her. She looked angry, but the color in her eyes quickly faded back to its normal hazel.

“Oh love, Bruce wasn’t kidding. What happened? You had a little cold when I left.” That had been about three days ago, and you had just been getting over what barely qualified as a cold.  A day with a cough and a few sneezes was all it took and then you were back to peak shape. Or so you thought.

Feeling sort of foolish, you leaned forward and reached for Wanda, your lower lip quivering. The three of you decided to ignore the fact that she was still sweaty from her mission, and she kicked off her shoes before climbing into bed and wrapping you in a tight hug.

You buried your head into her chest and whined quietly, relishing the way that she rubbed your back and whispered words to you in quiet Sokovian. When she pulled back, she rested you against Natasha, the two having a quick conversation in Russian. Your limited knowledge of the language made it hard to keep up, and the fever certainly wasn’t helping.

“Can you let me help with the pain?” she asked gently, raising one tentative hand as she waited for permission.

The brunette knew how you felt about magic, the air of worry you associated with it and she was always careful to check and double check before she preformed any on you. It wasn’t a common occurrence, sometimes she used it to soothe your panic attacks, sometimes it was to ease pain or lull you to sleep after a long day.

She was also adamant that her magic must not replace real sleep or healing, she tended to go on a whole rant about why it was important to take care of yourself. Of the three of you, she had the best sense of self preservation.

“Mhm.” She laid her hand on the side of your head, closing her eyes briefly as you felt a comforting tingle spread throughout your body. The pain didn’t disappear, but it lessened dramatically, leaving you relaxed back against your assassin.

“Love you, Wanda.” You breathed, finally feeling like you would be able to get even the smallest bit of sleep. The witch smiled down at you and crawled out of the bed, still in need of a shower. Natasha wrapped her arms around your waist and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ to Wanda.

She nodded back, and placed her hands on her hips, watching as you began to fall asleep in the redhead’s arms. You hadn’t gotten nearly enough sleep the night before and it was showing in the way that you could barely keep your eyes open.

“I’m gonna take a super-fast shower, are you two going to be okay?” Natasha nodded and readjusted you in her arms, pulling the blankets up over your shoulders. You sighed softly and nuzzled close, completely unaware of the looks the two women were giving you.

They were each looking at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, which to them you certainly were. There was no better way to put it, the three of you were undeniably soulmates.

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[kimmimaru]

The child beast is an odd little one. She's been ill with a pretty bad chest infection, luckily its eased off now since she's been on antibiotics but whenever she's ill she never acts ill. The more severe the less ill she appears. She can have a raging fever and she'll be dancing around the living room to music, it's mad lol. I have to make her rest and distract her with calm activities. When she had chicken pox as a toddler you wouldn't have known if she didn't have the spots. The bonus to this is that I know when she's seriously ill instantly, like when she had a horrible ear infection and had to go to hospital. She was out of it, didn't want to get out of bed and stuff. But that's only happened twice in her life thank god, once when she was very young with some sort of virus the doctors couldn't name and once with her ears (both times were pretty scary). So yeah, it's kind of frustrating but I do consider it a good thing because at least I am able to know when she needs medical attention and when I can just look after her at home. As a side note, I think I also have a chest infection but its not surprising since I get them every time I have a cold. Asthma is shite. I enjoy breathing, kind of miss it when its hard lol.

[pvri-more]

The Ghost of You (One Shot)

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader.

Warnings: Mentions of drugging, grief, overall very emotional and dark theme.

Word Count: 3,398

Summary: Instead of destroying the darkhold, Wanda is captured by S.H.I.E.L.D and taken to the Raft prison where she undergoes a series of mental and physical torture. Under the influence of sedatives, she starts developing hallucinations that become so blurred in reality that she can no longer tell what’s real and what’s fake. So when you, her girlfriend who is presumed dead, appears inside her cell, causes Wanda to have a difficult time deciphering whether you are really there. Are you real or just another figment of her lonely imagination?

A/N: I can’t believe it took me just about a year to finally finish a piece of work! But here we are! I hope you like it, I hope it’s good & I hope you like them to pull at your heart strings hehe. And if you’d like some songs to go along with this just like I did with my fic, listen to the two songs that inspired this one shot: “Hallucinate” by The Devil Wears Prada and “Fever Dream” by Hurtwave! xx

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The darkhold had infected Wanda’s body like an incurable virus. It flowed through her veins so cunningly, so quietly. As if it were sentient. It lurked in the corners of her bones, waiting for her to become too exhausted to fight it off. Until it enveloped her completely, until she wanted it ... until she wanted it to kill her.

So in the throes of her infection, Wanda reigned terror across anyone & anything that dared to get in her way. Her endless pits of depression remolded into tall mountains of rage. Her eyes were glazed over with evil’s cloak, her mind infected with it’s seductive spell and her veins intoxicated with the addictive elixir only wickedness could sell. 

Eventually, there was no more Wanda. Only the vengeful Scarlet Witch.

If she couldn’t be happy, nobody could. And as her malevolence grew, so did her body count. She snapped superheroes in half like they were pencils, manipulated minds and distorted reality in any way that would satisfy and took innocent lives in the process.

It went on and on, until a moment of humanity breached through Wanda’s sick and poisoned mind. A moment where she finally got a glimpse of what she’d done, of the ones she’s lost and what they’d think of her now. Her vulnerable state was only a flash but it was long enough for S.H.E.I.L.D to finally reach her, after struggling for some time now, and take her into captivity. 

The last thing she remembered was a pinch in her neck & the world going dark. 

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The silence rang through Wanda’s ears in the similar way it did when the bomb went off that peaceful night in Sokovia.

The incessant, mind numbing high pitched hum of loneliness's lullaby was the only sound she had heard since the last time one of the guards opened the door, dropped a tray of food and left. Even so, that eerie ringing was better than the voices in her head. 

It had been quiet for so long. So long that she had no recollection of how much time had gone by since she was first placed here. All she knew was that she was in this dark cement room at the Raft prison and the only reason she even knew where she was was because she had been here before. Same song and dance of being kept under surveillance, sedated and trapped. When she first got here she noticed how cold it was, but now, she couldn’t feel anything anymore.

In the time that she had been here, the daily shots they administered to render her powers useless were taking their toll. Fighting through it got harder with each injection. They even went as far as to place a shock collar around her neck, just like they did before, like she was some kind of animal ... a beast. After all, the darkhold was, for all intents and purposes, a beast. It made her forget her good side, it made her a shell of who she used to be and it was determined to do everything to remain in control. It didn’t matter anymore how much she missed her old self, vengeance tasted too good and Wanda was unwilling to part with the one thing left that made her feel alive. Revenge.

So for god only knows how long, Wanda’s mind, body & soul were laced with a conflicting cocktail of tranquilizing liquids and stimulating magic. No amount of sedation could numb the ache yet it was efficient enough to keep her powers at bay. 

It drove her mad. Writhing in pain as her mind switched back and forth between good and evil. Twitching like a television losing it’s signal. Every jerk, every scream, every violent urge... it was destroying her.

She was losing.

As the drugs penetrate into Wanda’s brain, slowly deteriorating whatever control she had left, she developed hallucinations. Her once physical battle now manifests mentally & it was getting harder & harder for her tell what was real & what was fake. 

In these hallucinations, sometimes all of her horrors would mutate & create one terrifying scene that she couldn’t escape from. They preyed on her over & over again. Those moments were unbearable to the point she swore they would kill her. The pain, the guilt, the hopelessness, it was causing physiological symptoms.

She was in the depths of agony.

But other times, things weren’t always so bad. Some of the hallucinations brought her brief moments of peace and it was those moments that she believed kept her alive.

Precious moments would grace themselves into her lonely world. Visions of laughter, warmth and love. All the things she had forgotten. 

She’d see home outside the one tiny window just below the ceiling. Gathering the strength to get up and look, she’d see her Sokovia in springtime. All the beauty it had to offer, including a young Wanda & Pietro running in the swaying meadows. She’d watch as the sun would kiss their skin so delicately that it felt like a comforting hug. The hallucinations were so real she could feel the warmth, smell the wildflowers and hear the sweet, tenor voice of her brother again.

Other days the barren room she withered away in would transform into her bedroom at the Avengers tower where she’d be laying contently on her bed. In the glow of a sunset afternoon, she’d turn her head and there you’d be, right next to her laughing along as you shared a memory. In these visions Wanda could never recall what the stories were about but it didn’t matter. Your mere presence was enough to pump the blood through her veins again. She just wished it could do the same for you. To bring you back to her so she didn’t have to watch you dissolve in the mist, slipping through her hands in the sunrise.

Wanda missed you so much. 

You had died a year ago, caught in the crossfire of a senseless battle just like her brother. Except she was away on a mission, not there to protect you like she always promised. She didn’t get to say goodbye. And with the world only getting worse despite these battles for justice, you had died for nothing. Your death was her final straw and subsequently what lead her to the place she is now.

Wanda couldn’t let go of you. All the unfinished business and the moments you never got to have ate her alive. She needed you. Even when her mind was clear, she’d close her eyes & see you there. You always saw the good in her. You saw past her troubled mind to see the heart that ached to feel anything other than pain. Inside this powerful being was a little girl screaming for relief. A little girl who lost everything, and lost herself along the way. Even when she didn’t deserve it, you always stood by her. And now here she was, imprisoned for her unforgivable crimes. The same kind that took you from her.

You were the only thing that made me good, Wanda thought as she looked down to her blackened finger tips. 

Completely overcome with grief, Wanda crumbled in misery, crying herself into exhaustion. With her head dropped down in front of her, her drowsy eyes began to flutter closed. Succumbing to the desire for rest, Wanda let her mind fly away.

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.

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“Wanda?” She heard your voice quiver from the corner of the room. “What happened to you?”

Wanda jolted at the sound & her eyes immediately searched for the angelic sound of your voice.

There you were, right here in front of her. 

Wanda had enough hallucinations to make her lose count, and she had admittedly used her powers to mold you out of the mist before, but this was different. None of them were as real and as tangible as you are right now.

“Y/n?” Wanda’s voice cracked in awe. Her tear stained eyes traced over you feverishly, as if you’d disappear any second, just like you always did at the end of all her previous dreams. 

You rushed over to Wanda’s weakened body with that familiar urge to protect her. Crouching down in front of her so you were at eye level, your eyes finally met after what felt like a million years.

Wanda immediately lifted her shaking hands to your face. Cupping it gently, as not to turn you back to dust. She brushed her thumbs across your cheek before running her fingers through your hair, pushing both sides behind your ears and stopping to cradle the back of your head. Her touch was as loving as it was inquisitive. She was in disbelief. In all her other hallucinations she could never feel you as solid matter the way she could now. She needed to feel your skin, to feel your bones, to ensure that you were in fact really here. 

“You’re real” she whispered, bewildered. “How are you here? How did you get in here?” Wanda couldn’t understand. You were dead.

As Wanda’s infected mind wandered trying to solve this mystery, it dawned on her ... she wasn’t there when you supposedly died. She didn’t see it happen. What if Hydra had taken you the way they’d taken others? What if you were alive the whole time? A glimmer of hope had pumped it’s way through her veins, reviving her.

“Don’t worry about that now. Wanda, tell me what happened? What are you doing here?” You dodged her question, it was irrelevant in comparison to the Wanda you saw in front of you. 

“I-”, feeling overwhelmed by reality of what she’d done once again, Wanda let out a sob, “I’m so sorry.” Her voice was weak & raspy from the lack of use.

“For what baby?” You pleaded. Your eyes scanned over her trying to make sense of it all.

Wanda looked thin, you thought, almost concave. Her skin was pale and her eyes were sunken and almost completely void of life. You noticed the collar and the track marks from needles on her skin and as you came to the realization, your body became weak. 

“What are they doing to you?” you asked softly.

There was a pause while Wanda’s mind scrambled to take in this moment, while also debating whether to explain what she had done. Eventually, she did just that. She traced back every ugly act, desperate to try and release herself of the pain. You just sat there and listened.

“I didn’t mean to” Wanda begged. Her voice was tightening with emotion. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.” You watched as the water flowed from her eyes like waterfalls. Her eyes were drawn to the floor in shame, causing you to fall apart with her. 

Instinctually, you leaned forward onto your knees and whisked her into your arms, placing one hand around her body and the other to the back of her head, leading it into the crook of your neck. 

“I know” you whispered to her comfortingly.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t astounded—disturbed even, by what Wanda shared with you. It was chilling and scary and completely uncharacteristic of the Wanda you fell in love with. Sure, Wanda had a dark side and she wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t evil. She was just a little girl who lost her way. Ultimately, it didn’t matter what Wanda did, the longer you sat here watching her dissolve into nothing, made you unable to see her as anything other than the woman you knew ... incapable of seeing her as anything but your Wanda. You knew her, because she was a part of you. In this life and in every life. The two of you were connected so firmly that it was as if you were feeling every inch of her sorrow with her.

As Wanda’s tears subsided and her body regained stability, you separated yourself from her in order to look at her once again. 

Wanda held on to your hands tightly, unwilling to let them leave her again. “I’m not a monster y/n.” she kept saying these things as if you ever thought differently. 

“I know” you reassured her, brushing your hand lovingly against her cheek.

There was a slight pause before you spoke again, an idea coming to mind. “Come here.” 

Lifting to your feet, you tugged Wanda’s hands upwards, signaling for her to follow your action. Wanda stood up, her eyes looking into yours and flickering back and forth with curiosity. 

In another short pause, you stayed there looking into her eyes. You looked beyond their surface and noticed the way they flashed subtly between a Wanda green and a Scarlet red. It was as if two souls lived inside her and each one was fighting for dominance. 

She was in complete inner turmoil. Powerless to the torture of her mind.

You couldn’t stand to see her like this, killing herself slowly.

“Show me “Wanda”” you finally spoke. If she was ever going to heal from this, she needed to find herself again.

And like a moth to a flame, Wanda did exactly as you asked. With alluring swirls of red, she brought life into this desolate room. Instead of waking nightmares, she formed wonders of beauty. A speckling of stars graced the ceiling and the ground turned from solid plaster to a soft bed of grass. A blanket appeared beneath both of your feet and in one swift movement, Wanda took your hand and laid you down beside her. In that moment, it was Wanda and you as you were before it all went bad. Before you disappeared from her world. 

The sceneries continued to change. From a peaceful beachfront sunrise to a cozy autumn date. Where you talked and talked, never seeming to run out of things to share. From both of you cuddled in a chair at a Christmas party, watching the blizzard blow outside the window, to a night-in cooking dinner together. You laughed and laughed, until your stomach’s burned with such joyful pain.

Wanda was making up for lost time. Recreating all the things you had done and creating all the things that should’ve been. Wanda showed you her light, her humor, her chivalry, her heart. All the good she had lost. You wanted her to see that she still had her humanity. You wanted her to see that she didn’t die with the darkhold. 

Then, Wanda took you to this abandoned ballroom in Sokovia. Back before the war, when her home still breathed with life.

Hand-in-hand, you both looked up and around at the elegance of Elizabethan Baroque architecture. Although run down and forgotten, it still beamed with a beauty you were in awe of. The interior was palace-like. White marble walls adorned with dainty patterns and detailed carvings. All housed within a ceiling so high it felt like a cathedral. Massive windows had been broken, leaving the room feeling like it was half enclosed, half outdoors. And as you walked through, your footsteps crunched over scattered rubble which echoed loudly with every step.

“I used to sneak away and come here when I was a kid.” Wanda told you as she watched the memories play out in front of her. 

“Little mischievous Wanda” you laughed, poking fun at her rebellious ways starting so young. She chuckled back, unable to deny it.

“Why’d you come here?” You added, genuinely curious to know more about her younger self.

“I don’t know. I stumbled upon it one day. Even though it’s massive, it was tucked away in an area I rarely ventured out to. I snuck through the window one day and just kept coming back. It was my hideout.” There was a break in her answer as she continued to look around. “I liked the grandeur of it all. The silence. The way people and their moments used to exist here and now it’s just a symbol for the passage of time.” You knew exactly what she meant.

Wanda guided you to the center of the ballroom floor and wrapped her arms around your neck before the flick of her finger caused a gentle sway of notes to reverberate off these forsaken walls.

Rocking your body slowly, her eyes lingered on yours. In the same way you did with her, Wanda noticed something missing in your eyes. Existence. Like they were becoming see through. And with it, her rose colored veil begins to fall and a piece of her heart crumbling with it once again.

This may not have been completely a hallucination, but it wasn’t completely real either. The drugs had caused illusions similar to dreams but this... this was her own magical doing. She wasn’t sure how she did it but she figured her chaotic mind had made for chaos magic. That her desperation reached it’s peak and stretched her powers to a place they’d never gone before. 

She continued, swallowing the lump that was beginning to form. “But I think now I see, it was the way that beauty still existed in it’s sorrow that made me love this place.” You wrapped your arms around her waist and rested your head against her chest, hugging her tightly, knowing this was bigger than the temple you danced in.

You felt her body deflate in your arms as she came to terms with something you didn’t know. 

Then she spoke again.

“And how the dead still live in the air that we breathe.” her voice tightened. “they live on in the memories, in the energy of the places they once stood.” 

“That they’re never really gone.” you finished for her. In that moment you started to feel funny. Your body felt phantom but your mind was still sharp and that’s when you too had realized that your job here was done. That this wasn’t “real” but instead, a temporary moment existing again. The pieces started fall into place. How you couldn’t remember why or how you were here. It’s because Wanda formed you from her agony, bringing you back to life, just for a moment. 

Gradually, the setting you were in begins to disintegrate in thin air and you were back in Wanda’s lonesome cell. 

Keeping your position, you both swayed slowly in a painful silence. Both aware of what comes next, but both unwilling to accept it quite yet.

“Is it peaceful in the afterlife?” Wanda asked, almost too quietly to hear, finally speaking her realization out loud. She yearned for some sort of solace. 

