#like i get it shes literally on the brink of death shes tired shes sick. anyways fuck this

[ewwgene-fitzherbert]

there’ll be only one more chapter of shards.... dont touch me i WILL cry

[chaoticreation]

@sonofawinchester

I'm disabled and on a low income. Please help me save my feathered daughter. Linktree in bio #foryou #cockatiel #help #vetbill #emergency #birddad

♬ original sound - sonofawinchester

PLEASE READ AND MAKE THIS GO VIRAL. 

I know it's a long read, but it's so important, and I am LITERALLY BEGGING YOU FOR HELP! (And including the link to the original tiktok video because apparently tumblr doesn’t want to show it: https://www.tiktok.com/@sonofawinchester/video/7139692736252349739?is_copy_url=1&is_from_webapp=v1)

I have had nothing but hardships since June, and am on the brink of losing everything. Our well pump died suddenly, and I went two weeks without water, begging the local gov't to help, to no avail. Instead, I was met with ableist remarks. I was forced to turn to restaurants to eat once a day, and the nearby gas station to use the bathroom. None of which were in walking distance, which took a toll on my wallet between food and gas. Finally, we had to use the money we reserved for this year's taxes to pay for the replacement pump. While we now have water, we can't afford the taxes. That means we can lose our home. Taxes are due in October and December. September's already halfway through, and combined, they're over $5,500.

In July, my feathered son, Tazmania, got sick. I took him to vets, and he seemed to be recovering with some antibiotic injections. I had to postpone his follow-up appointment due to fraudulent charges on my credit card totaling over $300, which not only maxed it out, but also meant a freeze on it. But he seemed to be doing better, so I didn't think a week would hurt. Until it did. Just 2 days before the rescheduled follow-up, he presented as extremely ill.

August 3rd, he was real bad. But no avian vets had availability, and he wasn't stable enough for the 2 and a half hour drive to ER vets. So we stuck it out. I stayed up with him all night, and he fought hard to stay with me. August 4th, the local vets stabilized him for transport, and we went to ER vets. He was hospitalized and stabilized, tests were run, and he was eating again, though he was still too weak to be his chatty self. He was discharged on August 6th, with nearly $1,800 in vet bills on my care credit, which had a limit of $2,200. 

The first charge made to my newly replaced credit card was a cremation fee of over $200. (If you don't have anything nice to say, bite your tongue off, lest this happens to you. This boy means more to me than your useless opinions, and I'm tired of having to justify this charge. My other option was to keep him in the freezer until further notice, and avoid food because seeing him in there killed my appetite. So the other option was death by starvation.) The house is too quiet without his singing, and I feel empty, but I'm still fighting for Syd.

To be safe, I took his sister, Sydney, for a checkup on August 9th. The vets gave her a clean bill of health, but as soon as we got home, she acted like she was regurgitating. Rather than be helpful, this local vet refused to run tests, that are much cheaper for them to run than an ER vet to run. A few weeks later, Syd started presenting as ill as well, so I sought help from other local vets. This, in turn, has maxed out my care credit limit. That's right, we're past the $2,200 now!

Furthermore, I found out recently from my mom, that we owe the fuel company $900 for propane. If we don't pay this, we will not get a refuel, even if we have HEAP credits. You know what that means? No heat or hot water. My mom's still in a nursing home, and there's no telling if or when she's coming home. She's in 4th stage kidney disease. Thankfully, no heat or hot water won't affect her, but it WILL affect Syd and I (if, in fact, Syd survives.) The cold will kill her, and as someone suffering with Raynaud's, the cold is excruciating for me, in just the matter of seconds. Yes, seconds. Holding a cold drink for less than a minute brings tears to my eyes. No, there's no cure, and gloves only go so far. Within minutes, with gloves on, it's unbearable. Washing in ice cold water? It would feel like frostbite, and could take me a long time just to get feeling back to my fingers once I'm done washing.

At this current point (9/15/2022) Syd has a follow-up with her vet tomorrow. I don't have money for further testing, and care credit is maxed, so I can't even charge it to that. This means I have to refuse further testing if she needs it, which she most likely will, since tests have come back inconclusive. Can I afford $14 for another antibiotic injection? If I starve myself, yes. So I will allow myself to go hypoglycemic in order to give her her medicine. But I won't be much use to her, or anyone. I've been sacrificing myself for years. She's my daughter and she's worth it. I haven't eaten in days already. At this point, I'm lucky if I eat once a week, and it's not even a full meal because I simply no longer have strength or energy to cook, which doctors love to write off or plain out ignore. 

Syd's 11th birthday is September 18th, while Taz will forever be 10 years old. I can't even give her healthcare for her birthday, and it's killing me.

So now that I've explained what's been going on, let me explain something else. I am disabled. Permanently. (I'm currently in the process of fighting to keep my SSI, which is another long story.) I was disabled before I ever stood a chance, so I didn't "earn" the "rights" that you get with SSDI. So what this means is that I make less than $900 a month. In NYS, minimum wage is $15/hr. That means the average full-time worker earns $2,400 a month before taxes. Before this, minimum wage was $7.25/hr, leaving the average full-time worker with $1,1600 a month before taxes. Think about that for five seconds. If you're disabled, you get less than what minimum wage was in **2009**. In fact, the math adds up to roughly $5.55 an hour. You're talking income from **2005.** It's 2022! You're talking less than $900 a month in a state where rents start at $1,500, and gas costs about $70 per fill-up. Where car insurance is like $300, and there's no public transit, so your only choice is to own and drive a vehicle.

I rely on commissions for these kinds of emergencies, but let's face it, I'd need a LOT more commissions than I can ever take on. My commissions ARE open, but I'm slow. I'm struggling with my own health, my mom's health, and my daughter's health. I'm mourning the loss of my son, and if I don't get some SERIOUS financial help, I'll be mourning the loss of my daughter. I have three pending commissions as it is, and that money has already gone to gas or food.

I am losing all hope in any chance of survival for either of us. I can't pay these debts. I can't afford food. I can't afford vet bills for Syd. I can't afford fuel for heat or hot water. I can't afford taxes and can end up homeless. I haven't had time to look after my own health. Not only am I being punished for being disabled, but my daughter is, too. I lose sleep over this. Every moment I'm not distracted, I spend crying. I'm crying right now. It feels like all I do anymore is cry.

Please restore some hope. Please donate if you have the means. But no matter what, PLEASE MAKE THIS VIRAL! Look at this sweet little girl! Don't let her light go out like her brother's!

Here's a link to the gofundme I made in June to replace the well pump. It clearly hasn't worked out, but I don't have the energy to start ANOTHER one. So just... donate to this one, and help Syd and I survive. Especially Syd. I don't even give a shit about me anymore. I just don't want my baby girl to die.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-disabled-mother-and-son-avoid-homelessness

[tokoyamisstuff]

Dark Side Of The Moon Ch. 1 - Dark! Loki x Reader

Chapter 1: Speak to Me/Breathe

Chapter Summary: The last thing you remember was being mortally wounded, now having woken up in a completely different reality. And you’d soon need to face the horrors of who would seek you out...

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Suicide Attempt, Graphic Descriptions of Death, Dark! Loki, Spoiler you kinda die but kinda don't

Words: approx. 3800

[Story Masterlist]

Masterlist to my other works right ->Here<-

Lyrics used from the Song: Kina ft. Snow - Get You The Moon

“Y/N, look out!”

The piercing sounds of gunfire nearby made your eardrums ring, yet Steve’s words got through to you nonetheless.

But you were determined to end this, here and now.

Tony was the first one at your side, catching you in his arms before you hit the floor. However, you could only do so much as whimper a silent apology to your friends, who now had to live with the consequences of your actions.

“Why did you do this?!” you heared Dr. Strange yell as he unsucessfully tried to close the deep cut in your gut. Too afraid of what you might see if you’d look at the wound, your glare was locked on the beautiful sky - yes, the sun was almost setting, and it was somehow calming to you that this would most likely the last thing you’d set eyes upon.

“There was no reason to be this reckless!” Steve followed close by, his scolding soon turning into desperate screams. “Fuck. FUCK!” If Captain America himself is cussing, then it’s as severe as you thought it to be.

Your wounds were lethal, that much was sure.

And of course they were right, as always: You didn’t need to play the martyr here, throwing yourself into danger to shield your comrades - well, you did anyway, and there was no going back now.

On the other hand, they were the ones taking a gravely depressed widow onto a dangerous mission. But you did not want your precious friends to blame themselves for that, for it was your own wish.

Dying in an honorable battle was what would send you to Valhalla, after all - where you could finally meet him again, hopefully.

The only one not having spoken a single word up until now was Thor, very well knowing what all this was about. It was no secret that you were sick and tired of how your life had turned out to be, ever since the Infinity War.

You felt empty. Incomplete. Desperate. Hallow.

The God of Thunder had turned his back to you, yet there was still agony radiating from that already broken man. Your almost-brother-in-law was the only one who could possibly understand your pain. Thor Odinson had lost everything: His homeland, most of his tribe, his family and best friend - and soon, you as well.

