#brenna writes

[bagel-brenna]

🕸️

falling - flailing - free

watch this web i weave

dancing, distant dream

heart shaped i will be

🤍

Heart-shaped spider web

[ultimateinferno]

No I haven't read the Communist Manifesto but I did read Brennan Lee Mulligan recount the best Christmas Party he's ever been to and that's basically the same thing.

[thatapostateboy]

wonderstruck

Pairing: Brenna Lavellan x Cremisius 'Krem' Acclasi

Word Count: 3239

Listening Suggestion: Enchanting - Taylor Swift

Synopsis: in which Krem meets Lavellan, but does not put two and two together

Warnings: Very brief description of battle

Crossposted: Here on AO3

Haven was bloody cold.

He had dressed for winter, and yet the cold was finding a way to seep into his bones. He could usually handle the weather, if he was fighting or travelling, keeping his blood pumping. But he had been stood outside of the Haven Chantry for what had felt like an age, having arrived on horseback a little past dawn, trying to find someone of authority to speak to. But he had either been brushed off or straight up ignored.

Perhaps they had assumed he was there to make trouble; couldn’t be too careful when you were part of an organisation that some considered heretical.  

Either that or the entire Inquisition were not morning people.

“Are you alright, soldier?”

He turned to see an elven woman behind him, dressed in the traditional furs and leathers of a Dalish hunter, with vallaslin on her face to confirm his assumption. Her grey eyes met his, and even in the low light of morning, he was struck by how they shone like silver.

Her eyebrows rose a little, as though hinting that she was waiting on a response, and he realised that he had been staring for beat of a moment too long.

“Oh I-” he cleared his throat, straightening up his posture, remembering why he was here, “I’ve been trying to find someone to speak to. My name is Lieutenant Cremisius Aclassi, I represent a mercenary company looking to aid the Inquisition.”

A soft smile passed over her face, “I believe most of the leadership is in a meeting presently, but I’d be happy to pass on a message if you can give me the details.”

He began to explain about the Chargers, answering her questions about their credentials, Bull’s leadership style, even their cost, relaxing the more he went on. Selling the Chargers was second nature, their work spoke for itself, and she asked the right questions of a prospective client. She wrote down no details, but he had no doubt in his mind that she would remember everything he said. She listened with rapt attention, grey eyes watching him intently as he spoke.

She was a beautiful young woman, her elven figure shorter than his own, muscles clearly toned from use of the bow she carried, but a subtle femininity to her that softened her edges, her dark hair long and braided off of her face, a few wildflowers twisted into it. He noticed a few scars scattered across her skin, some older, some much fresher; signs of more recent battle wounds. Whatever her role was within the Inquisition, she was clearly no stranger to a fight.

Once he had finished his pitch, she nodded him towards the centre of the village where people had begun to queue up for breakfast, “It seems you’ve had a long journey, lieutenant. Take a rest by the fire, get something to eat. I’ll pass along a message to those in charge and come find you once they have reached a decision.”

“Thank you. What about you?”

“What about me?” her eyebrows raised a little.

He glanced towards the porridge that was now being ladled out to those waiting and back to her, “Won’t you miss breakfast if you await their outcome?”

She let out a soft breath, a look of surprise in her expression, “I’ve already eaten, I’ve not quite acclimatised to human cooking as yet. But you’re very sweet to worry.”

He laughed a little at that, mostly to cover the warmth in his cheeks as she called him sweet, “Very well then.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

He watched her go as she headed back inside the Chantry, an odd stirring settling into his chest. He shook his head to himself and turned to go find some food, now was not the time to be thinking with anything other than his stomach or his head.

~*~*~

It was a short while later that she returned, finding him having finished his breakfast and wandered further into the village to investigate more about the Inquisition that he had found himself determined to work for. He had heard about the work they were doing, knew in his heart that the Chargers could be of assistance, and seeing it in person only strengthened his resolve.

“Lieutenant!” she called to him, joining him where he was watching some of the soldiers training, “How was breakfast?”

“Not the worst porridge I’ve eaten by a long shot,” he admitted, “But it’s a far cry from a Dalish recipe.”

“You know Dalish cooking?”

“A member of our company was born into a Dalish clan, she’s made us a few things she remembers from her childhood when it’s her turn to cook.”

“Your group truly is full of surprises,” she said with a smile before she straightened up her form a little, as though remembering why she was actually there, “The Herald apologises for not coming to meet you in person, but she said she would be happy to meet your group. Business will take her to the Storm Coast in the next few days.”

He nodded, “That’s good to hear.”

“Will you be staying to travel there with the Herald?”

“I should be heading back as soon as possible, let the Chief know to expect the Herald, make sure he hasn’t gotten himself into too much trouble whilst I’ve been gone.”

“That’s understandable, though the Herald asked me to let you know that if you require any supplies to ensure that you had them.”

“A most generous offer, though I think I’ll be okay. I brought plenty of provisions for the return trip.”

“Well, there is one thing for you to take with you. See to your horse and I’ll find you before you go.”

They parted once again, and true to her word, she returned as he was leading his mount from the stable, who had been fed and watered without want for any gold in exchange. The horsemaster had simply told him that the Inquisition looked after their own.

“Here,” she said, handing a bundle out to him, “For the road.”

He took it from her, feeling the warmth of the contents through the linen wrapping. He pulled on the string holding it together, the sweet smell wafting from within. Inside were half a dozen sweet buns, covered with a sticky glaze.

“Honey cakes,” she clarified, “They just finished cooking.”

“They smell incredible. What’s in these?”

“Well, the trick is-” she met his eyes, a grin spreading across her face, “If things work out between your boss and the Herald, I’ll tell you the secret ingredient when you come back to Haven.”

He gave a nod and a soft laugh, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I wish you safe travels, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, for everything… my apologies, I never got your name.”

“No, you didn’t. Something else I’ll tell you when you come back to Haven.”

He chuckled, “Very well.” He took her gloved hand, and her form stiffened for a brief moment before he brushed a kiss against the leather on the back on her hand, “Until we meet again.”

He noted the flush in her cheeks before she returned his warm smile, “Until we meet again.”

~*~*~

“Krem, is that a pack of baked goods?”

He had been back with the Chargers for less than an hour, finally taking a well-earned rest from his journey to enjoy one of the honey cakes away from the main part of their campsite, having no intention of sharing this gift with them, until a familiar horned shadow had loomed over him.

“Sure is, Chief,” he responded.

“Did you swing into the city on the way here? Where did you get those?”

“Haven.”

“You found cakes in Haven?”

“I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Well I’ve never seen you buy them either, so what’s...” he glanced at his lieutenant’s face, and the subtle hint of the flush in his cheeks, “Someone gave them to you. The question is if they’re as sweet on you as you are on them.”

Krem didn’t even bother to hide his growing smile at that point, “She was just being kind, but she was...”

“Yeah?”

“Possibly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

“Atta’ boy,” Bull clapped a hand to his back, taking a seat beside him, “So, c’mon, tell me about her.”

“She was elven, Dalish by the look of her tattoos and that hunting gear they wear-”

“The tight leather wraps, I’m familiar,” he nodded.

“She was the first person to actually stop and speak to me. I told her about the Chargers, she said she’d make sure the Herald got the message. She came and found me again before I could leave, said the Herald would love to come meet us and she gave me these for the road. She made them herself.”

“Well, damn. Even if things don’t work out with the Herald, we should swing by Haven when we’re next out that way.”