“Not as peaceful without you.” You paused, trying to console yourself. “But it’s not your time baby.” But just like that, the tears were back and it felt hard to breathe. “You have to let it go. You have to let me go.”

Like a child latching on to their mother, Wanda manages to speak through her choked up state, “Let me go with you.” She knew you were right, that she had to let go of the guilt and at least try to fill endless chasm that came with losing you. She knew you were right about needing to let go of the darkhold so she could live again. But she would still rather be with you.

“I love you Wanda.” is all you could muster. You whispered it into her ear and then kissed her with an ache you can’t describe. It felt like floating, it felt like dying all over again, yet it felt like a first breath. 

Wanda knew it was impossible. That no matter how powerful she was, she couldn’t be with you now. She knew that as always, you knew exactly what to do, exactly what to say. Even in the afterlife, you could save her. 

She knew that she had to destroy the darkhold. No amount of black magic could make her right inside but there was a world of good that she could do with her gift. This world needed her good. You had always told her that.

“I’m here whenever you need me.” You said, taking one last look into her eyes and placing your hand above her heart to indicate where you’ll be in the meantime. 

Placing a chaste kiss to her cheek, you whispered, “I’ll see you again, love.” before fading back into the place between.  

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Tag list: @xxxtwilightaxelxxx , @wandavisionmoot , @alexia-rmks, @impossibleliv1031

[sadcatjae]

Nothing Boy (Part 3) - Healing

Previous parts here

Just a little healing chapter c: Not much whumpy stuff here, but there will be tons in the next part OvO

I haven't been able to write much because my health lately has been terrible, but trying to get back into it. Next update is Demon and Priest, I thinK? Wish me luck??? . CW: Explicit language, mentions of noncon/sv, mentions of physical abuse/torture, ableist slur, nightmare/flashback, religious themes. 

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The stockade is a magically warded tent, jam-packed with prisoners captured during the battle. Here are the people that worked under Nix, every last one of them as unhinged and bloodthirsty as he, separated by shimmering walls that feel as solid as stone. Judging by the glares sent Nix’s way, if not for those walls, he would have been ripped apart the moment he was dragged in. Oman pulled Artemis away to the healer’s tent for his own recovery, leaving Nix alone in his cell. He was left a cot and a thin blanket, as well as a wooden bucket for what he assumes is for his waste.

His captured subordinates howl and taunt and gnash their teeth at him, but their voices are thankfully muffled by the magic. The heat of their glares however, reach him unfettered, and they bore into him like tens of nails burrowing into his flesh. Nix curls up in the cot, blanket thrown over his head, and he tries to sleep through his sickness. His rest is broken and uneasy, hindered by the enduring, throbbing pain in his back and the relentless heat rolling through his quivering limbs. At some point, he tosses the sweat-drenched blanket to the floor, and endures exposure in favour of the cold air.

For many hours, he dreams of his master. Heady nights of drink and twisted sheets. Master’s muscular body flush against his back. Heavy pants burning his ear. Rage and terror, both as heightened as the other until they are no longer discernible. He dreams of his flesh being torn from his bones, stitched back together, rearranged, reformed, broken and healed. There’s pain of all kinds, but the worst inflicted by a certain brown-eyed warrior of light. 

Nix’s dreams attack him with vendetta, as if his mind sought to destroy itself. It’s not rest he finds in the early hours of the night, but a new form of torture, carried with him from the dungeons. 

He’s floundering, drowning, unable to find his way out of the dangerous, torrid current. He reaches out, sobbing, heaving for air, trying to find purchase somewhere, anywhere, anyone–

A warm hand finds his own.

Fingers curl around, tightening their hold. Another hand finds its way to his clammy forehead, stroking and soothing in its touch.

There’s a voice, gentle and low, murmuring comforts and sentiments, none that he believes but clings to nonetheless. 

When he opens his eyes, the world is a smear of colours and light. He knows who kneels by his cot, even before he clears his vision. That damned holy man.

“Are you alright?” Artemis’ concerned face swims into view. His cheeks have colour to them, his eyes a tad more vibrant. And he seems to have taken a bath since, for his visage is clean and his scent pleasing. Like herbs and cold minerals. 

Nix grimaces and pulls his hand free, bringing it to his chest. He tilts his head away from the man’s touch, choosing to stare instead at his neighbour through the strange, shimmering wall. 

All he can see is a misshapen lump on a cot, rising and falling with steady breaths. 

“Your fever is breaking,” the warrior says, undeterred by Nix’s silence. “How do your wounds feel?”

Silence. The warden – or rather, the prisoner, grits his teeth. Bloodshot eyes are hooded, hateful. 

“Hopefully, the infection should clear. But just in case…” Art places his hand gently over the bandaged spine and pushes whatever little mana he’d managed to replenish into Nix. It’s not enough to heal him completely, but enough to close over the worst of the wounds. This way, Nix would be fully healed in days, rather than weeks.

The prisoner stiffens, feeling the odd sensation of magic flowing into his scored flesh, knitting it together and pushing the sickness out. It’s nothing like his master’s magic, which rends and violates. Then again, Deimos’ magic is pure destruction. Artemis’ is…creation. 

When the last of the mana pours into Nix, he feels thrice better than before. The overwhelming pain is down to a tolerable lull. He’s able to actually grasp his thoughts. The fever lingers, but it’s not so much an inferno but a flickering flame. 

The sharp blade of his pain has been dulled for the first time in weeks. He feels human. No longer a creature of instinct, so hurt that he’s merely functioning to survive. He is thinking, cognisant, able to distinguish himself, himself, which had been long buried under heavy layers of suffering. 

Even if it is a Nix, being a Nix is better than being mindless. 

Artemis leans against the cot panting, exhaustion weighing him down. If Oman knew that he’d used his magic like this, he would surely pop a vein or two. He smiles crookedly and glances over the wounded man. Touches his nape to check his temperature. Cooler. Better. 

Nix flinches at the touch and sits upright, drawing away from Art as far as he can. He glares at the warrior, irked by his calm smile and glittering eyes. “...Don’t touch me,” he says, hoarsely. His abused throat still hurts when he speaks. “If you touch me again, I’ll kill you.”

Art’s smile widens. He leans back and holds up his hands in surrender. “My apologies. I will refrain from touching you unprompted—”

“Ever,” Nix rasps, scowling. “Don’t touch me ever.”

“Very well.” The warrior lowers his hands, eyes curved above his swelling cheeks. He seems so happy, or excited. As if to hear Nix speaking brings him great thrill. “It is good to see you again, Nix.”

The prisoner narrows his eyes. “Last time I saw you, I broke all of your fingers.”

“So you did,” Art hums, as if it were a pleasant memory. “And then when your lord left, you set my fingers and bandaged them. Ensured that they healed correctly.”

Nix flinches and glances away, dark clouds gathering in his face. “You did something to me. Some kind of mind magic.”

“Not with those shackles. And mind control is outside of my purview, I’m afraid.”

“What do you want, priest?” Nix jeers, hackles raised. “If you’re not here to kill me, then you can fuck off.”

“Whyever would I kill you?” Art raises a brow, genuinely mystified. “I intend to care for you until you are well.”

Nix barks a laugh. “Well enough for execution? You're mad.”

“Execution is not our way. You will be brought to the city of Lucidus along with the other prisoners and judged by her light. Fitting punishment will be meted out determined by her word.”

“What does that mean, judged by her light?” 

Artemis’ smile takes on an austere edge. A hint of worry flickering in his gaze. 

Nix suddenly feels uneasy. 

“You will come face to face with her, she who brings the light. It is an experience all who join her order must undergo, but we also allow those touched by darkness this trial. It is a way to expose the darkness lurking within you. If you should be deemed pure of soul, you will be given the opportunity to exorcise your darkness.”

“Sounds like a load of bullshit,” Nix scoffs, palming his burning brow. His pounding headache, while bearable, grates on his fraught nerves all the same. “You don’t need a magical light or a god to tell you that none of us are ‘pure of soul’.” He sneers the last in a mocking tone. “You know exactly what we’ve done. What we’re capable of. You’re wasting your time, priest.”

“That may be so,” Artemis says, lightly. “However, all man, beast, and manner of creature is sacred to her light. Whether you believe it or not, you are brought into this world by her will, which means you are eternally beloved--”

Nix snatches the warrior’s collar, yanks him close. His arctic blue eyes are bloodshot and fever glazed, but they still convey a loathing so deep and visceral, it strikes Art like a physical blow. “Kill me, judge me, exorcise me, do whatever the fuck you want. But don’t you ever try to tell me what I am, priest. I will have your tongue quicker than you can blink.”

Art stares back, undeterred, unwavering. His expression is both stern and sorry, which only infuriates Nix even more. Why does the priest look at him in this way? Like he’s a victim to be pitied, rather than a criminal to be judged? Why is Artemis so desperate to see him in the light?

Nix shoves the man away, heart rapping painfully against his ribs. “Leave. I want to rest.”

The warrior’s gaze lingers on Nix for a moment longer, before he nods and rises to his feet. He sways, unsteadily, but keeps upright after a few deep breaths. “Then rest, Nix. I will be by in the morning with food.” 

The smile Art gives him twists him up inside. It hurts. It feels good. The dissonance is nauseating. He lays down and turns his back on the warrior, arms wrapped tightly around himself as if he were on the verge of falling apart. Maybe he already is. 

Artemis leaves quietly. The restless night descends once more.  . Part 4 . @shydragonrider @whumpsday @pale-is-the-prison

[a-game-of-stars-and-ink]

Falling for so Long -3

Warnings: Fever, infection, whip wounds, begging, delirious whumpee, afraid of caretaker, grief, emotional duress.

Taglist: @whumpwillow and @befuddled-calico-whump

___________

Echo struck the training pole hard with her sword, her teeth gritted in bitter fury.

‘Thank the Heavens you turned out like your mother.’ Altina’s voice rang in her ears. A polite way of saying. ‘Thank all that’s Holy you’re not like your father.’

She lashed out again, tears spilling over her lashes.

Her blistered feet hurt, her fingers were stiff from the cold, and she was soaked from the sleet, but she did not stop.

“Echo.” Mavaria’s calm voice reached her. “That’s enough.”

“Is that an order, commander?” Echo asked coolly, not turning to face the other woman.

“Yes. Go to the healing tent. I’m sure you’ve broken all your blisters open again.”

“With respect, commander, I can handle this myself.”

“Altina wishes to speak with you.”

“I don’t wish to speak with her.”

“Echo, she’s known you all your life-”

“She’s lied to me all my life. So have you.” Now she did turn, looking at her commander.

“Just go, Echo.”

Echo huffed, and stalked past the older woman, making her way over to the healing tent.

Aside from Orick’s- her father’s- herald, the tent was empty.

Echo slowly made her way over to Kazamir. He was shivering badly, mumbling under his breath, and there were tears streaking his face.

Echo frowned, cautiously putting her hand on his forehead. He shuddered violently, crying piteously.

"Please." He begged. “Please, I can’t-"

"Kazamir-” Echo started.

“I can’t!” He cried. “Please, no more.”

Echo watched numbly as he started sobbing.

“Your Grace- Please- I-I tried- I’ll do better- please-”

“Orick isn’t here.” Echo said firmly. My father isn’t here.

“Echo.” Altina’s voice was soft, tentative, yet it did not stop the rage that sparked inside her.

“What?” She snapped, standing and turning to face the woman she had trusted with everything.

“I understand you’re angry, but-”

“Nothing. But nothing. You lied to me for years, for my whole life. I trusted you.”

Altina sighed. “I thought it was kinder to let you believe-”

“That you didn’t know who my father was and that my mother was a tavern wench?” Echo snarled.

“Yes, Echo. I thought it kinder to let you believe that your father wasn’t a monster, and your mother didn’t bleed to death after giving birth to you.”

“What does that mean?” Echo breathed, and she saw regret flash across Altina’s face.

“Your father wounded your mother terribly. She had already lost a lot of blood when she was brought to me. It was a month before you were supposed to be born, Echo, but your mother begged me to do anything it took to save you. So I did what I had to to deliver you.”

Nausea washed over Echo as she understood what Altina was saying.

“Vallaena regretted nothing, Echo. She bled out holding you, her only child. “My sweet Echo.” She called you. She loved you.”

“And you didn’t tell me about this for years. You let me think that my mother didn’t want me. That she left me with you because she didn’t care about me.” Tears pricked at her eyes.

“You let me resent her all these years, when in truth, she loved me.”

Altina took Echo’s wrist in her hand, but Echo yanked back.

“Don’t ever touch me again.” She hissed. “Ever.”

“Echo-”

“Don’t.” Echo snapped. “Just don’t.”

With that, she turned away from Altina, and back to Kazamir.

___________

Altina said nothing as she left the tent, and went to find Mavaria.

“By the look on your face, I am guessing it did not go well.”

“No. I’m afraid not. I doubt if she’ll ever forgive me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You know how she is. She holds onto the wrongs committed against her.”

“She’s grieving. Her whole life has just been changed.”

“I should have told her the truth long ago.”

“You had your reasons.”

“Mine.” Altina murmured in agreement. “Not hers.” The older woman buried her face in her hands.

“All these years, I had that little seed of doubt. That if she knew the truth, she’d seek out her father.”

“We all did.” Mavaria said calmly.

________

Echo backed away from the other tent. She’d wanted to Altina that Kazamir was hallucinating, begging and crying, and getting no rest at all.

Overhearing that conversation hurt more than she could say.

All this time, they thought I would turn on them? They never trusted me at all...

She felt sick at the realization.

I’m just a weapon, aren’t I? She concluded. Just the last card to play. Their own little soldier with a claim to the throne.

They’d just been using her.

Blinking back tears, she ran back to the healing tent.

********************

Okay, I promise there will be much whump in the next chapter.

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

That last bthb piece you wrote was just *chef's kiss* perfection, magnifique, I want more!!!

Thank you for the ask, I am so glad you liked it!

One Month Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: jealousy, forced sedation mention, fear of being drugged, pills (tylenol), low-grade fever, angry character, being kicked out, wound imagery, broken bones, infection

~

Hero paced as he waited for Supervillain to wake up again. He was mad, angry, even to the point of ferocity. That sick, slimey bastard had been captivating his girlfriend's attention for days. Not that he consciously did it, and that was the reason Hero inwardly chastised himself for those inappropriate feelings. It wasn't Supervillain's fault, but someone had to take the blame.

So he waited impatiently for the supervillain's eyes to open, so he would be conscious of the way he was changing Civilian. Not that they were major changes, or changes in appearance or personality- she was still breathtakingly gorgeous and so full of love and compassion, deeply imbedded in that grouchy attitude. In all honesty the only way she so-called "changed" was because her undivided attention was completely and utterly focused on one being the house that was not Hero.

Was he selfish? Absolutely. Was it wrong? Was it wrong to feel this way towards someone who saved the girl he cared so much about? Definitely, but it couldn't be stopped. Anger and rage were settled, and so now it was time for revenge.

Supervillain blinked open his eyes in the middle of one of Hero's passes in front of his bed. The hero bounded over, pressed his fist into the wall, and hovered over Supervillain's awakening figure.

Slowly, the sleep-filled eyes cleared and became more aware of their surroundings as the grogginess melted away. They looked around, green irises taking in every feature of the bedroom as if they had never viewed such a place before- which they had, each and every time Supervillain pushed through unconsciousness. But of course, he never remembered, for these brief moments of loopy consciousness didn't have absorbent qualities.

Soon, those same foresty eyes met Hero's face. He smiled, imagining the fear that Supervillain was feeling. Though, it wasn't for certain, the subtle clenches of his jaw signalized those emotions.

"How are you feeling bud?" Hero asked, assuming a kind tone. Supervillain gave a wobbly smile as he gaze fell downcast. Hero's heart, the last bits of sympathy for the man, dropped.

Supervillain obviously was in pain and the fact that he was laying on his backside probably did not help.

Hero picked Supervillain up, flipped him over, and dropped him roughly on the bed. Supervillain bounced one, coughing and groaning as he squeezed his eyes shut.

Hero's arrogant smirk faded for a moment before upturning again. He traced his fingers over the festering wound and dug his fingers in.

Supervillain screamed, but Hero was quickly able to cover his mouth with his hand. He tried to ignore Supervillain's teeth and tongue as they desperately tried to remove the humanoid gag.

"This is for turning my girlfriend into your personal maid," Hero growled like he was the villain in the story, not Supervillain. Oh was this so wrong, but the unreleased rage overcame those thoughts of humane empathy.

Supervillain whimpered even louder as Hero's fingers met with the cracked bones. He kicked out with his legs, arms punching into the mattress.

"Yeah, how you like that huh?" Hero taunted, grabbing Supervillain's ear and pulling it down. Supervillain's whole head went with it and a loud crack echoed throughout the room. Supervillain quit writhing for a moment, stunned slightly.

Hero didn't care. He just kept on torturing Supervillain until a horrified voice interrupted him.

"What are you doing?!"

Hero spun around, meeting the gaze of his mortified girlfriend.

"What are you doing?!" She exclaimed again, crouching down to look in Supervillain's dull eyes. They were without any emotion as they blankly stared at Civilian.

Hero felt that anger in his chest, but it was nullified by the horrific dawning of his deeds. He kicked a man when he was already down.

Never do that. That was the first rule in the Hero's Code, even before not engaging in any villainous parties or organizations unless otherwise stated by the Agency.

He broke the code.

But didn't he before? Taking in Supervillain?

Civilian stood up abruptly, grabbing the collar of Hero's shirt and pushing him back, fire in her eyes.

"Why would you do that?" She snarled, pushing him out the door and into the hallway. Hero was practically rendered helpless by shock and the reality of his wrongdoings.

"You-you," Hero tried to defend himself in the most futile manner. "He took you away from me!"

But still, his defenses were weak.

"How?" Civilian asked, thrusting both hands against Hero's chest. "How in the world did he take me away from you? He hasn't spoken a word to me! Or even actually looked at me."

"You have been coddling him for days," Hero replied, rushed.

Civilian gaped, throwing her hands in the air. "Okay Wicked Witch of the West-"

"Hey!"

