#and yes i have done my best to manage it today. it's chronic it's going to be there no matter what i do

[non-un-topo]

It might finally be worth it for me to get in contact with the office of academic accommodations or whatever the fuck because the sheer amount of feature films my professors insist on screening in class is far more than my back can handle

[hopefulromances]

Yes, Chef - Jamie Tartt

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Reader wakes up with a chronic pain flare up. Jamie just wants to help her.

A/N: Someone once told me to write for me so.... here's something. Wanted to write something for fellow chronic pain/disabled girlies!!!!

OoooO

I woke up and knew it was going to be a bad day. I could feel it in my joints, pain. Just aching pain in my knees and hips, spreading around my muscles like static. I reached over to find Jamie, to find something to cling to but he was gone. Right, early morning training. He wasn’t home. He wouldn’t be home for hours. 

I settled myself to get up and get to the couch. At least there I could be near the kitchen to grab food and be near the TV. Jamie would usually want me to call him or text him to tell him it was a bad day but I didn’t want to bother him. It was embarrassing being me. The girl with the invisible disability who woke up some days and could barely walk with the star striker of one of the best teams in the premier league. How could he settle for that?

Despite my worries, Jamie constantly reassured me that it didn’t matter. That it was irrelevant to our lives that my joints hurt all the time for no reason, preventing me from going on walks, exercising, or even standing up sometimes. On those days he would just pick me up, like it was nothing, and carry me wherever I wanted to go. 

But he wasn’t here today, and I didn’t want to be a nuisance to him, so I would make do, like I had for years. Before I met Jamie and I had just started living on my own, I couldn’t afford treatment or care so I learned how to survive. I’d done it for months then, I could last one day without Jamie here. 

I could feel it as I walked down the stairs. The ache in my knees, popping and stretching with each step. It felt like my joints were made of styrofoam, creaking and screaming threatening to snap with each movement I made. I could feel it in my hips as well. A warm aching pain that spread to my back, making even standing feel difficult. I flopped onto the couch, finally, feeling instant relief from being off my feet. I took a deep breath, it was going to be a long time.

Jamie arrived around 5 that afternoon. I hopped up off the couch, regretting it almost immediately, but I managed to hide my wince as I walked over to him. 

“Hi Jamie,” I greeted, cheerfully smiling. 

 “Hey, babe.” He wrapped an arm around me and planted a kiss on my head before walking off towards the kitchen. “D’you wanna cook somethin’ for dinner?”

I started my walk towards the kitchen, walking stiffly but trying not to show it. “Sure! We can make pasta? We have your weird, zoodles, or whatever.” 

“You alright?” He checked, looking me up and down. 

“Yeah, fine!” I brushed him off, walking over to the refrigerator to start pulling out ingredients. “Want to start boiling some water?”

Jamie’s eyes remained on me, watching my every movement. Fuck, I was trying so hard not to step to hard on my knee, knowing he’d be able to tell it was bothering me. 

“Y/N, stop,” He commanded, coming over to shut the refrigerator. “Jus’ stop.”

“Jamie, I’m fine,” I insisted, trying to duck away from him. I reached for the refrigerator door handle but he stepped in front of me, crossing his arms. 

I rolled my neck, letting out a huff. He stared down at me but I refused to meet his eyes, leaning back against the island behind me. We stood there in silence, Jamie waiting for me to crack but I was unyielding. He didn’t get it. He couldn’t get it. 

“Y/N,” he started again. “I just don’t understand why-”

“Exactly, you don’t understand,” I snapped. My voice betrayed me, daring to crack and show my emotion. “So please, just let me do this.”

“You’re in pain!”

“Yes, Jamie! I’m always in pain,” I cried. I hated the way my eyes flooded with tears when I was angry. I hated the way my voice wavered and deepened with the ball growing in my throat. “Every fucking day I wake up and I’m in pain.” 

This was what I was trying to avoid, the truth of my chronic pain that is so hard to describe to other people that just don’t understand. But Jamie just looked at me, his eyebrows furrowed as he waited for me to continue. 

“Jamie…”

“No, please,” He nodded, genuine. “Explain it to me. I want to understand.”

I took a breath and chewing on my bottom lip. My eyes darted back and forth as I figured out exactly what I was going to say. 

“It’s like I look in the mirror and I think I should be able to do all these things,” I explain, trying to put into words the feeling in my body. “But then I can't, or I can but it really hurts and I’m exhausted afterwards. And it’s the most frustrating thing in the world. Like I want to rip my hair out of my head.” 

“I see you and everything you can do and it’s so amazing. But I feel soooo… inadequate sometimes. Like I can’t walk up the stairs without my knees aching but you… you can do so much more. And yeah today it’s bad. I spent the whole day on the couch. But now you’re home and I just want to cook with you. I just want to be able to do one thing without feeling so… useless.” 

Jamie pursed his lips. I could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed what I said. I was afraid if I looked too hard you could see smoke coming out of his ears. Then he walked away. I ran a hand over my face, scrambling to save this. 

“Jamie, wait, this isn’t about you, it’s not your– what are you doing?”

Jamie walked over to the counter and grabbed one of our tall bar chairs and brought it over to the island. 

“Sit,” he instructed. I frowned but he just pointed before repeating. “Sit.” 

I pouted and sat in the chair. Jamie moved quietly, grabbing ingredients out of the fridge in front of me. This had to be a sick joke. He was really going to make me sit there, watching him move and cook when I just told him that’s what I wanted to do. 

He grabbed the cutting board and placed it in front of me. Then he placed the tomatoes, garlic, and other ingredients in front of me as well. 

“Chop,” he directed me, motioning to the food and utensils. I looked down and realized what he was doing. I hesitated and Jamie let out a sign and turned my chair towards him. “Y/N.”

I looked up at him with big eyes and he chuckled, bringing his fingers to my chin, shaking my head slightly. 

“You’re not useless,” he insisted, rubbing his thumb over my chin. “You are stubborn as hell though.” I breathed out a laugh, letting the corner of my lips turn slightly. He sighed, sliding his hands down so they were on the chair on either side of my hips. “Y’know, maybe I could help you. You ever think of that in his big brain of yours?” 

He knocked his forehead against might, lightly. 

“You’re not inadequate, or a burden, or any of those other awful things that I know are rolling around in your head,” he continued. “It hurts me to know that you’re in pain and I’m sorry if I’m overbearing. But can we work together on this? Yeah? Figure out ways for you to be involved and do the things you wanna do. But in a way that doesn’t hurt you so much.” He pushed back some hair from my face, cradling my head in his hand. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I squeaked out, kissing his palm. 

He smiled at me, pulling me into a sweet kiss. I sighed into the kiss, relishing the slight pressure that his lips pressed onto mine, filling even the shortest of kisses with so much love.  

“Alright, now these tomatoes aren’t going to cut themselves,” he ordered, pointing to the cutting board. “Let me get my zoodles ready.” 

And he walked off. How could he do that? How could he kiss me and take my breath away and just walk off like it was nothing. I smiled as he went back to his normal routine, starting to ramble about training and the number of suicides that Roy had him run. I started chopping and chatting along. It wasn’t much, but just knowing that he heard me and – at least on some level – understood me, made my heart soar. 

[umilily]

Since I can't draw for shit, I sadly can't make one of those yearly lookbacks, but there's something else I'd like to put out there as a sort of year-in-review (and to celebrate a little):

Once more – true to my brand – I managed to time things so spectacularly that I’m proud (?) to say that today is actually my one-year anniversary of posting fic. To be fair, I doubt that this will become an international holiday like any other minor ones going on atm, but nevertheless I just wanted to take a moment to write down some thoughts on that (because ah, yes, of course, more rambling from me), even if it’s just for myself to look back on both an occasionally very unusual, weird year.

No pressure to read or digest any of this, I think the only thing I really want to say to anyone who’s bothered reading this far (both this post and the things posted over the last year) is a huge thanks. If you had told me last December that a decision made while under the heavy influence of Ibuprofen and caffeine to combat one of the nastiest colds I ever had, would snowball into a year filled with kind words from strangers and new friends, I would have probably written you off as a fever dream. Oddly enough, it wasn’t, so somehow now I’m here writing this post that already feels too pompous, but that I can’t help wanting to type out regardless.

My own corner of the vast internet unexpectedly became a lot more populated than I’ve ever known it to be. Which feels hilariously ironic when I think about that at the same time, living abroad essentially nuked my social life with friends and family many hours away. But even if I still am very much reclusive – a rare encounter I suppose – and have only talked to very few people who hang around here, I’m still so very grateful for all the kind words from everyone found for me and my writing. Thank you all for keeping me company through me essentially just going “fuck it we ball” continuously.

The last year had some stretches that have been exhausting and rough and I think sticking with something self-indulgent and light-hearted kept me from going nuts at times. I’m not the type to make new years resolutions and when last year I told people that mine was “Doing things poorly”, it likely was the most confusing one they heard so far. For me personally, it was the best one out there, so I will be renewing that and (as proudly as possible) continue to do things poorly in 2024 as well. If people stick around for a laugh or two, I will take it as the highest praise and compliment.

On a more personal front, there is a good chance that I will start working full-time within the next year, so I also just wanted to take this chance for a little heads-up. If I end up disappearing for longer than what you’re used to from me being chronically online, it’s probably because I managed to fool people into hiring me and sadly not because I finally made the smart decision to become a hermit in the woods or retire to the seaside. (Or well, I might end up reacting the exact opposite. Because when have I ever made responsible, adult decisions regarding how to spend my free time? Who needs sleep when you can contemplate the enigmatic, inner machinations of your blorbo’s mind on the topic of coffee or Ikea furniture?) I will do my very best to be as consistent as possible, because even if I do get busy, writing has been something that brought me much more joy than I could have anticipated, and I would like to keep that going.

With that, I think I’m finally done and all that’s left for me to do is saying thanks again and wishing you all a relaxing holiday season and a good start into the new year! <3

[uwingdispatch]

Everything, Always

Everything, Always

Notes: Cassian Andor/Reader, everyone lives au, post-rebellion, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, disabled reader, domestic fluff

CW: PTSD, depression, chronic illness, disability, implied sexual intimacy

Ao3 Link

★★★★★★★★

You can’t remember the last time the pain was this bad—full-body exhausted, every joint in your body buzzing with discomfort. You got dressed today, went to your favorite caf bar, did a little bit of work only to receive a series of obnoxious messages from your new boss before turning off your datapad and going home—where you immediately got into bed. Arseven, your support droid, has done her best, bringing you heat wraps and bacta spray and meds. But you can sense her distress at her inability to fix everything for you. Because it’s not just that your whole body is sore, but you are bone-tired, aching not just from your chronic condition but from the emotional distress that finally peaked today.

When Cassian comes home—earlier than expected—you hear him in the kitchen telling Kay to give him some time with you. “My com has been too quiet today. You know I usually get a few little texts at least—I think something’s really wrong.”

Kay starts with “Organics—” but Cassian cuts him off.

“Not now, Kay. Seven pinged me and I need you to, I don’t know, maybe go for a walk.”

“A walk?” Kay scoffs. Cassian must be giving him a look because immediately Kay corrects himself. “Right. Okay. But I’m taking Seven.”

“Good idea. She said she had an errand to run.”

You hear Cassian’s shoulder bag fall heavy to the kitchen floor, his boots being tossed into the front hallway, his jacket hitting and then sliding off the back of the couch. And finally he’s climbing into bed behind you, pulling you close, your back pressed to his warm chest, his hair tickling your skin as he kisses your neck. 

“My heart,” he says. “Talk to me. What do you need?”

When you break down in tears he squeezes you tight, and whispers in your ear. “Whatever it is, I want to make it right.”

You turn to face him, and he brushes your tears away with his thumbs. “It’s a lot,” you say. 

“If it’s anything I did, I need you to tell me.”

“It’s not you,” you say. “It’s…I’m just completely overwhelmed.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Yes,” is all you can manage to get out.

“And Seven told me there was something with work today.”

You give him the short version of what your boss said to you today. Cassian knows that in recent months things had turned sour at your part-time job. And when he hears the whole story from this week, he doesn’t even bother to conceal his frustration.

“You know what I think of that man,” he says. “And I am not going to tell you what to do. But we have more than enough money for you to never work another day in your life if that is a choice you want to make.”

You nod, swallowing, trying to take a deep breath. Cassian caresses your cheek, his hand soft against your skin. And in his beautiful eyes, a knowing—he sees you so wholly and honestly and in this moment you have never been more grateful for him.

“Just hold me,” you ask. “Please.”

And he does. He kisses your forehead, cradles your face against his shoulder, rubs your back, his hands knowing exactly where and how to touch as you weep softly. And you let the closeness of his body and the warm scent of him calm you, his kind voice whispering to you that everything will be all right.

“My heart, you are enough,” he says. “Just you, being here. That’s enough. Please tell me you know that.”

“I do,” you say. “Thank you.”

“We’re going to get through all of this,” he says. “But maybe you should take a few days off, yeah?”

“I think I will.”

“Good.” He tilts your chin toward him and kisses you, gentle, brushing away more of your tears. “Have you eaten?”

You give him the same half-smile he gives you when you ask him the same question. Somehow, you both laugh. So many times you’ve been the one to sit him down and make sure there are calories in his system. And he’ll always do the same for you.

His com pings, and he reaches into his pocket for it. “It’s Seven. Shall I tell her you’re doing better? And maybe to pick up burgers from that new place you like?”

You smile, reminding yourself that he’s a former spy with years of experience in intelligence. But sometimes it really does feel like he can read your mind.

“That sounds nice.”

“Good. She says she was able to get a hold of your doctor and has something for you from the pharmacy.”

“Thank the stars,” you say, letting out a long breath. “You have no idea how much it means that I have you, and that you brought me her.”

“She makes her own choices,” he says.

“You bought her freedom,” you remind him. “And you and I both know who told her she’d be a good support droid. It certainly wasn’t Kay.”

He hushes you, bringing his lips to yours, and you raise your hands to his face, thread your fingers through his hair, let the kiss pull you away from your stress and your pain, if only for a moment. And it’s enough.

*

Cassian had been home from a New Republic relief trip for a few days when you realized he was more than just tired. He’d get out of bed, maybe make some caf, then hole up on the couch and read a bit on his datapad before snoozing for most of the day and making his way back to bed. Despite his frequent trips to stare into the fridge, you had to remind him to eat, to drink enough water. 

There was a planet-wide holiday this week, and you’d planned to spend some quiet time together, maybe go to one of the festivals in town. But when you mentioned getting out of the house for a bit, Cassian didn’t have the energy. He didn’t even really want to talk—he wasn’t ignoring you, per se, but he wasn’t engaged in conversation, either. And when you poked at the idea that he might not be okay, he just said, “I’ll be fine, my heart. I’m just tired.”

You’d heard that before. After a lot of similar relief trips—trips where he was spending time with military colleagues, in military spaces and military vehicles, with people who called him Captain Andor. 

Kay had always been better with anxiety than depression, and for all his support training, still didn’t seem to know what to do in this situation other than make sure Cassian was following medication protocols. If Cassian told Kay not to bother him, Kay would bother you. And you would gauge whether to try and rouse your partner. You’d only been living together for a few months, but he’d gone on enough of these trips since you’d met that the pattern was becoming obvious. Somehow it was a pattern that Cassian failed to see. 

Even Arseven—who had come to stay with Kay while her mechanic custodian was on a trip to Canto Bight—had noticed, warbling concern in a low tone about the reappearance of “the depression beard.” She’d meant for only you to hear, but Cassian shouted from the bedroom that he was awake and didn’t appreciate her commentary.

It was when his therapist called you to make sure he was safe that you found out he’d missed two appointments without contacting her—one before his trip and one right after—that you became not only concerned, but a little angry.

Cassian was standing in front of the fridge again, staring, dressed in the same sweats he’d been wearing for three days, looking distant and disheveled.

“Cassian,” you said. “I’m worried.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said, not looking away from the fridge.

“I know normally this isn’t my business but I just got a call from your therapist basically asking for proof of life.”

He turned around, closed the fridge, and leaned against the door. He sighed, running a hand through his shaggy hair. “Look, I just need some time.”

“What would you say to me if I was the one who was barely getting out of bed, barely talking to you, skipping appointments?”

Cassian took a deep breath, but didn’t respond, knowing you knew the answer to your own question.

“I’m calling Jyn,” you said.

“Don’t call Jyn.”

There was a knock at the door. And from the living room Kay announced, “I called Jyn. An hour ago.”

Cassian reluctantly answered the front door, quickly trying to straighten himself out in his lounge pants and hoodie.

Jyn took one look at him and said, “Stars, Andor. You look like shit.”

Arseven beeped sternly, rocking back and forth on her legs, upset on Cassian’s behalf. And Jyn laughed.

“It’s okay, Seven,” you said. “She’s just what he needs right now.”

There were people in your life who thought it was peculiar that you had such a friendly relationship with your partner’s ex. They’d be even more confused to find out that Jyn was who you called when Cassian needed help you couldn’t give him. But sometimes the bond of friendship could outlast the romance, become familial. And there were things Jyn understood that you couldn’t. Just like you couldn’t expect Kay—who didn’t have any organic parts—to relate to your medical trauma, you couldn’t expect yourself to fully understand Cassian’s trauma from combat. 

Kay handed Cassian a packed bag and his jacket, and made sure he had his com. You hadn’t even realized the droid taken care of this, but apparently he’d moved a little quicker on the plan than you’d realized. 

Your partner looked at you, his face tired, resigned to his fate. “My heart,” he says, “when I get home—”

“I know,” you said. And to Jyn, “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she replied. Putting an arm around Cassian, she said, “Let’s go, idiot. We’re going to figure this out..”

*

“I think I’m going to do it,” you blurt out.

“I’m sorry?”

Cassian is helping you out of the bath, dressing you in a soft robe and pressing a kiss to your neck. The hot soak with healing salts had been good for your sore muscles.

“I’m going to leave my job,” you say. I can always find something else—”

“Or you can take some time,” he says, wrapping his arms around your middle. “Focus on your art. The things you enjoy. And yourself.”

You catch sight of the two of you in the ’fresher mirror. You in your robe, him in his pajamas. “And you?” you ask with a playful smile.

“I certainly never mind when you focus on me,” he says. “But I told you before we were married that no matter how things went with your health, no matter what choices you made with your work, I would be here for you, and I would provide for you. This will always be true.”

You’d both always been open with each other about money, as stressful as that was. He’d told you about the significant sum he’d received from the New Republic for his service after the war, as well as the high-paying job he’d, as he put it, stumbled into here in the planet’s capitol. And you’d told him about the possibility that there might be times where you couldn’t support yourself without help. But you had always felt a little ashamed about your difficulties with traditional work. At some point Cassian had talked you into stepping down to part-time for the sake of your health. But leaving work completely? It felt like giving up.

Perhaps sensing your anxiety, Cassian says, “You must be tired. Why don’t you get in bed. I’ll make you some tea.”

When Cassian returns to the bedroom with your favorite hot tea and a weighted blanket, you have your datapad out. You’re trying to take a deep breath. Earlier you sent a message to tell your team that you’d be taking two days off for wellness. But you don’t know if you’re ready to put in notice that you might be taking every day off, forever.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Cass,” you say as he settles into bed next to you.

“May I?” he asks. You nod as he takes the datapad, switches it off. “You took your days off. We’ll figure out what comes next tomorrow. Tonight I just want to make sure you’re feeling all right.”

With your tea cooling on your nightstand, you touch your forehead to your husband’s, let him pull your body flush against his. “It’s better,” you say. “The medicine helped. The bath helped. You help more than you know.”

Arseven pops into the bedroom, asks in binary if there’s anything you need before she plugs in for the night.

“Thank you, Seven,” you say. “You were wonderful today. I think I’ll be okay.”

She twitters a goodnight before rolling down the hall to the room she shares with Kay.

“I will never figure out how she became friends with Kay,” Cassian says. “But I suppose he has his moments.”