“We don’t-”

“Hey, it’s not every day my right-hand man meets an enchanting woman that captures his heart. Now, finish those up before Skinner spots them and tries to shiv you for them.”

He snorted a laugh, the warmth in his cheeks at the thought of meeting that young woman again still making itself known, “Yes, Chief.”

~*~*~

The fight had been a bloody disaster from the start.

They had been tracking the Tevinter mages along the coastline since his return from Haven, but one wrong move had left them fenced in; the sea on one side, a cliff face on the other, encroaching waves of Venatori, all whilst trying to fight on a pebble beach in a thunderstorm.

His heavy armour didn’t fare well against the salt spray of the seawater, nor the loose stone underfoot, breathing heavily under his helm as he knocked down mage after mage with his hammer, trying to hold the line to protect their ranged fighters.

Somewhere to the side of him he could hear Bull’s familiar battle roar as he cut down another Venatori, followed by a string of curses as another group of mages appeared on the periphery.

There was a hum of magic cast over them, a wavering barrier, and he gave a call of thanks to Dalish, who didn’t even give the obligatory protest of not being a mage, but warned that she couldn’t keep this up much longer.

They were all near spent, he could see it in the way Grim’s shoulder sagged under the weight of his shield as he blocked an incoming spell, or how Skinner’s usually deadly blows had grown sloppy, desperate.

Bull gave a bellowing call of encouragement to them all, receiving an exhausted but determined, “Horns up!” in response from his company.

They could do this. They had gotten out of worse fights than this. They could-

His foot slid out from under him as the pebbles shifted, distracting him for a split second long enough that he didn’t defend against the spell coming his way, knocking him clean on his back, head ringing as he hit the ground hard, vision swimming from the pain and the rain now thundering into his face through the slit in his visor.

Eyes silver like starlight. White wildflowers stark against dark hair. The warmth of freshly baked goods. He didn’t know her name yet.

With a groan of pain, he hauled himself to his feet, hefting his hammer onto his shoulder, tensing himself to bring it crashing down into the sternum of the approaching mage. Yet before he could make his move, an arrow whistled past his ear, sinking into the jugular of the ‘vint, felling him in a single shot.

He turned, looking to thank one of Skinner’s skirmishers, but instead saw a figure sliding down the cliff face towards them, bow in hand, firing another arrow as they went, taking down another approaching soldier. He lifted the visor of his helm, wiping the rain from his eyes and saw the elven woman from Haven approaching him.

“Nice hammer, lieutenant,” she flashed him a smile then ran past him, throwing herself into the fray firing arrow after arrow.

Other members of the Inquisition soon joined them, having taken a more stable route down the cliff face; an elven mage, the Seeker and a man in the armour of a Grey Warden. It was more than enough to tip the fight in their favour, finishing off the final Venatori on the beach.

As he allowed himself a few breaths to recover, he couldn’t help but admire the elven rogue, watching her move gracefully across the battlefield, light enough on her feet that the pebbles barely shifted under her movements, unperturbed by the storm that raged around them; a true Dalish hunter.

Hells, if nothing else worked out with the Inquisition, she would make an incredible addition to the Chargers.

He set to his post-battle routine, checking on the others, ensuring the throat-cutters were getting to work at the Chief’s orders, though he kept half an eye on the group from the Inquisition as they began talking to Bull. He saw him beginning to talk to the elven woman alone and he felt a knot in his stomach.

He trusted Bull with his life, but the thought of him saying anything at all untoward her in an attempt to aid his love life had him wandering over, determined to interrupt so that he could make sure that Bull finalised their contract with no damned distractions.

“The, uh, the throat-cutters are all done, Chief,” he said as he approached, “Stitches is looking after the wounded.”

Bull looked between him and the elf, and he could tell he was holding back a shit eating grin.

“I assume you remember my lieutenant, Cremisius Aclassi.”

Krem met her eyes as she smiled at him, and he nodded, “It’s good to see you again, I-”

“Krem, this is Brenna of Clan Lavellan,” Bull cut him off, an inordinate amount of glee in his eye, “She’s the Herald of Andraste.”

Shit.

“Y-Your Worship,” he fully bowed his head, partially out of respect, mostly to hide the look of horror on his face.

“Oh!” she said, surprised, “There’s really no need for any of that.”

“Get everyone up together, Krem, we’re headed out,” Bull told him, “We just got hired.”

Of fucking course.

~*~*~

“Buy her a drink,” Bull insisted.

It had been a few weeks since they had joined the Inquisition formally. Bull had begun travelling at the Herald’s side, leaving him to lead the Chargers. They had been travelling around the Hinterlands for the most part, aiding with relief efforts, clearing bandit camps, but during the pockets of time between assignments, he found himself in Haven, avoiding the Herald of Andraste.

It would be easier that way, he could move on from his stupid bloody crush, and pretend that he wasn’t pining for the woman who had physically walked out of the Fade and potentially held the fate of the world in her hands.

And yet, despite his efforts, she was bloody everywhere.

He was running the Chargers through some training drills in the snowy fields outside Haven, only for her to go hurtling past, bow in hand, calling out a greeting before she disappeared off into the woods, returning later to call for some help to carry her goods, having hunted down some wild druffalo for meat and furs to keep members of the Inquisition fed and warm. He had gone to her without thought, and followed her back to the village, arms laden with furs, heart hammering in his chest as she laughed and joked with him.

He had volunteered for a night watch, determined to help out around Haven whenever he was there, and as he stood shivering in the cold, regretting not bringing his warmer cloak with him from his tent, he suddenly found a steaming cup of tea held out in front of him, the Herald telling him that it was a special Dalish blend designed to warm the body on winter nights. It was herbal, but he couldn’t ignore the sweetness of the honey that she had clearly mixed into it to detract from the bitterness. He had thanked her, and hoped she thought the blush in his cheeks was simply from the cold.

Even when he had been stationed out in the Hinterlands, the Chargers making quick work of some bandits that had been hassling refugees, there she was, brining supplies to the smallfolk, talking to a young girl about her vallaslin as the curious child asked questions, not shunning her away as some would. There was a patience to her, a kindness that he was surprised still endured after everything that had happened in the last few weeks to her. Even if members of the Chantry still doubted her innocence, still claimed she was responsible for the destruction of the Conclave, called her a heretic, there was no doubt in him that she was a hero. Not for the mark on her hand, or the title that had been thrust upon her, but for who she was at heart.  

And now, once again, here she was, sitting a few tables away in the tavern in Haven, close enough to hear her laughter as she conversed with Dorian and Varric. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders for once, looking more at ease than she had in a while.

He sighed, “She’s the Herald of Andraste, Chief, she’s not going to want to drink with some common mercenary.”

“Hey now, the Chargers are no common band of mercs, and you’re a damn fine soldier, any woman would be lucky to have a drink with you,” Bull said, “Besides, she’s not exactly been one for airs and graces, you know she doesn’t give a shit about the title. If anything, she probably needs someone to treat her like a regular woman again.”

He watched her bid goodnight to her friends, even flashing him a warm smile when she caught his eye, then headed outside.

“Krem,” Bull’s tone turned a little more serious, “You don’t let a woman like that get away. Take a chance.”

Fuck it.

He slammed back the rest of his drink, and got to his feet, earning a hefty pat on the back from the Chief before he followed her out into the cool night air.

She was quicker than him, light on her feet as always, headed away from the tavern. He followed her for a few paces, opening his mouth to call to her, but he stopped in his tracks when he saw someone else approach her.

