#can a flu brain write this?????? (apparently yes.)

[mapsthewanderer]

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Details: 500ish speed-written words of Caleb getting exactly what he wants for his birthday. We all saw the bulge. I’m sorry, but my brain went straight to feral town the moment I saw that—and apparently, the way I recover from the flu is by writing smut. Again. Jesus Christ. Anyway, this was the first fic idea that popped into the ol’ braincells, so… here it is. Meanwhile, my poor main series? Suffering. As always: This road leads nowhere holy. Turn back if you value the glory of innocence.

Features: nanana freaky Caleb, possessive Caleb, biting Caleb, dom Caleb, (unexpected) missionary Caleb, competitive Caleb, yang energy Caleb and absolutely zero self-restraint Caleb (thank fuq). 18+ porn and no plot. Fem!reader.

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Birthday boy | Caleb smut

You said you were going to leave—half-laughed it, standing barefoot in his living room with your heels in your hand. Caleb told you not to. Said it low, a little hoarse, with sugar on his tongue. One kiss turned hungry. Hungry turned horizontal. You ended up tangled on the floor, legs over his thighs, your dress hitched high and one shoe lost under the couch. Neither of you had gotten what you wanted. Not yet. But you were close—so close—and that was half the problem.

So you try to leave again—try to stand, to say something about getting home before midnight—but he pulls you back, voice low and wounded as he says, “Wow. So that’s it? You kiss me into another dimension and just leave me here? In the final minutes of my birthday?”

And before you can answer, he drags you over the cushions, flips you, and grinds you down into the couch like he’s trying to pin the entire night inside you. “Just stay a little longer,” he says simply. “We can be… quick.”

“You’re being a dummy,” you whisper, even as your hips rock up against him. He groans—already grinding back against you. “Yeah? Keep saying stuff like that, I’ll make it even quicker.”

Suit pants shoved low. Your dress barely pushed up. One strap off your shoulder, his hands under your thighs, pulling until both knees are over his shoulders. “Still technically my birthday. Wanna see what we can fit in before the clock runs out?” He mutters, voice low and full of teeth. You laugh, breathless— “Yes—but—Caleb, we’re dressed—”

“I know,” he breathes, kissing you, rough and greedy with a bite of lemon still on his lips. “That’s what makes it fun.” Caleb slides your panties aside and groans at how soaked you are—the reward of every teasing touch and drawn-out minute. Then he drives in so deep, your vision goes white. The couch screams under the strain of each movement. Caleb buries himself inside you like he’s staking a claim. Then he leans in, forehead against yours, sweat beading at his temple as he groans, “Fuck, happy birthday to me.”

Between thrusts, a slow, obscene lick drags across your ankle—followed by kisses and bites climbing your calf, each one blurring the line between penance and punishment.

“You were trying to leave me,” he pants, voice low and vengeful. “This is what you get.”

And you take it—shaking, couch cushions muffling your moans while he’s snapping his hips into you like midnight is something to beat. “You gonna come before the clock runs out?” he murmurs, voice dark. “Or am I gonna fuck you into the bonus minutes?”

You cry his name as you come—loud, broken, full—and he follows with a ragged grunt, hips stuttering as he spills inside you, deep and hot and messy. The pressure gives way to slick warmth flooding you, and with your back arched into the cushions and your dress bunched around your waist, there’s nowhere for it to go but down. Cum seeps out in slow, wet trickles—sliding between your legs, soaking into your dress, into the couch beneath you. He exhales like he’s been gutted, then slowly lowers your legs, presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then higher, mouth hot and reverent on your thigh.

“11:59” he says hoarsely, mouth still on your skin. He smiles against you—smug, breathless, and completely insufferable.

“Nailed it.”

You laugh, trying to catch your breath, still pinned beneath him. “Birthday’s over.”

He hums, trailing kisses down your leg. “Maaybe. But I’m pretty sure it still counts if you come again in honor of my birthday. Like a grace period. An encore.”

You start to roll your eyes—until he thrusts again, hard enough to make you gasp. He grins, biting back a groan as your overstimulated body jolts beneath him.

“You said you’d stay over for my birthday. So stay.” A glance at the clock, a wicked little smirk. “Ten seconds—more than enough to make you mine again. And you’re gonna feel every one of them.”

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Art credit: Guiding Hazard Manhwa, Mao Hanru on X

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[dark-is-d3ad]

You know what I was looking for but couldn't find? Ghost having fibro headcanons or fics. Gotta do it myself, then.

Disclaimer: I don't know if that would work out at all, something tells me he wouldn't be able to keep up with active duty if he had it, but anyway. Let's assume Ghost is a BAMF, and he finds a way.

• Price knows. Ghost told him when he got diagnosed, because he didn't want to be a liability in the field. He was scared that he'd get discharged. Price found him a treatment that actually worked instead. "Just check in with me if you're not feeling well, alright?"

Ghost rarely does. Only if he thinks it could impact the mission or he can't function at all, which doesn't happen too often.

• He's not new to pain, and he's got a high tolerance. Most of the time he can just push it down and ignore it, no one even suspects a thing. Or rather he thinks they don't. While most of the base really doesn't, Gaz and Soap have figured it out a while ago, and if he gets an unprompted cup of tea on the bad days, a nap break, or they go on a jog instead of sparring or lifting, it's pure coincidences. They care about him in their own little ways.

• With the infusions scheduled properly he's mostly doing really good. He trains, he fights, he's sharp and focused, and there's no repercussions from it. Sometimes he even thinks he made it all up. It's on very bad days when he clearly realises he still has it. It's there, just waiting for him to let his guard slide, and then it'll fucking melt his bones from the inside for days on end.

• Pain contributes to the scary aloof vibes he got. It does get him even more shut off and grumpy that he already is, though. That's how Soap tracks it.

• If it's really bad, he hides away in his room and sits it out. Also, he is bad at accepting help, especially when he's in pain, it makes him vulnerable. He hates it.