You sweep his hair away from his face, tucking it behind his ear before running your fingertips along his jaw, admiring his neat beard. “This life,” you say. “I don’t know how I fell into it, how this became what I get to have. I don’t ever want you to feel like—”

Cassian catches your wrist in his hand, brings his lips to your palm for a kiss. “Don’t you dare say it, my heart. You are not and will never be a burden. You’re my everything. And I will always—always—do everything I can to make sure you are loved and safe and happy.” 

*

Cassian was gone for two days, occasionally checking in to make sure you knew he was all right. When he finally came through the front door looking tired, but clean and dressed and even smiling, you had to do everything in your power to keep from running into his arms.

“How’d it go?” you asked.

“She kicked my ass,” Cassian said

“I took him hiking,” Jyn said. “My mother always said that fresh air does wonders for the spirit. Even when we lived on Coruscant, when I was very small, we were always at the park. Sometimes you just need to get out of your head and into the trees for a bit.”

“I wish I could have met her, Jyn,” you said. “She always sounds like an absolute treasure.”

“She really was,” Jyn said, her hand going to the kyber necklace that she’d worn as long as you’d known her.

So many of the people you loved had known unfathomable loss. You’d all seen war, if not combat, so it wasn’t unusual that most of you were in therapy, had learned a lot of different ways to cope—some of them healthier than others. And any time one of you went off the rails, there was someone to rally for you. Which you were always thankful for—especially tonight.

“So we went up the mountain a bit,” Jyn said. “Then came down, stayed by the lake, went out in the afternoon and got a bit drunk.”

Arseven beeped and whistled: Can see your face. It’s nice

“Yes,” Cassian said, running his hand over the stubble along his jaw. “It was turning into a depression beard wasn’t it, Seven? I think this might be a little too short, but—”

“You look lovely,” you told him, taking his hand. “Are you feeling better?”

“I think so. Called my therapist, she’s fitting me in this week. I think maybe I need to stop going on these relief missions.”

“I didn’t want to be the one to say it,” you said. “But nobody in the galaxy is going to think less of you for opting out. You’re not in the Navy. You are already serving the government in a diplomatic office. This is extra. And you don’t owe anyone extra.”

Cassian nodded and you eased him closer to you, your hands rubbing his arms—usually a comforting touch that he enjoyed—but he winced.

“I’m so sorry—is your shoulder bothering you again?”

He laughed. “No,it’s not my shoulder.” He took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt. “After the drinks we wandered into a tattoo parlor.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said. “Are those—”

“Your favorite,” he replied.

The big blossoms on Cassian’s bicep were your two favorite flowers, ones that had grown on your home planet and that, somehow, were occasionally available from a florist here on Ralltiir. Sometimes Cassian would come home with a bouquet of them just to make you smile.

“I told him he should get something that would anchor him.” Jyn says. “Turns out, that’s you.”

You smiled. “And you?”

Jyn tugged back the cuff of her jacket to reveal her mother’s name on her wrist. “I’ve been wanting to do this for ages,” she said. “Feels good to have her there.”

“Stars, we’re all just standing here by the door,” you said. “Jyn, do you want something to drink? I’d love to have you stay for dinner if you don’t have plans.”

“That’s all right,” she said. “I was just dropping Andor back into your care. I should go—I actually have a date tonight.”

“You’d better be on your way, then,” you said.

Before she could turn to leave, Cassian reached for her hand. “Thank you, Jyn. I don’t know what I’d do—”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “Take care of yourself. Or I will kick your arse.”

As soon as the door shut behind Jyn, Cassian took your face in his hands and kissed you, sweet and urgent. “I’m so sorry, my heart. I don’t know how it got so bad.”

“You don’t have to apologize for feeling those feelings,” you told him. “But when you shut down like that—I was scared, Cass. And there are some things I can’t do for you. That Kay can’t. You need to use all of your resources.” You let out a breath. “I’m glad you got in touch with your therapist.”

He took you into his strong arms, the warmth of his body familiar and comforting, and as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hair fell from where he’d combed it back, tickling your face. “Me, too,” he said, quietly. “It’s good that she called you. And that you and Kay called Jyn.”

“Sounds like you were able to work through a few things.”

“There are things I can’t talk to you about. That I don’t want to put on you.”

“I know,” you said. “And that’s okay.”

“I’m not on the other side of this yet,” he said. “And I know that. But I will be.”

“You will.”

“Come here,” he said, taking your hand and bringing you to the sofa where he moved a few pillows around to make you comfortable. “Let me hold you.”

You laid your head on Cassian’s chest, his steady heart beating in your ear. He felt like your Cassian again. Smelled like your Cassian. That citrus and sandalwood scent of his soap mixed with the musky scent of him and his clean cotton t-shirt.

“I love you so, so, much, Cassian. I can’t lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Show me that tattoo again,” you said.

He smiled, taking off his shirt and turning a bit so you could see his all of his right bicep. He did usually go to the gym regularly, mostly to help with his mental health, and you never could help but admire his toned body. And this tattoo—it was so beautiful and you reached to touch it before you remembered it might be sore.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Bacta has set in, it should be mostly healed. Just don’t squeeze me too tight tonight.”

You traced the lines of the blossoms, and a shiver ran through you. The idea that this was what he’d chosen to help ground himself in a time of crisis—the sentiment of it floored you and you couldn’t think of a single word to express how you felt.

“If I’d known this would get you this excited I would have let Jyn bully me into a tattoo shop sooner,” he said.

Unlike many of his colleagues from the Alliance, it wasn’t safe for him to have tattoos, at least not while he was intelligence. He’d told you that after leaving that position he would often end up at tattoo shops with friends but would overthink the whole thing and end up holding someone’s hand while they sat for the artist.

Cassian was a lot of things, but spontaneous wasn’t one of them. Jyn, though—Jyn had always had a way of getting him out of his own head.

“It’s just a surprise,” you said. “A very hot surprise.”

“I remember you told me once that some of your tattoos have served to help you move forward,” he said. “I like that. I’ve always liked that. So this? This is me putting a few things behind me.”

“And also perhaps a few pints of Corellian ale into you?”

“Perhaps also that, yes. But I’m looking to the future.”

Cassian tilted your chin, kissed you with a fervor that you had missed recently, an intensity that came not from a place of pain but a place of desire. Of love. And you returned the kiss, humming in response to his touch, your hands in his hair.

“Can I take you to bed, my heart?” he whispered into your neck. “If you’re up for it, I’d like to remind you of everything you mean to me.”

*

You wake late in the morning, dress yourself in comfy clothes, and walk out to the kitchen expecting to be alone with your droid for the day. But you’re greeted by the smell of fresh caf and your spouse reading something on his datapad.

“Good morning,” Cassian says. “I decided to take the day off, too. I know you have Arseven now, but I’m growing jealous of how much time she gets to spend with you.”

You smile at his little lie. You know he’s concerned about you, that he wants to be with you through what might be a difficult day. And he knows that you know this.

“I used to worry that one day I’d wake up and you’d be sick of me.”

“Never going to happen.”

“Where is Seven?”

“She somehow convinced Kay to help her dig up the back yard for a garden. They went into town for some tools.”

Cassian is leaning on the counter in a loose tank and jeans. He looks so different from the images you’d seen of him when he was a soldier—his hair now brushing his shoulders, the small number of tattoos he’s collected in last few years, his relaxed shoulders. He recently told you that he was beginning to see in himself little hints of the person he might have been without the war. And while you mourned for the years he’d spent not getting to be this person, you’re glad he’s finding ways to reclaim his identity.

“How is your pain today, my heart?”

“Better,” you say. “Still sore, but I think having some of the emotional weight of the job off of my back helps.”

“Good,” he says. “When you’re ready we’ll come up with a plan. Maybe even redo your office, make some more space for art stuff, yeah?”

He reaches for you, and you take his hands, letting him fold your body into his.

“You’re in a good mood today,” you say as he kisses the top of your head.

“I’m just feeling very lucky,” he says. “I was thinking this morning, while you were resting…about how with you I get to be the man I want to be. The man I am. Not the man the galaxy needs me to be.”

You know that’s not entirely about you. It’s also the trauma counseling, his hard work in therapy, the support of his chosen family. But you also know that this family includes you. That when he comes home at the end of the day he is always his genuine self in your house.

“I think the man you are is exactly who the galaxy needs you to be,” you tell him. “It’s who I need you to be, at least.”

“That’s good to know.”

You’re on the sofa with your datapad when Cassian brings you a cup of caf, sweetened the way you like it—something he picked up on all those years ago when you met at that caf bar.

“What do you think?” you ask, showing him the resignation you’ve drafted.

“More than they deserve,” he says, opening his arms for you to cuddle. “Are you going to send it?”

With Cassian’s arms around you, you hit send, switch of the datapad, and sip your caf.

He kisses your neck, and then you temple. “I’m proud of you,” he says. “I know that wasn’t easy.”

“You made it easier than it would have been alone,” you say. “Thank you for that.”

“Always.”

Gently, he takes the cup of caf from you hand and places it on the table before running his thumb over your lower lip. When he brings his mouth to yours in a tender kiss, a feeling of relief washes over you, and you return the kiss with urgency, so enamored with this man who sees all of you and loves you still.

“Here’s to our shared future,” he says, cupping your face in one hand. “You and me, my heart. We’re going to be fine.”

And in the warmth of Cassian’s arms, you know he’s right. What you have will survive a lot more than a little loss of income. It has already survived so much.

“You are a blessing, Cassian,” you tell him.

“Every day I wake up and I think the same about you,” he says. And before you can respond he continues, “Let me know if you’re feeling up for going into town to do something today. To celebrate.”

“We both called out of work,” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“Let me finish my caf,” you say. “Celebrating sounds nice.”

His eyes light up and it’s like sunshine. “Take your time,” he says. “I’ll be ready when you are.”

★★★★★★★★

Thank you so much for reading! I was having a rough time so I wrote something for myself that I hope is also comforting for y'all. I hope this fic makes you feel seen and loved.

I still need to make a taglist—if you want (or don’t want) to be tagged in my fics, pls leave a comment or send me a note!

@writingbylee​ @waterpancakeao3​ @zinzinina​ @princessxkenobi​ @aerynwrites​ @belfry-bat​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @r1-sw-lover​ @laserbrains​ @darthanakn​ @disastersim​ @infinityrevengers​ @lovedbyth3sun​ @usernamesarebitches​ @maul-ologue​ @operation-spot​ @writeforfandoms​ @akgracemk​ @noclue32​ @littlemousedroid​ @strwrs​ @saveatruckrideoptimusprime​ @galaxtic-writings @mintpurplemnm @multifandom-fic-rec-blog @septimaseverinafavfanfic

[dreamerstreamer]

Breathless

Pairing: Dream / Clay x asthmatic!gn!reader

Summary: Life with a chronic illness isn’t always easy, and some days are more difficult than others, but you always manage to find yourself breathing a little easier with Clay by your side.

Warnings: tw// depiction of asthma & asthma attack

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: my second commissioned story! this work has been altered from its original form so that everyone can read it, but the plot and writing remain largely the same. this was more specific and required more research than the stories i typically write, but i hope you all enjoy nonetheless! <3

The smell of sanitizer and antiseptics tickled your nose as you pushed past the hospital office door, folding the piece of paper tucked in your hands into quarters. Slipping it into your pocket, you raised your chin, the paper resting comfortably next to the familiar weight of your inhaler. You stretched your arms above your head with a small groan, rolling your shoulders back as you made your way down the hall with a small bounce in your step.

Respiratory therapy may be good for you, but your favourite part was still when you got to go home.

You rubbed your hand over the patch stuck to the inside of your forearm, the tiniest hint of red colouring the ivory white cloth as you pressed your fingers gently against it. Letting out a sigh, you faced forward once more, your eyes lighting up as the waiting room came into view. Walking a little faster, you was just about to head into the waiting room when you froze, your eyes falling on the figure sitting in a chair pressed up against the wall adjacent to you.

Clay was drumming one hand against his thigh as the other scrolled leisurely through his phone, Tweet after Tweet flying by on his screen. In his ears hung a pair of earbuds, and you could see him gently bobbing his head along to the beat of whatever song he was listening to, his foot quietly tapping against the tiled hospital floor. You traced your eyes over the bridge of his nose and the crest of hair that tickled the top of his forehead, a fond warmth rushing through your chest.

He always waited for you no matter what, even if you told him not to. It didn’t matter if he had a stream planned just a few minutes after your session would wrap up or if he was in the middle of editing a video—he would drop everything to wait for you, patient and caring as always. He was just stubborn like that, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to get him to swallow his pride, as much as you may try.

Blinking as you gazed at him, a thought suddenly popped into your head, a devilish ember tickling at the base of your spine. Your lips split into a sly grin, your eyes narrowing as the cogs in your head churned. Ever so slowly, you crept over to his side, just barely keeping yourself out of view until you were standing just diagonally behind him, a single step away. As quiet as a mouse, you reached your hand forward and dipped your head down beside his ear, gently tapping his shoulder. With a start, Clay jumped in his seat, his eyes shooting wide open as he whipped his head up to look at you. In a flash, he was tearing out his earbuds, his phone going slack in his hands and a bright smile tugging at his lips.

“Boo,” you whispered, waving your hand at him as your lips stretched widely across your face.

“Hey,” he said, gentle and warm as he reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers between his. “You done with therapy for today?”

You beamed proudly, bobbing your head. “Yep. We’re all good to go.”

The gleam in his eyes was as sweet as honey as he got to his feet, slipping his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He tilted his head at you, and before you could ask if anything was wrong, he had raised his free hand to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face. A second later, he was dipping his head to yours, and you shivered at the warmth of his lips pressing against your forehead while he murmured into your skin, “Perfect.”

When he pulled back, he squeezed your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles lovingly. With one last grin, the two of them began to stroll out of the waiting room and into the front hall.

“So,” he said after a moment as they turned a corner, “how did everything go, today? Did anything different happen?”

You shrugged, gesturing vaguely. “Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Got my blood oxygen level checked, did some breathing tests and exercises—” You eyed the small patch on your arm with a wistful glance. “Just the usual.”

A comfortable silence washed over them as they swung their arms together in a charmingly off-beat rhythm, occasionally brushing their sides up against one another with a small smile. Beside you, a nurse bustled past with his stethoscope bouncing around his neck and a clipboard clutched to his chest. You glanced over at him, then opened your mouth again. “What about you?” You shrunk back the tiniest bit, your fingers sheepishly twitching against his. “I hope you weren’t too bored or anything waiting up for me.”

Clay laughed, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “For you? Never.” You felt your heart stumble in your chest as he continued. “I just scrolled through Twitter for a while, then I made a tweet about the donation I’m making for my next video—you know, the one to spread chronic illness awareness.”

Leaning against his side slightly, you sighed, your head stuffed full with adoration for your boyfriend as you pressed your head into his warmth. “That’s incredible, Clay,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “You’re incredible.”

His lips twitched into a ghost of a smile, and he squeezed your hand back. “I try my best.”

You felt your heart swell, and you resisted the urge to kiss him in front of the hospital staff right then and there. Just how lucky could you be to have someone as lovely and compassionate as Clay in your life?

Stepping into the front lobby, he gently nudged his shoulder into yours, stepping to the side to make way for another patient. The ringing of the secretary’s phone made you jolt beside him, but not once did his eyes leave your face. “I’m guessing we’re coming back the same time next week?”

You flashed a grin at him, winking sheepishly. “You know it.”

The chuckle he let out made your stomach flip, affection nipping incessantly at the back of your head. “Awesome,” he hummed, sticking his hand into his pocket. Fishing around, his mouth quirked up a moment later as he pulled out a ring of car keys, clasping his fingers around it. “Alright—let’s go.”

You blinked, your lips curling into a frown as the automatic doors parted in front of them. “Wait, I can drive us.”

He shot you a fond look, shaking his head. The sun’s warm rays cast a golden sheen to his dirty blond locks, his eyes practically glowing in the midday heat. “Nope, no can do.” He jutted his head toward the car, which sat a few yards away in the parking lot beside the hospital. “You drove us here, and now it’s my turn to drive us back.”

Something flashed in your gaze, and your tongue darted out to swipe at your lips as your fingers twitched at your side. “You say that,” you began, your hand shooting forward toward the keys in his, “but not if I get the keys fir—hey!”

A gasp flew from your lips as your hand met nothing but open air, Clay having leapt back with his arm stretched up high above his head. Stumbling back a few steps, shimmering mirth danced in his gaze as he waved the keys at you, just barely out of reach. “Too slow, baby.”

Scowling, you leapt forward yet again, your fingers desperately reaching for the keys as he simply stepped off to the side, backpedaling until a few feet stood between the two of them. The glare you shot him only seemed to egg him on as he began to twirl the silver key ring around his pointer finger playfully. He was teasing you now, you knew it, and you were not going to take any part in it.

“Clay,” you said slowly between gritted teeth.

“[Y/N],” he drawled back, a wide grin still plastered to his face.

Just then, you were bolting over to him, a small breeze biting at your face as you lunged for his hand. You could feel your lungs tighten as the warm, humid air came rushing into your chest, but you were far too focused on the glint of metal against his skin to care. Clay’s eyes went wide as his hand suddenly snapped shut around the car keys, his arm pinning itself to his back as his other hand reached out to steady you against him.

“Okay, okay,” he cried, his fingers gently pressing into the fabric of your shirt, “no running! Please.” His voice suddenly went soft, and your feet came to a grinding halt before him, your lungs heaving. “I don’t want you to stress your asthma.”

Feeling your heart batter against your rib cage, you sucked in a breath, rocking against him ever so slightly as you lifted your chin at him. “Then will you please let me drive?”

He blinked at you for a moment, a thoughtful look passing over his expression. “Hmm... should I?”

You gasped, bobbing your head eagerly, a hint of a smile gracing your lips. His tongue poked out at the corner of his mouth, and you felt a glimmer of hope spark in the pit of your stomach. Yes!

Then, he smiled, apologetic and teasing. “Still no.”

Your face fell in an instant, twisting into a pout as you sagged against his side with a whine. His grin only widened at the sight, patting your on the shoulder with a gentle nudge. “Sorry, [Y/N],” he hummed, turning on his heel to walk over to the driver’s side of the car, “but I’m not budging on this one.”

You groaned, begrudgingly dragging yourself over to the other side of the car and tugging the door open. “Ugh. You,” you said, flopping into the passenger seat with a frown and your arms crossed on top of your frontside, “are the worst.”

He let out a chuckle at your face, pushing the keys into the ignition and turning his hand with a knowing look. “Sure, sure,” he murmured, soft and low. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Despite yourself, you felt your heart flutter in your chest at the pet name, melting back into the car seat as your arms went limp over your chest. Sneaking a glance over at him, you felt warmth skitter across your face at the way his eye caught yours, loving and true. Huffing, you feigned annoyance and stuck your tongue out at him, but you couldn’t quite stop the smile from tugging at your lips, something pink and fuzzy bubbling up in the core of your chest as they pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

You were so driving next time.

You picked at the patch on your arm, your gaze focused intently as your nails carefully peeled back one of the corners. Gently grasping at the lifted flap, you tugged backward, the patch slowly peeling off until it was popping off your arm with a satisfying flick. Smiling triumphantly to yourself, you walked over to the garbage can and tossed the used patch in, relishing in the feeling of the cool air brushing over your now exposed skin. Leaning against the kitchen counter, you tugged your phone out of your pocket, swiping open your phone with a soft hum.

It had been a few days since your last respiratory therapy session, and you were feeling good. The new breathing exercises you had been suggested were working amazingly, and it almost made your feel like you didn’t need to keep your inhaler on hand every waking second.

Sucking in a deep breath, you held it in for a long moment, then exhaled, feeling the air rush out of your lungs in a single gust. It was right then that a small itch rose into the back of your throat, and you coughed just a little bit, swallowing sharply as you straightened. All of a sudden, a head popped into the kitchen doorway, golden brows knit together with worry.

“[Y/N]?”

You whirled at the sound of your name, your gaze immediately landing on Clay’s pursed lips on the opposite side of the room. “Mhm?”