It was the elf, the one who had been with her at the Coast, the one who travelled diligently at her side, Solas. The Herald smile at him, wide eyed in the moonlight, her hand gently squeezing one of his as they spoke before she let go, a flush in her cheeks.

Oh.

They turned, clearly headed somewhere together, and she spotted him.

“Are you alright, Krem?” she asked.

“Y-Yes, Your Worship,” he nodded quickly, “Just getting some air. You have a pleasant evening.”

“You as well,” she said, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he replied softly, waiting until she and Solas were out of sight to rest his head against the side of the tavern, letting out a hard breath that clouded on the air.

Idiot.

[aswallowssong]

Sicktember 2024 #7: Borrowed Hoodie

The idea for this was, literally, "Aaron’s hoodie being passed around like a healing balm." It was @themetaphorgirl's prompt, and I love her for it, because if there's anything I love, it's when the person that's usually the whumpee becomes the caretaker, even in the short form. Honorable mention comment goes to @fragolinaa, who said, and I quote: "Alex calling him Aaron is the equivalent of showing a glock"

Spencer

“I’m tired,” Spencer mumbled against Aaron’s side. It was Friday night, and they were at another one of Derek’s football games. Aaron knew the rules of football against his will, having been Derek’s roommate the year before, but it seemed that no matter how many times he tried to explain them to Spencer, it wasn’t sticking.

That, or Spencer couldn’t get over why a sport about passing and running had to be so violent. He didn’t like it when they tackled one another, which was every play, and he really didn’t like it when Derek got tackled. 

“I know, Bug,” Aaron said gently, pulling Spencer closer to him as his eyes stayed locked on the field. It was getting colder as the season went on, and Spencer was shivering, so some extra snuggles were in order.

“I wanna go home,” Spencer whined, flopping down so his head could lay in Aaron’s lap. 

Aaron ruffled his hair. “I know, Bug,” he echoed. “The game’s almost over. I told Derek we’d try to stay for the whole thing. There’s four minutes left.”

“That could take a million years,” Spencer mumbled, and when Aaron’s hand paused against Spencer’s scalp, he noticed how warm his ‘little brother’ felt. 

His mouth tugged down into a frown, and he looked over at Alex, but she wasn’t watching them. She was buried in her book, her back against James’ side while he watched with rapt attention. James liked to give Derek specific praise after his games – something he said that Ned always did for him – and while it was sweet, it made him oblivious to the world for the two hours they were on the bleachers.

“Bug?”

“Mhm?”

“Are you feeling okay?”

Spencer nestled further into Aaron’s lap, the tip of his thumb between his teeth. “Mm. ‘m cold.”

Aaron sighed. Spencer ran mystery fevers all the time, and they usually found out the cause later in the night, or the next day. Some cold, or flu, or worse, a stomach bug that reared its ugly head and made them all stressed out for a week, and usually got Aaron sick, too, in the process.

He thought for a second before stripping off his hoodie, and then laying it over Spencer like a blanket. Spencer sighed in relief, snuggling into it and balling his fists in the soft, blue fabric.

“That help?” Aaron asked, and Spencer nodded sleepily, closing his eyes as he turned his face into Aaron’s stomach. 

“Uh huh. Thanks, Bubba.” __________

Alex

They’d been fighting about it for five entire minutes.

“Birdy, come on.”

“I’m fine, Aaron. Leave me alone.”

Aaron, not Bubba. I really must have done it this time.

“I won’t,” Aaron said, moving to try to stop her as she marched down the sidewalk. “You’ve been trying to dodge us all day, I barely caught you now, and I had to ask Penelope for your work schedule.”

“How did Penelope get my work schedule?”

Aaron gestured vaguely, moving again so he was in front of his pseudo-twin. “Penelope could find the president’s schedule if she wanted to.”

Alex rolled her eyes, not moving to push back the hair that was blocking some of her face from his view. She always pulled her hair away from her face, she’d said once that it was a sensory nightmare, but she didn’t have a headband or a clip pulling it back, and it wasn’t in a ponytail or a braid like she usually did.

“Are you mad at me? Is this about Spencer? Because if you’re mad at me, you shouldn’t be avoiding everyone, just tell me what I did.”

Alex huffed, pushing past him again. “I’m not mad at you, you’re reading into it.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, but then used his lank to his advantage, stepping in front of her again. He put his hands on her shoulders, stopping her in place, and bent a little to look her in the face.

“Birdy, please, come on. Spencer’s worried, he doesn’t know why you’re avoiding him.” When he said it he knew it was a low blow, but he was starting to feel anxiety like bubbles popping in his chest. “I told him I’d make sure you were at dinner.”

Alex looked up at him after a second, some of her face still blocked by her hair,, and if looks could kill, he would have been six feet under.

“Let go of me, Aaron.”

“Alex–”

“I have homework to do. I’ve got too many things–”

Her words cut off as she shuddered under his hands, goosebumps erupting on her arms as she shivered in weather that was already too warm for him to be wearing his hoodie in the first place.

“Woah,” he said reflexively, “Are you… cold?”

She shook her head quickly and shivered again, before tucking her face away from him, and he didn’t even think as he reached out and gently grabbed her chin, turning her head so he could actually see her face.

When he did, everything clicked into place.

“Holy shit, Alex, you look awful.”

She frowned, and to his horror, her lower lip started trembling. “Stop, Aaron–”

“No way, Bird,” he said, the popping of anxiety in his chest going from slow moving bubbles to sparks like fireworks. “No wonder you’ve been a ghost today, you should be in bed, not running around trying to dodge us.”

“I’m fine,” she tried to say, but it was painfully obvious she wasn’t, and Aaron took a second to breathe before he was rubbing his hands up and down her arms, trying to help somehow. He was good at taking care of Spencer, but Spencer was ten.

Plus, Alex was usually the one taking care of him, and Spencer, so how was he supposed to do anything to help her?

“We should… find James. I’ll text James. He can meet us back at my room, and he’ll know what to do.”

She started to protest, but as she shivered harshly again, all of the fight seemed to go out of her. Her eyes started to fill with tears, and she nodded slowly. 

“Okay.”

He thought for a second before unzipping his hoodie, and he helped her thread her arms through the sleeves before zipping it for her. It hung like a dress down to the middle of her thighs, but she didn’t seem to notice, or felt too awful to care.

After a moment she leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his torso and burying her face in the fabric of his shirt. 

“Thanks, Bubba.”

“Of course,” he said automatically. “Of course, Birdy.”

“Love you.”

“I love you, too.” __________

Haley

“You don’t have to do this, Ari. It’s sweet, but you’re gonna–”

“Hay, James said you probably should be with someone to watch your fever. It’s fine, I don’t care about getting sick. I care about you.”

Haley sat next to him on the bench outside of Roosevelt house, her head laying against his arm as he tried to coax her into following him back to Lincoln house. He’d thought she was acting weird at dinner, and by the time she’d finally admitted to him that she wasn’t feeling all that great, Alex and James had taken Spencer back with them and the others, granting them enough privacy for him to convince her to let him help.

She’d fought going to the nurse harder than he thought she would, but he’d been able to convince her to on the thermometer in his backpack, normally reserved for Spencer. After that he’d called James, and she’d already gone inside and grabbed a tote bag with the things she thought she might need.