Civilian smirked. "He saved my life and now I am trying to save his. I am sorry I haven't given you your required twenty-four hours of hugs and kisses."

Hero was silent, but a sudden pull on his shirt ended the split moment of awkward silence.

"What are you doing?" He asked, digging his heals into the ground, but Civilian grabbed his arm and yanked him towards the frontdoor.

"This is my house and I can't clearly trust you with my patient. Get." She pushed Hero out the door and slammed it in his face.

Hero slid down the door, hand trailing down the smooth material. Tears spiked at his eyes as he landed on the doorstep in a sobbing heap.

《~~》

Civilian walked over to the bed and checked on the wound. It was bleeding- just a small trickle of crimson liquid. He was unconscious again, head pressed into the downy pillow.

She refrained from rubbing his head like she would do for her boyfriend. Hero's actions were unjustifiable and utterly cruel, but that did not mean that she would betray him.

But still, tender loving care was the only way for him to actually heal.

She grabbed some numbing ointment and rubbed it around the reddened, tender skin surrounding the wound. Then she lathered the interior, avoiding the exposed ribs, and placed an icebag around the whole thing.

Supervillain didn't wake, his face remaimed placid and relaxed as he slept. Civilian with hands of professional talent, gently opened his mouth and placed a thermometer under his tongue. It beeped, reading a prime number of 101.9. It wasn't too bad, but likely wasn't fun either.

"Wake up," Civilian jostled Supervillain's shoulder until his green eyes broke open lethargically. He looked around, squinting, until they fell on Civilian's face.

"Get away," he growled, hugging himself protectively. His teeth bared, jaw clenched as he angrily stared Civilian down. She looked away, sighing.

"Listen," she said. "I'm not going to hurt you. Do you even recognize me?"

Supervillain observed Civilian for a while before nodded slowly. "You're Civilian," he mumbled.

"Mhm," Civilian hummed as she put a couple pills in his hands. He looked at them skeptically before throwing them half-way across the room.

Civilian frowned, looking at the discarded, white tablets. "You need those," she said.

"You're going to drug me," the supervillain accused, fear radiant in his gaze.

"It's tylenol," Civilian sighed, giving him a couple more. He stared at them, calculating, before shoving them into his mouth- not even bothering with water.

"Just don't hurt me when I'm out again, please," he begged before closing his eyes, asleep.

Civilian smiled. The pills truly were Tylenol, but he was just so exhausted and tired that he gave up. Poor guy.

Tentatively, she pulled the covers over his bare shoulders and went to the kitchen to make some soup.

[justinewt]

Trust is hard to earn - TWD Rewrite Chapter Seven

[TWD FANFICTION-MASTERLIST]

Previous chapter / Next Chapter

Summary: Anna’s confidence had been quite shattered after what Dwight told her. The worst thing was that he was right. Simon would kill her any chance he would get... After the attack of the Saviors on Hilltop, things went downhill again, forcing Anna to realize something, while having to convince everyone around her.

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: twd spoilers season 8 (episode 13 & 15), blood, mass killings, guts and blood, a bit of violence but also some cuteness, angst, Maggie being a salty bitch (sorry, I don’t like her at this point lol) 

Simon's remark about the value of Anna's life still kind of preoccupied her. If she found herself in front of him, he would kill her. Dwight had reminded her that Simon was one of those who didn't care about the immunity that being Negan's daughter might bring her. He was looking to get rid of her by any mean because she was seen as a burden by Simon. Anna listened silently to the gunfire coming from outside, her legs drawn close towards her, running her hands nervously over her knees. Her flaxen hair falling over her face and she quickly grew annoyed by it and pulled strands of hair behind her ears. She sighed and let her head fall back against the wainscoting, looking towards a window in the office facing the front of the house. She looked up at the sky out of the corner of her eye. She ignored the shooting raging outside, trying to clear her mind as she closed her eyes trying to delve into her memories to occupy herself.

As a child, she used to have her mother read her stories before going to bed and she would then usually require that her father come tuck her in. Often she would hide under her quilt and as her father walked in and pretended not to see anything when the little girl couldn't help but giggle, he would either end up tickling her through the blanket or pretend to leave the room and the little one would get out of bed and run to cling to her father's leg to keep him from leaving. That time when all she wanted most was for her father to carry her on his shoulders high in the sky so she could try to touch the clouds or reach for a fruit from the apple tree in the garden of their house, seemed so far away now, and she missed it so much. She missed being so innocent. She craved to get to live her childhood again, forever and ever, and never grow up. She had to be able to get her father back. For her. In order to have a better life and make even more memories with him in this apocalyptic time, in the time she had left to live.

At the end of the Saviors' assault on the Hilltop, which lasted a very long time, Maggie had the prisoners brought back to their enclosure. She hadn't yet noticed the fact that Anna had subtly retrieved her knife, but she would soon realize it, and it would not take long for sure. The night wasn’t at an end yet and Anna waited for the other Saviors with her in the pen to fall asleep. Once she was sure she was the only one left awake, she took the stolen bandage out of her jacket pocket and rolled up the left sleeve. She began to undo the bandage and had to grit her teeth to loosen it from the scratch that had blood soaked into the bandage. Her wounds looked strangely like any untreated infected wounds that had trouble healing on their own. They were nothing special, just a lingering burning sensation that had been triggered by the removal of the dressing. No fever, no sensation of weakness, nothing. Anna huffed briefly as the night breeze caressed her skin and soothed it. She unrolled the new bandage and wrapped it around her forearm. She retrieved the end of the strap that held the old bandage together to put it on the new one. Then she rolled the soiled bandage into a ball and stuffed it into her jacket pocket and pulled down her sleeve. She then looked at the stars in the dark inky sky, lying down on the grass. She hadn't slept under the stars in a while. Anna took a deep breath, turned on her right side and fell asleep.

The next morning, she was awakened by the sun, which rays hit her right in the face. She straightened up, rubbing her eyes, grimacing. People were already busy in the camp, survivors banging on the tin walls from the watchtowers to concentrate the walkers in a single point outside. The bus had been removed from where it was last night. Anna let herself fall back on the ground, staring at the people walking around in the Hilltop. After a short moment, she saw a man with long hair and beard approaching. She didn’t move until he stopped near the barbed wires, clearly looking at her.

“You’re Anna ?”

“Yes, I am.” She stood up, recognizing him from when Daryl escaped the Sanctuary. It was the guy that came to kind of pick him up or whatever. “You’re the guy they call Jesus ? It’s not your real name, right ?”

“It’s the name that I go by with.” He smiled slightly, nodding. His vague answer was enough for her to understand that she was right. “I promised Maggie that if I got you out, I’d make sure you don’t turn on us or anything.”

“Uh,” Anna looked around her and her gaze fall on Alden, standing nearby. “what about him ? Alden isn’t gonna betray you or harm your community either. Why can’t he get out too ?”

“Maggie was against letting you walk freely in the camp. I can't just start negotiate parole for everyone.” He removed the chain that kept the enclosure closed and let her come out of the pen. “Anyway, she didn’t want you in the house with everyone else, but I convinced her not to let you sleep outside.”

“That’s nice of you, thanks.” She walked out and he put the chain back. She followed him further into the camp, thinking, and stopped. He turned to her. She was handing him her father’s serrated knife. The sharp blade reflected in the sun and her father's name engraved on the handle was visible under her thumb. He looked at it for a second, then looked back at her. “I, uh, I got this back last night from Maggie's belt. I couldn’t let her keep it but, I shouldn’t have taken it in her back. Alden tried to tell me not to but… anyway he was right. I won’t have her to stop hating me if I do stuff like that.”

“Keep it. I know you don’t want us any harm.” She froze, not expecting this answer but actually relieved that she could keep it. “Oh and if someone tells you something, just tell them I let you. I’m like your “probation officer”. I'm watching you, so they don't have to worry.”

He smirked before leaving. She turned back to the enclosure from which Alden observed her, he seemed glad for her that she had been able to get out. She then looked around her while putting her knife back in her belt and not knowing what to do she walked around the camp to get to know the premises. When the night fell, Anna went to the house. She was led by another survivor to a mattress installed on the floor upstairs, among a few others. A few hours later, Anna was lying on the mattress, staring at the ceiling in the dark. She hadn’t been able to fall asleep for some reason but as she turned to her side, she spotted a light coming from a room. It was Maggie. She was holding a candle as she walked around the sleeping survivors, speaking to someone. Anna couldn’t quite see the face of the person she was talking to but she didn’t really care. Once they were gone, Anna stood up and went downstairs. She softly opened the front door to go on a walk outside. Stars shining all over the dark nightsky. Hand on the handle of her knife, she walked, not going too far from the house.

All of a sudden, she turned around when she heard a baby crying inside the house, she calmed down thinking it was nothing until she heard growlings coming from her left. She ran to the right side of the house, crouching down. She then witnessed walkers entering the house. She widened her eyes. Everyone was endangered. Anna thought about the wounds she had gotten from one, nothing had happened to her. What if that actually couldn’t kill her ? She did not know if being immune to this fucking virus was even a thing. When people started screaming, Anna grabbed her knife and rushed to the porch, zipping up her leather jacket, trying to make noises to attract them to her. One of them approached after ripping the pulpit out of the throat of someone who was now lying dead on the floor. Anna stuck her knife into its head and pushed it back outside. After making one step into the house, she was pinned to the ground by another dead man. She groaned as her back hit the floor, but she managed to get rid of it. At the same time, a walker had closed his jaw on someone's calf. Anna stuck her knife in the latter's head and pushed him away. Skin and flesh got torn off by the dead man's teeth. Other survivors had been bitten, lying in their own guts and blood. It was a real carnage.

As she stood up, she felt a hand clench around her ankle. Anna was pulled back and fell head first, her face slapping hard on the floor. She didn’t even have the time to let out a moan of pain that she felt a severe pain strike her leg. A walker had taken a grip of her and was digging his teeth into the flesh of her calf. She tried to reach out for the undead with her knife, stretching to the maximum, bending back, oblivious to the back pain it was causing her, and planted her knife in his head. He stopped moving, and she managed to free his jaw from her now injured leg. She was bleeding really bad but she still tried to stand up and go for the door, she fell right back to the floor on the porch, panting and groaning. Wincing, she dragged herself to the side and let her back rest against the wall, trying to cope with the pain the bite and blood loss was making her feel. +Tears rolled down her cheek. Immune to the virus or not, the severity of the injury would cost her life if she didn’t get help soon.

She started to have a hard time keeping her eyes open because of the exhaustion. She was trying to stay awake but it was getting harder and harder. She could hear voices coming from inside the house, but muffled, almost inaudible to her ear. A hand gripped her shoulder and she let her head roll to the side. Rick was crouched down next to her.

“We’re gonna take care of you. You just need to stay awake, Anna. Can you do that for me ?” She nodded weakly as Rick picked her up. He brought her to the infirmary and laid her down on a bed.

“I’m not infected.” She mumbled.

“What ?” She had spoken so low, Rick hadn’t heard anything of what she had told him.

“I’m not infected. I can’t die from the bite.” He was staring at her, listening. Right after she finished talking, she couldn’t help it and closed her eyes, passing out.

She woke up, groaning as she straightened up on the bed. She rubbed her eyes and realized where she was now, because she wasn’t in the infirmary anymore. She was in a bedroom, probably a room in the house. She sat on the edge of the bed and inspected her calf, wrapped in bandage and gauze. She wasn’t wearing her black jeans anymore but a pair of shorts. Not hers obviously but it wasn't that bad. She was aware that she must have been changed, since her jeans were probably soaked in blood. She looked at her bare feet and thought of getting up but a familiar masculine voice rose.

“Stay put. You’re gonna hurt yourself if you try to stand up.” She lifted her head toward the door where Rick was standing, arms crossed, looking at her.

“Why am I here? How long did I pass out ? I-” Rick raised his palm to her.

“Slow down, Anna.” He walked in the room and sat down on a chair nearby. “You were brought here from the infirmary once Siddicq was done treating you. You were unconscious almost all day. Now, tell me what you meant.”

“What I meant by what ?” 

“Before you passed out, you said “I’m not infected. I can’t die from the bite”. So, tell me what you meant by that.”

Anna looked at her hands, sighing. She had no idea how she could explain something that she wasn’t even really understanding herself. She didn’t know at all why and how she survived the wounds she got from this walker a few days ago, but if she survived deep scratches, she would probably survive a bite. What had gotten her worried was the amount of blood she had lost last night.

“There really is no innuendo. I meant what I said. I can’t die from the bites, or the scratches, or the virus, in general… well I guess.” Rick frowned, looking shocked for a moment by what she was saying to him, but also by the calm with which she announced it to him. She saw in his eyes that he found it hard to believe her words.

“Anna-” She cut him off.

“I won’t die.”

“Look, you know it as much as I do, you've seen what a bite does. No one has ever survived, cause even if you didn’t die from a bite, you turn into one of those thing no matter what.”

Anna took off her jacket, stretched out her left arm, whose hand was still bandaged from when she had injured herself with the barbed wire of the pen, and showed him her forearm. He looked at the bandage around it. He clearly didn’t understand why she was showing it to her but he understood when she removed said bandage. The moon-shaped scratches weren’t infected any more, finally healing.

“I got these around a week ago when you attacked the Sanctuary. Afterwards, I got stuck in a trailer with my father and Gabriel, when we tried to go back into the building, I got hurt.” He was staring at her. “I dunno how that’s possible, okay ? But the thing is, while everyone die from the virus, a bite or whatever, I survive. Maybe it’s something in my blood, maybe… I don’t know, Rick, but you have to believe me.”

He nodded, mouthing a “okay” before getting up. Stubborn, Anna tried to get up but putting her whole weight on her injured leg caused her to lose balance. Fortunately, Rick caught her in his arms. He wasn’t much taller than her so she took support on his shoulder to put less pressure on her leg. He made her sat back on the bed.

“I’m gonna go get Siddicq to get your wound checked up.”

He got out of the room, leaving her alone. She looked at her calf, touching the bandage with her fingertips. It hurt but she knew it would pass. The wound would heal, just like the ones on her arm which didn’t hurt at all any more now. She needed to be patient even if it annoyed her. At least she wouldn’t bleed to death so the situation could have been worse. She suddenly realized that she didn’t have her knife. It wasn’t anywhere to be found in the room. Maggie had probably taken it from her again and would be mad at her for sure for taking it back without her knowing. She probably thought Anna was a sneaky bitch. She wasn’t exactly wrong, she was raised to be sneaky and take advantage of others. Kind of.

She bit her lips when she heard footsteps approaching. Without much surprise, Siddicq entered, followed by Maggie and Michonne, but no Rick. Maggie stared at Anna, standing in the doorway. She was staring at her leg and arm. The teen remained silent as Siddicq grabbed the chair Rick had sat on and brought it closer to the bed before sitting on it. He observed her arm.

“These scratches were deep I bet. Yet, they’re almost completely healed. You need to let them breathe now. I won’t put a bandage on them.” He moved his gaze on her leg and bent it towards her to lift her calf off the bed and removed the bandage and gauze. “The wound is obviously still fresh, but the blood is already trying to scab over it… I will clean it and change the bandage but it will be okay.”

“How is it gonna be okay ? She got bit. She’ll turn.” Maggie spat out.

“She got bit pretty badly but still, it doesn’t look anything like the one we saw on Carl or anyone else. It looks like any bite a human could do. And, with a wound this bad, she would have turned during the night if she was infected. She would never have made it ‘till today.” He looked at Maggie, trying to convince her Anna wasn’t a danger.

A few seconds after, he was grabbing a small glass bottle Michonne was handing out to him. It was a bottle of alcohol he was about to use to sanitize her wound. Anna had not noticed since she had payed very little attention to Michonne until now, but she saw her put something on a furniture near the window. It was a folded pair of jeans and she put her boots on the floor. Of course, she had to expect it. Her black jeans must have been impossible to clean or stich up after what happened to her just the night before. She looked back at Siddicq, he had the bottle of alcohol in one hand and a belt in the other. Anna took the belt as he grabbed some fabrics and put them under her leg.

“Bite the belt, it's gonna burn pretty bad.”

Anna did so and put the belt in between her teeth, biting hard on it. He opened the alcohol bottle and poured it on the wound. Anna’s eyes widened instantly before closing her eyelids shut and her fist clenched, digging her fingernails into the palm of her hand, groaning loudly in pain as she gritted her teeth hard on the belt. Even when Siddicq had finished sanitizing her wound and had closed the bottle of alcohol and put it away, the burning sensation almost paralyzed her leg lasted for minutes. He had already finished bandaging her leg up when the pain barely started to be a bit more bearable.

“We’re gonna have to cauterize the wound if it doesn’t get better but for now, sanitizing it and changing the bandage should do-”

“What’s going on here ?” The girl who was expecting for Carl when they came back to the Hilltop yesterday appeared behind Maggie. The woman answered while keeping an eye on Anna while the teen was trying to calm the pace of her heartbeat.

“Anna hurt her leg last night. Siddicq’s takin’ care of it. We’ll leave him to it.” And just like that, she left, grabbing the girl by the shoulder and walking out of the room. Michonne reminded Anna that she had brought her new clothes. Anna nodded and watched her leave in turn.

“Okay,” Siddicq pursued, putting the pair of jeans on the bed so she could change. “You gonna have to rest your leg a little if you want it to heal.”

“What? No!” She straightened up, looking at the man as if she was offended but she was just against staying in bed. “I don’t want to stay in bed forever.”

“I didn’t say it was forever, I said you need to rest your leg a little.” Anna sat on the edge of the bed, ready to get up.

“I rested enough.” Anna said, making Siddicq sigh.

“All right, if it hurts at any point, come by the infirmary.” She nodded and he left the room. She got up, trying not to put too much pressure on her injured leg and went over the furniture to put on the pair of jeans. It was a straight cut so they were slightly baggy around her knees and calves but they fitted her. She managed to put on her boots, and limping she went downstairs. As she was about to go outside, she encountered Maggie getting out of her office on the first floor. She walked over to her, arms crossed.

