#as of an hour ago he was still very lethargic and not wanting to eat/drink on his own

[creaturebloom]

eddie (world’s sweetest boy) has contracted parvo despite not being in contact with any other dogs because apparently canine parvo can just survive for years without a host and it’s just everywhere all the time. also racoons and skunks can carry it ! which we have had a problem with in our neighborhood since forever !

he was set to get his vaccines on the 19th of this month (november), but very unfortunately this happened first

fees are obviously insane, looking at over $1000 just for 3 days of care, not including overnight vet fees because he’ll (most likely) have to be transferred to a 24 hour clinic tonight, and it’s all going on credit cards.

if you have anything to spare my cash app is: $creaturetarot

i can’t offer anything in return except for my sincere gratitude, but i don’t want to get into my whole life sob story - if you know, you know.

please just uhhhh send good vibes or pray or whatever it is you do. this little boy has brought so much joy to my family in a time where that’s hard to come by, so please please just keep him in your thoughts ♥

[fbfh]

I think you've horribly misread the situation [shitty roommate pt 2] - leo x reader

wc: 2.3k

genre: contemporary drama, you're definitly going to get second hand embarrassment, cozy fluff

pairing: leo x reader, attempted isabella x leo

reader: gender neutral, they/them

requested: hell yeah

warnings: mild swearing, roommate tries to steal your man once again, mentions of various mainstream vampire media (twilight, the vampire diaries etc.), brief mention of castlevania (even though i haven't seen it yet lol), breif mention of videogames and assassins creed, very mild delusion (roommate is secretly convinced leo is a vampire that's in love with her), attempted age gap relationship (she's 17 and leo's 19, he shuts that down real fast), very bad poetry

summary: You and Leo are both looking foward to spending a long weekend together, and Leo is determined not to let anything interrupt it, even if it means turning down your roommate's attempts to seduce him in the kitchen.

a/n: absolutley no hate or shade or judgement to anyone who has the same or similar traits as isabella!!!!!! at her core she's annoying because she's the antagonist, not bc of any isolated trait or traits

also she's shitty cause she keeps trying to steal your boyfriend?????

Edit: I forgot to mention before, but this is a college au where you're both still demigods, so you went to camp and on quests and stuff together

This weekend is going to be all about recharging. Recharging from the ridiculous back to back closing and opening shifts at work, recharging from having to redo that stupid project twice because your professor couldn’t decide on a clear way to define the criteria, and recharging from Isabella having her townie friend Regan over almost non stop to “completely shake up her look” as she put it.

Between the constant presence of someone you’d barely consider an acquaintance and Big Time Rush’s self titled album blasting on repeat out of her giant airpod shaped speaker, it’s been harder than usual to get in some effective self care. You have no idea how many more times you can hear the phrase “I’m going for Jade West meets Elena Gilbert, with just a little Buffy Summers” before you lose your fucking mind.

Thankfully, the hard part is almost over. There’s some minor holiday tomorrow on friday, so you and Leo both have a three day weekend ahead of you, which you intend to spend entirely together. You planned ahead, frontloading homework, chores, errands, and everything you could think of to remove anything that isn’t cuddling or playing video games and watching netflix together from your horizon.

This includes going straight from work to the grocery store to stock the fridge and get any snacks you and Leo want. You had texted him a while ago asking for anything he was craving, and head into the store with a concrete list. After a while, you circle around some aisles, avoiding the check out.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you muse, knowing it’s untrue, but hoping to trigger a memory anyway. You can’t put it off any longer, finally checking out and heading back to your apartment. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t avoiding Isabella just a little.

You know bringing in all these groceries would be way easier with Isabella and possibly Regan’s help, but you just don’t have the social energy to talk to anyone, much less her, right now. By some miracle, you bring everything in yourself, and hope to get it put away before you see Isabella.

You turn to the freezer, putting away the ice cream. When you turn back around, you’re suddenly met face to face with Isabella, who has opened one of the boxes and is picking at a pastry.

“Hey girlie,” she says, elongating the hey.

“Hey,” you reply lethargically, putting the last of the groceries away. She looks at the pastry in her hand like she’s just noticing it.

“Sorry, I can’t help it, I’m italian.” She smiles, endeared by her own behavior. You have no idea what being italian has to do with asking before you open a box of your roommate’s food, but this really isn’t out of character for her. She brings up the fact that she’s half italian more than Lele Pons blames her behavior on being latina.

She’s wearing sweatpants that say chaser on the leg in red and gold varsity font, and a tight tee shirt that says “it’s okay to love them both” with silhouettes of the male love interests from one of the vampire shows she always watches. You collect the plastic bags to put in recycling, and see a piece of paper on the counter.

It reads as follows:

Drowning in my mind

No one hears me cry

Who was I before society

Before society put me in a pink dress

And handed me blonde hair dye

And told me to lose ten pounds or be labeled a freak?

The happiest people cry the most

Let the lyrics be your story

But I’m not like the other skinny blonde pretty girls

I’m

Different

-b.g. xox

You hold back a sigh.

“I think this is yours.” you say, handing it to her.

“Oh, it’s just some of my poetry I left lying around, that’s so embarrassing.”

I know, you think, you do that all the time.

“Did you read it?” She asks, hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Thank god, that would have been so embarrassing. My poetry is something really… deep, and personal to me.”

“Uh huh. Hey, I’m going to be doing a lot of self care this weekend, so-”

“Oh!” she interjects, eerily similar to Phoebe Buffay - you guess she’s been watching friends again - “I wanted to ask… is Leo coming over later?” Her voice is riddled with subtext, the expression on her face a little too invested in your answer.

“Uh, yeah. I told you the other day we’re spending the weekend together…”

She cuts you off again, a sudden, intense look on her face.

“When will he be here?”

You check your phone, scrolling through your recent texts.

“By 7 at the latest.” It’s around 6:40 now.

“Oh my god, I have to change,” she rushes back to her room, presumably digging through her recent additions to her closet.

You’re frozen for a minute after the interaction, left with a furrowed brow and the beginnings of a headache. You blink, then choose to reschedule processing why she feels the need to change for your boyfriend to a more convenient time. That’s enough of that for today. You don’t care what else happens, you’re not talking to anyone besides Leo for at least the rest of the day. You retreat to your room to finally shower and change into something comfy. As you pass by Isabella’s room, you hear her talking to Regan.

“...There’s something almost… supernatural about him.”

You bite back a laugh.

“Do you think he’s a…” Regan begins, ending the sentence with something too quiet to hear, but you’d bet almost any organ she said vampire.

So close. So, so close, and yet… here you are.

Not much later, Leo texts you to let you know he’s here. You read his text, and run out to hug him in the living room before even typing a reply. He picks you up, and spins you around. The embrace is warm and fulfilling and familiar, and you wish it would last forever.

“Hi, Sparky.” you murmur into his neck.

“Estrella…” he says, rocking you back and forth gently and pressing a kiss into your jawline, “I missed you so much.” He punctuates the sentence with another kiss, this one to your lips, and you smile more genuinely than you have all day. You’re about to agree when you remember the good news you’ve been saving to tell him in person.

“Guess what I got on sale for like, half off,” you start, excitedly, continuing at his invested expression, “the Assassin’s Creed bundle I showed you!”

“No way,” he starts, and you nod.

“I’ll go get everything set up, drinks are in the kitchen!” He watches you retreat into your room, disbelieving how he could possibly get someone as perfect as you to fall for him. He’s not going to question his luck. He grabs a couple caffeinated sparkling ices, and meets you in your room, setting down his bag and grabbing some comfy clothes to change into.

As you both get settled in, you fill each other in on all the ridiculous shit you’ve been through this week. You finally conclude the bizarre - yet somehow standard - Isabella escapades.

“So I will be avoiding all contact as much as possible,” you laugh.

“Yeah, no shit,” he agrees, “Consider me your human buffer.” You thank him, hugging him again and pressing a kiss to his lips.

The next couple hours are spent cuddling and finishing season 4 of Castlevania. Both reeling from the season finale, you agree this is a good place to take a break, get some food, and decide what game you should start with. It’s already 10pm, which most people would consider too late for dinner, but you have all weekend to fuck up your sleep schedules.

“Let’s review,” Isabella says, holding up two red lipsticks. She turns to Regan. “Which one?”

“That one,” Regan says, pointing to the one on the left, then turns to her list, and continues. “Here’s what we know; we’ve never seen him eat, and he never seems tired. He’s really smart-”

“Almost too smart,” Isabella adds, selecting black rose dangle earrings from her jewelry. Regan agrees, and continues.

“He’s almost hypnotically attractive, and his smile is a little too dazzling.”

“There’s something… supernatural about him. Like he’s not… all human.”

Regan writes this down.

“Plus he’s always wearing black and red, and those flowy button up shirts? It’s all adding up, Ree. That dream that someone was outside my window, the ring, everything…” She says, referencing the black and red cocktail ring she’d found with her stuff when she’d first moved, “I’m not saying it’s definite, just that… there’s a chance.”

“What about…” Regan says hesitantly, nodding toward your room.

“Please,” she scoffs, “he’s only with them to get close to me, like Damon and Caroline. Edward couldn’t have just approached Bella out of the blue, he had to infiltrate her friend group first, to seem less suspicious. Not to sound mean or anything, but they really don’t seem like the type someone… like him… would choose.” her voice gets dreamy when she mentions him.

In spite of having seen most mainstream vampire media almost as many times as Isabella, Regan still considers her the expert on these things, and decides not to point out that Edward didn’t infiltrate Bella’s friend group. Maybe it comes up in one of the retellings she hasn’t read yet.

“So, what now?”

Isabella sets down her lipstick, and turns to her friend.

“I tell him.”

Regan’s eyes widen.

“You’re going to tell him you know?”

“No… not yet. It’s too soon, we don’t have enough evidence. I’m going to tell him I know he’s in love with me, then once he’s secure in our relationship... we’ll see where it goes.”

She stands up, assessing herself in the mirror. She chose her outfit carefully; short red dress with black roses and black mesh collar, black rose bracelet to match her earrings, snug faux leather jacket, and black stiletto ankle booties with a very skinny heel, the zipper on the outside gold, not silver. She fluffs her wavy hair and turns towards the door. She looks back one more time, holding onto the doorway.

“Wish me luck.”

Leo enters the kitchen, seeing Isabella already there, leaning against the counter seductively. She’s wearing an outfit and jewelry this late at night that makes Leo wonder if she’s going to an emo tea party. He puts the takeout in the microwave. She’s still staring at him.

“Uh… hey.”

She lets out a dainty giggle, looking him up and down.

“... Hi.”

At a loss for words, and really wanting the awkward silence to be over, he continues, “Did you need something?”

“What I need,” she walks closer to him, tracing her finger over his collar, “is you.”

What the fuck?

His brain seems to stall for a moment, and she uses this opportunity to continue.

“I know why you’re here. I know that you’re only using them to get closer to me. I know-”

“Woah-”

“That you’re in love with me.”

Okay, double what the fuck.

She takes his stunned silence as shyness, and steps closer, putting her arms around his shoulders.

“You don’t need to play so coy, I-”

This time she’s the one that gets cut off. He grabs her arms and gently steps away, trying to make it abundantly clear that he’s not into this.

“Woah, okay, slow down. First of all, you’re 17 and I’m turning 20 in a couple months, so that’s a hard no. Second, I don’t know where you got this idea, but I am not dating them to get closer to you. We’ve known each other since we were like, 15, and have been through everything together. I’ve only known you for a couple months. I love them. Probably more than I’ve loved anything ever. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

He doesn’t want to be mean, he really doesn’t, but he can tell from the look on her face that she still thinks this is all part of some game.

“So why don’t I ever see you eat? Why are you so smart, and always up at night? I know what you are.”

He has to physically hold back a laugh. He takes a step back, and places his hands on the counter.

“Isabella, I have adhd. And I’m literally an engineering student. Why wouldn’t I be smart and have a shitty sleep schedule?”

She starts to protest, and he pulls out the reheated take out from the microwave.

“And for the record, I do eat.”

Exiting the kitchen quickly and retreating back to your room, he hands you your food.

“I got the game set up!” you say excitedly.

“Nice!”

You take one look at his face and can tell something happened. He sees this, and continues.

“I just had a very… interesting interaction with Isabella,” before he finishes the sentence, your head is already in your hands. You let out a groan.

“What did she do?” you mutter from behind your hands.

He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back.

“I’m not totally sure,” you laugh, “but I think she thinks I’m secretly in love with her…” you’re both laughing before he can even finish the sentence.

“No…” you laugh, “no fucking way…”

“Believe me, I put an end to that as soon as it started.”

“Oh, I do.”

He runs his hand over your back, and you’re quiet for a moment.

“You know,” he continues, “I think getting our own place has definitely moved up the priority list.”

You couldn’t agree more.

[alessabriel]

Moments like those were unique with characters from tokyo revengers.

I'm really loving the Tokyo Revengers manga and I couldn't help but write about some characters, when I go later in the manga I will write about even more characters and I hoped to get it right. Take good care of yourselves, drink water and eat well, it is important to.

Anyway Byebye ✨

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➡️Draken | Ken Ryuuguuji

The sun filtered through the window with lilac curtains giving the room a slight glow illuminating the scene within it; a tall young man with blond hair sat on the floor on the black carpet with a noticeably smaller girl behind him.

There was no one else with whom he could let his guard down like this.

Draken despite the cold shower, knowing that he has rested well and that he should not be sleepy, your soft hands combing him make him drowsy, lethargic and with heavy eyelids, he could hardly see your reflection in the mirror in front of him. He, concentrated on his braid and there was nothing better in the world than you being so close that he could feel your warmth, your soft caresses.

With care and gentleness you manage each blonde strand between your fingers, intertwining little by little. You did not see the mirror, they only saw blonde locks that slipped between your fingers, he had beautiful and well-groomed hair. Almost finalizing the braid was when you directed your gaze towards the mirror in front of you; Draken seemed to be nowhere near falling asleep again from the way he nodded slightly.

"Are you sleepy Ryu?"

A denial was the answer clearly but you only laughed at the obviousness of his lie, he was so cute when he was so helpless and vulnerable with you. They were unique moments and by how he snuggled between your legs he said that he only wanted to spend a few more minutes like that, together.

In the morning when even their paths did not separate, Ken Ryuuguuji could allow himself moments of vulnerability where you would cradle him carefully, smiling at all times and he did not need to have his eyes open to know that your face only showed love, he had already gone through a long stage of doubts, denial and self-inflicted pain that knowing who you are, his partner, that you are by his side and that you do not have any doubt in loving him as he is, with everything included only makes him feel more secure. Draken didn't doubt his love for you, he never could.

"I just want to stay like this for a few minutes"

"All you wish Ryuu"

The "I love you" were in the air and were received by both, they knew that love was mutual ...

━━━━

➡️Mikey | Sano Manjiro.

The days you left school were naturally late thanks to the extra classes, the club, and other activities. It was normal to walk through the hallways of the school meeting only a few students from grades above who gave tired greetings, it must be difficult to be anywhere from leaving you assumed.

The silence was comforting as something cold.

Once with your outdoor shoes on, you left school seeing how your boyfriend was on his motorcycle with his cell phone in hand distracted, a clumsy idea emerged from the depths of your head and you executed it without thinking twice; you covered his eyes with your hands feeling the seconds how his hands touched yours, it was difficult to hold the laughter.

Mikey only limited himself to smiling without you seeing him, from the moment he felt your warm presence he knew it was you and only as confirmation the sweet aroma of your perfume invaded the air making it comforting, you were warmth, affection and home. You were so smiling, sweet, attentive and funny that sometimes he thought how you had noticed him.

As if you had a detector for his pessimism, you kissed your boyfriend on the cheek when you discovered his eyes showing your remarkable pout openly.

"You are bad guessing love" you accused fun catching your partner's face in your hands, you held between your little hands a mysterious, beautiful and so enigmatic world called Sano Manjiro "It will be that I am very good and I take you by surprise. What if? "

Mikey could only smile and let himself be carried away by your beautiful voice, you seemed to have a sixth sense for when he was just getting into negative thoughts about his relationship and he felt grateful for it, you were so special and irreplaceable.

"Aha, of course" accepted the blond amused, receiving another kiss with pleasure but this time on the lips. Mikey loved the feel of your smooth lips against his own, he could taste the taste of your gloss directly from your lips and it was the best feeling in the universe. "Come on I'll take you home."

The words died from the moment you got on the motorcycle behind your boyfriend, clinging with both arms to his waist and hiding your face from the wind that you knew would impact on your face that you still did not get used to. The soft roar of the motorcycle lulled you, the aroma of fabric softener, sun and sweets coming from your boyfriend only made you feel even more comfortable that it was inevitable not to rub your cheeks against his back, love overflowed from your heart .

"I love you Manji" you whispered softly, without the intention of making you listen but because of a red light one of Mikey's hands was caressing yours, you knew that he had heard you.

"I love you even more S / o-chan"

The green light on the traffic light sealed the rest of the trip in a pleasant and sweet silence, where they knew they were safe.

━━━━

➡️Hanagaki Takemichi

It was late when they finally managed to get out of the game room, both laughing at monumental losses in silly games but with a more than happy smile on their lips. Takemichi couldn't help but smile and feel the constant pounding on his chest as your fingers were intertwined with his own, it felt good.

"I had a lot of fun today Michi" you said once you were both waiting for the train at the station, your gaze fixed to the front and then looking at your side hoping to find him looking elsewhere but you met his unmistakable bright eyes that made you blush "We should go out like this more often, I say if you don't have more meetings with Touman "

"I think the same! We won't have any meetings at the moment so you will put up with me longer, ”Takemichi joked laughing.

"I like spending time with Takemichi-kun so it wouldn't be to put up with it, it would be spending quality time with my boyfriend"

You refuted by giggling when you heard that he was choking on his own saliva, so you let go of his hand to gently hit his back helping him out of his stupor. Takemichi could only try to stop coughing and when he did he felt you closer, one of your arms behind his back surrounding him and how you leaned against his. It was instinct and perhaps the feelings of him speaking for him since he left a kiss on your head, he could smell the fruity aroma of your shampoo and the unmistakable essence of your perfume.

Little did you know that your Takemichi could only think of a way to save you, never to lose your smile and treasure each new memory.

You were his first and only love ...

━━━━

➡️Atsushi Sendo | Akkun

The journey from his school to your school was about half an hour, but it was worth every tiny second for Atsushi who, like every Friday, had separated from his other friends to pass by you. Even though they had been going out as boyfriends for more than two and a half years, he still felt the nerves all over his body and the butterflies flying in his stomach that multiplied when he saw him leave the main doors laughing at something that your friends said, you looked beautiful with the glow of the sunset making you the center of their world. It was ridiculous how just by seeing you could make him fall in love more. Trying to regulate his nerves I wait for you when he saw you say goodbye to your friends and jog the rest of the way towards him. Was it even allowed to look this good and attractive in a school uniform? He did not know.

"Did you take too long Atsu?" you questioned your boyfriend smiling.

The other people ceased to exist the moment you approached him, the moment he could see your bright eyes and catch the sweet aroma of your perfume in the air.

"Not at all I just arrived a few minutes ago, how was school?"

With a remarkable pout you started with your remarkable anecdote of this day without even knowing that Atsushi was looking at you as if you were hanging the sun, the moon and the stars in the sky. Akkun only listened and commented from time to time, until it was his turn to tell about his day at school. Neither of them noticed when their hands clasped, it was natural.

━━━━

➡️Tachibana Hinata

The dark sky above their heads only gave more seriousness and intimacy at the moment, with her nerves on the surface Hinata could only see how the wind moved your hair and carried in it, the scent of your shampoo or perhaps your perfume. perfume that I gave you on your birthday a year ago?

"The moon is beautiful tonight" you said to the air.

Hinata did not take long to detect the message behind your prayer, endless nights watching k-dramas, anime and watching movies xianxia by your side made her understand the references, she loved how you expressed yourself so casually by dropping messages of your unconditional love.

"If the moon is beautiful S / o"

When Hinata thought that silence would fill the air, your voice was heard again but this time in front of her. Hinata could only swallow hard to see you standing in front of her, so she could see the difference in heights between the two and how the elegant beauty accentuated your being, you were so pretty and attractive that it could not cross her mind that you corresponded her feelings but there they were; in the park late at night on a romantic getaway that consisted of a motorcycle ride and talking in a park where they had confessed.

"But I can't help but think that I'm lucky to be able to call you my girlfriend Nat."

"It is not worth it! You always know what to say and you leave me like a fool in love looking at you. You're unfair S / o-chan! "

Before her words continued Hinata felt your lips brush against hers, your kisses were so soft and gentle that she felt so fragile in your arms, so loved and desired.

"I love you so much Nat"

The kisses continued gentle, soft and in order to communicate love, one more memory that the couple would engrave in her memory.

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✨ Here is the end, comments are welcome and if not has in the same way thanks ✨

💕

[onebatch2batch]

kastle + "“Is that.. my shirt?” please and thank you❤️❤️

HI, I KNOW YOU SENT THIS A MILLION YEARS AGO BUT I JUST FINISHED IT SO HOPEFULLY YOU LIKE IT <3

--

If there’s one thing Karen hates most in the world, it’s laundry. Which isn’t entirely warranted, because a majority of her things are dry clean only, and she usually only has to do a load or two herself every other week—but still. She hates that it feels like an all day affair, she hates folding everything, she hates the feel of the lint of her fingers when she removes it from the filter. So when a warm Saturday in June arrives and she’s low on clothes, like really low on clothes, Karen realizes she should start a load. 

Unfortunately, her body is not on board with the idea. She wakes up slow, eats some late breakfast, and lethargically gathers the clothes strewn about her apartment. It’s a Saturday, so she has nothing to do but procrastinate. Procrastination forces her into the shower, and procrastination has her drinking coffee in a towel at the edge of her bed as she realizes that she has nothing to put on. It’s either she wears a skirt and blouse around the apartment or a towel until the first load is done. 