• Infusions fuck him up a little. It's a shit ton of lidocaine and ketamine that they drip into him slowly, monitoring it so they don't give him a heart attack. But it's just half a day, every 4 months, and then he's golden for a good while. Well worth it

~~~~~

Sometimes it gets unpredictable. This one starts out as mild exhaustion and achy joints, and at first he writes it off as just being tired from a mission. They wrapped everything up and are heading back to base, so he'll just catch some shuteye and be fine. But by the time they land, everything is amplified, too bright, too loud, uniform coarse and prickly against his skin. It hurts like he was run over by a truck. His head feels stuffed, thoughts thick and blurry; it's exhausting to follow them, words and images fading in that sick black and white fog, sentences falling apart. It doesn't make much sense. He doesn't remember how he gets to his room. The bad-bad days are when Ghost fucking breaks, and this is shaping up to be one of those at record speed. He whimpers in relief when boiling hot shower takes some of the pain away, but for mere seconds, the short break only making the return of it sharper. It soon blends into a neverending stretch of pain-pain-pain, consumes him whole. He slides on the floor, water still flowing, and just sits there for a long while, not really being ready to move, head empty.

"Ghost? You alright in there?"

"What, Johnny?" he rasps. Sounds send waves of pins and needles through his body. It makes it worse.

"You're late for the debrief, Price asked me to get ye."

"Fuck," Ghost groans. How did he forget? "Give me a minute."

He's slow, his brain refusing to cooperate with him, but he manages to dress up. Pain and brain fog make him unsteady on his feet, like if he had a bad flu. When he opens the door, he's met with a concerned look.

"Are ye OK? Ye look like shite."

Ghost hates that concern wuth a subtle undertone of care in Soap's voice. It makes him feel weak.

"I'm fine. Leave it, Soap," he snaps. It's very apparent that he's not, but walking takes all of his focus, and thank god Soap follows him in silence.

Price sees right through him, but says nothing, just gives him a long look before they start. Ghost is not really helpful with the debrief. It's become even harder to focus, and his vision blurs slightly now. He manages to add some details to the intel they've got, but it really takes it out of him. When it's finally over, his gaze is glassy and unfocused, and he sees black spots from pain. He realises he might actually pass out. He really needs to get back to his room.

He leaves last, and stumbles into Soap who's apparently been waiting him around the corner, and has to grab him not to fall over. Soap steadies him on his feet.

"Lt? What's up? Fucking talk to me." He looks almost angry.

"Help me get to my room. Please," Ghost concedes. He feels fucking pathetic, but he's not in shape to make it back on his own. His ears are ringing, vision getting dark, pain searing throughout his whole body.

Soap walks him back along the wall, hand on his back.

"You sure you weren't injured today?"

"Affirmative."

He sees things in flashes. He probably closed his eyes at some point. Soap lands him on the bed, and at this point Ghost's given up. A particularly bad wave of pain makes him groan.

Soap takes matters into his hands from there.

"Let me check ya real quick." His hands run quickly, feeling Ghost's body.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," Ghost moans, almost delirious from pain at this point, it doesn't feel real anymore. Johnny's there in his fever dream, undressing him, tucking him into bed. He wants to protest, but it hurts-hurts-hurts, so he's just trying not to make sounds. And he fails even at that.

"Got any pain meds? Want me to get medical?"

Ghost just shakes his head. "It will get better," he slurrs, "in a few days."

"Are ye outta yeir heid?!" Oh, now Johnny is properly pissed off with him. "Ye stubborn bastard," he finishes before he storms out of his room.

Ghost pulls the mask off. He's falling through the bed, exhaustion pulling him under. He knows he won't fall asleep, it hurts too much for that, but this limbo of not thinking and falling-falling-falling is the closest to comfort he can get now. He hears the door open again.

"Oh," goes Soap stopping dead in his tracks.

Ghost pulls the blanket up to his eyes.

"I got ye something," Johnny says quickly. "Here. It's weed-based, got some real deal in there, but they said it doesn't make you high. So no fun for ye, but it should help with the pain."

Ghost is up for anything at this point, so he takes it. The whole dose is in a syringe without a needle, and he lets the oil sit under his tongue for a bit, hoping that it will make it work faster.

"Water, snacks," Soap continues. "I'll stay until it works, alright? They said to return to them if it doesn't."

"Thank you, Johnny," Ghost says quietly. His breaths are still laboured, exhales sounding more like little whimpers. He is too tired to care.

Soap sits on the side of the bed.

"Can I try a thing?" He asks suddenly. "Mum used to do it when I had migraines. Maybe it will work for ye, too."

Ghost wants to be left alone, but he also wants it to pass, and Johnny's staying for about an hour anyway. Because meds. And that thing might help, too. So he nods.

Soap puts his hands on his head and gently massages it, strokes messy blonde hair lightly, puts a little pressure in just the right places. Touch is usually unbearable in this state for Ghost, but this is somehow perfectly balanced. He relaxes into it, and exhales. Relief comes in little tiny waves, taking the edge off the pain.

After a bit, he shifts closer to Jonny's lap, burying his face in the side of Soap's thigh. That way Soap doesn't have to extend his arms, it's better. It weirdly comfortable, and deep inside he just wants to stay like that forever.

"Don't stop," comes out soft and a little muffled.

Soap doesn't.

"I knew ye had something up, but I didn't know it was this bad," he says in a little while.

"It's just a bad day."

"And how often that happens?"

"Sometimes. It's usually more... manageable."

Ghost slides one of his hands from under the blanket. Soap picks up on the unsaid, and starts to do the same magic on it. The pain fades, slowly but surely, exhaustion and emptiness crawling in its place. Johnny's presence grounds him. He's torn between the urge to shut off again and the desire to just keep Soap there forever, he wants more, he needs more. It's suprisingly easy to give in.

"Stay," he asks, half-asleep.

Soap crawls in the bed, scooting himself over. He shifts a little, getting comfortable. Ghosts moves his other hand towards him, and Johnny continues with the massage.

The blanket slips off Ghost's face. "Didn't lie about the opposite," Soap thinks absentmindedly. His heart skips a bit, when Ghost buries his forehead in his shoulder and snuggles up to him.

"Next time it happens, tell me, OK?"

He feels the nod.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine…Finding Dean’s Teddy

Summary: On the way home from a hunt, the reader finds a surprise for a sick Dean waiting back at home...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Much Needed Hug

Word Count: 828

Warnings: language

A/N: Written for @supernatural-jackles​​​ Tell Me A Story Bingo!

_______

“Yes!” you squealed, hopping out of the thrift store, Sam raising his eyebrows from behind the wheel of Baby. You tucked the bag in your arms into your duffel on the trunk before sliding into the passenger seat.

“Uh someone’s excited for some used…something,” said Sam, backing out and heading for the highway for the day long drive home. “Want to explain why we drove three hours out of our way to stop at a random store?”

“Are you going to laugh?”

“Depends. Is it funny?” he asked.

“No. It’s a present for Dean. A personal present,” you said.

“Considering I just drove can I know what the present is?”

“You’re gonna laugh and spoil the whole thing.”

“I swear on my life I will not laugh.”

“You died like two weeks ago. Again.”

“Only kinda,” he said. “I still had brain function, nimrod.”

“Do you realize how strange-“

“We gotta stop dying all the time. But I promise on my current and any future lives I will not laugh. Now come on.” You threw your head back and closed your eyes.

“It’s a teddy bear.”

“Is it haunted? Or cursed?”

“No. It…it belonged to your brother.”

“Dean never had a teddy bear.”

“He did, before you were old enough to remember. When your dad took you two on the road Dean brought it with him. Apparently the day your father put a shotgun in Dean’s hands, his five year old hands, Dean’s teddy bear got left behind.”

“Sometimes I forget how much he lost out on,” said Sam quietly, the murmur of the engine and road filling the space. “I’m not gonna laugh. But I am curious, how the hell did you find a forty year old teddy bear?”

“Magic. A bit of Dean’s hair. Rowena owed me one,” you said. “All of the above.”

“Well however you got it I bet it’s gonna make him feel a lot better from that flu he’s fighting.”

“Think he’ll be mad?”

“Oh he’ll pretend to hate it and then sleep with him for the next week straight. You know how he is.”

“I do. How long until we’re home?”

“Only...twenty one hours,” he said. 

“Is that all,” you said, stretching in your seat.

“Well while I have you as a captive audience, tell me something.”

“What do you want to know?”

“When’d you fall in love with my brother.”

One Day Later

“Dean,” you whispered, slowly cracking open the bedroom door. He was sprawled out on bed, the humidifier going on the nightstand, Dean’s nose pink, wrapped up in sweats and a sweatshirt, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You set the bag on the desk and grabbed the thermometer from the nightstand, checking his sticky note from where he’d been writing it down. It’d been going down since the night before and was a low fever last he took it. He blinked open his eyes, jerking back in bed and groaning softly. “Just me.”

You pulled down your mask over your nose, Dean nodding and closing his eyes again. He coughed as you ran a hand over his head, sticking the thermometer in his ear.

“How you feeling, sweetie?” you asked, Dean curling up into a ball with his blankets.

“Bad. But better than before.” He shivered and you were happy to see his temperature was still just barely in a fever.

“I bet your fever will break by morning. Anything I can get you to feel better? Fresh blankies? Some soup? You been eating?”

“Had some broth earlier,” he said. “I didn’t throw up today so that’s a win.”

“Yeah, yeah it is,” you said.

“I think there’s puke on the bathroom floor though. Sorry,” he said.

“It’s okay. We’ll clean it up. Why don’t you sleep some more and I’ll check on you in a little while,” you said.

“Hunt okay?”

“Yeah it was easy. I got you a surprise,” you said. You reached into the bag you’d brought in and pulled out the bear, holding it out to Dean. He sniffled, lazily opening his eyes as you put the bear into his arms.

“Teddy?” he asked, a tired smile crossing his face. He instantly pulled the bear into his chest, squeezing it tight.

“Not the reaction I was expecting,” you said, fixing his blankets around him.

“You got Teddy,” he said, staring up through half open eyes. “How?”

“I have my ways. You like him?”

“I’m too fucking tired to act like the tough guy. I love him,” he said.

“Teddy’s got your back tonight. I’ll be back okay? Shout if you need something. Love you Dean.”

“I love you too,” he sniffled, humming and curling in close to the bear. “Missed you Teddy.”

“How’s the fever?” asked Sam as you shut the door after yourself. “Must be high if he’s hugging his bear.”

“Leave him alone Samuel. He needs to rest. But I do have a job for you in the bathroom.”

_______

[fruitcoops]

Hi Eve! Could you maybe write something like Sirius having a majorly stressful week and he's been on edge all day and he finally decides to go talk to Heather if only to just let it all out. By the time he comes home he's exhausted but Remus is all ready for him, and he's greeted with the sight of Remus in a nice little heap of blankets and pillows piled up on their sofa with a Disney movie ready to play and all his favourite snacks lined up on the coffee table. And Sirius of course just about dissolves into a puddle of affection and gratitude because Loops 🥰🥰🥰

It's honestly concerning how much fluff I write. Oh, well! This is such a cute idea and I'll never pass up an opportunity to write soft Coops <3 SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“So, you’ve started baking?” Heather looked up as Sirius nodded, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. It still smelled a little like Remus from the last time he stole it, but not nearly enough to drown him in comfort. “That’s awesome. If you don’t mind, can I ask why you chose that as a hobby?”

“It’s—” Stupid. He bit the words back at the last second; Heather never liked self-deprecation, and they had been working on positive self-talk for…as long as Sirius could remember, really. “Uh, I helped Re’s mom make a pie over the holidays and I just have good memories associated with it, I guess.”

Heather jotted something down, her soft smile never faltering. She was wearing a sweater the same color as her name—it was distilled comfort, and Sirius felt some of the tension release from his back. “You said you do it when you’re stressed, right?”

“Sometimes.”

“Does the rhythm help, or is it something else?”

He stared at his hands, rubbing his thumb over the callus from his favorite spatula that was beginning to form. “I think…” he trailed off and bit his lower lip. Honesty always wins. Why do you like it so much? “The rhythm helps quiet my head down, yeah. And it smells like home. And—and if I do it right, I can’t screw it up.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“If I follow the recipe, it works. Every time. I can read the instructions as many times as I need to, and I can focus on that until everything up here—” He gestured vaguely toward his head. “—shuts up for a bit.”

Heather nodded; the room was quiet for a moment while she wrote before she settled into her chair and let out a slow breath. “I’m really happy you started doing this, Sirius.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. We’ve talked about finding healthy amounts of control and tethers in your daily life, and from what you’ve said, this makes you happy in addition to helping you calm down. What do you do with everything you make?”

He shrugged. “Give it away, mostly. It’s healthier than store-bought stuff, and the guys like it. Re and I can’t eat it all ourselves.”

“How often do you stress bake?”

“Oh, probably three or four times a week.”

Shit, shit, shit. Heather’s eyebrows crept upward. “Oh?”

“…yes.” Can’t take it back now.

“Okay.” She made a quick mark on her clipboard—for the hundredth time, Sirius wished he could snatch it and run. “Interesting. Why are you so stressed?”

“It’s not like that all the time,” he said quickly. “Just over the past couple weeks.”

“What’s been going on?”

“Everything?” he said. It sounded more like a question. Heather made another note. “It’s—well, Jules got the flu two months ago and Re wasn’t sleeping because he was worried, so I got nervous and started staying up later so I’d be tired, but then I got bored and worried about both of them so I texted Hope about her pie recipe—"

“Sirius,” Heather interrupted gently. He closed his mouth and tucked his hands into his sleeves, palms itching. “Deep breaths, then tell me what’s been going on these past couple weeks specifically that was stressing you out.”

He obliged, counting ten before speaking again as his brain stopped feeling like someone poured pop rocks into it. “Right. So, this whole habit thing started two months ago, and we’re getting closer to you-know-what—”

“The playoffs?”

He made a quiet noise of distress and tapped the wood of the chair. “Oui, that. There’s a lot of pressure from last year, and when my friends are stressed, I get stressed, and baking is easy and fun so I just…didn’t stop. A lot of things are happening right now, and this feels like the only one I can control.”

“There you go,” she said with a proud smile. “Thank you.”

“What did I do?”

“You’re being more open and honest with yourself. It’s good to see.” She crossed one leg over the other and leaned slightly forward. “You’re a really, really good captain, Sirius. You are so in-tune with the other people in your life, but you’ve got to remember to step back and do things for yourself sometimes. Right now, baking is your stress relief because you can’t control your friends’ lives or emotional states. Try to find more things like that.”

He stared at her for a moment. “Are you diagnosing me with ‘needs a hobby’?”

“In a sense, yes. You have done an incredible job over the past few months of letting your world revolve around things other than hockey. Branching out to baking was an excellent choice. Now it’s time to find other things that give you similar comfort, okay?”

“Alright.”

“Fantastic. Let’s brainstorm.”

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

Sirius dropped his bag next to the shoe rack and immediately leaned back against the door, closing his eyes with a sigh. Therapy was always exhausting, but usually in a good way. Already, he could feel the weight of the last three weeks lifting off his shoulders. “I’m home!” he called.

Remus materialized from the living room and padded over in his fuzzy socks, planting a kiss on each of Sirius’ cheeks. “You look tired. Good or bad?”

“Good,” he assured him. “We worked on finding a hobby.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently, baking every other day isn’t a great long-term coping mechanism.”

Remus kissed him lightly on the lips. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”

Sirius pulled back with a frown. “I thought you liked my baking.”

“I do. I also worry about how much space we have in our kitchen, and how much you sleep.” He gave Sirius a squeeze around the waist and patted his hip. “Now c’mere, I have a surprise.”

“What kind of surprise?” Sirius asked warily as he allowed himself to be pulled toward the living room. “Do we have company?”

“Does Hattie count?”

The dog in question barked when they entered the room, though she was buried beneath a mountain of blankets and only her nose and tail stuck out. In the hour and a half Sirius had been gone, the living room had transformed into a massive fort—the couch cushions were propped up around a nest of pillows and blankets, and low amber light fell over everything from the side table lamp. It radiated coziness and warmth; he felt the last bits of his exhaustion settle into contentment. “Wow.”

Remus beamed at him. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.” He cupped his face in his hands and nudged their noses together. “And I love you. So much. I’m going to go rinse off and change, but can we cuddle afterward?”

“What do you think this is for?” Remus teased. “You took my sweatshirt.”

“It’s too big for you anyway.”

“How long until I find it in my laundry pile because it doesn’t smell like me anymore?”

Sirius pretended to think for a moment, though he couldn’t keep his smile down as happiness bubbled through every vein. “Tomorrow.”

“Go take your shower,” Remus laughed, then kissed him once again. “I’ll see if I have anything else that’ll fit you.”

[turtleboyz]

So, what did I think of season 1?

Well, I like it! This being my 3rd time watch the first season. That being said, most of the jokes didn’t make me laugh. But rewatching the season you can definitely pick up the foreshadowing and hints. As for the show, I love the background and the neon lights!

So far season 1 is good! Personal I like that the first half was just the boys messing around and have fun. Then the second half was actually plot. I also really like that the touches on being yourself and that person and/or tradition doesn’t need to define you. This theme being taught more than once.

That being said, Game time!!!!

Mikey Abuse: in season 1 I counted 12 times Mikey was abuse. 6 being done by Donnie, 3 being done by Splinter, 1 time being Raphael , and the last 2 by Draxum.

Donnie- use Shelldon to fire lasers him. Called him (and the rest of the brothers) “dum-dum”, rewrites his brain and make him into a version of Donnie, darts him, and his gift made Mikey think “does Donnie really think I’m a crazy kangaroo who needs to wear a padded suit so I don’t hurt myself?”

Raph-hit him with a door

Splinter-the first half of season 1 splinter was a neglected/emotional distance father. Lies a couple of times (also to the others) Also hits him a couple of times (both in training and having to fight one on one)

Draxum- constantly fighting him and the others, called the boys losers and morons, try to kill him and the others.

Yes. I know most of these aren’t really abuse, but I’m playing it safe and writing down anything I see that could be abuse. I want to get accurate data! That being said, if I miss or did anything wrong let me know.

How many time does Raph call himself in the 3rd person. 12 times! More or less. I noticed that Raph does it more off when his scared or angry.

You’re a kid, not a parent: 6 times! I thought there would be more time with Raph or one of the others would have to parent the others? Though 6 still is a big number. 5 of time it’s Raph, the last being Donnie.

Donnie does this to Splinter, yelling at him and saying that he’s going to change the tv channel to education shows. This apparently happen before.

Raph; all most of these, he talk in a baby voice.

To Mikey; “hey Buddy, uh, just checking in, making sure you’re uh, okay. Everything okay? You’re okay right?”

To Mikey: “of course you are-in seven to ten years. Right now, it’s just to dangerous.”

To Donnie; “ooh, hey Buddy. Hey, um really loving the gifts you got us. We-we know how long it took you to make ‘‘em and it was so thoughtful”

About Donnie: “yeah I know but he’s got such a softshell.”

To Franken-Foot “someone needs Raphy’s help?”

Last game, it’s a long one. Why do they do that? It’s just me finding characters details and some ooc things.

Leo can portal water

Leo can moves his portals with or without his wepond

Raph talk in third person

Raph eats the wet salami

Donnie can write in cursive

Donnie dosnt like bees or beach balls

Donnie like “cute but mean” types

Raph ruined a woman’s 95th birthday

Mikey + Raph like to wear the hippo costume

Raph catchphrase “jumping Jack flash” and “like a boss”

Mikey catchphrase “cowabunga”

Mikey + Donnie can build

Mikey + Leo know how to cook

Leo can code

Leo + Mikey likes unicorns

Splinter can get rat flu

Splinter writes self insert fanfiction

Splinter wears fish shoes (shoes that are see through and has a alive fish in them)

Donnie keeps said fish in the tank

Splinter eats stuff off the bottom of his slippers

The gang have movie nights

Raph is allergic to peanuts

Mikey can DJ and can play the mandolin

The boys can sing and dance

Raph collets and names teddy bears

Mikey maybe has diabetes??

Donnie can read lips

Donnie does/sings to musical numbers

Mikey took rodeo classes

Mikey also used raph toothbrush

Raph is scars of puppets (or dolls or bunnies, it hard to say witch is it)

Raph crys when scared

Donnie has a titanium bust of himself

Donnie made a self cleaning toothpick

All the boys talk to themselves

Splinter can sing opera

Leo drinks tea

Mikey + Donnie believe in cryptic, Leo doesn’t

Donnie has pictures of their previous incarnations

Raphael has a social account

Donnie tech bo runs on batteries

April doesn’t have any human friends

April has a curse birthday

Donnie won “national library competition” 3 years in a row

Donnie can play guitar

Donnie is a fan of experiential learning

Things I found OOC (out of character)