He cocked his head at you, his eyes scanning you up and down for a split second before locking onto yours once more. “I heard coughing.” His eyes flashed. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, shooting him a reassuring grin. “Yeah—just choked on some spit or something. It was nothing serious.” When he only blinked at you, you firmly added, “I promise.”

Just like that, his shoulders relaxed once more, and a soft smile crept onto his face. “Alright. I just wanted to let you know that I’m gonna be editing for a couple of hours.” He jutted his thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the next room over if you need anything, alright?”

You grinned, sending him a playful salute. “Roger that.” Pushing back against the counter, you slipped your phone back into your pocket and strode across the kitchen over to him, stopping just a tile in front of him. “How much is it this time?”

One side of Clay’s mouth curled up into a thoughtful expression. “Well,” he began slowly, leaning against the doorframe, “I’ve got about five hours of footage and audio to cut down into about fifty minutes, so...”

He gestured vaguely with a pained expression, and you offered him a sympathetic look. “It’s a lot?” you prompted.

He let out a long sigh, weary yet sure as he bit back a wince. “It’s a lot.”

Shuffling a step closer, you reached your hand up to brush your fingers over his cheekbone, gentle and sweet. “You’ll do great,” you said quietly, your eyes curving into crescent moons alight with ardent and honest affection. “You always do.”

Clay leaned in to your warm touch, his eyelids fluttering for a moment as he let out another sigh—an enamoured one, this time. “I love you,” he whispered, sincerity seeping into every letter he breathed.

The fondness of his voice made your heart melt into a sugary sweet puddle in your chest, and you let your hand bury itself into his soft locks. “I love you, too,” you whispered back.

With a warm gaze that made your insides tingle, Clay was dipping his head, and you let your eyelids fall shut as you let your mouth part ever so slightly. A second later, his lips were pressed against yours, plush and loving as you felt yourself smiling into the kiss, his hot breath tickling the side of your cheek. Just a moment later, they broke apart, warm air rushing into your lungs as you flashed him a bright grin.

“Go ahead, now,” you murmured, nudging his shin with your foot. “You’ve got lots of footage to sift through.”

Standing up straight again, he rolled his eyes as he turned on his heel with a dramatic groan. “Why did you have to remind me?” he cried over his shoulder.

You could only laugh in return, waving at him with a jesting bow and grinning at the way he pretended to be offended. You watched as he slunk into the next room over down the hall, pushing the door shut behind him with his arm. With a hint of a smile lining your lips, you hummed to yourself before strolling out of the kitchen and into the living room. Flopping onto the couch with a huff, you settled back against the cushions with a comforted exhale and pulled out your phone once more. You relished in quiet moments like these, even if you would much rather be spending them with Clay. Maybe you would make him a snack or something, just to help him ease up on all his editing.

You had only been sitting for a few minutes when you felt a familiar itch gnaw at the base of your neck once more, and you ducked your head into your elbow to let out a harsh cough. Your chest felt tighter than it usually did, and you furrowed your brows. You had been breathing just fine less than an hour ago. What in the world could be possibly changing that?

As another cough welled up in your mouth, you turned your head, sweeping your gaze across the room. Just as you began sucking in yet another burning breath, a flash of cerulean blue caught your eye, and you froze, your jaw going completely slack.

The window was open.

Everyone had their own asthma triggers, whether it was a cat allergy or some nasty pollution. But for you, having so much as an open window could be more than enough to send your body spiralling into overdrive and straight into an asthma attack.

And by the looks of it, your body was doing just that.

Your lungs felt tight—too tight, almost as if a boa constrictor had snaked up your spine and wrapped around them, constricting them until they were nothing more than two, tiny, trembling slivers in your chest. You let out a choked gasp, then desperately tried to breathe in, only to feel your lungs screaming in protest within the cavity of your chest, fuzzy pain swimming throughout the entirety of your body. your windpipe felt like it had been squeezed into the size of a straw, and you knew it was only a matter of time before you began wheezing. With a hammering heart, you stumbled to your feet, your hand reaching for your pocket with a shuddering cough. Patting against your thigh, you suddenly seized up when you felt nothing pressing up against your palm. That was when it hit you.

You had left your inhaler upstairs in the bedroom, back when you were feeling better than ever just a couple of hours prior.

You half wanted to cry out of both amazement and agony—how ironic was it that you would have an asthma attack the one time you didn’t have your inhaler on you?

You could practically hear the blood rushing through your ears as you took a shaky step forward, holding yourself upright as much as possible as you tried to remain calm. Or, as calm as you could when you couldn’t breathe. It would take too long for you to go all the way upstairs and grab your inhaler—there was simply no way you would even be able to make it that far.

Luckily for you, you knew just where to find another one.

Striding as quickly and steadily as you could on your shaking legs, you pressed your way out of the living room and down the hall, breathing as deeply as possible despite just how narrow your airway felt. You coughed again, the inferno ripping through your lungs like a raging beast as you grasped at the wall for support. It was like someone had sat on your chest, pressing down like an iron anvil slamming into the earth from a cliff.

It hurt.

You could feel the back of your eyes sting more and more with each desperate gasp for air you took, and your entire body felt like it was about to collapse beneath your . You nearly sank with relief when you finally reached Clay’s door, your knees buckling like a newborn fawn’s. With a muffled choke, you wrapped your hand around the door handle and twisted it, pulling it back as hard as you could. The door slammed into the opposite wall with a reverberating thud, shaking the floor with a low creak.

In front of his desk, Clay jolted at the sudden sound, ripping off his headphones as he spun around in his chair to face you. “[Y/N]?” he said, confusion clouding his face. “What’s wro—”

You cut him off with another cough, the flames licking at your throat with a burning vengeance as you frantically gestured toward your neck. An instant later, you were sinking to the ground, wheezing for dear life. That was all it took for Clay to come barrelling out of his desk chair and across the room to your side, one hand already digging itself into his pocket.

“Oh, crap, okay,” he rambled in a panicked rush, pulling an inhaler out of his pocket. “[Y/N], please look at me. I’ve got a rescue inhaler here.”

Forcing your head up to meet his frenetic gaze, you could feel tears brim along your lashes, opening your mouth for him. Not even a split second later, he was gently pushing the inhaler past your lips, one hand carefully gripping the plastic while the other reached for your hand.

With a quivering voice, he slipped your hand into his. “Ready, set, breathe, baby.”

He pressed down on the top of the inhaler, and immediately, you were sucking in a harsh, aching breath. Almost instantaneously, you felt a cool mist of medication spray against the back of your mouth, your throat relaxing the tiniest bit as you exhaled. A few seconds later, he was pressing down again, and you were inhaling as much as you could. For a few minutes, they stayed like that, your hand squeezing his as tightly as possible as you took breath after agonizing breath, your lungs working beyond belief. You weren't keeping track of how much time had passed, focusing only on the simple act of breathing and the feeling of your lungs slowly expanding in your chest. Every so often, you let out a tiny whimper, and he would reassuringly squeeze your hand in his, his emerald eyes filled with an intensity you rarely got to see.

At long last, you tapped thrice at Clay’s hand wrapped around yours, and in a flash, he was pulling the inhaler from your lips and letting it rest in his lap, his eyes desperately scanning your face. Your chest felt like it had just been unraveled from a wound-up ball, and you leaned forward the tiniest bit, your palm pressing against the ground to stabilize yourself.

“Clay,” you whispered, your throat feeling raw and your voice coming out with a slight rasp.

His name was only about halfway out of your mouth when he was wrapping his arms around your shoulders, the warmth of his hands soaking into your skin. “[Y/N], are—are you okay? Does your chest hurt? Does it still hurt when you breathe?”

You took in a staggering breath. Then two, then three. After a few long seconds, you lifted your head, flashing him a brighter, calmer smile. “I—I’m okay. Y-Yeah, I’m—” You cleared your sore throat, not missing the way his eyes flashed with concern. “I’m alright.”

His palms were still tense next to your arm. “Are you absolutely sure?”

You reached a hand up to grab one of his, gently prying his fingers into yours with a soft promise. “One hundred percent.”

His eyes focused on yours for a moment longer, then he was sagging with relief, his shoulders finally slumping. “Good. Really good. That’s great, honestly.”

You laughed at his reaction, your heart only just slightly trembling between your aching lungs. “Thank god it’s over. Just, woah, um,” you rambled, your words coming out in a hazy rush. “That was—holy crap, that was so… so...”

He raised his hand, and you suddenly fell silent as he warmly patted your side. “Slow down a bit, baby,” he said gently, his brows sloping downward. “I don’t want your lungs acting up on us, again.”

You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut for a second before whispering, “That was so scary.”

Just like that, his face was flooded with compassion, and he brushed his thumb over your cheek with a soft croon. “It was. It’s been a while since you last had an attack.” You melted against him, soaking in his every word. “Do you know what triggered it, this time?”

You paused, furrowing your brows before cocking your head. “I, um, there was an open window. In the living room.”

Clay blinked at your . Then, his expression slowly shifted to one of realization, the horror creeping onto his face like a stalking beast. “Oh, god,” he breathed. “I—I opened it when we got home from grocery shopping today. I just thought... it might be nice to have some fresh air, and—” He ran a hand through his hair, anxiety flicking at his head. “I wasn’t thinking. [Y/N], I’m sorry. That was terrible of me, I—”

His voice cracked brokenly as he dropped his head, and you were immediately throwing your arms around him, climbing forward and into his lap with a soothing tone. “No, no, no, Clay, no. Don’t say that.” You pressed your hands to his face and lifted his chin until he was looking at you again with wide, ashamed eyes. “You’re so good to me,” you whispered, “so wonderful in every way. If you didn’t have an inhaler on you, we would have had to call 911, and—”

You shook your head, your lips curving up into a gentle smile as you leaned forward to press your forehead to his. “Clay, you’re the best. Really, I mean it. Don’t think so poorly of yourself.”

For a minute, all was silent. Clay’s lips were parted with what looked like a mixture of awe and admiration, and you watched with surprise as he suddenly tugged you closer to his chest, your chin resting upon his shoulder as he squeezed you tightly. You could feel his breath tickle your ear as he whispered the softest of words into the quietness of the room. “God, I’m just glad you’re safe.” He brushed his lips against the shell of your ear. “You’re too important for me to lose.”

You gulped, your heart somersaulting through your chest and barrelling right through your lungs. You could feel your eyes water the tiniest bit as he rubbed a small circle into the curve of your waist, and you smiled as he nestled your head into the side of his neck.

He always managed to take your breath away in the best way possible.

[chefdoeuvre]

Stubborn

Jay Halstead

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Fem!Reader

Description: Just because pain is a given doesn't mean you're weak.

Words: 756

Requested: yes by anonymous; Would you be willing to write something about Jay Halstead taking care of his stubborn chronically ill girlfriend?

Warnings: fluff, reader being stubborn, language.

A/N: I tried to be vague with what the illness is. Sorry for another short work, I've just been so busy. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors.

—

You were currently lying in bed, barely able to pull yourself out of it to get ready. This was like any other bad day of yours so you were used to it by now. But this is not how you wanted to spend Jay's day off with him taking care of you. It's not like you had any power over your condition but sometimes, sometimes you wanted to have a sliver of a painless life. Then again you embraced it and wouldn't let it define your life. Now being stubborn was a large trait you had. Actually large is an understatement, it's basically what's kept you going and got you to where you are now. The saying that pain radiates was one you were incredibly familiar with. You could never figure out where it started just that everything hurt.

When you and Jay had woken up that morning you could immediately tell that all of today's plan had gone down the toilet. Just based on the scrunched-up look on your face Jay knew that you weren't feeling well already. He had pressed a featherlight kiss on your forehead before getting up to get breakfast ready for the both of you. It was practically routine at this point, but that didn't mean it wouldn't come with your stubborn ass arguing about how you were fine when you clearly were not fine. You laid on your back staring up at the ceiling blankly, letting out a pained groan when you shuffled and ending up moving the wrong way. With a reluctant sigh, you slowly pulled yourself up to a sitting position, your body aches becoming worse in the process. You scrunched your nose at the familiar feeling before slowly but surely getting up to head to the bathroom.

Painstakingly slow you finished up with what you were doing and dragged yourself out to the couch to sit down. You pulled the blanket over your legs before letting out a sigh of relief once you stopped moving. Jay turned around with the plated food in his hands only to stop abruptly after noticing your figure sitting on the couch.

"What are you doing?" He questioned with furrowed brows. How had he not noticed you coming in?

"Sitting. Isn't it obvious?" You scoffed playfully.

No matter how much pain you were in you always managed to be your usual sarcastic self.

"Well, what hurts?" Jay asked placing the food down on the coffee table, concern painting his features.

"It's the same answer to the same question every time, Jay." You rolled your eyes.

"Quit being a smartass." Jay shook his head.

"Sorry, can't do that." You raised your brows unapologetically.

"Do you want Tylenol or something?" Jay stood ready to turn on his heel and head back to the kitchen.

"No, you know it doesn't do anything. I'm fine, I swear." You pouted stubbornly.

Jay tilted his head, looking at you with crossed arms. In retaliation, you did the same and copied his movements. Jay did his best to suppress a smile at your antics but his efforts didn't work and in mere seconds a large grin spread over his face.

"Just quit being so stubborn." Jay chuckled.

"No, that's how our usual dance goes. You be a complete worried, softie, for me and I remain being my usual stubborn self. It's what we do." You explained with a wide smirk.

"Fair enough." Jay nodded before plopping himself down on the couch beside you.

"So what do you wanna watch?" You gestured to the television.

"I don't care as long as I'm here with you." Jay shrugged, wrapping his arm around your shoulders letting you lean into him.

"Wow, that was cheesy, Halstead." You laughed, settling into his arms.

"Eh, only for you." Jay flipped through the channels to find something to watch while you slowly ate the food he had made.

"Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?" You let out a small laugh, looking at Jay with furrowed brows.

"Yeah, yeah. Real funny, Y/N." Jay hummed flatly.

"I know, I'm hilarious." You nodded with a sarcastic grin.

Jay shook his head with a laugh turning a fraction of his attention to the film playing on the television. Of course, the rest of it was on you, making sure you weren't in any more pain than you were. The rest of his day off was spent with you on the couch scrolling through the channels finding random movies to watch with each other.

[boldlyvoid]

ain't it fun? | part 4

Summary: reader just needs an NA meeting before they have a meltdown, they end up with the best friend they could ever make.

Warnings: chronic illness, hurt/comfort, drug use**! spencer and reader smoke weed together; talks of relapse and recovery. Also, a case involving child abductions, getting engaged, love confessions

word count: 2.4k

a/n: not sure how long this is going to keep getting but I am enjoying adding to it

P1 P2 P3

Days like today suck.

She can’t get out of bed, she’s so hungry her stomach is swirling and screaming and there’s a pain in her intestines that feels like someone is eating her from the inside out but she can’t move… and she has to pee but her legs hurt and her head is pounding from the light. It’s 6 am according to the alarm clock, Spencer hasn’t left for work yet and she’s already missing him.

She manages to make it to the bathroom, sitting there for too long after because she can’t find the courage to stand back up.

“Why?” She whispers to herself before the tears start.

Covering her face as she cries, she’s still sitting on the toilet with her underwear around her ankles, sobbing as Spencer walks in.

He helps her up without asking, he’s seen too many bad mornings now to ask if she needs help, he just knows she wants to go back to bed, so he fixes her underwear and picks her up.

When he finally lays her down with all her pillows, he lowers the temperature in the room to relax her bones and gets her a ginger ale to help with the nausea from the pain she’s in. It is a regular occurrence for her to wake up and feel like she’s dying, but Spencer was wonderful when dealing with it.

He’s in the kitchen for a while, she’s worried he’s making something for her to eat that she’ll have to lovingly turn away because she can’t do it right now. Her throat is too tight and it hurts to swallow or talk.

She can hear him talking… he’s on the phone with someone.

When he comes back in, he cuddles into her the way he knows she likes. Soothing his hands over her back in a way that helps the pain while also helping her feel like she’s not alone in all of this. He’ll never understand; but he loves her, so a part of him feels it too.

“You called out?” She whispers against his chest.

He nods, his cheek resting on the top of her head as she feels the friction. “I don’t feel good when you don’t feel good.”

“I’m sorry you had to help.”

He’s told her time and time again that he doesn’t mind.

He would kill for her, he’d clean up the mess if she killed someone. He’d even dig the fucking grave if she needed him too… he wasn’t opposed to being there for her no matter what that entailed.

She just hated the fact he had to, he knew her apology came from her hatred of herself and not the fact she felt sorry for him. She loved the help, it made her feel loved until she felt disappointed in herself for needing it.

“Do you want your medicine?”

She smiles finally, “if you mean my secret joint stash— yes, but if you can’t handle being around me like that, then I don’t need it today.”

“I think I’d like to try it,” Spencer whispers. “If you can smoke weed and not relapse then I think I can too?”

“Probably, but if you can’t, I’ll support you however you need me to?” She smiles up at him, he kisses the tip of her nose as she kisses his chin.

Getting high with Spencer is… interesting to say the least. He doesn’t want a full hit, he just wants a taste and so she takes a drag and blows the smoke from her lungs to his. Sharing a part of themselves in a way they never expected before, this is his most vulnerable moment and he was trusting her with it.

The sunshine hits his face in such a perfect way that as they lay side by side, she can watch his pupil devour his iris as he gets high. Their breathing is steady and their fingers are interlocked. They’re content just blinking together, in the sunshine, quiet. In love.

Her body is so calm, and her mind is slow as she takes it all in and he looks so relaxed. He’s not jittery or caffeine-deprived like most mornings; he’s not anxious or stressed or trying to find a way to pretend he’s fine before leaving for work again, only to come home sad.

He’s okay.

She’s okay.

“It's nice,” he whispers, “but it’s not as good as you.”

She smiles, trying not to laugh at how his thoughts are going to be all jumbled for the next few hours. He’s going to be smart yet stupid at the same time and she couldn’t fucking wait to hear all the things he thinks of.

“I know what you mean,” she agrees.

“This is like a tidal wave..." his ramble starts and she is so excited to see where it takes them. "A tsunami that rushes and relieves just as quickly." His eyes are closed as he talks, visualizing his feelings and it makes her giddy.

"You’re like a volcano; there are so many stages before mass destruction, and even then there’s still the ash cloud and the debris and the lava dries like rocks… the destruction is total and the cleanup will be brutal.”

“I’m addicted to you," his eyes are closed as he talks, visualizing his feelings and it makes her giddy. "Drugs are boring and you’re not,” Simplifying his meaning as his eyes open again.

“I love you,” he says with the same certainty as the first time.

“I love you, too, Spencer,” she didn’t think they’d go down this path when she was blowing into his mouth, she expected him to panic or get horny.

“I don’t think I’ve ever really told you how much.”

He shakes his head lightly, “I wouldn’t be opposed to knowing.”

If she thinks it over, she’ll abandon ship before she can tell him, so she just jumps into it.

“I was a little scared to ask you to help me lock my door that first day because I thought you’d think I was just some junky who couldn’t get their shit together. But the second you asked if I had a local group and you helped me; that was the moment I knew I wanted you in my life for forever.”

He smiles, silent so she can keep going. He’ll take his turn when she’s really done.

“And then when we got to talking it was like I knew you already. Like I had your memories in my mind and as you told me things I was like well duh! Yeah, that’s my Spencer! I don’t know how it happened so fast. One minute you’re a stranger and the next you’re the only person I ever want to see for the rest of my entire fucking life,” it’s more passionate than she expected as she rambles on.

“I can’t get married on paper without losing my disability, but I don’t give a fuck about a piece of paper or someone officially giving us that title one day, I’m content just staying in this bed with you for the rest of time and never moving again.”

He looks like he’s about to explode with love as he presses his lips together in the softest smile. He can’t keep quiet any longer, “are you asking me to spend the rest of my life with you but not marry you?”

She laughs at the realization, “I think so?”