When she’d gone in she’d been wearing his hoodie, which he’d given her even after she’d protested that she was going to get germs on it, and he’d fully scoffed. Odds were he was going to get sick anyway. When she’d come out with her bag and was still wearing it, he’d told the bees in his stomach to knock it the fuck off.

“Harper just…” she turned and muffled a cough into her elbow, but he finished the thought for her. “Is the worst?”

She laughed and shook her head, clearing her throat before speaking again.

“She just gets really freaked out about getting sick and missing class, and missing cheer. It’s like, she would rather die.”

“That’s a little dramatic,” Aaron said simply, rubbing Haley’s back. She’d started shivering again, and it was making him anxious. “People get sick all the time. Spencer and I get sick all the time. You’ve got like, a cold virus or something, and it’ll go away.”

Haley turned and raised a weak eyebrow at him. “A cold virus, or something?”

“I don’t want to be a doctor,” he said simply. “I want to be a lawyer.”

“A man with ambition,” she said, teasing him, but he could tell her heart wasn’t in it. She was more miserable than she was letting on. “I like that.”

“And I like you feeling well,” he said, standing up and offering her his hand. “Come on, Haley. It’s alright, I promise.”

She looked up at him, glassy eyed and fever flushed, and sniffled quietly before taking his hand and letting him help her up. He grabbed her bag, even though she protested, and couldn’t help but feel a swell of fondness at the fact that his hoodie dwarfed her, the sleeve pooling around their connected hands while the other completely covered her hand. He nodded towards it, giving her a shy smile.

“When JJ’s cardigans do that to Spencer’s hands, she calls it ‘Sweater Paws,’ like he’s a kitten.”

“Are you calling me a baby?” She said, but she laughed listlessly, so he knew she wasn’t serious.

“It’s cute,” he said, trying and failing to not blush like a moron.

“Well, maybe I should wear your jackets more often. Not just because I’m so cold.”

“You’re hot.”

“Wow. Forward.”

“I mean–!” He blushed darker, fumbling for the right words. “You know what I meant! You have a fever!”

“I know, I shouldn’t be giving you a hard time,” she said, leaning her head against his arm as they walked. “Thanks for letting me stay. I feel silly about it.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I already said it, I don’t care about getting sick. I care about you.” ___________

James

James was raising an eyebrow at him, though it looked misplaced on his pale yet darkly flushed face.

“Your hoodie won’t fit me.”

“Try me,” Aaron said, holding it out to him. “Or do I need to help you put it on?”

James grumbled, taking it from him. “This is silly.”

“You’re the one that tried to hide in a study room to finish homework instead of calling your dad and telling him to pick you up in the first place.”

“I didn’t know Penelope had tagged us.”

“Well,” Aaron said, “Yeah, the ethics on that are sketchy. But how else was Alex supposed to find you when you didn’t show up after classes let out? And then no one could find you for two hours until Penny finally ratted on herself!”

He hadn’t meant to get a little loud, and only noticed when James winced and rubbed at his temples, but James was usually their rock. The fact that he’d been the one to go MIA hadn’t sat right, and he’d been fighting off the anxiety ever since.

“I didn’t mean to worry everyone,” James said quietly. He’d pulled Aaron’s hoodie on, which had stopped the fever chills a little bit, and had fit, which Aaron had known it would. It was just baggy enough in the shoulders to fit James’ broader ones. “I wanted the opposite.”

“Well you got the not-opposite,” Aaron said, way too flustered to think of a good retort. Instead he stared at James longer than was appropriate, and was startled when someone honked their car horn.

“Shit,” he said at the same time that James said, “Stars,” like they were in a southern sitcom.

“Jeff, cut it out!”

Ned was walking up to them, concern etched onto his face, while Jeff, his best friend and bakery partner, was sitting in the driver’s seat of the van, sheepishly waving and mouthing “sorry.”

Aaron liked Ned. Ned was a good dad.

“Mini, why in the world would you have stayed here feeling bad when you know I would’a come to get you right quick had you called? Alex sounded worried out of her mind.”

“That’s just Alex,” James said, but Aaron watched him quickly wilt as he laid eyes on his dad. “It’s not that bad.”

“He’s got a fever over a hundred n’ one,” Aaron said, his accent strengthening the second he heard Ned talk. “He’s full’a crap.”

Ned nodded at Aaron, ruffling his hair before he grabbed James’ backpack off the ground. “Thanks, Bubba. Charlie’s anxious to get him back. Mama’s worried.”

He said it in James’ direction, but didn’t take his eyes off Aaron, and it made him feel warm inside.

James got up to walk with him back to the car, mumbling a thanks to Aaron, but was half way there when he turned around.

“Oh, Aaron, this is your hoodie.” He started moving sluggishly to take it off, but Aaron shook his head. 

“It’s fine. I’m not worried about it.”

“Didn’t your brother pick it for you, though? It’s important.”

Aaron nodded, taking a beat before shrugging. “It is. A, um. A different brother needs it right now.”

He watched as James’ face went from confused to thoughtful, a small and sheepish smile crossing his face before he nodded, turned, and followed Ned to the car.

[eastgaysian]

the way tom is both shiv to logan and logan to shiv right now... call your wife tom call your fucking wife and tell them to get their own fucking idea. you wanna be my dad's little bitch boy why don't you deliver him a message bitch boy tell him to fuck off and stay out of my life.

shiv married a man who she thought of as the opposite of her father because she wanted to be better than her parents and she ended up getting 'mommed.' she wanted to become the inverse of her father and she turned her husband into her father instead. and because her husband is her father she can't manage to sever herself from either of them, because they won't let her and because she doesn't know what she'd do or who she'd be without them. she still pulls up tom's contact and thinks about calling him. she's the one who talks about getting a divorce but she's also the one still consistently wearing her ring out and about.

logan's always been attached to shiv in a particular way as his only daughter, his favorite, his baby girl. he loves her the most and that means he thinks the least of her. he lashes out at shiv in particular for the pierce deal because of all people his daughter can't be undercutting him. how can she dare when her own husband, the one who was too weak to betray her up until he did, chose logan over his own wife? but while logan respects tom for that, at the same time, tom is nothing to him apart from the lingering connection to/stand-in for shiv - and tom's ability to be that connection/stand-in is jeopardized by the fact that he's thrown his lot in with logan over shiv.

it's fucking unbelievable tom's still trying to play both sides under these condition, and he also has no option but to try to play both sides under these conditions. if either of those supports goes down so does the whole house of cards. shiv got him in at atn and hated him for being in at atn and when/if the deal goes through logan will only be atn. yeah man you were right when you were like 'our family' but i don't think you knew exactly what you were signing up for

[brenna]

the vibe for april 6th is sunny with a chance of garfield, I guess, lol. one of my favorite garfs is this fishing garfield I found, and the sun was shining nicely on him today. and I have my garf shirt, and my custom gay lisa simpson vans on. well, I did earlier, when the sun was still out. did a lot of writing today, too.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Albarrán Cabrera

* * * * “When I Say I Forgive You,  Know This I did not bury the hatchet.  I have the hatchet in my hands.  I am building myself a new house.” “Forgive Me My Salt,” Brenna Twohy.

[alive on all channels]

[wolfmoonblues]

I was gonna storyboard this a while back and couldn’t get around to it. Wondering if I still should!! Could be fun idk

[vassothmercar]

“My mother loves me in the only way the fey know how to,” Brenna laughs bitterly as she eyes Astarion. 

“Is that not beneficial, to have the love of an Archfey?”