Or, her brain supplies helpfully, there’s Frank’s drawer. 

Karen’s eyes slide unwittingly towards her dresser, where the bottom drawer remains firmly closed. He’s been out of town for the last week or so with Curtis, up in the mountains with absolutely no reception. She knows it’s good for him to get away every once in a while, especially with his friends, but part of her—the smallest part, the only part not thinly veiled in denial—wishes he would have asked her along. It’s a thought she’s had a lot in the last couple days, accompanied by the hollow ache left by his absence. 

God, she misses him. 

She misses his surprise visits that turn into too much wine and inevitably leading to his crashing on the couch. She misses waking in the morning to freshly brewed coffee and he at the kitchen counter, head bowed over a book. She misses walking into the bathroom and inhaling Frank’s steamy post-shower smell: cedarwood, something earthy, something subtly metallic. It’s both a blessing and a curse to have him stay the night at her place; she only wishes it was in her bed, not on the couch. 

Karen sighs. Goosebumps are starting to pebble on her skin from the AC, and so she steels her resolve and kneels before Frank’s drawer. She’d casually offered it to him months ago over breakfast. You spend the night enough, she tells him while staring resolutely into her mug. Might as well have a change of clothes here just in case you need them. 

She had felt his eyes on her, all intense heat and wariness, long enough for her to fidget. And then finally he’d said: Yeah. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Karen. 

The drawer is filled with a myriad of things, and not just clothes. On the top of the pile there’s a paperback by Jack Kerouac, a box of ammo, and a pair of spare keys she suspects is to that intimidating black van he drives. Underneath is a pair of socks, boxers (that she hurriedly paws past), some grey sweatpants (that look absolutely sinful on him, she recalls), and a pair of dark jeans. At the very bottom is a long sleeved henley and a plain black t shirt—Karen pulls out the t shirt and slips it over her head before she can talk herself out of it.

It’s comfortable, if a little too big. The hem hangs just past her hips when she stands, so Karen slips on a pair of underwear and leaves it at that. The rest of the afternoon she spends doing laundry and pretending as if she can’t smell him on her with every inhale. And when the guilt starts to eat at her, she tells herself that the shirt will be cleaned and replaced before Frank even knows it’s missing. 

—

Except it isn’t, because of course it isn’t. 

Hour three of dragging herself through the slowest washing machine cycle in the world (she’d splurged a little on an apartment with a hook up, too unwilling to deal with the laundromat down the block) and the worst dryer to accompany it (she hadn’t so much splurged on the actual machines)—finds Karen on the couch, flipping through the television channels. It’s nearly four o’clock and the temperature outside has finally broken, so the air is off and the windows are open. A soft breeze occasionally brushes over the exposed skin of her legs. And there’s absolutely nothing on the television. 

So she does what any sane person would do, and returns to Frank’s drawer for the book. Not that she doesn’t have plenty of her own reading material, but she’s never read Kerouac and she’s a little curious what Frank sees in him. It’s halfway through the first chapter that she realizes there’s a key turning in the lock, and that Frank’s back. 

Because of course he would walk in to this: her, clothed in underwear and his t shirt and no bra; sitting with her legs stretched across the couch cushions, back against the arm; his book in her hands as she struggles to parse the casual run-ons of Kerouac; a basket of half folded laundry on the floor. And he does—his face appears at the end of the hall leading to her front door and he pauses, bag slung over his shoulders and eyebrows raised to his hair. 

“Hi, Frank,” Karen greets, carefully closing the book. “How was your trip?”

His eyes glance quickly at her exposed legs, and then up to his t shirt, back down to her legs, and then up to her face. Karen relishes in the warm flush that spreads across his cheeks, even if it is partially covered by his beard. “It was, uh, it was good,” he tells her roughly, unmoving. His eyes stray back to her lower half. “Is that...my shirt?”

Karen realizes that she should be embarrassed by her lack of clothes or admonished for going through his things without asking. But the only thing she really can feel is frustrated as a thought strikes her. That day in the hospital when she and Frank were alone--before Amy had interrupted--after Karen had all but blurted her feelings into the stale, tension-heavy room. His entire body had been covered in lacerations and zig zagged with stitches; his face was bruised and battered. He’d been so evasive with her, gaze hardly connecting with her own before darting away again. She’d been so afraid for him. Hopeless. And frustrated. 

“You could love someone else instead of another war.”

“I don’t want to.”

At the time he’d been so determined, so set in his jaw as the hoarse declaration hung in the air. She wonders if that’s changed now, months of spending the night and phone calls and take out dinners later. If she were to ask the same question now—what he would say? 

“It is,” she tells him evenly.

Frank’s hand tightens on the strap of his bag, a nervous gesture. “Why?” he finally asks.

“I haven’t been pining after you, if that's what you mean. I was out of clothes.” Karen offers him a small smile, trying to quell the bout of butterflies that erupt in her stomach at the rough edge to his voice. 

To her relief he smiles. The tension eases from his shoulders. “You don’t seem like the pinin’ type.”

“I’m not.” Liar, liar, no pants on fire. “You just got back?” 

He nods, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Was thinking about gettin’ dinner.” 

“You find the take out menu, I’ll put pants on,” she wages.

Frank’s blush rises. He coughs and then turns, walking into the kitchen at a pace quicker than usual. Karen fidgets with the hem of the shirt, waiting until she can hear the telling sound of the coffee machine being manhandled. She grapples for a pair of leggings in the basket beside her and hurriedly puts them on. 

“Sorry about the shirt,” she says loudly. “I was completely out of laundry and I figured you wouldn’t be back for a while. I’ll wash it for you.” 

Frank reappears in the doorway, eyes on the floor until he’s sure she’s fully clothed. “Don’t worry about it,” he mumbles. “It’s nothin’.”

“I went into your things, Frank, I hardly think that’s nothing.” 

At that, he meets her gaze. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he counters, shooting her a grin. 

Karen huffs out a laugh. “Whatever. Hang on, I’m going to change out of this and then I'll order the food.” 

“No.” 

Karen swivels her head to give Frank a surprised look. The intensity of his no is startling but he seems as shocked as she is. There’s a beat of silence, and then he clears his throat and looks away as his finger starts that familiar rhythm against his leg. “I mean. You don’t have to. If you’re comfortable.” 

She considers pushing it. She doesn’t. Not yet. 

“I am. Thanks.” 

—

Several hours later, Karen realizes their bottle of wine is empty. She’s sitting against one arm of the couch with Frank against the other. Her legs bridge the gap between them, and if she were to point her toes she could touch the strong muscle of his thigh. Their take out boxes sit empty on the coffee table, and Frank has his head tilted back, eyes on the ceiling. The apartment is quiet.

“So what did you and Curtis do in the mountains?” Karen asks into the silence, hesitant to break it but curiosity finally getting the better of her. 

Frank sips his wine, and then turns his head to look at her. Karen is struck by how handsome he looks, the setting sun’s orange rays highlighting the curve of his nose and the warmth of his eyes. “Stupid shit,” he tells her with a chuckle. “We chopped up some trees, went hikin’--that asshole’s still faster’n me even with that leg--I read a lot. Talked. Drank some.”

Karen waggles her eyebrows. “Does that mean you guys got hammered in a cabin?”

His mouth curves into an amused smile. “Takes a lot to get me hammered, Karen.”

“When’s the last time you were?”

Karen is always careful about asking questions regarding his past. She knows it’s dangerous territory--one small slip could turn their conversation from lighthearted banter to emotional warfare. That’s the last thing she wants for him, for them. 

Thankfully, Frank has a quick answer. “Can’t remember. Years.”

She hums, curiosity piqued. She wonders what an overabundance of alcohol does to someone like Frank Castle--someone who is already so intense, so physical. Someone who already isn’t afraid to cry in front of her, who isn’t afraid to show emotion--would he close himself off, shut down? Would he laugh more? Would he touch her more than the casual touches she already receives? Would he kiss her? A thrill runs through her at the thought. She stays firmly planted on the couch, fighting the urge to grab the whiskey in her cupboard and put her theory to the test. 

“What about you?”

“What?”

Frank fixes her with an amused look. “The last time you were sideways.”

“Oh. A couple weekends ago, Foggy came over.” She smiles, remembering. “Marcie was out of town so he brought over the wine and we did--well, this. Take out and wine. A lot of wine.”

There’s an expression on his face she can’t figure out. A mixture of forced casualness, of caution, of amusement. “So this is--...” He pauses, takes a drink of his wine, starts again. “This is what you do with your other friends?”

Two thoughts settle into the sudden ache in her chest at his words. That on one hand he does, in fact, consider her a friend. She’s not just a warm body to keep the loneliness at bay. Which she’s known that for a long time, of course. They trust each other in the way that only two people who have gone through a number of life-changing and dangerous ordeals together can--why wouldn’t they be friends? The second thought is how carefully he speaks the word friends, as if solidifying the idea. As if reminding her of their relationship status. As if to say, we’re friends, and I know you want more--but I can’t. So we’re friends.

“Yep. This is what I do with my other friends. All two of them.” The joke falls flat, overshadowed by the catch in her voice. Karen finishes off her glass of wine and decides she will get out the whiskey after all. Even if he doesn’t drink it, she needs something a little stronger than just another Rosé. She starts to get up, but his hand catches her ankle and keeps her firmly in place.  

“You’re upset.” He looks at her cautiously from under a furrowed brow. His hand doesn’t lift from her skin, and it sends an unfair thrill through her. Karen’s toes curl before she can stop them, pushing against his thigh. 

“I’m not upset.”

He frowns. “And now you’re lying. Did I say somethin’?”

She doesn’t want to lie to him. She also doesn’t want to tell him the truth. There’s a nagging thought in the back of her mind that says if she’s honest with him, he’ll be scared off. He’ll decide her feelings are too much for him to handle, and then he’ll leave. Again. 

Her heart couldn’t bear it. 

Karen tugs her leg out of his grasp and sets her feet on the carpet. He sits forward, trying to capture her eyes again. “Karen,” he says gently. It’s cautious and worried, and so completely Frank in the way he grinds out her name that the words escape her before she can stop them. 

“It’s nothing, Frank. We’re friends, and that’s all, and I’m being selfish wanting more. I’ve just been--I’m not trying to--...” she glances over helplessly, but he’s giving her a look that she can only describe as stricken. She looks away quickly, desperate for a change of topic. Desperate to pull herself out of the hole that she’s dug for herself. There’s a brief moment of silence where she tries to decide what to do, outside of leaping from her fire escape, and then she hears Frank move. The cushion dips next to her. Warm fingers intertwine with her own, and then his lips are pressed to the back of her hand. 

“Shit, Karen,” Frank murmurs, exasperated. “For a smart woman, you’re bein’ pretty stupid.”

She’s still stuck on her fact that his breath is dancing over her skin, and that he’s pressed against her side, and that he still hasn’t released her. That he hasn’t gotten up and made a hasty exit. His words barely register. “What?” she asks weakly. 

“Curtis and I did a lot of talkin’ this weekend,” he says, staring to look her in the eye. The sudden change of topic throws her off balance. Before she can get a word in, he’s continued on. His thumb strokes her palm. “And a lot of it was dumb shit. We talked about his new apartment, the one he had to get after Billy shot up his old one. He says it gets a lot of sunlight. He talked about how the vet group is going and what team he thinks will win the World Series this year. It was good, and easy. We talk about some hard stuff too. We talked about Maria and the kids, and the war, and you.”

She’s not sure she likes being in the ‘hard’ category, but he seems to be edging towards a point, so Karen remains quiet. 

“And after we talked through all that other stuff, Curtis told me I was bein’ an idiot. He told me that you’re a good woman, and an even better friend. That I needed to make a decision before someone else made it for me.” He pauses, looking away. In the following silence, she digests his words and tries to keep the hope from blossoming in her chest. His hand is still warm in hers, and the earthy, woodsy smell of him fills her nose. 

He doesn’t speak long enough for Karen to finally hedge, “I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Frank.”

He turns back to her and offers a tiny, nervous smile. Not many things make a man like Frank Castle nervous, and the thought eases some of the tension from her body. She grips his fingers and holds her breath. 

“I’m tryin’ to tell you that I’m yours, if you’ll have me. I don’t want to be friends, Karen. I want you. I want more, too.”

In retrospect, her next words could have been a little more eloquent. She could have taken an extra second to think of something romantic and elated. Something that matches his earnestness. What she actually says is, “Frank Castle, you’d better quit keeping me waiting and kiss me.”

His eyes widen briefly, and then he’s grinning at her. His free hand cradles her cheek and between one breath and another he’s doing just that. Karen wont admit to herself how often she thought of this moment, but she does think about how every imagining doesn’t come close. She never could have pictured the tenderness with which he kisses her or the feeling that swells inside her. There’s no daydream in the world that compares to the softness of his lips or the sensation of his beard against her chin. She fists one hand in his coat, letting the other drift up into his hair. It’s longer, curling at his temple, and when she gently tugs he lets out a groan that makes her shiver. His tongue swipes at her bottom lip and she grants him access eagerly. The kiss devolves into wandering hands, heaving breaths, and the distinct feeling that Karen is being carefully, intimately devoured. 

After some time, Karen forces herself to pull away. Frank backs off immediately, a flash of concern in his gaze, but she gives him a small smirk, smoothing her hands over the hard planes of his chest. 

“How do you feel about me taking off the shirt now?” she asks casually. 

Her meaning sinks in quickly. His fingers grasp at the hem, dancing along the bare skin on her hips. Frank gives her a mischievous, sinfully attractive smile. “If you’re comfortable,” he repeats, and then drags his shirt up and over her head.

The buzzer on the dryer goes off in the background, but Karen has never been less inclined to attend to it than she is now. In fact, she thinks, if wearing his shirt gets this reaction, I may never do laundry again. 

It’s a nice thought, but then Frank lips meet her shoulder and she doesn’t think about laundry for a long, long time.

[sneezyminniejo]

I Guess I’m Just Unlucky

This was requested on my AO3

TW fever, fainting

Soobin had woken up not feeling particularly great. He couldn't quite place what was wrong aside from most probably having a fever. He was also feeling a bit achy, but brushed it off on the probable fever and the extra dance practice he’d been putting in recently. He slowly got out of bed.

When he arrived in the kitchen, he realized he really wasn’t all that hungry. He decided on two pieces of toast and hoped that the other members wouldn’t question him too much. Unfortunately for Soobin, Yeonjun had very much noticed the lack of food he had taken.

“Soobinie, are you feeling okay? You normally take more food than that.” Yeonjun walked over to the younger and placed his hand on his forehead. “You don’t feel warm, I’m going to grab the thermometer just to be sure.” Soobin nodded and sighed thinking that the thermometer for sure would say he had a fever, sidelining him until further notice. Yeonjun quickly came back and took the younger’s temperature. “You don’t have a fever Binnie. Are you sure you just want toast for breakfast?”

Soobin just nodded. “I’m sure hyung, I’m just not all that hungry this morning.”

As the other three woke up and came out for breakfast Soobin couldn’t help but notice a headache beginning to form. He excused himself from the table and went to the bathroom to get paracetamol. He was only gone for a few seconds and continued eating his toast when he returned.

Dance practice could have gone better. Soobin had found himself feeling rather listless and lethargic for much of the day’s practice, and when asked about it just said he was tired. He honestly wasn’t sure why he was so out of it today, he just was. As much as he wanted to stay late to make up for the disaster of practice, Soobin decided it would be better for him to go home and try to sleep off whatever funk he was in.

The following morning when he woke up, Soobin was feeling equally as bad. However this time he woke up with a headache. He decided to seek comfort today instead of brushing it off. He slowly made his way to the kitchen where he knew the others would be, and rested his head on the first person he could find. Which happened to be the maknae.

“Hyung,” Hueningkai whined. Soobin just whined back in response, which got everyone’s attention. “Hyung, are you okay?” Kai asked with concern evident in his voice. “Don’t feel good.” Yeonjun disappeared to grab the thermometer and put it in the younger’s mouth. The minute long wait was a bit tense, and Beomgyu quickly grabbed the thermometer the second it beeped. 

“It’s normal hyung. Maybe slightly elevated, but normal.” All the members looked, and sure enough it read 98.9, “In what way don’t you feel good, Binnie?” Yeonjun asked “I have a headache, I also just want to go back to sleep.” Taehyun went and grabbed some pain killers for Soobin, but ultimately there wasn’t much that could be done. Soobin once again ate a mediocre breakfast and got ready for another day of dance practice.

Dance practice had been going worse than yesterday. Yesterday, Soobin was just a bit off tempo and seemingly a bit tired, but today, he kept spacing out. He also kept absentmindedly rubbing at his chest as if it were itchy. Eventually a break was called and Yeonjun walked over to the younger who was drinking water. “Soobin, I think it might be a good idea to head back to the dorm to rest. You’re clearly getting sick.” 

Soobin just shook his head. “You know how instructor-nim is about attendance, unless someone has a fever, is puking, has diarrhea, or is meeting with management we have to be present for the entirety of practice.” Yeonjun hummed in response. “Besides, my only symptom of being sick is not feeling good. That’s hardly going to sway instructor-nim into even letting me sit on the sidelines.” When the break ended, Soobin got up, once again rubbing/scratching at his chest.

As dance practice continued, Soobin was feeling progressively worse. It got to a point where he suspected he had finally developed a fever. But seeing as he had so bad with no fever, he couldn’t be sure. Soobin knew he needed to stop when he started seeing black spots in his vision, but a break wouldn’t be called for another half hour. He tried to push through, but his body completely gave out and he collapsed to the floor.

 The other four members froze when they heard a loud thud and saw their leader on the floor. The dance instructor did a quick once over of the collapsed member before deeming the situation as ‘not super serious’ and then ending practice for the day.

The four remaining members stared in shock as the dance instructor packed up their things and left. Taehyun quickly ran over to Sobbin and gave him a more thorough examination. “Guys, Soobin-hyung is burning up.” The other three sprung into action. Kai ran to get ice packs, Beomgyu poured water onto a towel and started to dab his hyung’s forehead, Yeonjun and Taehyun worked in sync to get Soobin’s shirt off to try to cool him off faster.

Upon removing the shirt, the members were shocked to see that Soobins chest was covered in a rash of reddish-purple spots. Yeonjun sighed before speaking. “We need to get him back to the dorm, he’s going to be out for at least a week, maybe more.” The three younger members looked confused and were about to ask what was ailing their leader when he began to stir.

“What happened?” Soobin asked when he came too. Beomgyu spoke first. “Hyung, you spiked a fever and passed out. Yeonjun-hyung seems to know what’s wrong with you, but that’s not important right now. Right now we’re getting you back to the dorm.” Soobin merely nodded and allowed Yeonjun and Taehyun to help him to his feet.

Upon arriving at the dorm, Soobin was promptly sat on the couch while Yeonjun instructed the others on what medicines to grab from their stash. While waiting Yeonjun texted the manager to let him know about the dance instructor’s behavior and Soobin’s condition.

“So what’s wrong with hyung?” asked Taehyun once they were all seated in the living room again. “Soobin-ah, I’m sorry to say, but you somehow contracted chicken pox.” Yeonjun was trying his best not to burst out laughing as he spoke, but the three younger members didn’t have such control and cracked up. Soobin just groaned when he heard that.

“Remember a couple of weeks ago when I went to visit my aunt?” The others nodded. “My little cousin was recovering from the chicken pox, but my aunt assured me he was no longer contagious. I guess she was wrong.” Soobin began to absentmindedly scratch at his chest again, only to have his hand slapped away by the maknae. “No scratching hyung. That’s rule number one, and we’ll all help to make sure you comply.” Everyone nodded in confirmation even though a couple of them were audibly still snickering.

“I’m sorry hyung, but it’s just hilarious that you caught an illness as an adult that you should have gotten as a child.” Soobin rolled his eyes “I lucked out as a child in not getting it, but I’m up to date on the chicken pox vaccination. I guess I’m just an unlucky adult.” The members hummed in understanding, but continued to tease their leader anyway.

It had been announced on social media that all five members would be halting activities while Soobin recovered from his illness. The members did make sure to pop onto vlive to check in with moa. Management decided to be cagey and not disclose Soobin’s illness to the public, which caused some mass panic among fans over the two week quarantine announcement. However, all panic was quickly squashed during the fist live, which Kai was doing. Kai saw all of the questions asking how Soobin was doing and if any of the other members were feeling sick. He started to chuckle before calling “Soobin-hyung, moa wants to know how you’re doing.

Soobin quickly came into frame of the camera looking absolutely ridiculous with oven mitts taped around his hands and calamine lotion all over his face and arms. “Sorry for worrying you moa. I somehow got chicken pox, and for the safety of any staff that may be immunocompromised, we decided to stay in the dorm together.” The duo laughed as they read some of the comments flooding the screen.

Kai chimed in after a moment. “It’s highly unlikely that any of the rest of us will catch it, as we’ve all had chickenpox before and been vaccinated. We’re just playing it safe. Besides, it gives us more time to make fun of the fact that our leader here caught the chicken pox, and now looks absolutely hilarious.” Soobin rolled his eyes before waving to moa and leaving the room.

It was a week before Soobin was given the all clear to resume activities. As predicted no one else got sick. Since Soobin still had a couple spots here and there over his body, his members were still watching him like a hawk to make sure he didn’t scratch. Yeonjun even brought the oven mitts and tape with him just in case.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Just the Same

Summary:

“You’re sick.”

“You’re ugly.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.”

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?”

Read it here on AO3!