Mikey and Leo fighting during the waiting episode

Leo and Raph fighting first meeting big mama

The boys think that Donnie doesn’t like them, that Leo think Donnie sees him as “broken”, and raph think the helmet is “condescending”

Next up! Character analysis!



[silently-waiting-for-you]

Marvel

Trope: irondad fluff

boogie woogie woogie

Peter doesn’t call Mr.Stark dad out loud, that’d be weird. He doesn’t even call him Tony out loud very much. He’s not even on first name basis out loud. It’s just, you don’t have to say things out loud when fate- or some exploding evil nazi science equipment- decides you should hear each other's thoughts.

(I haven’t seen many fics about the moment ‘the kid’ turned into ‘my kid’ for Tony, so I wanted to write one from Peter’s pov)

. . . . .

carrer day

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Peter’s enhanced senses picked up the familiar voice from outside the door. “I had a meeting this morning, and then I got lost looking for the class… anyway, I’m here for Peter? Peter Parker?”

He frowned at hearing his name, still unsure what exactly was going on. He watched as his teacher continued to stand and stare out the door for a minute before seemingly remembering herself and taking a step back.

“Of course! If you could just go sit next to him until your turn, he’s in the back on the right side.”

The man stepped through the door and Peter gaped with the rest of the class as Tony Stark, in his signature suit and goatee, sporting a pair of red sunglasses and carrying a suitcase walked through the door.

~

Prompt: Okay but what abt Tony going in to Peter’s school for career day? Like where the parents talk abt their jobs?

. . . . .

flu shot chronicles

Morgan Stark does not like shots. Neither does Peter Parker.

. . . . .

happy halloween, mr. stark

The first time Peter and Tony spend Halloween together, it isn’t exactly planned.

Tony just sort of...shows up, knocks on the door and grins wide when Peter opens it.

''Mister Stark? What are you doing here?''

. . . . .

hours of horror, black and white edition

“That’s not—” he’s instantly protesting. “You’re a liar! A dirty, dirty liar, Miss Potts.”

“I thought our philosophy is we aren’t going to lie to our children?”

“It is! Yet here you are spilling all my secrets faster than—”

Pepper puts out her palm, silencing him. “Please refrain from pop culture references, there’s only so much I can take in a day.”

“Aah, Pepper; you’re no fun. I had a hunch he was gonna quote something from Buzzfeed Unsolved.” his kid pouts.

***

Or, an October tradition where Peter and Ned and MJ watch old horror films and it's the Starks' turn to host

. . . . .

i will soften every edge

“You’re telling me,” he swallowed, “that my body thinks I’m Peter’s dad?”

“And it has prepared itself for parenthood in response, yes.”

--

After a simple brain scan, F.R.I.D.A.Y. reveals something that Tony already knew, but may not have been ready to accept. Luckily, Peter's always there to help him re-find his footing.

. . . . .

in an empty moral space

“Bring Spider-Man to us, Mr. Stark,” High-heels says and rattles off an address. “If that bug isn’t here in the next twenty four hours, then your intern gets it. We are not going to ask a second time.”

There’s a pause.

Then, “You want Spider-Man?”

“In exchange for your intern,” High-heels affirms.

“Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark repeats. He sounds more amused than worried for Peter’s apparent safety.

also known as: Peter Parker is held hostage…in order to get to Spider-Man. Throw in some Accords reconciliation and, well, Peter’s life just got a whole lot weirder.

. . . . .

lifesize

Morgan’s little fists are shaking in front of her, grasping at nothing. She quickly moves aside as Tony is now standing directly in front of the tent. Morgan's small jumps where she is standing are overflowing with anticipation. Pepper stands next to her as Tony eyes the tent in front of him, newspaper in hand.

“Alright, little miss," he says with a breath, looking down at her, "what’s the drill? How do you want us to handle this?”

“All the tea party guests have to survive.”

“10-4. Pep,” he says as he looks up at her, “you ready?”

“Oh, no. You’ve got this one.”

Tony stares at her for a moment, his deadpan expression way funnier than it should be.

--

Morgan tells Tony there's a spider in her tent. Newspapers, surprises, and uncontrollable laughter ensues.

. . . . .

mutants

All teachers dread parent-teacher night. This one's worse than usual.

Feat. Boundaries? I don't know this word. He's not my boyfriend! Flash Thompson's A+ parents Tony and Peter are enormous nerds Gym class is important Oh my God, what's that in the bio lab

and many more

. . . . .

not really an intern

Field trip trope - yeah.

After the near-end of the universe, Stark Tower reopens to tour groups. Midtown is invited to be the first.

Includes: fluff, mostly fluff let's be real. Irondad. Peter and Morgan bonding because I love them.

. . . . .

stark’s home for wayward animals

“Peter?” he calls. “That you looming around in the dark and falling on your ass?”

“Uh.” Peter’s voice. Two more meows.

“Are you meowing at me?” Tony asks, weaving around the wet spots on the ground. “Is this happening? Is there something you wanna tell me?”

“I’m—I’m not.”

Tony narrows his eyes and turns the corner. Peter is splayed out on the third stair, in his Spiderman suit sans the mask, soaked to the bone. His hair is plastered to his forehead, he’s shivering, and he’s holding a gray cat clutched to his chest.

Tony stares at him. Both Peter and the cat are looking at him, wide-eyed, and then the cat meows again, breaking the silence.

“What’s happening right now?” Tony asks.

. . . . .

that's how you and i will be

Tony cuddles babies.

Tony Stark cuddles babies.

Iron Man is good with babies.

No matter which way Peter tries to spin this newfound knowledge in his mind, it still doesn’t make sense.

. . . . .

the moon and stars (and gummy worms where they shouldn't be)

Peter has a problem. Mr. Stark is his father. Not his surrogate father, but his actual legitimate father. Peter wants to tell him, but he’s afraid of being rejected because he’s not really ‘heir’ material. He’s just an intern. He’s just Spider-Man. He thinks he could tell Mr. Stark if he was certain Mr. Stark already loved him like a son, but Peter just can’t be sure, that is, until Ned comes up with a plan.

OR

Peter brings Tony crazy things to eat so he can evaluate his reactions.

. . . . .

tony stark needs sleep squad

Once this became a habit, Rhodey had created a very exclusive club that only the people closest to Tony were a part of. He called it the ‘Tony Stark Needs Sleep Squad’. It was an illustrious group with only three members. The name was wordy but the purpose was clear. The dang idiot needed to sleep.

. . . . .

trope: hair playing

Tony Stark may or may not be upset about having to 'lay low' in a shitty motel of the interstate. Peter Parker may or may not be upset about having to drastically change his appearance.

Red-coloured fluff ensues.

. . . . .

two left feet

“Mr. Stark?”

“How many times do I have to tell you that it’s okay to call me Tony?”

Peter at least has the decency to look sheepish at this and shrugs. “Sorry... Tony. Anyway, I know your wedding to Miss. Po—Pepper—is coming up soon and I know you told me Michelle can come as my date, which I’m super thankful for, like super-super thankful, but I was wondering... like... I dunno, could you...?”

“Peter, I have absolutely no idea where you’re going with this or what you’re asking me to do. You gotta give me something here, kid.”

“Canyouteachmehowtodance?”

. . . . .

resurrection

Thanos wins, for a time.

One year later, Peter wakes up in the woods.

. . . . .

sick days and other lies

Midtown High is going on a field trip to Stark Industries and Peter Parker will not be attending. That is, he thinks he won't be, but everything in the world seems to be against him. It's hard leading a double life before you're old enough to vote!

. . . . .

a symphony of color

The first thing Peter does once he can effectively maneuver the compound with his crutches is find a notebook that can fit in his pocket. He grabs a pen from one of the many junk drawers and starts a list of everyone he’s talked to so far.

Mr. Stark - Brown, the filling in cinnamon buns, the teddy bear in the baby photo hanging on the fridge.

Aunt May - Dusty pink, Grandma Parker’s old couch.

Pepper - Silver, fancy necklace chains, handcuffs.

He taps the end of the pen against his chin. He needs to talk to more people.

---

Peter wakes up with synesthesia after a fight.

. . . . .

we're not trying to reinvent the backpack here (mark 1-9)

When Peter sheepishly asked if Mr. Stark would buy him a new backpack, he did not expect his mentor to spend weeks on end trying to make the best backpack in the world for a superhero-kid.

He didn't expect that much effort, but he definitely should have.

. . . . .

what’s up, grandpa?

On the off chance Tony is out and comes across someone who doesn't recognize him, it's not too out of the ordinary for someone to mistake him and Peter for father and son. It's a mistake that he loves, a mistake that warms his heart. Because as far as he's concerned, Peter is his kid and always will be.

And when he has another kid, a small and tiny baby girl, the mistake keeps happening. People still think Peter is Tony's son.

He just isn't prepared for people to think Morgan is his granddaughter.

. . . . .

who's the baby now?

after an accident in the laboratory, Tony Stark finds himself aged down to roughly a year old. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except he quickly discovers that his brain hasn’t entirely been taken over by a drooling colorful mush and shards of his grown-up conscience leak through. Which makes it all the more boggling when Pepper invites Peter over, ‘to babysit’.

”Mr. Stark’s a baby!” Peter squeaked, mouth gaping. At the sound of his protege’s voice, Tony dived over to the door of the playpen. What the hell was Pepper playing at?!

[kim-ruzek]

life's strange sense of humour

Summary: Kim, Hailey, Sylvie and Stella all conceive their babies around the same time... Then also go into labour on the same day. Pure Crack, but taken seriously because this is me.

Or; a love letter to the upgess friendship because they went funny fic? Nah, we're gonna make it wholesome.

Warnings: Childbirth, I guess.

Word Count: 3.4k

Read on AO3

Notes: So. I had this funny thought months ago, recently talked about it with Cíara when they mentioned something similar and I'm having Thoughts about how I want the upgess friendship to go so apparently my mind went yes, write this, please.

Also Cíara: it's not the child number we decided and not the exact circumstances but I couldn't help but make burzek's conception happen this way 👀

Life, Kim has learned, can have a strange sense of humour sometimes.

This, she thinks to herself as her and Hailey stare, open mouthed, speechless, shocked at each other, is definitely one of those times.

“I... What?.. I,” Hailey stumbles out, her eyes wide, Kim staring back with equally wide eyes, watching as the blonde tries to process this, tries to process how they even happened—all while wondering herself what the chances of this happening are, that this can only be because life has a strange taste in what’s funny.

“This—this isn’t right, right? Kim, right?” Hailey almost looks desperate at her, glancing down at the stick in her hand and back up at Kim frantically, her eyes darting as she does so, gliding over the pink positive line like if she doesn’t focus on it, it won’t be there.

“Well, I kinda hope it is,” Kim lets out a dry kind of laugh as she answers, glancing at her own stick, with a matching pink line. “Since we brought these together and I—I want to be pregnant.”

The panic lessens briefly in Hailey’s eyes, her friend smiling again at Kim’s own shock. “Right, yeah. And you want to be pregnant—so no more freaking out, yeah?”

Hailey grabs Kim’s hand with her spare one, giving it a supportive squeeze. “No more freaking out, this is good.”

Kim smiles back at her friend, the hand holding her stick drifting over her flat stomach. Her earlier worries—about if she can do this, if she could handle being pregnant again—still clinging to her but not making her feel as sick, the joy and excitement at being pregnant, at having Adam’s baby in her again, flooding her stronger. She repeats her friend’s words in her mind; this is good.

“But like—yours could be right, and mine wrong? Right? Like that could happen? I mean— people get false positives. This, mine, it could be false?” Hailey has gone back to freaking out. Kim places her stick down so that she can run her hands down the blonde’s arms, calming her.

“Hailey, breathe. Everything is okay.” Kim pauses, letting Hailey breathe in and out before continuing. “It could be a false positive—it could also be real. But it’s okay, it’s not a crisis if it is real. Have you and Jay discussed kids?”

Hailey smiles momentarily at the mention of her husband, her hand twisting the wedding ring on her finger before answering Kim. “Yeah. I mean, yeah, of course we have. A few times—before we were even together, even. Not that we were planning it together—well, not out loud—”

“Hailey.” Kim cuts off her rambling. There’s not many times that the blonde rambles, even when she’s panicking, she keeps a—seemingly—calm head. But when she does, she can really start to spiral.

“Sorry.” Hailey stops, running a hand through her hair, the other still clinging to the stick, almost as if she can’t put it down, like the thought is something incredibly out there and impossible.

“What have you discussed? Do you two want kids?” Kim gently probes.

“Yeah. Yeah, we do.” Another short-lived smile. “But not—not now. It’s still, it’s something in the future. And we still weren’t fully decided if we’d do it this way, like I always wanted to adopt but I know, I know it’s not a walk in the park and we’ve been talking. I’ve been wondering if it was just because of the fear of my genes and I. We agreed we’ll leave it for a bit, but that’s gone out the window.”

Hailey pauses, running her hand through her hair again, before groaning. “Kim, tell me, what should I do?”

Kim gently holds both of her hands, closing Hailey’s fist around the stick. “You talk to Jay.”

That seems to calm the blonde, Hailey getting a soft smile on her face—the face Kim has dubbed her Jay smile. “Yeah. I talk to Jay.”

“Okay. Can we leave now—I think if we’re any longer Adam might just walk in. You know he has no patience,” Kim looks at Hailey’s expression carefully, noting every part of it, making sure that her friend is good enough to get through the rest of the day.

“Yeah. Yes.” Hailey nods, pulling Kim into a hug. “Thanks, Kim. And congratulations, again. This is really great.”

Kim squeezes her back, looking forward to when she might—maybe—be able to say it back to Hailey.

The day had started with Kim throwing up in the toilet. She had been feeling nauseous for a few days, going in waves, and that feeling—that thought that it might be because she’s pregnant and not because it’s flu season—had been in the back of her mind.

She had tried not to focus on that thought too much, not wanting to go down that path, not when it could just be a bug. Not wanting to give herself hope, only to get it taken from her.

Kim had rationalised it, even the throwing up. It was a minute amount, nothing compared to when she was pregnant the first time. Adam had a food related bug the other day, so this could just be that, Kim had told herself. Things tend to hit her a bit slower, after all.

And then there’s that Sylvie has a stomach bug—one that’s kept her in bed all week, texting Kim often to complain when Matt is on shift. And Kim had hung out with Sylvie the day before she fell ill. This, Kim told herself, is probably just it affecting her, now, too.

This day was the first time she threw up, and so was the first time she told Adam she’s been feeling nauseous. His reaction was exactly how she predicted it would be.

He had lifted an eyebrow, pausing as he sipped his coffee. “Are you... Do you think..?”

Adam had asked it very casually, his expression neutral. Like her, he was unable to say the words, finish the sentence, neither one of them wanting to voice the possibility, not wanting to voice it in case it’s not, not wanting the hurt associated with false hope.

“I don’t know. It’s probably a bug.” Kim had answered and he had hummed in response. A part of her wished that she wouldn’t tell him this, that she wouldn’t be having this conversation with him when it’s just a thought and not even, really, much of a possibility.

But communication is important, a lesson she had learnt many times before—that in the long run, it does more than doesn’t. And it’s not good for her, for herself, to keep these thoughts locked up only in her brain. Especially when having more kids is something they want.

It’s not like they’re actively trying. Kim’s only just come off birth control, and the doctor warned them it takes a while for her body to adjust. They had even been using condoms, occasionally, as it makes the clean up easier in their busy lives.

That had been all they had said to each other, then, needing to get Makayla ready and to school, before heading to work themselves. But it was only a few hours later, when another wave of nausea had washed over her while Adam and her were in the break room that she had stopped them making the coffee, grabbing at Adam’s arm.

“I should get a test.” Kim had told him, murmuring, but her urgency clear. She knew she wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything else until she knew if she was or not, the thoughts in her mind almost distracting her.

“Okay. Now? We can say we’re going to see a CI?” Adam immediately got his game face on, and that’s when she had started to panic. About what if she is pregnant, about if she’s ready to be pregnant again, about if she can handle it.

Suddenly, the thought of simply peeing on a stick seemed impossible.

Hailey had entered the break room, then, and had took on look at Kim’s panicked expression and Adam trying to calm her to know that something was up. It only took one look between her and Adam, after Hailey asked if she was okay, for them to fill in Hailey, needing another voice to help them through this.

“Hey, calm down.” Hailey had said in that way of hers. “It’ll be okay and there’s no point panicking until you know—and here. If it’s too much to pee alone, I’ll take one with you. Moral support.”

It was an insane idea, Adam staring at Hailey incredulously. But it clicked in Kim’s brain, and she found herself saying yes before she knew what she was doing.

They had used the CI lie instead, telling Voight they were going to see one of Hailey’s. Kim had watched as Hailey tried not to focus on Jay’s eyes following them out the bullpen, not wanting to let him know there was anything more to it—good, considering.

The journey there and back was filled with Kim’s nervous ramblings to Hailey, as she voiced her fears and worries about this, the blonde just listening patiently and giving her comfort and support when she needed it.

They had taken the tests in the district ladies room, Adam waiting outside—probably shooing away anyone else. Which, Kim had thought, probably means Trudy will have a theory to her being pregnant before the day is up.

“It’ll be alright, Kim.” Hailey had reassured her as they waited those long two minutes. Hailey had gotten out her phone, had set a timer for them and even though Kim could see the seconds counting down, it felt like eternity.

“I can’t. Can you look at it?” Kim had asked after the minutes were up, unable to look at the stick, feeling quite like her heart was in her throat. Hailey had rolled her eyes good-naturedly, before telling Kim that she will.

The excited yelp that left Hailey’s mouth almost instantly after told Kim all she needed to know and Kim turned the stick to look at it herself, and seeing that amazing pink line.

“I’m pregnant! Hailey, I’m pregnant!” Kim couldn’t help her own excitement, throwing her arms around the blonde, squeezing her into a hug.

“Oomph,” Hailey clearly hadn’t been prepared for that, lifting her arms weirdly at the sudden brunette weight barrelled into her and that’s when Kim saw it.

Hailey’s own stick.

Hailey’s own stick, with her own pink line.

“Hailey!” Kim gasped before she can stop it, squeaking out her friend’s name. Hailey pulled back from the hug, frowning at Kim.

“What?”

“Your...” Kim couldn’t finish the sentence, instead she pointed at the stick and watched as Hailey looked down at it, watching the comprehension and then shock over take her face.

It’s a few days later, and Kim is sitting in Molly’s. Sylvie has gotten over her bug and immediately organised a girl’s night out. Not that Kim or Hailey will be drinking—a shame, since Sylvie had told them that she and Stella had some exciting news.

The day after the found out, Hailey had come into work and whispered into Kim’s ear that everything was okay. That her and Jay decided that this is unexpected but welcome, and they had a doctor’s appointment to confirm it.

Very little people know yet. Kim has been to the doctor, the doctor confirming she is ten weeks along. They told Kevin almost immediately, Trudy—as Kim guessed—had yet again figured it out and of course Hailey knows, alongside Jay.

They told Voight, just so Kim could explain why she doesn’t want to go out in the field—can’t, really, her pregnancy being somewhat of a high risk—although she’s waiting until Monday to officially disclose.

This weekend Adam and her have plans to tell Makayla, something she’s quite excited too, knowing how much her daughter wants to be a big sister, having been begging them for a baby for months—well, that or a puppy.

Hailey and Jay have only told, obviously her and Adam, and Will. They’re waiting until after today—the day of their doctor’s appointment—before disclosing and Kim and Hailey had a conversation about announcing it to their mutual friends, deciding it might be nice to do it together. Of course, it depends on how along Hailey is.

“Hey,” Hailey slips into the booth next to her and Kim smiles in greeting to her friend.

“Hey. How did the appointment go?” Kim asks, knowing once Sylvie and Stella gets here they won’t be able to discuss the pregnancies.

“Great,” Hailey practically beams. “We heard the heartbeat! Jay cried.”

Kim laughs slightly. “So did Adam. I mean, so did I, but I cry at everything.”

At that, Hailey laughs too. “Kim, so does Adam. Not like you—but I wouldn’t say he’s not a crier. Jay—I’ve seen him cry, but, man, it was. It just hit me, this is the father of my baby. And it made me more happy then I think the heartbeat did. We were both raised by a men who never be seen crying but our baby isn’t going to have that. It was...it was wonderful.”

“I’m so happy for you. Congratulations,” Kim pulls her into a hug before quickly adding on, checking to see if Sylvie and Stella had arrived yet. “So come on, quick. How far along are you?”

At that, Hailey excitedly grabs her arms. “Yes! How could I forget! Kim, you’ll never guess—I’m also ten weeks along!”

Life, Kim thinks again, really does have a strange sense of humour.

A thought she once again thinks when Stella and Sylvie arrive and they make their announcement.

“We’re pregnant. Both of us.” They announce and Kim’s mouth drops open, and she realises they all ordered water instead of alcohol. She barely knows how to process this, Hailey squeezing her hand in shock under the table, but before she can, they’re dropping the next bombshell.

“Stella found out about a week or so ago, I found out earlier this week when I kept throwing up. We’re both around ten weeks,” Sylvie continues.