They’re trying to kiss but it ends up more like laughing with their mouths touching and teeth occasionally clashing. It’s hysterical because of the marijuana, sure, but they’re high on each other. It’s everything they’ve ever wanted.

To find something better than drugs; that little purpose in life comes back, that drive to see tomorrow because there are good memories to be made with their favourite person. She’s not afraid of the darkness or the unknowing anymore, Spencer’s her guiding light.

He's holding her close to his chest after a while, "are you feeling better?"

"Of course," she smiles, "I've got my weed and my reid."

His laugh is everything as it fills their space again. This was how the rest of her life was going to feel, and it made her excited for tomorrow.

—

She’s feeling a lot better later and they need Spencer to help Penelope back at work, but he doesn’t want to leave her. She’s in sweats with a blanket on her lap in the corner of Penelope’s office, a book in her hand and a coffee on the table beside her as she listens to them bicker back and forth.

“If you hack the NSA we can no longer use all this as evidence if he’s brought in alive, Penelope!” Spencer whisper shouts at her, afraid to raise his voice at her but wanting to get his point across.

“Hotch needs the aerial shots like yesterday, and the NSA won't get them to us in time for this kid!” She yells back.

“Call google…” Y/N suggests, flipping through her book.

“What?” Spencer looks at her like she just said the dumbest thing ever.

“They’re taking photos constantly for their maps program, my mom was saying our new roof is now on the updated map. They might have all the photos saved up, if the FBI asks nicely they might work with you…” she explains, pressing her lips together in a tight smile.

“You’re a genius!” Penelope shouts, dialling the phone and getting JJ to work his media magic for contact at google.

Spencer's smile is one she hasn’t seen before, he’s not only proud of her; he looks a little turned on. She just cracked the case by knowing all the little hacks about the internet as part of her day job. She lived online, and now she was saving lives because of it.

It was a good case to help on, she got to see 3 kids go home to their parents and know a terrible man was going to rot in prison for the rest of his sad and pathetic life. The hard part was seeing them go through months of footage of this guy's yard, seeing the child-sized holes he dug up. The disrupted earth and the knowledge of what happened when there wasn’t picture proof.

—

They go to a meeting after work.

They sit side by side, her leg is crossed and resting over his knee as their arms are linked and fingers interlocked. They really couldn’t be any closer if they tried. They just wanted to listen today, to know they were in a room of people who were trying, people who understood and battled every bad feeling they did.

“Y/N,” the group leader calls her out just before the end of the meeting, “it’s nice to see you back here with Spencer, we heard you found another group but it’s nice to see you here for the support.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay, but as you can see he is distracting.” She gestured to how they were sitting with a small giggle. “I like coming here if you guys don’t mind me occasionally dropping by?”

“By all means,” another member, carol, spoke up. “Spencer is a great sponsor, it’s nice to see him happy.”

She didn’t know he was a sponsor but he thanks her for the compliment, it turns out almost everyone in his group turned to Spencer for support. It was comforting to everyone there to know the real, chemical and biological reasoning behind their addictions. Spencer provided a sense of calm for all of them, like a younger brother; they all loved him dearly.

They’re still holding hands as they walk home, the sun is still setting and it's barely even 7 pm. All the lights on the street are on, shops are closing and the sidewalks are bare. One store is still open however, across the street, she can see the big storefront window, illuminated with the brightest lights to show off a new collection of rings.

“Do you want one?” He notices her eyes darting to the light like a moth to a flame.

“What?” She zones back in when he stops walking.

“A ring, do you want to get one?” He clarifies with the softest voice.

She nods softly, “you should get one too though, seeing as I asked you and everything.”

He grips her hand tighter and they dart across the street. Giggling like children running to the playground, they’re almost out of breath from laughing as they open the shop door with a ding. Smiles on their faces, joy in their hearts, it makes the shop owner swoon as she sees them.

“Did you just get engaged?” She pries with a knowing smile.

They nod, “we just need some rings,” Y/N adds.

She waves them over, “well I’m going to need our sizes first, here try these on.” She hands them what looks like a thin ruler with holes spaces out.

Y/N attempts to find the right one, fitting the best into the 9 and a half. Spencer fits into the 11 on the first try like he knew already and the woman just laughs at the way Y/N glares at him with love.

“What kind of rings are we thinking? Do you have a preferred cut, style, size, or colour?”

It’s a lot all at once and she’s never really thought about it, “I love my grandma's ring, do you have any vintage styles?”

“I have vintage-style rings as well as some restored rings from the '20s and '30s,” she brings out a jewellery box from under the counter. “These are all appraised and unique.”

When she takes the lid off, Y/N’s eyes widen at the view. There are at least 50 rings in their velvet beds as they wait patiently to be tried on; all different shapes sizes and colours like she said. It feels a little overwhelming at first but then her eyes land on a green one. She takes it out slowly and slides it over her ring finger.

It’s perfect.

Spencer picks out a nice gold band to match, he pays and the lady is so happy to watch them leave hand in hand with their new rings. Dedicated to each other forever and ever, he was her person for the rest of time because he said so and that’s as good as a piece of paper.

She’s a completely different person from who she was when she woke up; twirling down the street with the love of her life, high on loving him as he makes her laugh and holds her hand. He stops in the middle of the street and places his hands on her cheeks, drawing her in closer.

“Loving you is so much fun.”

“Ain’t it fun?” She agrees with a smile before pressing their lips together.

taglist:

@g0lden-cth @doctorspenceryeet @samuel-de-champagne-problems @reiding-recs @ssavanessa22 @spookyspence @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria@reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @jswessie187 @k-k0129 @calm-and-doctor

[jvstinsdrew]

hey pals! just wanted to post a bit about my justin’s journey. please keep in mind some of the following info might contain triggering topics involving drugs, mental health, and chronic illnesses. 

first off, i just want to start by saying that any previous problematic behavior is well in the past for justin. both rp justin and rl justin have apologized for it and i want to focus my portrayal of him on the person he is today. he’s not perfect by any means, but he is trying and has come a long way.

with that said, justin did struggle with a drug addiction. this made his relationships very toxic and difficult to manage. he was a troubled young boy who was interested in women and fame. some of you might recognize this era as the bizzle era. i’m not interested in disregarding this phase of his life because it’s made him who he is today. 

i won’t go too into detail about his famous relationships-- selena and hailey. i want to make sure that the muns and i can plot before any assumptions are made. however, i will say that justin was not in the right headspace when involving himself with any woman in the past. he really believed that a woman or love would save him, but came to realize only he could bring himself from the mental struggles he was coping with. this is something he still has issues with as a hopeless romantic. yes, he is both a bit promiscuous and a hopeless romantic. the man is complicated lol. 

i’ve decided to also keep his lyme disease and ramsay hunt diagnosis since that is an important part of his life and i want to be as respectful as i can. i’ve done research and will continue to do so to learn more. 

that is it! i hope you all enjoy my justin. he’s a mess, but he’s doing his best which is all anyone can do!

[honey-dewey]

Finding the Right Voice

Frankie Morales/Mute and chronically ill Reader

Word Count: 1,804

Warnings: Reader is both mute and has gastroparesis. Reader throws up once. 

After much pestering from the boys, Frankie reluctantly signs up for a dating app, intending for it to be a joke. Until he falls in love. You and him text daily, getting to know each other so intimately despite never meeting. At least, never meeting until Frankie wants to take you on a date. So how the hell are you going to explain to him that you are constantly ill and will never speak again?

Frankie had always thought dating apps were a waste of time. Who the hell actually met the love of their life through the Internet? 

Frankie Morales, that’s who. 

Of course, he’d been hesitant to tell the boys he’d found someone, mostly because he knew they’d give him shit about it. And they did, of course. But now, months after meeting someone, they realized Frankie was genuinely happy and toned the teasing down. 

“I’m just worried!” Frankie said, staring at his phone. “They haven’t responded in days.” 

“Dude,” Benny said, gesturing with his beer bottle. “They’re probably just busy. Or out somewhere with shit cell service. I dated a girl like that. She went on vacation with her parents and didn’t call for like. Two weeks. Thought she’d died. But when she got back.” He leaned back, smiling drunkenly. “The apology sex was mind blowing.” 

“Okay!” Santiago interjected, throwing an arm around Frankie’s shoulders. “You think they’re on vacay, Fish?” 

Frankie shrugged, grabbing his own beer. “I dunno. They aren’t the vacationing type.” 

William snorted from across the table. “Just like they aren’t the phone call or meet in person type?” 

Immediately, Frankie knew where this was going. “Ironhead.” 

“I’m just saying!” William pointed out. “How do we know that Catfish isn’t being, well, catfished.” 

Frankie sighed into his bottle. “I don’t wanna talk about it Will.” 

Santiago, who was somehow the voice of reason here, nudged Frankie. “You texted yet today?” 

“No.” 

“Why don’t you?” Santiago suggested. “Then leave it alone for a while. I doubt they’re meaning to leave you, they seem too nice.” 

Frankie picked up his phone and opened his texts. Aside from the group chat he had with the boys, the aforementioned number was the last one he’d texted. 

Frankie: Hey, haven’t heard from you in a bit. You doing okay? 

Twenty miles away from the bar Frankie was in, you were leaned over the toilet in the hospital, hurling away what little applesauce you’d eaten for dinner. 

Sitting back against the cold tile of the hospital bathroom wall, you sighed deeply upon hearing your phone ping. Who the hell wanted to talk to you right now? 

Of course, it was Frankie. 

Settling down in the bathroom, you unlocked your phone and texted him back. 

You: I’m so sorry Fish. I’ve been a bit sick. 

Fish: You don’t have to apologize for that. Are you feeling any better? 

You snorted softly. As if. 

You: Not really. It’s just gotten worse. Spent most of today throwing up.

Fish: You’re drinking water, right? Gotta stay hydrated. 

You snapped a photo of your half full water bottle a nurse had brought you and sent it to Frankie. 

You: Yep! Gotta finish this before I go to bed. 

Fish: That’s good

Fish: Wait a second. Are you in the hospital? 

You swore silently. How the fuck? Unless he frequented the same hospital as you, how the hell did he even know where you were from that blurry water bottle photo? 

You: Yeah, I got here today. Nothing too serious, I was just too dehydrated

You felt bad lying to Frankie, but you really didn’t want to tell him the truth. The truth was too long, too complicated. Frankie would probably leave if he learned the truth. 

Fish: I’m not too far away, if you’re at the hospital I think you’re at. Want me to drive you home when you leave? 

You: Nah. I’m staying with family rn and it’s a haul to get out there

Another lie, another stab of pain through your heart. 

Fish: Okay. I still wanna take you out though. We could get dinner and walk around the park. 

You almost started sobbing. 

You: Oh Frankie. I wish I could. 

As soon as you typed the message, you deleted it. Best not to let him think anything was wrong. Instead, you took a minute and finally replied with, 

You: That sounds lovely Fish. 

Fish: But?

You: But I don’t think I can.

Back at the bar, Frankie was slumped over the table, staring at your tiny message of rejection. 

“Dude, that’s hard,” Benny commented. “I’m starting to think Will might be right.” 

“I’m sorry?” William said, coughing as he swallowed wrong. “Say that again?” 

“No.” Benny leaned over the table and patted Frankie’s wrist. “I got nothing dude. Nothing.” 

Santiago sighed. “Why don’t we stop giving Fish a hard time?” He said, seeing the hard lines in Frankie’s face appear. “They said they were in the hospital, so maybe it’s really bad.” 

“You think?” Frankie asked, looking up with wide eyes. 

“Maybe,” Santiago said. “They might not want you to worry about them.” 

Frankie looked back at his phone, at the waiting message. He picked his phone up and typed one more message before shutting it off and pocketing it. 

Frankie: I just wish I could get to know you. For real. 

You stared at your phone, tears sliding down your face. Frankie would never know, if you could help it. He’d never know that you were so sick all the time. That you couldn’t eat anything without hurling it up hours later. That you hadn’t uttered a single word since you’d turned sixteen. That you’d never speak another word again. 

Putting your phone away, you abandoned the water bottle and shakily crawled back into bed, sobbing silently into your pillow until you fell asleep. 

The next morning, a team of nurses checked you over and deemed you okay to leave the next day. You nodded numbly, absently fiddling with a small stuffed toy as they started your laborious morning routine. 

“This came for you last night,” a nurse said as everyone left your room. She placed a worn out baseball cap and a folded note on your bed. “From a very nice gentleman who seemed rather heartbroken.” 

The nurse left, leaving you to grab the cap and the note. 

The cap was worn out, the edges all frayed and the logo on the front nearly illegible. The note was in much better condition. 

Hey. 

So, I’m sorry about what I said last night, and I feel like a text wouldn’t have made it better. This is my favorite hat. It’s seen some shit, just like me. And just like you, I think. 

Look, last night, I sounded like a dick. I want to make it up to you, I really do. But I don’t know how to take you on a date or anything. I sure hope it isn’t because of me that you don’t want to meet. I know my nickname is Catfish but I promise I’m who I say I am. 

Tomorrow, I get off work early. If you’d let me, can I pick you up and take you out? Or at least take you back to my place for a movie or something? Please. 

Love, your Frankie. 

You ran your fingers over the lettering, memorizing how Frankie wrote every single word. Maybe, maybe it was time to open up. The worst that could happen was rejection. 

Scooping your phone up, you texted Frankie back. 

You: Tomorrow at 4, that’s when they discharge me. Get here early tho, I have some stuff to explain.

The next twenty four hours were hell for the both of you. You were both plagued by so much anxiety it was hard to do even the most basic of tasks, but you managed. Eventually, you received the text you’d been dreading all day. 

Fish: I’m here. Visiting room B. 

You took a deep breath. All your personal belongings were in a drawstring bag you put over your shoulder. You headed out of your room and slowly down the hall, towards the visiting room. 

Opening the door was the hardest thing you’d ever done. 

Once you’d opened the door, you stopped in the doorway, taking Frankie in. 

He looked exactly the same as he did in his photos. Tall, handsome, kind. He smiled upon seeing you, and you swore your heart stopped. 

“Hello,” Frankie said, moving towards you and holding out his hand.

Hello you signed, waiting for Frankie’s reaction. 

He paused, his hand falling to his side. “Mute?” 

You nodded. 

Frankie simply smiled again. “So that’s why you don’t like phone calls,” he said. “It’s okay. I know some ASL.” He paused, taking you in. “Can I hug you?” 

Yes please.

He wrapped you in a warm hug, allowing you to collapse into him. Months of text messages and listening to his voice mails were nothing compared to this. 

Eventually, he pulled away, and you two sat on the uncomfortable couch. 

“So what’s with the tube?” Frankie asked, gesturing to your face. 

You pulled a whiteboard out of your bag and began to write, going slowly so you spelled everything right. 

I have a condition called gastroparesis. My stomach is paralyzed and won’t move food to my intestines. I “eat” through a port in my side and this tube in my nose leads to my stomach, so whatever I drink can be drained out. I went mute before I got diagnosed with this.

“Oh.” Frankie blinked a few times. “So I guess dinner is off the table too.” 

You snorted, laughing as best you could with no voice. No dinner. you signed happily. But a movie would be nice.

“A movie it is,” Frankie said, standing. “C’mon. I’ve got a bunch of movies at my place. And I think the boys are coming over tonight.” 

You stood, following Frankie to his beat up old truck. He talked your ear off about all sorts of things while he drove home, and it wasn’t until he’d pulled into the driveway that you’d remembered his hat. 

Close your eyes. You signed, digging around in your bag. 

Frankie did, laughing when you snuggly placed his hat on his head. 

“Thank you,” he said, taking your hands. “I was really worried you’d catfished me at first. I didn’t know what to think when you didn’t want to call or meet. I dunno, I just thought you weren’t, y’know, you.” 

You shook your head, pulling your hands out of his. I wouldn’t dream of it.

Frankie smiled. “I love you.” 

I love you too Fish.

That night was the happiest you’d been in years. Frankie’s friends were all amazing people, and all three of them immediately overlooked your muteness and illness. You were happy and Frankie was happy. To them, that was all that mattered. 

“So Fish,” Santiago said, leaning across the couch to nudge Frankie’s bicep. “Aren’t you glad we forced you to download that dating app?” 

Frankie looked at you, curled up under his other arm, sipping water and waiting for the feed bag with your dinner in it to finish draining into your port. You looked up at him, smiling and nestling closer. 

“Yeah. I am.”

[fiction-fun]

Loving in Color

That's right! It's time! This probably will have 3 parts so keep an eye out for the second part!

Fandom: Power Rangers (Dino Thunder)

Pairings: Tommy/Jason, Conner/Ethan, Kira/Hunter, Trent/Oc

Words: 12068

Warnings: fighting, light swearing(as with most of my stories) and homophobia (trust me it makes me iffy about even posting this but the scene is breif)

She blinked at her reflection in the mirror and glared at it. With a huff she reached over and grabbed her favorite bandanna, the green looking nice when tied into her hair. She carefully rolled the article and tied it around her hair brushing her hair back into place.

“Kaley! Come on, or you won’t have time for breakfast!” Kaley heard the shout and looked towards her door.

“I’m coming Poppa!” she called as she grabbed her leather jacket and her backpack heading to the door.

She walked downstairs and gave her Poppa a hug before slipping past him and into the kitchen, beelining right for the coffee maker.

“Not you too, look if you have coffee you have to eat real food too!” Her Poppa said walking over to her and reaching up for a plate.

She nodded and offered him a smile.

“Dad only come up from his lab long enough to get a shower and a cuppa?” Kaley asked looking at him.

Her Poppa nodded and handed her the plate he had made her. Moving back to the table where his own plate sat.

“I don’t understand how he can work all night and then teach during the day.” Her Poppa said.

Kaley smiled and laughed as she sipped her coffee.

“Wasn’t it you and Uncle Billy who told me Dads a determined caffeinated workaholic?” Kaley questioned lightly as she started eating the pancakes.

Her Poppa nodded and sat back.

“Yes, but I was hoping, SOMEONE, would lighten up on the work over the years, clearly not.” He said as he drank his juice.

Kaley laughed as she heard a thump.

“Someone call me?” her Dad asked as he came up the stairs wiping his hands on a washcloth pressing a kiss to her head and her Poppas cheek.

“I was more speaking in general, dear, but you two both have to get going, or you’re both going to be late.” Poppa said.

Kaley stood and put her empty plate in the sink, reaching over and grabbing a napkin and a pancake she carefully placed a couple stripes of bacon and a few pieces of eggs inside before drizzling the syrup on top and rolling it up in the pancake and the napkin around it.

“Here, dad eat. But I do have to go. Love you Dad! Love you Poppa!” She called as she handed her dad the breakfast wrap and kissed both parents on the cheek.

“Kaley! Training after school?” her Poppa asked.

Kaley tuned and put her hands on her hips.

“If you’re home, I’ll meet you in the park.” She said and he winced slightly.

Her Poppa walked over to her.

“I know I’ve been working a lot, but I’m trying to make it so I can be home more.” He said hugging her.

She nodded and sighed as she hugged him back.

“I know, doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She said softly.

Her Dad came over and hugged them both before looking at the clock.

“Jason, we have to go if we want to be on time, Kaley I’ll drive you today or you won’t make it.” Her Dad said smiling at them.

Her Poppa laughed.

“With you driving, Tommy, neither of you will make it on time!” Her Poppa said laughing lightly.

“Hey! I’ve gotten better about that!” Her Dad replied.

Her Poppa just smiled and shook his head nudging them both towards the door.

“You both have a chronic problem with not being on time. Now go, I love you both.” Her Poppa called out smiling and waving.

Kaley and her Dad waved back calling responses as they climbed into Tommy’s Jeep.

“All buckled?” Her Dad asked her.

“Yeah! Let’s go Dad!” She said with a nod and smile.

Tommy nodded and put the Jeep in gear bringing it around to face the dirt road leading to their house, he ate the last of the wrap and passed her a green travel cup of coffee his black one already in the cup holder, and hit the gas. The normally forty-minute ride to the school was done in twenty and Kaley leaned over and hugged her Dad as they parked.

“I’ll see you later Dad, I love you.” She said smiling.