“I’ll cut you some slack for now, you got yourself hurt trying to help us last night, also, Rick, Michonne, Jesus and Rosita seem to trust you and they convinced me to give this back to you.” She handed Anna her notched knife. The blade and notches had been cleaned from the blood and guts from the walkers she had put down with it. Anna took it and without another word, Maggie left the house. She put the knife at her belt and went outside too and crossed paths with Carl's girlfriend, or rather ex-girlfriend.

“So you’re Anna, right ? I’m Enid.” So Enid was it. Anna sketched a slightly friendly smile.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Are you feeling better ?” She looked down at her leg.

“Uh, I really dunno how to answer that question right now.” She giggled, not finding the situation particularly funny herself. Enid and her looked at the front walls of the Hilltop, people were still trying to lure walkers in the same spot to contain them.

“So… you’re Negan’s daughter ?” Anna remained silent for a few seconds before answering.

“I kinda feel like the center of attention lately, and not for like, cool reasons… but yeah, I plead guilty your honor.” Enid smirked.

“Cool knife.” Anna gazed down at her knife.

“Yeah. It’s my father’s. I took it from him one day, without really asking for permission, but he never said anything so…” She paused before looking up at Enid. “By the way, I’m sorry about Carl. You two were close?”

“We were.” Her gaze got lost in the void for a moment as she nodded. She raised her head and turned around, spotting something from behind them and just walked away, leaving Anna on her own, in front of the house. Anna then wondered what she could do right now and started spinning around, looking everywhere around, looking for something to do.

“Are you trying to get dizzy?” Hearing Alden voice, she stopped and turned to him. He was holding some crate in his arms. His voice was tinged with humor.

“No, no, I just- was just looking everywhere for something to do.”

“Shouldn’t you rest your leg ?”

“Jeez, I’m fine.” Anna snapped, sighed in annoyance, rolling her eyes. She calmed herself down and looked back at Alden. “Sorry.”

“Well, if you want to do something, why don’t you help me bring this over there.” He pointed on his side with his chin as he threw something from the crate for her to catch, which she did before following him. She was slow because she was hobbling but Alden walked at her pace. He wasn’t really in a hurry anyway so waiting for her did not bother him that much. Anna thus spent the afternoon walking around with Alden, going from one end of the camp to the other. They chatted about everything and anything, remembering their time at the Sanctuary. Neither had ever known what the other had done after they had stopped talking and seeing each other so suddenly. It was a bit of a “catch-up talking” kind of afternoon. It was nice, chatting and walking around, feeling like nothing could ever go wrong. Anna even felt kind of safe, a feeling she hadn’t felt in years.

After a while, once they were done, Alden went to sit near the campfire that had been lit outside. He had asked her if she wanted to join him and the others to chill around it but she declined and went back to the room she was in earlier. Maggie had told her she could stay in it and that for now, it was her room in a way. The Hilltop leader still didn’t fully trust the teenager but she had acknoledge that she needed somewhere comfortable for her to rest. Anna closed the room’s door behind her, and walked toward the window. She slipped her fingers under the curtain and opened it, staring at the darkening sky. You could see the moon but but the stars were yet to appear. She let the curtain fall back in front of the window and sat down on the floor. She stayed there, sitting on the carpet of the bedroom, thinking about everything and anything at the same time.

As if as the sun had set, all her thoughts were "waking up" and mingling into a hubbub. She knew now for sure that she must be a healthy carrier of the virus that had plagued their world and an enormous sense of guilt was gnawing at her from within. She felt bad because she hadn’t done anything to try and help Carl. The only excuse she could come up with to justify it was that she wasn’t sure she was actually immune. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She felt stupid and useless. She could have done something. She could have helped, not only Carl, but so many people. She wiped away her tears and went to bed, slowly falling asleep.

The next day, she was awoken by the sunlight slipping through the curtain into the room. She got up, got dressed and went outside. As she stepped foot in the camp, she saw a man walking around holding a baby in his arms, rocking the newborn while dancing softly with each step. She smiled slightly. It was cute. She then passed next to him and walked a little. She still couldn’t put too much pressure on her ankle as of now, but it didn’t hurt as much. Turning around, she noticed Michonne approaching the house, holding the hand of Carl’s little sister. The latter saw Anna and smiled at her then her gaze went above her head. Anna checked what she was looking at and she saw Rick, at a balcony upstairs, a paper in his hands. She didn’t need much time to understand that it was Carl’s letter that he was reading. The little girl walked over to Anna, pulling Michonne’s hand. Michonne felt it and looked at the teenager, letting the girl drag her to Anna.

“Judith, this is Anna.”

Judith raised her head and looked at her, smiling. Anna smiled in return, waving at her. She was really cute with her blond locks. Michonne bent over, whispering in the girl’s ear, asking her to get back inside. Judith then followed her mom in the house. Anna watched them leave and she sat on the steps of the front porch. The sun was still shining in the sky, he seemed to keep company to the survivors, overseeing what was going on between Hilltop's walls.

[To be continued…]  

Previous chapter / Next Chapter

Published (12/05/2021) by Andrea

Taglist: @cathrin2405​ @kika64

[callmebliss-got-swamped]

So, I kinda thought I was maybe doing a little okay actually

Like, things were terrible all weekend and the first thing I thought when I woke up was not How Long Can I Go Back To Sleep For but Instead Huh That Is Weird Beatrice Is Supposed To Be A Sleepy Croissant Rock Between My Knees and then I remembered but I sad-dozed and did not cry

And I got up and spent a little too long scrolling Tumblr whilst on the toilet but I got dressed easy and my hair did the nice and I woke the Spawn and marshaled everyone distractedly through readiness and 2/3 of them headed off on their own

Middlest needed more time and I offered A Ride and when Eldest brought the trash to the bins but not the bins to the street I took care of it, but then Middlest did not meet the schedule I had in my head for leaving time so when they arrived at the vehicle excited to show off the (really fucking amazing) outfit they put together I was angry and barked at them and it was Very Unfair Of Me Actually

We weren’t even two minutes out of the driveway when I was verbally assessing what I had done and apologizing, and they were gracious af but I am ashamed to have put them in the position to have to be gracious about that

Got to work and bless, nobody asked Questions

Bosslady requested I put in my time request in the payroll system so she could grant my sick leave for not showing up on Saturday, and only one coworker Bless Her Heart (affectionate) tried to tell me while I was wrangling a machine that she was so sorry, and I could not look at her, and I said thank you, and settled in for Monday Stuff and for Handling Shit

Until I got a call from the school

Eldest has

A sore throat

Congestion

A cough

A headache

This Meets COViD Protocol Even Without A Fever Please Pick Him Up

I clocked out. I left. Picked him up. Went to Urgent Care. Provided tissues for his nose and streaming eyes post-swab. Mini-lectured about ear infections and antibiotics when the PA’s exam turned up that he had two raging ear infections but, like me, his didn’t present with pain. Apologized to the PA for stepping on her pancake. Turns out she was not only amused but delighted I knew what I was talking about, and prescribed an antibiotic.

Got lunch. Dropped him at home. When back to work.

Spent the rest of the day lying through my teeth to the people I served when they asked “hey, how’s it going how’re you doing?”

Stopped on the way home for yogurt, kefir, and probiotic drinks to replenish the lad’s gut flora. At the checkout, the bag I had just purchased ripped when I tried to tear off its tag and I started to cry. Grocery Store Checkout Lady Friend got me a new one and I explained myself, but our conversation was interrupted and I left.

The world continuing on and having incompatible needs to my own is Very Rude.

Came home, cooked beef to help replenish iron because menstruation. Caught up with Soawn. Moved a chair from the table to sit down and something under it got moved by proximity and for a hot second I had a delighted flash of “oh, BeaBea! THERE you are!” But it was not her. Obviously.

Sat down. Cried.

I went upstairs because there were still ten minutes left before SALM’s class to request a hug and cry a little more. Then got him caught up on antibiotics and probiotics, and confessed I felt guilty that I let the kid go to school in the first place with any amount of symptoms.

“Well, it’s not like he died.”

So I burst into tears again, and he held me until I was sniffling instead of snotting, and I apologized for laying down the feels right before class time.

I am still Not Okay. But I masked it pretty well through the workday so that is a dubious win.

[wanderingcas]

C’mon Inn destiel, 3k words. a commission for @jensenackhles, who had the most AMAZING prompt of “what if Dean and Cas stayed at an inn that kept making them go into each other’s rooms?”

. . . . 

There is absolutely no way that Dean Winchester would ever stay at an inn. Much less a bed and breakfast. Breakfast should be a hearty plate of bacon and pancakes, not unsalted egg whites with freshly-picked garden vegetables piled on top of it. And especially not topped with garnish. 

Dean full-out shudders when the innkeeper (an older woman in her fifties with greying, tied-back hair) explains the meal to him. And he would have gotten the hell out of dodge right then and there, too, if Cas hadn’t elbowed him sharply in his side.

“That all sounds wonderful,” his ex-angel partner says with a forced smile. “What time are you serving it?” 

“Seven in the morning,” the innkeeper, Cherry, cheerily proclaims.

Dean grins at Cas’s horrified face. Serves Cas right for suggesting this inn of horrors in the first place. “Bright and early, huh?”

“Oh, yes,” Cherry says. “And don’t be surprised if you hear me down in the kitchen earlier than that—I wake up every morning at five, without fail.” She winks.

Dean is beginning to see why this inn has such an open vacancy in the first place, more than the fact that there’s cat wallpaper and decorations on every inch of the walls. 

“That’s…” Cas works his jaw and forces a smile. “That sounds wonderful.”

Cherry beams. “Now, which room would you like: Tabby cats or Maine Coons?” 

Dean resists an eye roll. “Whichever is fine.” 

“And I’ll take the opposite,” Cas adds.

“Oh, you won’t—be staying together?” Cherry asks. At the shake of their heads, her face twists into a frown. “Oh dear. This inn is really for couples only. I know it sounds strange but it’s really better if guests are staying in the same room.”

Cas looks down at their bags with a face that Dean knows well: he calls it Cas’s if I don’t get into a bed and sleep right now I’m going to lose it expression. Dean leans forward onto the welcome desk and gives Cherry his sweetest smile.

“Listen, my friend and I—we’ve had a long day,” Dean says, “and all the hotels in a thirty mile radius are booked up for some god-forsaken reason—” 

“The Big Ten Championships are in Columbus this year,” Cherry pipes in.

“Okay,” Dean says, teeth clenched in a smile. “So basically, ma’am, you’re the one who’s deciding if we’re sleeping in a car or a bed. Which one is it gonna be?”

Cherry looks between them. She sighs, and holds out two keys. “Second floor. The Maine Coon suite is right when you walk up the stairs and the Tabby suite is at the end of the hall.”

Dean’s shoulders sag in relief and he grabs the keys. “Great, thanks.” He yanks his duffel bag over his shoulder, along with Cas’s, ignoring his friend’s glare. 

“Just, before you go,” Cherry calls after them, tentatively. “If you notice anything—well, strange. Just call me down here in the front desk.” 

“Strange?” Dean repeats. 

“Yes. Anything unusual.” 

Dean narrows his eyes. “Whaddaya mean—”

“We will,” Cas says impatiently, pushing at Dean’s back. “Thank you.” 

“You think we should keep our eye out here?” Dean whispers to Castiel as they climb up the narrow staircase. “She seemed kinda freaked.” 

“I don’t care if a Wendigo comes out of the closet,” Castiel replies, wincing at each step of his injured leg. “I just want to sleep.”

“Fine, you big baby.” Dean deposits Cas’s bag in front of the Maine Coon room and turns the key in the lock. “You can take this one.” He opens the door, switches on the light, and looks in horror upon the Maine Coon wallpaper and framed photos of various Maine Coon cats. 

Cas he walks through the door, eyes wide. “Do you suppose this counts as something ‘strange’ to notify Cherry about?” 

Dean snorts. “Well, you gotta appreciate a woman who knows what she likes.” He picks up a Maine Coon plush toy from the dresser and grimaces.

“If I wasn’t injured, I’d be tempted to salt and burn this room,” Cas groans, lying on the bed with mud-stained clothes and shoes and all, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, dramatically covering the stuffed animal’s ears, “they can hear you.” 

Cas narrows his eyes. “Dean, as much as I typically love your antics—right now, they are very irritating to me.” 

“Which means you want me to—”

“Leave, yes.” 

“Nice way to treat a guy who carried your bag all the way to your room.” Dean picks up his own bag, pointing to Cas’s leg wound. “I’ll be back to clean and dress that thing in the morning.” 

“Fine,” Cas sighs, already turning over and pushing his face into the pillow. 

After a moment of hesitation, Dean walks to the bed and pulls the quilt over Cas’s body. “You don’t want to catch a cold, idiot,” Dean explains to Cas’s questioning look as he tucks the blankets around Cas’s shoulders.

Cas rolls his eyes, but nonetheless says, softly, “Thank you, Dean,” as Dean shuts the door behind him.

. . . 

Dean wakes in the middle of the night with a raging urge to pee. He blames it on the Gatorade that he chugged at the gas station after the hunt. He lays in bed for a minute, considering his options, and deciding that peeing where he sleeps would not be in his best interests. 

Hauling his aching and bruised body out the bed, he scratches at his bare chest and stumbles to the door of the attached bathroom. He opens it, and—

Comes face to face with Maine Coon wallpaper. 

He blinks into the dark room. Cas is snoring loudly on the bed, limbs flailed across the bed and head tilted back. Dean looks back at his own room, through the door of what he thought was the bathroom, then back at the bedroom.

“I’m dreaming,” Dean says to himself. “Either that, Winchester, or you hit your head a little harder than you thought on that damn hunt.” 

He backs up, shuts the door, and goes to use the bathroom in the hallway.

*

Cas is running a fever when Dean checks on him the next morning. He peels the bandage away on Cas’s leg, and hisses at what he sees.

“Is it bad?” Cas asks, gritting his teeth in pain.

Dean examines the deep gash and the red splotchy skin around the edges of the cut, thinking about how to put it nicely. “Well, you’ll probably lose the leg.”

Wide-eyed, Cas grabs at his thigh. “What—”

“Nah, it’s just an infection. You’ll be fine.” 

Cas flops his head back onto the pillow. “Has anyone told you that you have the worst bedside manner?”

“Maybe Sam, once or twice; but he’s a natural-born complainer.” Dean starts winding a fresh bandage around Cas’s leg. “You’ll have to rest up for a few days, get your fever down. No way we’re traveling while you’re like this.” 

“That means we’ll have to eat—” Cas winces at the pressure of the bandage around his wound, “—inn breakfast.” 

“There’s worse things, Cas. Like, for instance, having to amputate your infected leg.” Dean ties the bandage tightly for emphasis and smiles sweetly at Cas’s glare.

. . . 

“Your friend won’t be joining you?” Cherry asks as Dean picks scones off one of the many plates scattered across the table.

“Uh, no. He’s feeling sick. Actually, I should be getting some food up to him, so I can’t really stick around.” Thankfully, Dean doesn’t say.

Cherry seems put out, but forces a smile anyway. “Oh, that’s fine!” She watches as Dean piles eggs on a plate (they’re scrambled with cheese, Cas’s favorite) and a few pieces of toast. “You didn’t notice anything strange last night, did you?” 

Dean frowns at the lack of bacon on the table, or meat at all for that matter. “Strange?” he asks distractedly. 

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just—I’m just wondering.” 

“Nope, nothing strange.” He balances a plate on one hand and two mugs of coffee clutched in the other, giving Cherry a nod. “Thanks for the breakfast.” 

He’s really focused on balancing the plates, so it could just be a matter of him not paying attention; but when he goes through the swinging door of the dining room, he only has to walk a few steps when he’s once again in the hallway, right in front of Cas’s bedroom door.

“Huh,” he says to the empty hallway. Making a point to investigate that later, he walks into Cas’s bedroom to give him his breakfast.

. . . 

It keeps happening so many times the rest of the day that Dean can’t even chalk it up to distraction, or a concussed head, anymore.

He walks through his bedroom door to the hallway after a phone call with Sam only to find himself in Cas’s bedroom again. Cas goes to bed early that night, and ends up back on the porch where him and Dean were sitting, trying to get some fresh air. Dean walks through his walk-in closet door only to find Cas in the shower, who’s yanking the shower curtain around his body to shield himself.

“Something’s very wrong with this inn,” Dean says, sitting on the bed next to a dripping wet Cas.

“I didn’t even get a chance to condition my hair,” replies Cas, petulantly.

“Dude, you could have finished your goddamn shower.”

“How could I finish, when you walked straight into the shower curtain, Dean? Would you really like me to have continued washing my hair while you were—” 

“Okay.” Dean holds up a hand. “Focus on the real problem here, Cas. This inn has something supernatural going on with it.” 

Cas frowns down at his bare feet. He wiggles his toes a bit, and Dean instructs himself not to find it adorable. “Does this inn seem malicious to you?”

“No. More like it’s fucking with us.” 

“Then there’s our answer.” Cas gives him a lopsided smile. “I hardly think a bed and breakfast that likes to play practical jokes is something worth fretting over, Dean. It’s just some harmless entity. I sensed plenty like it when I was an angel.” 

Dean crosses his arms. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like it because you presume everything supernatural is going to be dangerous.” 

Dean opens his mouth to protest—closes it when he sees the smile in Cas’s eyes. “Fine,” he says. “But if it does anything to piss me off—”

“We’ll investigate it, yes, of course,” Cas says. “Can you please leave my room so I can continue showering?”

“No shower, only a bath,” Dean says, pointing to Cas’s injured leg as he stands. “I don’t wanna have to pick your ass off the floor when you slip and fall on that bum leg of yours.”

“Okay, mother,” Cas says with a roll of his eyes. Dean sniffs in annoyance as he turns the door handle and yanks open the door to walk into the hallway.