“I do not believe you understand,” Brenna says through lidded eyes as she watches the flames dance. “Fey are not mortal, nothing near that. They love in a manner that mortals cannot understand, nor appreciate.”

“Are you not part fey, too? Do you not love like them?” Wyll asks, curiosity clear on his question. Brenna raises her eyes from the flames and stares at him tiredly. 

“I might be half fey, but I am mortal enough,” she says with a near shrug. “I am fey enough to understand her love, but mortal enough for it to feel like a choking fungi growing on the back of my throat, ready to smother me for my own good.”

She takes a breath, before returning her gaze to the flames. 

“I am part fey, yes, but I am mortal enough not to want her love,” she admits, voice low. “Not when she loves me like a possession she must subjugate.”

[balmacedapascal]

She's not sure how it's come down to this - the two of them standing in the long abandoned drugstore, guns aimed at each other, both seconds away from being the one to pull the trigger. But the sound just outside the door has her hesitating. Infected, more than she'd like to deal with on her own from the sound of it. And she knows he can hear it too. She can see his eyes darting between her and the door. If she wasn't worried he'd pull the trigger on instinct, she might consider making her move while he's trying to assess the growing problem out front. But she wants to live to see tomorrow. And something tells her he feels the same.

Her voice is low, a mumble just loud enough for him to hear but not enough to attract much attention from what's on the other side of the old glass. "Look, either you kill me now and deal with those fuckers outside by your lonesome. Or we deal with it together and live to kill each other a day. So what's it gonna be?"

Her eyes track his every micro expression. The way his jaw clenches, practically able to hear him grinding his teeth. His finger's still on the trigger but there seems to be a hesitancy towards her that wasn't there a minute ago. Nostrils flare as he breathes out a long, frustrated breath before the quick jerk of a nod. "Fine. But just remember if you change your mind and shoot me, better make sure it's a good one. If it's not, I'll find you and kill you with my bare hands."

"Back at ya, big guy," is all she says in response, swinging her aim towards the door that's started to rattle when he does and braces herself for what's to come.

ARSONIST'S LULLABYE | a canon-divergent fanfic based on HBO's The Last of Us. Coming soon...

[libraryben]

We don’t value writing in the university.

I want this to not be true — I have the English doctorate and the nine years of full-time college academic writing instruction to prove it — but it is. Consider who does the labour of most writing instruction in our institutions, especially at the foundational level: graduate students and precarious sessional instructors. This labour is underpaid and the work often done without benefits, a commitment from the institution, funding for professional development, and so on. Within courses that are not academic writing courses, writing instruction is typically limited and surface, with the pressures of course content far outweighing the need to learn to write in the discipline. Coverage is king, after all. Again, this demonstrates a lack of value for writing instruction: if we valued it, we would make time for it.

But we all want students to write. We want them to write well.

It’s never been a tenable relationship and it has resulted in the kinds of writing instruction that John Warner articulates so clearly in Why They Can’t Write: without time, resources, and a sense of institutional priority, student writing instruction and assignments are perfunctory at best and empty simulations of argument at worst. They’re shallow. They’re boring. And they don’t teach students how writers approach the task of writing.

And then there’s ChatGPT.

Once again, I find myself amused and dismayed at the energy being poured into the anxious intersection of ChatGPT and writing assessment. The essays ChatGPT writes are objectively bad. They are vapid. Bullshit. Or, as I said on my podcast a few weeks back, bafflegab. But that kind of surface writing that obsesses over forum instead of content — oh my god, you guys, ChatGPT can make citations now!! — is exactly what we have been training our students to do since the advent of the five-paragraph essay. We trained our learners to write like robots, following patterns and scripts and worrying less about content than the fact that it looks vaguely like an essay. And shockingly, robots are also good at writing like robots. So is the problem really ChatGPT?

[boo-cool-robot]

I am simply not collecting all my FatT fanwork ever but in honor of the FatTaversary, here's me and Brenna's Orthibex comic...a little teaser for our longer and more formally sophisticated Hieron Zine comic :)

@Wellnoe and I made a little one-page Orth/Ibex zine for the Sam’s Club Zine Exchange, themed around reunions. Of course we HAD to write about our favorite difficult old men in a situation. Art and lettering by them, script and dialogue by me. 

If you are interested in printing out and folding your own physical copy, you can download one here. 

Image description below the cut!

Keep reading

[direodes]

⠀⠀⠀⠀. . .⠀⠀⠀⠀ they wanted him.. edmonton. he knew this halfway through his college career , having signed the contract, ready to begin playing professional hockey. they wanted him. his parents were proud of him , his best friend was proud of him , his team was proud of him , but her opinion mattered the most to him. they hadn’t talked about it , their future, what was to come next. perhaps living in the present was far too exciting. perhaps they were used to it, living apart from each other at two different schools, needing to travel to see each other , but this would be different. they’d be different continents away — even if it was just a boarder. 〝 i think we need to talk about something. 〞 his voice was a quiet whisper, head lifting from the pillow it was laying on to look at her. 〝 nothing bad.. I promise. 〞

@erealiae liked for a starter : jake connelly for brenna jensen.

[thatapostateboy]

and my disgrace

Pairing: Brenna Lavellan x Solas

Word Count: 3237

Synopsis: My own self-indulgent take on the final battle/dialogue

Warnings: ENDGAME SPOILERS, read below the cut at your own risk

Crossposted: Here on AO3

Solas felt the Archdemon’s claw push down on his head, keeping him pinned to the stone as Blight tendrils wrapped tighter around his body, ensuring that he could not move.

Rook was battling fiercely against Elgar’nan, but until he could free himself to kill the Archdemon it was all for nought. Even if he could not end the beast himself, Rook had brought her Grey Warden with her, if he could give enough distraction that he could get close enough…

“The Dread Wolf cannot save you,” Elgar’nan taunted, “He cannot even save-”

Solas watched his ear twitch, sniffing at the air before he turned sharply towards him, holding back Rook’s advances with a wave of magic.

“What trick of yours is this, wolf? Another pawn?”

Pawn? There was no one other than Rook that he should be able to sense. Even if his vhenan did not have the good sense to stay away from all this, it had been ten years since he had seen her, there was no way that he would be able to tell-

A howl pierced the air, not his own, the sound drowning out his thoughts, but it sent a vibration through his body, making his blood sing. It was a sensation he had never felt before.

All their heads snapped upwards to see the remnants of magic, and the form of a massive wolf appearing atop one of the crumbled palace walls, smaller than himself but no less imposing, fur silver like starlight, covering all of its body, not just the patches his own, the four eyes on its face each a burning bright blue. Its body was tensed, heckles raised as it observed the battlefield below.

It howled once again, louder this time, and for the first time in his millennia of existence, the Dread Wolf heard the call of his pack.

The howl turned to a snarl as it leapt, aiming not for Elgar’nan, but the dragon, clamping its jaws around the back of the creature’s neck. The Archdemon roared in pain and began to shake, but the wolf held strong, claws beginning to rake and tear at whatever it could reach.

Elgar’nan seethed, but was distracted as Rook and her team reengaged him, using the diversion to pull his attention back to them.

Solas struggled against the Blight tendrils, even as the Archdemon shifted its fury towards the smaller wolf, the crushing claw atop his head lifting instead to bat at the silver wolf. He knew that some mages had the power to shapeshift, but something of this magnitude took something far greater than mortal magic, like the dragon form gifted by Mythal that was used during the fight against Corypheus.