“I love you too.” Her Dad said hugging her back.

She opened the door and grabbed her cup and bag, heading straight for the office.

*Two months later*

“He’s your best friend and you haven’t even seen?” Kira asked looking at her.

Kaley choked on her drink, coughing lightly.

“Kira, seriously not here.” She said looking around to see if the person was around.

Kira rolled her eyes.

“He’s not here today. Remember? It’s what you were complaining about all last period.

Kaley felt like she could slap herself.

“Yeah, right. And no, I haven’t, I just enjoy spending time with him. Besides he hasn’t either.” She said sitting back.

Kira sighed.

“Girl, you’re insane! You have too!” she said with a huff.

Kaley shook her head rapidly and waved her hands in front of her face.

“No, no I don’t! I don’t want my Dad’s to kill him!” she said lowering her voice a bit.

Kira sighed again and stood.

“Kay, all I’m saying is don’t let him go, before you know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go play some music.” She said grabbing her guitar and heading towards the doors.

Kaley stood up quickly tossing her trash.

“I’m coming with you.” She said as she grabbed her bag.

Kira nodded and slung an arm over her shoulder with a big smile.

“That’s my girl!” she said with smile directed at her.

Kaley laughed and nodded, going to pull her jacket from her bag she paused.

“Crap, I must have left it in Winslow’s, I’ll just be a minute you go get started.” Kaley told her friend as she turned and ran back to the school.

Kira laughed as she walked to a picnic table and sat down to start playing, Kaley shook her head at her friend’s laughter but kept running. Getting into the school and turning down the history and science department halls she slid to a stop outside her History teachers’ class and knocked.

“Come in!” was called.

“Hey Mr. Winslow, I was wondering if you saw my jacket? I can’t find it.” She asked ducking into the classroom.

Mr. Winslow paused and then nodded.

“Yes, its still at your seat I believe.” He said offering her a smile.

She sighed in relief and ran over to her chair, grabbing her jacket from where it had gotten stuck in the little basket.

“Thanks Mr. Winslow! I’ll see you tomorrow!” Kaley called as she ran out of the room and back towards the yard.

She had almost made it when Three kids surrounded her.

“What do you want, Benson?” she asked looking towards the obvious leader of the group with a sigh.

He huffed and looked at the other two.

“Look at that guys, she thinks she can talk to me like that!” He said with a cackle.

Kaley sighed and waited, watching them as they laughed. Benson got up into her face.

“What freak? Not entertaining enough for you?” He asked snidely.

Kaley rolled her eyes and placing a hand on the center of his chest and shoved him and his foul breath away from her.

“No, I’m just waiting for you to get bored so I can go back to what I need to do.” She said her voice soft and bored sounding.

That was clearly the wrong thing to say as Benson, in classic bad guy movie fashion, snapped his fingers and the other two jumped grabbing her arms as he punched her in the face. Kaley rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Is that it? Because, that was rather weak.” She said even as blood dripped from her nose and split lip.

Bensons goons tightened their hold on her, and he came up and punched her a few more times, once in the eye, once on the cheek and once in her stomach, she huffed a bit but didn’t do anything else.

“What freak? Not going to yell out?” Benson cackled.

“No, why would I when none of that hurt?” She returned the question, as she felt her face and stomach throb.

Benson huffed and walked back a few steps back turned to her, before he spun and locked eyes with his buddies and her.

“You just don’t want to worry your freaky fag dad.” He said.

And that was one thing to many. In the blink of an eye, the two holding her where on the ground in various forms of pain. Kaley herself was sat on Benson beating the ever-loving daylights out of him.

“Don’t. You. Ever. Call. My. Dad. That. Again!” she screamed each word punctuated with a punch.

Benson couldn’t even respond, he just kept trying to block the hits, but blood was spraying everywhere, and he looked more like raw-meat then human. Just as she was about to punch him again a pair of hands wrapped around her and pulled her off him. She turned her glare onto the one who had stopped her only to freeze when she came face to face with her Dad, Principle Randall behind him with Kira and two others.

“I think it goes without saying that she has at least a weeks’ worth of detention.” Randall said looking at her Dad.

He nodded a pinched look on his face.

“Kaley, go straight to my room.” He said setting her down on the floor.

“Dad…I...” She tried but her Dad gave her a soft glare.

“Go. Now.” He said firmly.

Kaley nodded and with a mumbled “Yes sir.” She turned and headed back down the hallway, stopping at her Dads room she opened the door and closed it softly, moving to sit at one of the tables, she huffed sitting down. She looked down at the floor, feeling both tired now that the adrenaline was leaving her, and upset that she had upset her Dad by doing what she did. She looked up for a second before dropping her eyes again when she heard the door open. Her Dad pulled a stool from another table and sat in front of her.

“I managed to talk Randall out of suspending you. But you do have Detention starting today for the next two weeks.” He said softly.

Kaley nodded not trusting her voice as she sniffled wincing at the pain in her face. Her Dad sighed and lifted her head, carefully wiping the blood and tears from her face.

“You never fight like that, especially when you don’t know if the other person has had any training. What caused it?” He asked her.

Kaley sniffled thickly.

“He insulted you, and I got angry.” She said softly.

Her Dad smiled gently at her, hugging her tightly.

“Oh sweetheart.” He said softly.

She wrapped her arms around him trying not to stain his jacket.

“I’m sorry Dad, I just…I got so mad. He doesn’t know you! He can’t say that!” She said crying softly.

Tommy rubbed her back and kissed her head.

“I know Sweetheart. I know. But you can’t do that at school, or anywhere. Fighting is never the answer. What’s our rules with training?” Tommy asked her gently.

Kaley sniffled and sighed.

“Martial arts are only for defense never to attack, never escalate a fight.” Kaley said softly.

Tommy nodded.

“Exactly. Although it looks like you tried not to escalate things.” He said softly.

Kaley nodded.

“No, he punched me four times and insulted me a bunch before I even reacted. Not that I really could at first with his buddies holding my arms.” She said agreeing with his statement.

Her dad sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You know we have to tell your Poppa.” He said gently.

Kaley nodded.

“I know. I really am sorry I got into a fight.” She said just as softly.

He nodded and hugged her again, before pulling her to her feet.

“I know you are.” He said gently.

*a few hours later*

“And here are your delinquents, your personal one included.” Randall said as the group of four walked into the room, and took seats.

“Really, I wanted to go to the museum.” Her Dad said looking at her.

“Good, take them with you educational and boring perfect.” She said walking quickly from the room.

Tommy groaned before turning to face them.

“Alright guys, let’s head out.” He said grabbing his suitcase as the kids grabbed their bags.

Kaley grabbed her bag and walked towards the door. Looking back at the others with a sigh she headed towards the parking lot.

“What’s her problem?” she heard the jock ask, glancing back she saw the one with the computer always present shrug.

“She got into a fist fight, got hurt and got in trouble. Why don’t you be nicer.” Kira said with a huff as she picked up her pace to catch up to Kaley.

“Hey, just let them go. They don’t know me its fine.” Kaley said softly as she threw her bag into the front seat of her Dad’s Jeep.

Kira tossed her bag in the back seat before looking at her.

“Still its not right that they’re talking about you, you’ve got enough stuff going on.” Kira said looking at her.

Kaley shrugged and climbed into the jeep.

“Wait, why does she get the front?” the jock asked again.

Kaley shot him a glare.

“It is my Dad’s Jeep.” She said with no room for argument.

“One fights enough for today isn’t it?” Her dad asked as he climbed in.

She nodded and turned back to the front as the other all got in the back. With that Tommy started the Jeep and took off headed towards the museum. Most of the time spent in silence and when they arrived her dad let out a long sigh.

“Looks like its closed.” He said looking around.

“Oh, well looks like that’s it, detentions over and we should really be getting back.” Kira said turning back towards the Jeep.

Tommy turned and looked at her with that smile on his face that meant he had a plan. Kaley sighed and rolled her sleeves up a bit knowing where this was going to go.

“Alright, how about you guys look around, try to find anything even remotely historic and I’ll cancel detention for the next week. While I try and figure out why the museum is closed.” Tommy said muttering the last bit to himself.

The others groaned even as they took off towards the side of the museum, Kaley hanging back for a second.

“Just don’t break in, I don’t think Poppa wants another call about one of us in trouble today.” She said with a small smile as she moved to follow the others.

Her Dad turned and gave her a smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m just going to look for any information.” He said.

She nodded and turned to the path. After a while of listening to the boy’s bicker, she huffed and walked passed them.

“Hey what’s your rush, sweetheart.” The jock called.

Kaley froze at his words and spun around; in three quick steps she was standing in front of him. She raised a hand and poked his chest backing him up with each poke.

“Listen here, I don’t care who the fuck you are. But my name is Kaley. Get it fucking right or I’ll make what I did to Benson look like child’s play.” She hissed softly.

He put his hands up and nodded. She sighed and turned back around. They kept walking for a few minutes before Ethan the one with the computer spoke up louder than before.

“Fine but don’t look at me when you fall into a sink hole or something.” He called out as Conner the jock walked on ahead.

Conner shook his head when there was a rumble and the ground collapsed out from under them. They landed in a heap at the bottom, except for Kaley who as soon as the ground dropped, she tucked and hit with a roll. She stood up and looked at the others.

“Are you all ok?” she asked them, as they started to stand up.

They nodded and started looking around. After a few seconds Conner looked at them all.

“I’ll climb up the wall, go get Dr. Oliver and be back soon.” He said looking up at the wall.

Kaley snorted as Ethan gave him a look.

“Why are you going?” he asked.

“I’m the most athletic.” Conner said puffing his chest out with pride.

“Alright Mr. Tough guy. You go ahead and climb the wall and when you fall, I’ll tell you why you failed.” Kaley said with a soft snort and a laugh.

Conner shot her a glare as they backed up and he started climbing up the wall. Very quickly he fell back down landing hard on his back. Kaley moved to stand over him.

“One, its old rock. Two, its old sandstone making it weaker than other stones from time and erosion. Three, you’re not the most athletic, you’re just the one who plays sports on a school team. Now can you stand, or did you break yourself?” she asked looking down at the boy still on the ground.

Conner groaned but rolled to his feet standing up.

“Good, now let’s try and find another way out.” She said turning towards the tunnel at the far side of the cave.

“What did you mean, I’m not the most athletic?” Conner asked a little bit later, after gaining Kira’s wrath by calling her babe.

Kaley shot him a look and rolled her shoulders.

“I’ve been doing Martial Arts since I was five. Could I have even made it out of the hole? Maybe. But most probably not. The stone was to old and the ground to wet. But that’s not important. The fact is I am much more athletic then you I just don’t believe in the institution that is school sports.” Kaley said as she slipped her hands into her jacket pockets.

“Oh.” Conner said trailing off.

They walked in silence for a while longer before coming to a cave or a control room. Everyone looked around.

“This must be like the mothership for you dude.” Conner said looking at Ethan.

“Normally id be insulted. But when your right your right and right now, your right.” Ethan said dazedly.

Kaley was to busy looking at the consoles to pay much attention and she huffed out a sigh, she’d know these monitors anywhere.

“Guys look!” Kira called.

That drew everyone’s attention to a central raised pillar, where four stones sat. the four of them walked down to it and looked at the stones that were there.

“What do you think they are?” Kaley asked looking at the to her grey stones.

The others shrugged and Conner reached out to grab one by him, Ethen tossed his hand out.

“Dude what are you doing?” He asked looking at Conner.

Conner shrugged and looked at the other three.

“Look I’ve been in enough Science classes to know those things are major prehistoric.” He said.

Kira bit her lip.

“I hate to agree with him, trust me I do. But I’ve already missed one practice so.” She said reaching forward.

Kaley took a deep breath and reached out too.

“I’ve got another week beyond you guys anyways, but I can’t miss study sessions with Trent and training with Poppa because you’re nervous, Ethan.” Kaley said softly.

With all three of them against him Ethan nodded and together they took the four gems that sat there.

“What are they?” Conner asked voicing the question again after the gems glowed slightly.

Ethan shrugged looking at his gem.

“I don’t know, I can get on the computer later and look them up?” He suggested.

Conner faked a gasp.

“You, on the computer? Let me put on my surprised face!” He said voice heavy with sarcasm.

Kira turned and walked away.

“Hey where are you going?” Kaley called looking at her.

She turned back and raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to see what kind of freak lives in a place like this.” She said as she turned back to walking.

The boys nodded and headed after her. Kaley taking an extra second listening in the silence. Above her she could hear footsteps and soft talking. She shook her head.

“Hey you coming?” Ethan called as he stuck his head back around the corner.

She nodded and moved to follow them.

“Yeah, just wanted to make sure we didn’t trigger alarms or anything.” She said as they walked down the path.

They figured a way out and started back through the forest when they started to be followed by weird creatures. With a nod they all took off running through the forest, Kaley and Conner leading the pack with Ethan next followed by Kira, who fell in a ditch. The others doubled back and helped her up. As they where running Kira fell again and they were to far away to do anything. Kaley turned and jumped up kicking off a tree to try and get closer, but Kira let out a loud piercing screech. Kaley landed in a crouch near her and covered her ears. They all decided to ask questions later and got Kira back up as they ran back through the forest. Kaley turned and got separated from the others.

“Not good.” She said as she went into a guarding stance seeing creatures all around her.

Without a thought as the monsters came at her she jumped and dodged their hits, skidding across the ground she flipped seeing the monsters close in on her she threw her hands up. Two large tornado strength winds flew from her hands and knocked them back away from her, she jumped up and looked at her hands for a second before looking around smiling and shaking her head.

“Time to play.” She said throwing her hands out again, this time lighting shot from one hand and the other caused branches and things to slam down into the enemies.

“That was so cool!” Kaley cried out with a grin as she took off running to try and find the others.

She cleared the forest and found Conner.

“Oh, goodie it’s you, any idea where the others are at?” she asked.

Conner shook his head.

“No, they must still be in there.” Conner said.

Kaley looked back at the forest.

“With those things.” Kaley said nodding at the monsters on the ground.

With that they ran back into the forest finding Kira and Ethan unharmed and just finding each other.

“That was.” Ethan said looking down at his arms.

“Incredible?” Kaley suggested.

“Freaky?” Kira said.

“Cool.” Conner said with a nod.

Ethan nodded.

“All of the above.” He said in amazement.

Kaley laughed and shook her head as the group started back towards the road.

“We don’t tell anyone. Right?” Conner said looking at the rest of them.

They all nodded just as they found the road.

“Hey guys, any luck?” Tommy asked looking at them.

They all glanced at each other, shaking their heads.

“No, no luck.” Conner said speaking for all of them.

“What about you Dad?” Kaley asked looking at him.

He shook his head.

“No, come on. We should get back.” He said and they all headed back to the car.

After a while they were back in town and dropping the others off.

“Dad wait! Please? He wasn’t in school today.” Kaley said pointing to Trent.

Her Dad nodded and parked the car.

“Make it quick, ok?” He said looking at her.

She nodded and unbuckled her belt as she ran from the Jeep.

“Trent!” Kaley called running towards him.

He turned and looked at her, with a smile. Kaley wrapped her arms around him.

“Are you ok? Where were you? Why weren’t you in school?” She asked pulling back slightly.

Trent laughed and shook his head.

“I’m ok. I was home. I woke up and wasn’t feeling great you know how my allergies are.” Trent said looking just passed her.

Kaley’s mind flashed back to what Kira had said earlier, and she looked down at the ground.

“I probably won’t be able to make our study sessions for the next little while.” She said softly.

Trent shot her a look.

“What? Why not?” He asked her.

She shrugged and looked up giving him the first proper look at her face with the bruised cheek, busted lip and slightly swollen eye and nose.

“I got into a little fight today at school.” She said looking passed him.

Trent reached up and ran a hand gently across her cheek.

“Little fight?” He asked.

“You should see Benson.” She said with a dry humorless laugh.

Trent sucked in a breath and pulled her in close.

“You ok?” He asked.

She shook her head.

“Nah, I hurt. I have detention for two weeks, Dads disappointed and I’m sure Poppa is too. Just been a long day.” She said softly.

Trent nodded and looked passed her.

“Hey, looks like your Dad wants to go.” He said.

She turned and waved to her Dad before turning back and nodding.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 7

Thomas X Reader

2873

Summary: Reader gets medical treatment. Thomas is not ok.

by @adventuresintooblivion

They didn’t speak again until the Garrison Pub came into sight. Several men were milling about trying to figure out what the hell was going on. They parted with excited chatter craning their necks to see what Thomas was holding.

“Open the door! If you’re not helping, you’re in the way. Go home. We accomplished what we came here for tonight.” 

Only a handful of people remained. Most of them were the Shelbys themselves. Danny paced back and forth in the back of the bar murmuring to himself. Thomas nodded to the small room they conducted their business in. John hurriedly opened it enough for Thomas to set Y/N down on the table.

Y/N sat there swaying back and forth slightly, her eyes closed as she focused on not falling over. Moments later, Thomas draped his coat around her shoulders. A sigh of relief escaped her lips.  For the first time, she looked up at the people gathered around her.

Aunt Pol’s face was pale. A shawl was clutched in her hands with her hair unmade. John blinked blearily, but she could visibly see the fatigue drain away as he took stock of her injuries. Arthur simply wouldn’t look at her. 

Thomas hovered over her protectively. She could just barely see the redness on his cheek where she’d slapped him. His hand rested lightly against her lower back. She could feel his hand shaking even through all the layers.

“The doctor is on his way but there’s a few things I need to ask you before he gets here.” 

Y/N shook her head, “I want to talk to Pol first.”

He stiffened. “Excuse me?”

She lifted her head, leveling her gaze at him, “You heard me, Shelby. I want to talk to Pol first.”

“Did he touch you?” He growled almost under his breath. Something about him changed. His knuckles turned a stark white as they gripped the table. His lips pulled back in an inaudible snarl, eyes wide as he used every inch of self control he had left not to turn on his heels and find whoever had done this.

“Wha…?”

Thomas roared a tremor visibly running through his body, “Did he touch you!”

Understanding dawned on Y/N. She reached out to lay her hand on his. He recoiled. She leaned forward just enough to press her hand over his. Her skin was ice against his rage, but he did stop shaking once she rubbed her thumb across his knuckles. 

She spoke softly, “He didn’t. But that doesn’t change the fact that I need to talk to Pol.”

He turned toward her, almost pressing his forehead into her shoulder. “I need answers.”

“And you’ll get them. After.”

Thomas locked eyes with her. Finally, he straightened and led his brothers out of the room.

Pol was left behind, her eyes wide as she adjusted her shawl. “That’s the first time I’ve seen Tommy listen to anyone when he’s like that.”

Y/N glanced down

“Well, you wanted me to yourself. Now what is it?”

“I think Grace is working for Inspector Campbell.” Y/N said it all in a rush, not trusting herself to actually speak if she took her time with it. 

Today, the inspector had wanted to instill fear in her and make her a useless pawn in this game of his. She hated to admit that she was in fact afraid. Of what she wasn’t sure, but she’d be damned if she let that decide her actions.

Pol cleared her throat. “That’s… a serious accusation. What is your proof?”

Y/N steeled herself before telling Pol everything. How she’d seen Grace at the opera, the little hints here and there that it wasn’t a place she’d normally be caught dead in. Then the great reveal of the man’s identity.

“I watched her hand him a piece of paper. I don’t know for certain that she is working for him, but it seems like the only logical answer, and at this point it’s dangerous to keep it to myself,” she finally finished.

The whole speech had taken a lot out of her, and she was already exhausted at best. Y/N pulled Thomas’ jacket closer around her, grateful that she was finally starting to warm up. At the edge of her senses, she caught a whiff of a smell that was distinctly Thomas. Stale cigarette smoke, aftershave, and hay. She almost smiled as she remembered the horses he loved so much.

Pol rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands. “That’s a lot of information to deal with. Why haven’t you told Tommy?”

Y/N frowned, “Right now if I did he’d storm off to kill her. I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Hell, maybe turning her in and ending this now would be preferred. I just… I wanted to ask your opinion.”