Bruce has a very simple plan for tonight, alright? He’s going to grab a quick post-patrol snack from the kitchen, then he’s going to take a shower, and then he will go promptly to bed. He’s tired. It’s been a long day. He just wants to sleep. (You absolute fool, the goblin in his brain screeches at him, because the goddamn Batman cannot get a goddamn break or else the world will literally split in two.) Fatefully, Bruce passes the den’s open doorway while half of his mind is preoccupied with sending Dick a goodnight text, and he happens to glance into the room. That’s when he stops in his tracks. Even more fatefully, Alfred is coming down the hall in Bruce’s direction, carrying a tray with a single cup of tea on it. “Alfred?” “Yes, Master Bruce?” “Were you aware that Jason was home?” Alfred looks over at where Jason is asleep on the den sofa, still in his leather jacket and boots. He doesn’t look remotely surprised by the sight. Then again, is Alfred ever surprised? “Master Jason got in while you were on patrol. I offered to make him dinner, but he said he wasn’t hungry.” Then there’s that classic Alfred Pennyworth eyebrow crease. “When he wakes up, do inform him that one does not forgo the need for nutrition when one has been dipped in a Lazarus Pit.” “I’ll be sure to do that.” “Now, if you will excuse me.” Alfred walks off with his perfectly level tray, on a perilous journey to Damian’s room. Bruce envies him. At least Alfred gets to go to sleep after Damian gets his nighttime tea. Bruce enters the den carefully, without a sound. God knows Jason hardly sleeps through the night without interruption as it is. Now, at least, he looks peaceful enough. So much time has passed since his last haircut that his hair curls against his temple, plastered with sweat. He must have come here straight from Red Hood business. At least he didn’t get blood on the couch this time. Quietly, Bruce pulls the knitted throw blanket from where it’s draped over the back of the sofa and lays it over Jason, tucking it in close when he catches a shiver rattling Jason’s teeth. Now that he’s paying attention, he can see that Jason’s cheeks are flushed as well. His mouth is locked in a grimace, even in sleep. Bruce presses the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead and clicks his tongue. Definitely a fever. Jason’s eyebrows wrinkle at the touch. His eyes crack open and take a moment to land on Bruce, sitting on the edge of the couch by Jason’s torso. It says a lot that he doesn’t go into battle mode as soon as he registers an unfamiliar presence in the room. “Mmph. Go away.” “You’re sick.” “You’re ugly.” “Why didn’t you tell anyone you weren’t feeling well?” “I’m fine.” Jason closes his eyes. “Just a little tired.” “Uh-huh. And that’s why you have a fever?” “Why don’t you mind your fucking—” Jason tumbles into a coughing fit, wet and hacking. “I’ll be right back,” Bruce tells him with a parting pat on the knee. His knees creak as he stands, heading for the bathroom down the hall. He digs through the medicine cabinet until he finds the thermometer, one of many that Alfred keeps in every bathroom in the house. He grabs a bottle of Tylenol as well. Bruce goes back to the couch and reclaims his spot next to Jason, who has stopped coughing by now, but his breathing is heavy. Bruce touches the thermometer to Jason’s temple, ignoring his weak swats. It reads out a hundred and one degrees. “When did you start feeling sick?” Jason grunts and rolls onto his side, curling in on himself. “Dunno. Yesterday, I guess.” Bruce frowns. Of course Jason would ignore any achy feelings for as long as possible. None of Bruce’s kids have a single self-preserving bone in their bodies. “Tell me your symptoms.” “Being a fucking snack.” “Jason.” Jason coughs. “Leave me alone, old man.” “Does your throat hurt?” “Yeah, so quit trying to make me talk.” “Any nausea?” Jason buries his face into a throw pillow. “You’re fuckin’ exhausting, you know that?” He sighs. “Not since last night. I’m freezing, lethargic, and my head is killing me. Happy?” Bruce hums. “It’s probably the flu.” “Yeah, no shit.” Jason closes his eyes. “Now will you leave me alone? You’re making my headache worse.” Bruce twists open the Tylenol cap and shakes out a couple of tablets into his palm. “Here.” He holds them out to Jason. Jason opens one eye, looks at the pills, and closes it again. “No.” “Jason—” “No. Don’t like pills.” Bruce can’t say he didn’t expect as much. Still, it does Jason no favors to continuously refuse any sort of medication, choosing to tough out the pain for as long as he can. It all ties back to his mother’s drug addiction, a disease which Jason watched slowly kill her over years and years. It makes sense that he’d grow up with an unwavering aversion to drugs. When Jason was a small tot, Bruce and Alfred spent what probably accumulated to hours of cajoling, trying to talk Jason into taking even the lightest painkillers. Lidocaine and numbing solutions were fine, but anything resembling a narcotic was out—and still is, apparently. It makes Bruce wonder how Jason reacted to the Lazarus Pit and its euphoria-inducing waters—part of the whole “magical healing” process. Maybe he was too out of his mind at the time to form a solid thought, much less remember his childhood trauma. This is one fight Bruce chooses not to get into, so he recaps the Tylenol and sets it aside. Miraculously, Jason is already asleep again. That’s fine with Bruce; it’s better his son sleeps this flu off than wastes his energy arguing. Trying not to jostle him too much, Bruce takes off Jason’s boots and leaves them on the carpet. He grabs the TV remote and settles in on the couch with Jason’s feet in his lap, pulling up a nature documentary on hyenas that he and Damian haven’t had the chance to finish yet. Looks like he’ll be catching up on his sleep tomorrow night. Right now, Jason needs him (despite how fervently he’ll protest as much). Honestly, this whole situation brings Bruce back to the old days. After moving into the manor, it took over six months for Jason to completely recover from the years of malnutrition he suffered on the streets. His weight was far too low for a boy his age, even more scrawny than Tim. Alfred provided Jason with plenty of vitamin supplements and extra servings at dinner to bulk him up, but his immune system was shoddy at best no matter how much weight he gained. During his Robin era it was illness after illness, from the common cold to a whammying case of pneumonia. This is the first time Jason has been sick in Bruce’s presence since his death, though. Bruce is learning about the eating habits of hyenas when Tim comes in from the kitchen with a cup of peppermint tea, despite having supposedly gone to bed three hours ago. He stands there in the doorway for a moment, looks owlishly at Jason, then at Bruce, then back to Jason. He grins. “No,” Bruce says. “You don’t even know what I was going to do!” “I know you, and the answer is no.” “Jeez, Bruce. I’m not gonna kill him.” Tim attempts to cross his arms, forgetting that he’s holding hot tea, and hisses when it scalds his arm. “The hand-in-warm-water trick’s never hurt anyone,” he mutters. “Go back upstairs. You’ll get sick.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “This is prejudice against people without spleens, you know. I could sue your ass.” “Sue me from upstairs where I can comfortably know that you won’t die from the flu.” Tim rolls his eyes, but he goes. Bruce hears him stomp up the stairs, getting quieter and quieter until the footsteps are gone entirely. Bruce shakes his head. How did he ever think that having four boys would be a good idea? He questions his younger self’s judgement every day. For the next three hours, Jason sleeps in fits and starts. He never stays awake longer than five minutes at a time, drinking water when Bruce prods him to and grudgingly letting Bruce check his temperature for any spikes. Bruce learns quite a bit about hyenas in the meantime, until the documentary ends and a new one about sea otters begins. In between the hazy bouts of wakefulness, Jason tosses restlessly in the throes of nightmare after nightmare. Beads of sweat roll down his forehead. In the back of his mind Bruce wonders, is this just the fever talking or are nightmares a nightly villain for Jason? The latter would come as no shock, but that doesn’t mean he likes the idea. Bruce runs his fingers through Jason’s sweaty curls, a reflection of years ago when he would do the same thing any time Jason had a nightmare during his youth. Jason has been cheated out of peaceful nights from the beginning. Of course, back then there wasn’t a white streak splitting the darkness of his onyx hair—a reminder of the pit water swimming in Jason’s blood. Bruce moves a lock of hair off Jason’s forehead, gentle as a moth. Jason’s eyes fly open and he jerks away from the touch, a gasp ripping up his throat. Bruce doesn’t move. He gives Jason a moment to regain his bearings, stilling the hand in Jason’s hair. Green irises lock on Bruce, frenzied. “Where?” he croaks. “The manor.” Jason takes a deep breath in, clenching his jaw. “Okay.” He lets it out. “Okay.” Bruce grabs the water bottle he’s kept on the coffee table. “Here,” he says, moving his hand down to Jason’s back and prodding a shoulder blade. “Sit up.” “Fuck you.” It comes out half groan, the illness-wrought exhaustion catching back up with Jason. “You need to hydrate.” “Double fuck you.” Bruce shrugs. “Drink half of this or I’ll call Alfred and have him convince you. Your choice.” Jason rolls his eyes and snatches the bottle. Bruce will take that as a victory. Jason sits up with enormous effort, groaning at the aches in his body until he’s upright next to Bruce. He drinks the water, wincing when it hits his sore throat. “What were you dreaming about?” Bruce ventures to ask. Jason lowers the bottle to narrow his eyes at Bruce like he’s the biggest idiot in this room. “Shut up.” The annoying part is that Bruce genuinely has no idea what Jason’s nightmare could have been about. His childhood? His death? His resurrection? Any of the traumatic things that could have happened afterward, ones that Bruce wasn’t there for? There is such a disconnect between the two of them now. He should count it a blessing that they have moments like this, though Bruce would greatly prefer spending time with Jason while he isn’t sick and miserable. But Bruce will take it, nonetheless. Jason drains a sufficient amount of water, only to lurch forward in another coughing fit as soon as he gets in a breath. “Christ,” he rasps, eyes watering. “Just fucking shoot me already, will ya?” Bruce rubs his back. “I could tranq you, if you really think it would help. But I can’t guarantee that one of your brothers won’t take advantage of that and draw mustaches on your face while I’m not looking.” “Har, har. You’re a fucking comedian now.” Jason’s voice is coarse as gravel, scraping up his vocal cords. “Want some tea? It’ll help soothe your throat.” “Later. Just wanna...sleep for now.” In spite of everything he stands for, Jason tips his head to rest it on Bruce’s shoulder. Whether it was intentional or he’s just so disoriented from the fever that he has no idea he’s even doing it, Bruce won’t take the gesture for granted. Jason is shivering, so Bruce pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders where it slackened during his sleep. Then, in a riskier maneuver, he puts his arm around Jason and pulls him in close like he did so many times when Jason was a lot shorter and a lot less jagged around the edges. Bcuce still loves him just the same. Jason leans into Bruce’s warmth instinctively, but he warns, “Tell anyone about this and I’ll shatter your clavicle.” “Mm-hm.” “I mean it. You’ll need a goddamn orthopedic surgeon to fix you up if you breathe a word of this to anyone.” “I believe you.” It must be a good enough answer because Jason closes his eyes, relaxing in Bruce’s hold. “The only reason I’m gonna say this is ‘cause my brain is melting,” Jason says, “but...thanks. For being here.” He yawns. “Being sick alone fuckin’ sucks.” “I hear you.” “And keep Tim away from me, ‘kay? I don’t trust the little snot not to pull something.” Bruce snorts and unpauses the otter movie. “Go to sleep, Jay.”

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

Healing Touches

Cursed TV 2o2o  Lancewain Rated T and up but probably actually okay for general audience sickfic hurt/comfort  Cross Posted to AO3 here Prompt FIll Healing touches  While Lancelot is away Percival falls deathly ill. There is nothing Gawain can do for him. 

Gawain and Percival see Lancelot off. It’s almost a ritual between the three of them. Whoever is not on the mission sees the others off, day or night, rain or shine. They are, for all intents and purposes a family, and all each other has. Plus Pym, but she spends much of her time with the Red spear and her Raiders and in the medical tents, learning. Today is no different, Pym sees him off with basic medical supplies, kisses his cheek, wishes him luck and returns to her tent. Lancelot thanks her with a smile and tucks the supplies into his saddle bag. Percival hugs him tight, tells him he has to come back or he’ll track him down and haul him back by his ass and scream at him till his ears are bloody. Lancelot laughs, hugs him tightly and responds, I’ll miss you too. Gawain looks at him meaningfully, their goodbyes said in the confines of their tent, shared between their bedsheets, steps forward and embarrassed him, whispers in his ear. Lancelot responds in kind, eyes soft and understanding. Its starting to rain again, as it has been all week and likely will continue to do, as Lancelot mounts Goliath and joins the rest of the party. They have orders to follow.

With a sighs and a frown Gawain returns to the camp proper. While he would love to sit vigil with Percival, watch Lancelot and the others disappear from sight, he has duties to attend to. He is Sir Gawain, Green Knight of the Fey, Adviser to Nimue The Wolf Blood Witch, Queen of the Fey, and he cannot afford to sit in the rain and worry for his lover. They are both warriors and it will do little to help bring this war to an end. Instead he pushes away his concern and begins his rounds, leaves Percival to watch. The boy will rejoin him when he is ready, he always does. Percival takes his duties as squire very seriously and Gawain commends him for it, but the boy is still only that, a boy. Percival rejoins him around noon and they continue their rounds, helping where they can, hearing the needs and wants of the people. They help dig trenches to keep the water flowing away from the main parts of camp. Winter will be upon them soon and it is important to prepare everything they can beforehand.

Two days later Percival starts coughing. Gawain doesn’t think much of it, catching a cold this late in the autumn is hardly a surprise. He sends him to Pym for herbs to help with his cough. Percival goes dutifully and keeps up with Gawain the rest of the day, and the day after. On the third day, Gawain notes that Percival looks ill, tells him to stay in bed and rest. He’s no good to anyone sick or spreading the germs around. Percival doesn’t argue just lays back down and sleeps. And sleeps. And sleeps. Gawain and Pym check on him throughout the day. The only time he wakes is to cough, to eat, and to relieve himself. They agree it is only a cold caused by being in the rain and cold so much and do what they can to make him comfortable.

After a week though, his symptoms have worsened and show no signs of improving. Concern wiggles it’s way into the cracks of his armor, like ivy into fortresses. Gawain sits beside Percivals bed and wrings out a cloth, wetting it with cool water as he places it on his forehead. Fever sweat glistens over his skin, and chills convulse his body more violently than shivers. His teeth chatter and then they stop. He listens for his breathing, it stops on occasion for a moment, and then starts again and the instance of silence puts Gawain on edge. Percival has no appetite what-so-ever and barely wakes at all. When he does he suffers severe coughing fits that cause him to vomit, choking on lack of air and gasping, disoriented he asks after Lancelot. Gawain lies. There has been no word from the party and they were to be back the day before last.

Another week goes by and Gawain refuses to leave Percivals side. His duties can wait, Kaze, Korin, Mithela, they take over, cover for him. Check in on Percival and run questions by him, but none of them ask him to leave the boys side. Nimue has tried to heal him, but with no success. None of the medicine in camp has done more than make him comfortable or make him sleep. Now his body is too weak to do anything but sleep. Percival can barely keep his eyes open. Can barely form words. He is lethargic. Thin. His skin the color of corpses and waxy too. Gawain holds his frail hand in his own strong one, watches as he nears the edges of the river Styx. He growls at Morgana when she comes, the woman holds her hands up defensively, assures him she hasn’t come for the boy. Not yet anyways. Gawain tells her to get out. Not to come back. She obeys.

He wakes to light footfalls on the floor three days later. His neck and back ache from being slumped in his chair. When he looks up too tired to do much more, blue eyes meet him. Lancelot is soaked to the bone, the rain turning to snow this last week melting on his cloak as he stands there face contorted with a deep frown. They do nothing more than stare at one another for a long moment and then Gawain breaks. The tears he has been trying not to shed for his son and his lover both breaching the surface of carefully constructed walls. Lancelot shrugs off his cloak and belts and pulls Gawain silently against his chest. They go to the floor back to Percivals bed and stay there until the sun comes up. It's the only comfort Lancelot can give him. His own heart weighs heavy in his chest with concern for Percival.

When Lancelot tells Gawain to go to bed, to sleep, that he’ll watch over Percival, Gawain does as he's told. He knows Lancelot must be exhausted from his own trip due to the delays he still knows nothing about but he can’t shake the weariness that settles in him, around him. He lays back in his bed and sleeps. It is not a good sleep. It is full of dreams and nightmares and a thousand ways Percival, Lancelot, Pym, Nimue, Kaze - his friends die. He sits upright in his bed, breath coming harshly as he wipes sweat from his brow. He peels off his damp, sticky drenched shirt and slips out of bed. He pads anxiously around his tent before dressing and going to see Percival. The sun is high in the sky, and he isn’t sure how long he slept, but he can't help the smile that caresses his face when he enters Squirrels tent.

Lancelot is curled around the boy as though his body can shield him from whatever illness has gripped him. He holds the boy close, tucked against his chest, wrapped firmly in his arms, nose tucked against his hair. Deliberately Gawain closes the distance between them in silence and resumes his vigil in the old, well worn, chair beside his bed. When he wakes again early morning light fills the tent. He blinks sleep from his eyes and then blinks again in disbelief. Lancelot is sitting up on Squirrels bed and sitting up beside him, pressed into his chest is Percival, awake. He looks exhausted, they all do, but he is awake and speaking slowly to Lancelot who speaks quietly back. Neither seem to be aware that he is there, or at least that he is awake. But he doesn’t care. His family is here. HIs family is alive. Pym sets a hand on his shoulder and squeezes it, whispers,

“He woke up an hour ago. Won’t let go of Lancelot. He said we should let you sleep. So we did.” She smiles and joins them on the bed, hands Percival a cup of something medicinal, and both Lancelot and Squirrel wrinkle their noses and the boy tries to push it away.

“You’ll drink it.” He says, voice hoarse as he locks eyes with his son.

“Yes Papa.” Percival sighs defeated.

Lancelot smiles at him, holds out his hand to him. Instinctively he stands, takes it and moves to sit on Percivals other side. For all the blood on Lancelot's hands, it was his touch that seems to have brought Percival back and Gawain promises himself that he will cherish them always as he locks their fingers together behind Percival, supporting his weight between them. There is nowhere else in this world he would rather be, he thinks stretching out a hand to include Pym, than welcoming his family home.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Ectotherm (all parts)

Hey, all! I really wanted to contribute to the Great Good Omens Snake-Off. Short crack fic about Crowley being driven out of Ireland by St. Patrick.

(Spoiler: the punchline was “Of course I’m going to take it personally -- I was the only snake on that bloody island!”)

But I am burned all the way out today. Instead, please enjoy my Snek!Crowley Angst-with-a-Happy-Ending, “Ectotherm” - all the parts gathered together in one place, for the first time ever!

(If you enjoy, please consider reblogging!)

--

Crowley couldn’t get warm.

In twenty-four hours he had been subjected to the inferno of a burning bookshop; the hell-born flames of the dread sigil Odegra enveloping his Bentley; the terrifying freezing-hot-burning-cold presence of Satan himself; and a column of Hellfire intended not for him but for Aziraphale, because the Archangels were determined to destroy the best thing that had ever walked the floor of Heaven.

Well, forget them.

And so, they sat at the Ritz raising their glasses to the world, ready to share a meal and start their life together.

Only Crowley suddenly realized he couldn’t eat. He’d thought he was hungry, but the food just sat in his stomach, heavy and cold. Even the wine seemed to sour, once it was past his tongue.

Just nerves, he thought, and did it really matter? He’d always preferred to watch Aziraphale eat, see the joy bubble across his features. It was enough to know that they could do this every day for eternity if they wished, and right now he certainly wished it.

He felt a little better when the coffee arrived, almost-painful heat radiating out from his stomach.

“My dear fellow, that’s your fourth cup!” Aziraphale protested, as he downed another.

“It’s good! And I didn’t complain when you ordered a second piece of cake.”

“Well, I…I was rather thinking you might like some, too.”

With a rush of giddy emotions, Crowley realized he liked the sound of that very much. He picked up his fork and sliced off a bite of red cake with thick white icing. “What is it?”

“I thought I’d try something different, something a little modern. This is red velvet cake.”

Only Aziraphale would think a flavor that had been popular for over sixty years was a little modern. Crowley smiled as he tasted it – rich and sweet and strangely light on his tongue. “You know, it’s not bad,” he said, reaching for another bite.

And a little heat rose to his face as he realized that Aziraphale was sitting there with hands folded, smile on his face – watching Crowley eat.

Crowley couldn’t get warm.

They went for a walk after the Ritz, but he found he was very tired. He tried to shrug it off.

“I’ve had a busy week, and I missed my sleeping day,” he explained. “I don’t – I don’t need to sleep, you know, but I still get exhausted. I’ll be fine.”

“You should sleep, then,” Aziraphale said, tone slightly scolding. The angel seemed determined to make sure Crowley took care of himself, as if he hadn’t learned to do that long before the Garden. It turned out, being fussed over wasn’t so bad. “I can walk you back to your place. Or. Er. You can come to the bookshop. I don’t have much to offer, but there’s the sofa, and perhaps we can have a drink…”

“Bookshop sounds lovely.” He always had to fight back a smile when he remembered the many nights they’d sat in the back corner together, sharing wine, sharing stories, complaining about work, just being themselves. Actually, he didn’t have to fight back that smile at all anymore – he could wear it for anyone to see. For Aziraphale to see.

None of that today, though. Crowley was rather embarrassed to find that the moment he stretched out on the sofa, he started falling asleep, and there was nothing he could do to fight it off.

He was dead to the world before Aziraphale had even settled into his armchair, and didn’t wake up until the shop was filled with bright Monday sunlight. A fleecy tartan blanket covered him from shoulder to toe, but he still shivered, and his stomach felt strangely heavy. Too much cake, probably.

Crowley sat up stiffly, running a hand through his hair and blinking around the shop. His eyes landed on a customer, who jumped in surprise, then quickly walked out.

“Ah, you’re awake!” Aziraphale hurried over. “How are you feeling? Better, I trust?”

“A bit.” Crowley rubbed at his face. “Didn’t I have glasses?”

“You took them off before falling asleep.” Aziraphale pulled them out of his pocket. “I was worried you might roll over them in the night. You slept very heavily. Is that normal?”