All this time, you wanted to be strong. For them, who had also lost so much!

But at some point things just got out of control.

“You can’t leave me alone, Lady Y/N! Not you too!” Thor finally whimpered as he fell onto his knees, softly squeezing your hand. “You’re the only thing I have left from him!

So this is what dying feels like.

The bloodloss caused your limps to go limp, and when the pain began to stop and got replaced by numbness, you knew it would soon be time. Your brain lost the remaining control over your body, and you found yourself encoated by pure nothingless.

Only able to listen by their screams, cries and kind words - at least you’d die surrounded by those marvellous people. It sure was a privilege knowing them.

You weren’t afraid - all in all, it had been a good life, after all. 

There were no regrets.

“Shh” you hushed them, using your last bit of strenght so your lips formed somewhat of a most broken smile, forming words between gurling on your own blood.

“It’s alright, I-” you cut yourself off, trying to scream as a last, torturing pain shot through your whole system. “I-I-I’ll-- meet him again...you know?”

“I’m no-not strong enough, please...” Thor cried out like you had never seen him before, feeling a tide of guilt wash over you. “Loki wouldn’t have wanted you to go like this! He told me to protect you, so you could lead a long and happy life!”

Without him? Impossible!

“You gave me a shoulder when I needed it

You showed me love when I wasn’t feeling it

You helped me fight when I was giving in

And you made me laugh when I was losing it”

Yes, indeed: You had been to selfish to keep on living just for the sake of your friends, burdening them with yet another loss.

“I-I don’t wanna go...this was a mistake, I- please...”

How badly did you want to soothe them right now, telling them that everything would be alright and you’d meet them again, eventually?

It was too late now.

Your body gave up earlier than your soul, which had endured and kept on all this time, even in it’s shattered state.

And when Tony’s palm gently closed your eyes, making it easier for you to embrace the cold darkness, the last thing you heared before your senses gave up were startling you enough to almost bring you back to life:

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

That voice was familiar, yet it didn’t belong to Loki. Dr. Strange, no- Stephen Strange, your friend and mentor of the mystic arts.

“I don’t have the heart to allow this to happen” he stated frantic, making you wonder if that was a dream of your hypoxic brain or if you were still able to hear them? People tend to say the sense of hearing dies last, after all. “She still has a pulse, even though weak. Hurry!”

Their voices were far in the back, words way too far out of your reach to understand. As if you were an outsider, only observing from a distance.

Your friends were fighting, or maybe discussing something. That much you could make up from their tone, but your mind was too exhausted to make sense of anything.

It felt as if you were already without a body, floating through the unknown like a feather in the wind - not knowing where fate would lead you to next.

Everything was numb - even your pain. It was soothing, somehow.

Because you had been a ghost way before, when you were alive even. An empty shell of a human, acting like they weren’t dead on the inside.

Coherent thoughts, memories, emotions...even the fractions of your own past you had both collected and surpressed. Right now, they were all restrained and pushed far in the back of your very core, where you were finally able to evaluate them without earthly bondings.

Was this heaven, hell - or maybe both or none or them?

____

"Be aware of the limits this tactic has. It’s a very drastic measurement that can most likely be used only once in your lifetime, and it is not guaranteed to work either.”

Stephen’s voice again. You recall that scene, it’s been long in the past...but why are you remembering it now?

Yes, this was familiar. All of you had been invited to the Sanctum Sanctorum, a fitting place to teach about this ancient knowledge.

You clearly remembered that Loki was absent in any of the Doctor’s lessons, feeling that a “puny human” was “unworthy” to teach him, and “it would be nothing new anyway, Y/N, I am a god and the way better wizard, I know it all already.”

What he was about to tell you back then was some kind of crazy emergency-plan: Dangerous, unpredictable and escpecially untested.

“I’ve only read about this tactic up until now” the mage pondered loudly as he picked at his goatee, earning some childish giggles by you and Tony. “So I cannot promise that it will function as planned. The Multiverse is dangerous and acts in unforseen ways.”

“Very reassuring” you had mocked at the time, not really biding the topic any importance or thought ever again.

But now...

The trick sounded way simpler than it actually was, being as complex as it is only natural for something like that, costing a huge prize at that:

Dr. Strange would send any of you who were on the brink of death through a portal, thus leading you into a random dimension of this endless Multiverse.

That dimension, in which your alternate self has most likely died, will gladly accept you as a “replacement”. Some kind of what Peter Parker called a “glitch” will occur, instantly healing all of your wounds - even fatal ones, so you could remain in the timeline that was missing you. 

Yet the consequences of this maneuvre would be unspeakable.

_____

“That bastard...” you gnarled internally, finally realizing why you would remember this of all things after apparently having just taken your dying breath. “He didn’t just-”

Eventually, you realized having escaped death’s grip, slowly beginning to regain your senses - yet still refusing to open your eyes.

“I don’t want to leave this place. My friends -- will I never see them again? No. NO! Life is meaningless. Just let me be with him. Please! Loki...”

“’Cause you are, you are

The reason why I’m still hanging on

‘Cause you are, you are

The reason why my head is still above water

And if I could I’d get you the moon

And give it to you

And if death was coming for you

I’d give my life for you”

Another part of Strange’s lesson echoed in your head, revealing that you were now in fact up on your own.

“Not even I can tell just how much this timeline will differ from what you know. Of course I will search for you right away, but considering the countless possibilities, it might very well be that we’ll never meet again. But you’re alive, and hopefully safe. That’s all that counts.”

Grass tickled your palm as you twitched your fingers, testing the limits of your body, which had literally just tricked death. Suddenly, you felt a stinging pain, almost like lightning boring into your temportal. The origin of this pain remained unknown.

When you finally found the courage to sit up, your flesh still feeling as heavy as lead, you realized that Stephen was most likely wrong: He assumed that you’d find yourself in a place you had a deep connection with, yet that place was unrecognizable to you.

Then why were you here of all places?

Actually, this location was incredibly beautiful, managing to stop the aching in your heart, if only for the fraction of a second.

Your former lover would’ve loved this place.

“'Cause you are, you are

The reason why I’m still hanging on

'Cause you are, you are

The reason why my head is still above water

And if I could I’d get you the moon

And give it to you

And if death was coming for you

I’d give my life for you”

Even though not all of Dr. Strange’s speculations were correct, you decided to stick to his emergency plan: Find as much information about this “new” earth as possible, point out the differences to your initial one, and then contact the Dr. Strange of this dimension.

Two mages working on crossing each other’s path would at least higher the stakes to find your original timeline.

Well, no one could guarantee you that the Avenger’s existed on this timeline, and they could as well be evil in this one...what a weird and horrifying imagination.

Knowledge really was power - that was another thing Loki had taught you a long time ago, and it would prove valuable, especially in this situation.

As you wandered this surprisingly extensive garden and getting lost in admiring the beauty of it’s nature, you found yourself devoid of any weapons. That fact made you slightly uncomfortable, even though your current location seemed absent of any ememies, making a peaceful impression. 

Seemingly there weren’t any evil schemes going on in this dimension.

It basically were only minor differences, at least that was your first impression. At least there were no changes in natural laws or something as big.

“I miss the days where magic and science didn’t mix up like this” you whispered, mainly to yourself as you examined the new, large scar on your abdomen - the only memory left of your “almost-suicide-mission”.

To be more precize: The only thing left from your former life, now leaving you able to start completely anew, wether you wanted it or not.

Sun had almost drowned behind the horizon, diving the sky in a deep orange. Your eyes were still adjusting, yet you could’ve sworn to see the silhouette of a person. It was far away, at the entrance on what appeared to be a palace belonging to this garden.

Apparently, you had invaded someone’s propery, and you could only pray that it was noone important - or worse, a owner who would defend their ground with violence.

You don’t think your earth had a place this...flashy. The castle was way bigger than any you knew on the other timeline. The first difference you had figured out, yet it was only a minor one.

Maybe the headache you were experiencing was from someone making you  out as an intruder?

One thing was sure: You had been noticed, and you immediately were on high alert.

Where to run to or at least hide?

There was a maze made out of bushed parting you and the palace, and since there was no better option, you’d enter it. Talking to that person and convincing them of your goodwill would make it way easier to gain information.

“You may come out” you declared as you made your way, unable to evaluate the situation properly. “I mean no harm. I’m just lost.”

Was it dangerous to be here? Obviously, you were not allowed to be here anyway.

However, when you had finally found the escape to that maze, only several hundret meters away from the building, the person was already gone.

Had your mind just played a dirty trick on you again? Wouldn’t be the firt time it’d betray you like this...

No. You clearly felt someone watching you.

And as soon as your senses had sharpened to your usual self again, you instantly jumped back, gaining some distance to the Citauri that had just appeared behing you.

Shit! You weren’t ready to fight again just yet. Not like this.

And where one of those vile beasts were, many others would appear. You knew that much.

Had Thanos invaded this earth? Oh god, not again...not him. You were so damn tired of those fights, escapes and especially the pain that always inevitable followed after.