“No fucking way.” The words drop out of Hailey’s mouth, and judging by the way she gasps, holding her hands across her mouth, Kim guesses she didn’t mean them too. Kim tries to calm her down, widening her eyes at the blonde, but the other two catch on to that there’s something going on.

Kim sighs, after Hailey gives her the go ahead. “Hailey and I—we’re also pregnant. Ten weeks.”

Life has a strange sense of humour.

Kim doesn’t think there’s any mutual acquaintance in their lives who doesn’t somewhat doubt that the four couples didn’t plan this. If Kim wasn’t living through it, she’d scarcely believe it herself. Especially when they narrowed it down and are pretty sure all four pregnancies are the result of a faulty condom—condoms taken from Kelly’s infamous bathroom supply.

Kelly and Stella are self explanatory. They hadn’t used them in a while, but Stella was changing birth control and so they did. Matt and Sylvie a little bit less, but still less incredulous. Matt doesn’t live with Kelly and Stella anymore, but the guestroom—now a nursery—was still open to them any time, the boys having slight separation issues. And apparently when they did this, they’d just use Kelly’s supply.

Jay and Hailey had apparently ran out, and they hadn’t gotten more before Stella and Kelly hosted a night at theirs and Jay had apparently thought grabbing a handful from the supply would be a good idea. Hailey almost questioned her choice in man then, not that Kim could judge her.

Because on that same night, Adam and her were getting a little too flirty and when they realised they were feeling a little loud than they can be, with Makayla sleeping at home, they, in their wisdom, decided why not do it in Adam’s jeep.

And they didn’t have any protection, naturally, on them so Adam had grabbed a condom for Kelly’s supply.

And thus, all four pregnancies were made.

There are benefits, however, Kim would happily admit. Voight, maybe not, depending he’s down two members and another two when there’s doctor appointments. And with them being due around the same time, they’ll be a month he’s down all four, give and take. The unit—especially Kevin—might also not, especially on the days her and Hailey’s hormones and cravings and hated smells conflicted.

But there are benefits. Having your three close friends going through the same things is nice, especially when they could see if a symptom or something is usual—especially when one of the friends is a paramedic and the other’s brother in law is a doctor.

It also makes it more fun, all of them—the men included—having a light hearted race about who’s bump shows first, who kicks and moves first and so forth. It made the pregnancies that little bit more fun, even when it was miserable, even when doubts and anxieties about the upcoming parenthood loomed.

The biggest race, especially as the pregnancies drew closer to the end, was the competition and bets who will go into labour first, who will have their baby before the other.

But, of course, life has a strange sense of humour so, naturally, they all went into labour on the same day.

Stella had technically started the night before, her contractions beginning then. They were far and few in between so she was advised just to wait.

Kim’s had started earlier that morning. She had been woken up at the crack of dawn with back pain. Nothing too unusual at this stage of the pregnancy, but as Adam was helping Makayla pack her lunch for school, Kim’s waters had broke.

When Adam and her had gotten to the hospital, about to update the group chat, they had passed Stella and Kelly and the high five they had shared had raised some nurses eyebrows.

Childbirth being the thing that it is, they didn’t look at the group chat after that. Kim’s contractions were starting to come more frequently, and Adam had left the room to holler at the doctor—only to run into Will. Will, who raised his eyebrow at Adam, and asked if he was here for Hailey and Jay.

Because the one thing Voight joked better not happen, that he can’t be down four members, plus a fifth and the desk sergeant as they were determined to meet Kim and Adam’s second daughter as soon as possible, had happened and Hailey had gone into labour around midday.

Flora Leslie Severide is born first, at seven point six pounds. Her godparents had plans to meet her first, but they had got laid up with their own new arrival so the man who had been like a father to both her parents and his wife met her first.

Alice Trudy Burgess Ruzek is born second, at eight point seven pounds, a weight that got her father nearly cursed at. Her older sister was the first to meet her, shortly followed by their grandmother Trudy and godfather Kevin.

If you were to ask Kim who’s kid would come next, she would’ve guessed the Halstead’s son, but it wasn’t. Sylvie had gone into labour later than the others, but had a much faster labour, her daughter being determined to be born quickly, apparently.

And so, Estelle Kelly Casey is born third, at nearly seven pounds. Met first by her honorary grandfather, Mouch, already at the hospital to be with his wife and her godparents, with her cousin Flora sleeping, having been in the world a little longer.

And finally, Nikolas Patrick Halstead made his arrival, last but the biggest at nine pounds, met by his uncle and godfather first, but shortly followed by uncle Kevin, his godmother Kim and uncle Adam still occupied with his cousin.

Life has a strange sense of humour sometimes but—as Kevin joked—at least they can all split birthday costs with each other and not have to worry about their various aunts and uncles not being able to make it.

Not to mention how it made finding the balance between being new parents and having a social life easier.

And eventually, people stopped looking at them as if they planned this. That is, of course, until Sylvie and Hailey had their second kids—Andrew Casey and Theodore Halstead—at the same time, too.

[patchofsunlight]

congrats on 800!! Can I request a jealous bakugo?? where he really likes the reader but they’re always with todoroki

UHHH FUCK YEAH I LOVE BOTH BAKUGOU AND TODOROKI LET’S DO THIS

warnings: cursing, unedited, shouto is your best friend, bakugou is a jealous dumbass. I had so so so much fun writing this i SWEAR

Todoroki was your first friend at UA

even while he was still very reserved and quiet, you made it a mission to befriend him. He didn’t talk a lot, but he seemed sweet, and you simply decided you wanted to know him better

so you did. At first, Todoroki didn’t understand why you were so set on being friends with him, but little by little you carved your place into his life and heart

you become best friends and he appreciates you so much! you’re always together and he invites you over when his dad isn’t around and his siblings absolutely love you

at one point they ask you if there’s something else in your friendship but you’re both quick to shut it down

“So… What’s going on between you two? Are you dating or something?”

“What? No!” “Of course not, sister. We’re just friends.”

“Oh, alright.”

you’re really close though and spend a lot of time in each other’s company because you simply like to

and then there’s Bakugou

you tried to talk to him and maybe make friends during your first weeks at UA but he shut you out so fucking fast

you were kinda hurt to be honest

but you quickly understood that he was like that to everyone, so it wasn’t personal, which made you feel a bit better

until the Sports Festival, that is

Bakugou can’t help but notice how well you fight and how hard you work

you’re on Todoroki’s team for the Cavalry Battle

and you’re so absolutely necessary for the team’s victory that he can’t help but start paying a little more attention to you

he always thought you were an annoying, stupid extra

but you’re proving him wrong, and he’s here for it. It’s nice to know there’s actual competent people besides him at UA

during the Battle Tournament you obliterate all your opponents you’re unstoppable

Bakugou is so fucking impressed he doesn’t even notice how Todoroki, the emotionless boy, is constantly cheering you on from the crowd

everyone is completely shocked because yes, they knew you were friends with Shouto, but they weren’t aware you guys were close enough for him to force his stoic expression from his face for once and actually smile and cheer and give out positive reinforcement

like what

you end up on the semi-finals with Bakugou

and you really give him a run for his money

he had noted that you were a lot stronger and smarter than you looked, and actually fighting you proved that even further

you only lost for a slip up, to be honest. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, you were paying attention to Bakugou Katsuki. and, God, you hadn’t noticed how good-looking he was

Shouto was the most beautiful boy you had ever seen in your entire life, that was for sure, but there was this moment during your battle when Bakugou smiled and your brain short-circuited

so he blew you off the ring, obviously

he was surprised he was actually able to get you. He thought you would somehow escape it, and he wondered what had taken your focus away

he wasn’t even aware of the small smile that graced his lips for that millisecond. He just stared at you, looking all powerful and strong and ready to destroy him without hesitation and it just happened

none of you talked about it

when he battled Todoroki, he heard you scream “Go, Shouto!” 

and it made his blood boil

why the fuck were you cheering for fucking Half-and-Half?

Were you dating or some shit?

you certainly should be cheering for him, since he was the one who defeated you which meant you had to recognize his superiority

right?

but no. there you were yelling, “You can do this, Shouto! You can do this!”

you even called the bastard by his first name

ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous

when you saw him tied and muzzled to the first place you were completely livid

you tried to argue and stop it but no one listened to you

when they finally let Bakugou go, you came to him, eyes glowing with worry and anger.

“Are you okay? They shouldn’t have done that. How do you feel?”

“Get out of my way, extra. Don’t fucking worry about me.”

Todoroki’s ear perked up at hearing someone mistreat his best friend

but he knew you could handle it, so he stood close by, watching

on any other occasion, you would’ve felt hurt, sad even, but you could see the shame in Bakugou’s eyes. The embarrassment.

“Alright. See you, Bakugou. Hope you get home alright.”

and you left, walking towards Shouto with a soft smile before going away with him

Bakugou would never admit it, but he appreciated your words more than anyone else’s.

once more, that smile took a place on his face without him even noticing

after that, Bakugou became a lot nicer around you

he would quietly mutter a “hello” when you passed by his seat during the morning

and at one point he even let you borrow his notes to copy during this one day you got the flu

sometimes you would see him studying at the library and you would smile widely and sit next to him on the table he was occupying

if it was anyone else he would definitely yell at them to leave

but he didn’t really mind your company. Having you around was strangely nice. Not that he would ever say that out loud, of course, but yeah. It really was.

you were a part of the stupid rescue team that went after him when he was kidnapped

he was only made aware of that way later, since you stayed behind with Shouto and Momo

and it kinda made him mad because wasn’t fucking IcyHot your boyfriend or some shit? How could he let you get into dangerous stunts like this? Was he an idiot?

when you moved into the dorms, Bakugou noticed how you were always around Todoroki

he noticed how you were always in each other’s rooms and how you had lunch together and how stupid bitch ass Half-and-Half knew how you liked your coffee and always had it ready for you in the mornings

it made him see red, for some reason. He hated seeing you with Shouto.

he wondered why didn’t you want to be around him like that. Did you think he was ugly? Rude? Did he smell bad?

Not that it mattered, of course. He didn’t give a shit about some dumb extra like you

except he really did

couldn’t you be away from Todoroki for a single second? Did you really have to stay around him all the time? That’s some fucking bullshit right there

you shouldn’t waste your time with stupid IcyHot, you deserved better than that! You were powerful and smart and nice and gorgeous and Todoroki was an idiot

right? Right! You would have a lot more fun being around other people that weren’t Shouto!

so he suggested it, albeit quietly, to his friends. They were having lunch and Shitty Hair was spewing useless information like he always fucking did, and he muttered it. Bakugou didn’t talk a lot during lunch, so his words had heads turning to him almost immediately

“We should invite Y/N to have lunch with us someday.”

Dunce Face opened the biggest fucking smile and he regretted all the decisions he had ever made in his entire life

“Why, Bakubro? Do you have a crush or something?”

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking bastard!”

Shitty Hair giggled, “Calm down, bro, it’s fine. Yeah, I think that would be nice. Y/N seems like a really fun person, don’t you think?”

he shot you a quick glance. You were sitting with your friends (including damn Deku and stupid IcyHot), and you were laughing. You looked so beautiful when you laughed and he didn’t even notice the slight movement of his lips

“Wait, is Bakugou smiling?”

“I TOLD YOU TO SHUT THE FUCK UP BEFORE I—”

the next day you found yourself sitting between Bakugou and Todoroki on the Bakusquad table

Bakugou didn’t think inviting you meant inviting fucking Half-and-Half but that was a given, apparently

however

he figured he didn’t mind Todoroki that much if you kept brushing your shoulder into his when you moved, or if you kept laughing next to him

He invited you over his room to study one day because you had mentioned you were struggling with math during lunch

and then suddenly you were always hanging out. Study dates, movie nights, sparring matches, and he even cooked you dinner once or twice when everyone else went out to eat and you both stayed behind to work on some homework

honestly everything was going amazing and you were spending time together and Bakugou would never admit it but he was growing to really fucking love having alone time with you

and, God, how could you get more beautiful every time he saw you?

then

“I won’t be able to hang out this weekend, I’m going out with Shouto.”

He froze on the spot.

“What?”

“Yeah! We haven’t gone out in quite some time, so he invited me out to a date.”

“A… A date?”

“That’s right. We are just going to visit his mom, get some dinner, and then sleep over at his house, I think. It’ll be nice, I’ve missed him a lot lately.”

Bakugou felt his blood fucking boil

“Why would you even want to go on a date with stupid Half-and-Half? He’s an idiot.”

“What? Why are you saying that?”

“I’m sure you would be a lot happier going on a date with me. I’m a lot better than that dumbass, you hear me? I’d buy you those stupid sweet things you like.”

You were struggling to keep yourself from smiling at this point

“You mean chocolate?”

“Yeah, that bullshit. And I’d pay for dinner. We’d get whatever you want, and I wouldn’t take you to visit my fucking mom. That’s so lame and stupid, just like damn IcyHot. And we’d have a movie night, like the ones we always do. I’d even let you choose one of your dumb movies.”

“You’d let me choose the movie? You never do that!”

“Tch, whatever. Go out with your fucking boyfriend, I don’t fucking care. It’s your loss!”

You giggled and it sent him in a frenzy

“What the fuck are you laughing at, dumbass? I’ll kill you!”

You grinned and his heart jumped wildly inside his chest.

“Are you jealous, Katsuki?”

that’s his first fucking name. you called him by his first fucking name

he blushed SO hard

“No! Of course I’m not! Don’t say stupid shit like that!”

You giggled again

“You know, when I said I was going out for a date with Shouto, I meant a friendly date. We’re nothing but friends. Besides, I like someone else.”

“Tch.”

He was still blushing.

“Katsuki?”

He snarled, “What?”

“You’re the one I like, stupid.”

“Don’t you fucking dare call me stupid, you—wait, you like me?”

“Yes, very much.”

he somehow blushed even harder. With red cheeks and crossed arms, he stared at everywhere but you

“Well, then fucking tell Half-and-Half to fuck off. I’m the one who’s taking you on a date.”

you laughed and, God, the sound of your laugh and your voice and your giggles were things he absolutely adored

“Sure, Katsuki. I’ll let him know.”

once more, an accidental smile overtook his lips.

[redstarwriting]

Just Call Clint

Avengers x Sick!Reader

Request(s): “Sorry to annoy you, but could you write one where the reader is sick? Thank you!” & “Hello! Could I request a platonic fic where reader is sick and the Avengers are freaking out? Thank you!"

Word Count: 1,294

Genre: Comedy, all platonic

Warnings: Sickness, the flu, throwing up, some swear words, Avengers banter, BIG confusion

A/N: I feel like this gif perfectly captures the amount of “IDK WHAT I’m DOING” for both parties in this lol. Also you’re never going to annoy me with a request Anon! I like writing what other people want so don’t ever thing you’re annoying me! Also these two requests were super similar, so I just combined them. If you’d want me to do the reader is sick romantically then I’ll do that for sure! Also, sorry I’m getting all these out so slow, I’ve just been busy with my art stuff. I got a commission and it’s gonna be super tedious, so that’s why I’ve been MIA for the past like week? I don’t know I’m just really sorry lol. I’ll get more requests out as soon as I can! I hope you enjoy this confused Avengers imagine hehe!

───────────────────────────────────

“So, this is what dying feels like,” you mumble, rolling over to grab a tissue from your bedside table. You were lying in your bed, tissues literally everywhere, cocooned in your comforter and two other blankets. You thought it was strange that it was so cold in the compound last night, but now you just know it’s because you’re infected with something. You think it’s just a cold at first, because your nose is runny, and your throat feels scratchy and you have this vague headache that gets increasingly worse every time you cough or sneeze. You’ve been in bed ever since you woke up about three hours ago, and at this point it was unusual for the other Avengers to not see you out and about, eating breakfast and constantly tormenting them. They figured you just stayed up too late training or something like that, but they’re sadly mistaken.

You decide it’s about time you get up and go make yourself some tea or coffee to try and soothe your dying throat, but the moment you stand up, you instantly get hit with nausea. You literally sprint to the bathroom, unintentionally pushing Peter out of your way to get there. You luckily get there in time, but unluckily, Peter yelled, causing Tony to run to where he was, where he proceeded to hear you rejecting any and all food you had previously consumed. Now you know this isn’t a cold, but it is instead the flu. Wonderful. Tony gingerly makes his way to the bathroom, peeking in to see you hunched over, too weak to even stand up. “You’re sick.”

“Thanks, didn’t notice.” “Still sassy I see.”

“Learned from the be–“

Before you finish your sentence, you’re back to the worst part of any sickness. Tony looks at Peter, who made his way over to where the two of you were, mouthing “What do we do?” Peter only shrugs, and Tony looks at you then at Peter with a panicked expression. “Is the over glorified wizard here? He’s a doctor, right?”

“Yeah, he’s visiting because Thor and Loki came here, and he wants to make sure Loki isn’t planning to overthrow our planet… again.”

“Great! Let’s go get him,” Tony says, basically sprinting out to the common area where everyone was. “Hey, Wizard Boy–“

“I’m not a wizard–“

“Yeah, you are but more importantly, (Y/N) is throwing up in the bathroom and we need a doctor.”

“I was a brain surgeon, Stark. I don’t know how to deal with someone throwing up.” Tony stares at him for a minute before saying, “You went to medical school, how do you not know how to deal with someone sick?”

“Again, I was a surgeon.”

“What’s all this about Lady (Y/N)?” Thor butts in, a grin on his face. “Well, (Y/N)’s throwing up and apparently no one here knows what to do,” Peter says, and Thor points at Strange. “What about Doctor uhhhh… Abnormal…?’

“Strange!” Stephen practically yells. “Ah, yes. Strange. I’ll try to remember that. Strange.”

“Has she been poisoned, by chance?” Loki asks, looking a little too happy about that scenario. “Loki, did you poison Lady (Y/N)?!” his brother asks in disbelief. “No! I just wanted to know if her symptoms match someone who has been poisoned!”

“Brother, I told you multiple times the only one you should be poisoning is me! And even I do not like it!”

“Listen, Thor, I didn’t poison-”

“Okay, seriously, you guys. How can we help her?” Tony says, interrupting the quarreling brothers. “Did she eat something bad last night?” Natasha suggests, joining the conversation. “She didn’t eat last night. She said she wasn’t hungry,” Steve reminds Nat. “Well now we know why,” Tony says. They all stare at each other, waiting for someone to suggest something, when you slowly walk into the room. They all look over at you, and you wave at them weakly. “Hi guys, I’m gonna go to the-”

“No, you are not leaving. You’re too sick to leave,” Tony says. “But I-”

“I would have to agree with Stark, Lady (Y/N). You look like an enemy I have killed on the battlefield,” Thor says, and Nat hits him, and Thor immediately knows what he did wrong upon seeing her face. “I mean, one of the prettier ones of course! Not the ones that are all cut up and disgusting looking! You’d be the most attractive dead body.”

“Thank you...?” you mumble, then go into a coughing fit. You immediately sit down, even though there are no chairs where you are, so you literally just plop down onto the floor. They all look at you, and you’re now shivering on the floor. Steve grabs a blanket from the couch and takes it over to you, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Thank you, Steve” you say, sniffing and pulling it tighter around you. At this point, Bucky and Sam also enter the space, the two in a heated argument about... something. However, you’re too tired and your head hurts too much to even ask what they’re even talking about. “Look, I’m not saying you’re stupid for thinking that, but you’re an idiot, Wilson.”

“Listen Barnes, I’m not going to stand for this slander, okay? I literally saw your tears last ni– hey (Y/N), why are you shivering on the floor?”

“She’s sick,” Steve informs them. Bucky and Sam look at you and then the rest of the Avengers. “So why the hell is she on the floor and not at the doctor?” Sam asks. “Wait, you’re a doctor, right?” Bucky asks Stephen who then sighs again. “Like I said countless of times before this. I was a surgeon. I can’t prescribe her any medicine or anything like that, just take her to a physician.”

“What physician?!”

“Any physician! There are so many in this city just take her to one before her condition gets worse!” “We are in New York Strange, there’s physicians everywhere! How am I supposed to know who the good ones are?!”

“Hey,” you mumble, but it’s really quiet and no one can hear you, so you try again. And again. Until you just had enough of Tony and Stephen hurling insults at each other. “HEY!”

They stop talking, and everyone looks over at you. “I just need rest.”

“You need medicine,” Stephen says, and you glare at him. “WHAT MEDICINE DO I HAVE HARRY POTTER? I JUST WANT TO SLEEP!”