He shrugged, pushing the dark lenses back onto his face. “Probably. Didn’t wake up, didn’t dream much, seems like a good sleep. Does it have to be so blasted cold, though?”

Aziraphale glanced at the old-fashioned thermostat. “I do keep it a little cool to discourage customers. You scared away three different people just by sleeping there, you know. Perhaps I should get you a permanent bed right in the middle of the floor.”

“Only if you promise to turn the heat up.” Crowley wandered closer to the window, feeling the warmth of the sun on his shoulders. That was better. “I’m…” It wasn’t a word he used often.  “I’m sorry, by the way.”

“About the customers? Don’t be, they were trying to touch my first edition Verne novels and I was running out of ways to be inconspicuously rude.”

“No about…falling asleep. I know you had…” Plans? Expectations? They’d never really talked about what Our Side would mean. “…you had hopes, for our first day, you know, free.”

“And every one of them is being fulfilled right now,” Aziraphale said, with such sincerity that Crowley started to smile. “Ah, I lied. Now all of them are being fulfilled.” He took Crowley’s hands in his. “Just standing here, talking to you, not worrying about who might see us, it’s more than I ever thought would be possible. I am perfectly content as we are.” He frowned suddenly. “Except that your hands are freezing.”

Crowley laughed as Aziraphale wrapped his hands around the demon’s, rubbing them, trying to warm them up. It certainly did make him feel better, and not just because his fingers had been a little numb from the way he’d slept.

“I was actually worried…” Aziraphale started again, still staring at their hands. “Oh, I assume you have your own, er, hopes. Since you’ve been thinking about this so much longer than I. We should probably discuss that, but, well, just to warn you, I haven’t thought much about…that is, I’m not sure that I want…ohhh…”

Crowley lifted one hand to tilt Aziraphale’s face up, to look into his eyes. The heat of it was almost unbearable. “I haven’t really thought about it either,” he confessed. “Never thought we’d make it this far. Everything from this point on is just a pleasant surprise.” With his other hand, he squeezed the angel’s fingers gently. “I don’t think I’d say no to more of this, though.”

Aziraphale blushed, the heat of it rushing to fill every space inside Crowley, and his eyes dropped briefly. “Your hand is still freezing,” he finally said, pulling away with a smile. He bustled across the shop to pick up his coat. “I know, let’s go for a walk. It’s a nice, warm day. We can feed the ducks in St. James’s Park…No. Let’s do something different. Something daring.” There was a wild gleam in his eyes as he turned back. “Let’s feed the ducks in Regent’s Park.”

It was indeed a gloriously warm day, and they spent over five hours exploring every path in London’s third-largest park while a small sign sat in the bookshop window reading Out to Lunch – Back in a Jiffy.

Every once in a while, Aziraphale’s hot hand found its way into Crowley’s cold one. Again and again, until it felt completely natural.

--

Crowley couldn’t get warm.

It had been three weeks since the world had ended and begun again, everything ticking along nicely as Aziraphale liked to stay. Crowley caught himself thinking more like Aziraphale these days, which was both worrying and wonderful.

Except that any time Crowley was indoors, he felt lethargic, cold, a little cranky. Aziraphale had miracled up a thick scarf in grey tartan. It was hideous and embarrassing and he wore it all the time even though it didn’t really help. He knew what the tartan gifts meant.

He took more hot baths than he ever had in his life, including the years he’d spent living in Bath. He soaked until he felt lightheaded, feverish even, and bundled himself up to try and trap in the heat.

Yet still, an hour later, he huddled in his seat, shivering, unable to concentrate on a game of chess, or even draughts.

"Are you sure that's what you want to do?" Aziraphale asked as Crowley moved his black piece forward.

"Stop asking me that. I know how to play this, I've been beating you for centuries." He glared at the angel sitting comfortably in his armchair.

Two weeks ago, Aziraphale had summoned his favorite seat into Crowley's study, across the desk from that ridiculous throne. Despite his complaints, at the time he'd welcomed the idea of the angel being as comfortable in his space as Crowley was in the bookshop. Of sharing all those idle moments as he had dreamed for so long. Of finally opening his life enough to make room for the only other being that mattered.

Now, he couldn't help thinking how awful the chair looked, how it clashed with his decor, with his whole flat, how much he hated the way Aziraphale smirked as he picked up one red piece and, there he goes again, captured every single one of Crowley's in a rapid series of jumps.

Really should have seen that coming.

"Well, my dear," Aziraphale folded his hands. "Shall we try for best seven out thirteen, or should we switch to something more your speed? Naughts and Crosses, perhaps?"

With a sweep of his arm, Crowley knocked the board and pieces off the desk, scattering them across the floor.

"Crowley!"

The demon didn't respond. He didn't have the energy to respond - every muscle in his body screamed to just stretch out and rest.

He walked into the next room, where the heat lamps over the plants kept the air at nearly 40 degrees. All but the most tropical had already withered, and even the few remaining trembled at his approach, knowing they weren't up to his exacting standards. But he wasn't here to berate them, just to try and soak in some of the heat.

"Crowley? My dear, are you quite alright?"

He leaned against the counter, trying to will his shoulders to relax, his stomach to unknot, his brain to start functioning again. He didn't even notice Aziraphale's approach, until the too-hot hand landed on his shoulder.

"DON'T!" Without thinking, Crowley spun, shoving the angel away with all his strength. "Don't touch me, don't come near me, don't even speak to me, you arrogant sod!"

Then he tore off the tartan scarf and threw it into the corner.

Over 6,000 years, Crowley and Aziraphale had had many fights.

The everyday ones, the endless bickering and teasing, they both knew never to take to heart.

The truly fierce ones, a request for Holy Water, and a plan to run away - these had nearly shattered them, yet they'd still understood, on some level, that each wanted what was best.

The argument that night was like nothing they'd ever experienced. All the bitter pettiness of their daily arguments, but with every ounce of ferocity Crowley could muster.

Later, as he lay on the ceiling, shivering in the heat, Crowley replayed every word, crystal clear in his mind, hoping that at least the burn of his shame could warm him up.

It wasn't anger. It was lashing out.

Crowley was afraid. Something was wrong, and he didn't know what.

--

Crowley couldn't get warm.

He tried wearing more layers.

He tried wearing fewer layers.

Eating hot food.

Lying under a tree.

Lying in direct sunlight.

Finally, there was only one conclusion he could reach.

“I’m cold-blooded.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Aziraphale sniffed. His ego was still somewhat bruised from their argument, but he was clearly making an effort.

They sat facing each other across the café table, opposite sides. Aziraphale had ordered a slice of warm pie with ice cream melting down the sides. A second fork sat, waiting for Crowley, and the angel kept giving it significant looks, but the demon wouldn’t unwrap his hands from the enormous cup of coffee he’d ordered, the largest they served.

Aziraphale sighed and folded his hands. “Crowley, dear. I know the…transition to our new life hasn’t been as smooth as we hoped, and we’ve both said things we regret, but I’ve never felt that you were –”

“No, Aziraphale.” He took a sip of coffee. It was something American-style, hot and bitter and lacking any particular flavor. He didn’t care. He just needed absurd quantities of near-boiling liquid. “I mean it literally. Somehow, after the Apocalypse, I became cold-blooded. I can’t get warm no matter what I do.”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed, as if waiting for the punchline of an unfunny joke. “That’s simply impossible. How many times have you told me off for making those assumptions, just because you used to be a snake? You have a mammal body, and it does…mammal things,” he waved his hands to indicate that he still wasn’t completely caught up on modern science classifications, “including being warm…”

He trailed off as Crowley reached across the table, taking his hand. Even after being wrapped around the hot ceramic mug, it still wouldn’t feel right. “What are you always saying these days?”

“That your hands are freezing.” Aziraphale shook his head. “It can’t be true. That’s not proof…”

Crowley gestured to the plate. “I can’t eat because my stomach is too cold to work. When I do eat, I have to lay down because any extra movement takes away energy I need for digestion.” He tugged at the tartan scarf, back around his neck where it belonged. “Extra layers don’t help, because they just insulate me from the warm air. Blankets don’t help because I’m not creating enough heat on my own. Even turning up the thermostat doesn’t help because this blessed body is made to shed heat, not retain it.” He stared into his mug of coffee. “I can’t move when I’m cold. I can’t move when I’m hot. Sunlight helps for a little while, but the days are getting shorter.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, knowing what he was about to say would make the angel pull away, wishing it wasn't true. “I…I don’t think I like being touched anymore.”

He didn’t fight it when the hand vanished, taking its warmth with it. Crowley just slumped, closing his eyes in defeat.

The squeal of chair legs against hard floor made him glance up. Aziraphale had moved to sit beside him, pulling his chair as close as he could.

Carefully, Crowley leaned his head to the side, resting it on Aziraphale’s shoulder, letting their bodies press together. It was easier this way, a sort of passive contact, unrestrained, letting the heat flow between them.

“Are you…” He could hear the way the breath caught in Aziraphale’s throat. “You seem so certain. Is there any chance you’re wrong? Any other explanation?”

Crowley gently shook his head, letting it wobble back and forth on the angel’s shoulder. “This is how it felt when I was a snake. You don’t forget something like that.”

“At least now you know. Surely what you learned from being a snake can help you navigate…”

“I looked it up,” Crowley muttered. “A snake can handle a range of fifteen, twenty degrees easily. Human body…a little more than one degree. At 35 I’m freezing to death, at 38 I’m burning up from the inside. I don’t even know how I’ve lasted this long.” He pressed himself even closer into Aziraphale’s side. Half of him was still cold, even as his shoulder and his thigh screamed in the heat. It wouldn’t balance properly. “It’s going to kill me.”

He felt the tension all through Aziraphale’s body. “Crowley, no!”

“Fine, it’s going to get me discorporated, and I’ll wake up in Hell, and they’ll kill me.”

“There must be something we can do.”

“Maybe. It’s getting harder to concentrate every day.”

“Then I’ll look for a solution.” He offered his hand and Crowley grabbed it, grateful for the almost-too-hot touch. “I might as well, since I’m responsible.”

“What are you talking about, Angel?”

“Your body was fine, then I used it and…it must be something I did.”

“Don’t say that.” He pulled away enough to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. “This isn’t your fault. I agreed to switch bodies, I knew there was some risk. And I don’t think you could have caused this. Somehow this is Heaven or Hell, still interfering with our lives.”

Aziraphale bit his lip, nodding. Crowley wasn’t sure if he really believed it or not. “Still. If this was done to you, there must be some way to undo it. And if there’s a way, I will find it.” He swallowed, turning to look at their linked hands. “But, in the meantime…It’s probably best if you turn back into a snake.”

“No!” Crowley all but shouted, anger mixing with fear. “No, Aziraphale I won’t. That’s not who I am anymore.”

“Isn’t it better than dying?”

He clenched his jaw, biting back his reply. He honestly wasn’t sure it was. An eternity as a serpent, no driving, no music, no wines, no gardening, no feeding ducks, no holding hands…

Crowley twined his fingers through Aziraphale’s, lifting up the hand clasp between them. “I fought…We fought…so long for this. I can’t just…I won’t give this up. I won’t, Angel.”

“You’re not giving anything up,” Aziraphale insisted. He brushed his lips across Crowley’s fingers and, oh, add something else to the list of things he wasn’t willing to lose. “I will still be here. My feelings for you won’t change at all.”

“They’ll probably change a little,” Crowley pointed out.

“I want to spend every day with you, talk with you, see you happy. And it doesn’t matter if you’re scaled or human or turn into a fish, that’s not going to change.”

“I won’t be happy.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But please. Give me the time I need to save you.”

He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale, letting the angel do the same back, even though part of his mind screamed and squirmed to escape the heat of contact. He told himself this wouldn’t be the last time.

--

Crowley was warm.

He stretched out in his favorite basking spot by the window, feeling the winter sunlight play across his scales, heating him up. Oh, there were heat lamps tucked in the corners for when he needed them, but nothing beat the feel of real sunlight.

Every now and again, the door would open, a customer hoping to browse for a Christmas gift. The rumble of footsteps through his belly woke him, and he reared up his head, tongue flicking out to catch the scent of the blurry shape by the entryway.

Almost every time, the visitor took one look at the enormous red-bellied black snake and vanished soon after.

The hours ticked by, slow and sweet, like drops of honey. Crowley was aware that he should be filling them with fast-paced reckless activities of some form, but he couldn’t quite recall what…just a general sense of dissatisfaction.

Still, whatever he had lost, the best was still here.

When he’d drunk his fill of warmth, he twisted his way through the shop, sliding around stacks of books and potted plants (hissing at the ones that didn’t seem to be growing well enough). There, at the desk, sat the angel.

Aziraphale was rarely anywhere else these days. Bent over old grimoires, reading glasses balanced on his nose, pile of notes beside him. He hadn’t glanced up for any of the customers. Three cups full of cold tea sat beside him. He hadn’t even risen to get a new one in a while.

A pair of folded-up sunglasses sat in one corner of the desk. He never picked them up, but sometimes touched them as he worked.

Crowley twisted around his leg, climbing, finding his way along the chair and across the shoulders until he was draped across Aziraphale, watching him work.

“Hello, my dear. How was your day?”

Crowley hissed dismissively. One day was the same as another for a snake. “Progressss?”

“I’m close. I really think I’m close.” His voice was just a rumble, rising from his chest through Crowley’s belly, distorted, missing half the notes. He couldn’t pick up on the nuance, couldn’t tell if it was a lie or not. Just like he couldn’t see all of Aziraphale’s face at once, just the jaw, the little smile, the rest curving away in the distance.

“Ssssupper,” Crowley reminded him. The angel needed lots of reminders.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. I really want to keep at this a bit longer.”

“Resssst.”

He held up his hands before him, letting Crowley slither from one to the next without trying to grasp. There was something about hands, something important. It was just on the edge of his memory, but snakes don’t have hands. It slipped away.

“No, I can’t rest yet. Not until…no.”

“Pleassssssse.”

“I can take a small break, but no dinner. I’m not hungry, anyway.”

When Crowley was coiled back around his shoulders, Aziraphale stood up, walking across to the little secluded corner of the shop. This was another important area, though Crowley couldn’t exactly remember why. He thought it involved a lot of sitting, drinking…water? Not water. He forgot what he used to drink.

The angel fiddled with his collection of round discs. “How about some Vivaldi, since it’s almost Christmas? You always liked his Seasons.” Crowley nodded.

He couldn’t really hear the music. Noises on the air meant nothing to a snake.

But once Aziraphale was stretched out on the sofa, Crowley made himself comfortable on his chest, and felt the deep thrum of the music as the angel sang along.

Warmth rose from Aziraphale, too, just like from the sun. It was a different kind of heat. Purer. Better.

Whatever else he had lost, Crowley still had that. And he was content.

--

Aziraphale collapsed across the sofa, head and shoulders wedged into the corner, too exhausted to even keep himself upright. The long black serpent lay on his stomach, watching him intently.

“Oh, Crowley,” he tried to keep his voice steady, despite the tears he could no longer hold in. “You were wrong. It was my fault. I’ve – I’ve worked it out now. Obvious, really. Serpent. Human. Two corporations, woven together.” His voice started to crack. “When we changed places I…I sort of dropped a corner. Let one bleed into the other. I – I’m so sorry.”

Crowley took a moment, processing this. “Accccident.”

“Yes, but I…” He held out a hand. Crowley didn’t like to be scratched, or petted, or held. But he did glide across the hand, bringing his snout closer to the angel’s tear-streaked face. “I could have killed you, Crowley. I could have destroyed you over something so…so foolishly simple. You must hate me.”

“No. Nevvver.”

He wiped furiously at his eyes with his free hand. They itched with fatigue as they never had before. “I’m almost there, Crowley. Just a little more. I can see where I dropped it. I can see how to separate them again. I just…just need to figure out how to secure the ends, so it doesn’t happen again.” The sobs broke through again. “I’m nearly there, my love. I’m nearly there.”

“Resssst.”

“I can’t. Not when I’m so close. Crowley I…I need you back. I want to see you human again. And I know you hate this, I won’t leave you in this form a moment longer than necessary, I just…”

“Ssssleeep.” Crowley retreated, coiling up on Aziraphale’s chest. “Ssssleeep. Lovvvve. Sssssleeeep.”

Aziraphale drifted off under that watchful golden gaze, allowing his mind the rest it needed to put the last few pieces together.

--

Crowley couldn’t get warm.

The angel had spent the morning carving lines and curves deep into the wooden floor, until Crowley could feel every scratch and dip through the sensitive skin of his belly. Now the angel was trying to keep him at the center of the pattern, while he ran around the edge doing – something.

There was a heat lamp, but it was too far away. Why wasn’t he under it?

Crowley started sliding across the floor, coiling and uncoiling in the direction of that delicious, life-giving heat –

The angel suddenly loomed before him, hands flapping. “No, no! I told…the center…few more minutes.”

A few minutes? Crowley was cold now. He wound to the side, planning to dart around, but the angel’s feet suddenly shifted, coming down sharply in his path.

Startled, Crowley reared up, nearly as tall as the angel, to hisssss from his maximum height, head flattened, vision suddenly clear enough to see the angel’s face: eyes wide, jaw tight. Frightened. Crowley gave another hisssss, hoping that would be enough to scare the interloper away, clear a path to the heat.

But the angel merely raised his hands, moving more slowly this time. “…sorry, my…adjust the lamp…break the circle now…start all over…” The words were murky, distorted, most of them too low or soft to be perceived. “…explained…ten minutes ago…remember?”

Ten minutes? That was a long time.

No, no it wasn’t. The cold was just making his mind fuzzy again. He gave another longing look at the heat lamp, then at another, further away, tucked safely in a corner where he could bask and hide. He felt exposed, anxious, very much in danger. What if this was some kind of trap?

Then he looked again at the angel’s face. Not frightened. Worried. Sad. Tired.

Crowley trusted Aziraphale. He couldn’t remember precisely why, but it was undeniable – a deep, profound trust. If Aziraphale said he had to stay here, stay he would.

“Fasssssster,” Crowley grumbled, and twisted back to where he’d been before. A moment later, the light from the heat lamp grew a little warmer. Still not quite enough, but better.

Two more slow circuits around the marks on the floor, adjusting things and muttering, and finally the angel sat down, facing Crowley. He held out his arms, but Crowley was in no mood to be handled, pulling back into his coils.

“I need…preferably your face.” Crowley flicked his tongue, but otherwise didn’t move. “Please…”

Reluctantly, the black and red snake moved closer, lifted his head until the angel could cup his jaw with burning-hot hands. He didn’t like it and nearly pulled away, fighting the urge to retreat.

Necessary, this is necessary. He tried to relax into the contact, tried to pretend it didn’t feel wrong.

The angel’s blue eyes fluttered shut; Crowley could just make out the tense wrinkles forming in his brow, but the stiffness in the fingers around the snake’s jaw was unmistakable. It wasn’t enough to be painful, but it was close. Crowley’s back half twisted and writhed as if ready to pull away, even while he focused his entire being on keeping his head still. Necessary. Trust him. It’s necessary.

Finally, the angel’s hands fell away, and he dropped back, breathing heavily. His eyes opened and he smiled. “…finished.”

Good.

Crowley turned and slithered under the heat lamp, stretching out for maximum comfort.

Just as he was settling in for a good late-morning nap, the angel appeared beside him again. “…you hear…finished…”

Now what? Perhaps he should go find one of the more secluded lamps, to avoid interruptions.

“…fixed you…”

Shrugging off the nap for the moment, Crowley raised his head just enough to tip it to the side. Fixed…?

The angel knelt at the edge of the heat lamp’s warmth, and spoke again, much louder. “…fixed…change back…”

Crowley tilted his head the other way. Change back…?

“Human! Crowley, human.”

It all came back in a rush. Arms. Legs. Hands. Drinking strange red water, watching birds swim, moving very fast in a large black box which made the angel very angry – human.

He reared up again.

Nothing changed.

“Hhhhhow?”

The angel shook his head, mouth working, but Crowley couldn’t hear a sound. He pushed closer, far closer than was comfortable, until the heat pits of his face were filled with the angel’s warmth, until he could see the tears gathering in blue eyes.

Crowley focused on those eyes, that shape, on every part of his life in human form that he could still make sense of.

Still no change.

Hissing with frustration, he abandoned the warmth of the heat lamp, shooting away to weave among the plants, drape himself across the sofa, even nudge his face at an open book.

No effect at all.

He couldn’t remember how to change back.

As he circled the shop again – feeling his energy sap away in the cold – he noticed the angel sitting once again at his desk. Crowley climbed up his leg, across his back, draped over his shoulders and around his chest. Felt the pure warmth, cleaner and sweeter than sunlight.

The angel wasn’t working now, of course; his chair was pointed away from the desk, as if to avoid even looking at the piles of paper. He clutched something in his hands, shoulders heaving, chest shaking with sobs. “I’m sorry…I tried…I tried so hard, but I couldn’t…I’m too late.” The voice was a little clearer now, rumbling through Crowley’s belly.

“Sssshhhhhh,” Crowley comforted as best he could, trying to nestle his head on the angel’s arms. It wasn’t a gesture he was comfortable with, but he could remember now that arms, hands, were important. Perhaps if he could get closer…

“If I hadn’t been so foolish…oh, my love…I failed you…”

But Crowley wasn’t listening. He was looking at what the angel held in his hands. He was looking at –

“Glassssssesss.”

“Wh – what?”

“Glassssess.” Crowley nudged at the angel’s hands until they parted, revealing a pair of black lenses held by silver frames. “Pleassse. Glassessss.”

It wasn’t easy to put a pair of sunglasses onto a snake’s head, even one so large as Crowley. They dangled rather uselessly down either side of his jaw, the lenses didn’t exactly cover his eyes, and where they did the world became a murky black soup he had no hope of seeing. But it felt…right.