Just when it was about to swing it’s weapon at your head, you felt dizziness crawl up your nerves, making you collapse on the floor. Lucky for you, because only like that, the stike didn’t hit you.

Even though having been taught basic magic skills, that certain kind of spell you were unable to fight against - only true masters of the art were able to perform a sorcery that well.

The Chitauri had left your line of sight, yet the other figure from before reappeared in a pace so fast that your eyes couldn’t follow. They sweeped you off the floor just before your head would meet the hard pavement.

“And now you will answer to me, shapeshifter.”

Once again someone robbed you of the control of your life and body, leaving you without a free will.

How long had you been passed out now? You didn’t know and honestly didn’t care either - since you had nothing to lose anymore.

In the meantime, the owner of those lands had dismissed his guards, not wanting to be disturbed as he was left alone with you in the giant throne room.

The apparent ruler of that unclassified location was sitting on his throne, warily observing you from above. You were lying to his feet at the bare floor, every piece of clothing robbed from you and restrained by a pile of chains. He watched every twitch, all breaths you’d take or groans escaping your mouth until you would finally awake.

Oh, how you really were just like he remembered you, with every little detail he had adored.

At long last, you would finally open your lids again, blinking heavily as you took in your surroundings - but when your eyes met certain emerald ones, they immediately sprung wide open, the emptiness in your heart being filled with all kinds of emotions once again.

The man - it was him!

“'Cause you are, you are

Oh, you are

Oh, you are

You are'Cause you are, you are

The reason why I’m still hanging on

'Cause you are, you are

The reason why my head is still above water

And if I could I’d get you the moon

And give it to you”

“Loki!” you screamed from the bottom of your heart. Without a single coherent thought, your legs would carry on their own as your weakened body stumbled in their attempt to climb those stairs.

For both of you, that momend of reuinion had waited far too long.

The god was temptated to approach you, his trembling hands already reaching out to catch your fragile body should you fall - but suddenly, you felt his knuckles digging into your cheekbone.

“Stay away from me, you fake!” Loki yelled furiously as you hit the ground, rubbing your cheek as you tried to understand what just happened.

Yeah, that sure brought you back to reality again, after such a short high.

Right.

That isn’t your Earth - and not your Loki either.

You couldn’t even be sure this world’s Y/N and Loki had the same kind of relationship the two of you had back in your timeline! The only thing you knew was that he knew you from his past, but as it seemed not pleasantly.

Now that you looked closely, he even had less scars, almost looking untouched and pure - like a true, invincible god. Maybe life here had treat him well, unlike his counterpart from your timeline.

He was still wearing that excessive outfit with the golden horns, and much to both your amazement and fear, it seemed that he still possessed theTesseract.

Could it be...

Before you could connect the dots, the king would soon interrupt your string of thoughts. “Drop that disguise, scum!”

Loki kept on degrading you as he paced in front of his throne, brow sinking deeper and deeper. “Don’t think you can somehow appeal to those pathetic sentiments” he explained, “I’ve freed myself from them long ago. Just stop making a fool out of yourself, and maybe I’ll reward it with a quicker death.”

Yet when he saw your most innocent smile, even this Loki would stand frozen in place, deeply in shock.

How he yearned to see it, all those years - to tell you just how sorry he was for everthing he’s done.

No.

He had left all of this behind - to claim his birthright and rule.

“I-I’m deeply so-sorry...that is a mistake” you whimmered with a broken voice, wiping a tear of joy out of your face. “My feelings overwhelmed me, I guess. I’ve never thought to see you again, even if you’re not the same Loki I know.”

Still cowering on the floor, you looked up to him with compassionate eyes, as if he had not just beat you before. You did not dare to make any more, wanting for Loki to try and understand himself.

“A variant?” he gnarled, just like you did when he realized.

No force in the world had allowed him to access other parts of the Multiverse, no matter how desperately he tried - and now fate had literally dropped you in front of his door.

Loki balled his fists in anger, making you flinch as you anticipated yet another blow.

“Dear, I-”

“Shut up!” the God of Mischief shoutet, causing his magic to break free. The walls of the palace were shaking, most windows and furniture having been destroyed. “It’s no use, woman!”

That man was way more powerful than the “puny god” people called names back on Asgard - and his sheer might made you quiver.

Just what kind of monster had he become, and why?

“L-Loki, please...” you tried to appeal to the last bit of humanity  he might possess, and your begging made his guts twist in agony. “You’re scaring me.”

“You better be scared!” he exclaimed, grabbing you by the chin and forcing you to look at him. “No matter what disgracefully weak “alter ego” of me you knew, I am built different. Stronger. Better. Everyone in the Nine Realms fears me, and I desire nothing else! Everything distracting me from fulfilling my destiny and reign over you dull creatures I got rid of. You’re nothing more than an insect I might as well crush right here and now!”

Choking on a sob, he tried to relish that last chance he got to admire you, smell you, touch what he cannot possess...no matter how many universes there may be.

A flood of tears cracked down your face at his words, yet you couldn’t be helped.

No matter what he would say - he looked just like him.

And that was enough for you to feel alive after such a long time of being a walking dead. There had to be a reason you landed right at his home, of all places in this universe. You had a connection, both of you felt it ever since you had been transported here.

"May I ask-” you disrupted yourself, awaiting some reaction. But the conqueror had seemed to have spoken what he thought important to say, not declining your question at all.

Whenever he seemed fit, he could disintegrate you - yet right now, this situation was way too intriguing.

“What happened to myself in this reality?”

Loki swallowed harshly, letting go off of you as he threw you down the stairs. He wouldn’t even bide you one look as he tried to surpress the turmoil of emotion still running through his veins, desperately keeping it from breaking free.

The outcome would always be the same: Suffering, for both of you.

“And if death was coming for you

I’d give my life for you.”

He only ever wanted it to stop hurting. To become unfeeling, since love had always been poisoning his mind, sometimes being gifted with it even though he knew he would never be worthy of anything else than disgust and hate.

And that contradiction caused him to throw away anything good that happened to him, through you. Let it be taken away from him just shortly after finally learning to remotely enjoy.

You deserved the truth, a reason to hate him even more than you probably already did.

Had you only come to his salvation earlier, then he might have been helped - yet now, he was beyond redemption. Broken. Sick. Dangerous.

And when the Chitauri dragged you away, his last words let your blood run cold:

“She died through my hands.”

_____

If you want to get on the taglist (or deleted from lmao) feel free to ask! ♡

Feedback is always appreciated!

[lilliagradiewrites]

evermore (jj maybank)

Summary: Y/N is in a depressive state, but refuses to tell her boyfriend. After she walks out on a party, JJ realizes that something is off, and rushes to comfort her.

*based off of the song “evermore” from Taylor Swift’s new album!!

WC: 2.2k

WARNINGS: Mentions of depression/ symptoms of depression, mentions of anxiety & panic attacks, mentions of suicide/ death. (The reader is at a very low point during this. Please proceed with caution of mentions of depression triggers you.)

A/N: Hey my lovelies! I have a new piece for you. This is a one- shot, and is on the shorter side. If you don’t know, Taylor Swift released a new album on the 11th. I have been so obsessed with it, and one of my favorites from the record is the title track “evermore.” I knew i had to write something based off of that song! This is inspired by that song, and I encourage you to listen to it while you read.

Much love to you all, and happy holidays! I hope you enjoy!!