They all exchange glances with each other before looking back at you. “Okay… well we’ll call and get you some medicine but what can we do to make you more comfortable?” Tony asks and you groan, slowly standing. “Just let me sleep in peace. Please.”

You start walking back to your room, eager to lay down and go to sleep. “Are you sure we can’t get you anything to eat or-”

You turn around pretty fast, and it makes you a little nauseous, but you hold on. “Clint has three kids.”

“Yeah-”

“If you have any questions, just ask him. Or even better, call him and tell him to get his ass over here because apparently out of all you geniuses, none of you know how sickness works even though it is literally not remotely hard! Jesus have any of you ever had the flu?! Ugh, never mind, my head is killing me and if I keep standing, I’m going to pass out so, please! Just. Call. Clint!” You shuffle your way back to your room, closing the door and burrowing yourself under the covers, immediately falling asleep. When you wake up a few hours later, there’s a tray with just soup broth and hot tea sitting on your bedside table. You grin. They called Clint.

[trickstercheebs]

⌘: for literally any of your fics! Love your writing!

⌘: being picked up OKAY this is for Borrower!Gordon verse.. gonna put it under a cut for length for you anon. (set sometime in the far future bc shhh)

It had been a long day, or...actually what day even was it anymore? Gordon had lost track of the days as what he felt like a minor headache had blown into something so much worse it felt like. The others in the house didn’t quite seem to notice since life for them had vaguely gone back to normal and their schedules had them scurrying about into the outside world once more.

He had taken refuge onto the deserted couch, the floor felt far too cold to even bother standing on it let alone move from one room to another. He felt like his skin was burning off, but the air itself felt like it’d freeze him to the core any minute...He knew he was sick now but..he was far too tired to even do anything about it anymore and he should of asked for help ages ago when he started to feel things get worse. The house felt empty..was anyone even here aside from him? Maybe this was lifes way of getting back at him for getting comfortable for once in his life..Maybe one of the others was home?

“H....hello? ...please.....please is anyone here...? he..lp.”

There was no reply..he wanted to curl up and try to sleep off whatever this was, the only thing on the couch he could use as a blanket was some forgotten shirt that was far too thin to even keep him warm. 

But eventually sleep finally came, as fitful as it was. Tossing and turning he tried to stay asleep and escape his minute personal hell for however long he could.

Benry’s phone alarm had gone off and he woke up with a groggy stretch..Bed felt far too cosy to bother leaving..but his body was giving off a clear need for the bathroom that he couldnt ignore...Might as well get up and take care of business, then maybe grab some snacks and get back to bed.. Today felt like a lazy one.

A few minutes later Benry wandered into the living room, finding it oddly quiet..Must of been a work day? He mentally shrugged and moved to get to them fuckin snacks when a soft noise reached his ears..

It sounded like wet gasping and coughing? The only other person in the house at this time he knew of could of been....Gordon? Shit he hadn’t seen the lil guy in a while..He figured he was hanging out with Tommy or one of the others..Gordon rarely bugged him these days for...some reason. He knew the man wanted his freedom and would never question him..hell he had just gained the mans trust after that whole hellish introduction...He felt like he was on thin ice with Gordon every day..

But that noise had him walking over towards where he heard it come from, the couch. The noise’s source was a small bundled up shirt shivering in the corner, and Benry’s brain kicked itself into high gear. 

It was obvious it was Gordon, but why? Was he hurt, sleeping, what? The only way he could figure out was to gently untangle Gordon from the shirt.

“Yoo..Gordon you feelin well down there bro? You kinda sound like shit....Gordon?”

By now Gordon would of told him that he was fine and skitter off to do god only knew what..It hurt knowing Gordon was likely still scared shitless of him just because of his size but...There was no way in hell Benry would ever hurt him...it had been a normal discussion with him and Tommy during late nights.. Gordon trusted Tommy with his life and Benry wanted nothing more than to be friends with the borrower.

“Just give him time! He’ll...come around eventually. I’m sure one day you two will be like uh...uhh the best of fuckin friends!”

That day could wait, if Gordon hated him for what he was about to do then....Well he’d live with it. Gordon was shivering so badly the couch faintly vibrated under Benrys hands..that was not fucking good at all. How long had he been sick?? Did any of the others know? He wasted no time in fishing out his phone and rapid firing off a few texts to Tommy to get some childrens flu medicine and some other things. He next send some questions to Dr. Coomer asking how much medicine to give to someone Gordons size once the whole group knew what was wrong.

He knew it’d be a bit before any of them responded, it was a busy day for them most likely and he’d have to wait..But Gordon still needed help. He had a idea but it’d like he thought earlier just make Gordon hate him more.

Ah well...a mad Gordon was better than the alternative.

“Alright bro...time to spend some quality time with Big Benry for a bit...gotta, gotta keep a eye on you till the homies get home with the medicine...I’ll take care of you Gordon..”

Reaching down he’s almost hesitant to even touch Gordon...but he powers through knowing it’s for the best and gently cups the shivering man in both hands before moving him. He’s forgotten how utterly small Gordon is compared to his hands, he fits so neatly in them Benry’s almost transfixed at the sight before him. A thumb gently runs across the side of Gordons sweat drenched face before he snaps out of it and remembers what he has to do.

“shit...right, right. Fuck I gotta focus.”

He moves back into the bathroom with Gordon in tow and grabs a washcloth before gently wiping his face and arms down with the warm water. It feels weirdly intimate in a way he’s not sure of but he persists until Gordon stops shivering as much, and he’s as clean as he can get without Benry crossing a line he’s not willing to cross.

Gordons dried off and carried back into Benry’s room in short order and he briefly wonders what to do next. He should just make a nest for the other and just check up on him...But he cant nor does he want to, Gordon still feels frigid as fuck in his hands and he feels like a small child waiting to be scolded for doing something wrong when all they wanted to do is help out.

He huffs and makes his choice, today was gonna be a bed day...just a bit different.

-----

Gordon woke up sometime later feeling warm, not just from the fever but he was surrounded by a comfortable warmth he never knew he wanted so damn badly until now, whatever he was wrapped up in was ungodly soft and smelled...strangely nice? Like some sort of herbs he didn’t know the name of. He felt comfortable for once and couldn’t help the urge to nuzzle and stretch himself out to get more comfortable...It was then he heard the second set of lungs so close nearby he froze on instinct. Was someone holding him? Right...one of the others must of came by and saw him in such a horrible state and lent a hand when he was passed out.

Wriggling about some to figure out which way was up he managed to poke his head out of the mess of blankets, only feeling a bit sad about leaving such a cosy sleeping spot, but felt his stomach bottom out when he recognized where he was.

He was in Benry’s room again....and in Benry’s bed to boot, looking about it only took him a second or two to spot the massive bean’s sleeping form..he was apparently nestled up to his chest in the massive quilt Benry slept under. Gordon was scared for a brief moment..He had been on the couch and drenched in sweat but..he didn’t feel as disgusting as he usually did when in such a state. Hell he felt somewhat clean?

Inspecting himself he found out the smell was coming from him, did Benry do this? He didn’t remember anything aside from just passing out and waking up here. Should he make a run for it..? Part of him, the fearful parts screamed yes...that Benry was a threat...but was he? Gordon had had several talks with Tommy about giving him a chance, that he wasn’t that bad of a person.

Benry had taken care of him when he was at his most vulnerable.....again. And now here he was dead asleep in the arms of the so called enemy. Then why did he feel like just going back to sleep alongside him for a bit longer? As he thought things through, he looked Benry’s sleeping form over...he looked oddly peaceful, maybe something else but the shadows took up more than they showed.

“...alright Tommy...I’ll give him a chance.”

Yawning softly he turned to burrow back into the sheets and nestling up back into his spot in the crook of Benry’s arm and letting the warmth lull him back to sleep once more.

Benry cracked a eye once he felt Gordon sneak back under the covers and had to resist the urge to sob with joy. Goddamn he owed Tommy so many fucking kisses after this...It paid off just laying in bed and pretending to sleep the moment he felt Gordon stir...He felt so exhausted just staying still that the urge to sleep too was overpowering...

He could sleep when Tommy got home soon, but for now he’d happily keep Gordon warm and safe.

[secretobsessionstuff]

Could I request a fic with your sweetest, softest male character? He has a really terrible stomach flu (fever, shivering, cramps, cant stop throwing up or retching even when he's empty) and is trying his best to hide it from his friends-- maybe afraid of being a bother. Bonus points for eventual comfort and lots of belly rubs.

Dude this is such a good request! I love when characters hide being sick!! thank you. This ended up being rather long, for me anyway, so I couldn’t add in everything you wanted. But I would be willing to write a second part to this fic if anyone was interested. 

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

Alexi felt disgusting, but he looked pretty darn good for someone running a 102.2F temperature. He didn’t have much choice; it was either admit to feeling like absolute garbage, thus ruining the whole day for his friends, or keep up the façade and pretend that his eyes weren’t melting inside their sockets.

So yes, Alexi looked perfectly normal…he hoped. Though his cheeks were flushed, the convention center was insanely hot and crowded for anyone to think something was wrong. He just pushed through the mass of people, knowing that in such tight quarters he was spreading his flu…well like the plague.

It felt like the plague anyhow. His head was throbbing, as if his brain were trying to escape through his ears; that unnatural chill that only came from a fever was causing goose bumps to pop up all over his arms and down his back; and his belly was roiling.

As Madix, Riley, and Micah were all waiting in line to get pictures with obscure, second choice and therefore affordable actors, Alexi snuck away to the bathroom for what felt like the billionth time that day. By noon, he was very aware of where every single bathroom was located in the building.

This trip to the toilet was like all the others. He locked himself in a stall and gave himself permission to express the pain he felt clear across his face. Hugging his aching stomach, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to take slow breaths through his mouth. Alexi had no way of knowing how high his temperature had gotten since that morning, but he could tell he was feeling worse. Breakfast was sitting heavily in his gut which he knew wasn’t going to be there for much longer.

The nausea was intense, so much so that he needed to brace himself against the stall walls to keep himself upright. This time he was lucky that there was no line to get into the bathroom, because he felt dangerously close to seeing partially digested waffles fill the toilet. Alexi’s Adam's apple was bobbing up and down like a buoy on the choppy ocean. He continuously swallowed down waves of saliva. As he shoved the bottom of his palms into his eyes, his knees gave up and he slumped to the tile flooring.

With his elbows on the dirty toilet seat, he spat sticky tendrils into the bowl. Deep and guttural burps echoed in the small space around him, and could probably be heard by every other person in that bathroom, but he couldn’t find the effort to care.

A gag suddenly took him, and he found himself leaning into the toilet, prepared to catch anything his stomach was going to send up. His jaw felt tingly and heavy, but still nothing came up but wet belches. One harsh heave interrupted the burps, but it was dry. The second heave came soon after and this one was much wetter. It brought up gush of thick pale vomit that made Alexi shiver as it rushed up his throat. Tears leaked from his eyes from his eyes and his arms felt weak as they supported his body. A deep groan was heard from his stall as Alexi flushed the toilet and left while rubbing his face. The few stares from the witnesses didn’t bother him, not while his stomach was bothering him so much more.

Alexi returned to the line after having cleaned himself up. He washed his hands, gargled water in his mouth, and splashed his face so that he didn’t look so ashen and sweaty. Of course, as he met back up with his friends, a new wave of sweat had broken out across his nose and a new chill shot down his back. He wrapped his arms around themselves, partly to stay warm and partly to hide the goose flesh that any sane person would question in this scorching room.

Alexi ducked under the rope and joined his friends halfway through the line. He plastered his happy-go-lucky smile on his face and said something random. That was one of the downsides of always being chatty and bright – it was so much more obvious when something was wrong.

His boyfriend seemed to relax slightly once Alexi had returned. Micah took Alexi’s hand and swung it against their legs. He gave Alexi a quick peck on the cheek, but he moved away rather slowly. The smallest trace of worry crept across Micah’s features, though it dissipated as soon as Madix changed the topic of conversation.

The lineup took ages. Thankfully, it gave Alexi time to rest. He wanted so badly to sit down but he knew that would draw attention to himself. So, he stayed standing, shifting his weight back and forth on his legs. Alexi soon rested his chin on Micah’s shoulder, hoping that it came across as boredom and not fatigue.

Micah gave him a strange look. Though before he could question it, Alexi excused himself to the bathroom once more. As he turned to leave, Micah grabbed his wrist.

“You just went, Lexi,” Micah remarked. “Besides it’s almost our turn.”

“I know, but I’ve been drinking a lot of water.” Alexi looked around nervously. “I’ll be quick I promise.”

Alexi wasn’t quick. In fact, he stayed in the bathroom even while the three other boys got their pictures, autographs, and merch. Micah was getting worried. As the three of them left the line, Micah’s eyes were darting in all direction, looking for his boyfriend. There weren’t even any bathrooms in sight.

“Micah, slow down,” Riley said as he struggled to keep up with his cousin. Madix was trailing behind as well.

Micah bit his lip worriedly. They were stopped in the middle of the room, with booths and people all around them. “We have to find Alexi. He won’t know where we are.”

Madix urged the group to the side of the room where the likelihood of being trampled was far less great. “He has been gone a long time. Is he okay?”

“I don’t know.” Micah started to chew on his thumbnail. “I’m gonna go look for him, you guys stay here so we can meet back up.”  

Micah embarked on his mission. He pushed through slow walkers and squeezed past people in amazing yet impeding cosplay. The first bathroom he saw was his destination. He made a beeline for it, and just as he came upon the door, Alexi emerged. He hadn’t spotted Micah yet. Micah noticed the way his boyfriend held his stomach and the way he staggered slightly as he walked. He called out to him.

Alexi jumped, but quickly composed himself. Before the pair could head back into the madness of the con, Micah pulled Alexi to the wall.

“You were gone forever, Alexi.” Micah said, sounding a bit annoyed, though he changed his tone to something softer as he carried on. “What’s going on? Are you feeling alright?”

Alexi slumped his shoulder against the wall. Apparently, he wasn’t so good at hiding his pain. In that moment, he was sure that his face was sickly green and betrayed the truth of how he was feeling. The sour taste of vomit was fresh on his tongue, but he tried to ignore that while he spoke. Micah didn’t need to know that he was throwing up, because then he would surely make them all go home, and Alexi couldn’t do that. They’d all been waiting a year for this con. He could keep up the semblance of health.

Alexi’s face turned red. “My stomach was a little upset, but it’s better now.” That was lie…but Micah didn’t know that. In truth, Alexi’s stomach was killing him. He would have loved for Micah to take him home.

“You sure? It’s okay if you need more time, I was just worried before.”

“Yeah I’m sure, let’s go.”

“Okay…” Micah said hesitantly. He wasn’t entirely convinced, especially with the way Alexi was holding his belly, but he didn’t want to press the matter and make Alexi embarrassed.

It was easy enough to find Madix and Riley. They were pulled off to the side of the room, casually watching the cosplayers walk by and gawking at their favourite characters come to life.

When Alexi approached them, he looked less alive than he had seconds ago. His belly was still so upset, despite having just thrown up; apparently, he rushed himself a bit too much. He stumbled to the wall and caught himself, narrowly stopping his aching head from colliding with drywall.

“Whoa Alexi,” Riley said, reaching his hand out to grab his friend’s shoulder, “you look rough.”

Madix got closer as well, which Alexi wasn’t too thrilled about considering that he was pretty sure he was about to heave his stomach into his hands.

Madix looked back and forth between Alexi and Micah, wondering if Micah had noticed his boyfriend’s state. “Lex, you look like you’re about to pass out. Your face is grey.”

Micah wanted to jump in and relieve Alexi of everyone staring at him, but he really did look awful. Perhaps it was worse than what Alexi was letting on. “Babe, I thought you were feeling better. Tell us what’s wrong so we can help.”

As if he were drunk, Alexi’s vision darkened and he swayed where he stood. There was no denying it now, not when his friends were interrogating him like this. “I feel awful,” he admitted, while dragging his back down the wall and sitting on the floor. He pulled his knees up to his chest and groaned.

At the same time, the three other boys all crouched down as well. When Alexi’s eyes focused, he found both Micah and Madix staring at him worriedly. But they were so close, too close. He only wanted Micah. Just Micah and no one else. He wanted to be away from all the noise, the people talking, the bright lights, the crowds.

He put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I tried to ignore it, but my stomach is a mess, I can’t stop throwing up, my head is killing me, my –”

Micah put his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “What! You threw up?”

Alexi nodded miserably.

“Oh Alexi,” Madix added, “you should have said something.” He gave a sympathetic look to the sick boy, seeing the way his nose dripped with sweat.

Madix instinctively reached his hand up to touch Alexi’s forehead, then paused with his hand hovering halfway in the air. “May I?”

Alexi nodded weakly, already aware of what Madix was going to find. His golden curls were brushed back by Madix’s cool hand that felt nice against his burning skin. He leaned into the touch, momentarily letting someone else support the weight of his head.

“Shit, man.” Madix pulled his hand away slowly. “You’re on fire. No wonder you feel like crap.”

Alexi moaned and curled in on himself. “I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

“Yeah, we’re going home right now,” Micah said decidedly. “Lexi, can you stand?”

Alexi probably could not have stood up in that moment, but he didn’t need to try because it was then that his stomach decided to spasm again. He retched emptily at first, succeeding only in making his body lurch forward. Everyone took a step back out of shock, and everyone except Riley moved back to keep Alexi from falling forward.

The second heave burst from his chest, sending up a thick wave of vomit that covered his legs and dripped down his chin. Alexi choked out a sob and squeezed his eyes shut as a felt his stomach do another flip. By this point, Micah was rubbing his back and muttering something sweet he couldn’t hear. Blood was pulsing in his ears, making him dizzy and drowning out any attempt at comforting him.

God, he felt so sick. His stomach continued to contract painfully, even when he had nothing left to throw up. He clutched at his chest while he heaved dryly in the crowded room. Thankfully, Micah and Madix were partially covering him from view. This privacy, however, did nothing to lessen the gut churning sensation in felt in the pit of his stomach.

By the time he finished, his cheeks were streaked with tears, his chest was tight, and his hands were shaking. The worst part was that he still felt like hell.

Micah was soothingly brushing his hair away from his face. “Alright, take it easy, babe. Try to catch your breath.”

“I feel so sick,” he moaned while looking at the mess drying on his crotch. “I want to go home.”

“I know you do.” Micah said, still gently massaging Alexi’s head. “Madix and Riley went to find the car, so you don’t have to walk as far.”

Alexi wanted to thank his boyfriend. He wanted to apologize for being sick. He wanted to do so many things, but he couldn’t even keep his head from lolling around. He simply closed his eyes and wished for the day to be over. He wished to be lying in bed while Micah played with his hair. If it was any consolation, part of that wish came true. 

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

So tumblr ate the ask of course, but @multi-fandom-remy (I hope this was you that requested this my memory is not good and if it wasnt I'm sorry) sent a fic request where Janus has alexithymia and Remy falls for him regardless. Gonna just post it this way, suck it hell site!

I had to do some research for this as I dont know anyone who has this and I dont personally experience it. I tried to write it as accurately and respectfully as possible but please let me know if you feel I wrote it wrong or in a way that's offensive.

Three Times Janus Didn't Understand and The One Time Remy Did

Summary: Janus has alexithymia and doesnt understand what hes falling for; Remy is perfectly content to teach him.

Warnings: none really. Just not understanding ones own emotions. Ts spoilers if you havent watched the most recent Sanders Sides episode

Ship: Remy (sleep) x Janus (Deciet)

WC: 1, 505

Remy's head snapped up as the bell above the door chimed loudly, letting in a rather peculiar character. Dressed in black save for bright yellow gloves, their long trench coat swept around their ankles as they turned to make sure the door was shut. Truly curious now, Remy leaned forward eagerly, excitement thankfully hidden by his dark sunglasses.