He turned, trying to face the angel, but somehow lost his balance and tumbled to the floor.

“Crowley? Are you…Crowley?”

The voice was too crisp, too sharp, to rich. It was startling.

He shook his head and hissed, but it sounded strange. Thick. His tongue couldn’t get out because there were too many teeth.

Crowley blinked. Not because he had to, but because he suddenly realized he had eyelids.

A hand drifted over and adjusted the glasses, settling them correctly over the ears and across the nose – no that was his hand, his fingers.

His eyes slowly panned up and he was shocked at how clearly he could see the angel standing over him, looking more pale, more drawn, and just a bit thinner than he remembered, clothes a rumpled mess, eyes red.

“Aziraphale?”

“Crowley!”

Two arms suddenly around his shoulders, pulling him up onto legs he barely remembered how to use, wrapping around him, pulling him into the indescribable softness of Aziraphale’s embrace. It took him a moment to remember that he had arms of his own, that he could twist them, twine them, pull Aziraphale even closer.

He could still feel Aziraphale’s warmth pressing into his chest and stomach, but it no longer felt like a blazing fire, or the strange glow of life-giving heat. It was simply a body, pressed close to his. Two bodies trembling, shaking, shoulders heaving, breath ragged.

Aziraphale was still crying, still mumbling apologies into the demon’s shoulder.

Crowley was laughing.

They didn’t let each other go for a long, long time.

--

Crowley was warm.

No, Crowley was happy.

It wasn’t as easy to fit both bodies on the sofa in this form, but they managed – Aziraphale stretched out, Crowley, lying across his chest, legs in a tangle, head tucked against his throat, listening to the sigh of breath, the rumble of heartbeat.

They hadn’t talked about it. Aziraphale had finally admitted to being tired, and they just found themselves here as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“I suppose I’ve gotten used to this,” murmured Aziraphale, who never used to lie on his own sofa, trembling fingers tracing through Crowley’s hair.

“I’m used to it, too,” he mumbled back, but used to it didn’t begin to describe it. This was right, this was home, and he knew it was more than a leftover serpentine instinct to bask that had brought him here, that would keep bringing him here for as long as Aziraphale would allow it.

Aziraphale’s right hand was still twined with Crowley’s left, resting on the angel’s chest. Crowely couldn’t stop studying it, turning it, running his thumb across fingers and knuckles and nails. He could feel more than just heat now, he could feel the softness, the rough callus on the side of one finger where Aziraphale rested his pencil as he wrote, the faint hard edges of papercuts. It was an entire world to explore, that hand, full of more wonder than Crowley had ever suspected.

“Might be more comfortable in a bed,” Aziraphale whispered, clearly already on the edge of sleep.

“I’ve got a bed,” Crowley said idly, still looking at the broken edges of Aziraphale’s nails. He’d never seen them like that before. Aziraphale had kept them perfectly manicured since the invention of manicures. “Lots of space, too. More than I can use. But then, all my plants are already here…” He trailed off, realizing what he was saying.

“Mmh,” was Aziraphale’s only reply. The fingers combing through Crowley’s hair were now almost still.

“S’alright, Angel. You rest. We’ve got all the time in the world.”

--

Notes for Americans: Draughts is checkers, and Naughts and Crosses is Tic-Tac-Toe. All temperatures are in Celsius, and I hope I have them accurate.

Snake notes: I am not a herpetologist (reptile/amphibian scientist) but my cousin is, and he provided some notes on snake behavior and biology, which I've used here and elsewhere in my writing, though my attempts to render ectothermic traits onto a warm-blooded body are entirely my own.

Some fans like to HC Crowley as cold-blooded in all his forms, which is fine, but it certainly means more than just "he's a little chilly when it's cold out"! I have a full list for if I ever want to do a cold-blooded-Crowley story, but not all of them made it into this one. Relevant points include: - Ectotherms need to bask to get their heat up to a comfortable temperature before any major activity - Digesting food is a long, slow process. Snakes prefer to rest somewhere warm and safe while this happens - Bundling up can help retain heat (snake sweaters!) but only if the snake is already hot to begin with - Snakes can only actually be safely away from their heat lamps for half an hour or so (depending on ambient temperature) - Torpor is a sort of involuntary state of reduced metabolism that ectotherms enter when it gets too cold. Various other terms also apply, depending on how long the period is, and how intense the cold, but keep in mind - INVOLUNTARY. - Snakes do not like to be touched, handled or contained. Snakes are just not comfortable with physical contact the way mammals are, though they will tolerate it if you stay within the right boundaries - Do not startle a snake.

Thank you all for reading! This was originally from my Christmas Prompt fic, “Boundless Love.” I’ll post the link in the comments!

[animeniacss]

6 Years - Hoseok x Reader - Chapter 9 - The Flu Hits Home

Synopsis: 6 years. That’s all it can take to take another look at someone and see that they have completely changed. You were once an eager 20-year-old, with your dreams all in view, and Jung Hoseok at your side to view them with you. However, after a break up the end of your junior year of college, everything seemed different. Now, you’re a recently divorced single mother of two, and your life is nowhere near what you thought it would be. However, after reuniting with Jung Hoseok, you may just be able to capture a little bit of that exciting youth you once knew so long ago.

Feat. BTS Members, Nayeon (TWICE), and Yuna (itzy)

Genre: Romance, SingleMother!AU, Past Relationship, Drama, Some Depictions of Violence/Domestic Abuse

Length: approx. 4.9k words

Chapter 9 - The Flu Hits Home

As you stood beside the counter, running a hand through your hair, you could faintly hear Hoseok reading to the girls. Hearing his high-pitched voice as he read the story, it really made you smile. You were so glad that Hoseok had no problem reading to them. Curiosity got the better of you after a few more minutes, you walked towards the bedroom. The door was opened slightly, allowing you to get a glimpse of Min Ja’s bed.

           Hoseok was sitting with his back against the wall, book in his hands. Min Ja was sitting beside him, snug under her pink covers. Grinning, she watched as he turned the pages. Hyo Bin was on the other side of him, her eyes mostly closed. She was probably very close to falling asleep as she rested on his chest. Hoseok was beaming as he read the story, Min Ja copying all his wild noises and voices.

           “And then, the little girl ran alllllll the way through the forest with the magic jewel.” Hoseok beamed, pointing to the little girl on one page. “See? Look…. weeeee.” He traced his finger along the trail, and Min Ja stuck her finger out to do the same, giggling as they both made the noise together, quiet enough to not wake Hyo Bin up. “Where’s she going?”

           “She’s going to the castle.” Min Ja pointed out. “But I can’t tell you why because you have to read it.”

           “Oh, okay.” Hoseok chuckled a bit, turning the page. Resting against the door frame, you watched Hoseok finish the story about a princess who saved the world. Min Ja was getting sleepier and sleepier with every turning page, rubbing her eyes and yawning as she rested against Hoseok to listen to him read it. When he noticed she was getting sleepier, his voices toned down just a bit. “Wow, that was good, huh?” He asked, closing the finished storybook.

           “Mhm…” Min Ja nodded, rubbing her eyes.

           “Are you tired now?”

           “No. You have to read another one.” You murmured. Hoseok chuckled.

           “Min Ja, it’s time to go to sleep. Mr. Hobi read you a story already…” You finally cut in, walking towards the bed. You took Hyo Bin into your arms, not waking her up as she curled into your touch.

           “Mr. Hobi?” Min Ja began, yawning as she watched Hoseok get up off the bed. “Can you read more stories soon?”

           “Of course, I can.” He said cheerfully, watching you set Hyo Bin into her bed and tucking her under the covers. “But it’s time to sleep now, alright?”

           “Kay…” she pouted, nuzzling under her covers. You walked over, fixing her blankets before planting a small kiss on her forehead. Min Ja’s big eyes closed after a few moments, and it wasn’t long before the room was filled with only the sounds of faint snoring. Turning to Hoseok, you motioned for him to quietly exit the room, closing the door behind you.

           “I appreciate that…” you said softly as the two of you returned to the living room.

           “It was fun.” He said happily. “But it’s been a long day, I’m exhausted.” He admitted, letting out an exhausted sighed. “Taking care of two girls for a whole day is crazy.”

           “Please, tell me more about it.” You teased sarcastically, crossing your arms. Hoseok grinned a bit as you led him to the door. He slid on his shoes, grabbed his belongings, and turned to you.

           “I hope you had a good time today.” He said sweetly.

           “I had a lot of fun. I appreciate you taking us out like this.”

           “Of course. Like I said, I wanted to help de-stress you guys. Did it work?”

           “Well, my back still hurts, I’m starting to see double, and I really want a drink. So, not much has changed.” You replied, a grin forming on your face. “But I did get that amazing video of you being terrified by that snake.”

           “Aaaaaaah…” Hoseok groaned. “I cannot believe you got that on video. You do realize how long that thing was, right?”

           “Yeah. That made it even funnier. I think it was trying to play with you.”

           “Well, I wasn’t interested.” Hoseok huffed. You laughed again as the memory flashed through your mind. As you stopped yourself from laughing, you glanced up at Hoseok again. You felt so calm, which was what Hoseok was trying to have happened. Sure, any day dragging around two children under five would leave any sane person exhausted, but internally, you felt so calm and so relieved that you got to spend a day just enjoying yourself instead of stressing out over the thought of Weong-Bin and his idiocy. When was the last time you felt that way? You had no idea. Without thinking, you took a step closer to Hoseok, and he blinked. “Hm?”

           “Hey…weird request…but can I have a hug?” Without hesitation, Hoseok grinned and opened up his arms.

           “Of course.” He said, practically beaming. Almost immediately, you latched yourself onto him, your hands wrapping around his torso. He was so warm, and you couldn’t help but nuzzle your head into his chest. You could hear him chuckle as his arms wrapped around you. “Not that I mind, but any particular reason?”

           “Your hugs always made me feel better, that’s all.”

           “So, I could have saved a whole days’ worth of won today if I had just given you a hug?” He teased. You both let out a small laugh, and you only hugged him tighter. “I’m kidding.”

           “I know.” You said. “Thank you for today.”

           “Ahh, don’t mention it.” He repeated again. “I like spending time with you.”

           “I hope we get to do more stuff like this.”

           “Just let me know when you’re free and we can work it out.” He said simply. You sighed, closing your eyes as you just allowed this tight hug to envelop your entire body. “…Is there anything else bothering you?” He asked curiously.

           “Other then the ex-husband stuff? No.” you admitted. “Everything that comes and goes in my mind kind of falls back onto that.”

“Ah…”

You were silent for a moment. There was a wave of emotions hitting you right now, some that were good, and others that you would rather go away and never come back. After that moment passed, you let out a deep, almost frustrated sigh. “Damn you’re so comfy.” You pouted. Hoseok chuckled a bit, resting his chin on top of your head.

           “Thank you.” He said softly. “I’ll wait here for a few more minutes until you’re ready to let go.” You nodded, your hands gripping onto the back of his shirt. At this moment, you felt that if you let him go now, you may never get him back. It felt silly to think such a thing, that much you knew, but still. Being in this moment made you feel safe and content, and you didn’t want that moment to leave you.

           “Okay…” you said softly, finally pulling back from the hug. “I’ll let you get going.” Hoseok nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets, allowing only the thumbs to poke out. “Get home safe.”

           “I will.” He said happily. Nodding, you waved him off as he headed towards the elevator. Slowly closing and locking the door, you took a deep breath of air into your lungs, held it for a moment, and exhaled it out into the air. You always knew deep down, even when you were married, that the way you felt for Hoseok had never truly left you. It wasn’t something you ever spoke about, but you knew it was true. Maybe that was why Weong-Bin didn’t even like the guy. You knew him in college, and he was well aware of your relationship with Hoseok from beginning to end. Feeling your mind begin to race with different thoughts and feelings, you knew it was time to go to bed.

---

           Sunday was a good day too, another one that you had off. You spent the time with the girls in the apartment, giving the family a chance to sleep in before getting up and spending as much time as you could coloring, watching TV, or just playing some games. Time to just have a lazy day with the girls did not come around often, but you were so happy when it did. The three of you were sitting around the kitchen table, just after lunch, coloring. Min Ja was drawing pictures of the zoo to show to her daycare friends the next day, and Hyo Bin was scribbling. Well, sort of. She had woken up crankier than usual, but you assumed she was still lethargic from the day prior and needed more time to sleep. However, she was absolutely refusing to be put down for a nap. You were unsure why, you could see that she was tired, but every time you tried to put her into bed, she would kick and scream and cry, begging to be picked up again. It was odd, but you tried to push it off as a rough day, one that would balance itself out as the hours passed.

           It didn’t though. Instead, it only got worse. As Sunday turned to Monday, you found Hyo Bin only getting fussier and more difficult with every passing hour. It got to the point where she refused to eat. Anything that was put near her the mouth was quickly rejected and met with a fit of whimpers and sobs instead. You had no idea what to do. Trying to think of something quick, you gave her some children’s medicine, one that induced some drowsiness, and put her to bed early.

           “Mommy, what’s wrong with Hyo Bin?” Min Ja asked curiously as she watched you exit your daughter’s room. You sighed.

           “I don’t know. Maybe she’s getting sick.” You admitted.

           “Oh…” She nodded.

           “Yeah. So how about you sleep in my bed with me tonight? Just so we don’t get sick too.” Min Ja’s eyes sparkled, and she nodded eagerly.

           “Okay!” She said happily. You helped her get ready for bed, and the two of you spent the next little while snuggled under your covers with the TV on. Nothing much for kids was on at this hour, just a few different cartoons and game shows that kept Min Ja giggling at chatting for an extra hour. It wasn’t too much longer before the sound of the TV lulled Min Ja to sleep, and you turned it off. Hoping that whatever was bothering Hyo Bin would pass, you found yourself unable to sleep, anticipating the worst.

           Unfortunately for you, just as you were about to go to sleep, your mind trying to assure itself that Hyo Bin was most likely getting a little cold and would be fine, you heard a noise coming from the girl’s bedroom off the baby monitor. The sound of whimpering, the sound of sobbing, the sound of gagging. Quickly, you shot up in your bed, the sudden shift waking Min Ja up from her slumber as you got out of bed and hurried into the bedroom.

           “Hyo Bin?” you called out, turning the light on and hurrying over to the crib. Leaning in, you got a good look at your daughter. She was pale as a ghost, her eyes heavy as if she hasn’t slept since you put her into bed. You quickly scooped her up into your arms and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh my God, you’re burning up.” You gasped, rubbing her back. “Okay…okay…” Hyo Bin weakly gripped onto your nightshirt, sniffling as you tried to calm her down. She was coughing and wheezing as if she was struggling to catch her breath. “Ooooh baby, okay. Let’s go take your temperature.” Heading out of the room and towards the bathroom, you passed Min Ja, who was standing at the door watching.

           “Mommy?” she called out in curiosity. When she saw you enter the bathroom, she quickly followed. “Mommy, what’s wrong?” you could hear in her voice that she was starting to get scared.

           “Nothing, Min. Go back to Mommy’s bed. Hyo Bin just isn’t feeling well.”

           “Noo…” she whimpered, eyes watering as she hid behind the bathroom door. You sighed, deciding arguing would only make things worse. You sat on the toilet, Hyo Bin in your lap as you put the thermometer in her ear. She tried to squirm a bit, but you managed to get a temperature.

           “…Oh God, 103 degrees. You sighed, holding Hyo Bin close as she continued to cough. It was deep, and you could hear the phlegm in her chest as she coughed, making her whine. “Okay…” standing up, you headed into the kitchen and attempted to find an ice pack or cooling rag to use. When you did, you placed the cold rag around her neck and heard her let out a deep sigh. “There you go, better, huh?” you smiled softly, rubbing her back.

           “Mamaaaa…” she sobbed, sniffling. You tried to soothe her as you thought about how you needed to take off work for god knows how long, and somehow get Min Ja to go to daycare without causing too much of a fuss.

           “I know, sweetie. We’re going to go see Doctor Park tomorrow, yeah?” You hummed softly, kissing her forehead. You continued trying to soother her back to sleep, but there was no way it was going to happen. Checking the time, you saw it was 1 that next morning, and you needed to get Min Ja to sleep so she wouldn’t be tired the next day. “Come on, let’s go to bed.” You led the girls back inside, having Min Ja get into bed with the promise that you would stay in there with Hyo Bin. You made sure to keep your distance, grabbing a mask from the bathroom and using it to cover Hyo Bin’s mouth in case she coughed anymore. “Min Ja, you need to go to bed.” You said softly, watching your daughter toss and turn in her sleep.

           “I don’t wanna.” She pouted. “I wanna stay with you and Hyo Bin.”

           “If you don’t rest, you’ll get sick too.” You pleaded. “I promise, I’ll be right here.” Hyo Bin let out a few more coughs into her mask and you rubbed her back. “Please, Min….” Min Ja pouted, nuzzling her head into the pillow as she pulled the blanket over herself. You watched her eyes stare at you for what felt like forever, but the darkness of the room and the silence caused exhaustion to overcome her, and she was soon fast asleep. With that settled, you walked back out into the kitchen and sat on one of the chairs, Hyo Bin in your arms as you tried to get her to sleep next. She was much more of a challenge, sobbing and fussing the entire time. Every moment that she seemed she would be falling asleep; a deep cough would hit and startle her back awake. You knew that there was no way you were getting any sleep.

           The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your alarm blaring from your bedroom. You had fallen asleep on the couch with Hyo Bin on your chest only an hour ago, but it felt like five minutes. Groaning, you got up, carrying Hyo Bin in your arms. She was still sleeping soundly, and you took her to her room, placing her in her crib so that you could go get Min Ja ready.

           “I don’t wanna go to daycare, I wanna stay home!” Min Ja begged, trying to stop you from getting her dressed.

           “Sweetie, please.” You begged. “I need to take Hyo Bin to the doctor and if you’re to close, then you’ll get sick too. I can’t have two sick babies, now can I?” You asked. Min Ja felt her eyes start to water, and she quickly hugged you. “Min Ja…” you sighed softly, holding her close to you. “Hyo Bin will be okay.” You said. “I promise. I’ll pick you up early. I just need to take her to the doctor…”

           “Okay…” she sniffled.

           “Besides, don’t you want to tell the kids all about the zoo?” you asked curiously. Min Ja nodded. “I’ll send Miss Yun Yun the pictures while we wait for the doctor, I promise.” Min Ja sniffled, wiping her eyes dry. “Okay, good. Now, to call out of work.”

           When you called, you got Jungkook on the phone. Explaining the situation, he said that today looked like it was going to be slow, since not that many appointments were scheduled. It almost made him laugh when you asked to make an appointment for Hyo Bin as early as possible, and he managed to get you in first. Relief washed over you knowing that the staff insisted you take as much time as needed. With everything settled and prepared, you threw on a pair of stretch pants and a tee-shirt before whisking your kids out the door.

           After dropping Min Ja off at the daycare, and having another mini battle wither about going, you were on the next train to the doctor’s office. Hyo Bin had woken up by now and still had a deep cough, making you keep your distance from everyone else on the train. While you were glad that she began to show symptoms earlier rather than later, you knew that by the severity of the symptoms that you were going to be out of work for a few more days.

---

           “Alright, come on in.” Dr. Park called, smiling as you entered the waiting room. “Much different seeing you here without scrubs on.” He teased, making you chuckle.

           “I know, I’m sorry it was so last minute.”

           “Oh please, kid’s getting the flu is always last minute.” Once you got into the room, he began an examination of Hyo Bin. He knew all of her shots and records because he was the one to administer them to her since birth. Hyo Bin was squirming, not wanting to be touched, but being a professional, Dr. Park was able to complete the examination anyway. “Yeah, it definitely looks like the flu. She’ll be out of commission for a year the next four days.”

           “Christ, I don’t have anyone to babysit her.”

           “Don’t worry.” He assured. “You’ve racked up a lot of time off. Use it, stay with her.”

           “But who will you get?”

           “Actually, Seokjin was asking about taking a few hours here and there for some extra cash. I’ll call him and see if he can take over your shift at all.” You sighed in relief, though finding this out was new information. “I’ll go make that call and write her a prescription. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

           “Thanks.” You said softly, smiling as you watched him walk out. Moments later, there was a knock at the door again, and Jungkook stepped in.

           “Hey.” He smiled. “How is she?”

           “Flu.” You sighed. “I won’t be here for a while. Dr. Park said Seokjin might be able to take my hours for the next few days.” Jungkook grinned. He had always liked Seokjin, since Seokjin trained him when he first got hired. Jungkook saw Hyo Bin resting against your chest, hiding her face as she coughed into her little mask. When Dr. Park returned with the prescription and also confirming that Seokjin would be working those hours, you hummed and left with a thank you.

           On the train ride back home, you called in the prescription and then phoned Seokjin. It rang for a moment, but then he answered.

           “Heeeello~? World Wide Handsome speaking.” You heard him say. It’s been a while since you really got to speak to him.

           “Hey.” You hummed. “Dr. Park told me you’re taking hours again at the office. Is work not going well?”

           “Hm? Oh no. Work is going wonderful! But you would know if you came to see me.” He huffed playfully, and you chuckled. “But I only work four days a week at night. I need more money, so I called and asked if I could work a few hours here and there at the office in the mornings.” He explained. “And my first day back, I’m taking over for you? Lucky meeeee.” You chuckled a bit. You could hear him set you on speakerphone, most likely to get himself ready to hop on the next train to the office.

           “Well I’ll let you go get ready.” You hummed. “I’m going home to sleep, I’m exhausted.”

           “You sound it.” Seokjin teased, laughing a bit. “But I hope Hyo Bin gets better.”  