LET’S DO IT!

~~~~~~

The night was cold as you walked quietly down the street, the old cardigan your best friend gave you wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You weren’t dressed for the mid-october weather, your shorts and tank tops providing little warmth on your shivering body. As much as you hated the cold, it felt good to feel something again.

November was approaching quickly, and as you walked down the street that cold october night, you realized that you hadn’t had a true spark of happiness since that July. Of course, there were moments of joy, but it was never consistent, and lasted a day at the most.

You couldn’t seem to pinpoint the exact moment where everything went wrong, no matter how many times you’d tried. Countless times, you’d retraced your footsteps to find the moment your despair began. Unfortunately, this only resulted in distant memories from better times becoming fresh in your mind, pushing you deeper into the dark hole you were trapped in.

For a while, no one noticed a difference. Your group of friends, whom you adored, didn’t bat an eye when you left a party early because you were ‘tired’ or ‘not in the mood’, despite the fact that you loved parties. It hurt a little that they didn’t see a problem, and that only made the problem worse.

The first person to notice was JJ, your loving boyfriend. The blonde boy was the light of your life, but as your own issues began to overtake you, you found yourself pushing him away unintentionally. He would send texts, asking you to come over and see him. He'd invite you to come out to dinner with the pogues at The Wreck. He’d beg for your permission to show up at your house because he missed you so damn much.

Time after time, you replied with perfectly crafted excuses that left him concerned, but with no questions. That’s all you needed to accomplish, really. If he didn’t ask any questions, then you’d be fine.

The routine was working out pretty well for you in the beginning. JJ and the rest of the group would accept your excuses and go along with what you told them, even if they found it slightly suspicious.

But, after a while, your constant absence finally hit them. It was concerning, especially when it came to someone like you. Your parents weren’t strict, so it wasn’t an obedience thing. You loved parties, and were quite social, so it wasn’t a social anxiety thing. They wondered at their hangouts what could be wrong, but none of them could come up with a viable explanation.

Texts from your friends were lighting up your phone at a constant rate, but you trained yourself to ignore them. Your mind had convinced you that all of them hated you, and were only messaging you as a joke, or because they felt bad.

Though your brain tried to tell itself that JJ didn’t love you either, you were fighting hard against that idea. Even the slightest notion of your boyfriend no longer being interested in you broke you down into tears, so you tried to allow the thought to cross your mind as little as possible.

He texted you every day, asking if you were okay and trying to make plans. He texted you good morning, and goodnight, as well as a few other times throughout the day. He was a wonderful boyfriend, and you appreciated him, but you didn’t have the energy to show him the attention he deserved. You texted back for a while, but eventually gave up, leaving him on read almost every single time.

For the last few weeks, JJ had been broken up with worry. He worried that you were mad at him, that you hated him. He worried that you were leaving him. So, he showed up at your house.

As soon as he walked in your room, he could tell that something was incredibly off. You were normally a somewhat neat person, but your room was in complete disarray. Clothes littered the floor, empty plates and half-eaten bags of chips tossed absentmindedly to various locations.

And you. You looked like you hadn’t changed or bathed in weeks. Your hair was messy, and your face looked as if you’d been crying for years.

When you saw his face, your mask slipped on without a second thought.

“JJ! Hi, babes!”

“Hi, angel.” He replied, concern evident in his voice as he spoke. “I haven’t really seen you in forever. Are you okay?”

You nodded immediately, concealing your true feelings. “I’m okay. I’ve been taking up extra shifts at work because I need money for college soon. I’m trying to save up early. I’ve been so busy and exhausted, I just haven’t had the time or energy to see anybody.”

Lie. You got fired from your job a month ago because you called out ‘sick’ too many times.

JJ was still suspicious, but went accepted your story just as he had many times before.

“Alright, babe. I just miss you a lot. Take a break soon. Are you working tonight?”

“No.” You couldn’t bring yourself to lie to him again.

“Well, then, you’re coming to hang out.”

You shook your head quickly, pulling your hands away from his. “No thanks, JJ. I had a late shift last night and I’m exhausted. Plus, I have an early shift tomorrow morning, and I refuse to go in hungover.”

JJ took your hands back into his, meeting your eyes. “You don’t have to stay late, and you don’t have to drink. Just come for a little bit. Like, literally for an hour. We all just miss you so much.”

When he was looking into your eyes like that, you couldn’t help but say yes. Though you knew you’d come to regret it, the smile on his face after you agreed made it all seem worth it at the time.

“Yes! Okay, my love, I have to go deliver some stuff for Pope’s dad. The party starts at ten, so I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty.”

You didn’t say anything, simply nodding to indicate that you’d heard him and understood what he said.

“Bye, baby. I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” It was barely a whisper, but it seemed to be enough for JJ. He gave you one final wave before exiting your bedroom and closing the door in his wake.

When he had gone, your anxiety began to cover you. You had come to hate gatherings and parties, despite the fact that they used to be your main source of happiness and excitement. How were you going to make it through this party?

Sighing, you turned to your bedside table, moving around empty cups to peer at the time on your alarm clock. It was hard to read due to the tears in your eyes blurring your vision slightly. After a moment, you were able to decipher the numbers on the screen. 8:06 PM. You had approximately an hour and half to get ready before your boyfriend would be there to pick you up.

The first half hour, you decided, would be used for praying you were able to make it through this night.

---

About 70 minutes after your boyfriend’s visit, the clock on your bedside table read 9:12 PM. You sat at your vanity, brushing on small amounts of makeup. You didn’t want anything too crazy like you used to do; it just didn’t feel right anymore.

The same thing applied to your outfit. After almost an hour of trying things on, you went for something simple. A sage green tank top, your favorite blue jean shorts, and a basic oversized white cardigan kie had given you. The outfit was basic, but cute nonetheless. You completed the look with your pair of slip-on vans that were so beat up they could barely be classified as white anymore.

Your hair, which you normally would curl or style for parties, had been brushed through and left down. That was all you had the energy for. The party hadn’t even started yet, and you were already exhausted.

At least you had showered. It had been over a week since you last bathed, and this party gave you incentive to take care of yourself. That’s the only thing you were grateful for when it came to this party.

As you finished getting ready, you promised yourself that you would try your best to enjoy the night.

JJ had come to pick you up as he told you he would, at nine-thirty on the dot. He was always careful to be very punctual when it comes to you. He said you looked pretty when you got in his car, and the small compliment warmed your heart significantly.

The party was smaller than your normal ones. The pogues were all there, and they were all happy to finally see you again. You greeted them kindly and took your seat beside JJ, wanting to make the night go by as quickly as possible. You had hardly even arrived and you were already anxious.

As the night went by, your anxiety only got worse. You began to zone out, not paying attention to the conversation. You snapped back to reality when the whole group laughed at some joke someone told, and you just chuckled nervously along, hoping nobody noticed you weren’t being attentive.

A few hours went by, slowly but surely, and you decided that you had to be done for the night. You had been on the brink of a panic attack for the last hour, and it was getting harder to fight it off.

“Alright, guys, I’m tired. I’m probably gonna head home. I’ll see y’all later.” You announced, standing up from your seat. Immediately, JJ stood up with you, leaning into your ear.

“I’m too drunk to drive, babe. Do you think you can wait a little longer for me to sober up?”

You shook your head lightly, pushing him away. “No, it’s ok, babes. I’m just gonna walk. I don’t want to pull you away from the party anyways.”

A look of concern took over the blonde’s face. “I don’t like that. You can’t walk by yourself at night, it’s not safe.”

“I’ll be fine, J.” You assured him. “I live, like, a five minute walk away from here. We’re super close to my house. It’ll be okay.”

JJ continued to insist that you wait, but you insisted on leaving. You reassured him multiple times that you’d be alright, kissed him, grabbed your cardigan and left.

That’s how you ended up in your current position, sobbing into your cardigan sleeve as the night grew colder and colder. You were still walking along the road to your house.

You hadn’t realized how cold it was when you left. Maybe it’s because you;d been sitting up against JJ, his body heat mixing with yours to help keep the both of you warm. Now, you were all alone, with nothing but your thin cardigan to protect you from the chill of october night.

As you walked, and cried, you wondered what it would be like to just stop breathing.

Your thoughts were halted by the sound of footsteps pounding the pavement behind you. Immediately, you tensed up, suddenly scared. Who was running on the streets late at night, besides her? Who had a reason, other than kidnapping or killing someone?

You turned slowly around, and your body relaxed as you realized you recognized the person barreling towards you.

A familiar blonde boy was running in your direction, seemingly desperate to catch up with you. You stopped walking, giving him time to meet you.

“JJ?” You were talking as soon as he was close enough to hear. “What are you doing, babe? You’re supposed to be at the party.”

“I’m walking you home. I’ll go back once I know you’re safe.” He explained. He looked almost triumphant at the fact that he’d caught up with you, but his expression changed to one of concern after he got a good look at your face.

“Y/N… have you been crying?”

You shook your head, almost in instinct, but he saw right through you.

“Yes, you have. Baby, what’s wrong? Did one of us say something? What happened?”

As you looked in his eyes, those beautiful blue orbs as rocky and deep as the ocean, you felt your mask begin to slip.

“I’m not okay, J. I haven’t been for a long time.” Your voice cracked as you spoke, and the tears came almost immediately after you’d finished.

JJ took you into his arms and held you close, and for a moment, the two of you just stood there on the side of the road.

JJ let you sob for a little while, just holding you and murmuring sweet words to you. Eventually, he pulled away and looked directly into your eyes.

“I’m here for you, okay? We’ll get through this, my love. I don’t know exactly what’s going on yet, but we’ll figure it out. Together. I promise. I love you so much, Y/N. So fucking much.”

He pulled you back into his chest, and in that moment, it dawned on you.

This wasn’t the end. This pain wouldn’t last for evermore. It would pass, and JJ would be there with you when it did.

So, for the first time in a while, you finally felt okay.

~~~~

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs are super helpful and super appreciated. LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!

Happy holidays! - Lillia

[theromanticrationalist]

For All Mankind's season 2 finale was just incredible. In many ways, I have been really impressed by this show and how they have been able to incorporate space exploration into the intimate threads of human history. The Moon, space, leaving the confines of the Earth's atmosphere, exploring the great beyond - all become catalysts for each of the individual characters - representing each of their own struggles. Because, as I believe, reaching out towards the stars ultimately becomes about reaching within the human soul - looking outward, is looking inward, and vice versa. The two are inexplicably entwined, and this show does a pretty good job at showing this.

More fan girl thoughts below the cut. . .