The wolf battle fiercely, clearly untrained in the use of a form this size, but no less ferocious, lashing out with teeth and claws. The Archdemon finally shook it loose, sending it across the ruins of the Archon’s palace, its yelp of pain tearing at something within Solas’ chest. But even as the dragon’s gaze turned back to him, the wolf did not falter, hauling itself to its feet and bounding across the battlefield.

It skidded in the dirt and rubble, but held its ground between the dragon and him, snarling and snapping its jaws threateningly, despite being immeasurably dwarfed by the Archdemon’s enormous size.

He felt the Blight tendrils start to loosen, one of Rook’s companions pulling on the power of the Blight to battle against Elgar’nan’s control, but even as he started to move, desperate to stand and fight, to see this done; fire began to gather in the dragon’s maw, aiming at both wolves before it.

A desperate snarl left his mouth as he tried to communicate for the silver wolf to move whilst it still had a chance, but it held its ground in front of him.

As the scorching fire streamed towards them, the wolf’s form became shrouded in an almost blinding teal magic, shrinking down until it shimmering and dissipated around a young elven woman, hand outstretched towards the dragon.

Her back was still to Solas, but his heart sang for the briefest of moments as he saw flowing black hair, and leather armour of Dalish make.

Vhenan?

But as she moved, he knew that it was not her. Her stature different, a little taller, skin paler, and two arms of flesh. And unlike his darling Brenna, this woman was no rogue.

Magic burst from her palm, forming a shield large enough to cover not just herself, but him as well. She skidded back from the force of it as the flames clashed with her magic, boots scuffing against the stone and rubble, coming to rest her hand against his snout for balance, but she held strong.

No mortal mage should have had this power. Had they stumbled upon another of the ancients’ old artifacts, infused this girl like Lavellan’s brother had with the Well of Sorrows? There was no smell of a demon’s bargain or spirit’s aid upon her, but there was something familiar, a connection to the Fade that went beyond that of a normal mage.

She dared a glance back at him, face streaked with dust and blood, but underneath it all she looked so much like Brenna. Younger, features sharper, no vallaslin upon her brow, yet the resemblance was uncanny.

And then her eyes met his, a wild piercing blue tinged purple in the presence of ancient magic.

Oh.

“When I release this spell,” her voice was shaking with the effort of maintaining the shield, but she did not falter, “Rip its fucking throat out.”

A low growl crept through him and she nodded in response, turning her focus back to the Archdemon. He felt the rest of the tendrils slip from around his body, every muscle in him coiled to pounce.

The heat spewing from the dragon’s mouth dissipated and she used the last remaining power in her shield to blast pure force magic upwards, exposing the Archdemon’s neck. With a ferocious snarl, the Dread Wolf leapt, sinking his teeth into its throat and tearing its life away in a spray of blood and flesh.

He heard Elgar’nan cry out as his immortality was ripped away from him, Solas’ body collapsing from both exertion and his injuries, form shrinking down to his own elven one. The girl came to his side, magic already flaring in her palms as she attempted to heal him, ignoring her own injuries from the fight.

“An impressive ploy, Fen’Harel, to sire a child on a mortal,” Elgar’nan’s voice cut across the battlefield, one hand holding back Rook’s team with a wall of magic as his attention turned to Solas, “What a fiercely loyal pup you have created.”

“She is not-” the words caught in his throat, for this was one lie the God of Trickery could not speak.

Elgar’nan’s other hand flexed, ancient magic wrapping around the girl’s form and tearing her from Solas’ side, bringing her to float eye to eye with him, bound tightly so that she could not move. Solas himself struggled to move, the injuries from his battle with the dragon keeping him on his knees, clutching to his wounds as not to bleed out.

Elgar’nan looked the girl over, “Not as powerful as an Evanuris, but her magic exceeds that of a true mortal,” he mused, “Tell me child, what is your name?”

She spat in his face, magic flaring behind her eyes even as she did not have the ability to aim it anywhere, “Fuck you.”

“You dare?!” his fist curled, the bindings closing in tighter around her, causing her to gasp for breath on her own choked cries of pain as her injuries were pressed on, “I should scatter you across the face of Thedas… But you are of far more use to me alive.”

“Afraid to fight me now that you’re mortal?” she hissed as she struggled against his bindings, “I helped kick your fucking Archdemon’s ass, I’ll do the same to you. I’ll even stay in this form, make it a fair fight.”

He brought his other hand around to squeeze her neck, “Without Ghilan’nain’s mind, the process of finding out what makes your pathetic form tick will be torturous for you. Your gall and your magic will be a powerful weapon to bring all of Thedas to heel.”

“Wouldn’t bet on it, asshole,” Rook’s casual tone came from behind him, freed from her own imprisonment in the distraction, “Thanks kid.”

“You-”

Whatever Elgar’nan’s last words would have been were cut off as Rook sliced the lyrium dagger across his throat, swinging to bury it into his chest.

In the chaos that ensued, the death blow of one of the last elven gods, the lyrium dagger scattered across the battlefield, Elgar’nan’s body and that of his Archdemon swallowed into the Void as they were all knocked off of their feet by the explosion of magic. Tears in the sky began to appear overhead, the Veil preparing to come crashing down.

As the dust began to clear, Rook and Solas both looked up in search of the dagger, only to find it in the loose grasp of the elven girl.

He looked at her, drank in the sight of her. It should not have been possible for her to exist. When he had allowed himself to give in to being with his vhenan, he had hated himself for having her under false pretences and had been stringent with the contraceptive herbs to ensure that this did not happen. And yet somehow, by some stroke of bad luck, or perhaps a miracle, he had not yet decided, his child, his daughter, was standing in front of him, and she was exactly how their child looked when he had allowed himself the faintest of hopes of a daydream of a future with Brenna.

And she was brave, and fierce, and foolhardy, and though there was so much Brenna in her, he could see his own hot blooded arrogant youth reflected right back at him.

Solas stepped forward a little, hand outstretched, “Da’len, give that to me.”

“Do not call me da’len like you know me,” she snapped, clutching the dagger tighter.

“The Veil is coming down,” he said, easing his tone a little, trying to reason with her, “With the dagger, I can minimise the damage.”

“And flood the world with demons?”

“There will be unavoidable destruction, but what will remain afterwards… the world of our people…” he dared another step closer, but her eyes flared with magic once again, a snarl in her throat.

“My people are the ones fighting and dying below us, who will be consumed in the fires when your regret scorches Thedas…” she turned the dagger over in her hands, and he could see tears in her eyes as the magic dissipated, “Varric believed you could change. So does my mother.”

He flinched a little at the mention of Varric name, even now, “And what of you?”

She met his eyes, “I do not know you. I am not a dear friend, or the woman you love. I am a stranger to you, as you are to me. You do not even know my name.”

“Will you tell me it?”

“It’s Grace.”

“Grace,” he tested the word in his mouth. Andrastian, not Elvhen like he had expected. Had that been an idea of Brenna’s to hide their child more easily in her position as Inquisitor? Or perhaps she truly was as her name embodied; someone of generous and good will. He hoped that it was the latter.

“Solas,” she spoke his name in return, and it broke his heart to hear it, “If you are the man that they believed you are, someone of truly good heart despite all of his mistakes, someone who was so wracked with regret by the choices his mistakes that it could hold him prisoner, someone that my mother loved enough to still speak of with fondness despite everything… then you can find another path.”

She glanced to Rook who approached her, not taking the dagger, but instead giving her arm a squeeze and a nod passed between them.