Her head jerked up. “This is your business. I’ll have nothing to do with it.”

Y/N sighed, finally letting the exhaustion cause her to sag in on herself, “Well, fuck.” 

“I can’t believe you told me this. I won’t be caught complicit if he finds out,” she hissed.

“Pol, I’ve seen the way he looks at her. He likes her, even if it’s just a little, and with Thomas that means miles. This could destroy him. Or it could get one of them killed, and I don’t know if Grace worked at an opera house and just hates it from exposure and this is all some huge misunderstanding. I just don’t know.” Even to her ears Y/N sounded a bit hysterical.

Pol began to pace, thinking. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor, and even if the boys weren’t listening in they’d be able to hear that. After a few solid moments Pol rounded on the wounded girl.

She shook her finger at Y/N. “Listen here. For now, we say nothing. But if ANYTHING goes wrong and Grace is within ten miles of it, you tell him. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Alright, now let's get those boys in here. He’s probably about to strangle Arthur.”

As soon as the door knob clicked, Thomas stormed back in. His eyes were dark and cloudy as they traveled over Y/N’s exposed skin. Behind him, a small man with glasses shuffled in.

He spoke with a nasally voice, “Hello, I’m Doctor Tanish. Now if you could remove your coat I’d like to get to work.”

Y/N reluctantly shed the layer of warmth she’d built during her conversation Pol.

The doctor immediately swooped in, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Are there any pre-existing medical conditions I should know about?”

Y/N glanced at Thomas before turning to the doctor. “I have a bullet that’s lodged in my back that’s an inch to the left of my spine by vertebrae T11. They uh… found it and got me with a billy club. A couple times.”

He paused. “That’s very specific.”

“Yeah, well, you hear doctors say it enough eventually you can parrot it back if you need to.”

He nodded before continuing with this ministrations.

 Thomas, who was leaning against the wall, had turned a light shade of green when she spoke. His world was slowly closing in on him, a dark tunnel taking over his vision. It wasn’t until Arthur elbowed him that he was able to regain some control and return to the real world.

Eventually the doctor needed to see beneath Y/N’s underclothes. 

Pol shooed them out saying, “I’ll be right here with her. Let the girl keep some of her dignity.”

Thomas’ hand snaked out to grip hers firmly. “What did you two talk about?”

Pol’s lips settled into a thin line. “I will not betray her confidence. Just have faith, Tommy.”

He released her, allowing himself to be pushed back out into the pub with the others.

Arthur growled under his breath, “You’re gonna want a family meeting as soon as that doctor is done aren’t you?”

“Am I that predictable?”

He just grumbled and went to take a nap in one of the stalls. John soon followed suit, not really sure what his stakes were in all this. 

But Thomas sat at the bar nursing a glass of whiskey. He couldn’t make out much in the way of sounds. That’s why they like that room so much. There were a few moments when a yelp or shout would set him on edge. But all he could do was wait. 

It wasn’t until the sun had started to come up that the doctor slipped from the room, blood covering his hands. Thomas sat up straighter, not realizing just how much he’d drunk until he tried to stand.

“How is she?”

Doctor Tanish let out a tired sigh. “Exhausted. Most of the damage will heal itself just fine; however, there are a few spots that I am concerned about. Will you be taking care of her?”

Thomas was a gang leader. He didn’t have time to be coddling people while he was supposed to be out managing things.

“Yes.” 

Doctor Tanish nodded, pulled out a piece of paper and began to write. “She has three fractured ribs and another one that was popped out of socket, but it’s back now. Her toe was also broken; that’s been splinted. There was some minor internal bleeding, but that’s been addressed. The thing I’m most worried about is that bullet in her back.”

Bile rose on Thomas’ tongue. “Is it that bad?”

“Well, it was already something that could cause chronic pain and difficulty walking. Now that it’s been agitated, the muscles around it have swollen which would lead to temporary paralysis. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s up and around at all.” He tore the paper of a small notepad and handed it to Thomas, “I’ll have medication waiting to be picked up by the end of the day. I’d get it here earlier, but she insisted that she wouldn’t take opium. Under no circumstances let her walk.”

Thomas nodded dumbly, not exactly sure how to process all the information, but as the doctor left he glanced down at the paper. Detailed instructions were scrawled out in handwriting that was little better than chicken scratch. Luckily, John’s scrawl was also atrocious, and if Thomas could read that, he could read anything.

The door was left open. As he looked at it’s gaping maw, something inside him wanted to run. If he didn’t go in, she would once again become a ghost that haunted his memories. He wouldn’t have to face the words he’d said that night, or back then. 

He took a deep breath and walked in. Thomas was a Shelby after all.

〜

Y/N had stopped paying attention to the doctor a while ago. Between the war and her childhood, she’d gone through all this before. Pol on the other hand looked like she was having a rough time. At one point Y/N even caught herself reaching out to hold the older woman’s hand.

“It’s going to be fine, Pol.” Her voice didn’t even quiver.

Pol nearly jumped out of her skin. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?”

Y/N flashed her a wicked grin. “Eh, getting hurt comes with the territory.”

“With knowing Tommy.” Pol’s gaze fell. A deep sadness had made a home for itself. It was in the small things. Her posture, her subtle frown, but most of all her eyes. Eyes that Y/N suspected had seen too many people die.

She gave a small tug to get Pol’s attention. “Actually, I was a bastard long before I met Thomas.” Pol’s brows furrowed so she continued, “Da wasn’t exactly a law abiding citizen. Hell, if I’d been a man I’d probably be in the same position as Thomas.”

A silence settled between them as they both came to terms with Y/N’s past. The doctor didn’t seem to care much about what was said around him. He only spoke to instruct Y/N to move. 

Finally Pol spoke, “While I don’t doubt the legitimacy behind your claim, you have,” she paused searching for the right words, “a certain level of education that isn’t typically available to people of our status.”

Y/N shrugged and immediately got scolded by the doctor. “Over-achieving bastard child. Not much else to it.”

Pol leveled her with a knowing gaze but enough had been shared that night. For the rest of the evening they either chatted idly or Pol dozed. The continuous attention was starting to wear Y/N out even beyond her limits.

She vaguely wondered if she was going soft after the war. Then she remembered that she’d been traipsing around town, got kidnapped, beat to hell and walked back on her own. Y/N allowed herself a small smile. Today was a productive day.

“It’ll take a couple months for your ribs and toe to heal but they’ll do it with little assistance. You must stay off your feet however. Especially if you ever want to walk again.” Doctor Tanish’s voice startled Y/N out of her thoughts.

She glanced at Pol’s dozing figure before replying, “I’ve beaten those odds before. But I’ll try not to push my luck.”

He gave her a curt nod and left.

Y/N glanced around the room, grimacing as she remembered that her flat was upstairs. She also had no way to pay for it now until she was healthy enough to work again.

A soft knock got her attention. There by the door was Thomas, peeking his head through as if he were walking into her bed chamber not his office.

“How are you holding up?” Deep circles had carved themselves underneath his eyes. His already drawn features took on a more extreme form in the dim candlelight.

Y/N couldn’t take her eyes off him. “I’m doing pretty well, all things considering. I might need help upstairs, though.”

Thomas cleared his throat before entering the room. He paused a moment to consider the best course of action. Then with little warning he simply picked her up. She bit back a startled yelp, clinging to Thomas as he moved easily with her in his arms.

“Tommy!” she hissed. Y/N couldn’t properly lift her arms to wrap them around him securely, so she clung to the front of his shirt with all she had. Her knuckles turned white instantly.

He simply chuckled. “I think that’s the first time you’ve called me ‘Tommy’ since you got back. Maybe I should pick you up more.”

Y/N could already feel her ears heating up. “Don’t try and distract me with flirting.”

“Why not? It usually works.”

She didn’t reply as they reached her room. With horror she realized that her key was still in the pocket of her jacket. Which was probably in the back of some copper’s car.

Thomas seemed to read her mind, “You don’t have the key anymore do you?”

She shook her head.

He gently set Y/N down, careful not to jostle her. Then produced a pair of lockpicks, making quick work of the shoddy lock. A few moments later Y/N was sinking into her mattress slowly. 

Thomas kneeled beside her. She couldn’t see him; the darkness clouded his features. He reached out, fingertips the barest touch against her skin, to brush her hair out of her face.

Y/N would later blame the overall shittiness of the day for what she did next. She leaned into the touch. Her own hand reached up to cup his and press it to her lips. Thomas froze. But he didn’t pull away.

“Y/N.” His voice was gravilier than usual.

She wasn’t sure how long they sat there, but it felt like all the years that had been lost came back to life in seconds, all at once. Something between them had faded over time. Now was the first time either of them had actually reached back out for it. It was a tenderness they’d never let the world see. A secret of the trenches. A dream of what could be. 

Eventually, the spell broke, and she released her hold on him. At first he didn’t pull away. Then he stood, ending the moment all too quickly.

Thomas cleared his throat, “I...I need to head out. If I catch you on your feet, I swear I’ll send Aunt Pol after you.” 

Y/N chuckled, and pretended her smile was as genuine as she wanted it to be. “I’ll have to be careful and make sure you don’t catch me then.”

He rolled his eyes as he closed the door behind him.

Y/N let the darkness envelope her as she rolled onto her back. Her movements were stiff with pain. Exhaustion seeped into her joints and with Thomas gone there was nothing left to distract her. 

For the first time since it’d happened she let her mind wander over the events of the day, a sob ripped itself from her throat. Then another. She pressed the palm of her hand into her mouth in a desperate attempt to stifle herself. But Y/N couldn’t stop the tears from streaming like trails of fire down her cheeks.

[blinder-secrets]

#28 & #41 - Alfie

‘Whose blood is that?’ & ‘This is... exactly what is looks like.’

prompt list

It was starting to become a habit of yours, a God awful, chronic habit. Always in the wrong place at exactly the wrong time and today is no exception.

When Alfie had told you to come find him after work, to let yourself in and meet him in the bakery, you hardly expected the welcome party you were now faced with. You’re standing, with an apologetic Ollie behind you, and a blood-splattered baker in front. 

Alfie hadn’t heard you arrive, but he’s facing you now. He moves forward to put himself between you and the man lying in the dust of the factory. Like that would cover it, like you wouldn’t see. 

‘Alfie, what are you...’ You take an unintentional step toward him, unable to look away from the floor. ‘Is he...?’ You don’t know why you’re asking. It’s plain as fucking day what’s going on, what he’s done. The evidence is sitting right there at his feet. 

Alfie clears his throat. ‘This is, yeah, well, this is exactly what it looks like.’ He gives a little repetitive nod. ‘Yeah, just that. Alright, love?’ he asks, as if you’ll answer reasonably. As if you’ll go, oh okay, thanks for clearing that up Alfie. I was just checking. 

Of course, you say nothing; you can’t. You look between him, and the body, him, and the body. It’s a lad that works here, you’re sure, you’ve seen him shifting barrels a few times. 

‘Look, now don’t start fretting. It’s all under control, right, complete fuckin’ control.’ He starts toward you, free hand extended to turn you away from the scene. ‘Why don’t you go with Ollie, yeah, lovely Ollie, and wait in my office ‘til I’ve tidied up a bit?’

You dip your shoulder and flinch away from him before his palm can make contact. The blood on his hands has no place on your skin. ‘Tidy up?’ you scoff. ‘Yeah, just some spring cleaning, Alfie?’

‘Ollie,’ he ignores you, ‘take her somewhere quiet, hm, give her rum.’

Ollie nods. ‘Yes, Alfie.’ 

‘Good boy.’ 

The young lad turns to leave, waving you after him. You’ve learnt by now its better to follow first, confront later, so you do as you’re told. Alfie hums as you turn your back. He starts mumbling to himself, but the words are lost once you slip between the doors.

‘What did he do, Ollie? The lad on the floor?’ His legs are longer than yours, so you have to half-jog to stay level with him. To hold his eye. ‘Why did Alfie-’

‘I don’t know,’ he answers quickly. ‘Don’t ask me that.’

‘Well, he’s not just beating people for no reason, is he? Something must’ve happened.’

Ollie looks at you sideways but says nothing. He doesn’t have to. He either wasn’t there, doesn’t know, or is too scared to tell you the truth. The uncertainty of it sinks into your stomach like a lead weight. 

Once you’re in the office, it isn’t long before Alfie joins you. You’d been sitting in silence, you on the chair opposite his desk, Ollie on the bench by the door. Neither of you had anything to say, and little desire to look for conversation starters instead. He’d offered you rum and you’d declined, so the both of you sat quiet, eagerly waiting for Alfie’s company - which was loud and sudden. 

He pushes into the office with his usual uneven gait, his hands tangled in a now dirtied handkerchief. You stand to face him, all prepared arguments slipping into thin air once you see him. The door is barely closed behind him before he’s barking orders. ‘Right,’ he starts, ‘Ollie, fuck off home. Days over.’

He doesn’t need telling twice. Ollie’s out of the office before you can even catch his expression. 

‘Now, then,’ Alfie sighs, as his attention falls onto you. ‘Now, what am I going to do about you, hm?’

‘You could start with hello,’ you reply dryly. ‘Or sorry.’

‘And what, exactly, would I be giving this sorry for?’

For beating a man on the factory floor. For failing to lock the doors to the bakery when he knew you’d be coming. For expecting you to walk in, look the other way, and say nothing in return. ‘There’s quite the list,’ you answer.

He gives a single staccato hum. The cane is still in the crook of his arm, but the more you look at it the more violent it seems. It’s more crowbar than walking tool. 

Your eyes drop to the red-stained cloth in his hands. ‘Whose blood is that?’

‘Whose blood is that?’ he repeats. ‘Well, it’s mine, innit. Course it is. People don’t just go round fuckin’ bleeding on each other, do they?’

‘For Christ’s sake.’ You lean against the desk. ‘You don’t have to keep lying to me, you know, I’ve already seen the worst of it.’

‘Is that right?’ 

His hand lifts to his beard, combing over the shape of it a few times with his eyes steady on you. He does that a lot, stares without saying anything, and it’s always that same stare that’s held long enough to make you itch. Like he’s taking in all the vulnerable parts of you before you can hide them again. 

‘Listen, treacle.’ He steps toward you. ‘You haven’t seen the worst, nor will you ever fuckin’ see the worst. Cause the fuckin’ worst of me, yeah, is too much for your eyes, too much for your little heart, to handle.’

‘Aflie-

‘Fucking terrible. Terrible the things I do.’

He stops before you, so close that you feel yourself tense, your folded arms the only barrier between you. 

‘So,’ he continues, ‘when I come in here, yeah, and say the blood on my shirt is my own, it’s with your best interests in mind that I am saying it, alright? It’s for you.’

You nod before your common sense can stop it. 

‘Right. Good.’ He pulls away and you breathe again. ‘Rum?’

‘No,’ you answer, turning to watch him. 

He walks behind his desk and sets two glasses on the wood, the decanter already in his hand as he speaks again. ‘It’s a beautiful thing, innit, understanding one another.’ 

‘I’m not sure we do.’

‘Shame.’ He pours two drinks and sets the rum down. ‘Here I was, thinking we were getting somewhere nice, me and you, somewhere very fuckin’ nice.’

You were. Before tonight you were stumbling over yourself to get to know him, to get close to him. ‘It isn’t me,’ you tell him, ‘I’m not the one stopping it.’

He grumbles and sits slowly into the chair behind him. ‘No, I don’t suppose you are.’ His eyes are on the glass in his hands, his mind far away from it. 

‘Did he do something wrong?’ you ask, interrupting the heavy pause he’d left between you. The question’s hardly appropriate, implying there’s a crime justifying of that punishment, but it’s all you can manage to ask him. ‘Alfie?’

‘Hmm?’ He looks up. ‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘very wrong indeed, fuckin’ awful.’

You don’t believe him. His voice was higher when he said it.

‘That bad?’

‘Had to be done, really,’ he insists.

Despite declining before, you find yourself reaching for the second glass. ‘You won’t say what it was,’ you comment. ‘You’ll never tell me, will you?’ 

Alfie shakes his head. ‘It’s not good for you, alright, not good at all.’

‘Nothing ever is.’ You sit opposite and take a healthy sip of rum. There’s always something secret, something not for you to know. ‘How much do you keep from me, Alfie? How much am I allowed?’

‘Look, love, darling, it’s not hard.’ He leans forward in his seat, setting his weight onto his forearms. ‘What you’re allowed, yeah, is me. You get me. Not this, not fuckin’ this, and that, yeah, just me.’

You wash down your response with the rest of the rum, setting the empty glass back in front of him. 

‘Forget the rest,’ he says. ‘Forget the fuckin’ rest of it, yeah?’

‘Just you.’ You’re nodding but not in agreement. He’s not offering himself, he’s offering half of him; what happened out there is as much a part of him as the side you know, the side you’re fond of. There is no Alfie without violence, no smoke without fire, and yet it isn’t enough to turn you away. 

‘Another?’ he asks.

You nod. ‘Another.’

[datawyrms]

Weathering the Storm

Dannymay2020 day 23: Lightning (AO3)

It was odd to see Danny so clearly aggravated when not in class, shoulders hunched and arms crossed as if the world has personally offended him this morning. “I mean it, when I find Johnny I’m shoving his Shadow down his throat for this.”

“It’s just bad luck Danny, it can’t be that much trouble,” Tucker didn’t seem all that concerned about his mood, and it stuck the teacher as rather odd. The Fenton boy was a chronic work dodger and consistently late, but threatening people by name was new. He had dismissed the boy’s brush with destructive tendencies as a one off thing as the behaviour had not continued, but perhaps he had been too hasty. Even if the threat was ultimately nonsensical, the vehemence had sounded quite real.

The boy scowled at his friend, “I got struck by lig-” he broke off mid sentence as his eyes caught sight of Mr. Lancer. Was he afraid that his teacher was overhearing him? He had dropped his arms and somehow slouched more, doing his best to be as small and unnoticeable as possible. Had he done something to cause such fear in his student? He could think of a few incidents that would make the boy dislike him, certainly, but not fear him.

“Hi Mr. Lancer!” Tucker showed no such hesitation, moving as if to block his blue eyed friend from his sightline. “The report isn’t due until next Monday, right?”

“That’s correct Mr. Foley. If you have it completed by Friday I’d be happy to suggest improvements you could make over the weekend,” he answered, not that the boy would do that. He’d extended the offer several times, and the little trio didn’t seem all that interested in actually using it.

“Thanks, just had to check!”

Tucker had been acting as a distraction almost, seeing as Sam and Danny had slunk away as he’d taken up most of Mr. Lancer’s attention. It was odd. Did they really think they had to go to such lengths? Danny’s words had been a little concerning, but not something to think he’d be punished over. He would simply need to keep an eye on them today, if he was unintentionally causing fear he had a duty to correct that. The boy had enough trouble learning as it was.

Mr. Fenton was incredibly jumpy. Usually he’d slump at his desk to the point one could argue the lad did not even possess a spine. Today he seemed almost hyper alert, eyes darting and fingers constantly fiddling with a pencil or paper as the heavy rain battered against the windows. Yet whatever he was on such high alert for, it wasn’t what they were discussing, his answers just as lost and confused as they were when he was half asleep. He was starting to worry it was indeed his presence getting the child so distressed until a booming crack of thunder followed by a blinding flash of lightning from the storm outside painted a very different picture.

He’d practically slammed his head into his desk, hands over his head while looking as stiff as a board. Even when the moment passed the black haired boy was slow to uncurl, only doing so fully after getting some sort of affirmative nod from Tucker or Sam.

When had he gotten such a strong fear of thunderstorms? The last time such a storm had come to Amity Park he had been perfectly fine. Or at least, had not reacted this strongly. If he was struggling to focus because of the storm, he had to do something to help.

“Mr. Fenton, a word please?” he said as Danny attempted to slide out the door at the end of class.

“Yes?” his teeth were gritted, the rest of his body language still reading as terribly stiff, almost like an over-tightened string.