- Gordo & Tracy Stevens

I feel like this is best exemplified in Gordo and Tracy's story. I don't have time to outline it all at the moment, but the Moon becomes the stage upon which their hearts are made bare. It is so rare to see a redemption story, and a redemption story of a marriage no less, showcased with such power. I will forever be blown away by this story. *lays down* - *cries* - *cries a lot*

- Margo & Sergei

UH ... YES PLEASE.

A forbidden Soviet Era romance??? Yes yes yes yes yes. I need this! THANK YOU FOR ALL MANKIND. The both of them are my absolute favorite! Just. Everything about them. How they are the same and how they are able to communicate almost as if they are reading each other's minds, and the way Sergei looks at her, and the way Margo blushes and can't even look at him in the eyes, and just . . . *incoherent fangirl screeching*

I really feel like Margo knows the door that she opened. I hope the writers don't make her dumb in the next season - just some love struck nerd girl. Margo is naïve and lost in her own world sometimes, but she isn't stupid. I feel like after Sergei's call, she was realizing the full ramifications of what she had done and what this could mean for her and Sergei's complicated relationship. (Not to mention her standing with her own government and country!)

So, you know what I want to see?? I want to see Margo and Sergei play the most expertly played game of espionage ever orchestrated! I want to see them give false information to one another, and they'll personally always get offended by it even though they both know this isn't personal at all - they'll twist and turn words, double - triple! - meanings - are they enemies? Are they friends? Are they lovers? Do they even know? Maybe! Maybe not! How can they hope to be anything more when they are serving countries that are always on the brink of World War III? And yet!!!

And always Sergei will have stars in his eyes when he looks at her, whenever she does something impossibly clever, and Margo will always wear his favorite color and be speechless around him whenever he is trying to be charming.

I LOVE THEM. FOR ALL MANKIND YOU GAVE THIS TO ME NOW DON'T RUIN IT FOR ME

And let me just say that once again Margot is basically just me. OF COURSE she would fall for the enemy! Totally on brand. I get you, girl! I get you so hard!

<holding up my fingers like the Ben Wyatt meme> It's about the "it's complicated..."

- Danielle Poole

QUEEN. MY QUEEN. I knew she would come through and pull off the Soyuz mission with flying colors! And Danielle & Stepan have my heart! I knew Stepan wouldn't be able to resist her in the end, and that he would have his little Soviet heart melted in no time! 🥰🥰🥰 That whole moment of them defying their governments and choosing peace and brotherhood was just so beautiful. (I was pretty much an emotional mess the entire finale...) Then the gut punching realization that many American's didn't even get to see the historical moment live on TV because they were in the Fall Out shelters. Uuuuuugh. This show is SO good at building the emotional drama of this unfolding history. It feels so real! But it also feels very much like it could part of the Star Trek universe. They are exploring similar utopian and humanistic themes, and so I think I am going to make it my headcanon that our alternate history is part of the Prime timeline. It's official. I have declared it.

Speaking of Star Trek, though, I was tearing up when Danielle was quoting Star Trek. OF COURSE she is a Trekkie - OF COURSE. She is perfect without flaw. The most precious angel! I just wish she had more screen time this season, but I loved her story this season regardless!

- Thomas Paine

I never got to properly mourn the passing of Paine! I was pretty upset that he died, and just when he was becoming such an awesome character! (HE LOVED SPACE THE ENTIRE TIME OMG MY HEART.) However, I realized he was like the Agent Coulson of this show. That awesome side character with an unusual and unexpected quirky personality whose death becomes a catalyst for the bigger picture! Ellen is doing an incredible job within his place, though, and I love what it is building for her character (even if her story is SO SAD). At any rate, Thomas Paine shall be missed!

- Molly Cobb

Molly Cobb is BOSS. Her heroic moment on the Moon was such an amazing highlight for this season for me. But I am loving how they have taken her character in an unexpected direction, down a harder and more humbling road. It is heartbreaking, but such a deeply human story. Her taking her plane and trying to escape from the Earth's atmosphere was like the most DRAMATIC AF moment (omg this show), but also, I felt that too. I also loved her and Wayne's struggle through what Molly is having to face. They're marriage is so strong - perfectly challenging one another and carrying one another through life. I love them! This is going to be painful watching what Molly will have to go through, though.

- Karen

I do want to say a few more words about this whole debacle. The fact that the writers completely obliterated the Baldwin family is something I will not forgive them for, and it was very poor choice on their part, most especially how it came about. To me, the Baldwins have always been the anchor point of the show, but now they are all just kind of pathetic, as the trust in their marriage is broken (for no reason) and all so that Karen can go "find herself".

Now, it has always been a part of Karen's character arc that she needs to find her own identity. She gave herself to her family, putting herself last, and that isn't a good thing. Although we should be reminded that a woman serving her family as a wife and mother is NOT shameful, and so there was literally no reason for the writers to deconstruct this when it was actually a beautiful thing. Things aren't black and white. Karen can be both proud as a dutiful wife and mother AND have existential dread over her own identity as person. BOTH realities can be true and exist together! You don't need to destroy the one to have the other! It's called N U A N C E. Something American tv writers utterly lack in their writing now a days.

Regardless of all this, though, and the disturbing, messed up nature of Karen's affair with Danny - I am sick and tired of how often shows and movies depict a woman's exploration of identity through her sexuality. I find it to be really offensive. As if liberating a woman's spirit means turning her into a horny sex fiend. Sexuality is but one dimension of a woman's identity, one dimension amongst a thousand. To reduce her down to this basic and crude physical dimension, as if somehow sleeping around, having affairs, masturbating, etc, unlocks her deeper self, is really insulting to women as human beings. Being an independent, confident woman comes from a deeper place of the mind, heart, and spirit that embodies her entire person as a holistic being. We are more than the sum of our parts! Please, writers, for the love of God, stop making us into rutting animals!

Suggestion: American writers, creators, directors, just go read Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. She'll wipe the floor with your pitiful displays of female independence. I have never seen any modern writer even come close to what Bronte was able to to achieve with her masterpiece. She was able to truly showcase the power, dignity, and grace of a woman's spirit flawlessly - showing how freedom and independence does not mean free to do whatever you want with whomever you want defying all traditions, religion, expectations, and principles - but is a state and quality of mind, that even in the most dire and unbearable of circumstances, your spirit remains immutable. A woman's strength is compassion in the face of adversity, serenity in the face of devastation, and strength in the face of oppression. THAT is true womanhood.

[chilvanakin]

If I had to remember how it started, I would have to replay the flashback of being told that when I became obese at 15, that I couldn’t “come crying”. I was 8 when my dad told me this. Afterwards, I had this increasing feeling of being in the wrong body, like I had been misplaced at birth and was suddenly realizing it. I looked around at everyone else, having fun and enjoying their childhood while I compared me to them. I compared me to my best friend who I often I asked, “why can’t I look like you?”

I felt misplaced in a body that was my own, always had been, because someone else told me I was. How do you teach an 8 year old to go on a diet? I loved food, I was a picky eater but aren’t we all at that age? So how do you tell them that they need to change and that they don’t look pretty enough without traumatizing them? My dad now reafirms that he only said that to me because he wanted me to have high self esteem. He wanted me to “take care of myself”.

I developed anorexia at 14. I became obsessed with diet culture, “clean” eating, and exercising until I colapsed. I used my notebooks for tracking my daily intake and writing hateful messages to myself. I would motivate myself through my own hatred. Slowly, I decreased my meals until they weren’t even meals anymore. I thought I was being “healthy” by going on 3 to 4 day fasts, thinking that the kiwi I had before I began was enough. Newsflash, it wasn’t. But I continued.

My family situation got complex during this time. My parents were separated and I felt alone. I distanced myself from my friends and I had also stopped going to school. Everytime I talked to my dad through Skype, he would comment on how I was too thin. Amazingly so, I thought he was complimenting me. I got more and more obsessed, the loss of my period and hair became my motivation. The internet was my best friend because I read all about the “tips & tricks” of starving. I was tired, lonely, cold and angry. I had no patience and I was insufferable. This is what being malnourished will do to you.

After months and months of these rituals that and rules that seemed like an endless of “how to die in 10 days”, I tried to recover. How? By getting into fitness. I did Insanity while I was recovering, which was bullshit because that is NOT recovery. I didn’t challenge myself, I didn’t give my body time to rest- I exercised every day, I underfed and I normalized exhaustion. I was terrified of chocolate, processed foods and fats. The thought of putting on weight became a source of nightmares, LITERALLY. I would have NIGHTMARES about looking down at my body and seeing fat start to accumulate over my bones. Somehow, I thought that since I was exercising and eating more than my standard oatmeal and toast, that I was recovered.