The glasses did little to hide his reddening cheeks however as the newcomer swept off his hat and turned fully to face the cashier.

Oh. Remy leaned forward casually trying to hide the flood of oh-I-am-most-definitely-gay panic rising up through his chest. Sharp eyes breifly met his before darting back down as they made their ways towards the counter. Thanking every god that could possibly be real that the shop was empty at this time of day, he smiled easily as they came to a stop in front of the counter.

"Morning coffee. What babe will it be?"

The stranger snapped their head up in confusion, giving Remy only a split second to retain that their eyes were very pretty, one a pale brown and the other almost gold before his brain caught up with what his mouth had just uttered. Red cheeks reddening even further he closed his eyes and mentally slapped himself over the head with an industrial bag of coffee grounds.

Opening his eyes once again, he chuckled. "You'll find me dont discriminate here. We got flat white, Irish cream, long black." He cupped his cheek and smirked. "Or maybe you're the shy, straight vanilla kind of guy?"

The stranger, to his credit, was unimpressed, almost making Remy pout if it weren't for the fact he was still trying to scrape his pride up off the ground. "A mocha with five espresso shots please."

Whistling low, he turned to complete the order. "I'm assuming to go?"

"Yes."

"Late night?" He grabbed a cup and fiddled with the machine a bit, turning to grab the pump for the espresso as it began to run.

"In a sense."

Snorting, Remy turned to look again at the stranger. Through his obvious good looks there were eye bags that could rival his room mates', slumped posture and rather ratty shoes completing the picture for him. "I always hated college exams. Theres never enough time to cram."

"We've all bean there."

Pausing in applying the lid to the cup, Remy smirked and turned. "Did you just-?"

Seeming uncomfortable, the stranger shrugged, taking the drink and handing over the money. Offering a quiet thank you they left quickly, coat flying out like a cape behind them.

---------

Janus shoved his hands deeper in his pockets on the way to his favorite coffee shop. He had only been going there for a week now, but the coffee was amazing, and the cashier/coffee maker was...interesting. Janus' cheeks still burned in what he now realized was second hand embarrassment at the way the other had flirted? with him the first day. Patton said he had been flirting so he'd have to trust his friend knew what he was talking about. His stomach gave another uncomfortable flip as the shop came into view, making him grit his teeth in annoyance. Everytime he came here the same thing happened with his intestines, like they were too tight and too loose at the same time, flipping his stomach around in a way that felt like the flu...but better? Regardless it hadnt started until he had begun coming to the little shop and Janus was determined to pinpoint the cause. That was why he kept coming back.

No other reason.

His stomach flipped again as he shoved the door open, grimacing as he made up his mind to buy some kind of pastry with his usual coffee to try to quiet down what he was now going to assume were hunger pangs. This early in the morning the shop was blessedly empty, allowing him and the cashier to have their odd conversations in relative peace.

"Morning babes!"

He glanced up and tried for a smile, letting the odd movement drop after only a couple seconds. Remy smiled and smirked enough for the both of them anyway.

He made his way up to the counter, startling as a to-go cup was pushed his way.

"Regulars get the Remy special. Their usual cup of hot coffee ready before they even come through the door." He winked as he leaned against the counter, hitting Janus with the realization that the man had apparently forgone his sunglasses for the day. Deep brown eyes stared back at him before he broke eye contact, snapping his gaze to the cup in front of him.

"I'd like a muffin with it today as well, if you would."

"Sure. What kind?"

Janus looked up hopefully. "Banana nut?"

Remy bit back a laugh, muttering 'nut' under his breath while retrieving the requested pastry. Rolling his eyes Janus dug out the cash; he was learning Remy was fond of unintentional innuendos, Patton pointing out that that had been what he was insinuating in their first meeting. He tried for a polite smile again as he grabbed his items after paying, stomach going it's odd flip again as the other man smiled back.

Maybe it was the air.

------

Remy perked up as the door chimed, smiling as his favorite regular made his way through the door right before closing time. He had somehow gotten the rather shy man to agree to a date (an outing the other had insisted) taking place after his shift had ended. He seemed tense and Remy was determined to take his mind off whatever it was that kept his shoulders up and head down. He grabbed up his sunglasses as he hopped over the counter, earning a confused smirk for his effort. Smiling easily, he readjusted his bag and whipped out the store key to swing around his finger.

"Ready to go, tall, dark and snarky?"

The man merely ducked his head and shoved his hands further in his pockets, strolling quickly out the door for Remy to follow.

"So I realized we're going on this date-"

"Outing."

"Alright babes. So we're going out and I still don't know what to call you?"

The man stared blankly. "You call me things all the time?"

Sighing in exasperation as the Prompt went completely over the man's head he gestured them forward. "I meant your name hon."

"Oh! My name is Janus."

Tilting his head in surprise, Remy regarded him for a moment. "Janus. I like it. Really suits your aesthetic."

Janus seemed unsure of how to respond, scuffing his toes along the sidewalk rhythmically. "My aesthetic?"

"Yeah. Janus is a Roman god right? I can see it."

Offering up a blank look, the other man pursed his lips in thought. "No one...well usually people say that Janus is...an odd name."

Remy shrugged. "I took some course or other in high school that taught about ancient gods or whatever. People are bitches."

Moving away slightly, Janus nodded. "Undoubtably."

-----

Alexithymia.

Janus watched as everything seemed to click into place for his companion. This was always the tipping point in every relationship, friend or otherwise. Patton had been the only exception thus far that accepted the fact that Janus was a lost cause when it came to emotions.

No, that wasnt fair to himself. There was nothing wrong with him, he knew that. It was only the fact that he couldn't understand the emotions being processed. He knew he had them, he just could never quite pinpoint which ones, at any given time and what the reasons for them were. Sure it made socializing difficult, people often labeling him as awkward or withdrawn in any given situation; when in reality he just was rarely given enough time to try and pinpoint what one emotion was before being put in a situation where a different response was needed. It was honestly exhausting.

He bit his lip as he looked back over to Remy, seeing that same smile he always gave him that made his stomach flip every time. He tried offering one of his awkward smiles, feeling that that was the most appropriate for the situation.

Remy softened as he took off his glasses, turning to face him fully. "You dont have to do that around me, it's okay. Just be yourself, and tell me if and when you get uncomfortable yeah?"

Janus' eyes filled with tears as he twisted his fingers in his jeans. An intense wave of emotions came over him, making him choke slightly as he tried in vain to process everything. He felt Remy take his hands gently and squeeze them, tugging slightly as he unconsciously leaned towards the other.

Just two people sitting on a park bench in the late evening, with about 15 shots of espresso between them holding each other with a confused understanding. Janjs smiled, a very tiny one, but the first genuine one in a long time.

Despite everything, he had Remy. He knew he'd be okay.

This work is also available on AO3!

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Won’t You Stay (Part 6)

Summary: After a fun first date, the reader and Jensen make plans to go out again. By the end of the day Jensen isn’t feeling well though so the reader takes him home and learns a little more about how much Jensen is a fan of Lyle Sullivan...

Masterlist

Pairing: Jensen x Director!reader

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Please enjoy!

______

Monday Morning

“Y/N,” said Jensen as you wandered away from craft services. “Hey, got a sec?”

“For my number one fan always,” you teased, taking a sip of your coffee. “What’s up?”

“I had fun Saturday. I know you’re super busy and all right now but would you maybe want to go out Friday night? We only have a half day,” he said.

“Yeah. Sounds fun,” you said. 

“Oh and The Dark Night? You kicked it in the ass. I loved it,” he said, a huge grin on his face. “I can’t wait to be a part of that too.”

“Really?” you asked with a smile.

“Really. This is one of the best sets I’ve ever been on too,” he said. “It’s great.”

“Awesome. Um, when I get a free minute I’d love to pick your brain on some stuff,” you said.

“Sure,” he said. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

“Y/N! We got a problem with the crane camera,” shouted someone from down the lot.

“Duty calls,” you said. “I’ll see you in an hour.”

“Hey,” you said at the end of the day, everyone looking run down after a day of stunts, one person in particular. “Jensen, hold up.”

“Yeah?” he mumbled. 

“Are you feeling okay?” you asked.

“Actually not really,” he said. 

“Why don’t you pop over to medical?” you asked.

“Y/N-“

“Do we have to do this again? My set, my rules,” you said.

“Fine,” he said. “I don’t want to keep anyone late.”

“Ten minutes and I’ll head over with you.”

“Do I really-“

“Whoa,” said your dad as he came around the corner. “Jay, you do not look good.”

“I’ve heard,” he said. “I’ll take some cough syrup when I get home.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s go,” said your dad as he grabbed his arm.

“Ethan-“

“Want me to call your mother?” he shot back.

“Alright. Dad, I will take Jensen to medical and you go home,” you said. “I promise.”

Ten minutes later Jensen was wincing and frowning as a thermometer was pulled from his ear.

“102. You have the flu, Jensen,” said the on-site nurse.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I feel fine.”

“Bed rest and liquids. If you get warmer or the fever hasn’t broken by morning, go to the hospital,” she said.

“I’m fine,” he said. The nurse stared him down but Jensen gave it right back.

“You got a roommate to keep an eye on that fever of yours just in case?” asked the nurse.

“Is everyone around here my mother?” mumbled Jensen.

“Thank you, Kelsey,” you said, grabbing Jensen by the arm.

You led him outside and he didn’t complain when you got him sat in your car.

“I’m going to drive you home, okay? I’ll come check on you before work tomorrow, see that you’re alright to come in or if we need to delay,” you said.

“I’ll be fine, Y/L/N. You worry too much.”

“Jensen, I really don’t think you should be alone tonight,” you said, carrying his backpack along with some goodies from the pharmacy into his apartment half an hour later.

“I am fine,” he said, sniffling and closing his eyes. “Okay, maybe not fine.”

You frowned and he dug out the thermometer, sticking it under his arm. You grabbed it as soon as it beeped off, flipping it around to him.

“102.2. Oh yes, you are clearly the epitome of health, Jay,” you said.

“Well it’s not like I can get my mom to come over,” he said, wearily closing his eyes.

“Ackles. I’m starting to see you’re very grumpy when you’re sick,” you said.

“Am not,” he said, going to his couch and laying down. You stood by the edge of it, Jensen letting out a small shake. “Can you make me soup?”

“Soup I can do,” you said. You went to his kitchen and started to poke around, heating up a can on the stove after a few minutes. “How you feeling, buddy?”

“Crappy,” he said. “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Well I’m still gonna make you soup and you can have the leftovers tomorrow,” you said. He mumbled and you finished cooking, storing the rest in a few thermos’ he could toss in the microwave. You hummed and carried over a mug of it, setting it down on the coffee table. He looked worse than before, a shiver leaving him. “Come on. Get in some pajamas, Ackles.”

He sighed and got to his feet, trudging into his bedroom. Fifteen minutes later you knocked on the door, Jensen laying down on the bed in a pair of boxers.

“Trying to see me naked?” he teased. “I’m kidding. What’s up?”

“Here’s your soup and this is for later,” you said, setting the medicine down.

“Thanks,” he said.

“If you’re too sick to come in-“

“I’ll be there. Just give me a few extra breaks,” he said.

“No problem. Feel better Jensen,” you said.

“Hey, Y/N. Uh, not that I’m not already embarrassed enough but would you mind hanging out for a minute?” he asked.

“Not at all,” you said. You stepped into his room and took a seat at his desk, smirking at the figure on top. “A Lyle funko pop? You really are a fan.”

“Shut up,” he laughed before he started to cough.

“I have like fifty in my closet if you ever want more,” you said. “Your apartment is...cozy.”

“It’s small and older than both of us combined but it’s clean and quiet,” he said. 

“How long have you been living on your own?” you asked.

“About three years. I’ve had a girlfriend move in for about six months before but that’s it. You said you moved out of your parents place not too long ago?” he asked.

“Two years. I went to my boyfriend’s place. I’ve only been on my own for one. It’s lonelier than I thought it’d be to be honest,” you said.

“Yeah, I get that. I’m thinking about getting a dog. I’d like company to come home to,” he said, snuggling down into his sheets. “So what’d this ex boyfriend do? So I don’t make the same mistake potentially.”

“I would be amazed if you did,” you said, leaning your elbow against his desk, putting your head in your hand. He rolled over in bed and looked at you, sniffling for a moment. “When your ex-girlfriend talked about the sex stuff, did you feel violated?”

“Yeah. He talk to your friends about that stuff?” he asked.

“No. I don’t really want to talk about it, Jensen,” you said. “You won’t make that mistake. I promise.”

“Are we dating?” he said.

“I think so.”

“I think so too,” he said, closing his eyes.

“I think it’s time for bed,” you said with a smile.

“Mhm,” he mumbled. 

“Do you want me to call someone to stay over with you just in case you get worse?” you asked.

“You?” he said quietly. 

“Alright, I’ll be on the couch if you need me,” you said. You shut off his light for him, Jensen fast asleep before you even left the room. You cleaned up a little in the kitchen before you sprayed his couch with some lysol, letting it sink in for a moment before you laid down. You sat up and looked for a blanket, spotting one in the corner. You hummed as you went to the basket and grabbed it, smiling when you saw a copy of The Dark Woods on his bookshelf. You looked at the other books, some thrillers, some mysteries, some reference and cookbooks. There were a few YA books along with some general fiction. 

You tilted your head when you saw one called “Sullivan” with no author. You pulled it out and realized it wasn’t a published book, just a print copy of a story. You flipped through it some, getting to the end and recognizing the name.

“You read Lyle Sullivan fanfic,” you said, glancing back at his bedroom door. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

You took the copy and smiled as you sat down, skimming through it for a few minutes.

“If you have a copy of this then that means...you follow me on Tumblr. For fuck’s sake,” you groaned. “I made it for fun, to write the prequel stuff I couldn’t put in the books. Apparently you were a winner in the follower giveaway too.”

You set the book down and grabbed your phone, checking your blog for the first time in months. You’d gone on a temporary hiatus and you wouldn’t call it overly popular. It was mostly short stories here and there aside from “Sullivan,” the backstory of Lyle Sullivan and his life before he met Hale. 

Shit, you hadn’t even told him that Sullivan was being turned into a proper book. You grabbed the book and put it back on his bookcase, putting your phone away before you sat back down. He was a fan so it made sense and he loved talking about the story with you. 

You lay down and sighed, hoping when you brought it up things didn’t get weird.

“Good morning,” you said, Jensen looking rough as he wandered out of his room in a pair of jeans and an oversized hoodie. “How are you feeling?”

“Sucky but better,” he said. “Down to 100 now.”

“Good,” you said, grabbing a glass of water for him. “Take some morning medicine and then I’ll drive us to work if you’re up for it.”

“For sure,” he said. He wandered around the apartment and chuckled. “Did you clean for me?”

“A little. Mostly sprayed lysol,” you said. He nodded and opened his curtains, turning for a moment before he stared at the bookcase, probably seeing something off about it.

“Did you read last night?” he asked. “Not that I have a problem with that.”

You sighed and he walked over, taking his medicine as you poured his soup in a thermos to bring with him.

“I may have spotted that Sullivan book when I got a blanket. It peaked my interest,” you said.

“So how much more of a loser do you think I am than before,” he laughed nervously.

“I don’t think...I have no problem with fanfiction of my stuff. It’s super cool actually. But...I sort of wrote that story,” you said. He raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

“No you didn’t. It’s not a real book. I got it from a blog which again, super embarrassing but-”

“Jensen. It’s my blog,” I said.

“Oh. You’re...oh,” he said.

“Yeah. I wanted to get that out in the open,” you said, pursing your lips.

“Cool. Um, we should get going. You have to get in early I’m sure,” he said as he grabbed the thermos. 

“Yeah,” you said, Jensen already walking away and putting on his shoes. “Uh, let’s head out then.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 7 here!

[yellowocaballero]

written in 2 hours for $5

my friend: so, in your story, you say that Jon went to see a doctor who DIDN’T diagnose him with anything, despite him thinking all of his employees were trying to kill him...I will give you $5 to write this conversation

me: what’s your venmo.

under a readmore as to not traumatize Bukowski with sloppy depictions of therapy.

                Okay, that ordeal was over with. Jon hated health services. He never went to the doctor if he could help it. It was easy to avoid it, since Elias gave as little healthcare as physically possible, and Jon was of the personal opinion that he never got sick, anyway. Sickness was a state of mind, and Jon’s mind was not in that state. What was a cold but your body temporarily acting funny before going back to normal? Absolutely nothing, no matter what Martin wrung his hands and insisted about. If Jon got the flu, he threw up in the toilet and then went back to work. RIP to the influenza virus but he was different.

                Jon sat anxiously in the waiting room of the counseling clinic, struggling to recall if his mother was depressed or not.

                Like, Jon would personally be very depressed, if he had given birth to Jon. He hesitantly wrote it in, then scratched it out, then scowled at the very nuclear family centric medical history section of the patient chart, then went through the usual rigamarole of feeling self-pity over being an orphan. Finally, he settled on just writing in a big question mark in the mother and father sections. He wrote into the side that his Grandfather and two of his Uncles had schizophrenia, which had to be useful in some sort of way.

                Okay, that ordeal was over with. Jon hated health services. He never went to the doctor if he could help it. It was easy to avoid it, since Elias gave as little healthcare as physically possible, and Jon was of the personal opinion that he never got sick, anyway. Sickness was a state of mind, and Jon’s mind was not in that state. What was a cold but your body temporarily acting funny before going back to normal? Absolutely nothing, no matter what Martin wrung his hands and insisted about. If Jon got the flu, he threw up in the toilet and then went back to work. RIP to the influenza virus but he was different.

                The waiting room for the clinic wasn’t empty, even if that would have made Jon feel better. A tired looking Hispanic woman clutching her purse sat on one couch, an elderly man clutching a cane sitting in an armchair with his wife browsing a magazine beside him. Boring, banal, bothersome. Jon wasn’t like these losers. He wasn’t a weak-willed person who…accused all of his coworkers of murder plots…to the extent where one of his subordinates threatened him into going to a therapist. That hadn’t happened. To him.

                For the record, it wouldn’t have worked if Martin hadn’t been so good at disguising what a manipulative bastard he was. Jon didn’t know people could make their eyes that big. Or that people could be so talented at gathering evidence of workplace harassment, enough that even Elias would be forced to exact some sort of disciplinary action against him. Had Martin always been so terrifying? His ranking on the ‘Possibly Wants To Kill Me’ scale jumped a few notches, but was forced to drop down a few notches due to Jon admitting that someone who wanted to kill him probably wouldn’t blackmail him into therapy.

                Probably.

                He briefly detailed his diagnostic history (none), detailed his list of previous surgeries and health conditions (none, save the anemia in uni), and briefly gave a list of childhood trauma (none that anyone would believe, although he found himself hesitantly writing down ‘Foster system, parental incarceration, orphaned’, as if that was a real trauma or something instead of stuff that just happened to him that had no effect on his brain whatsoever).

                He finally got to the difficult section, the one that always tripped him up and made him sweat. He breezed through the demo questions (Black, male last time he checked, younger than he looked) but stared for an uncomfortably long time at the sexuality questions. His pen hovered over heterosexual, but his Mental Georgie (meaner than the actual Georgie) yelled at him until his pen hovered over bisexual instead. But that wasn’t quite right either, was it? Bad memories of scrolling desperately and shamefully through AVEN at 2am last year flashed through his mind, but asexual wasn’t on the list. He marked in bisexual, although he didn’t think it counted if he’d never had any…relations with male presenting people, although it didn’t quite fit.

                Under alcohol use he very proudly put none, feeling both smug and embarrassed over being smug over it. Under drug use he also was proud to put none. Then it asked for his history and, like, whatever. He hated this list. It sucked. Jon didn’t like admitting to the coke he only did three times. Or was it four? That he could remember.

                Under the ‘Have you ever been hospitalized’ question he put yes, then he remembered that they had technically diagnosed him with alcoholism and depression so he had to go back and put that down in his diagnoses, then he had to put down that he had attempted suicide a few times. Jon felt uncomfortable about nameless strangers knowing this, when he had never told anybody and had never been planning on it. It was a secret he would take to his grave, but he was telling this piece of paper, apparently. Hopefully nobody looked at this.