He meets Cas’s surprised eyes when he walks right back through the closet door of the bedroom. “Son of a bitch inn!” Dean barks.

. . . 

Cas’s fever spikes in the middle of the night. Dean only knows this because when he goes to the bathroom to get himself a drink of water from the sink, he ends up in Cas’s room instead.

“Not again,” he groans, beginning to turn around, when he hears Cas’s rough voice call his name.

“Cas? The hell are you doing up?” Dean whispers in the dark.

“My leg, there’s—” Cas hisses, his words cutting off, “a lot of pain.” 

Dean forces down the spike of worry in his gut. He flips on the bedroom light and walks to the bed, where Cas has burrowed himself deep into the blankets. Putting a hand on Cas’s sweaty forehead confirms his fear. “Okay, buddy, you’re burning up. I have Tylenol in my bag, just hang on.” 

Cas nods, wincing as he adjusts his leg on the bed. Dean turns before his eyes linger too long on Cas’s pale face. He walks through the door to the hallway… only to find himself back in Cas’s room via the closet.

Dean grinds out a curse and tries again. This time, he makes it to the hallway, but instead of walking through his room, he finds himself in the middle of Cas’s bathroom. He stalks out to the bedroom and ignores the amused look on Cas’s face.

“Look, you goddamn house, I’m trying to get him some freakin’ painkillers!” Dean yells up to the ceiling. “I’ll be right back, so don’t get your panties in a bunch. Jesus.” 

“I don’t think the inn has ears, Dean,” Cas says.

Dean points a finger menacingly. “Shut up and rest, and let me deal with this.” He shakes out his shoulders, takes a starting pose, and sprints through the door to the hallway before the house can realize what he’s doing. He continues running down the hall, like an idiot, to his bedroom. 

“At least it’s providing you a shortcut,” Cas says sleepily from the bed as Dean walks through his bathroom, Tylenol in hand.

“This inn is an asshole,” Dean replies. “Sit up.” Parking himself at the edge of Cas’s bed, he hands Cas two small Tylenol tabs and a plastic water bottle he found at the bottom of his bag.

Cas eyes him as he drinks the water, his throat a long column as he swallows the pills. “Don’t make that face.” 

“What face?”

“Your worried face. It makes me worried.” 

“So your leg got clawed to shreds by a ghoul, you have an infection, and you want me to not be worried? Is that what you’re sayin’?”

Cas leans against the headboard, arms crossed. His eyes are glassy from the fever, but they still retain a fire of defiance. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

Dean gusts a frustrated sigh. “You’ve barely been human for a month, Cas. I don’t want you pushin’ it.” 

“Dean.” Cas lays a hand over Dean’s, and Dean represses a shudder. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Yeah. As an angel.” 

“Being human doesn’t make me any weaker.” 

Dean glares at their joined hands. “Yeah, whatever.” His thumb rubs over Cas’s knuckles distractedly. “You still can’t beat my ass at pool.” 

“That doesn’t require strength, Dean. Simply skill.”

“A-ha!” Dean points triumphantly at Cas. “Last time you lost, you broke a pool cue and said it was the stupidest game in human history and now you admit that you were wrong!” 

“Oh my god. I’m going to bed.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says as Cas rolls over, his back to him, “just say that again real quick. I’m gonna record you on my phone.”

“Dean, please. I could die of a fever tonight.”

Dean knows it’s a joke, but that annoying prick of worry pokes him again painfully in his chest. He stands and deposits the Tylenol bottle forcefully on the bedside table. “Take this in four hours, okay, drama queen? I’ll be back to check on you.” 

Cas peeks over his shoulder at Dean. “Fine.” 

They hold the gaze for a few heavy moments. The offer to stay with him is on the tip of Dean’s tongue. 

“Just go to sleep,” Dean blurts, turning quickly on his heel. He shuts off the light before he leaves the room, and opens the door. He takes a steadying breath, and forces himself not to succumb to the pull of wanting to get into bed with Cas, holding that feverish little idiot to his chest until he sleeps off the infection.

But Dean’s resisting Cas’s gravity for years—so he resists the pull, and walks through the door.

Only to end up inches away from Cas’s bed.

They stare at each other, again, by the light of the moon spilling through those gaudy pink curtains. Dean works his jaw, trying to figure out what to say.

Cas finally shakes his head, and pulls the blanket up from his body; an invitation. “Well, we may as well do what the inn says.” 

“Uh. Are you—”

“Dean,” Cas says. 

With a grumble, Dean obeys, tentatively sliding into bed with Cas next to him. He clears his throat awkwardly as he settles in next to Cas, carefully not touching him, pulling the fluffy comforter up to his chest. They both lay next to each other on their backs, staring up at the ceiling.

“I have a thought,” Cas says into the dark.

“Did that hurt?” Dean asks.

“Shut up. I’m serious.” Cas takes a deep breath. “I feel as if the ultimate motive of this inn is to bring us together.”

“Okay.” 

“So perhaps we should—I don’t know. Let it.” 

Dean swallows a rock in his throat, and his voice is husky when he replies, “Uh-huh.” 

Cas turns his head to the side to look at Dean over his pillow. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Cas, I’m not an idiot.”  

But Dean doesn’t move. The fear won’t let him. And Cas sighs with the exhaustion only an ex-angel would have, saying, “Dean. My leg hurts very much, and I would like to sleep. Can we please just—cut the bullshit, as you would say, and you just—hold me?”

“You really are a grumpy bastard,” Dean says. The words come out gruff because of his nerves. He rolls over to push his chest into Cas’s back. He wraps one arm around Cas’s waist, and slips another under Cas’s neck. Cas grips Dean’s arms, and finally relaxes against Dean’s chest. Dean feels like he can die happy.

“I still think this inn is an asshole,” Dean mutters into Cas’s hair.

“You can burn it in the morning,” Cas says, placatingly tapping Dean’s arm where it lays across his chest.

And Dean may be imagining it, but as they drift off to sleep with their breaths moving in tandem, the walls sound as if they’re settling into a contented sigh, the buzzing energy of the house wilting into a dull murmur.

There is no way that Dean Winchester would ever stay at an inn.

But if it means holding Cas in his arms as he sleeps—maybe he’d do it again.

[albertasunrise]

Too Late - 3

Summary: You arrived with Steve Murphy in Colombia to assist in the war against Escobar, both of you are partnered with Javier Peña. The tall, dark and handsome DEA agent has a reputation for being Colombia’s Casanova but you soon learn there’s more to him than meets the eye. You realise too late… that you’re in love with him.

Pairings - Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings - Smut, Angst, Blood and Injury

Part 1, Part 2

~

Beeping. That’s the first thing you sense as your mind starts to come back online. Next was your head. It hurt. Why did it hurt? You were shot in the chest, weren't you? Your mind reeled as you slowly but surely regained the use of all your senses until finally, you cracked open your eyes and a familiar blonde came into view as your vision cleared.

Connie.

She was smiling at you as you tried to focus your mind, remember the events that had brought you here and then you remembered one detail vividly. It pained you as you recall it. Recall the feeling of relief that washed over you as you felt your life force slip away because you’d been at peace with the idea of dying, you were going to see him again. Only you weren’t going to now. No, now you were laying in a hospital bed alive and Javier was still very much dead.

Connie watched the changes in expressions that crossed your face as you battled with the thoughts and feels that raged inside and her brow furrowed in concern ‘How are you feeling?’ She asked sweetly, placing her hand on top of yours and pulling you from your dark thoughts.

‘Why did he save me?’ You questioned as tears started to slip down your cheeks ‘I was going to see Javi again.’ You sobbed ‘Why didn’t he let me die?’

‘What are you talking about hun? Javi’s alive.’ Connie stated in a confused tone ‘You were involved in a raid yesterday. Javier was shot in the abdomen and you had a bullet graze your head. You’ve got a concussion and you had to have a few stitches but you're lucky, it could have been so much worse. You’ve been asleep since yesterday, the pain meds they gave you knocked you for six.’

‘No Javi’s dead.’ You said, shaking your head as the tears continued to fall ‘He died two months ago. I was shot. Steve was holding me, begging me not to go but I could see him Con. I was going to see him again but Steve must have saved me.’

‘Sweetheart no.’ Connie replied, shaking her head ‘I promise you, Javier, isn’t dead but I will be honest with you… He’s in the ICU. He’s critical. The surgery was long and he’s been placed on life support but he’s strong, he’ll pull through.’

‘Why are you doing this to me?’ You asked, your face displaying the betrayal you felt at her deception ‘Why are you lying to me? You helped me heal. Helped me come to terms with losing him and now you’re telling me he's alive?’ You spit ‘What’s your end game, Connie?’

‘I’m not lying to you I promise you.’ She assured you ‘It was all a dream sweetie. Javier hasn't died. The raid was yesterday. It was probably a side effect of the medication they gave you.’

‘Prove it.’ You growled ‘Take me to him.’

Connie nodded, slipping out of the room to ask for a wheelchair before returning and helping you out of your bed and into the chair. She pushed you through the clinical, blue, hallways of the hospital and you looked up when you finally reached your destination to see ICU written in large, bold, letters above the entrance. A nurse kindly held the door open for you both as Connie wheeled you inside. The ward felt darker, more menacing but none of that mattered once she came to a stop outside one room, the door open. Steve was sat beside the bed, sleeping on his arms that wear resting on the edge of the bed. He looked tired, dark black backs under his eyes and you had found yourself wondering how much sleep he'd had since yesterday. Your eyes only lingered on the blonde for a moment longer before they drifted up and sure enough… There he was.

Javier Peña.

A thick tube jutted from between his straight teeth, held in place by a ribbon that wrapped around his head and disappeared in his dark curls. The next thing you noticed was the number machines that surrounded him. He seemed to have tubes jutting out of him left, right and centre, all of them keeping him alive in one way or another.

‘See.’ Connie said softly ‘He’s still with us.’ She finished, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

‘Bug?’ Steve’s voice suddenly pierced through the veil and you turned your head to look at him, his eyes still red from what could be sleep but could easily have been crying also ‘How you feeling?’

‘Head hurts but I’m okay.’ You replied plainly ‘How is he?’ Asked Connie.

‘Doc came by about half an hour ago.’ Started Steve as he rubbed his eyes with the balls of his palms ‘No change but he assures me that’s positive. He’s not getting any worse.’

‘That’s good.’ Connie pipped up as she gave your shoulder a squeeze.

‘What are his chances?’ You questioned, voice wobbling a little as you remembered the pain you’d felt when you’d learned he was dead.

‘Doc said it could go either way.’

‘Cut the crap Steve and just tell me.’ You growled, eyes burning into him.

‘The bullet did a lot of damage.’ He stated plainly, scrubbing a hand over his face ‘It pierced his colon, they managed to repair it but… Well, he’s developed a pretty nasty infection… it took so long for medical support to get to you both. He’s on some pretty strong antibiotics but they aren’t a guarantee. It also lodged in one of his kidneys which they had to remove it. He lost a lot of blood…’

‘Chances Steve.’

‘Around forty per cent.’

The words rang in your ears. He had a forty per cent chance of living, which mean he had a sixty per cent chance of dying. You rolled yourself closer to his bed, studying him closely. You noted the way his skin glittered with sweat, his skin pale and eyes sunken. He looked so unwell and your heart broke at the sight.

‘He’s got a fever of a 104. They can’t seem to get it down but it’s not going up either.’ Continued Steve as he stood from his chair ‘Just have to hope the antibiotics start to work soon.’

You simply nodded, eyes fixed on Javier as your brain processed everything. Less than half an hour ago you’d woken convinced he was dead, that you’d gone two months grieving him but then you get shot, you woke up, and here he is. Was this real? Or was what Connie described as, a dream, real? It had felt real. The pain you felt when Steve had broken the news to you. The despair, the heartache. It had felt real when that man had fucked you, had made you cum. All of it had felt so real and yet here and now felt just as real as all of that had.

‘I’m going to go get some coffee Bug.’ Stated Steve as he walked towards his wife ‘I’ll give you some time alone with him.

You just nodded again, not wanting to tear your eyes away from him in case he disappeared like a puff of smoke on a windy day. You managed to push yourself up and out of the wheelchair and into the seat that Steve had occupied a few minutes before, it was still warm, along with the patch of bed he’d rested his head on as he slept. You held Javier's hand and brought it to your lips, wincing slightly at the heat that radiated from his skin but you cherished the feeling of being able to touch him again. Feel his skin against yours. You prayed to whatever deity that was listening for this to be real, for everything that you’d been through to be a dream and that this right here, was reality. You couldn't bear the idea of waking up to learn that Javi was really gone and you were alone.

‘Please don’t leave me, baby.’ You begged against the back of his hand ‘I love you. Please stay with me.

~

You were woken by alarms and the sound of urgent voices. You cracked open your eyes as someone pulled you away from Javier’s bed and suddenly your heart started to race.

‘What’s going on?’

‘His fever’s spiked.’ The doctor stated ‘We need to get his temperature down.’

‘Javi?’ You sobbed, eyes fixed on him as you were placed back in your wheelchair and removed from his room.

‘What’s going on?’ Questioned Steve as he and Connie sprinted into view ‘Bug what’s happening ?’

‘He uh… they said…’ You couldn’t seem to focus, your eyes locked on Javier as the doctors worked ‘Fever spiked.’

‘Shit.’ Connie breathed and both you and Steve looked at her.

‘What Con?’

‘If his Fever has spiked it's likely his Sepsis has developed into Septic Shock.’ She stated plainly, eyes flitting between the two of you.

‘And that's bad?’ Steve questioned.

Connie nodded grimly, her face falling as she saw the anguish that crossed your face. She hadn’t told Steve what had happened when you’d woken up but she could imagine what was going through your head. You get him back only to face losing him again. She watched you as you watched him, your mouth moving in silent prayer as the doctors and nurses fought to stabilise him. Finally, after what felt like an eternity the room started to empty and a doctor came to a standstill across from you all with a solemn expression on his face.

‘I’m not going to sugar coat this. He’s not doing well.’ He started ‘We were treating him for the sepsis but it appears the antibiotics weren’t responding and it’s progressed to Septic Shock. We are treating it with some aggressive medication but I need you all to prepare yourselves. He’s weak and his body’s struggling to fight this. We’ve done all we can… it’s down to him now.’

You nodded numbly as your eyes trailed back to Javi, his prone form laying there deathly still. You wheeled yourself back inside, pushing yourself to your feet and wobbling slightly before steadied yourself with his bed and placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth.

‘I need you to listen to me Javi.’ You start ‘I love you, Javier Peña. I love you and I need you to fight this and come home to me.’ You commanded, voice staying surprisingly even ‘I need you to come back to me, baby. I lost you once. I can’t do it again.’

You weren't sure if he could hear you. You read in books and saw in shows that sometimes people in comas could hear you. You weren't sure how much stock you put in it normally but right now you prayed he could. You hoped that if he knew you loved him, that it would give him something to fight for. Of course, you had no idea if he loved you also, you hoped he did. The way you'd been fucking lately. It wasn't frenzied like it had been in the beginning. He had been taking his time with you, worshipping you, making love to you. That had to mean something. Right?

~

You sat at his bedside every single day and soon a week passed. You talked to him, cleaned him, shaved him, cared for him despite protests from the nursing staff. Steve had managed to convince the nurses to let you stay with him, a small cot had then been set up in the corner for you to sleep on. The day they’d taken him off the vent and he’d taken a shaky breath on his own was the happiest you had experienced since waking up. He had then been fitted with a nasal cannula to assist with his breathing but he no longer had to have a machine breathe for him. His fever gradually started to lower, the medication finally beating the infection in his blood and finally you allowed yourself to hope. The nurses brought you meals every day, you'd been surprised by how good they were compared to some that you'd experienced in the States. There was one nurse that came regularly to check on him, you could see in her eyes that she was taken by him and instead of feeling jealous you talked to her about him. She was British. Had come to Colombia with her husband who was a citizen. You had then learned that he had been a Government official who'd ended up getting shot and killed a few months previous. You told her about your relationship with Javier, how you were worried that you may be too late to tell him how you feel or how he might now feel the same but she'd taken your hand and told you to do it. That you'd always regret it if you didn't tell him the truth.

‘Steve and Con stopped by earlier.’ You said as you forked some hospital pancake into your mouth ‘Steve’s being getting hounded at work for news on you. I guess you’re more popular than you realised.’ You said with a chuckle.

A groan suddenly fell from Javi’s lips and you were on your feet in an instant, holding his hand tightly as you watched his face twitch. Then his hands started to move and your heart started to skip as he squeezed yours. Then finally he cracked open his eyes and those familiar brown orbs peeked through, setting you ablaze.

‘Bug?’

‘Yeah, Javi it’s me.’ You sobbed ‘I’m here.’

‘Wa-water.’ He managed to stutter out, his mouth so dry that his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

‘Here.’ You said softly as you brought an ice chip to his mouth. The nurses had kept bringing them in case he woke up and at first you'd thought it a pointless task but now you were grateful they had.

You gave him another which he accepted graciously and then another before he finally held his hand up to stop you from giving him anymore. He scrunched his eyes shut for a few moments as the fog in his brain cleared more and more but ultimately his gaze fell on you, his chocolate brown eyes studying you carefully.

‘How you feelin’ Peña?’ You asked, grinning at him as he smiled back at you but your expression changed when his brow furrows.

‘i heard you.’ He said out of the blue and you gave him a bemused look ‘I heard you speaking to me.’

‘Yeah?’ You questioned, curious as to what it was he heard.

‘You said you’d lost me.’

‘Oh, that… yeah that’s a long story.’ You said nervously as you scratched the back of your neck, looking anywhere but at him.

‘You said you loved me.’

Your gaze shot up then, locking with his as your eyes started to prickle with new tears and you swallowed thickly, desperately trying to form just one simple word with your tongue.

‘Yes.’ You whispered, eyes wide as you started to panic.

‘I love you too.’ He replied, a single tear escaping from the corner of his eye.