He waited a moment before responding, not wanting to embarrass him by having other students overhear the question. “Is it the sound or the light that bothers you?” Danny wasn’t one to answer questions at the best of times, so being direct was an unfortunate consequence.

“The-what?” His brow furrowed, fingers clenching around the backpack more tightly. He did seem genuinely confused, but it could just be his teenaged pride not wanting to admit he had a phobia.

“I do not wish to embarrass you Mr. Fenton, but your reactions to the thunderstorm outside have been rather noticeable,” the boy squirmed a little on the spot, eyes darting at the door as if wondering if he could make a run for it, “Would studying in a room without windows help with that?”

“I’m not afraid of thunderstorms.” he looked away, hand clutching at his shoulder. The rolling rumble of thunder warning that another bolt was coming made the boy visibly flinch, turning and darting out of the room without being dismissed.

He couldn’t force him to take offered help, but couldn’t understand who Danny thought he was fooling. People who were safely indoors did not usually run from thunderclaps. If he thought his friends would be more forthcoming he would consult with them, but they had proven to be just as stubborn. Still, there was plenty of school day left. The boy might change his mind.

-

“Why does he have to pay attention to me today of all days?” The half ghost moaned, face buried in his palms, lunch untouched.

“I told you not to break his motorcycle.”

“I’m going to shove it in a thermos and bury it next time,” his eyes flared a brilliant green, a helpful elbow from Tucker making him cover his face again.

“Is the bad luck making the flare ups worse?” Sam frowned at the muffled green light, eyes watching the rest of the noisy cafeteria. 

“Sorta?” Danny managed to look up, returning to rubbing at his shoulder. “I got hit by lightning on the way here.”

Tucker winced in sympathy. “Owch.”

“Three times.”

“I’d wonder how you survived that but this is you we’re talking about.” Sam still looked concerned, fiddling with a wristband.

“My ectoplasm just loves it apparently. I don’t think I’ve been this wide awake in months,” he returned to bouncing his leg up and down, as if unable to keep still.

“You gonna eat that?”

He shook his head. “I’m not even close to hungry, go nuts.”

Tucker helped himself to the untouched meal “You feeling okay though? That still had to hurt.”

“Other than feeling like I’ve been chugging coffee all day, yeah.”

“Which is why you keep rubbing at your shoulder. Because you feel fine.” Sam scowled as the half ghost looked at the ceiling.

“I do, really. I can just. Feel the lightning coming and it throbs a bit. It’s more annoying than anything.”

“Creepy. The scars start showing up again?” Tucker leaned closer, eyes narrowing at his friend’s neck.

Danny snorted, batting his friend away. “They’re not green at least. Yet.”

“Maybe you should just put the sweater on now then? Unless you want someone to notice you have scars on your arms that weren’t there this morning.”

“It’s so hot in that thing! It’s in my backpack, don’t worry about it.” he stopped mid shrug, wincing seconds before a flash of lighting.

“Hair.”

The now white haired boy ducked down, muttering crossly as he fumbled with his bag.

“Good thing no one pays attention to the loser squad.” Tucker managed to keep back a laugh by confirming absolutely no one had noticed his friend's sudden dye job.

“No kidding.” Danny groused, reappearing with sweater in hand, hair back to it’s natural black. “If this keeps up I’m going to start falling through things again.”

Sam bit her lip. “Maybe you should just skip?”

“And go where? Outside and get struck some more? No thanks. With my luck I’d get mode locked or something.”

“You could just stay invisible.”

The hybrid considered it, but shook his head. “If I’m stuck here I might as well get credit for it.”

“Well if you start glowing, I don’t have any idea why,” Sam warned, earning a small chuckle from the both of them.

-

Danny’s anxious behaviour only seemed to intensify throughout the day. He stuck close to his two friends as usual, but was never completely still, always moving or jiggling, eyes always darting around as if he had to stay alert from an unknown threat. Just watching him was exhausting. For someone who insisted he was not frightened, he was grabbing on to Sam or Tucker with surprising regularity. The two of them didn’t seem to mind, almost as if they were used to this sort of thing. Strange. By the end of the day the boy was bundled up in some oversized sweater, which only made him look even more pale and stressed out. Perhaps he could suggest private study time for days like this to Jazz, he might listen to his elder sister.

Well, he probably wouldn’t, but not doing anything was giving him that terrible twisting guilt gut that did not care if he couldn’t force help upon people who refused it. He would suggest it tomorrow if this behaviour continued. The final bell was practically a blessing, the school quieting as teacher and student alike filed out into the dreadful weather, colourful umbrellas giving a small reprieve from all the grey. Usually he had to stay longer because of a detention, but the lousy weather seemed to curb any desire to skip out on class. Small blessings. With a folder snugly underarm and umbrella in hand he headed towards the exit closest to his car and froze.

Danny was still here? He could barely make the boy stay in class when it was in session, and here he was lurking near the exit like some sort of frightened cat.

“Mr. Fenton?”

The boy lept in surprise, back slamming against the wall as if he had to escape quickly. Yet he didn’t seem to be holding anything to cause trouble with. Just himself, the beat up backpack, and the sweater he was doing his best to melt into. “Mr. Lancer?” his voice was almost a squeak.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I notice you don’t have an umbrella.” Perhaps sticking to facts and not suggesting the boy was scared could convince him to take some help this time. He practically looked to be on the verge of a panic attack.

“Oh! Yeah! Forgot it, I’m fine.” he sputtered, but the speed of his breathing slowed. He’d been that startled?

“I have a spare if you need it. Do you plan to walk home?”

The pale boy squirmed under his gaze, eyes darting behind him occasionally. “I’m fine. Jazz can give me a ride.”

The teacher looked out the window and frowned. “I don’t see her car Mr. Fenton. Did you forget to ask her to wait?”

He swallowed, apparently not expecting to be caught in his lie. “Must have. It’s okay, she’ll come back.”

Lancer crossed his arms, trying not to sigh. Why did teenagers insist on being so bullheaded? “There’s no reason to force her to come back. I’ll give you a lift.”

Danny looked as if he’d offered to chop his head off rather than provide a dry way home. “No it’s okay! Thanks though. I’m good.”

“Are you too afraid to go outside right now?” The question was blunt, but it was only the two of them, and he wasn’t going to leave a terrified boy alone in a darkened school because he said he was ‘okay’.

“I’m not afraid!” he insisted, grabbing at his shoulder yet again. A tell to his lies? “Really, I’m fine and she’s already coming.”

“Then I suppose I’ll wait with you until she arrives.”

His wince was expected. “Y-you don’t need to do that.”

“Oh but I do Mr. Fenton. I will not leave a student unattended after hours, making sure you leave safely is in my job description.” That, and keeping him from causing trouble in the school unobserved was also part of the job.

“Could you like. Not do your job then? Please?” he slumped at Lancer’s significant stare. “Didn’t think so.”

“Do you plan to wait until the storm passes? It could go on all night Mr. Fenton.” To be so afraid as to not even walk to where a car would be waiting was incredibly severe, and it wasn’t sitting quite right with him. He almost seemed more afraid of being observed than anything. Did his parents discourage showing any kind of fear? No, everyone knew the boy was afraid of ghosts, so it didn’t add up.

“No. I’m just waiting for you to mind your own business.” he muttered into his sweater, arms crossed in his own little act of defiance. 

“Unfortunately for you, your well being is my business while you’re here.”

“Unless Dash is involved, then I’m invisible.”

He could have sworn the boy’s eyes changed for a moment there, amplifying the bitterness in the child’s tone. “I was under the impression he had stopped, as you haven’t brought it up since.”

That got a laugh, though his eyes remained icy. “Nope.”

Too many students and not enough eyes. He couldn’t know everything, though it would explain why he wouldn’t be more open, if he was under the impression he would be ignored. “You can tell me about it now, and I can look into it.”

“No thanks.” he rubbed at the same shoulder, brow creased in what looked to be pain.

Always rejecting help. Well, he’d at least make sure he wasn’t alone until he chose to leave.

It was a good thing he had, too. The latest flash of lighting prompted a grunt from the teenager, who appeared to have tripped over his own feet. So badly that he couldn’t even see the foot that must have twisted, he might have broken something. He managed to catch him before he hit the floor, wondering how the boy felt so cold even when bundled up in the sweater. “‘The Metamorphosis’ Mr Fenton, are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” he squirmed out of his teacher’s outstretched arms, standing easily on a foot he could have sworn must have twisted too far to be uninjured. “I just tripped, sheesh!”

Yet in his speed to be on his own to feet the sweater had shifted, granting Lancer a glimpse of his arms. Angry green scars that seemed to glow with their own light made the boy’s fear of lightning suddenly very understandable.

After all, they knew there had been an accident, but not what it had entailed.

“You were electrocuted, Mr Fenton?”

The boy gulped, hastily hiding the scars as if it was some sort of dirty secret. “I’m fine, really.”

“You don’t have to be fine. ‘Great Expectations’ Danny, it is perfectly understandable to be frightened if you had a serious accident involving electricity.”

The boy blinked at him. “What. You-you’re not weirded out?”

Was he embarrassed because the scars were green? Honestly, teenagers. “I assume whatever accident you were in involved your family’s inventions. Considering I see ghosts every other day, ghostly electricity scars seem almost quaint, Mr Fenton.” Sure, he did question how it had happened, and had some serious concerns about his family’s safety practices, but it was more important to let him know he would not judge him over this little affliction. “I suppose they only show up in weather like this?”

“Mmhm. It’s no big deal, really.”

No big deal he says, while acting like a jackrabbit all day. “It does make your hesitation to go out with lightning striking understandable. However, it would be better if we could get you home. Would bringing the car closer help?”

The boy groaned again, rubbing at his forehead. “Sure. I guess.”

“I’ll be right back then.”

Which he was, pulling the car right to the curb was easy enough. Yet Danny had up and vanished. He probably should have expected that, the boy was incredibly slippery when he wanted to be. He hadn’t spotted him leaving, yet he could spot muddy footprints being washed away by the unyielding rain. Where had he snuck off to? Further pondering was lost to the sound of someone yelling in pain, and it felt uncomfortably familiar. The voice’s owner couldn’t be far, so he gripped his umbrella tight and went to check it out.

“Four times? Whoever said lighting doesn’t strike twice is a dirty liar, and I hate them.” Phantom was muttering furiously at the ground, sparks cracking around his white aura. “Stupid Shadow.”

Well, the ghost was a teenager. At least he seemed to be more annoyed than seriously hurt, the scream had been rather unpleasant. Probably best to leave the ghost alone. He seemed nice enough, but the constant warning from the Fentons did make one a bit wary. If his help was just an act, being alone with him was probably not the safest thing in the world. Yet as the ghost took flight something about him struck him as oddly familiar. Had there been glowing green scars on the ghost’s neck? No, the ghost was always glowing, and the idea was absurd. He must have been mistaken.

[linastudyblrsblog]

Burnout, unfortunately, is everywhere. If you haven’t experienced it personally, you probably know someone who has self-diagnosed.

 Defined by the World Health Organization as a syndrome “conceptualized as resulted from chronic workplace stress,” it causes exhaustion, “feelings of negativism or cynicism,” and reduced efficacy. That’s a big umbrella, and the condition has become something of a catch-all for chronic, modern-day stress. 

Here are 11 of our favorites to help you create your own escape plan:

1. Figure out which kind of burnout you have.

The Association for Psychological Science found that burnout comes in three different types, and each one needs a different solution:

1. Overload: The frenetic employee who works toward success until exhaustion, is most closely related to emotional venting. These individuals might try to cope with their stress by complaining about the organizational hierarchy at work, feeling as though it imposes limits on their goals and ambitions. That coping strategy, unsurprisingly, seems to lead to a stress overload and a tendency to throw in the towel.

2. Lack of Development: Most closely associated with an avoidance coping strategy. These under-challenged workers tend to manage stress by distancing themselves from work, a strategy that leads to depersonalization and cynicism — a harbinger for burning out and packing up shop.

3. Neglect: Seems to stem from a coping strategy based on giving up in the face of stress. Even though these individuals want to achieve a certain goal, they lack the motivation to plow through barriers to get to it

2. Cut down and start saying “no.”

Every “yes” you say adds another thing on your plate and takes more energy away from you, and your creativity:

If you take on too many commitments, start saying ‘no’. If you have too many ideas, execute a few and put the rest in a folder labeled ‘backburner’. If you suffer from information overload, start blocking off downtime or focused worktime in your schedule (here are some tools that may help). Answer email at set times. Switch your phone off, or even leave it behind. The world won’t end. I promise.

3.  Give up on getting motivated.

With real burnout mode, you’re too exhausted to stay positive. So don’t:

When you’re mired in negative emotions about work, resist the urge to try to stamp them out. Instead, get a little distance — step away from your desk, focus on your breath for a few seconds — and then just feel the negativity, without trying to banish it. Then take action alongside the emotion. Usually, the negative feelings will soon dissipate. Even if they don’t, you’ll be a step closer to a meaningful achievement.

4.  Treat the disease, not the symptoms. 

For real recovery and prevention to happen, you need to find the real, deeper issue behind why you’re burnt out:

Instead of overreacting to the blip, step back from it, see it as an incident instead of an indictment, and then examine it like Sherlock Holmes looking for clues.

For example, you could ask yourself: What happened before the slip? Did I encounter a specific trigger event such as a last-minute client request? Was there an unusual circumstance such as sickness? When did I first notice the reversion in my behavior? Is some part of this routine unsustainable and if so, how could I adjust it to make it more realistic?

5.  Make downtime a daily ritual.

To help relieve pressure, schedule daily blocks of downtime to refuel your brain and well-being. It can be anything from meditation to a nap, a walk, or simply turning off the wifi for a while:

When it comes to scheduling, we will need to allocate blocks of time for deep thinking. Maybe you will carve out a 1-2 hour block on your calendar every day for taking a walk or grabbing a cup of coffee and just pondering some of those bigger things. I can even imagine a day when homes and apartments have a special switch that shuts down wi-fi and data access during dinner or at night – just to provide a temporary pause from the constant flow of status updates and other communications…

There is no better mental escape from our tech-charged world than the act of meditation. If only for 15 minutes, the ability to steer your mind away from constant stimulation is downright liberating. There are various kinds of meditation. Some forms require you to think about nothing and completely clear your mind. (This is quite hard, at least for me.) Other forms of meditation are about focusing on one specific thing – often your breath, or a mantra that you repeat in your head (or out loud) for 10-15 minutes…

If you can’t adopt meditation, you might also try clearing your mind the old fashioned way – by sleeping. The legendary energy expert and bestselling author Tony Schwartz takes a 20-minute nap every day. Even if it’s a few hours before he presents to a packed audience, he’ll take a short nap.

6.  Stop being a perfectionist; start satisficing.

Trying to maximize every task and squeeze every drop of productivity out of your creative work is a recipe for exhaustion and procrastination. Set yourself boundaries for acceptable work and stick to them:

Consistently sacrificing your health, your well being, your relationships, and your sanity for the sake of living up to impossible standards will lead to some dangerous behaviors and, ironically, a great deal of procrastination. Instead of saying, “I’ll stay up until this is done,” say, “I’ll work until X time and then I’m stopping. I may end up needing to ask for an extension or complete less than perfect work. But that’s OK. I’m worth it.” Making sleep, exercise, and downtime a regular part of your life plays an essential role in a lasting, productive creative career.

7.  Track your progress every day.

Keeping track allows you to see exactly how much is on your plate, not only day-to-day, but consistently over time:

Disappointing feedback can be painful at first – research shows that failure and losses can hurt twice as much as the pleasure of equivalent gains. But if you discover you’re off course, reliable feedback shows you by how much, and you then have the opportunity to take remedial action and to plot a new training regime or writing schedule. The temporary pain of negative feedback is nothing compared with the crushing experience of project failure. Better to discover that you’re behind and need to start writing an hour earlier each day, than to have your book contract rescinded further down the line because you’ve failed to deliver.

8.  Change location often.

Entrepreneurs or freelancers can be especially prone to burnout. Joel Runyon plays “workstation popcorn,” in which he groups tasks by location and then switches, in order to keep work manageable, provide himself frequent breaks, and spend his time efficiently:

You find yourself spending hours at your computer, dutifully “working” but getting very little done. You finish each day with the dreaded feeling that you’re behind, and that you’re only falling farther and farther behind. You’re buried below an ever-growing to-do list. There’s a feeling of dread that tomorrow is coming, and that it’s bringing with it even more work that you probably won’t be able to get ahead on.

List out everything you need to do today. Try to be as specific as you can…Next, break that list into three sections. Step 1: Go to cafe [or desk, a different table in your office, etc.] #1. Step 2: Start working on item group #1…Once you finish all the tasks in group #1, get up and move. Close your tabs, pack your bags, and physically move your butt to your next spot. If you can, walk or bike to your next stop…When you get to the next cafe [or spot], start on the next action item group, and repeat…

When you’ve completed everything on your to-do list for the day, you are done working. Relax, kick back, and live your life. Don’t take work home with you because that won’t help you get more done – it will just wear you out.

9.  Don’t overload what downtime you do get.

Vacations themselves can cause, or worsen burnout, with high-stress situations, expectations, and sleep interruption. Use it to help in recovery from burnout instead: 

Make a flexible itinerary a priority. [A] study from Radboud University found that effective vacations give you the choice and freedom to choose what you want to do. That means two things: Try to avoid structuring your vacation around an unbreakable schedule, and plan on going somewhere that has multiple options to pick from depending on the weather, your level of energy, or your budget.

10. Write yourself fan mail.

Seth Godin uses self-fan mail as a way to keep motivated instead of burning out on a project that seems far from completion:

I define non-clinical anxiety as, “experiencing failure in advance.” If you’re busy enacting a future that hasn’t happened yet, and amplifying the worst possible outcomes, it’s no wonder it’s difficult to ship that work. With disappointment, I note that our culture doesn’t have an easily found word for the opposite. For experiencing success in advance. For visualizing the best possible outcomes before they happen. Will your book get a great testimonial? Write it out. Will your talk move someone in the audience to change and to let you know about it? What did they say? Will this new product gain shelf space at the local market? Take a picture. Writing yourself fan mail in advance, and picturing the change you’ve announced you’re trying, to make is an effective way to push yourself to build something that actually generates that action.

  11. Break projects into bite-sized pieces.

Taking a task on in one entire lump can be exhausting and provide little room for rest in between. Breaking up your projects into set chunks with their own deadlines provides a much healthier, and easier, way of completing a large project:

The default take on deadlines is typically to consider them to be cumbersome and stressful. Yet, from another perspective, a deadline can be viewed as a huge benefit to any project. Without the urgency of a hard deadline pushing a project to completion, it’s easy for you, your team, or your client to lose focus. We’ve all worked on agonizing projects where the timeline just bleeds on and on, merely because the flexibility is there…

It turns out that the manner in which a task is presented to someone – or the way in which you present it to your brain – has a significant impact on how motivated you will be to take action. A study led by researcher Sean McCrea at the University of Konstanz in Germany recently found that people are much more likely to tackle a concrete task than an abstract task… It seems to me like the difference between being handed a map versus following the step-by-step instructions of a GPS device. Not everyone can read a map, but everyone can follow the directions. By breaking your project down into smaller, well-described tasks, the way forward becomes clear and it’s easy to take action.

[aster-aspera]

Another drabble I wrote for my superhero AU, though this one turned out a lot longer than I expected.

masterlist for my superhero AU

Relationships: platonic/romantic DLAMP

CW: chronic pain, flare ups, some internalized ableism, mentions of Janus’s mom’s less than stellar parenting.

A/N: While this chapter vaguely draws on my experiences with my back and knees, I don’t have arthritis. I tried to do as much research as possible and hope I have managed to portray it correctly. If my depiction is in any way offensive or incorrect, please don’t hesitate to inform me and I will correct my mistakes or even delete this writing. Hope you enjoy <3

Janus woke up with that familiar hurt curled around his bones. He sighed wearily as he looked out the large stained glass windows. Rain was beating against the panes with a violent intensity. 