           “Thanks.” You said your goodbyes and hung up the phone. Hyo Bin was sound asleep the entire train ride home, thank god. You made sure to stop and pick up her medicine, along with a few home remedies from the local pharmacy, before taking Hyo Bin home. She slept soundly in her bed, the medicine coursing through her little body, and you collapsed on the couch not long after her. You were exhausted, only running on about 3 hours of sleep, if even that. It wasn’t long before sleep overtook you as well, and the apartment was silent.

           You slept for what felt like forever, but it was only for a few hours, before Hyo Bin stirred from her sleep and began coughing. Forcing yourself out of your seat, you headed into the bedroom. It had been almost 12 hours since your daughter had really eaten anything of substance, so that was the next thing to accomplish on your list.

           Hyo Bin was a lot easier to feed than she has been over the past few days. She took some scrambled eggs and juice without much fuss, and you could see how relaxed and calmer she looked now that she was eating. It calmed you down too, and though her coughing was still horribly deep, and she was still warm, you were glad she was eating again.

           “Feel better?” you hummed, smiling as Hyo Bin nodded. “Let’s go inside…” You found yourself sitting on the couch, your muscles relaxing as you turned on the TV. Hyo Bin lied on the couch, and you put a blanket over her before turning to her favorite channel. Time passed idly, the noise from the TV keeping Hyo Bin occupied as she drifted in and out of sleep. You took this newfound time to do some house cleaning. Dishes were finally removed from the dishwasher, you got to clean the counters, clean up the girl’s rooms, and do some laundry. It was exhausting, but if you didn’t do it now, it would never get done. You made sure to watch Hyo Bin closely, checking up on here every once in a while, as she slept on the couch. Once the bedroom was cleaned, you transferred your sleeping toddler into bed, turning on some soft music in hopes of keeping her to sleep with the gentle noise. It was just as you were heading inside to get some lunch for yourself when your phone began to ring. “Hm?”

           Pulling your phone from your back pocket, you saw that Hobi was calling you. You had changed his contact photo to a picture of him with the girls that you had taken at the zoo. He was sitting beside Min Ja with Hyo Bin on his lap, the selfie angled up to get all three of them in it. Min Ja was throwing up a peace sign with Hoseok, and Hyo Bin was holding her bag of popcorn in her hands. It was a cute picture. Smiling, you quickly answered.

           “Hey.” You said happily.

           “Hey.” He hummed happily. “I hope I’m not bothering you. Are you at work?”

           “No, not today.” You sighed. “Hyo Bin must have gotten sick at the zoo. She’s got a massive fever and hasn’t really been eating too much all day.” Hoseok let out a deep, sympathetic sigh.

           “Aww, man. That’s rough. I hope she gets better soon.”

           “Thank you. She’s sleeping now. Hopefully, the medicine will break the fever in a few days…” you let out a deep sigh. “Are you working today?”

           “Sort of. Jimin and I have started some auditions for the upcoming year. We start in about 20 minutes, so I thought I would just call and see how you were doing.” You couldn’t help but smile at the idea that you were first on Hoseok’s mind more and more with each passing day.

           “I hope that goes well.” You said. “Are you still just focusing on the studio's hip hop class?”

           “Yeah. Jimin said depending on who auditions, we might expand and add a few more classes for a few different ages.”

           “That’s wonderful.” You said happily. “I told you it would happen.” Hoseok chuckled. “Well, I’ll let you go. Let me know how auditions go, okay?”

           “I will.” He said. “And tell Hyo Bin to get better soon.”

           “Will do.”

           “Mostly because as soon as she’s better, I was hoping that you and I can get dinner again.” Hearing that made another smile grace your lips. “I know it’s something we’ve been talking about for a while.”

           “Yeah. That actually sounds really nice.” You said happily. “A friend of mine has been pestering me for months to come to see him at the restaurant he works at.” Hoseok chuckled a bit.

           “That sounds perfect. We’ll start making plans once Hyo Bin is feeling better again.”

           “Alright, sounds good.” You hummed. “I should get going, though.”

           “Absolutely. I’ll let you go.” Hoseok said. “Bye~.”

           “Bye.” You hung up and set your phone back in your pocket, biting your lip at the thought of going out to dinner with Hoseok again. It had been a while since both of you had alone time with one another, and it was something you were missing. So, you were hoping that Hyo Bin would get better as soon as possible, for both your sakes.

           Hyo Bin slept soundly until you had to go get Min Ja from daycare. You felt bad that you had promised to pick her up early, but after cleaning the house and trying to get things ready, you realized that more time had passed than you wanted to. Luckily, Min Ja didn’t really seem to notice. You had sent over the pictures of the zoo, and Min Ja spent the entire day talking about her experiences petting the alpacas, seeing the bears, and even tried to tell the story about the giant snake that terrified Hoseok and Hyo Bin. She even showed her red panda stuffed animal to her friends, which you brought with you upon picking her up.

           “Everyone said they liked my pictures, Mommy.” Min Ja beamed happily as you brought her back into the house.

           “That’s great, sweetie.” You said happily. “I told you everyone would enjoy it.”

           “Is Hyo Bin feeling better?” she asked curiously, looking up to see her sleeping sister in your arms.

           “She’s doing better.” You said happily. “But she needs to take medicine. Her shot didn’t work and she got the flu.”

           “Oh…” Min Ja said softly.

           Upon entering the house, you got Hyo Bin into bed and put the TV on for Min Ja before starting on dinner. Surprisingly, when you served the simple meal to your daughters, Hyo Bin was taking the food down without issue again. You were glad to see that she was eating, and hoping that it was a sign of her quick recovery.

           The girls went to bed early that night, you gave them a quick bath and managed to read one story before the girls were out like a light. With a kiss to their foreheads and a firm tuck into bed, you headed into your room and threw on a pair of freshly cleaned pajamas.

           “God, what a day…” you mumbled, curling up in bed and putting a pillow over your face. You tried to take solace in the idea that once Hyo Bin was feeling better, you would be getting yourself ready for another dinner date with Hoseok. That made you excited, and it made you motivated. Thoughts of that day helped you relax enough to fall asleep.

           You had slept for about 3 hours, before the sound of feet rushing into your room startled you awake. Sitting up, you saw Min Ja standing at the end of your bed. Turning on the light, you saw Min Ja looked frantic, eyes wide.

           “Min Ja? What’s wrong?!” You gasped.

           “Hyo Bin is coughing super loud, Mommy…I think she’s throwing up.” Min Ja said. Almost immediately, you jumped up and hurried into the bedroom, the sound of your daughter gagging, coughing and sobbing just as she was the previous night. Upon entering the room, you saw Hyo Bin standing up in her bed, face pale as she was covering her mouth.

           “Hyo Bin.” You hummed, scooping her up in your arms. She clung to you as you led her into the bathroom, giving her a toilet to continue any throwing up she had to do. You sighed, rubbing her back as you tried to calm her down. Min Ja was once again standing by the door, peeking her little head in as she watched her sister sob into your arms. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Your tummy is just not ready to eat the food right now. It’s okay.” As Hyo Bin finally calmed down, her body shaking as she coughed, you let out a deep and frustrated groan.

           The flu was a bastard of an illness, and you just wished you could take the burden of this pain from her, and get rid of it faster.

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[ayellowcurtain]

Can you write a sick fic? Lucas is sick, and eliott taking care

Lucas gets his wisdom teeth out and he’s all loopy and in a lot of pain and eliott is there to take care of him and keep him company and give him a lot of cuddles

Can u write a fluffy Elu fic where Lucas went out the night before and got really drunk with le gang and is very hungover the next day he gets sick and eliott takes care of him and they watch movies cuddle. Lucas feels embarrassed but eliott just tells him how much he loves him and it’s ok

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

Sometimes Lucas makes very dumb choices. It’s been almost a month since he scheduled to get his wisdom teeth removed and he is terrified, keeps thinking about it daily until the night before his appointment. 

He didn’t even have to ask for Eliott’s company on the day, his boyfriend offered himself as soon as Lucas told him about it. And Eliott knows how much of a baby Lucas can be when in pain. He hates every second of it, gets even grumpier than usual and when they’re alone, he turns into the softest, cutest whining baby. So Eliott tried to change his mind when he decided to go to Yann’s for some drinks the night before. 

Lucas was just too nervous and he explained that he needed to distract himself. Eliott told him not to drink much then, but Lucas doesn’t really listen and Eliott doesn’t want to keep scolding him the whole night.

His appointment is right after school, he’s still hungover and angry with himself for drinking too much the night before. Eliott meets him at the clinic, giving him an extra tight and long hug and a kiss on his forehead before pulling Lucas inside, helping him answer a quick questionnaire. 

Eliott had his wisdom teeth removed years ago and he knows it can hurt, he knows Lucas will be at his worst mood when he comes out of the small room, so Eliott leans back against the uncomfortable chair at the waiting room, trying to prepare himself for the long night ahead. 

It feels like forever until the doctor shows up to talk to Eliott, telling him what Lucas can and can’t do for the next couple of days, he says that Lucas is still a bit lethargic and his boyfriend shows up, with a mask hiding his mouth. The doctor says it’s because of the anesthesia, Lucas is drooling a little so he wanted a mask. 

All the way back to Eliott’s place, Lucas keeps trying to speak, talking about how he’s the one with a mask now, he can be a raccoon just like Eliott. He also tells Eliott that he’s starving, needing to eat the biggest hamburger he can find but they’ll go straight home and Lucas is not allowed to eat solid food, so Eliott ignores Lucas’ wishes, kissing his temple, looking at how extra soft and cuddly he looks with his messy-bed-hair, his lazy eyes and how he comfortably wraps his arms around Eliott’s waist. 

It takes a very long time for Eliott to manage help Lucas out of the car, he was almost sleeping. Eliott thanks the driver for the patience and helps Lucas upstairs, opening the door as Lucas relaxes against his back. 

Once they finally reach the bedroom, Lucas is just starting to complain about pain, crawling into bed while Eliott tries to take his clothes off, leaving Lucas only wearing his underwear. 

Lucas stays in the same position and Eliott thinks he’s already asleep, so he closes the curtains, pulling the covers to Lucas’ chin, making a human burrito out of his boyfriend and the covers. 

Eliott takes advantage of the little one already being asleep to go to the kitchen, get some cold water for him and some painkillers for when he wakes up. He puts everything on the nightstand on Lucas side and crawls into bed to cuddle with him for a little. He’s sure Lucas will be awake in no time, complaining. His mask has a big spot where Lucas is probably drooling. 

Should be gross, but Eliott finds it very cute, he can almost imagine Lucas’ face inside of the mask. He keeps watching Lucas until he closes his eyes, trying to get some sleep as well. But it feels like it only lasts a minute or two until Lucas is moving by his side, waking both of them. 

“Putain, Eliott, this hurts a lot.” He whines, taking his mask off and throwing it far away, trying to touch his own face. 

“Baby, it won’t hurt for too long, try to get back asleep.” Eliott holds Lucas’ hand away from his mouth and cheeks, holding hands with him instead and he cheecks the time. They slept for almost two hours. 

“But it hurts! My whole face!” 

“I know but it won’t help if you keep talking.” He’s able to finally pull Lucas closer again, hugging him carefully, kissing the top of his head. 

“I hate this, it’s the worst.” Lucas whispers, putting one leg on top of Eliott’s stomach, hiding his face against his boyfriend’s neck, continuing to whine and complain. 

“I hate seeing you in pain, but I promise you’ll feel a little better in the morning and you’ll be able to take some painkillers soon, I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

“You’re so hot.” Eliott laughs with the sudden change of subject, feeling Lucas’ lips against his neck when the other one smiles. 

[inthedreamatorium1]

Just when I thought things were getting better...

He IS doing better. At least as of yesterday. He seemed like himself. He was able to go for his usual length of walk. His poos, while still dark, were becoming solid. He took the fluid like a champ yesterday despite being in a stressful situation. He just won’t eat. I had to force-feed/hand feed last night. We didn’t have much luck this morning so I’m going to try again in an hour.

But the scary thing is that he didn’t move at all during the night. And he wet the bed. All very unusual behavior. It’s like he didn’t have control over his bladder.

My sister said that was not normal for him so I called the vet. The tech asked me a bunch of questions...what’s his energy level like, is he lethargic, is he eating and drinking, etc. I don’t really know what his normal behavior is. I was with him for two days before my sister left. I last saw him four years ago. I know he sleeps A LOT during the day. I know he’s deaf and whines. I know he has an enlarged prostate and the world’s most sensitive stomach. I know he’s very anxious and has phantom pees. His appetite fluctuates. He's 15 years old. He doesn’t play with toys. He doesn’t run around. 

So I answered to the best of my abilities. I explained he had been doing well, going for long walks. Eating sporadically out of my hands. He seemed like how he was during those two days before my sister left. I don’t think he’s lethargic. He’s licking himself and his paws. He’s able to jump on/off the couch. He climbed the stairs. He had a pep in his step on our walk back up to the house. The tech said it sounds like he’s still recovering but will have the doctor call me...whenever she’s available. They offered a time for me to come in but my sister said to just talk to them on the phone. And if they decide they want to see him, I’m going to insist on going to Ripley’s regular doctor. He knows Ripley. 

If it wasn’t for wetting the bed, I would think nothing is amiss. He was slow and unsteady on his walk yesterday morning but could do the full walk in the afternoon.

I was starting to feel a lot better. I was still hit with waves of anxiety but it wasn’t crippling me anymore. This morning I’m a bit of a mess. I obsessively keep checking to make sure I’m giving his meds correctly. I’ve broken down crying a couple of times. I need to wash the bedding but I ran out of quarters and I don’t know where I can get change. I canceled my workout today. I lost my appetite. Ugh. I just need the vet to call and told me that he’s still recovering and this is just a side effect of his meds. I just need Ripley to be able to eat something all on his own when I try again in about 40 minutes. I just need Ripley to be able to go for the full walk this afternoon, without any issues.

I just need Ripley to be okay.

And I just need these next five days to speed up. My sister comes home Tuesday night. 

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Hands Curled Like Talons: Chapter 2

... things got busy, okay? but WE'RE BACK

A Mouth Full of Blood A Soul Full of Sorrow A Face Full of Scars The Bitter Taste of Graveyard Dirt A Golden Haired Ghost A Different Game ‘verse Previous Ao3

Stephanie Brown sat in a corner of the Bat Cave, and her hands shook as they lay on her thighs.

The Cave was crowded, packed tightly with vigilantes of all stripes. Cassandra was there, Duke by her side, occasionally turning her eyes towards Steph, as if to make sure that she was still there. Duke had brought Steph a glass of water, an hour ago, and she had drunk it to placate him, like she had eaten the sandwich that Alfred had brought her twenty minutes ago. It was a hollow motion, but it provided them reassurance that she was, in fact, alive.

She did not have the heart to tell them that Talia had once told her that she had been catatonic and still would eat and drink and fight.

Tim was across the room next to a man known as Batwing, with Tam Fox, who he was trying hard to pretend he wasn’t dating around Steph, as a strange form of acknowledgement for the connection that had once existed between them, going over footage of Steph’s apartment, looking for clues.

Dick Grayson and Damian and Colin were standing next to Bruce, arguing about something that Steph probably should care more about than she was.

Barbara Gordon, flanked by Dinah Lance, a woman that Steph remembered dearly from those golden days as Spoiler, but who probably had not spared a thought for Stephanie Brown in years, held court in a corner, speaking on a headset, directing the Justice League and her Birds of Prey, ensuring that the rest of the world did not fall apart, even as Gotham fell into chaos.

There were others in the Cave—Katherine Kane, Selina Kyle and her unfamiliar protégé, Helena Bertinelli, Onyx, a woman with blue hair who she had never seen before, another woman with no face in a blue trench coat, and Jason Todd—but she was numb to all of them. They might as well have been passersby on the street, for all that Stephanie Brown absorbed them.

Perhaps she should be grateful, that so many had rallied when Nell was in danger, even if none of them were here for Nell, and certainly not for her. Bruce and Barbara and maybe even Cass had called them, and they had come flocking, to seek the little lost girl. It was an impressive force, that they had put together, and they stretched out further, into the rest of the world, with them being only the tip of the spear point.

If a force like this had existed, all those years ago, would she have survived those fateful three days at the hands of Roman Sidonis?

Old scars, scars that not even the Lazarus Pit had healed, throbbed with old pain, and she closed her eyes against it, trying her best to stop from shaking until she fell to pieces.

Her very bones felt as if they had been transformed into ice. Goosebumps crawled along the length of her skin, despite the heat that was produced from all of the bodies in one place.

Nell Little was gone, and statistics danced behind Steph’s eyes whenever she blinked. Statistics that told her that Nell was dead. Beyond that was a further dread, a dread that went back to a children’s rhyme that she had chanted in time with the slap of a skipping rope on concrete.

“Speak not a whispered word of them / Or they'll send The Talon for your head.”

What could she have done, to bring this tumbling down upon them?

If the Court was real, they had evaded the eyes of the Bats since at least Stephanie Brown’s middle school days. Why had they chosen now to reveal themselves, to risk the wrath of the Batman and all of his followers, to take a single little girl who was under theirs, and more specifically her protection?

“Stephanie?” A familiar voice pulled her out of her reverie, if not her numbness.

Kara Zor-El stood before her, her face a strange expression of concern.

On autopilot, Steph tried for a flirtatious smile, but it felt flat and dull on her face, and only deepened the lines of worry on the other woman’s face.

“Supergirl,” she said. “How’s Metropolis?”

“Better now that you’re not in it,” Kara said. Her eyes were an inhuman shade of blue—Superman and Superboy were the same way. Her hair was a paler blonde than Steph’s had ever been, not quite platinum but not Steph’s golden waves that she had once been so proud of.

She was gorgeous and whole and wonderful and her eyes were full of real worry, despite the dig.

She was everything that Stephanie Brown was not, in short.

Stephanie Brown was dangerous, and Kara knew this. She had known this since that first night in Metropolis, when she had kissed her. She had known this when Stephanie had pulled out a fistful of Kryptonite and ran away. She had known this when she had come to the Cave, after Bruce Wayne’s death, and found the woman here, tension humming through the air.

Now…

Kara could remember Scarlet. She had been young, and worried for Stephanie Brown, and small. Scarlet had been in Metropolis, that day on the rooftops; that day of fire and kisses that bruised.

And she was missing.

Stephanie Brown met her eyes, and Kara’s heart skipped a beat. Stephanie’s heart beat almost lethargically, but Kara knew better than to be fooled. It was shock, of sorts, and a sort of shock that Kara had seen before.

Nell Little was missing, and Stephanie Brown was going to destroy herself over this.

Kara had been wrong, before. She had been so sure, back in those early days of the truce with the rest of the Bat Family, won after the Battle for the Cowl, that the truce, that peace, that uncomfortable compromise, would shatter into a million pieces, because Stephanie Brown would not accept limitations, would not last long under the shadow of mistrust, under the weight of all of that painful and loaded past.

She had been wrong.

Stephanie Brown, the Red Hood, had stayed. She had stayed when Bruce had returned, she had stayed through thick and thin, through good times and bad…

But none so bad as this.

Stephanie Brown was on the verge of falling apart or exploding, and Kara wasn’t sure which one was more dangerous.

The rest of the room was watching, keeping an eye on her, because she was one of them, even if she didn’t want to be, even if they didn't want her to be. Stephanie Brown, with her messy golden locks, sheered short for convenience, with her scars and her leather jacket, was one of them.

But she might not be, after all of this was said and done.

Stephanie Brown was like fire. She was dangerous and destructive, beautiful and deadly, and she consumed everything around her, whether she meant to or not. If she exploded, it would be outwards, and the collateral could be the entire city… or everyone around her, including Kara.

Kara was not used to being hurt, not here, in this world.

She wasn’t good at staying away from dangerous things.

“Did you see anything?” Stephanie said, her voice surprisingly steady as she met Kara’s eyes.  

“No,” she said. She had spent hours looking, on Barbara’s request. She had scoured Bludhaven too, searching for any hint of these Talons and Owls and especially of Nell Little. “They must have used lead, wherever they took her.”

Stephanie Brown closed her eyes, and took a breath so deep and so long that Kara worried it might shatter her.

“Of course,” she whispered. She pivoted on her heel and stormed up the stairs, throwing her leather jacket off as she went, leaving her helmet behind.

Kara followed her, drawn by some instinct that she could not quite place.

The steps up to the Manor felt longer than usual, dragged on by each beat of Stephanie Brown’s heart. Kara could have raced up them, of course, but she kept pace, staying only a few steps behind Steph, each step just loud enough to let the Bat know that she was here, that she could say something if she wanted to be left alone.

Stephanie said nothing at all, and Kara kept following.

The Cave had been too small, too full of people, to deal with the explosion that was rattling around in Steph’s ribcage.

There was a room, purple and soft, a room for a child that was never going to come back, a child that had been buried in the ground, and Steph walked towards it, ignoring her silent, Kryptonian companion.

Nell Little was gone, because Stephanie Brown was a failure. She had brought this down upon them, somewhere, somehow. She had angered the Court of Owls, had awoken a fairytale, a nursery rhyme, and now it was war.

How many wars was it now, wars for Gotham, had she soaked her hands in? Her first rampage, her second brutal reign as the Red Hood, the Battle for the Cowl, and now this? A War of Owls, a War for Gotham?

She had brought the sky falling down around them, and surely, eventually, the other Bats would finally admit what they all already knew; that Stephanie Brown was cursed, and outsider to them and their ways, and that she would never be one of them again, if she had ever been in the first place.

The scream that was building in her throat pressed against her lips, threatening to bubble over, but she held herself back, biting her tongue before the taste of blood filled her mouth, and she gagged.

“Do you think this is a game?”

“Stephanie?” Kara asked, and Stephanie grabbed the nearest vase and vomited.

The taste was foul but Stephanie gripped the vase with both hands so tightly that she thought it might break, breathing heavily as her shoulders shook, the tears threatening to break loose.