~

Chapter 4

[nothing-but-dreamy]

QUARANTINE

Pairing: FFXV!NYX ULRIC x MALE!READER

Words: 2.140

Warnings: fluff

A/N: @slowkib - here you go :) I hope you like it. Thanks for this request

A/N II: This is a loosely sequel to MESSAGES. So, if you wanna know how these two have met, you can catch up on it but it's not necessary :)

Synopsis: Yn got hit by a virus what means he and Nyx have to be quarantined. But Nyx finds a way to 'sweeten' the time for YN to recover quickly.

Nyx and YN were dating for a few months and so, YN’s sister was determined to meet the man who had stolen her brother’s heart like a thief with the promise to never give it back. She stayed over the weekend. Two whole days, all three had a lot of fun together. YN was happy to see how good Nyx and his sister got along and all too fast, the time was over again and YN’s sister had to go back home.

While Nyx cleaned up a few plates and glasses, he looked at YN who had a content smile on his lips even if he seemed to be a bit pale, “Your sister is nice. I like her.”

“I'm happy to hear that because she already loves you. She threatened me to treat you right or else she would ... Well… trust me, I wouldn't have a good life anymore.”, YN said and coughed softly.

Nyx blinked several times, staring at YN, disbelieving that his boyfriend, a skilled fighter and great soldier of the royal Kingsglaive, would be intimidated by his sister who was two heads shorter than he was, "You... She can threaten you? I mean, for real?", Nyx asked amused.

"Always had, always will. She might be younger and smaller than me but she can be a beast if she wants.", YN answered with a grin, remembering what kind of troublemaker she had been in their childhood.

"Good to know.", Nyx said grinning.

"Don't you dare to-", but YN stopped as a coughing attack prevented him from speaking further.

Concerned, Nyx laid his hand on YN’s shoulder, checking on him as he became even paler, "Are you alright?"

YN just waved with his hand, "Yeah, yeah", he said hoarsely, slapping against his chest, "I just choked on something.", he whispered.

But the next day, YN laid in bed, coughing violently and fighting with the full aftermath of the virus that held Insomnia in its iron grip for a few months. Obviously, without knowing it, YN's sister had been infected and now, he was the one with all the symptoms: fever, fatigue, muscle aches, headache, sore throat and nausea saying, the whole package.

While caring as best as he could for a suffering YN, Nyx did what the citizens were encouraged to do: he called a doctor, YN got tested and the result was clear: positive.

Nyx was tested negative but still, because they lived together, they had to be both quarantined for two weeks. As the next step, Nyx had to inform their Captain. Drautos wasn't pleased about the information that two of his men were out of service because of some ‘common cold’. As the Captain asked why they had to be both in quarantine, Nyx saw himself forced to tell the truth and revealed the relationship he had with YN. But, somehow, Nyx got the impression that the relationship itself wasn't the biggest problem rather the fact that the Captain had been completely unaware about it during the last months.

But because the Captain still wanted to have the upper hand like always, he sent Nyx and YN a big pile of documents and paperwork that got postponed because of the last battles. Nyx wasn't pleased about the boring 'office' work but as long as he and YN were quarantined, there was no way Nyx could say anything against it … or run away from it to fight a small, cozy fight against some demons which he would prefer more in this moment.

Luckily, YN recovered quickly and so, after one week, he was almost the old one. Almost. He was still a bit tired, was coughing and needed to rest but at least, he was fit enough to help Nyx a little bit with the paperwork. Especially, YN did it to prevent a raging war inside their apartment. While YN had been forced to stay in bed, he already had heard Nyx cursing while working.

First YN thought Nyx was just annoyed about the work itself but then, one afternoon as they sat together to work through the piles of documents, YN realized that Nyx wasn't just 'annoyed' rather, he was frustrated and even kinda aggressive.

"This stupid thing!", Nyx called out while pressing keys randomly on his PC.

YN raised his glance questioningly from his own PC and papers to look at the hero, who obviously got defeated by a bunch of wires and circuit pressed into a plastic case, "Everything's good over there?" he asked, grinning as Nyx slammed his whole hand on all keys he could find at the same time.

"Sure! Fuc- it works pretty wonderful!", he hissed through gritted teeth. Once again, Nyx pressed a bunch of keys he had no idea of their functions. As the PC finally just gave up and shutted down, Nyx leant back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose with closed eyes while sighing deeply, completely defeated.

YN tried his hardest to keep the grin out of his face but it wasn't working. Nyx heard the muffled sound of suppressed laughter and the moment he looked slowly up, his beloved boyfriend burst out with laughter. Even tears of joy were running down his cheeks.

Nyx gritted his teeth, "Good to see that you’re feeling better again. At least one of us has fun here.", he said annoyedly, standing up from the chair to look out of the window to become calmer again. It was cold, raining and all in all not the worst weather to be forced to stay inside.

YN felt guilty for laughing. He hurried over to Nyx and from behind, he snaked his arms around Nyx' waist, pressing a soft kiss on the outer rim of Nyx' ear, one of his weak spots, "Come on. Don't be like that. I didn't mean to laugh at you. It was just ... you fight against demons and whatsoever and then, you get defeated by a PC? Seriously?", YN chuckled.

Nyx scoffed, "I tell you, this thing has a will on its own. And it's mocking me. Besides, we're Glaives. We fight. We don't do 'paperwork'.", he said, quoting the Captain's words in a silly voice.

"So, what? You wanna disobey and ignore the Captain's order? Again?", YN asked amused, knowing how rebellious Nyx could be from time to time.

Nyx grinned, turning around in YN's arms and lying his own around his neck, glad that YN already had some color back in his face, "What shall he do? We're in quarantine. We're not allowed to leave this place or to invite someone in ... at all.", he said with a low voice.

YN raised an eyebrow, knowing this kind of mischievous glance already from the hero, "You have something in mind then?"

"Oh, yes. Indeed, I have.", Nyx nodded with a grin.

Ten minutes later, Nyx had collected everything he needed while YN just had watched him, sitting in an armchair. Nyx had prohibited him to do anything else than just waiting because even if YN felt better he was still stricken. On the other hand, Nyx wanted to have his idea as a small surprise. So, he collected all the pillows and blankets he could find and threw them into the living room which was quickly turned upside down. Nyx took some chairs, arranged them with the couch and had built something that represented a cozy fort. The couch was the fort's backrest. Chairs left and right were holding up the blankets while the carpet was covered with pillows and bed covers to make it even more comfy. As Nyx was done, he stepped next to YN, lying an arm around his shoulders, "What do you say?"

"That looks pretty perfect. You have done that before, don't you?", YN asked and looked up. There was already a melancholic smile on Nyx' lips.

"Yeah, I did this often with Selena. Mostly, when she was feeling sad or when she was sick. Then, I built one of these, stole some ice cream and cookies from the kitchen and then, we hid there the whole day. We were talking or watching TV until we fell asleep.", Nyx remembered, pulling YN closer to his side before he pressed a soft kiss on his boyfriend's crown while inhaling his scent to feed the painful memories with sweet new fuel to make them comfortable again.

YN enjoyed the affection with closed eyes, "So, you stole ice cream, huh?", he asked softly to light Nyx' mood up again. He was happy that it worked as he heard him chuckling.

"Well, stealing would mean no one knew about it. I'm sure our mother knew it. I mean, back then, as a kid, I felt pretty smart but now, I know that someone had to buy the things, so I'm sure she knew when we would build our little cave and prepared the sweets for us."

YN frowned. Everything was perfect except the fact that they had no sweets in the kitchen, "Shall we order-", but he got stopped as someone knocked at the door.

"Not necessary. I already took care of that, too.", Nyx said with a grin and went to the front door, opened it and came back with a paper bag full of stuff Crowe had brought after Nyx had texted her.

"What's that?", YN asked curiously, closing up on Nyx.

"Everything we need to get you back on track.", Nyx said grinning.

"But I'm already feeling better.", YN argued half-heartedly as he saw the colorful labels of the bag's contents.

"Yes, but 'better' is still not completely recovered. So, here, the ice cream will help you with your sore throat. Cookies are great in warm milk with honey to fight against the temperature of your fever. And the chocolate will just make you happy.", Nyx listed while pointing at the different items.

"And the gummi bears? Are they for my running nose?", YN asked chuckling, pulling out the bag of sweets.

Nyx snatched it out of YN's hand, "Oh, these are for me. At last, I need something to throw at you when you say stupid things again. Gummi bears for a running nose... never heard such a silly thing.", Nyx mumbled while rolling with his eyes and bringing the bag in the kitchen.

YN laughed, took his laptop and crawled into the pillow fort to get comfortable already while waiting for Nyx to come back.

Ten minutes later, Nyx appeared with a tablet which was laden with bowls full of ice cream, sweets and two mugs with warm milk. YN received the tablet, placing it in the middle. Nyx crawled next to YN's side before he closed the door made out of a blanket to enclose them with coziness. Pressing on a switch, a chain of light went on which was installed around the chair and illuminated the fort in a soft warm, romantically light. Nyx leant against the couch with his back, raised his arm to give YN the space to cuddle against him, using Nyx' upper body as a pillow.

YN was just about to start the movie he had picked out on Netflix as Nyx got a call on the headset he had still in his ear out of habit. Cursing under his breath, he answered the call, "Yeah? Hey, Captain. Yes, we're still in quarantine. One more week, that’s correct, Sir. Yes, he's feeling better but he's still not recovered completely. He still has to rest.", Nyx answered the Captain's questions. To underline Nyx' statement, YN coughed slightly.

Nyx had difficulties to keep the amusement out of his voice and nudged YN's side in revenge because the coughing was so badly acted, "What did you say, Sir? Oh, yeah, the paperwork. We're working on it. Yes, at this very moment, we're sitting in the living room and looking at the screen. Yes, Sir. Alright. Good da- huh, he hung up already.", Nyx said with a smirk, taking the headset out of his ear to lay it aside where he wouldn't notice it at all for the rest of the day.

"You lied to the Captain.", YN stated with a smirk.

Nyx looked him in the eyes while shaking his head, "No, I said the truth. We're in the living room, looking at some screen. The paperwork can wait. First, I want to make sure that you're fit again.", he breathed before he kissed YN softly, "And now, we should hurry with the ice cream or we will have just soup left."

"You could put some gummi bears into it to keep the consistency- hey!", YN called out as a gummi bear hit his hand.

"I warned you.", Nyx said grinning before YN cuddled back against Nyx' side, the best place in the world to recover from whatever virus there might ever be.

[certifiedskywalker]

No Grave - Dyn Jarren (The Mandalorian)

Anonymous said:

Hello, Hope you’re having a good day! Just was that you’re looking for requests for the Mandalorian? If that’s not the case then feel free to disregard this ask! I was wondering if it would be possible to request a fic in which Mando is injured and he needs to call upon the help of his old friend, the reader, who he doesn’t want to bother but can’t fix himself so they just sorta patch him up, coo over Baby Yoda and are just really happy to see him? Just a tropey af & fluffy af fic? Thank you sm

AN: First, you’re so polite?! I love you! Second, I love your request but this leans into more romance than you described because I’ve been listening to Hozier. I hope that’s okay! Also, I call him Dyn Jarren, as Pedro Pascal leaked!

The fall from the Jawa’s trading post broke him in more ways than one. 

Dyn Jarren had been in pain before. Training in the tribe had acquainted him with every weakness of the human body, his body. Before that, on Mandalore, on his home in the Outer Rim, he had been shown the human capacity for cruelty and the faces of his people twisted up in agony. The entirety of his life, every curve of every path, had been marked by some sort of pain. It was the one constant; no matter what planet, bounty, or standard year, hurt, in some capacity, lingered around each corner. 

Yet, Dyn Jarren had never felt pain like this. It felt like his entire body was set aflame, burning from the inside out. The slash in his arm was much deeper, much longer than he had thought and his head was still ringing from the fall. He laid in the dirt with his eyes closed, carefully moving his fingers and toes to make sure he wasn’t paralyzed. Thank the Maker he wasn’t, but each micromovement brought with it a new wave of strained misery.

He grit his teeth and forced himself to sit up. The moment Dyn curled his abdomen and used his arms to support himself, his chest screamed in pain. Broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. What a curse it is to be so attuned to his body’s every ache. He reached up and pulled his left shoulder back into its socket. The bones made a horrible scraping sound that was only drowned out by his grunts of pain.

“Chit!” 

The curse fell from his lips when he sat back. After a few labored breaths, he laid down in the spot where he had landed hours before. He would have stayed there too, spread out on the dark earth, if it wasn’t for a small ‘coo’ that reached his ears. In a flash, a spasm so quick that his wounds shouted in angry protest, the Mandalorian looked to the side and met the shining, expectant eyes of the Child. 

“Ugh,” Dyn moved to stand and he felt his legs shake beneath him. The Child cocked it’s small, green head to the side with its large ears turned down. “What?”

The Child only gurgled and the Mandalorian sighed heavily. The breath stung his lungs and he bit back a groan. Each step he took a new sharp stab raced through his body. Dyn looked out along the horizon, saw the setting sun, and nearly fell to his knees.  

They needed to find shelter. Maybe, if he could make it, they could stay at Kuiil’s moisture farm. Although, he had put enough on the older man, taken too much of his time. Staying at his hut would put him, his freedom, and the Child at risk. Dyn looked behind him and watched the nursery pod following after him. The Child’s eyes were wide, almost all-seeing. A twinge of guilt racked the Mandalorian’s chest.

He had taken the job and here he was, bleeding, stumbling to some intangible end. Without a ship, he was stranded, with a child no less, on a desert planet, dying slowly. At the thought of death, he fell. The impact knocked the wind out of him and his armor did nothing to dull the sting. He rolled onto his back and let out a groan.

The pink-orange sky was now fading into a wonderful purple color; and for a moment, the pain ebbed away. For a moment, Dyn forgot where he was and why he was there. For that perfect moment, he was back with the tribe. He was outside, watching the orange flames of a bonfire raging up towards the night sky. He saw the faces of the people who had taken him in, raised him, and trained him.

He saw Y/N.

He saw the eyes, the face he knew better than his own. He saw the familiar grin and felt the heat that Y/N never ceased to stir up within him. The memories danced in the darkness of his mind, reminding him of a time when he smiled. When had he last smiled? When he was a Foundling? Maybe? When was the last time he saw Y/N?

Ever since Y/N, ever since he left, Dyn had thrown himself into the job. Bounty hunting became all he did and all he told himself he wanted. Yet, it was still Y/N he thought of when faced with the sunset. Especially one as beautiful as the one that danced above him now.

Dyn felt wetness slip from his eyes when he moved to sit up, but he wasn’t sure for which ache the tears were shed. A surge of pain ripped up his side as he leaned back against the rock face. The Child watched him, ever curious eyes glinting under the soft light of dusk. He let his head lull against the stone as he studied the green creature. So much strangeness and death surrounded the little being; including himself. 

In spite of that, he was compelled to keep it alive. He shifted once more, grunting through the ache of his body, and aimed his hand at a nearby bush. With the simple flick of his finger, flames roared out of the canister at his wrist. The brittlebush went up in flames and, he hoped, it would burn long enough to keep the Child warm. 

It cooed at the sight of the fire, clapping it’s little hands together in joy before looking back at Dyn. For a second, the creature looked...sorry. The Mandalorian leaned back against the rocks and sighed. He lifted his hand once more, but this time, uttered a simple command. 

“Show me Y/N.”

The image he didn’t let himself look at opened. A hologram of Y/N’s form, a digital portrait of the one person Dyn could not let himself have. At least not in this life. Life on the road, a life of killing, a life of pain...that was no life. No, not this life; part of him would be happy to leave it behind. 

Dyn heard a small set of footfalls as he studied the picture, but he was too lost in memories to care. No longer did he care how long he had left to live. All he knew was that he wanted to see Y/N one last time. Slowly, like falling asleep, the Mandalorian closed his eyes. The burning pain that once gripped his body gave way to cold darkness as the Child shuffled closer to the glowing image with all the wonder of a young soul. 

Dyn woke up scared for the second time in his life. Warmth was everywhere, kissing every inch of his body. The pain was gone, replaced by the sun. His skin felt tight under the rays of light and he could feel the heat gathering on his cheeks. The last time had had the sun on his face…

On instinct, he reached up towards his face. When his palm met the flesh of his face, he yanked his hand away. It was as if the softness stung him. His face was a reminder of everything he had swallowed, pushed down, and ignored for years. Now, it was exposed and every feeling was bubbling up to the surface.

“You’re up.”

Dyn swung his head to his right and swore that he was dreaming. He must be because Y/N was there, looking at him with those eyes. It must all be some fevered dream. Whatever infection his wounds had fostered were now taunting him. It had to be that.

“I don’t want to know what happened,” Y/N said, hands raised as if to stop Dyn from speaking. “And I really don’t want to know why you have a baby with you either.”

“How did you get here?” Dyn was almost surprised by the sound of his own voice, unaltered by the modulator in the helmet. Yet, that was the least shocking thing to him in the moment. He was still caught on Y/N.

“You sent me a beacon,” Y/N said simply. “Wasn’t hard to find you then. All I did was look for smoke plumes.” Y/N gestured to the burning bush, now blackened by the heat and acting as a new playground for the Child.

“I didn’t send for you,” Dyn said, dark eyes glued to the Child. Y/N scoffed and Dyn looked over at his...friend? Could they even call each other that?

“I’m here anyway,” Y/N snapped, and Dyn tore his eyes from the Child to look up. “What? Do you…” Y/N now looked at the Child and then back to Dyn. “You think that little thing called me? On your comm? Does it even know how to use a transmitter?”

Dyn’s face flushed as his last-night thoughts returned to him. “I thought I was going to…”

“What?” Y/N shuffled closer. Sand was kicked up by boots and Dyn remembered all to vividly what had happened. He had opened Y/N’s file, the portrait, and, with it, her information. Dyn glanced over at the Child once more who, almost smiling, looked from the Mandalorian to Y/N, then back again.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dyn grumbled and started to get back to his feet. “I have to-”

“You have to stay still,” Y/N interrupted, hands extended and gently pushing down on Dyn’s shoulders. The touch sent Dyn back to a room, on a planet, to safety and warmth. He could almost feel the softness of a bed below him the moment Y/N met his gaze. Y/N must have felt it too, because the touch was pulled away before Dyn had a chance to savor it. Instead, he was left with a question gnawing at his mind.