“This can end differently, Solas,” Rook said, looking at him, “No more fighting, no more death. You can use the dagger to bind yourself to the Veil, stop it from coming down.”

His chest tightened a little as he noticed familiarity between them. Rook knew this girl, knew who she was, had clearly trusted her on the battlefield, and even now as the fate of the world hung in the balance. Brenna had given her the truth about their child, but not him.

And even after everything he had done, they were offering him a chance at what, redemption?

“I cannot do that,” his voice was quiet, humbled by the offer even if he could not take it, “To choose such a path would dishonour those I have wronged to come this far.”

Rook watched magic flare in his palms, eyes focusing on the dagger, but she stepped in front of Grace.

“And what about your daughter?”

“I-” before he could speak, she cut him off.

“She does not know you, has never spoken with you, has never met the man that some of us see behind the mask of the Dread Wolf. And still, she came here, risked everything, to save you because she thought you were worth saving. She knows everything, and she is here anyway. She is a child of this world, Solas, the living proof that the magic of the past can thrive in Thedas, can be used thwart those that would harm it.”

“Listen to her,” another voice approached and he near fell to his knees at the sight of the figure.

“Vhenan.”

It had been over a decade since he had laid eyes on Brenna Lavellan, years that showed on her face; her laughter lines sunk deeper into her skin, her dark hair once forever long and braided was now cut short; matted with the blood of the enemies that she had felled, her favoured bow modified to use with the prosthetic arm that sat beneath the sleeve of her armour. And she was still the most divinely beautiful woman he had ever seen.

“You think you’ve gone too far to come back, but you’re wrong,” her voice was soft as she stepped closer to him, but did not fully close the distance, coming to stand beside Rook.

“I lied, I betrayed you,” he said.

“As I lied to you,” she pointed out, glancing at her daughter before she looked back to him,

“A child,” the words were almost broken as he spoke them, “All these years, and you never…”

“Would it have made you stop then?” she asked, “Would you have come with me all those years ago at the Exalted Council when you told me the truth? Turned your back on all of this?”

“I… do not know,” he said honestly, and he saw in her gaze that that was the answer she expected.

“For whatever has passed between us, the love we shared, the lies, the beautiful babe that we could not raise together, the life we didn’t have, even Varric… I forgive you. For everything. All you have to do is stop.”

“I wish it were that simple, but there are things I need forgiveness for that you cannot give, vhenan,” he sighed, “Please, hand over the dagger before the Veil comes down unchecked.”

Rook glanced at Lavellan who gave her a nod. Rook stepped forward, hand outstretched towards him as one would towards an animal they did not wish to spook, but kept herself firmly blocking his view of the dagger in Grace’s grasp.

Her other hand held something out to him, a figurine aglow with a familiar magic.

No, it couldn’t be…

He felt the warmth of two spectral hands clasp his face, even as he closed his eyes to hide his tears.

“Mythal.”

She cupped his cheek until he finally dared look at her, taking in her elven form that he had not seen in years beyond counting, “I pulled you from the Fade you loved and sent you into war. I used your wisdom as a weapon… and it broke you.”

“The things that I have done…”

“Are not for you alone to bear, my friend. The many wrongs we did, we did together…” she pressed a tender kiss to his brow, her voice now no more than a soft whisper, “I release you from my service.”

As her presence left him, returning once more to the fragment in Rook’s grasp, he looked up to see Grace before him instead, holding the dagger out towards him.

“Be the man they think you are.”

With a shaking hand, he took the dagger from her, matching blue eyes meeting each other’s.

If he did this, he would never see her or Brenna again, would never know her truly, never be able to be a father to her. But perhaps that was the best gift he could give her; a world to grow into that he would protect and watch over, a world where that better part of him, the part that his friends had trusted and his vhenan had loved, could thrive without the weight of his mistakes.

He ran the dagger across his palm, his eyes not leaving his daughter, “My life force now sustains the Veil. With every breath I take, I will protect the innocent from my past failures.”

She launched herself into his arms, holding him tightly. He cradled her close, barely feeling the sharp pain of his injuries, desperate to memorise the feel of her in his arms.

“Ma’da’fen,” he whispered into her hair.

He felt the pull in his veins, beckoning him to the Fade. He relinquishing his embrace, turning his gaze to Brenna, who stepped closer, lovingly wiping the tears from her daughter’s cheeks. He pressed the dagger into Rook’s hands, little more than a nod of acknowledgement passing between the two.

“I will go and see atonement.”

He turned from them as Rook pulled Grace into a tight hug as the girl began to cry, steeling himself for what was to come, but he felt a familiar hand take his.

“Vhenan, I…” Brenna began to say, before she sighed, “I cannot leave her.”

“I know. And I would not ask you to.”

“But to think of you alone…”

“I will guard this world so that you may have a life of peace,” he said, “Our child is a wonder, ma lath. I am so glad she has your heart.”

“And your stubborn streak,” she pointed out, earning a tearful laugh from him. She clutched tight to the front of his robes, “Var lath vir suledin… bellanaris.”

She leaned up and kissed him, and he sighed gratefully into her mouth, relishing in this one final gift. He returned the kiss for as long as he dared, before the Fade tears flared once again. He stepped out of her embrace, feeling his heart break as she held back a sob.

To walk away from the woman that had held his heart, known him like no other, for the third time… And now he knew it would be the last.

He looked at them all one final time before he stepped through the rift and sealed it behind himself.

[aswallowssong]

Sicktember 2024 #6: Dizziness/Vertigo

Welcome to my first installment (this season, iykyk) of "Aaron Hotchner, my sweet sweet baby, I'm so sorry to do this to you." I love playing in @themetaphorgirl's PSOLC sandbox (tysm my queen), and if it also means I can write soft things about Aaron, it's a two-for-one!!

“Shut up, or die!”

“You literally cannot threaten me with death over this! Hotch!”

Aaron looked up from his book and raised an eyebrow, tugging at his earlobe. He hadn’t been listening, but there were three other big kids in the room, and he had no idea why he’d been the chosen target of the whining.

“What?”

“Derek said he was gonna kill me!”

Derek rolled his eyes at JJ, crossing his arms over his chest. “I did not. I didn’t say how you were going to die, I just said that the options were shut up or die.”

Aaron’s eyebrow only raised further on his face. “Sounds like witchcraft to me, Jayje. I’d watch out.”

Derek spluttered for a moment, arms failing before he started babbling about how he couldn’t be doing witchcraft, because witchcraft is for girls and he was a man, but Aaron blocked them back out sometime around when Penelope started assuring Derek that, oh, no, men could definitely do witchcraft.

He had way too much to do to be worried about that. The english paper he’d forgotten to write and been mercifully granted an extension on was due at the end of the weekend, and he was still three chapters away from being able to outline the damn thing, let alone actually write it. Thankfully he was a good writer, and he knew that, but his spelling was awful, and he was going to need Alex to go over it with a fine tooth comb before he could submit it.

And he couldn’t have her look at it until it was written.

And he couldn’t write it until it was outlined.

And he couldn’t outline it until he’d read the chapters, which the little kids were going to make impossible to get through.

He’d considered moving to Alaska when Spencer wriggled under his arms and into his lap.

“Bug,” he said, an apology already in his mouth. “I really need to focus, can you go sit with–” He cut off, looking around.

Alex was at the library, working a long shift so she didn’t have to work on Sunday night, and could go over his paper with him.

Dave was writing something on his laptop with an expression that was giving ‘violent’ and ‘don’t come near me.’