Nell was gone, and Nell was in the enemy hands, and Nell had run right into a trap, and they weren’t going to find her.

The vase was taken out of her hands, and a glass of water was pressed into it.

“It’s not your fault, Stephanie,” Kara said, and those alien blue eyes of hers were full of kindness as Steph drank the water.

It was kindness that Steph did not deserve.  

Kara Zor-El had been a convenience, back in Metropolis. A useful team-up to take on the Black Mask’s expanding operations into Metropolis, to try to draw him back in to Gotham, where he felt safe, and where Stephanie could be sure that she could reach him.

The team up had been a convenience, because Kara was bulletproof and didn’t ask too many questions, and everything else that had followed had just been… natural. Kara was beautiful and funny and clever, and Steph hadn’t had a single regret, even if it had ended in literal flames.

Kara didn’t know, not really. She had watched the buildings go up in flames, but she hadn’t seen the true depths of who Stephanie Brown was, or know what she was really capable of. She hadn’t seen her shoot Tim Drake through the leg in order to kill one of the Mask’s men. She hadn’t seen her beat him to a bloody pulp, only stopping because Cassandra Cain had intervened.

She hadn’t seen Stephanie Brown bring down a roof on her and Bruce’s heads, just in the desperate hopes that she might kill the Black Mask with them, not caring if either of them had lived or died, as long as she had gotten her vengeance.

Kara did not understand, even if she thought she did, what exactly Stephanie Brown was.

Maybe none of them did, downstairs.

Stephanie Brown was no hero, was not the girl with a laugh and a purple cloak that had gone into the ground. She was not Robin or Spoiler, she was nothing but the tattered and bitter remnants of that girl, and what was left was a killer, a monster.

She still was the woman who had nearly beaten Tim Drake to death with her hands, because he had dared to take on the weight of her crimes for himself, who had ran away from everyone who had ever loved her for fear of what would happen if she allowed them to see her.

She had pretended for months upon end, trying to be something she wasn’t, trying to create the illusion of someone who could, maybe, be a hero again one day, but now, Nell was missing, and Stephanie was under no pretensions about how this had happened.

“It is,” Steph whispered. “If I hadn’t—”

“Stop that,” Kara said.

“Stop what?” Steph threw out her pain towards Kara, sharpening her words like the knives that she no longer used, because Cassandra Cain had asked her to stop, because Cassandra Cain was still trying to build her dead best friend up out of the scraps that was Stephanie Brown. “Stop knowing what I am?”

She stepped closer to Kara, throwing aside the empty glass.

“I’m a killer. I don’t do that anymore, but that doesn’t change what I am.”

“You—”

“I can’t bring them back,” Steph snapped. “I came back, but they don’t get to, and maybe that’s good for most of them, but there’s no way that nobody I killed could have changed, could have been better. Why do I get to live and they don’t? Why do I get to change, and they don’t? Why do I get a second chance, Kara?”

Kara opened her mouth.

“I’m going to get Nell back,” Steph said. “One way, or another. I’m going to get her back. And who knows? Maybe I’ll back down that hole again. Maybe I won’t. But I know that I’m done. After this? I’m done.” She closed her eyes.

“There’s never going to be enough to fix what I did.”

She was never going to be Stephanie Brown, the Girl Wonder, again. She was never going to be young and full of a joy that tumbled outward, boundless, swinging across rooftops. She was never going to be Spoiler again, full of a youthful righteous rage and a fierce and persistent knowledge that she was helping people.

Maybe she had once been that girl, who had been Cassandra Cain’s best friend, Tim Drake’s girlfriend, Bruce Wayne’s Robin, Crystal Brown’s daughter, but she was nothing but a spiteful shadow of that girl. She had taken everything any of them had ever given her and crushed it beneath her feet in the name of her vengeance.

She had been dead for days before they found her body, and she had never forgiven them for that, and the entire city of Gotham had paid, because she had been unable to accept that they had limitations, that they had been unable to avenge her, that they had been too… good to compromise like she had, to put her killer’s skull beneath the barrel of the gun, to take that decision into their own hands.

Stephanie Brown had been unavenged, and so the entire city had paid, because she was selfish and angry, and she would have robbed them of their greatest protectors in the name of her revenge. In her desperation to kill Roman Sidonis, she could have killed Batman, would happily have done so, if it meant that the bastard had just been dead.

The girl who was Robin had ran straight into a monster’s arms, believing herself to be helping, and it had been the thing that killed her. Her trust in Batman, her attempt to do right, had killed her, had led to her being six feet beneath the ground and clawing her way up through graveyard dirt.

What was left after the graveyard, after the Lazarus Pit… that wasn’t Spoiler, wasn’t Robin, wasn’t anything that any of them could recognize, not really.

What Stephanie Brown was now, was a killer and a monster, and nothing could ever change that.

When she opened her eyes, Kara was gone, and Stephanie Brown was standing alone in a hallway, with a shattered water glass at her feet.

The room was full of whispers and the rustling of feathers.

Nell Little kept her eyes tightly shut and kept her breathing even, terrified of giving any hints that she was awake, when she didn’t know where she was.

“She’s old,” one person said.

“Not too old,” another said. “You were older.”

“She fights well.”

“Yes.” A hand, gloved and strange, brushed against Nell’s forehead, and her eyes flew open without her meaning to, but it was only in time to catch the barest hint of a black, eyeless mask and the tail end of a feathered cape.

Nell Little sat upright, and her cape was missing.

There was a room, filled with children, all staring at her with wide, strange eyes.

The room felt like a room in a movie; large and concrete, the sheets thin and scratchy, the blankets grey and worn, the lightbulbs protected by cages.

They had taken her armor and her cape and her mask, leaving her in the tank top and leggings she wore beneath them. At the foot of the bed she was in, lying atop the covers, there was a folded set of clothes; grey and blue in color, the same clothes as the other children wore.

There were five others in the room, one in each of the beds.

They all stared at Nell, but did not get up.

“Hello,” Nell said. “I’m Scarlet.”

The one right across from her looked at her with wide, panicked eyes, and held a finger to her lips.

Nell frowned and got to her feet.

There were no windows, in this room that was not quite a cell. It was small, with the six beds almost pressed against each other, the ceiling just high enough that if Nell stood on her toes and reached, she could not quite reach the caged frame of the lightbulbs. The seam in the wall that marked the door was not quite invisible, and it resisted all of Nell’s attempts to push or pull it open.

A hand wrapped around her wrist, and Nell pulled back, yelling.

All five of the others had followed her, their eyes strange and wide, eerie in their silence.

One of them, a different one than before, pressed a finger to his lips, staring at her with wide, amber eyes.

Nell jerked her arm out of the grip of the girl who had shushed her the first time, glaring at all of them.

“Who are you?”

This time, all five of them pressed their fingers against their lips desperately. The first girl, with tangled hair that might have once been red, but was now dull and limp, pointed at the door, then held her finger up to her lips again.

“They’ll punish me if I keep talking?” Nell guessed.

All five of the others nodded.

They were strange, these children, with their matching clothes and scared eyes. Nell was not quite the oldest of all of them—there was a boy, one who had done nothing to distinguish himself, but whose hair was the longest of any of them, who looked to be her age or a little older.

“Do they punish you?” Nell whispered. If it was just her, she could take it. Steph had taught her to be strong, had given her the tools that she would need to take it. If it was just her, she would scream and batter at the doors and when they came to punish her, she would make them fight for every inch.

But Steph would come for her, and so she wouldn’t risk the others, even though they were strangers, just to make herself feel better.

The others nodded, all of them looking down, and Nell took a deep breath, and nodded.

Relief shining in their faces, the other children took her hands and led her to the bed furthest away from the door.

The smallest of them all—the last boy, who looked to be seven years old, with straw colored curls—climbed beneath the bed, and returned, carefully cradling in his arms a handful of treasures.

There were two feathers, a handful of small steel balls, a shard of mirror, and two equal sized lengths of a wooden pole.

The boy offered Nell these eclectic items; the toys, Nell realized, that they had to play with, in this small room.

Nell, unsure, selected one of the poles, and the girl with limp-red hair took the other one, and enthusiastically raised hers, motioning for Nell to come forward.

The three boys took the balls and feathers and set up a crude game of marbles, while the last girl, the one with black hair and freckles that were fading, took the mirror and sat on the bed, staring at the door.

Nell stared at this scene, unsure of what to make, of these strange children in this strange room, before finally lunging forward with her stick to combat the other girl.

She parried easily, with a fierce grin, and as she grabbed Nell by the wrist to pull her forward, a whisper carried from her closed mouth to Nell’s ear.

“My name is Carrie,” the other girl whispered, and Nell’s eyes widened as she continued to spar, a strange kind of hope kindling in her chest at this tiny sign of rebellion.

[iamanartichoke]

Can I still send smth for "i wish u would write a fic where”? Cause I've just seen this on twitter: ✨incorrect thor & loki ✨‏ @wrongbrodinsons "loki: what would the chef recommend? waiter: sir, this is mcdonalds thor: please excuse my brother, he’s not familiar with earth etiquette. what would the McChef recommend?" and absolutely need a fan fic with this convo here lol

Okay, so, I just want to disclaim this particular response by saying that Brodinson silliness isn’t generally my fic forte (much as my shitposting their Midgardian adventures might have you believe otherwise) so … this is just what came out. There’s some angst, some silliness, and a lot of drunk!Brodinsons and it’s super long because I am me, and I apologize. Also, I didn’t really revise this because if I think about it too much, I won’t post it, haha. I’m not super confident in it, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thanks for the challenging prompt, I do like to try things outside of my comfort zone. :) 

Word Count: 2485 

It is after their fifth bottle of whiskey that Thor’s eyes brighten with the kind of mischief he only adopts when he’s good and inebriated. Loki groans as he sees the look shift swiftly across Thor’s features. “No,” he says simply, taking another swig from his bottle. The whiskey is not bad, but it is not good either. However, most Midgardian liquors do absolutely nothing for either of them, and the few that do have an effect must be consumed in copious amounts.

It is one of the things Loki misses about Asgard, how sweet wine and mead would flow steadily at feasts and meals or in the taverns deep into the night. He misses the days when he and Thor would share ale over a fire, talking of the day’s exploits and laughing in sync. Once, life had been simple, if not necessarily good.

“What,” Thor says, raising an eyebrow at Loki. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I know that look,” Loki points out with a roll of his eyes. He and Thor, in a rare mood that had struck them both after the evening meal, have settled themselves on the back porch of their apartment, their alcohol on a small table between their two chairs. The chairs are something called lounge chairs, which allow them to lean back and stretch their legs out comfortably. It was an undignified way to sit, to be sure, but Loki had to admit that he enjoyed the laziness of it, especially as he felt himself grow more intoxicated.

Thor plays innocent. He takes a long swig, finishing off the bottle he’d been nursing for awhile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Loki. I was just thinking we should get something to eat.”

“We just ate the evening meal about two hours ago,” Loki points out.

“Yes, but drinking always makes me hungry. You know this,” Thor returns. “Anyway, haven’t you ever heard of a midnight snack?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “No, Thor. As a matter of fact, I have not heard of a midnight snack. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

Thor gives his deep, rumbling laugh, which lasts just a moment too long. At this rate, Loki thinks wryly as he brings his bottle back to his lips, he will be pouring Thor into bed within the hour. Loki himself has been going much more slowly, allowing the warmth of the whiskey to work through him slowly and steadily. He is not sober, but nor is he as drunk as Thor. It’s a safe place to be.

“A midnight snack,” Thor explains, sitting up a bit and fixing Loki with an earnest stare, as if he is about to provide him with the answers to the universe, “is a snack … which is eaten at or close to midnight.”

Loki waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, Loki cannot help his own laughter. Thor is such a dope, he thinks fondly. Loki may be more drunk than he’d realized, because it suddenly seems very funny instead of irritating. “You might have to write that one down for me, brother,” is all he says. “I might not remember your detailed and thorough explanation, otherwise.”

“True enough,” Thor agrees, with another laugh. He picks up a new bottle of whiskey, uncapping it easily as he settles back into his chair. “So, what say you, brother? Do you want to go on an adventure?” He gives a grin and wiggles his eyebrows a bit.

“Hmm. I rather think I’ve had enough adventure to last awhile.” Loki extends the bottle in his hand, swirling it around to determine how much is left. A fair amount, but less than he expected. “Don’t you?”

“Never,” Thor answers earnestly. “As long as I have a heart that beats, it will beat in tune to the battle cry of Asgard, it will echo glory and honor to Valhalla itself, it will -”

“Norns, I’m sorry I asked,” Loki cuts him off. “I used to hate that, you know,” he adds. He feels languid, lethargic, and the words slip from his tongue before he realizes he’d been thinking them. Once they are out, it is too late to swallow them back down again. He sips his whiskey, avoiding Thor’s gaze.

“Hate what?”

Loki waves a hand. “Your … unquenchable thirst for battle,” he elaborates. “I never understood why anyone would willingly seek out battle. Defending yourself is one thing, but …” He trails off, lifts his shoulders. “You never lost that, you know? That battle-lust. You were taken down a few pegs, to be sure, but you seek battle as ferociously as you ever have.” Loki grins, despite himself. “You’re just not so irritating about it anymore.”

Thor tilts his head, his eye flicking over Loki. He does not look unpleased with the assessment, but for a long while, he does not say anything, either. Finally, after a particularly large swallow of whiskey, he says, “I think that’s the most you’ve really said to me at one time in … quite a long time.”

“I speak to you all the time,” Loki reminds him.

“No, you don’t.” Thor adjusts himself slightly, crossing one ankle over the other. “You respond to me. You offer your opinion, warranted or not. Occasionally you make a joke. But you don’t speak to me about how you feel. You don’t speak to me about our lives before … well, everything. You don’t even mention Asgard anymore, though the wound must still be as fresh for you as it is for me.”

Loki does not speak of Asgard because speaking about it will not bring it back. He feels a slight twitch in his chest, where his heart lies. Indeed, the wound is fresh, but that is one of the many differences between himself and Thor. Loki nurses his wounds privately, bandaging them up with silence and repression, while Thor lets his bleed for everyone to see. “It would serve little purpose to speak of,” Loki answers, resting his head against the back of his chair. His face feels warm, which is one of the tell-tale signs that he is growing less sober.

“Perhaps,” Thor agrees, to Loki’s surprise. “But I wish you would try more often.”

A silence falls over them, weighted with all of the things they have not said. Loki takes a very long swallow of his drink, finishing off the rest of the bottle in one sip. He is sorry he said anything, sorry that his words punctured the relative peace that they’d had before. “Okay,” he says, setting his bottle down a bit too hard on the table. “Let’s go on an adventure.”

“What?” Thor blinks.

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Loki tells him, sitting up. His head spins. He was going to be feeling this tomorrow. “Come on, before it changes again.”

At once, Thor’s face splits into his wide, brilliant smile. Norns, but Loki loves that stupid smile. He is inebriated enough to admit to himself, but still sensible enough not to speak it aloud. Thor does not need any more reason to be arrogant. “Rhodey told me of a restaurant,” Thor says as he stands and offers Loki his hand. Loki grasps it, and Thor pulls him up, and they both stumble a bit.

“You big oaf,” Loki grumbles, righting himself.

“Rhodey told me of a restaurant,” Thor continues, as if Loki had not spoken, “where one might find a spectacular midnight snack. I believe he said it’s called McDonalds.”

“All right,” Loki says, weaving carefully around Thor to the patio door. “Is it far?”

“Only a few blocks. Now, brother,” Thor begins, setting his expression very straight, “this is an adventure, a quest, which we cannot fail. It must be treated with the utmost care and precision.”

“I didn’t know you knew the definition of those words.”

“Shut up. We must move quietly, stealthily, lest the others see what we are doing.”

“Thor,” Loki says, growing more amused by the moment, “no one else is here.”

“That we know of,” Thor retorts. He gives Loki a little nudge and Loki rolls his eyes, but he carefully opens the patio door and slips inside. The apartment is dim, but not dark. Thor, practically on Loki’s heels, keeps whispering, “Shhh!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Loki retorts, and stumbles over one of Thor’s discarded boots. “Shit. Thor, how many times -”

Thor clamps his hand over Loki’s mouth, giving him a frown of disapproval. Loki wants to snicker, but refrains. He has forgotten how truly silly Thor can be, when the mood strikes just right. When Thor removes his hand, Loki speaks again, in an exaggerated whisper.

“How many times have I told you not to leave your damn boots around?”

“I don’t remember.” Thor leans over and scoops up the boot, shoving it on before searching for its mate. Loki waits patiently for him. He cannot help a snicker when Thor steps too widely and loses his balance, collapsing onto the sofa.

“What were you saying about stealth, brother?”

Thor shoots Loki a glare, but it does not hold more than a few seconds before his own face collapses into amusement. When he finally finishes putting on his boots, they waste another few minutes searching for their keys, wallets, all manner of trinkets that one must carry everywhere with him on Midgard. Once they have thoroughly prepared for their adventure, they set off into the cool evening, Thor banging the door closed rather loudly behind them.

“You never were very good at sneaking around,” Loki remarks. He wobbles a bit as they begin walking, and Thor must notice, for he reaches out and grips Loki’s arm. Loki responds by gripping Thor back, until they are clinging to one another as if they were mere boys. “Do you remember when we’d sneak into the kitchen after evening meal for pastries?”

“Oh, yes!” Thor seems to have completely forgotten stealth; his voice booms around them, deep and warm. It sends a reverberating shiver weaving through Loki’s ribs. Neither of them are walking in a particularly straight line, Loki notices with amusement. All of this is so terribly funny. “We got caught more times than not, I believe.”

“Yes, because you were utterly incapable of stealth,” Loki reminds him. “You’d crash about, pretend we were sword-ing through dragons and beasts -” He cuts himself off and starts laughing. “Oh my, did you hear me lose that verb? Sword fighting, I meant to say.”

“Yes, hold on.” Thor lets go of Loki enough to bend over, pretending to fumble around on the ground. He comes back up a moment later, victory in his grin. He extends a hand to Loki. “I believe you dropped your verb, good sir.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” Loki says, plucking the empty air from Thor’s palm and making a show of tucking it into his pocket. “I’ll just leave that there, in case I need it later. Thank you kindly, my friend.”

“That is what heroes do,” Thor answers with an exaggerated swagger, which throws both of them off balance. It sets Loki off again, and when Thor laughs with him, his eye twinkles with more than just inebriation. It is happiness, Loki realizes.

By the time they get to the restaurant, neither of them are taking anything seriously. Which is likely a good thing, because Loki is immediately appalled upon entering the brightly-lit building. “Now, Loki,” Thor says seriously as, for some bizarre reason, they approach the counter. It is relatively empty, but the servants on the opposite side of the counter are looking at Thor and Loki warily. “This is not a usual restaurant. We must order and pay first, and then choose our own table.”

Loki looks at him as if he has lost his mind. It is entirely possible that he has. Still, Thor strides forward confidently, leaving Loki no choice but to follow.

“Welcome to McDonald’s,” says the boy behind the counter, his gaze flicking from Loki to Thor and back again. He is practically a child, Loki thinks. “What can I get for you?”

“I don’t know,” Loki answers, glancing at Thor. What kind of place has Thor brought them to? It seems utterly ludicrous. “What does the chef recommend?”

The child blinks. “Um, sir, this - this is McDonald’s,” he responds, as if Loki had not heard him say that very thing just a moment ago. Loki should be very irritated, but instead, he hides a smile behind his hand.

“Please, excuse my brother,” Thor speaks up. “He isn’t used to proper Earth etiquette.” The child’s brow furrows, but Thor goes on, in a very straight voice, “What would the McChef of McDonald’s recommend?”

Loki breaks up, turning his head and pressing it into Thor’s shoulder as he snickers.

“Uh.” The child sounds as if he is already sick of them. “A lot of people like the Big Mac.”

“We’ll have that, then.”

The rest of the transaction goes by, with Loki trying unsuccessfully to stop laughing while Thor takes great care with his words and movements. When they are finished at the counter, they weave around tables and find a booth near the back, where Loki collapses and lets out a breath. “I don’t know why this is so funny,” he admits to Thor, rubbing his eyes. “But the look on that boy’s face -”

Thor is grinning, sliding into the seat opposite Loki. “I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen you have so much fun,” he admits, and picks up a potato stick. “I miss it.”

“Do not get maudlin, Thor,” Loki warns, poking uncertainly at his meal. “Norns, what is this? It looks absolutely revolting.”

“This is the finest cuisine Midgard has to offer,” Thor responds cheerfully. “Or so I’ve heard.”

“All the more reason to flee this wretched realm,” Loki replies. “Will you remind me why we chose this place?”

“Because,” Thor says grandly, “I am king, and I am an Avenger, and thus I am needed here. Where else might we go? Can I really risk our people to the dwarves of Nidavellir? The trickery of the Vanir? The humans are relatively harmless to our people and, thus, we may co-exist for awhile. The Avengers, as well, will always need another pair of - oh, brother, might I borrow that verb?”

Loki rolls his eyes, stubborn smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He exaggerates reaching into his pocket and then extending his palm to Thor. “It is all yours,” he says.

Thor very carefully pantomimes picking up the verb from Loki’s palm. “Thank you kindly. The Avengers will always need another pair of fighting hands. Therefore, this is the correct place to be.”

“I suppose I defer to your wisdom, then, my king,” Loki returns magnanimously. He pokes at his food again. “But the food is still disgusting.”