“Why did you come?” 

Y/N sat back on the dirt, staring at Dyn with curious eyes. If it weren’t for the fact that the Child stumbled up and pulled on Y/N’s sleeve, Dyn was sure he would have gotten an answer right then.

With the Child, Y/N got distracted. Dyn watched the scene that unfolded before him with unabashed awe. Y/N, carefully, took the Child up in arms and the little creature snuggled close. For a second, Dyn forgot that they had to be on the run; that the Child was part of a hefty bounty. Dyn, in that moment, saw another sunset and Y/N’s smile.

“It’s fifty years old.”

“What?”

Dyn raised his brows, pointed them towards the Child still swaddled in Y/N’s embrace. “That is fifty years old.”

“I don’t…”

“Some species age differently,” Dyn repeated what the guild droid had said and gauged Y/N’s reaction. The Child, however, seemed wholly unaffected by the knowledge.

“But it’s...it’s a child, a baby.” Y/N rambled, now holding the Child out in the air. It squealed softly and kicked its feet in the air. “Fifty?”

“Fifty,” Dyn echoed. Y/N’s head shook and similarly shaking hands lowered the Child to the ground. Y/N’s eyes met Dyn’s and, for the first time in a long time, he saw worry in them.

In the months they had spent together before...before everything, Y/N hardly worried. Dyn had made bounty hunting look like an art and Y/N did not fret over what he did. There was to point, Y/N couldn’t stop him. Dyn was going to do what he wanted anyway.

Y/N never asked about what wrongs he did, whose name would be presented in a bounty puck when he brought back to the house. That was what Dyn liked about Y/N. Never once did the world of bounty hunting collide with the realm of what he once knew as home. Y/N was his perfect escape; a haven he would crawl back to every time.

That was why he had to leave. In his life, all Dyn knew was pain. He couldn't risk dragging Y/N into that. Not then and definitely not now. Not even when Y/N was looking at him like that, with those eyes that haunted every sunset he saw. Or would ever see.

“Why did you come?” 

Y/N held his gaze before leaning close to him. Dyn’s breath caught at the closeness but was soon released as Y/N peeled a bacta patch off his arm. “Your arm is healed. I did what I could about your ribs when you were passed out.”

Dyn stayed silent, watching Y/N sort the medical supplies laid out. The way Y/N’s hands traced packages and sorted them nearly hypnotized Dyn. He was tempted to drop the question, let them just be. Let them just be together for whatever time they had. It was too tempting.

“Why did you come here, Y/N,” Dyn asked once more. He reached out, his now bare hand grasping Y/N’s wrist. There was no hesitation as Y/N pulled away from the touch.

“Why do you think I came here?” Y/N snapped coldly. Any friendly warmth that once laced Y/N’s voice was gone. The Child, now sat at Dyn’s feet cringed, as if the tone of the words hurt some part of its being. 

“I don’t,” Dyn replied, “I thought it was clear that-”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dyn,” Y/N said softly, all the fire that laced the voice gone. Y/N looked up from the medical supplies and met his gaze. “I don’t ask many questions about...why you do what you do. Please, don’t ask me.”

Dyn wanted to protest. He wanted to tell Y/N that he fell into bounty hunting; but that was a lie. He had chosen bounty hunting over everything so he could control the pain that had been so intertwined with his life. He had chosen it over everything. Even his relationship with Y/N.

So, he decided, he could grant Y/N that one wish. “Alright.”

“Vor'e,” Y/N murmured and the use of Mando’a caught Dyn visibly off guard. “What? Have you become unfamiliar with your native tongue?”

“I haven’t heard it in a long time. Some phrases are lost to me now.”

“I said ‘thanks’,” Y/N explained teasingly. Dyn nodded, letting the word find purchase in his throat before speaking up again. 

“Vor'e, for coming here.” Dyn watched as that smile he loved spread along Y/N’s features. It lasted only for a second before fading like sunlight.

“I fear I’ve done all I can.” Dyn nodded and moved to sit up fully. His ribs no longer screamed with searing pain and his arm held no ache. 

“And that’s more than enough.” Y/N frowned and started to pack what supplies were still strewn about the dirt. Dyn watched but forced himself to peel his eyes away. He had to focus on what tasks lingered. Namely, getting the Child off this planet. 

“I could fly you out of here,” Y/N suggested, so quickly it was as if Dyn’s thoughts had been spoken aloud. “Get you and…” Y/N pointed to the Child, “this little one out of here.”

“No, no,” Dyn started to get to his feet. “You’d be in danger and-”

“You don’t think I can handle myself?” Y/N asked, hands on the hips, and standing before Dyn with all the confidence he wished he could bottle to keep at his side for whenever he needed it. Mostly, he wished to keep Y/N.

“I don’t know if I can handle...this,” Dyn gestured to the Child that now stood between them. It’s wide eyes peered up at them with a small, smug smile on it’s green lips. 

“Really you-” Dyn met Y/N’s eyes and the words fell into silence. “Really?”

Dyn nodded and leaned down to scoop the Child in his arms. It cooed in response and Dyn swallowed hard. Y/N reached and rubbed a careful hand against the creature’s cheek. Dyn watched Y/N, dark eyes adoring and soft. 

“Well, if this little one did send for me, you owe it quite a lot.” Y/N was still looking at the Child and Dyn was wholly enraptured with Y/N. 

“My life,” Dyn said softly, his breath stirring the hair on Y/N’s head. The couple met eyes and Dyn felt his heart go weak. What a curse it is to be so attuned to his body’s every ache. “And I owe you.” 

Y/N frowned and pulled away from Dyn. Leaning down, Y/N grabbed the Mandalorian helmet from the dirt and handed it to Dyn. He took it with his free hand, his eyes tracing the lines of Y/N’s face. He was preparing for a goodbye, perhaps the last goodbye.

“You can repay me by not leaving a grave for me to find.” Dyn let out a forced chuckle and shook his head. 

“You know that no grave could keep me from you.” The words came back to him like an instinct. They flowed from his lips with the same ease he set a trap or aimed his rifle for a killing shot. Those words were part of a ritual, a life that Dyn had almost had; a life with Y/N.

Y/N did not speak. Dyn felt his stomach drop and curl at the quiet. Instead of speaking, Y/N stepped towards him, pressed a tender kiss to the corner of his mouth. Dyn wanted to drop everything and reach for Y/N; but the Child gurgled as Y/N pulled away. The skin of Dyn’s lips still tingled from the kiss.  

Dyn watched Y/N walk away, medical supplies trailing after. The ship in the distance was small, a ship that Dyn once knew well. A ship that he hoped to know well again. Maybe after all of this, after the bounty...after the Child… Dyn looked up from the green creature in his arms and back at Y/N’s form. He could see the features of the person he loved as Y/N faced him once more.  

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” Y/N shouted. The wind carried the phrase to Dyn’s ears and he closed his eyes as the sound of his native Mando’a speech warmed his soul. He did not have to ask what the words meant. He knew what Y/N said in his heart; a phrase he could never lose to time or trial. 

Dyn watched Y/N take off before putting his helmet back on. The sun’s heat no longer graced his features, instead glinted off of the beskar steel. Dyn looked back to the Child in his arms. Its eyes were wide and Dyn sighed. 

“Let’s get you out of here.”

[concussed-to-pieces]

Whether It Works Out Or Not: Winter’s Cold, Part Two

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: High Honor!Arthur Morgan/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit T.

AN: Thank you all so much for being here! Enjoy!

[Spoiler warning for the epilogue!]

Tag List: @huliabitch​​ @cookiethewriter​​ @pedrosbigdorkenergy​​ @thirstworldproblemss​​ @anonymouscosmos​​ @culturalrebel​​ @karmezii​​ @teaofpeach​​ @crookedmoonsaultpunk​​ @wrestlingfae​​ @zombiexbody​​ @nelba​​ @scribblenotes76​​ @toxiicpop​​ @mstgsmy​​ @misty-possum​​ @gallowsjoker​​ @midnightbeauty35​​ @lackofhonor​​ @renegademustelid​​ @missfronkensteen​ @newplanetshine

Part One: Strangers

Part Two: Friends

Part Three: More

Bonus One: A Brief Diversion

Bonus Two: Back In The Cage

Winter’s Cold, Part One

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains emotional distress and self-loathing. Stay safe!]

The first time Arthur really felt...aware, like he was actually inhabiting his body instead of floating above and slightly to the right of it, he realized that he could hear chirping birds. A breeze stirred his hair; there must be a window open nearby. 

  It dawned on him after several moments that he could breathe. It still hurt, it pained him, but he wasn't hacking and wheezing every second. Dread flooded his soul then; either he was dead, or the law was in the process of meting out the rope for his noose. Bit of a raw deal for all those hellfire preachers if eternal damnation was only some downright mild discomfort (at least after everything else) and a lazy little breeze.

  His whole body still felt like it weighed too much to move. The idea of opening his eyes was a distant, faint notion; barely a fledgling consideration in the back of his mind. Arthur was more than content to lay just wherever it was that he had fallen, sunshine wavering in dappled patches across the insides of his eyelids.

  He dimly noticed that fabric was covering his mouth and nose. A bandanna, or some kind of mask? To keep him from spreading the infection, he surmised pragmatically. Through the material wafted a scent from his childhood, the alive smell of freshly-cured hay. Beneath it was the ever-present odor of manure, the crisp tingle of pine. So he must be in the mountains somewhere. 

  Odd. Last he knew, he was being shipped off to the city to be read his last rites. Had they decided to let him convalesce in the wilderness, drag him back from the clutches of death and then set his backside afore the law?

  Very odd indeed. But then again, justice had always been more of a performance than a true enforcement of moral integrity.

  I sound like Dutch.

  He drifted off again. Just thinking was exhausting, like wading through swamp mud.

  More medicine. Balm for his chest. A stew, lip of the bowl pressed to his mouth so he could slowly slurp it up. Rich, meaty broth, soothing his throat. How many days had it been?

  He couldn't even bring himself to move when he felt the familiar press of a flat blade against his neck. Hot water soaking into his skin, a warm cloth moving in circles to scrub away whatever grime was around his nose and mouth. The person was meticulous, sure strokes carefully ridding the man of the stubble he harbored on his face. How long had it been since he shaved?

  Christ alive, Arthur was tired. He couldn't decide whether he wanted to live or not. This caretaker, whoever they were, clearly wasn't letting him go without a fight. But he was so tired. 

  He wavered for what felt like a lifetime, hovering at the edge of eternity in the green fragrance of curing hay. It was safe here, at any rate. Nothing would harm him in this peaceful tomb. He could rest until he began to feel like he was in control of his body again, and one fateful day, Arthur Morgan finally realized that he wanted to see how much worse living could manage to be.

  His eyes opened slowly, squinting against the near-blinding illumination of sunset that played pink against the unfinished beams over his head. Lord, just doing that much had taken the wind out of his sails. Maybe he was already dead. 

  His eyes rolled shut wearily, blinking open again what felt like moments later to find the place dark. Night had fallen. Time was slipping past him, it would seem. There was a faint taste in his mouth: venison stew with wild carrots, if he had to guess. He didn't even remember eating.

  He squinted in the blackness, trying to force his eyes to adjust so he could at least take in his surroundings before he lost consciousness again. 

  Hay. Everywhere. He appeared to be in a loft of some kind, bales stacked neatly all around the tick he laid on. Night sounds filtered in through the open window, bats squeaking and the booming call of an owl telling him that the hour must indeed be late. 

  Arthur lapsed back into senselessness once more. He dreamed of hearing violin music and catching sight of a massive, pale buck through the window. It watched him from a far-off hillside, ears flicking back and forth to catch every sound. 

  He dreamed of Irene. Her smile, her eyes, the kisses in the tent that they had shared...

  Maybe, maybe sat like a block of lead in his gut. 'Maybe' was all he had ever had. A chance, a mirage. Pretty words from men and women who had made him feel useful, needed.

  So he had poured from himself until he was empty and it still hadn't been enough. 

  He was a fool. What was it that Irene had said to Jamie? "I'm not letting anyone else dig my grave and usher me into it." 

  Arthur, in contrast, had practically handed Dutch the shovel on a silver platter.

  I gave you all I had.

  …

  He was aware that someone was nearby, and he managed to open his eyes again for a brief moment. Long enough for him to hallucinate that it was Irene tending to him, Irene giving him whatever horrendous medicine it was and washing away the bitter taste with hot soup and small sips of tea. He must truly be long gone, mad with delirium or fever or the consumption that had wracked his chest until he felt paper-thin. 

  How would she even be here? How would that have even happened? There was no way. 

  Arthur almost loathed himself for choosing to live at that moment, because he was clearly missing a few more screws. He knew that some agues raged so strong they could burn the brain right out of a man and he feared that was the case with him. 

  Not that he'd had much brain to lose in the first place.

  Christ, he did wish she was here. He wished he could take her hand and never let her go again. 

  Allowing her leave that final time was a regret that had haunted him even more prominently than his bitter failure with Mary, for all that he knew there was nothing he could have done to make her stay with him. Irene had been on her own too long, flown too far and high to ever be tied down to some old, miserable bastard again.

  Mary had come to know him under false pretenses, and she had never truly reconciled herself with it. In a way, Arthur hadn't either. He had known she wasn't his from the very beginning, had known that he was playing a part or living a lie whenever he was with her. It never would have worked out, and it never did. 

  But Irene, despite their deceptive start, came to him with a certain honesty. The haphazard performance of masculinity had done little to hide her true nature, the kindness that she claimed to see in him so freely displayed in her as well. It also didn't hide the burdens she carried, though he hadn't understood the sadness in 'Frank's' eyes when they had spoken.

  The trials she had gone through...he at least had the gang, but she was wholly alone. She had endured, like a pine tree rooted on a crumbling and wind-whipped bluff. Storms of life howling all around and yet…

  And yet, when he had last seen her, she had held herself proudly in Lemieux's mansion, unshaken. The guts and wherewithal that had seen her thus far would continue, and Arthur had wished her nothing but the finest of luck even as he had sent her on her way. 

  …

  There were folded clothes on the floor beside him when next he stirred, and on top of them was a note. Arthur had no idea how long it took him to sit up, never mind move his arm, manipulate his fingers into picking the note up, unfold the note to read it…

  Lord, living certainly seemed to require a lot of steps. 

  Arthur,

Not sure if you'll really be awake today, but I've noticed you moving around a bit of your own volition. Left the clothes in case you feel up to getting dressed. I am uncertain if you'll recall, so I'll remind you that the waste bucket is in the far corner.

  The note was unsigned.

  Arthur huffed out a breath, clearing his throat experimentally. He reached for the union suit on the top of the pile, planting his face in the article of clothing with a groan as his head suddenly felt too heavy to support. "C'mon Morgan." He encouraged himself, the words thick in his mouth. Shit, how long had he been out for? It was like he had forgotten how to speak.

  Just pulling the suit up and over his legs was a task of Herculean proportions. Arthur doggedly kept fighting the urge to pass out, the desire to lay back down and let time zip by again. He had made the choice to live and by God, he would follow through with it even if it killed him.

  The longer he worked at getting dressed, the easier it became to keep his eyes open. Socks on over the suit, shirt, pants. His suspenders hung limp at his sides, but he did tuck in his shirt as best as he could after he relieved himself. 

  Boots. Boots, one tipped over on the space beside the ladder, the other within reach of the bed.

  Next, climbing down the ladder. Mercifully the loft was not particularly high. The whole barn seemed rather small as far as barns went, obviously originally built with one stall. A second one appeared to have been hastily grafted onto the building at a later time. 

  Arthur had to take a breather at the base of the ladder, clinging to it just to keep his balance. His knees felt like they were made out of jelly. Had his boots always been this damn heavy?!

  He floundered onward after a moment, grateful for his hat as he emerged into the blinding sunlight of the outside world. 

  Arthur rubbed his eyes, nearly losing his footing as he did so. He had already been uncertain of the reality of his current situation, and this idyllic scene in front of him wasn't helping matters! 

  A small paddock stretched out on the left, and a cozy-looking cabin was nestled into the green, flower-dappled glen alongside the barn he had just emerged from. Arthur staggered to the paddock fence for support, draping himself over it. From the shadow by the barn, a shape stirred. He forced himself to focus on it, his eyes widening when the horse meandered lazily out into the sunlight to graze.

  "Chase!" Arthur rasped, his voice rough and cracking from disuse. The mare's head jerked up and she looked around. His heart leaped in his chest when she whinnied excitedly at him, trotting across the paddock and bumping her nose against his chest. Arthur held her tightly, cupping her muzzle and scratching beneath her jaw. "That's my sweet girl, my good girl." He murmured, feeling foolish for getting choked up. 

  There was an explosive snort to his right and a familiar pink nose snuffled over his shoulder. Arthur squinted, turning his head to the side and realizing that it was Bluster. The horse whickered, mouthing at the sleeve of his shirt. 

  Arthur Morgan was speechless. He must be dead. How else could he have his horse, and Irene's horse besides? He sat there mutely for God only knew how long, just petting Chase with his eyes closed to luxuriate in the sensation of sun on his skin. 

  Behind him, the wind carried faint sounds to his ears, and he flinched when he caught a child's high-pitched squeal of laughter. Just where the hell was he, if he was indeed alive? What buffoon would nurse someone like him back to health, yet leave him unbound and unguarded? Something was very odd about this whole scenario.

  Arthur turned and leaned back on the fence, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun as he looked up at the ridge of the glen. There was an abrupt flash of motion to the left on the edge of the gully, and he watched a woman that he desperately wanted to recognize chase after a child. The little one was fairly shrieking with mirth, scurrying away from their pursuer until they flopped down dramatically and allowed themselves to be caught.