I went to live with my father at 15. I feel like this decision shaped me as a person because I was forced to grow up way too fast. I made choices that no one should make a 15 year old make. At this point in time, I had put on weight and I was no longer exercising. My dad had a baby with this girlfriend of the time and all I wanted to do was be with my new baby brother. I didn’t think about food or dieting because I felt like somehow, watching him eat made me be at peace with food. My baby brother was growing and being nourished by the food we gave him and I wanted to make sure he was never hungry. It made me feel so happy to watch him laugh and wobble his way over to his mom for lunch time. I loved seeing him nibbling with a toothless mouth on a soft cookie, and offering the slobbered leftovers to me. That all stopped very suddenly, because my dad would start to make comments. Not only him, but his girlfriend too. Comments about how I was “eating too much” and how I “would look better if I was smaller”. I was experiencing extreme hunger when I moved in with my dad, because I had stopped exercising and my body no longer was focusing the energy on repairing my muscles, it was focusing on repairing me as a whole. I HAD to eat a lot because I needed to be healthy again. This was thrown completely out of the window and I caved into my disordered brain again. I felt almost grateful to them for motivating me to start losing weight again because I thought that it meant that they cared. So the food rules started again. It’s just that this time I didn’t need to learn the tips and tricks, I already knew them. Losing weight was easier now, and faster. So 2013 was the year I dedicated to my disorder. I restricted long enough that my hunger cues began to fade away. I thought that my body had gotten used to what I was eating. A green apple in the morning, some lettuce leaves and half a red bell pepper for lunch, and a single serving of prepackaged soup at night. My brain stopped screaming at me and I stopped thinking. I was reduced to being a zombie of my disorder. I stopped singing, I stopped writing, I stopped making art. I never cried, I laughed only when I was around other people. My body felt numb. I felt numb.

I remember taking showers and watching as day by day the fur growing all over my bones got longer and longer. I later found out that this is called “lanuga” which happens when you have lost an extreme amount of fat and your body reacts as an attempt at survival by growing these hairs, desperately trying to protect you. I felt tired, I couldn’t carry my baby brother anymore. He would ask me to hold him and I would try, but be very afraid of dropping him so I would have to refuse. I remember how upset he looked, we were so close. He loved being with me but I was so scared of him watching me do these things to myself. What if he learned from me? What if my actions stayed in his subconscious? I tried putting distance between us because of my fears. I hate myself for that because I miss him so much now, I miss the days we would spend and the naps we would take. I can’t take back that time.

We went to the doctor because I now, was at the brink of death. Truly I wish that I could say I’m being dramatic about that, but I’m not. My heart was weak and I could barely move. I was no longer sleeping and even sitting down hurt. My bones felt like knives crushing into my skin. I learned that I was at risk of heart failure and if I didn’t start recovering now, the next step would be having a tube thrusted down my throat. Force feeding. I couldn’t ever let that happen so I decided to once again, embarc on a lonely recovery path. As soon as I left the doctors, I told my dad to buy me chocolate. In response, he was annoyed. He thought that I was going to use my “verge of death illness” as an excuse to get obese. I cannot make this up y’all. He didn’t buy me shit and barked at me about how “you can eat at home”. Please, if anyone you know is going through restrictive eating disorder and they say they want chocolate- BUY THEM THE FUCKING CHOCOLATE!

I began refeeding and it was the most difficult thing I had ever done in my life. I couldn’t stomach food. I would eat and instantly have diarrhea. I had to have baby sized portions of food to be able to hold it down. This caused my weight to drop more, so I was now at the point where I actually did need to be hospitalized. I was afraid that I was going to die at any given point of the day. My dad once told me that “just because you have to start eating again doesn’t mean you can get as fat as you used to be”. I cried. This was the first time I had cried in so long. My numbed down feelings reflourished. The hate, the anger, the sadness I bottled up began overflowing. I didn’t stop eating, I gave myself the time I had to so I could stabilize myself. I was sent to go spend a few months with my dad’s girlfriend’s family. I barely knew these people, but they couldn’t handle me being this sick anymore. They didn’t want me. I was a bad influence to my brother. I was hurting them. My dad would have hated me if I told him I needed to be in the hospital, because that’s too much money so this was the easy way out. I guess if I needed to be hospitalized while I was there, it wouldn’t have to come out of his pocket.

I hated being away from my baby brother. I hated acting happy all the time when I was so depressed and furious. I tried making friends during my time away and all of them idolized my sick body. They asked me how I got to that point. I remember telling them I was sick, that I had to eat. They made me feel like that wasn’t neccesary, that I looked like a model. I ate anyway. I couldn’t go back home and still be sick, that would mean that I would be hated by them and maybe even have to leave home.

After a few months I gained some weight. I went back home. I asked my dad’s girlfriend if I was ���fine now”, as in “am I not scary anymore”. She said I still looked very thin, but that it was fine. She told me not to go overboard. This meant “DO. NOT. GET. FAT.”

My dad and his girlfriend separated after a year and a half of my recovery. This whole period was very stressful since I was left alone with my dad. I was weight restored and I found some kind of peace with having no peace. I lived with the comments as a daily thing. “Don’t eat that, why don’t you do some arm exercises, you don’t really want that, why don’t those pants fit you anymore.” I got used to feeling foreign in my body. So being extremely malnourished was bad, bein inbetween wasn’t good enough and being restored to my set weight was just awful. I had no idea who I was or what I was supposed to be. I hated myself and I got used to that.

I am now 23 years old and I relapsed a few months ago. I understand now that I was never recovered. I was begging for help for years, but I got irritation and annoyance as a response. I never stopped having food rules, I never stopped being afraid of food. I cannot recover until my brain is completely rewired. I have to eat. I have to lose my fear around food. I have to HATE my disorder and push it out of every one of my pores until I am completely cleansed of it. I remember reading about how “this disorder never leaves you and you will always struggle with it”. I believed that for so long. I believed that I was never going to stop being afraid. I’m tired of feeling comfortable with my anorexia when it has ruined me to the point of feeling completely astranged from my body. I want to know who I am and not hate myself for it. I can’t recover fully until I rewire myself. Keep this with you. You cannot believe you are recovered just because some doctor tells you that you are weight restored. Your food rules need to disappear competely, you need to challenge yourself even if it terrifies you. I am so afraid, but I don’t ever want to go down this disordered path again. I want to spend time with the people that love me and not let anything get in my way. I am young and I am smart. So are you. Eat your fears.

[datingintampafails]

Chapter 23: Jake* Part One

Jake* and I had a romance that in the beginning felt very much like Romeo & Juliet, similar to the tragic Shakespeare play, it had a tragic ending. However, a lot less death in my version.

Ethan* and I actually reconnected for a short bit, about two weeks, strictly as FWB before downgrading it to regular friends without the benefits. We decided to help each other on our quests for finding relationships, and working together to improve our dating profiles. Although I had said to myself and my friends I wouldn’t return to the apps until after attending a friends’ wedding, I caved upon helping Ethan* with his love life, and behold, the apps were back on my phone a few days before I left for the wedding, though I wasn’t taking it seriously or being a “try-hard;” I left my accounts on pause or “don’t show me” most of the time.

It all started on Hinge with Jake*. I would not say Jake* was my type, but something spoke to me about him. The conversation started with a “Hey” from him, not super creative, and I usually make fun of people that on apps do this, I will literally call them out and be like “WOW YOU GOT ME” but this time I felt nice and decided to be a normal human being. Luckily, he was not a brick wall for conversation. He was out of town with family in North Carolina. That is one thing I like about Hinge, no matter where you are you can still search particularly at your home base, without having to buy the premium version of whatever of the app like the other ones do. He seemed spontaneous, as he described his trip as his mom coming by and saying hey we’re leaving you wanna come? What a life, I couldn’t imagine having that kind of freedom. 

I told him how I was about to leave for a wedding and would also be out of town. We got deep, quickly, and were very vulnerable with each other almost immediately. I apologized for being a bummer, but he said he was happy we were actually talking about things instead of superficial things. We continued to talk through the app almost constantly while I was still at the wedding. We decided upon meeting the next Wednesday since he was getting back from his trip Tuesday; I return on Monday. Along the way, I found out he was allergic to cheese. Like not lactose intolerant, fully allergic. I told some of my best friend and Ethan* about this, and jokingly they said it was a red flag and to abort. I went with the logic of “more cheese for me.” 

I got home from the wedding and Tuesday I found I was coughing a little bit. I got home from work and had a mild fever. I told him tomorrow we should do a virtual date. He asked how we would do that and I said Facetime if he had an iPhone. So I gave him my number and we had a silly text conversation before bed.

Classic. How could I not want to be with someone like this?

The next morning I woke up with an even higher fever and called off work. I check Instagram and find that the maid of honor from the wedding is also sick. I inquire and it leads to a whole investigation, excel document, and so on as we discover that 16 people (at least) are now sick. One person was rapid tested and it is COVID-19. I get myself tested at a local CVS that day. I tell Jake* about the story’s progression. We still have our Facetime date later and he says he would be happy to bring me anything if I need it. 

When I get my results a few days later, I officially have COVID-19. I’m told by the health department to quarantine 10 days after my symptoms started. My work requires that I be retested and receive a negative test before I go to work, so I plan to get tested on that day; Jake* and I also decided we will have a first date that day as well. 