                Under the section for ‘why he came in’, Jon decided honestly was the best policy. He wrote down carefully, in precise letters, ‘I do not need to come in but my subordinate (who may be plotting murder against me) blackmailed me into it’. There. Honesty was the best policy.

                Finally the accursed intake form was over, Jon was able to hand it to the nurse he suddenly imagined looked very judgmental, and he was able to flip aimlessly through the three year old magazines on the glass tabletop flanking a piece of calming abstract art. He would never admit it to literally anybody in his life, but he enjoyed the voyeurism of celebrity gossip. He loved learning things about people that were supposed to be private, that nobody was supposed to know. It wasn’t a real secret if he learned it off TMZ, but it felt like one, and that was good enough. It was none of his business who was dating who or who had cheated on who, but that was part of the fun. Jon’s thirst for knowledge was absolute. But, still, nobody could ever know about this. Georgie had laughed at him for a week when she found out.

                Still, the magazine was wrong. The pop star wasn’t cheating on her boyfriend with her bodyguard. She was cheating on her boyfriend with her college roommate. Jon didn’t remember exactly where he had read it, but he knew it was true. Must have caught it on a reddit thread or something. Jon snorted. They should really polish up on their fact checking.

                After what felt like hours, but in fact was twenty-two minutes and forty seconds exactly, the nurse called Jon in. They took his height (still too tall), took his weight (ugh….), and took his blood pressure, which seemed to alarm the nurse, who asked him if he had a family history of hypertension. He just explained that his job was very high stress.

                “Ah,” the nurse said, and made a note on his clipboard.

                “The previous holder of my position was murdered,” Jon said helpfully, “and I think one of my employees did it. Either that or my boss. That, or various supernatural entities, but generally I’ve been doing a pretty good job of holding those off.”

                “That’s so interesting,” the nurse said, making another note on the clipboard.

                Then he was directed into the actual therapist’s office. Not his therapist, or at least he didn’t think so – the way they explained it to him, and the way the twenty internet sites he’d compulsively researched said it worked, was that he would get an intake with a trainee, who would then refer him to a therapist that worked for him in the building. It made sense, although very little about this entire process really did. Jon hated doctors. What were therapists, but doctors who made less sense, and did not respect science?

                The intake therapist’s office was overly calming. There was an incense diffuser in the corner, a tea station set up in another corner, and a comfortable looking couch facing a chair. There was a coffee table in the center filled with fidget toys and candy, along with some stuffed animals and other comfort items with some books, and Jon awkwardly shook the hand of the young woman who opened the door for him and sat down on the far corner of the couch.

                She introduced herself as Angela and had a bright white smile. Jon wondered if she had ever killed anybody. Her hair was glossy and black, she seemed to be Hispanic or thereabouts, and exuded a trustworthy and competent yet friendly air. Jon did not trust her.

                “So, Jon,” Angela said, once they both settled down. “I’m just going to give you a quick run-down of this process. I’ll interview you based on your intake form, we’ll come up with a case formulation, and I’ll refer you to a therapist with our clinic who can help you out. You indicated that this is your first time seeing a counselor?”

                “Uh, yes.” Jon clasped his hands, then his knees, then sat up very straight, then slouched. He now understood why the fidget toys were there. “But I really don’t want to see a therapist. I just told someone I’d come in here, so here I am. I can leave right after this.”

                “Who asked you to come in?”

                “Martin. Uh. My employee.”

                She made a note in her notebook. “Does he only know you from work?”

                “Yes.”

                “So your employees have been noticing some behavior from you at work that lead them to ask you to come?” Angela asked delicately.

                “Uh. Yeah.”

                “What kind of behavior?”

                Well, sure, make him think about it. Jon clenched his trousers a little. “I’ve been…well, according to Tim, I’ve been stalking them a bit. Which, perhaps, from a certain point of view, I’m willing to admit to. Also going through their desks. Some verbal accusations. Apparently, I’ve been difficult to work with lately.”

                Scribble scribble scribble. “What sort of accusations?”

                “Someone’s trying to kill me,” Jon said firmly. “I’m just trying to find out who. I’m exploring every option. Nobody is above suspicion. I know it seems…I know it doesn’t seem very usual, but that’s the situation.”

                “Have you talked to the police?”

                God, has he ever. “They’re willing to collaborate with me, but there’s only so much they can do,” Jon said seriously. Even if they had confidentiality, which they had explained to him as he came in, he could hardly admit to Basira doing something illegal for him. “But we are working on it together. At least some officers on the force take murder investigations seriously.”

                “Alright. If you don’t mind, I’m going to refer back to some questions that we asked you on the sheet. Just a little more detail on them.” Angela looked down at what he had to assume was a print-out of his answers on the intake questionnaire. “It says here that you have a family history of schizophrenia?”

                “Yeah,” Jon said blankly, “what does that have to do with anything?”

                She looked further down the list. “And…a history of alcoholism and drug abuse?”

                “Yes, technically.”

                “Alright.” She leaned backwards and opened a file cabinet, rifling through it before withdrawing a piece of paper and passing it to Jon. Jon hesitantly took it, scanning the paper. “Can you fill this out for me quickly, please?”

                Jon read the questions.

                Do you ever hear or see things that others cannot?

                Well, yes, Jon experienced many supernatural phenomena that others could not perceive. He checked off yes.

                Do you ever struggle to trust that what you are thinking is real?

                Frequently. He just knew his mind was being manipulated by the mysterious Watcher. Plus there was that business with Sasha. Something’s off about her.

                Do you ever get the sense that others are controlling your thoughts and emotions?

                That occurred in dozens of Statements, plus his own life. Yes.

                Do you struggle to keep up with daily living tasks?

                Tim did tell him that he didn’t shower enough…

                Do you feel that you have powers that others cannot understand or appreciate?

                Jon thought blankly of all those times that he asked people questions and they almost…had to answer. He checked yes for that too.

                Etc, etc, etc.

                Jon looked up from this test. “Are you under the impression I’m schizophrenic?”

                “I can’t make a diagnosis yet,” the therapist said delicately. “Why don’t we talk after you finish the screening.”

                Jon silently passed it back to her, after checking yes on almost everything. She scanned it quickly.

                “Hm.”

                “Look,” Jon said awkwardly, knowing that this probably looked bad, “I know that I may come off as a paranoid lunatic, but the supernatural is out there and is targeting me personally. I think I may work for it, honestly? Do you ever feel like an accountant for evil in your day to day life, or is that just me?” Jon paused a beat, and found that his hands were shaking. He was scared. Why was he scared? “I always feel something watching me. Something – something in the walls. I’m sitting at my desk, it’s late at night, and nobody’s around, but sometimes when I do my work…I feel something looking over my shoulder. It hates me. It wants to hurt me. I don’t know why I know it, I just do. Something invisible in the walls is looking at me, and nobody believes me when I say it’s there but I know it is.” He found himself speaking faster, almost as if he was begging her to understand. “When you look at a – at this couch, you know it’s there, right? How would you feel if everybody started telling you that it wasn’t there? That what your eyes and ears and body was telling you was fake? You’d feel like it was everybody else who was crazy, not you. Even if your eyes were closed, if you reached out your hand you could feel it. No matter what you might tell yourself, or what other people might tell you, it’s real. It’s there. You can’t deny it. I’m not crazy. It’s there. Something is watching me. You don’t – you don’t have to believe me. But I’m right. And you’re wrong, if you think it’s not.”

                Angela stared at him.

                Then she stood up, clutching her mobile. Jon realized for the first time that it was ringing. “I’ll be right back.”

                She left the room, holding the phone to her ear. Jon felt it was somewhat unprofessional for a therapist to walk out in the middle of a session for a phone call. Maybe it was important? Her husband was in the hospital or something? It was none of his business.

                Jon tapped his toes. Stared at the wall. There was a poster with a sloth on it that said ‘Hang In There!’. He was hanging in there, all right.

                He wondered if he was crazy. If it even mattered.

                Jon had always had nobody but himself to rely on. Well, maybe Georgie, once upon a time, but he had burned that bridge. At the end of the day, it had always been him. In that gutter where he had almost drowned in his own vomit, it had just been him.

                If he couldn’t trust his own mind, who could he trust? If even his own faculties left him, he had nothing. No friends, no family, no support. Just him. If Jon lost his mind, if he went completely crazy, then there was nobody to pick up the pieces ever again. For the first time since coming in, Jon found himself scared. Would he have to take medication? Would it make him dumb? Jon would rather be crazy then dumb.

                The door opened, and Angela returned. But there was something just a little different about her, something Jon picked up immediately. Her eyes were – almost glassy, almost not present. She had been such an attentive, active listener before, but now she seemed far away. Her gait was a little stiffer than it had been previously.

                “Bad news?” Jon breached awkwardly.

                “Nothing to worry about,” Angela smiled. But it didn’t reach her eyes. How strange. She sat back down in her chair, posture perfect and prim. “Well, I took a look at your sheet, and I have some good news for you.”

                “You – you do?” Jon asked, thrown off. Doctors never had good news for him. They always seemed to think he was a medical freak of nature who was alive only through an act of spite against god.

                “Of course. You don’t seem to have any kind of mental illness. Honestly, I just think your problem is that you’re stressed at work.”

                “I – so you don’t think I’m schizophrenic? Despite answering yes to almost every question on that test? And having family members with schizophrenia? And being a black male in my late twenties, the highest risk group?”

                “Yes.” Angela smiled prettily at him. “I think it’s just a matter of adjustment. You’re a transitionary phase in your life, Jon. You’re moving from one role to another. I think all you have to do is accept your new role in life, and your problems will sort themselves out.”

                “I – yes. Yes, of course.” It was like a huge weight had been taken off his chest. Jon felt so relieved. Nothing was wrong with him. His mind was still his own. He wasn’t crazy! “You’re right. I’m just stressed. Thank you so much, doctor. I feel a lot better about this now. I knew Martin was just overreacting.”

                “Martin’s always overreacting!” Angela laughed. She stood up from her chair, clearly signifying the interview was over despite him only being there for less than ten minutes. “Have a great day, Jon. You deserve it.”

                “Thanks, doctor. I promise I’ll work on – just calming down a bit. Wow. What a relief.” Jon stood up too, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers before shaking her hand. “I knew I wasn’t crazy.”

                “What’s crazy,” Angela said, “but a state of mind? The world is already so bizarre and usual, Jon, it’s strangest to be sane.”

                “I – okay?”

                Jon left the doctor’s appointment feeling very good about everything. Maybe the doctor’s had been a good idea. He would have to thank Martin.

                Wow. Now that was a crazy thought. Thanking Martin! Hah!

                Jon went home, feeling very good about his life and his trajectory in it.

                For the very last time.

[gumnut-logic]

Bagel (complete)

Title: Bagel

Author: Gumnut

29 - 31 Jul 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: It meowed at him and poked his nose with a paw.

Word count: 4309

Spoilers & warnings: Angst

Timeline: Standalone

Author’s note: Nutty’s Fandomversary Fic Eight – Prompt at the end of the fic for spoilerage. This one is for @kylorr81 thank you for all your wonderful support ::hugs::

I wrote more John! Oh, the strain on my skill set. I’m missing Virg. I need to write me some Virg. Also, these ‘ficlets’ appear to be getting bigger. This is not a ficlet, it’s a full blown fic and Fandomversary was two weeks ago. Hmmmm. I miss Virg. I hope you enjoy this one anyway :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

John Tracy was sick.

Which meant John Tracy wasn’t allowed to go home.

Sure, he could say that he was home, but it didn’t really feel like home. It was full of brothers and people he loved, but it didn’t feel like home.

Home was among the stars.

But apparently astronauts with the flu weren’t allowed to go home.

“It won’t be for long, John. It will be over before you know it.” Virgil was kind and reassuring, but it didn’t really help.

He wanted to go home.

He was determined to work, of course. Until Scott caught him and cut him off.

There were some loud words over that, but the medical department of IR (aka Virgil) sided with the command department (aka Scott) and yeah, he was grounded, cut off from his ‘bird, holed up in his room and miserable.

Of course, his brothers attempted to cheer him up. Alan dumped himself on his bed chattering away with his latest game, all eager enthusiasm. Gordon brought him a pet crab. Even cared for it for him. John was left wondering if it was a snarky metaphor as the crab sat under a rock all day and had a distinct grumpy appearance.

Virgil and Scott were more subtle, but no less caring. Scott ran ideas past him for communications improvements. Piano music and the occasional piece of art found its way into his rooms uninvited.

He appreciated it. Truly, he did.

He just wanted to go home.

The morning he woke up with a cat sleeping on his chest was the last straw.

“C’mon, guys. You know I’m allergic to cats. Are your trying to kill me?” He held the cat out at arm’s length just waiting for his nasal passages to swell up. Though at this point considering his condition, he wasn’t really sure he would notice.

The cat meowed pitifully at him.

Virgil frowned.

Scott arched an eyebrow.

Gordon looked guilty....but then he always looked guilty. John was sure it was an inbuilt survival strategy.

Alan was cooing at the cat and reaching out to scratch it under the chin.

It was an orange stripy thing with big whiskers and that ragdoll floppiness all cats sported.

“Gordon?” Scott’s arched eyebrow was now pointed at the aquanaut.

“What are you looking at me for? I got him the crab, why would I get him a cat? The cat will eat the crab.” Gordon frowned at John. “Don’t let the cat eat the crab.”

Not a sentence John had ever predicted hearing in his lifetime.

“Can someone please take this thing?” He held out the cat even further.

Virgil, still frowning, gently collected the cat from John’s hands and automatically curled it up in his arms. A finger scratched under its chin.

“Thank you. I’m going back to bed.”

And he did.

The next time he woke, a pair of green feline eyes were staring at him, the cat, once again, curled up on his chest.

What?

It meowed at him and poked his nose with a paw.

“Virgil!”

He must have yelled a little too much because next minute his big brother barrelled into the room, panic on his face. “John, what the-?!”

His eyes landed on the cat and his shoulders literally sagged. “Goddamnit, that’s where you are. I’ve been looking for you for hours.” Virgil reached to pick up the cat.

The cat turned from mild mannered bed companion to spitting and screeching demon within a blink. Virgil yelped and fell backwards, his feet slipping on the mat and his butt hitting the floor with a crash.

One of John’s telescopes teetered before tipping ever so slowly. Virgil saw it and struggled to catch it. “Shiiit!” He threw himself in its path and the four-foot metal cylinder landed in his lap.

There was an oomph and Virgil was flat on his back on the floor.

Demon cat kneaded John’s chest a little before settling once more.

It began to purr.

“Virgil? You okay?”

His brother grunted and John struggled out of bed, shoving the cat out of the way. “Virgil?”

“I’m good.” It was up an octave higher than normal. “Sorry about your telescope.”

John grabbed the telescope off his brother and righted it. It was his own fault for leaving it there in the first place. Stargazing from bed was a habit much more easily exercised on TB5.

Virgil waved off his offered hand and rolled over, pushing himself to his feet with another grunt. He eyed the cat with suspicion. “I thought we had an understanding, Bagel.”

The cat eyed Virgil with equal suspicion.

“Bagel?”

“Gordon claims it is your cat so needs a John name.”

“A John name?”

“Yeah, Bagel it is.”

“It’s not my cat! And where did it come from anyway?” John frowned at Virgil. “Another stowaway on Two.”

“No! You know we have sensors for that now. And besides, that was only once.”

“Twice.”

“Once. The polar bear doesn’t count.”

“The polar bear most assuredly does count. Alan still hasn’t forgiven you.”

“Really?”

“It was a polar bear, Virgil.”

“Yeah, well, that is your cat.”

“That is not my cat.”

“Apparently she has decided she is yours.” Virgil held up his hands. Several scratches decorated his skin. “I have enough of these already. She’s yours.”

“I’m allergic.”

Virgil peered up at him, brown eyes assessing. “You don’t appear to be suffering a reaction. She’s been gone for hours. If she has been here, on your chest all that time, you should be showing the affects. All I can see is the remains of your flu.” A frown. “Are you feeling any better?”

It was John’s turn to frown. He had almost forgotten he was ill, but now his attention returned to his body, the signs were clear.

But he was feeling a little better.

“A little.”

Virgil reached up and squeezed his arm. “Good. You hungry?”

A brief consultation with his stomach and he realised that yes, he was. “Yes, I think so.”

A smile spread over his brother’s face. “Great. You’re on the mend.” Another squeeze of his arm and Virgil turned towards the door. “Meet you in the kitchen. Scott went all out this morning and made pancakes. I stashed you some. Gotta grab them before Gordon discovers them.”

“FAB.” John couldn’t help but return his brother’s smile.

Virgil grinned and with a half-hearted groan rubbed his butt and staggered with some exaggeration out the door. “Don’t forget your cat.”

John turned back to stare at the ginger monstrosity still sitting on his bed, calmly grooming.

“Bagel, is it?”

The cat blinked and kept licking its fur.

John sighed and grabbed his clothes.

-o-o-o-

The cat followed him downstairs for the meal, which turned out to be dinner. He had managed to sleep the day away. Apparently, this was a good thing, because for the first time in days, he could move without creaking.

Virgil had indeed stashed pancakes and within minutes there was a short stack piled up in front of him complete with ice cream and maple syrup. Before he even bothered to acknowledge the envy emanating from Gordon across the other side of the table, the stack began to disappear.

Scott knew how to make pancakes. John considered his big brother’s purpose in life and came to the immediate conclusion that it should be IR, family and pancakes.

Of course, pancakes could be a subset of family if considered that way, but there was always the possibility of him opening a business as a pancake chef.

Blink.

Yes, the flu had obviously taken part of his brain with it.

A pair of blue eyes and two pairs of brown were staring at him.

“What?”

“Did you bother to breathe between bites, bro?” Gordon gestured with his head at the table.

John looked down and found his plate empty. “Guess I was hungry. Scott makes great pancakes.”

“Yes, he does.” Virgil plonked a glass of orange juice in front of him and took away his sticky plate. “Now drink your juice and we’ll set up for family movie.”

“Aren’t you guys going to eat?”

“Already eaten.” Scott was poking at his phone, holograms bouncing around above it. “Grandma made meatloaf surprise again.”

John choked on his juice. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Scott did look a little green around the gills.

Well, that explained the envy on Gordon’s face and why Alan was very absent.

“Anyone feed the youngest?”

“All under control.” Virgil chucked Gordon a celery crunch bar and the aquanaut grabbed it from the air.

It was devoured faster than John’s pancakes.

Virgil wandered back into the kitchen proper and soon there was the delicious smell of hot popcorn wafting through the room. The engineer walked past the table again and dumped a chocolate bar in front of Scott. Another one landed in front of John.

“Consider it a survivor’s reward.” Virgil grabbed Scott’s phone out of his hand.

“Hey!”

“Stop working, this is family time. Everything can wait a couple of hours.”

Scott glared at his brother, but grabbed the chocolate bar and capitulated anyway.

Probably because he knew Virgil was right. It was so easy to get absorbed with International Rescue business. John knew he was a fantastic example case of such a syndrome.

A sigh.

Scott glanced up at him. “How are you doing, John?” A smirk. “How’s Bagel?”

As if beckoned, the cat in question suddenly leapt up on to the table and stalked the length of it towards Scott. John’s eyes widened as his eldest brother was targeted by a feline glare of epic proportions.

Scott’s expression was quite an amusing mixture and defiance and terror. Bagel sat down in front of him and after a moment of intense eyeballing decided Scott was boring and started washing herself.

“That is one weird cat, John.”

Everyone jumped as Bagel shot to her feet and dashed across the table at Gordon. “Holy crap!” The aquanaut scrambled backwards as Bagel ran at him. He tangled his feet in the stool he was sitting on and with a crash, ended up on the floor.

“Ow.”