[ninjabunnyzen]

Random #0003

My baby pooch who is at 6 months going 7 in few days contracted a contagious and deadly virus called Parvovirus. He was unwell since yesterday vomiting as much as what he contains liquid. The first onset was Thursday night. He was perfectly fine in early hours. He’s been himself being a very mischievous dog all the time. An hour or two after eating his dinner he vomits them undigested. Thought he got upset stomach so I let it be but I’m still worried. No signs of lethargy but he is sleepy most of the time which unusual. Following day early in the morning we ate breakfast and he wasn’t feeling the food we gave him. He just eats a small amount of chicken meat. Every time he does that few hrs he vomits them undigested with yellow color. Later he pooped colored brown a little soft. Every time he drinks water. He drinks a lot and in few hrs he vomits them and we are so worried until he pooped blackish color with iron like smell. and that we are alarmed. We still have 6 more hrs till the vet clinic opens. I can’t sleep and I just had my first dose of vaccine and now having some side effects which they say normal. When it’s time to go to vet he was optimistic like he was not lethargic awhile ago. But then he had this deadly virus and I am persistent to get him treated no matter the cost. He was still what he is few hrs before we visited the vet. But continue to keep him hydrated. I am scared but I want to be strong for my pooch.. I believe in him that he can fight this and so we are. 

[pidgezero-one]

dont message me about this please. I just need somewhere to dump it

I had a falling out with my best friend at the end of july and he completely cut off contact with me. i trusted him more than anybody in the world and there are no words to describe how much his friendship meant to me. the way this happened destroyed my sense of self-worth and I isolated myself from people and tried to fill that empty void with drinking and shitty eating habits (namely starving myself followed by binge eating). fell into a pretty bad depression and was constantly lethargic and unproductive. hated going out in public because I hated myself and didnt want to be seen.

suffered a death in the family at the end of august. this isnt something I cope with in a healthy way. especially during that period of time

started talking with my friend again in september but that didnt go very well either. still felt shitty about this every day, just having this constant nervousness and wanting to throw up and feeling like im carrying a huge weight on my shoulders, every day 24 hours a day. i had dreams about our situation all the time and it fucked me up. cant remember the last time I got a good nights sleep. developed a lot of trust issues from revelations that came out in the few discussions we had. we havent spoken in almost 2 months now. still really miss him but also still hurting over the things he said and did

2 weeks later, boyfriend of 2 years broke up with me when I got back from dreamhack. it wasnt really a surprise and there's no bad blood but was still a really hard adjustment. we had lived together since before we started dating.

we were splitting rent on a 1 bed apartment so now I have to pay for it myself. i dont really have the means to move. this fucked me over financially bc I was in the process of paying about 8000 dollars worth of debt accrued from when I was unemployed in 2014. so that's why none of you have really seen me since then, im saving money instead of going out to do things. this is also around when I decided to cut the drinking to prevent it from getting out of hand and decided to fix my eating habits, both of which are saving me money

met someone new in november who I got close to pretty quickly. he knew I was hurting from something, a lot of things, and helped me recover and was somehow over time able to convince me i didnt deserve any of what was going on. i started to believe it too. we spent a lot of time together and became very good friends.

around the same time i saw another friend have a falling out with his best friend and the way it got him down made me really angry. he didnt deserve to feel that poorly. this helped me realize that neither did i.

start of december, i fell mutually in love with the new friend. although it was just the beginning of the relationship, it was unprecedented in how genuinely loved I felt. we were supportive of each other in ways I didnt even know I could be. never enjoyed someone's company so much before or felt so totally safe telling them literally anything, and after I was having so much trouble and anxiety over opening up to anybody like that again, this was really really special that he could make me feel that way. especially considering the vulnerable state I was in, I tried to be cautious about getting this attached so quickly, but I decided to trust him. you kinda had to be there to understand just why I let myself feel this way despite it looking like a textbook mistake and me being well aware of that fact. he was thoughtful and respectful and considerate and was the most loving person i've ever known. we live a long distance apart and decided we'd take things slowly until we had the chance to spend some time together in person and discuss what our future looks like at that time. we spent a lot of time together calling each other around the holidays and never let a day (or an hour, really) go by without making the other feel loved and appreciated and worthwhile. for a christmas gift he contacted a lot of my friends and compiled a series of video and audio clips from all of them sending me kind words at the holidays to remind me that i'm loved. he really was a wonderful person.

being able to really believe that I didnt deserve to feel as badly as I had been since the summer, combined with falling in love again... I was finally something resembling happy again, I got my confidence back, I was energetic and productive and in an improved state of mind... not completely, things still hurt and I think they always will. but I was at least functioning. the wounds were still there and they were still fresh but I was at least starting to heal.

had to replace my pc because too much of my hardware was just not working anymore. that was a big financial setback I wasnt prepared for. my laptop mobo also broke so now I dont have one of those anymore. oh well. once im done paying off the last part of my debt im going to save up for a new one

start of january, one of my closest friends goes radio silent and unresponsive to texts and calls for over a week. i was a fucking mess worrying about him. (we hung out a few days ago but at the time holy shit)

my coworker at my job (the only other dev on my team) is leaving, so I have to learn a ton of new stuff and also train who we hire next, and im pretty stressed out about that on top of the status of my current major project

i didnt go to agdq this year, but that entire week was rough. wanted to stay off social media and stuff to not be reminded of it but this is where all my connections are and I need to work on shit. I spent a lot of last agdq making good memories with the friend i had the falling out with and thinking back to that just makes me really sad now.

was finally starting to enjoy streaming again and I injured my hand recently and cant use it to use a dpad or joystick, so now im not doing that either. it got infected pretty badly and ive been worried about that for a while, but it's healing up now. hopefully ill return soon. also having numerous other alarming things happen healthwise that are too TMI for here but... yeah

last week the guy i loved dumped me. not going to go into detail on this but i feel very very slighted by how he chose to do it. it had only been a month but im pretty messed up and blindsided by it. despite the short length I can't remember the last time I had any kind of interpersonal relationship that was so emotionally fulfilling. i still don't really understand. being around him hurt so much that I left my favourite discord server where a lot of my close friends are cause he's in there too. i miss being in there so much but i just cant do it

on saturday I got the news that one of my friends from the smash 64 community passed away unexpectedly. i went to the visitation on sunday. it still doesn't feel real.

i dont want to talk about it, I dont want any offers to talk about it, I dont want to relive it, I dont want to think about it, and especially especially I d o n t w a n t t o t a l k a b o u t i t. just getting it out there bc I feel kinda overwhelmed atm from everything. i just wanna focus on doing the things I need to get done to keep my mind occupied. i want my best friend back, i want the person I love back, i want my friend to come back to life. there's nothing else that can be done for me

[picturediary]

23.09.20

23.09.20

… and just like that, a week has passed…

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

But I have promised that I wouldn’t pressure myself too much about writing, so it’s what I’m doing.

I wish I could say it’s been an eventful week... but it wasn’t.

I wish I could say it’s been a happy week... but it wasn’t that, either.

I haven’t been well, both physically and mentally. I’ve been listless and lethargic, lacking both drive and motivation to do anything. I’ve been living in my head, too, moving heavy thoughts back and forth in my mind. It wasn’t productive. It wasn’t helpful.

But weeks like this one do exist, don’t they?

And I’ve been trying to be more patient with myself when they happen.

It’s Tuesday again, and tomorrow I’ll be back again at work. I had wanted to do that yesterday already, but I’ve had such a horrible night that it didn’t happen.

But first things first, I suppose:

Thursday, 17.09.20: Tuesday still was a good day. A really good day, I’d say. I stayed at home and tried to rest as much as I could. So I slept in, but my throat and head still bothered me. It was late afternoon that I managed drag myself up from the couch. And it seems trivial, so awfully trivial, but I was excited about the Lush package that was waiting for me in the hallway. It had arrived earlier that day.

This is what I wrote online:

“Maybe it‘s been obvious from my lack of posting, but I have been struggling a bit with Lush in the past months. I thought a lot about consumerism and what dedicating an instagram account dedicated to a company - and thus, consumerism - says about me. I‘ve been very, very disappointed when they took so many products - most of the products I use and love, in fact - from the mainline. I‘ve been disappointed in their products in general, especially bath bombs I bought recently that seemed to be... a bit too old to work. Of course, this year is tough on all of us, and companies need to do what‘s necessary to survive, but still... a bitter aftertaste remained because I can’t shake the feeling that the values Lush promotes officially are not necessarily followed everywhere in that company. That being said, I haven’t been this excited about receiving a Lush package in a very, very long time. I actually squealed sniffing the products. Loudly. I had thought I had gotten a bad case of Lush-nose and that I wasn’t able anymore to smell all the fantastic scents of their products, but that wasn’t the case here. (Which brings me back to the suspicion that they have been selling a lot of old stuff recently that they couldn’t sell during the lockdown.) But there it was: the smell that used to excite me so, so much. And a package full of goodies that made me smile like an idiot. This is Lush as I love it. Exciting, cute, and with so many amazing, unique scents. A little spicy, a little sweet, and so, so comforting. So here it is; my first little Halloween haul (not the last, because I LOVE Halloween)...”

And it’s true. I haven’t been this excited about a Lush package since Christmas, I think. I don’t know if it’s a feeling of nostalgia, or if it’s the autumnal and spicy scents that made me so, so giddy, but I finally felt that magic again.

Last year around this time, on Sept 26th namely, I made the little Lush-appreciation Instagram account. Last autumn wasn’t the calmest, most peaceful seasons of all time, but there were some special things that I carry with me ever since then: the sewing classes, watching horror movies with F in candlelight... and the first time I indulged in the Lush Halloween treats. It’s a very special scent that I have trouble describing, but I was so happy to smell it again. I have become a victim of their marketing strategies, that’s for sure... but then again, is it not okay to consume things that are comforting? Others drink or smoke, and spend hundreds of Euros a year... I indulge in bath bombs. It’s a controversial discussion, I’m aware, but at least I’m not going into it blindly. Not entirely, at least.

Being so excited, I showed F everything and let him sniff and wrinkle his nose about those things. It felt a lot like last year, and that was nice. It was before DT’s devastating email arrived, and although I was sick around this time and worried sick, too... a lot of things were still unspoken, and sometimes that’s a blessing. And a part of me, back then, actually thought there was still hope. Now, I haven’t heard of him for so long, and I’m well aware it might be months or years until I hear of him again. And sometimes that drives me crazy. Sometimes, that makes me so, so angry.

Because of course, there was no answer to my email. Of course not.

I dreamt it, even. And when I woke up on Thursday morning, my first thought was: “Well, it was just a dream. Maybe...?” But the dream came true, and it was no surprise. This whole thing has become so layered, to tangled with negative emotions and so loaded... that I should be grateful about the silence. Why can’t I be? Why am I running after someone who doesn’t want me in their life?

F and I had a long midnight walk; the first in months.

It became a small, much needed routine when the lockdown started. We ventured out in the neighbourhood after midnight. We ventured out into the dark, into the crisp air of early spring, into the mist and glowing golden light of the street lamps. We checked on houses that were built in the past months, we watched the cats of the village, saw a mouse and a wild bunny, and looked up at the stars. It’s a lovely little tradition, and we haven’t done it often enough.

So last Thursday, we did it again, and it was beautiful. The night was so clear that we could see the milky way. It wasn’t too cold yet, but cold enough to walk that bit faster. It’s a strange, beautiful serenity that comes with the night, and I’ve always felt like that.

I hope we can do it more often again soon, but F has been very unbalanced, easily irritated and stressed lately. There is hardly a day he doesn’t get upset about this or that, about work or the house or people or the world in general, and it’s the same phrases every time. Not that I blame him. His workload is insane, and it hasn’t gotten any better since the pandemic hit. But it’s frustrating to see him fight the same windmills every day, to see him run in circles and repeat the same little hell again and again. I wish I could help him, and I wish things could just go back to normal. But who doesn’t? We’ve been living in our own little dystopian hellscape for half a year now.

Although it feels much, much longer.

And I’m aware that a vaccine will not necessarily eradicate the virus. It’s highly unlikely. But this? This is hard to endure. It’s stressful, all the additional work, all the conflicts in society, all the panic inside and outside. It’s more than a small nightmare.

But during those midnight walks, sometimes, life is good. Especially like last Thursday, when the air was crisp and smelt of autumn, of damp earth and leaves. (On a side note: spreading the pine mulch a week before had been such an amazing scent-experience, too. It smelt so earthy, so much like approaching autumn that it made my heart ache just a bit.) Temperatures had dropped down to 4°C. When it had been 30°C less than 48 hours before. That, too, is exhausting.

I had a lovely, long bath to end the day, using the black bat bath bomb that was full of glitter and had such a wonderful herbal, autumnal scent. It was a good way to end the day.

 Friday, 18.09.20: There are days when you wish you hadn’t gotten up, at all. Friday was such a day. I was irritated from the start, plagued by a restless night and dreams. My head hurt, my nose was so dry it bled (it still does) and my throat hurt. I was in a bad mood from the beginning. Facing the mess in the kitchen I’ve been facing for the last weeks every day didn’t help. In the past months, due to a lack of time, F has made it a habit to just dump everything – dirty plates, garbage, everything – onto the counter. I understand why, it’s not that, but it’s frustrating to spend a long time cleaning up, unloading and filling the dishwasher... only to find the same mess again the next day. I know... that’s being an adult 101. Doesn’t mean that I can’t feel overwhelmed by it from time to time...

To do something nice and silly, I took some pictures for my IG with those bath bombs – another awfully trivial, stupid thing to do, but it makes me happy – and enjoyed that, and prepared dinner when F arrived at home. I made pasta with my spinach and salmon sauce, and that was nice and filling. But F got upset over things to do in the garden again, and it was a tense atmosphere all evening.

In the late night hours, I watched a so-called horror-movie, although it wasn’t all too scary. But it made me think a lot.

I watched “Boogeyman”, that godawful movie of 2005.

2005... that sounds so close. That sounds so familiar. And yet, it was 15 years ago. Again, time flies. And seeing the movie, seeing the fashion choices and atmosphere, a world without the constant presence of social media and the pressure to be constantly available at all times... it made me feel so nostalgic.

2005.

I was 24 back then. Young. Skinny. A music major preparing for the final concert exam. I was broken, too. Bordering an eating disorder, which made me skinny in the first place, but I would lie if I pretended it doesn’t bother me that I put on so much weight. I loved wearing the pencil skirts. I loved wearing the clothes I can’t wear anymore today. I loved the world more than I love it today.

I was broken, and I went to see my psychoanalyst 3 to 4 times a week. I spent a lot of times waiting for a tram or a bus, and I always had a book in my pocket. Instead of my iphone. I read so much, back then. Now, the distraction of the internet is everywhere.

I miss those days, when the world was coming together instead of falling apart. When my body wasn’t my enemy, like it is now. Always hurting, always causing problems, a thick shell of fat caused by the lipedema that makes moving and exercising so, so hard.

Yes, I had unhealthy habits. Many of them. Back then, I created the scars that I still carry with me. Studying music under TO was exhausting and challenging.

But I felt a sense of accomplishment. I felt proud of what I was doing. Yes, I could also rip myself apart over a passage in the Brouwer sonata, I felt inferior compared to my fellow students who came from around the world. But I travelled to make music. I played in concerts on a regular basis. I was young and the world was wide open.

Am I romanticizing this time?

Of course I do.

Which middle-aged person doesn’t?

Middle-aged. That’s what I am now, right? I’ve used this word aloud for the first time last week, during my last lesson with my student A. I don’t even know how I got there, what made me say it. But there it was, loud and clear: “That’s what happens, when you’re middle-aged.”

It felt strange.

2005, I was young. It was the time when the future was wide open and the years weren’t weighing my down, when my body wasn’t weighing me down. Time was not a factor and everything, simply everything was still possible.

Now, I do feel time and its weight. Decisions need to be made before it’s too late. The future is narrow and determined.

And the world was coming together. There was a liberal air around everything. It was before the pandemic, before the financial crisis. There was a general sense of optimism, or am I mistaken? Just looking at some of the movies makes my heart ache. I feel like the world wasn’t as separated as it is now. The internet was there; a strange place with even stranger people... but it was before facebook and instagram and a constant pressure to post a fake, fabulous life to gain fake, faceless friends and fake, meaningless likes.

Is it bad that I get nostalgic about that?

Sometimes I think: but the world wasn’t as tolerant back then, regarding ethnics and the lgbt+ community.

But... was it?

Was it really?

We live in a radicalized world these days. There are only extremes left in a nightmarish dystopia. There is no moderation. There is no centre left. Only the wrong opinion and yours. The ability to talk and argue in a civilized way seems to be lost.

And here I am, witnessing the wonders and horrors of this time.

And looking at a face in the mirror that doesn’t match me anymore. Photos of myself shock me. I’m old. I’m fat. I don’t play concerts anymore.

Needless to say, I was depressed when I went to bed.

 Saturday, 19.09.20: There are days when you wish you hadn’t gotten up, at all. Saturday was another such day. F was tense, we fought. It wasn’t nice. I tried to tend to the plants outside, but there were once again so many people around... I hate that. I hate that I can’t just water the heather without being seen, without having to smile and wave. I’m a hermit, always have been, and there’s something to be said about the anonymity of large housing blocks. We don’t have that here anymore, and sometimes I wish for a huge, huge, impenetrable wall around our house. If only it wouldn’t look stupid and like a prison from the inside...

While F spent a bit of time outside, I did what I’ve been wanting to do for three weeks now: I put up the autumn decoration. The golden pumpkins, the orange and red leaves, the berry twigs and candles. That, at least, felt like a small accomplishment.

I convinced F to take more me-time. I know he needs it, and badly. I miss him. I miss having dinner with him, but he needs it and it makes him happier, less irritated and more stress-resistant. So I told him to take that time for himself, and things have gotten slightly better since then.

I ended the day in the bathtub again, trying a new bath bomb that was full of spice and beauty. But my heart was pounding and I didn’t last all too long in the tub. But the scent was autumnal and divine.

 Sunday, 21.09.20: I didn’t sleep well and nodded off on the couch in the afternoon. Those days feel empty. I felt empty, too.

The best part about Sunday was a wonderful cooking session. I made homemade tomato soup and spent hours peeling tomatoes, roasting garlic in the oven and bringing it all together. That is the kind of accomplishment I have these days... not playing a whole concert program.

I spent the evening getting lost with my new ipad pro and the drawing app on it. It’s a little addictive and very complicated. I’ve been comfortable with the medium of traditional pencil art and have rarely tried anything else... and this... this is something. I lost track of time, scribbled an opossum, watched the new Netflix series “Ratched” and went to bed.

There was a text on my phone (among many... because that damn thing never, ever stays silent...) from my former student R. The one I have taught for so many years. The one I brought to so many competitions. The one who won third prize on the nationwide round. The one I drove to my old professor. The one who passed the entrance exam at my old college of music. He asked if we couldn’t meet or talk on the phone one of these days. He wanted to tell me what’s going on and how his future will look.

What to bet that means he won’t study music, in the end?

The rest was just more work, more appointments, more requests.

 Monday, 22.09.20: the plan was to go back to work on Monday. That didn’t happen.

I had a horrible night.

I couldn’t fall asleep until half past seven. AM. I was restless and my heart was pounding. I thought about work, about DT, about life and the world and couldn’t stop. Couldn’t rest. Couldn’t sleep.

I dreamt, too. And vividly.

It was a strong dream about DT. I was back at home, with my parents. And I had to prepare a concert. But I hadn’t practiced, at all. My father had informed a local tv station, even. But I hadn’t practiced, and started to panic. I had to get ready, do my make-up, do my hair, get into my concert clothes (oh, how I miss that feeling...) and somehow, miraculously, practice some pieces to fill a concert with...

And somewhere in this mess, where I tried to find sheet music – maybe some duos to play with an old classmate – there was DT.

It was such a vivid, strong dream. So intense.

He was dismissive. He didn’t really want to talk about us, or about how things would unfold from here. And somehow, I tried to convince him that talking would help. That it would make sense to carry on. I tried to convince him that not everything was lost.

And because I had to practice, I just gave him one diary after another. Years and years, tomes and tomes of diaries, piled up in his arms. Somehow, I thought that would be a good idea. Somehow I thought, if he read it all, he would finally understand me.

I was under so much stress, trying to convince him to talk to me...

... then F woke me.

And I felt like hit by a truck.

For a while, I tried to force myself to go to work. Had breakfast, tried to get ready... but with so little sleep, I tend to feel both nauseous and lightheaded. It’s a dizziness that’s hard to be put into words. No way I could be patient enough to teach.

So I called my doctor. And surprisingly, he was on the phone himself. He gave me a sick note for two days. I actually let myself be talked into getting Tuesday off, as well.

I slept until F came home.

I dreamt about my student R., and that he actually didn’t intend to study music. But in the dream, he wasn’t allowed to, so I promised to take care of it, to talk to the college and my old professor.

I felt a little better when I woke up.

F ate dinner alone, and I watched documentaries about video games, continued with “Ratched” and tried to overcome both the lethargy and depression. I think it’s that; the depression. I haven’t been quite myself in the past days, and sometimes all you can do is take one day at a time.

I like the aesthetics of “Ratched”. The 50s vintage beauty of interior design and fashion. I love the soundtrack that is a wonderful homage to old Hitchcock movies. It’s disturbing, thoroughly disturbing, and I’m not quite sure yet if it’s my kind of disturbing. We’ll see. Maybe it’s just the lethargy and depression that drag me in.

 Tuesday, 23.09.20: Again, I slept badly. I can only hope tonight will be better. Tomorrow, I must go back to work. I don’t feel worthy of breathing when I’m not working on a work day. But the night was short and troubled again. Pounding heart. Heavy thoughts. Restless sleep.

I tried to not fall asleep during the day, so I looked for ProCreate tutorials online and tried myself on one of them. I tried to create some characters for the guitar book for children I intend to write (will I ever finish it, though?). And surprisingly, when I looked up again, it was dark. Just like that, hours had passed.

F ate dinner with me, and that was wonderful. His company always helps when I’m feeling lethargic and disturbed and not quite like myself. I’m grateful for that. I’m so grateful for him.

And I really, really hope that I will start feeling better soon.

And that I will sleep.

I hope work will help.