I learn a lot about Jake* during my quarantine. We text almost constantly, that is when we aren’t Facetiming, which is also very frequent. We often would Facetime for literal hours. I learn a lot about him that scares me in a way, but more so that he has had a very complicated and violent childhood which led to not being a super upstanding citizen when he was a teenager. I was upfront and told him I was intimidated by this and we both said that misery is relative. 

As it does, after talking constantly for almost 10 days at this point, we did start to be sexual from afar, granted we still haven’t seen each other in person. He would say that he had a “shrimp” and talked about it so much that I started to take him seriously. I told him about my IUD, to which he responded with a very excited GIF. Again, slightly impressed that a man knows what it is, from my experience of men not knowing about female reproductive system, more on that later.

One day, we segued from sexual things to my tub backing up and that I needed Drano. Immediately he said he had some and would bring it over. I gave him my address and in less than ten minutes he appeared at my door. I knew I was a mess but it was the best day for me. We talked briefly through the window and I could see he was tall and skinnier than I thought, but still very handsome. His skin was so tan he looked like he could pass for being black. When it was time for him to go, we placed our hands together through the glass, the most contact we could have right now. He left and I was able to retrieve the Drano. It didn’t end up helping, but it was worth a go and definitely worth seeing him in person.

He told me that he was happy I wasn’t a catfish and that I still looked beautiful. Even with my sickness. After a full week of being sick, I started to feel better and almost normal. My cough decreased, my headaches were better, my fever had been gone since the first couple of days, and although I tired easily, I wasn’t constantly fatigued. I had chest pain and my heart just felt weird, I planned to see a cardiologist as soon as I was cleared. When it came time to be retested, I had high hopes and was so excited to be able to finally spend time with him. However, the world had other plans. I was able to get rapid tested, and unfortunately, I was still coming up positive and the doctor extended my quarantine another week. When I got to my car I called him (not Facetime) and told him what was happening and I cried. He comforted me and said that it would be okay.

In a way, it is lucky my quarantine was extended and that I needed to be retested, as the sickness came back again and a day later I was sicker. I gave him an out one day, I told him that when we matched we never expected I would be getting sick, let alone my quarantine lasting this long. I told him he didn’t need to wait for me, that I would understand if he wanted to see other people. 

He continued to say that he is the kind of person that doesn’t give up easily and wanted to stick it out. I was truly not trying to test him, I wanted him to be free if that was what he wanted, but he truly wanted to stay with me.

One night, my chest pain worsened and I was laying in bed, feeling truly like the brink of death was close, struggling to breathe. At midnight, I text him and say I’m scared. I’m afraid to fall asleep because I feel like if I go to sleep I won’t wake up. Always calm, he suggests I get some fresh air and go outside. I follow his idea and after five minutes of fresh air return inside. He continues to comfort me and say he is there for me.

I say I feel better and am finally able to go to sleep. 

We are still talking a lot, Facetime multiple times daily. I still don’t have feelings, but he tells me he likes me and is truly very sweet and cares about me a lot. There is one day where we just didn’t talk to each other yet that day, and he texts me, while I call him out for being “needy”:

One day during a Facetime he says “I feel like we’re never going to meet and you’re going to keep finding reasons to blow me off.” I legitimately got mad at the insecurity, he claims he is kidding. I tell him that that kind of attitude actually does piss me off. Although I am not head over heels with him, I definitely want to give it a chance once I can so I can see where it goes. He brought me things another time during my extended quarantine, a clove of garlic because I needed it for some food I was making and had none on hand. Unlike last time, he was on his way somewhere and was running late, therefore didn’t have time to linger around. I didn’t see him and had left my dog out in the yard for him to see, though at the time he showed up, she was hiding and he didn’t get to give her pats.

Days go by, and again I start to feel almost normal, for the second time in my illness. The day comes for my third test. I am terrified. I ask him what if I’m still positive and need to quarantine still. At this point, I’m completely out of PTO at work, in the negative actually, and honestly, my mental health is failing from the isolation. He tells me that I’m going to get a negative test today and to trust. Lo and behold, the negative test finally is here! I’m excited to return to my life, and to a greater extent excited to finally spend time with this man. 

We had tentatively planned a date that night, but now we could. I call him immediately after I get back to my car and we plan our first date. He asks if I’m going to be weird or awkward when we're finally in person. He claims that he is different in person; I tell him I hope he isn’t much different because I like the vibes I’ve been getting so far. Our first day occurred finally when we have been talking for 3 weeks. He says he’s on the way. I’m waiting and waiting. He’s in traffic. Jokingly, I repeat the line he said to me about us never going to meet. After all this time, the outs I gave him, it would be funny if after all this he stands me up. 

[hogwartsfirebolt]

This is the very best fic I have ever, ever read. I promise you that I am not kidding: A fic rec. 

Grounds for Divorce - @tepre - 122k - Explicit

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter. A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

In the 18 months I have been an active member of this community, I must have read no less than a thousand wonderful stories, many of which have touched me in ways I could never fully articulate. Whenever someone asked, I would recommend four, five fics, never able to pick just one as my favorite, I thought that, with so many stories out there, loving one above all others would surely be impossible. I was incredibly, deeply, beautifully wrong. 

Thoughts under read more

I struggle to think of a place to begin this rec, because there is no way any of my words can ever truly do this masterpiece justice. I suppose I could begin by telling you that this story is so damn brilliant in every single aspect that I can’t wrap my own head around how much I adore it with every piece of my silly little self, or that it is so careful in its execution that I didn’t even realize when exactly it was that I irremediably fell in love, or that I had never read a piece of fanwork that held such a deep understanding of itself, that there was little I could do but let myself be pulled right into the heart of it, of this. 

I was lucky enough to get to know it when it was still about 50k words long, and even then, when I sat down and read all of that, I knew that this was something incredibly special, and every single word that was added since then only made me feel even more sure that I was witnessing the birth of what is surely going to become a fandom classic. At least for me, it shifted my entire perception of the pairing, the fandom, the entire wizarding world. There is a before and after Grounds for Divorce for me.

Now, the concept in itself is simple. This is a bonding fic. You know the kind. Harry and Draco are nothing to each other after the war, and somehow find themselves literally on the brink of death unless they touch each other. That’s what it is. A bonding fic. But, oh dear, if you go into it expecting just THAT, it will literally knock you out. I’m not kidding. Just, poof, passed out on the floor, because despite using a pretty popular fandom trope as a base, that’s about the only thing that isn’t 100% unique to this story. 

This is the moment when I tell you that there are about seven years between chapter 1 and chapter 10. Yes, we get to see Harry and Draco from age 18 to 25 or so. That is the first thing that is notably different from any other bonding fic I have ever read, that they’re stuck together for literal years, and so they can’t stop living their lives while they are bonded, no, the show must go on. The second thing that makes this special are the mechanics of the bond itself, and how it’s a simple spell that makes them sick when they go a long time without touching each other, and when they do touch each other, it pushes for more more more in such desperate, delicious fashion that I clung to my seat when they were first learning how to deal with this desire. 

The third thing, the MAIN thing, the most BEAUTIFUL THING that makes this fic special is, of course, the characterization. Oh my GOD. How do I even put this to WORDS. There is just no way I can explain how fucking perfect everybody is in this. 

Harry is damaged from the war and doesn’t realize it, Harry has trouble connecting with people and doesn’t realize it, Harry is carrying a hell of a burden on his shoulders and doesn’t realize it. It’s beautiful how much I, as a reader, was able to pick on all these things when Harry himself has no idea that he’s dealing with them. He is angry, he hates being bonded to Draco at first, hates that he has to spend his days with him, and doesn’t even stop to consider that maybe things are different with Draco now, he closes himself up and chooses not to engage, and this, to me, felt like such an accurate depiction of who he is. After everything he went through, this is YET ANOTHER THING he has no control over. 

Draco is just lovely. It’s impossible not to love him. He is intense and he’s rambly and seriously annoying, but he’s also damaged, he’s careful with himself after everything that happened, and he genuinely does try to be better, and that is something that always makes me so weak in the knees for him, when he is truly just good and doing his best not to fuck up. 

Their interaction is difficult to describe, because it changes every moment the more they get to know each other. We begin with a lot of anger on Harry’s side, confusion and hurt on Draco’s side, and as they learn how to navigate the fact that they’re now bonded, the situation shifts. Draco tries to connect with Harry, Harry just wants to live his own life. Years and years and years pass, and they go through so much together, they learn to become friends by accident, they learn to care about each other, they shape their lives around each other without even realizing it. They’re married, for all intents and purposes, and dealing with it in very different ways. 

The massive amount of growth we see them go through in this is just indescribable. We start with them as boys, hold their hands as they become men. 

They hurt each other a lot. Harry hurts Draco for like five or six years straight, being dismissive and impenetrable. Draco hurts Harry later on. They grow together, they date other people, they watch each other date other people, always with this bond between them making things difficult, and it’s really, really messy. 