Reaching the edge of the table, Bagel stopped and peered down at the fallen Thunderbird and, apparently deciding Gordon was no more interesting than Scott, sat down and returned to grooming.

The remaining three vertical brothers stared at each other and the cat.

No one said a thing.

“Uh, can someone give me a hand up, here?” Gordon vaguely waved an arm about and Virgil edged around the table to help his brother up.

His eyes barely left Bagel.

“Has anyone fed the cat?” John threw the question in there as a bit of an icebreaker since said cat had frozen the room almost solid.

Bagel looked up and stared at John for a moment before jumping to her feet and ambling over. A simple step off the table and she was in his lap, circling for moment to find a comfortable spot, then curling up and purring.

Again, everyone was staring at the orange fluff ball, John included.

“You have a very strange cat.” Apparently, Gordon hadn’t learnt from his earlier experience, but fortunately, Bagel ignored him this time.

John stared down at the purring ball of fur.

Yes, it seems he did.

-o-o-o-

Despite the possessed cat, the rest of the night went very well. All five brothers plus Kayo threw down some pillows, curled up in front of the holoprojector and waded through a trashy b-grade movie that looked like they were using mannequins for actors and plastic models for set pieces. There was popcorn, laughter and loving family. John felt warm and relaxed and better than he had in days. Somewhere between action scenes, he drifted off to the tinny soundtrack and the sound of his brothers criticising the special effects.

“Johnny?” It was whispered “Johnny, you’ve got to move or you’ll end up with one hell of a neckache.”

A blink and he found himself looking at Virgil upside down. Wha-?

“C’mon, bro. Up you get.” And his brother was lifting him up. Another blink and he realised he was lying on one of the couches...almost upside down, his feet at an angle above his head with his head hanging off the seat cushion. He was far too long for the piece of furniture and, apparently, he had stretched in his sleep.

Virgil was shifting his shoulders into a more horizontal position. Beyond him, the holoprojector was listing all the languages the movie was available in, complete with appropriate copyright warnings. Idly he noted that the Hungarian translation had an error in the third line.

John let his feet drop to the end of the couch before folding up enough to force himself upright. Ugh, Virgil was right. His neck cricked and creaked along with his spine. God, gravity was a nasty piece of work. It had also apparently dribbled all the mucus in his body into his head. His skull protested at the pressure as he sat up and he groaned.

“John?”

Why did everyone think Scott was the worry wart of the family? Virgil with his medical radar was just as bad, if not worse. “I’m fine. Just a head full of snot.” Ugh. Right between his eyeballs, throbbing to the beat of his heart. “Just kill me now.”

Suddenly there was an orange cat in his face, staring.

“What? Bagel, not now.” He gently picked up the cat and put her on the couch beside him. Where the hell had she come from anyway?

A pitiful meow was her response and she edged nearer brushing her cheek against his arm.

Despite himself, he turned to her. “What’s wrong?”

She looked up at him with a combination of adoration and haughtiness. He had no idea what to make of that expression.

Of course, she was a cat. Who understood cats?

“Are you two having a moment?” His brother’s smiling baritone broke the silence and to John’s surprise, Bagel turned to Virgil and hissed angrily.

His big brother took a hurried step back.

“Bagel! Leave him alone! He will never hurt you. For goodness sake, Virgil wouldn’t hurt a fly. Give him some respect.”

To his complete surprise, Bagel stopped hissing immediately. She turned to him almost a question on her face before once again looking at Virgil. Her head dropped and stared at the floor.

“What the hell?” It was little more than breath and all his big brother. Virgil was staring at Bagel, his brow crumpling into a deep frown.

Bagel’s head shot up and once again she was staring at Virgil.

Virgil’s frown got even deeper.

“John where did you get this cat from?”

“I told you, I don’t know. I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

Virgil continued his staring contest with the cat.

“What is it?” His brother’s expression was becoming unnerving, so suddenly determined, it was almost fierce.

“I don’t know.” A pause. “Keep her out of sensitive areas for me, will you?”

“Sure.”

Bagel continued to stare at Virgil.

Virgil continued to stare at Bagel.

A solid moment passed and then his brother was shaking his head, looking at his feet, looking at John. “You good to make it up to your rooms?”

“Yeah.”

“I need to go hunt down Scott. One of the TI directors in the States forgot the time zones. He’s been on the phone for half an hour already.” Virgil sighed.

“Need backup?”

“No.” A hand dropped to John’s shoulder. “You go to bed, you need it. I’ve got this.” The hand disappeared and Virgil climbed out of the lounge, heading towards the balcony.

Bagel was licking her paw.

John sighed. Perhaps some paracetamol would help. “C’mon, Bagel, apparently, you’re with me.” He picked her up and held her against his chest as he staggered to his feet. Cursed gravity. How he missed being able to make the smallest movements and coast across a room.

Bagel reached her head up and snuggled under his chin, her purr vibrating his sternum.

“Why me?” It was little more than an exhaled breath and he wasn’t sure it was a complaint or an actual question.

In either case, Bagel didn’t answer. She just purred into his chest.

So, it remained a mystery for another night.

-o-o-o-

“It just appeared. No trace on sensors, nothing. It’s as if it didn’t exist before the day before yesterday.”

Virgil’s puzzled voice echoed up the stairs as John approached the kitchen the next morning. He glanced at his watch. This was early for his brother; he usually wasn’t up for another hour at least.

“I’m telling you, Scott, there is something very strange about that cat.”

John paused at the top of the stairs, his hands curled around Bagel, gently scratching her under the chin. He had awoken again with her on his chest, but unlike the previous two incidents, he had found himself surprisingly comforted with her presence.

Her purring was strangely calming.

“I will admit she is quite volatile.” Scott’s voice was surprisingly reluctant. “She didn’t even take to Gordon. Every living creature takes to Gordon. Except lizards, I guess. Hell, she doesn’t even like you.”

“That’s just it. She doesn’t act like a cat.”

“What, just because she doesn’t like you?”

“I’m sorry, Scott. Something just doesn’t feel right. Why is she so attached to John? What if she is a plant after our technology?”

“A tech seeking cat? Really?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time an animal has been used for espionage.”

Scott sighed and John shifted, attempting to loosen the tense muscles in his shoulders.

“It’s just that John appears to have latched onto Bagel as much as the cat has to him. How often does John attach to anybody?”

“And that’s what scares me the most. What happens when he returns to TB5? He can’t take a cat with him. It wouldn’t be safe for either of them.”

“Then we look after Bagel for him.”

It was Virgil’s turn to sigh and it was a worried one.

John chose that moment to make his entrance. He stepped lightly down the stairs. “You two really do worry far too much.”

Both brothers started as he entered. The guilty expressions on their faces were quite amusing.

“Virgil, if you are worried about Bagel, scan her.” John held the cat out to his brother. “Take her up to the infirmary and run her through a thorough physical. In fact, I would prefer if you did since as you said, I have become somewhat attached to her. As to what we are going to do when I return to Five...” He shrugged. “I hope we can work something out.”

Virgil managed to look both apologetic and sad.

To John’s astonishment, Bagel wriggled out of his grip and jumped down to the floor. She ambled over to Virgil. His brother froze, obviously wary, but the cat gently brushed up against his leg and rubbed the length of her body across his boots.

The whole room stared.

“Good morning, Bagel.” Virgil’s voice was a little breathless.

“Good morning, Virgil.” The whole room jumped as Brains jogged down the stairs and passing them, bee-lined for the fridge.

“‘Morning, Brains, John.” Gordon wandered in from the pool rubbing a towel through his hair. “Yaargh! What the hell, Virgil. You gone to the cat side?” He took several steps back as he caught sight of Bagel.

Bagel, still wrapped around Virgil’s ankles, turned towards Gordon and spat at him.

“That damn cat is possessed.” The aquanaut made sure the table was between him and the feline.

Bagel glared at him, following with her eyes.

“Eos, I know G-Gordon can b-be a challenge, b-but really, h-he is a good man.” Brains was pouring milk into his cereal on the bench.

“Yes, but he is so annoying.” The AI’s voice bounced across the house’s comm system.

“He st-still deserves r-respect.”

The comm system grunted.

Every eye in the room stared at the engineer.

Gordon found his voice first. “Wow, Brains, thanks.”

John was staring at Bagel. “Eos what do you know about Bagel?”

“Oh, John, everything.” The little imp was so smug.

Two strides and John was beside Virgil. Reaching down, he snagged Bagel off the floor and held her up, his eyes raking over the cat. A moment of intense examination. Bagel stared back at him calmly.

“Okay, how did you do it?”

“Do what, John?”

“Do not mess with me, Eos. I want answers and I want them now.”

“Hiram helped me.”

“Helped you do what?” Scott’s voice was sharp. “Brains?”

“It was a v-very interesting challenge.”

“What did you do, Brains?” Commander Tracy stood up from the table, his height saying everything it needed to.

Brains didn’t notice.

“Oh, Eos had an e-excellent idea to equip Thunderbird F-Five with an internal m-mobile probe mechanism.

“Yes, something that could get into the spaces John cannot.” Still smug. Oh, there would be some serious talking at a later time.

“So, you built a cat.” Virgil’s eyes were wide.

Brains sipped his orange juice, still seemingly unaware of the tension in the room. “She didn’t think I could. So, I did.” He was definitely pleased with himself.

“You built a cat?” Gordon was an echo of his brother. “That cat?” He stabbed a finger in Bagel’s direction.

“Yes?” Finally, the man appeared to realise that something was amiss. “I’m v-very happy with the r-results. It performs v-very well.”

It certainly did. John had her under his arm and found himself scratching her under her chin despite everything.

He forced himself to stop.

“John?”

“Yes, Eos?”

“Do you like her?” Suddenly he was a parent faced with his child’s school science project and the need for approval.

Some science project.

“I like her, Eos.”

“Can we keep her?”

“That is yet to be decided.” It came out firm. It needed to be firm...even though he already knew the answer.

“But-“

“Eos, why didn’t you tell us Bagel wasn’t really a cat?”

“But she is...”

“Eos.”

“John...”

“Eos!”

“I missed you.”

He froze. “I’m right here.”

“But it’s not the same.” That was a definite whine. “You’re not with me. It gets lonely up here without you. So, I built a way to be down there with you.” Bagel rubbed her cheek against his hand.

“Eos is in the cat?” Gordon’s jaw may as well have been on the floor. “She hates me that much?!”

“I don’t hate you, Gordon. You are quite funny. Somewhat clumsy, but funny.”

“Eos.”

“Yes, John?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

No answer.

“Brains, why didn’t you tell us?” Commander Tracy was glaring at the engineer.

“T-Tell you what?”

“About Eos and the cat.”

“That would have r-ruined the experiment.”

“What?”

“Eos w-wanted to see if the f-feline programming was sufficient. The b-best way to do that was test it.”

“On us?” Gordon spouted outrage.

“Surprisingly only V-Virgil appears to have b-been concerned. I w-would be interested to hear your evaluation.”

“Sure.” Virgil appeared to still be processing. Probably attempting to work out exactly how Brains had pulled it off.

“Brains, you, Eos, John and I are going to have a serious conversation.” Scott’s voice was stern. “This is not happening again. This family is not an experimental lab.”

“It was not his fault, Commander.”

Scott arched an eyebrow up at the ceiling. “Really, Eos? I have no doubt that John has a few choice words to be said on this matter.” Oh, yes, choice and many. “In the meantime, please cease the experiment.”

“But-“

“Eos.”

“Very well.”

The cat in John’s arms went completely limp.

He couldn’t help it; a gasp passed his lips and he caught the sudden dead weight with both hands. “Eos!”

All life had left Bagel. She became nothing more than a lifeless corpse. Something inside him lurched horribly.

Every eye in the room was staring at him.

“John?” Virgil’s eyes flashed concern.

He gathered up the cat in his arms and gently placed her on the seat of one of the kitchen chairs.

So real. He shivered.

“You okay?” His big brother was suddenly beside him.

“That was unnerving.” Both of them stared at the immobile TB5 internal remote probe mechanism.

“Eos, can you please reactivate Bagel.”

“Virgil-“

“No, Scott. Too creepy, too real. Please, just...leave her be.”

To John’s surprise, Scott didn’t protest.

But Bagel didn’t move.

“Eos?” His own voice sounded hollow in his ears.

“Yes, John?”

“Please reactivate Bagel.”

“Why?”

“Eos, just please.”

“Very well.”

And Bagel uncurled herself, sat up and glared at Scott. Before Eos could exact any form of petulant revenge, he grabbed Bagel off the chair and held her in his arms.

“Thank you, Eos.”

“You are very welcome.” Impertinent little brat.

“Now, I’m going to have breakfast, then we are going to have that conversation.”

“Yes, John.”

Something in the room snapped and suddenly everyone went back to their morning routine with only the occasional stare at the cat in his arms.

“Would you like some cereal, John?” Virgil was heading towards the fridge.

“You don’t have to get me breakfast, Virgil.”

“You have your hands full and I’ve already had mine.”

“How early were you up this morning?”

“Early enough. Your cat weirded me out.”

Bagel was rubbing her cheek against his fingers again. He grabbed a chair and sat himself down, placing Bagel on the chair beside him. She started grooming herself quite content.

A bowl was placed in front of him, followed by a cereal box, milk and another glass of orange juice.

Bagel stared up at him

He shook his head slowly. “What am I going to do with you?”

The cat tilted her head and licked her whiskers.

And he knew that somewhere far above the planet his daughter was laughing.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

 Prompt: Eos and Pet Cat.

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

Your blog is amazing, I've just spent several hours reading through everything you written. Could you write about John with epilepsy? My husband has it and it can super stressful to deal with

Jumping.

That’s what John called the phenomenon of absence seizures. While his brain paused, rendering him unconscious, the world kept going. When he came to just seconds later, people and things have moved considerably. Or jumped.

Like that time Freddie was laughing at a joke and then seconds later was halfway across the room, drinking water. Or the time Brian was discussing a song and seconds later, was quiet, looking at his fingernails.

Jumping or absence seizures weren’t so bad. John would freeze up for a few seconds but wake up and immediately recover, leaving him able to do pretty much anything he wanted to. Stairs were daunting when the episodes were frequent, but other than that, no big deal.

That was the part of his epilepsy he didn’t care too much for. Easy to handle, and most importantly, easy for others to handle. ‘Spacing out’ was of no concern to those around him. Just make sure John doesn’t fall over or slip if you notice he’s having an episode, but really, it’s a nonissue.

The issue was the type of seizures that popped into everyone’s mind when they saw the word Epilepsy.

John was proud to say his convulsive seizures happened far and few in between. Only in times of stress did he really have to worry about an episode.

And who knew being in an internationally famous band was stressful?

“That sounds hideous,” Roger said, voice rising in pitch as the tensions in the recording studio grew.

“Maybe to you, but that’s how I wrote it and it sounds nice,” Brian snapped, eyes narrowed at the drummer who sat tall on his stool.

“It could afford to be quieter,” Freddie threw into the debate, not necessarily wanting to get in the midst of a Roger-Brian spat. They were ugly.

“Oh fuck getting quiet. It’s atrocious and should be cut entirely! Have you all lost your bloody ears?” Roger erupted, throwing his drum sticks on the floor.

All the while, John was in a corner, not saying a single thing. He didn’t like fighting, really. Not unless he found it imperative. He preferred to let the others toss hands while he just watched. 

Today he was tired though. The whole entire session had been nothing more than petty fights and venomous quips, for hours. The sun had long since set and they’ve been at it since 12pm. Not only was he plagued with a significant annoyance, he was hungry as all hell.

If only the other 3 could just shut up and play whats on the paper, they could all be home now.

But nooo. Roger always has to say something and Brian has to be the ass he is and Freddie just revels in fanning the flames.

John rolled his eyes as they all started getting into it for what seemed like the 40th time. Bite your tongue, John....

Not today!

“Can you all please shut the hell up and either play what’s on the goddamn papers or can we all just go home already?” he exploded, not even realizing all those words had erupted from his mouth.

Everyone went wide eyed, a few mouths popping open into surprised ‘o’s. You’d think that would be enough to get them all to act like adults but John had unwittingly entered his name into the match.

“Oh, so then you agree the section is good, Deacy?” Brian was the first to pipe up, finding the outburst to be a point for his team.

“That is not what he meant and you know it, you bastard!” Roger yelled incredulously.

Most people would’ve ripped their hair out from the idiocy, but John was busy with the sudden feeling of his fingers breaking.

Every joint felt like it had snapped in a grotesque manner, a familiar and hot pain searing from his digits all the way into his core.  His stomach erupted in butterflies, the one you get not after a kiss but when your roller coaster is about to drop from it’s highest peak.

And then, John didn’t feel anything.

♚

“You two ne- oh shit!” Freddie yelped when they all heard a thump and the chaotic strumming of bass strings.

John was on the ground in a heap, body starting to shake. 

This wasn’t any of their first rodeos, so they knew the drill. Didn’t make it any less scary.

Before the seizing got bad, they took off his bass, putting it aside. Roger made busy work of clearing the area around John, whose eyes were rolled back, foam already frothing at the mouth.

Brian tasked himself with watching the clock. No more than 5 minutes, he reminded himself. If John seized for longer, they needed to call an ambulance. 

Freddie put a jacket under John’s head just in time for the thrashing to grow particularly violent. His limbs tightened and relaxed, flailed and flopped. His head wouldn’t stop jerking from side to side, his torso popping off the ground in a manner that looked painful.

Of course, it wasn’t painful. It was something that took a few episodes for them to solidify. John was completely unconscious and couldn’t feel a single thing. There was no need to try and comfort him during an active seizure. They’d only be putting him or themselves in danger.

It still was a hard thing to feel in their hearts, watching as his lips turned blue or he gasped for air. They all were just thankful he wasn’t awake to experience it.

It was only 2 minutes and 27 seconds exactly, according to Brian, when John finally stopped. He went limp like a ragdoll on the carpet and that’s when they all approached him.

Freddie mopped up the sweat and spit with a towel. Roger petted his hair, talking to John to get him to wake up and Brian was rubbing John’s knee.

John was always bad at waking up. He took an hour or more to have complete clarity. He’d be in a daze or state of confusion for so long, mumbling the whole time about needing sleep.

They all knew this naturally and just needed John to show that he was okay before he was allowed to sleep.

“Wake up sweet boy,” Roger cooed as the youngest murmured absolute nonsense. 

“Yes, wake up, sweetheart. You're safe and fine. Just wake up so we know you’re well, alright, Deacy?” Freddie said, now smoothing circles over John’s chest. 

It wasn’t 20 minutes before John said anything intelligible.

“Floor,” he slurred.

“You’re on the floor, John. You had a seizure. Are you with us?” Brian chimed in, a break from all the sweet talk to two mother hens were doing.

“Seizure?” John groaned. He still was far from being 100% conscious but he seemed to be coming around a lot faster than usual.

“Yes, mate. You had a seizure. Everything is alright though. Not even a bruise on you,” Roger answered, giving his cheeks some light smacks to see if that’d rouse him up faster.

“Sleep,” was John’s last words before the rotter fell asleep. 

♚

“Careful, Deacy, careful,” the other 3 said as they helped a considerably awake John to his feet.

His eyes were alert, looking around the room squinted, as if trying to piece together how he wound up convulsing on the floor.

Once stood up, John leaned against Freddie who had his arms wrapped around the bassist tightly. He let out a sigh and crinkled his nose, the post-seizure feel being just slightly better than having a full blown flu.

His head pounded. His muscles were sore and some pulled. His brain still felt wacky and all he wanted was to sleep for a week straight.

Freddie asked if he felt safe to go home or if he needed to go to hospital. No matter how miserable a seizure was, this was pretty normal in terms of an episode. So no doctors, just a king sized mattress, please.

Being the concerned friends they were, they all drove John home, led him into bed and tucked him in. It wasn’t necessary, but they stayed a few hours afterwards, making sure he was okay and didn’t seize again. Maybe concerned friends wasn’t the right word.

More like guilty.

They knew stress was John’s biggest trigger, but selfishly they had all bickered like children all day, even when it was apparent he was getting weary. And for what? For John to suffer.

They all came to that realization quietly, twiddling their thumbs and anxiously twirling their hair. 

When they all met up again at John’s house the next morning, that was the first thing out of their mouths. An apology.

John sat up in bed, craving at least another 24 hours more of sleep, but he listened, nodding every so often as his bandmates confessed their sins.

He put on one of his infamous Deacy smiles, lips tucked in and eye crinkles deep and said, “It’s alright, guys. I should’ve said something, y’know? It’s not your faults.”

Roger shook his head, a hand squeezing John’s shoulders. “Naw, it’s our faults too. We never wanna be the reason you drop like that again. We’ll promise to be more civil,” he said, blue eyes sad.

There was nothing for him to be mad about, but he accepted their apology, shrugging off last night’s fiasco. 

Well, almost.

“Now that I am saying things I feel, I do have something to tell you all. Brian, that section you want is horrid,”

“Oh go to hell, John,”