Some days he wondered why he stayed here, wouldn’t it be better to just move to a nice sunny country where the sky didn’t seem to want to drown them? Who was he kidding, this city would never let him go, rain and his aching bones be damned.

He rolled over in bed a few times, hoping stubbornly the pain would allow him to sleep a little longer. It was way too early to even think about getting up, in his opinion. After a few more minutes of his body complaining and aching, he wearily dragged himself out of bed. 

He fumbled around for his cane and slowly made his way to the kitchen. He popped a heat pad into the microwave and switched on the kettle. Fortunately, it was still filled with water, meaning he didn’t have to struggle with taps right now. Picking up the heating pad had been hard enough with his hands feeling like they had been run over by a steamroller.

Why did it have to be today of all days? It wasn’t like he’d had that many plans but he had been meaning to at least get some work done. 

There was no way he’d be able to do much of anything today, merely the thought of typing made him cringe, let alone the thought of actually going outside. 

When his heat pad was warm, he curled up on the couch in the most comfortable position he could find and resigned himself to a day spent watching mindless television.

Somewhere around ten, a call came in and Janus fumbled to answer it with his stiff and aching fingers. 

“Damore,” He introduced curtly. If it was another bullshit telemarketer he was going to strangle someone. Once his body was halfway functioning again, of course.

“Hello Janus,” Logan’s voice filtered through the phone speakers, in the background he heard Roman yell something. “Yes, I’ll ask, now could you please be quiet,” Logan said, presumably to Roman.

Janus felt his lips quirk up into a smile despite himself.

“We were wondering if you would like to accompany us to Carntos forest, we were planning a hike.” The smile slipped off Janus's face. Of all days to have a flare up.

“As much as I would love to, I’m afraid I can’t come. Maybe some other day.” He tried not to sound too bitter. 

“Oh,” Logan sounded disappointed “why not?”

Janus hesitated. Usually, he would just grasp at the nearest convenient lie, he could easily tell them he was busy with work. But, he’d been learning not to do that, to let them in, not to bury himself in lies and mystery. 

“I’m not feeling too well today,” He eventually said, he didn’t feel like explaining his condition right now. His mother’s words still echoed in his head.

They wouldn’t think him weak, would they? They were good people. But after a lifetime of being told that he was faking it and to suck it up, he wasn’t exactly keen to share it with other people. He was supposed to be strong, a terrifying villain, not someone who could barely get out of bed some days.

He was shook out of his self deprecating thoughts by Logan. “Are you alright? Do we need to come over?” He asked, his voice filled with concern.

Janus felt emotion well up in his throat, not a lot of people held so much concern for him. He shook his head. Really? He was getting all teary eyed over some polite sympathy?

“No, I’m fine. I hope you enjoy your hike.” He pressed the end call button before Logan could say something else that would make him bawl like a baby.

He was just dozing off uncomfortably, when a knock on his door startled him. 

Who was even…?

He got up painfully and limped to the door, leaning heavily on his cane. He grabbed the gun from its hiding place before opening the door. It never hurt to be cautious. When he opened it, he was greeted by four smiling faces.

“Hi,” Patton greeted cheerfully, “We brought soup.” He held up a large container. 

In that eloquent way of his, Janus just stuttered out “What?”

Roman gently grabbed his shoulders and steered him back inside, putting the gun down on the table. The others followed, Virgil laden with a variety of food and Logan carrying some dvd’s. Patton made his way into the kitchen and started clattering around in the cabinets. 

“We’re here to take care of you,” Roman explained as he sat Janus down on the couch. Then he abruptly drew back “It’s not contagious is it?” 

“No, it’s not,” Janus said, distracted by Patton and Virgil doing god knows what in the kitchen and Logan heading towards his bedroom. They had all invaded his space with a swift efficiency.

“Great, so what’s wrong?” Roman asked, sitting down on the couch opposite him.

“It’s…” Janus’s mind was not cooperating right now. He tried to think of something.

“Dude, I’m literally a nurse, you can tell me.”

“I’d rather not.” Janus said, sounding a lot more defensive than he had meant. He was just slightly stressed out by these people barging into his house and Roman pestering him. He really wanted a nap and for today to be over.

Roman looked him over critically. “Fine, you don’t have to tell me, but we’re not leaving till you feel better.”

“Prepare to stay a while then,” Janus couldn’t help himself from laughing bitterly.

Roman’s eyebrows scrunched up adorably and then he smiled. “Well, that’s good, ‘cause Patton brought lots of food, so we can hang around for as long as needed.”

Janus curled his shoulders protectively. “You don’t have to.”

“But we want to.” Logan had appeared from the bedroom with an armful of blankets and was looking at Janus with such gentle and loving eyes and Janus had absolutely no idea how to deal with any of this. Why were they here? Why would they ditch their plans just to take care of him? Why did they even care?

Virgil and Patton came in too, carrying a tray laden with fresh buns, fruit, a bowl of soup and some tea. Janus’s stomach grumbled noisily. He’d only really eaten some crackers, as he didn’t have the energy to prepare anything more fancy than that.

“I don't know what you want to eat right now, so I’d thought I’d go with the classics for someone who’s sick but I have other stuff too, if you want.” Patton fretted.

“No, this is fine.” Janus replied. 

He made to eat the soup then stopped abruptly. There was no way he could manage that, his hands were aching all the way from the tips of his fingers to his elbows and they were so stiff he could barely curl them around the spoon, let alone coordinate them enough to eat.

He suddenly felt very vulnerable, with all of them staring at him. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m actually not really in the mood for soup.” He apologized and reached for the bread. That, at least he could eat without too much trouble.

“That’s fine, we just need to make sure you eat something. You’ll never get better if you starve yourself,” Patton replied cheerfully.

Janus cringed internally. They didn’t know, he couldn’t blame them for it, but god, did those words hurt. Always that same question: are you better yet?

“So, which movie do you want to watch?” Roman burst out, eager to get started on that.

“Maybe you should first ask him if he even wants to watch a movie, you idiot.” Virgil hissed.

“All right, no need to rain on the black parade, sunshine,” Roman defended.

Logan rolled his eyes.

“I’d love to watch a movie,” Janus said before the two could start a full blown argument.

The others settled into the couch and Janus barely suppressed a whimper when Logan jostled his legs. Wow, he was really pathetic today.

Despite his best efforts, Logan noticed his discomfort and looked at him, his eyebrows knitted in concern. 

“Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Janus immediately deflected, then when Logan’s eyebrows did not change their stance “It’s just… my knees hurt, so please be careful.”

“Oh, did you hurt them during patrol?” Patton asked. 

“Patrol?” 

“You fell off a roof?”

Oh, yeah, that had happened. His cheeks heated up in shame as Virgil tried to stifle a laugh. Jumping over rooftops was not his forte. The fall itself had probably looked a lot worse than it actually was, he had only vaguely scraped his elbows.

“Yeah, I remember. No it’s not that.”

“Really? It looked like a pretty bad fall, it would make sense that your knees hurt after something like that.”

Patton didn’t seem like he would let it go anytime soon. He was clearly worried about Janus. He sighed, it was going to come to light some day, better to bite the bullet now than to wait for when he would be forced to reveal it. He took a deep breath, oddly nervous. He shouldn’t be this worried, they cared for him, they were his friends, they had come all the way here to take care of him.

“I’m actually just having a bad flare up today.” 

A beat of silence followed his statement and Janus tried not to panic. But Roman just nodded understandingly.

“You mind if I ask what…?”

“Rheumatoid arthritis, symptoms started when I was about seventeen.”

“You could have just told us, honey,” Patton exclaimed.

“I don’t always feel comfortable sharing it”

“Well, I’m happy you felt comfortable sharing it with us,” Virgil said.

“Yes, I’m happy you trust us with this knowledge, Janus.” 

What was this annoying fuzzy feeling in his stomach? It was probably the tea, or maybe the buns, who knew what Patton put in those.

“Do you need anything?” Roman asked.

“Well, some more heat pads would be nice.”

“I'll get it.” Virgil got up.

“Does it jostle you too much when we sit on the couch?” Logan asked.

Janus hesitated, he was already bothering them so much, it really wasn’t polite to kick them off the couch too.

“Jan, sweety, please be honest with us, we don’t want to hurt you,” Patton pleaded.

“Yeah, it does.”

All of them happily moved to the floor, laying down some pillows and blankets so it was still comfortable. Virgil returned and passed him the heat pads.

“So, how long do these flare ups usually last?” Roman asked.

“Usually most of the day, sometimes longer.” 

“Well, as Roman promised, we’re staying here as long as it lasts.”

“Yay! Slumber party,” Patton exclaimed.

“As long as you don’t throw any pillows at me,” Logan sighed, before promptly getting hit in the face by a pillow from Virgil. He looked at him with a look of utter betrayal.

Eventually, everyone got settled and they turned the movie back on. Janus tried his best to focus on the plot but soon found himself drifting off.

[contrabandhothead]

Talbert. Any Talbert. We just need some Talbert once in a while.

childhood friends - floyd talbert

this gif is originally from here

- CHILDHOOD -

you and Tab had always been the talk of the town, even when you were young

the ladies in their finest Sunday dress constantly remarked that you two would be together someday

but of course, you two were kids, so you didn’t care

the only thing that mattered to you two was who could run the fastest and the glory of sitting under your shared sycamore tree

the sycamore tree had always been your spot, ever since Tab broke his arm while trying to climb it when you were both young

perhaps it wasn’t the largest thing in this small town, but it was the most sacred thing to the two of you

perhaps the only thing that mattered

Floyd did always say, as long as that tree was there, he’d be by your side

you two were the best of friends, close as close can be

you shared everything: your lunch, your tree, your families, your houses, the flu you caught

hell, even your clothes

you two had been through everything together as well, the highs and lows

but everthing began to change when puberty hit

you had started to develop this warm feeling in your chest, a feeling that spread all the way from your aching heart to the tips of your toes

but only when Floyd was around, it didn’t happen with anyone else

when you asked your mom one night about it while she tucked you in, she just laughed and said that you’d find out soon enough

you began to feel uncomfortable around Floyd

i mean, no one would tell you what was happening, and it only ever happened when Floyd was around

so logically speaking, Floyd must be making you sick!

although this was the conclusion you came to, you never avoided him

i mean, how could you??? he was the Floyd to your [y/n], and you were the [y/n/n] to his Tab!

the sickness started to get worse as each day passed

now, instead of just the warm fuzzy feeling, you were getting swarms of butterflies in the pits of your stomach

their wings flapped like crazy whenever he was around... it was almost as bad as the one time you had to give a presentation in front of the whole class!

you finally got your diagnosis when you were 13: chronically in love with Floyd Talbert

and it was the worst

you recieved your diagnosis at Mary Baker’s sleepover

you weren’t even sure why she invited you

i mean, sure you two were friends, but no one could top Tab’s friendship

your bond was tight as a corset, and it was as elusive as smoke

when you had told the rest of the girl’s about how Tab was making you sick, they giggled as you described your symptoms

Alice screeched when you told her about the butterflies, exclaiming “you’re not sick, silly! you’re in love with him!”

that was perhaps the most frightening moment of your life, and the one that unlocked doors to a whole new world of possibilities

you had decided that night, lying awake in your sleeping bag in the dark, that you were going to confess to Tab

that’s how all love stories start... right? i mean, that’s how mommy and daddy started dating

besides, Tab always felt the same way about stuff that you did, so why would he not feel the same love you felt for him?

you found yourself in quite the rude awakening when school came

you and Tab always met at the corner by the schoolyard... it was convienent, and most people didn’t wait for others there

but today was different

you knew he had been making more friends than you, or what he called “broadening” his “horizons” (which you told him was a load of hogwash), but you didn’t know that he had acquired so many in the past couple of weeks

you recognized a few of their faces, like Bobby Olson and Henry Freeman, but the majority of them appeared to be upperclassmen

you watched them begin to make their way up to the school, staring at them questioningly

Floyd always waited for you, even if you were late or sick

your curiousity began to get the best of you, and you felt yourself itching to run up to Floyd and curse him out so hard that your momma would wash your mouth with soap for the next 20 years

instead, you chose to trail behind them, hanging on to their every word... but you soon learned that you wish you had just kept the cat in the bag

Henry smacked his lips together obnoxiously as he chewed his apple, he’d always been a slob

“say, Floyd, what about that [y/l/n] gal that’s always around you, what about her? you could always ask her out, ya know. she ain’t an ugly broad, and her family’s nice. hey, and i heard she even knows how to shoot a gun! ” He stuffed his uneaten apple into his bag, and you knew that it would rot there for the rest of the year.

Floyd scoffed at him, rolling his eyes and pulling at his lip. He’d always had that bad habit. “are you serious, Hen? i’d never ask her out if my life depended on it! yeah, sure, she ain’t ugly, but she ain’t pretty either. her family ain’t nothing but white trash either. now that girl, Mary Baker? i’m going for her, she’s a real lady.”

you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes as you blocked their next words out, feeling the corners of your eyes sting with each new drop

you and Tab were best friends, you were supposed to be best friends. how could he say something so cruel about you?

you wish you could be more shocked, but you weren’t

Floyd had always been superficial, but you knew this was a whole new level

pulling your worn hand-me-down cap over your eyes, you shuffled into the dingy classroom

you somehow managed to barely converse with Tab, despite the fact that both of your desks were next to each other for each class

you even walked home without him, something you’d never done

it felt wrong without him at your side, like a piece of you was missing

when your mother asked you what’s wrong, you broke down, slamming the cap you had on all day on to the table

in an angry outburst, you had told her what Floyd had said

she wrapped her arms around you, cradling you close as your body wracked with sobs

later that night, when she was stroking your hair on the couch, you finally spoke

“momma... why does it hurt so much?”

she sighed and shook her head, continuing to thread her fingers through your hair as she spoke

“baby, your first heartbreak is gonna be the worst.”

Floyd knew something was wrong, but he never asked

and true to his word, he was dating Mary Baker now

and Mary, bless her soul, she had asked you if it was okay for her to go out with him

she told you she wasn’t sure if you still liked him, but she wanted to check with you before she said yes

and though you were jealous of her, you tried so hard to hate her.... but you just couldn’t

it wasn’t her fault that Floyd didn’t love you, she never made him say those things

you told her it was okay and that you didn’t like him like that anymore, but your conscious was screaming at you that you were a liar

Floyd was getting desperate, he was trying everything at this point

every time he asked your momma if you could come play with him, he always got the same answer

“she’s not home right now, but i’m sure she’d love to some other day”

you were never free the next day, even though he knew you were home

Floyd had even begun to throw rocks at your window during ungodly hours of the night, the pebbles making tiny thwacking noises against your window

he hadn’t been in your house in so long that he began to think that you had moved rooms or that you slept through it all, but you had heard every single rock hit the window

the only time Floyd ever saw you was at school, and even then you still barely spoke to him

you started hanging out with a new group of people, including his girlfriend, and for a while, Floyd gave up

but he was starting to get fed up

fed up with his friends, fed up with his girlfriend, fed up with his mom asking him where you were, fed up with the letters he kept writing you that he never sent, fed up with the fact that your beautiful smile wasn’t lighting up every room he entered

so he snapped

he stopped hanging out with his friends, he yelled at his mom, he tore up the letters, and he tried to forget about you... but he couldn’t

every time he kissed Mary, he wished it was you, and it was driving him mad that it wasn’t

so he broke up with her

you were sitting in the field behind the school when Mary had run up to you, and at first you were happy to see her

but you soon became worried when you noticed her tear-streaked face, her mascara creating inky black tears

you threw your book down, standing up quickly and enveloping her in a warm hug

she clung to you as she cried, her tears soaking the shoulder of your shirt

“Mary, what happened?” you questioned

she just sobbed harder, and your eyes began to focus on a familiar pair of shoes that stood behind her

trailing your eyes up the legs of Floyd, you met his eyes

you narrowed your own, letting go of Mary for a moment

“you did this,” you seethed, anger spewing from every orifice of your body. “you did this, Floyd.”

Floyd finally found his voice, breaking his silence with a small whisper. “[y/n/n]...”

when the familiar name rolled of his tongue, you lost it. jabbing a finger in his face, you screeched, “no, Floyd. you don’t get to say my name. you don’t get to whisper it like it means something to you when it clearly doesn’t! me and my family were there for you, we helped you with everything! i took care of you when you got the flu. i gave you my socks when you lost yours, even though i didn’t have another pair for winter. i helped you learn to read when you were struggling. my mother cooked you breakfast, my mother gave you a place to stay for the night when you felt like you couldn’t show your sorry face at home. how dare you go and disrespect us, after all we’ve fucking done for you! you broke Mary’s heart, and you left me the moment some new people came along. you’re a bad person, Floyd! you’re horrible! i hate you!”

Floyd didn’t see you for two weeks after that

he knocked on your door every day after the initial week, but all that he got was a firm door slammed in his face by your parents

by the 15th day, he had had enough

when your mother went to slam the door, he slammed his foot in between the door and the frame

it hurt like a bitch, but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make in order to see you

“Mrs. [y/l/n], please, i need to see her!”

your mother paused at the urgency in his voice, contemplating her choices

you had been pent up in your room for weeks, barely eating or getting out of bed... she could see you wasting away

besides, Floyd was like her own child, and it pained her to refuse him

she peeked out her head from behind the door, taking a good look at Floyd

he was haggard. his cheek bones were sunken in, and he looked like he hadn’t seen a hair brush in days.

your mother slowly opened up the door, clenching her jaw.

“Floyd Talbert, if you don’t fix whatever you did to my baby girl, i promise i’ll skin you alive.”

Floyd nodded, anxiously glancing behind your mother to see if he could spot you

when Floyd opened your door, he quickly spotted the lump underneath the mass of threadbare blankets you were hoarding, with your head nowhere in sight

you groaned, pulling away from your warm cocoon. “ma, i said i don’t want any...” you trailed off, locking eyes with the boy that you never wanted to see in your room again.

you grabbed the book closest to you on your nightstand, chucking it at his head

he ducked, but the flurry of books just kept coming

“you son of” another book. “a fucking bitch!” another book “i will” another book. “clock you so hard” another book. “you’ll fly into next tuesday!” you threw two more just for emphasis

Floyd held his hands up in front of his face, attempting to bat away the books. “jesus- oh my- dear lord, how many fucking books do you have? for christ’s sake [y/n], can you please just listen to me?”

you stopped, but not willingly... you ran out of books

angrily staring at one another, you both huffed in anger

Floyd stared at you, finally breaking the silence.... he was always the first to apologize

“look, i messed up, okay? i should’ve never said those things about you and your family. you’re not ugly, you’re the most beautiful girl i know. and i’m sorry i called your family trash, that’s not true. you’re right, i was being an ass, and you deserve an apology. i only dated Mary to get popular, and that was wrong of me. she deserves an apology too, but you deserve one first...” you could see the tears welling up in his eyes, and his adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “i miss you, okay? i fucked up so bad, and the only person to ever really know me as well as i know myself left me. i miss you so much [y/n/n], you don’t even know. i used to write you letters, ya know? i never sent them, and i regret it. you’re the only person i care about right now, and i don’t deserve your forgiveness, but i need you. please.”

his voice crumbled to a whimper at the end, and he fell to his knees crying. you ran over, cradling his head in your hands as you rocked him back and forth. you silenced his whimpers, kissing the top of his head.

“ya know, i haven’t seen you cry like this since you broke your arm.”

Floyd smiled, a choked sob leaving his throat

you sighed, humming a small tune to yourself

“i missed you too, Floyd. and i’m a liar, i don’t hate you. what you did was wrong, but i love you too much to hold it against you.”

Floyd glanced up at you, hope in his teary eyes. “friends again?” he whispered, not sure if this was real.

“i missed you, Floyd.”

you and Floyd hadn’t been separated since, practically conjoined at the hip once again. everything seemed to be fine. that is, until the war happened.

wow this is garbage and i just spent like an hour on it... anyways, i’m so sorry this request is so old, but we all need some good Tab in our lives. should i do a part 2???? i hope you guys have a good day/week 💕