  It felt like his heart had left his body, the damn thing soaring and shattering all at once. A girl, it was a little girl, her hair the color of a pale buck. Irene scooped the child up, laughing breathlessly and tossing her into the air before spinning the two of them in a dizzying circle. 

  Irene.

  Arthur swallowed hard. Fate was indeed a cruel mistress if this was the vision he was greeted with upon making his decision to live! He continued to just slouch against the fence, silently observing the duo as they frolicked at the top of the ridge. Irene had flowers in her hair just like she had at the Mayor's little soiree, and he realized dimly that her dark brown curls were much longer. Just how much time had he lost?

  He finally mustered up the strength to wave at them and he liked to think that Irene went still out of happiness. In a moment she caught the child up and fairly bolted down the hillside, her skirt hiked around her knees as she ran. 

  "Arthur!" 

  Christ, Christ he wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready for the sight of her with a babe on her hip, the agony of maybe, maybe that ripped at his insides. In another life, it might have been his child that she had been playing with. In another life, this might have been the home that they had built together.

  But instead, she had gone on and made a fruitful existence without him. He couldn't, wouldn't blame her for it. He had cut her loose, after all.

  Irene came to a halt inches away, her chest rising and falling from the effort of her sprint. "Y-You--you're up!" She panted, her smile burying itself in his ribs like a blade. Christ, his heart was too weak for this.

  The child in Irene's arms gawked up at him with crystal blue eyes and he tried to muster up a smile, startled when Irene embraced him tightly. He felt her fingers dig into his back, and then her shoulders quivered while she buried her face in his chest. "Oh no, c'mon now Miss Irene." Arthur said hoarsely. "I ain't worth all that fuss, it's okay."

  ...

  "Mama?" Anna asked tentatively. "Mama okay?"

  "Mama's fine, love." Irene managed to say, kissing her child's forehead. "Just very happy is all. You remember my friend Mister Arthur, right?"

  "Sick." Anna replied, her attempt at a fake cough making Arthur chuckle. "Better now?"

  "I'd reckon so, little miss." The man drawled hoarsely. God, that voice. Irene hadn't realized just how much she had missed him. She had seen him every day, of course, nursing him back to health, but he hadn't been conscious for most of it. "S'pose I have your mama to thank for that."

  Irene noticed him glancing over her shoulder, like he was expecting someone else to show up. "Your friend, Mister Trelawny--"

  Arthur chuffed out a breath through his nose, making Anna giggle. "Friend? Man's a cockroach in a waistcoat." He groused.

  "Yes, he mentioned that the two of you may not be as close as he posited. Nonetheless, it's thanks to him that you're here now, alive."

  "Really. Huh. So I am alive, then. I wasn't shoah. This place is…" Arthur gestured vaguely around. "S'beautiful, Miss Irene." His tone was melancholy. "Like a dream."

  "I'd like to think I chose well, Mister Arthur. It hasn't been easy, but the two of us have made it work." Irene said proudly, nuzzling her nose against Anna's. "My tough little frontierwoman."

  "Just...what, you an' the baby?" Arthur asked, his confusion evident. 

  "Yes. Who else would there be?" Irene replied with her own question, brow furrowed. Arthur blinked down at her. His eyes darted momentarily to Anna, and Irene bit her lip, wondering whether he would put it together immediately. 

  "I-I jus'...I figured there might be a third person, is all." Arthur stammered. 

  Irene couldn't help her sad smile, shaking her head at him and extending an arm. "Come inside, Arthur. It's nearly suppertime anyways."

  It was so strange, finally having him in the main room of her little house. She had thought about this scenario more times than she could count. Just the walk across the front yard thoroughly tired him out, and the man seemed more than content to doze in one of the kitchen chairs while she put the finishing touches on the evening meal. Obviously it would take time and care for him to regain even a fraction of his former strength. He had been bedridden, or something close to it, for nearly five months!

  Anna played noisily on the floor with a few carved horses that Irene had made for her when she was teething, their forms scored with scrapes and marks from the event. The child didn't seem apprehensive about the large man currently nodding off in the chair by the table, which had Irene feeling hopeful. Maybe, just maybe…

  "Dinnertime." She said softly, "put away your toys, love." 

  Anna pouted, holding up a finger. "One?" She bargained, clutching her 'favorite' horse to her chest. "One for Art'ur." 

  "Oh it's for Arthur now, is it?" Irene teased, wiping her hands off on her apron. "Go on then, you scallywag."

  The little girl fairly beamed, placing the horse with a laughable amount of care alongside Arthur's arm. Then, she impatiently bounced in place as Irene fetched the riser for her chair so she would be level with the table when she sat. 

  "Ah ah, go wash up! You know the rules." Irene instructed the eager child, sending her on her way to the porch.

  "She is just the cutest damn thing." Arthur mumbled, almost like he was talking to himself. His fingers idly played along the curves of the little horse by his fork. "How old is she?" 

  "A touch over two. She was born during the winter." Irene watched Arthur nod absently, and what she was about to say got caught in her throat as Anna toddled back inside.

  Arthur accepted the coffee Irene poured him with all the gratitude in the world, his eyes closing in enjoyment as he took his first sip. "Ah, that's good," he sighed. "Ain't nothin' like a decent cup of coffee. Feel like life is comin' back to me."

  "Well, don't forget to save room for dinner." Irene buttered Anna a little piece of bread and scooted it across the table to keep her occupied while she loaded two plates with corn, mashed potatoes and a spoonful of precious pork gravy from tomorrow's slow-cooking dinner. "Corn is Anna's favorite, right love?"

  Anna nodded, blue eyes wide as she munched on her bread. "Mine!" She announced sharply, scrunching up her nose when Arthur chuckled at her. 

  "Sweeting, be polite. There's more than enough for all of us, you know that!" Irene chided her daughter, rumpling the little girl's hair fondly after she placed Arthur's plate in front of him. "Always enough here." 

  Anna's plate, as usual, required a bit more preparing, so she brought it along with her own to her chair beside the child. Anna immediately started digging into the mashed potatoes as her mother carefully shucked the kernels off the cob in neat rows. "Th'nk y'Mama." Anna said through a mouthful of food.

  "You're welcome Anna, but slow down. No one will take it from you." With a touch of amusement Irene noticed Arthur visibly slow his pace in response, the man obviously used to wolfing his food. "Drink your water, Anna."

  Arthur ate mainly in silence, aside from a few appreciative grunts. He couldn't contain his laughter when Anna started to imitate his sounds, the man apologizing for his poor table manners. "Forgive me, Miss Irene, I've always been awful at eatin' in the presence of polite company." 

  "Mama says I'm a little piggy." Anna informed Arthur, seeming confused when he burst out laughing again. 

  "If you're a li'l piggy, Miss Anna, then I must be the biggest boar alive." He said once he managed to rein himself in. 

  …

  Arthur lingered on the front steps, the lantern in his hand ready to light his way back across the yard. He felt exhausted, stuffed with good food and more than ready to get a full night's rest.

  So what was he waiting for?

  Many thoughts had gone through his head during dinner. How beautiful Irene still looked, how good of a mother she clearly was. Anna was a precocious little thing, those blue eyes bright with the possibility of mischief. 

  Her eyes…

  Arthur didn't dare to hope that one of he and Irene's little diversions had borne fruit, if only because it would throw into question his oh-so-noble attempts at prevention. Had he truly tried as hard as he could to be safe, or was there always that selfish desire in the back of his mind waiting to be acted upon?

  He jumped guiltily when the door opened and Irene stepped out, half-turning to face her with a brittle grin. "Howdy ma'am. Little one safely abed, I take it?"

  "After a bit of deliberation, yes." Irene sighed, her posture weary. "She's very opinionated for someone who cannot manage eating a carrot unless it has been sliced into wheels. I do fear for the future, Arthur."

  The future.

  Arthur cleared his throat. "Irene, is...did we…?"

  She put a hand on his shoulder, silencing his stammering with a sad little smile. "Later, Arthur. Right now, rest is what you need."

  He wanted to deny that, but it was fairly impossible to do so. He was nearly asleep standing up as it was. "Tomorrow?" He bargained through a yawn.

  "Tomorrow. I promise."

Summer’s Warmth, Part One

[yourdeepestfathoms]

what did the chickadee and phoenix say to the hybrid?

this was supposed to be a short snippet,,,,,,, anyway, Lydia meets the Maitlands but make it the ~wing au~

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

  “Greeting ghosts,” Said the strange little fledging that entered the attic. “I am Lydia Deetz. Do not be afraid.”

  “Why aren’t you afraid of us?” Barbara asked.

  “Because you aren’t scary,” Lydia said. “I mean, look at me in comparison.” She spread her sagging wings (did she ever lift them?), and Barbara realized there were four of them. “I’m probably the freakiest thing to ever walk among the avians. You got competition.”

Realization dawned on Barbara, but Adam got to it first.

  “You’re a hybrid!” Her husband yelled, nearly flinging his sheet right off of him when he pointed to Lydia.

  “Adam!” Barbara scolded.

  “No, it’s okay,” Lydia said. “I prefer the term ‘hybrid’ over ‘mutant’ and ‘monster.’”

  “I was gonna say it’s rude to point,” Barbara said, pushing Adam’s hand down.

  “Ah,” Lydia nodded. “But yes. I am a hybrid. In the blood. Unfortunately.”

She spread her wings in a mock bow to them, and Barbara could see veins of white riddling the insides of the upper pair. She then winced, fangs flashing in the dim attic light when she grimaced in obvious pain, and let her wings go limp. They landed in a heap on the ground, strewn out like scraps of ruined cloth.

  “Are you alright?” Barbara asked worriedly, feeling a flash of maternal instincts zip through her like lightning.

  “Fine,” Lydia answered before the question could completely leave Barbara’s mouth, as if it were normal for her to brush off her discomfort when around other people. She shuffled her feet and tilted her head at Barbara and Adam. “Why are you in sheets?”

  “We were trying to scare you,” Adam told her.

  “You’re not doing a very good job,” Lydia said. “What do you look like under there? Are you horribly disfigured?” Her shoulders lifted, but her big bat ears remained completely drooped. “Are you like me? May I see?”

Barbara and Adam took off their sheets. Lydia’s expression dimmed.

  “Oh,” Lydia seemed disappointed. “You’re pureblooded.” She sniffed. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” Adam said. “I’m Adam, this is Barbara.”

  “Oh, woah,” Lydia’s eyes dilated hugely, like a cat that just saw its owner’s foot move under the blankets. “You’re so shiny.”

Barbara blinked, then realized Lydia was talking about her. Even in death, her feathers continued to glow like fire. She extended one of her wings to Lydia.

  “You can touch them, if you’d like.”

Lydia looked up at her in shock. “Really? You’re not afraid of me, like, contaminating you?”

  “No...”

  “Or infecting you with my ‘dirty blood’?”

  “No.”

  “Or ripping your wings out of your back like I’m a feral WingEater because I’m jealous of how pretty and normal you are and want to ruin all purebreds in an envious rage?”

  “No! Do people really say that stuff to you?!”

Lydia actually laughed. “Wow, you really haven’t met a hybrid before.” She shuffled her feet. “But-- I can really touch them?”

Barbara smiled warmly at her. “Of course, sweetheart.” She nudged her wing closer. “Go on. I promise I don’t have Drop Feather Fever.”

  “Even if you did, I don’t have feathers!” Lydia said, then reached out and brushed Barbara’s wing. Her touch was light and gentle, as if she were worried she may hurt her new friend, and her short, stubby claws tickled against the skin beneath the feathers. “Wow... They’re so soft! And warm!”

  “Yup!” Adam strode over, looking proud. “You, little bat-moth, are looking at a real Phoenix Avem! WAIT--”

Lydia leapt backwards and the mane of yellow-orange flannel moth fur around her neck and chest bristled like a startled cat.

  “YOU CAN SEE US?!” Adam yelled.

It was only then that Barbara realized that Lydia shouldn’t have been able to see her or Adam. She had been so distracted by the adorable fledgling that it hadn’t dawned on her at all.

  “Uhh,” Lydia’s fur settled. “Yeah?”

  “But we were told that the living ignore the strange and usual,” Adam said.

  “Well, perhaps it’s because I, myself, am strange and unusual,” Lydia said. “Also all of my internal organs are purple and I can’t have a period due to a ‘compromised reproductive system caused by faulty genetics,’ so I’m not exactly very far from the boat you’re rocking in.”

  “Trust me, sweetie, the no period thing is a blessing,” Barbara said.

  “Everything else is a curse, though,” Lydia said with a sad smile.

Barbara frowned at that, but before she could press on what she meant, Adam stepped in.

  “Okay, well, since you can see us, do you mind leaving and never coming back?”

  “Adam!” Barbara flared. She thought of not seeing this little girl again, and it made a cold pit open up inside of her and she couldn’t really explain why.

  “Not her,” Adam said quickly. “Her family!”

Lydia scoffed. “We’re not a family.” She sounded a touch offended. “We’re father, daughter, and Delia.”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Barbara inquired, “Your mother, she...?”

Just when Barbara thought Lydia’s ears couldn’t droop any further, they somehow got even lower.

  “She... She’s dead...”

Adam grimaced. Barbara’s wings tensed against her back for bringing such a traumatic experience up.

The good news, though, was that the role of mother was up for the taking. And since Lydia clearly felt anything but a parental bond with that Delia woman, Barbara knew it was at good as hers.

She could feel the mammary feathers and nesting season hormones coming in already! Literally. She imprinted on Lydia when she touched her wing. That was her chick now.

  “Oh, honey,” Barbara murmured. “I’m so sorry.”

Lydia shook her head, making her ears slap around her face. She gazed around the attic with sparkling eyes, as if she were holding back tears.

  “She would have loved this place,” Lydia said. “She was Vesper! Which, you know, explains,” She gestured to herself. “She would call me her ‘weird little moon,’ but it was never in a mean way. And we used to have our own little full moon festivals so I would grow up with proper Vesper traditions and culture! We would hang up all the blankets in the house on the trees and make these forts that we would burrow in and watch the moon from. She taught me how to properly pray to Valtiel and everything! And we would do the moon dances on the ground because I can’t fly, but she made the effort to learn how to for me. We couldn’t actually go to the festivals, though, because,” She gestured again. “She worried about me all the time and didn’t let me do a lot of things, but what we did do was amazing.” She then blinked out of her daze and shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bore you talking about my mom.”

  “No, it’s okay!” Barbara assured her. “We don’t mind!”

  “Really?” Lydia tilted her head and her ears flopped over with the movement. “‘Cause my dad never wants me to talk about her. It’s basically against the law in the house. Among many things.” She raised her wings slightly and did a voice that was apparently supposed to be her cicada Cimex father, “‘Lydia, no talking about your mom! Lydia, no eating bugs, it’s weird and basically cannibalism! Lydia, no coming around me because even though I say I’m trying to change my views of you I still see you as an unrepentant monster who I fear will eat my throat out while I’m sleeping and it makes me guilty not because the way I think of you but because I fear of what you’ll do to society and I was the one who brought you into the world to wreak suck destruction on civilization!’”

Barbara and Adam stared at her in shock.

  “Dads, am I right?”

  “That’s…very concerning,” Adam said.

Lydia shrugged nonchalantly. “Everything about my existence is concerning, so…” Her face then scrunched up and she pressed her floppy ears against the sides of her head like she was trying to keep out a noise that Barbara and Adam’s Avem ears couldn’t pick up. “Oh, ow. Stop worrying so loudly! I’m okay! I’m, like, basically immune to it at this point!”

Barbara and Adam both blinked in confusion, but then Barbara understood.

  “You’re a mind reader.”

Lydia pulled her hands away and smiled slightly. “In the flesh.”

Barbara wondered what that was like--

  “It’s pretty cool, actually.”

--to hear everyone’s thoughts, all the different ways they thought about you and judged you, possibly pretending they liked you when really they hated your guts.

  “When you put it like that…”

  “You surprise me more and more, Lydia,” Adam said.

  “Better than scaring you,” Lydia said. “You guys are really cool. I like you. You’re probably the best thing about this stupid house.”

  “This house is not stupid!” Adam blustered. He grabbed Lydia by the shoulders, making them lurch and the moth fur bristle, and spun her around to him so he could scold her. “It’s a classic Victiorian-- OWW!!!”

Adam ripped away from Lydia as if he had touched fire, while Lydia shrunk away, instinctively wrapping her wings around herself. Adam shook his hands in the air while flapping his wings in obvious distress. 

  “Ow! Ow! Ow! What HAPPENED?” Adam yelped.

  “Sorry,” Lydia whispered. 

  “Are you okay?” Barbara asked her husband. He splayed his hands open for her, and she winced when she saw angry red blisters starting to form all across his palms. “Oh.”

  “It isn’t lethal!” Lydia said, and she sounded very meek compared to the snarky girl that had been talking a few seconds before. “Well, I don’t think it is… But you’re dead, so it’s okay! The pain will go away within a few hours!”

  “HOURS?!” Adam squawked, as if he were a parrot and not a chickadee. He made a woeful noise. “Just cut my hands off!”

Lydia’s ears drooped even lower. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Maitland. I should have told you.”

  “That your really soft fur is EVIL?” Adam said, and Barbara knew he was playing with Lydia, now. However, the little fledgling didn’t seem to realize because she still looked anxious.

  “It’s-- I take after the moth my Cimex side is from. A southern flannel. The worms have venomous hairs, so…” Lydia fluffed her collar of fur. “I do, too. And they sting pretty badly. But not all the time! Only when I bristle them. Thank the goddesses.” She shuffled her feet. “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s alright,” Adam assured her. “A little blistering never hurt anyone. Oh, look, boils! Wonderful!” He laughed. “It builds character!”

Lydia cracked a small smile at that. When her nervousness didn’t recede, Barbara opened one wing to her, beckoning her to come closer. After a moment of shock and delight, gauging if it were a trap, Lydia skittered over and burrowed herself into Barbara’s feathers.

She fit perfectly.