Emily was nowhere to be seen. Probably out with that guy Ian that Aaron hadn’t met but definitely hated on principle.

Which left–

“James?”

James looked up at the same moment that Spencer deflated.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t wanna sit with James, I wanna sit with you.”

Aaron ran a hand down his face. His eyes were blurring, even with his contacts in, and the words had started swimming on the page. He hadn’t even been reading that long, but if eyes could ache, his sure were. That, and his ears hurt. But his ears always hurt, so, what else was new.

“I know, Bug, but I need to be able to focus on this.”

“I’ll be quiet!” Spencer pleaded, dropping into a whine immediately. “I won’t be distracting or wiggly, I promise!”

A pout settled on Spencer’s little face, and Aaron closed his eyes and took a breath before shaking his head.

“We can watch a movie or something when I’m done, but my eyes are already tired, so I just need, like, an hour of space.”

Spencer huffed, his shoulders slumping, and slid off Aaron’s lap to go sidle up to James. James, unphased, beamed at Spencer while ruffling his hair. 

“Do you wanna help me with this math problem, Bug? I know how much you love numbers.”

Aaron turned his eyes back to the book, and it felt like the page was swirling. He closed them for a second, a hand reaching up to press on his temple. When did the headache come on? Usually he could feel them starting, but it felt like it had gone from nothing to pounding.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, rubbing slow circles on his left side, and when he cracked his eyes back open, he’d managed to dislodge one of his contacts. “Fuck.”

Thankfully, it didn’t seem like anyone had noticed his slowly crumbling composure, and he stood up, setting his book down on the arm rest. The world moved in a dizzying spin, and he reached out to steady himself on the back of the armchair. It seemed that the only person that noticed was Dave.

“Where are you going, fagiolino?”

Aaron scowled, stomach swirling with how dizzy he suddenly was. “I knocked my contact weird. I’ll be right back.”

James and Spencer both looked up at his voice, and then back down as Spacer said something about matrices that James clearly didn’t understand. Dave, looking unimpressed, shrugged, and went back to glaring daggers at his computer. 

The others didn’t seem to even notice, still arguing about witchcraft.

He stalked out into the hallway, and when he was nearly to his room, everything tilted, and the pain he’d been feeling in his temples and his ears seemed to throb in sync, sending the world sideways. One of his shoulders hit the wall, and his knees buckled as the edge of his vision started to darken.

Aaron wasn’t a stranger to passing out. It happened relatively frequently, but usually when he was sick. He wasn’t sick.

Or, he hadn’t thought he was? He’d been tired, sure. Spencer had been having crazy nightmares as the weather shifted, something about tinfoil being a bad window insulator. He didn't know what that meant, but he hadn’t given it a huge amount of thought past calming him down, and promising that the windows were closed tightly, and that while Lincoln House was sort of shitty, it wasn’t bad enough to be drafty. 

He didn’t get to contemplate it, because he slid into a crumpled heap of limbs against the wall, the darkness almost overtaking him before he glimpsed someone come into view in the hallway. They might have shouted his name – his actual name, Aaron – before he slumped the rest of the way sideways to the ground, his consciousness left behind.

When he came to, not very many seconds later, he only knew two things. Someone was pulling on him, and he was definitely going to throw up. The latter, he was used to. That happened pretty much every time, and then the nausea abated. 

He usually got a warning, though, when he was going to pass out, so he was either in a bathroom already, or in bed, if he could be, with his little desk trash can ready to be used for its secondary purpose, right after throwing away abysmally incorrect math assignments.

There had been no warning this time, so he was mildly surprised that after he gagged, there was a trash can (maybe the one that lived in the hallway?) being shoved under his chin. He was sick immediately, coughing and heaving several times before it let up, and he shuddered, wiping his mouth along the back of his hand and willing himself not to cry. The dizziness usually abated, but it was hanging on, and the throbbing in his head or the pulsing of pain in his ears hadn’t stopped, either.

“You’re okay,” he heard, finally registering that someone was holding him up. “Did you know your ears are leaking?”

Aaron didn’t know that his ears were leaking, but he wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t a stranger to ear infections by any means. He just didn’t know how it could have gotten so bad they were leaking, and he hadn’t realized.

It took another second for him to register the voice that was speaking to him, muffled as always. Everything was always muffled.

“James?” He mumbled, a little surprised, but not unhappy. He’d rather James find him like this than Dave, or one of the younger kids, or god forbid, Spencer.

“That’s me,” James said, pulling him the rest of the way upright. The world spun a little faster, and Aaron swallowed his stomach down. “You know, if you’d told Alex you were sick, she would have traded her shift.”

“I didn’t know,” he said, sounding far away to himself as he fought to shake off the fog. “Just had a headache.”

That’s a lie, he heard a voice, Alex’s probably, say simply in his head.

It wasn’t a lie. At least, it wasn’t until it was. 

“Snuck up on me,” he amended, to at least have a sliver of truth between them.

James sat with that for a second, moving so Aaron could push his back against the wall. He’d always thought that James had the sort of eyes that looked at you, but looked through you more, like he was analyzing you in a polite way. Alex talked all the time about James’ dream to be a doctor, and there were moments where Aaron could see how perfect of a match that would be.

“You probably have an ear infection, probably both of them,” he said, his tone void of emotion, save for sympathy. James didn’t do pity, and Aaron appreciated it. “Do you have a fever?”

“Dunno,” Aaron said, and James pressed a palm against his forehead.

His face pulled, just slightly, before he said, “I think so.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

Aaron looked up at him with lidded eyes, trying to focus on his face as everything spun.

“Really dizzy.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Well, I– Yeah. Yeah I figured that, you passed out.”

Aaron felt himself flush, more than embarrassed that James had seen that, but the stubborn part of himself won out. “I didn’t mean to pass out, James. It’s not like I wanted to collapse in the hallway.”

“Well, your ears are definitely infected. They’re literally leaking, so your equilibrium was bound to be off. And you definitely have a fever.���

He stopped, pulling his phone out, and Aaron took half a second too long to figure out what he was doing before the phone was up to his ear.

“Jame–”

“Al? Yeah, hey sorry, I know you’re at work. Aaron’s sick, do you think you could call someone to come cover your shift?”

“James, stop–”

“Yeah, I think his ears are infected. He said he’s really dizzy, and he’s definitely got a fever.”

Aaron gave up, knowing he wasn’t going to get anywhere, but let himself be incredibly grateful James didn’t mention him passing out in the hallway. Alex would freak.

“Yeah, text me when you’re leaving. I’ll get him in bed. I’ve got it … Spencer? No, Spencer is helping Dave figure out the best synonym for ‘star,’ so I think that’ll take a while … Yeah. Okay. See you soon.”

He hung up, looking down at Aaron with half a grin. “She’s worried, but she’s coming when she can. Think you can get off the ground?”

Relief flooded through Aaron against his will. He didn’t want Alex to worry, but he did want Alex to come back.

“I think so,” he said, trying to get the world to stop spinning by sheer force of will. He didn’t want to ask James for help, but it turned out he didn’t have to. James was about as tall as he was, and broad, which helped when he offered Aaron his hand and was able to help pull him up to standing. 

The dizziness was bad, and it didn’t help the nausea either, but he kept a stable hand on Aaron’s arm as they started down the hallway.

[yeahyouresocool]

couldn't find a 40k+ word krbk professional baseball fic so i guess i will have to do it myself