The love story, as we witness it, unfolds almost by accident, entirely underneath the surface, such a masterfully crafted slow burn, that by the time the characters themselves realize what’s happening, they’re elbows deep into it and it’s impossible to turn back. It’s beautiful, the intensity of the feelings simmering for years, the depth to their interactions, how meaningful the little things become, in time, how much Harry’s perception of Draco changes, how much this makes Harry change. 

The Harry we end up with is. Jesus. Fucking. Christ. He is. I CANNOT. The intensity with which I THIRSTED over him has no precedents. His single-minded intensity, his focus, his drive, his certainty, how he throws himself headfirst into things once he chooses to and doesn’t look back at all. He is just. Hot as all fuck. That’s it. There’s no other word to describe him. But to get here, to find this beautiful, intense, loving man, we have to go through so many layers of decades-old hurt and his struggles with being human that he’s not even aware of, and, really, this story is about forgiving Harry in so many levels, about finding that even though he saved the world, he’s just human and he has a fuckton of issues, and this deconstruction of the hero persona we find in him, in how he willingly sacrificed himself in the war but now has absolutely no clue how to be open and trust people is just. Delicious. And don’t even get me started on the physicality of him, and how in some parts he’s just sex on legs. 

The Draco we end up with is a man so honest and open in his love, a man who overthinks and rambles and is impossibly lovely, a man who goes through so much hurt and still always shows up for the people he loves. He is clever and beautiful and just absolutely wonderful, so loyal and caring that it aches. 

Watching these final versions of them love each other made me cry so, so many times. 

All of these words have just been an attempt to explain what they are, individually and together, but they are NOTHING. I can never truly explain what happens in those 122k words. It’s something you need to experience for yourself, and there’s so much MORE than this. 

There’s Ron, who is the loveliest human of all time, and there’s Hermione, who is still so loyal and fierce and wonderful, and there’s Draco’s friends and baby Rosie, eventually, and every single character was obviously created with so much care that they feel solid, real, even the original ones. 

The settings are vibrant, I felt like I was standing in the Malfoy townhouse all those evenings Harry and Draco sat together, I saw Harry’s garden come to life right in front of my eyes, I saw Egypt in stark clarity, once they went there, and actually, that entire section just feels like such an intense sensory immersion in every way, physical and emotional. When they finally have sex, I almost fucking burst out of my skin with the intensity, the depth of each touch, the pace of each scene. 

The writing is just beautiful, the kind of structure that reads smoothly and leaves you breathless and makes you feel everything that ever happens in the story, there’s quotes that sometimes literally made me have to stop reading to catch my breath, to regroup before being able to continue, because they were SO beautiful, SO spot on. Every single detail is styled to absolute perfection, not a single hair out of place. 

There is nothing like this story. Nothing. I have never felt so connected, I have never loved the characters so deeply, I have never reread anything as many times as I have reread this, I must have read it like 12 times at this point. 

It’s not just a fic, it’s an experience. I don’t know what else to say to convince you to allow yourself to go through it, because it is worth every single second. I could beg on my knees right now. It is my number one fic, the best I have ever encountered, and I think it might remain that way, always. 

Do yourself a favor and CLICK HERE. Give Tepre your love (all of it, SHE DESERVES ALL OF IT for creating this), allow yourself to feel everything this story has to offer, and once you’ve done that, come to me. I will never tire of this. (heh, reference). ❤️

[glitterygayvodka]

Your fluff writings are so cute!♡ can you write about Harry getting sick in the middle of the night and being upset about it because he and yn havent dated that long and he's worried she won't want to be near him but she helps him and takes care of him and even after he's been throwing up she helps him shower and dress and actually let's him cuddle with her so he starts crying because she loves him and he's been in love with her for awhile?

Aww thank you so much love!!! The fact that you enjoy them makes my heart swell because I literally love writing fluff! I swear I’m always a soft ass bitch for Harry. I’m sorry if it’s taken me a while to get to this request. Tumblr is an ass sometimes and it doesn’t tell me I’ve gotten anons! It also takes me forever to write in general lmao. I switched it up and decided to write this in the 3rd person so please let me know what y’all prefer. Anyways I’m gonna stop rambling. I hope you like it! 💖

Warnings: None!! This is all fluff :’)

Y/N is woken up to the faint moonlight peaking through the blinds of the bedroom. Despite being bundled up under the thick comforter, she can still feel the chill of the air lightly caressing areas of her skin that are exposed. Burrowing deeper into the blankets, sleep is slowly calling her name again, urging her back into an unconscious state. Its call is disrupted however when she hears muffled noise coming from the direction of the bathroom. Startled, Y/N turns over to wake Harry, realizing his side of the bed is empty. The sheets are cold and crumpled as if he had gotten up in a hurry, and a feeling of concern washes over her despite her tired state. Making her way out of bed, the contrast between the warmth of the covers and the coolness of the air causes goosebumps to scatter along her skin. She navigates through Harry’s large room using the light from the forgotten TV. It was still faintly playing the baking show her and Harry had chosen as background noise for their nightly reading together. Taking care not to trip, Y/N approaches the bathroom door. Light faintly creeps from under the crack, and listening closely she can hear soft sniffling from the other side. Confused and worried, she slowly turns the knob, cracking the door ever so slightly.

“Harry, baby, is everything okay?” she questions softly, opening the door wider. The warm glow of the bathroom illuminates the dark bedroom as Y/N steps onto the chilly tiled floor. Her gaze is almost immediately drawn to where Harry is balled up next to the toilet. He lifts his head up as he hears her voice, his green eyes meeting hers with a mixture of embarrassment and exhaustion. His whole shirt appears to be damp with sweat, and if she didn’t know better, from the way he’s drenched, Y/N would assume he had been working out. His damp curls are pressed against his forehead, and his skin appears to have lost some of the golden color that she’s so used to seeing. Harry can visibly see the concern spreading across her features, and he’s mentally kicking himself for not being quieter. They hadn’t been dating for very long, and the last thing Harry wanted was for Y/N to see him in such a state.

“M’fine darling. Y’can go back to bed.” Harry manages to rasp out, his usually smooth voice sounding a bit strained. She ignores him, moving further into the bathroom to crouch down beside him. Reaching out a hand to press against his forehead, Harry almost moans at the feeling of her cool touch against his feverish skin. His eyes fluttering closed as Y/N’s widen in shock at his temperature. “Oh my god Harry! You’re burning up!” She gasps, brushing his damp hair away from his face. “Why didn’t you wake me up?!” Harry sluggishly opens his eyes to look at her again. The amount of concern for him that’s etched across her face makes his heart swell. He’s not sure if the butterflies in his stomach are from how pretty Y/N looks despite being woken up at such an early hour, or if they’re from the bad seafood that had gotten him into this situation.

“S’no big deal love. I think I’ve just got a bit of food poisoning s’all...didn’t wan’ to wake you up just cause I can’t handle a bit of shrimp...” he murmurs, giving a weak smile as he makes eye contact with her. Y/N can’t help the grin that spreads across her face despite the situation. Here he is, nearly on the brink of death on his bathroom floor, still cracking jokes. That’s Harry for you. Shaking her head, she reaches a hand out to him to help him up. “I told you that it smelt weird and not to eat it!” She exclaims as she helps him on to his feet. “But no, y’just had to have some! You’re so bloody stubborn.” Her voice is firm, yet tinged with slight humor, and Harry knows she isn’t actually upset with him. He tries to hide his smile from her. Harry would never admit it, but he loves when Y/N dotes on him like this. The fact that she cares for him so much makes his heart flutter and his head swim. Well actually, his head might be swimming because he stood up too fast, but thats besides the point. She guides Harry to sit on the toilet as she begins to run him a bath, making sure the water isn’t too hot or cold. After adding some of her favorite bubbles, Y/N turns to Harry to begin helping him out of his sweaty clothes.

Harry holds back his cheeky remarks about her helping him undress, accepting her help into the bathtub. He sighs as he sinks down into the warm water, the soft smell of freesia and rose invading his senses. It’s a familiar smell he realizes, one he often finds caressing his nose after Y/N has spent the night. Harry allows his eyes to flutter closed for a moment, the warm, soothing water around him instantly easing his stomach cramps slightly. Y/N is perched on the edge of the tub, studying his face. Partly because she’s still worried about him, and also because she could stare at him forever. Even when he’s sick, Y/N still thinks he’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. Breaking out of her trance and realizing his eyes are now open and on her, she smiles at him softly. For a moment, they just look at each other. Their eyes tell each other the words neither of them have been brave enough to say yet. It’s almost too intense, and the amount of gratitude and love that Y/N can see in Harry’s eyes is too much for her.

“I’m gonna go get everything ready for when you get out of the bath,” She smiles lightly as she stands up, wiping her damp hands on the edge of the fluffy jumper Harry had let her borrow for bed. “Let me know if you feel like you’re gonna be sick again okay? I’ll be right back.” Before leaving, Y/N leans down to press a small kiss against Harry’s damp forehead and he hums in response, tilting his head back against the cool tile of the bathtub. With that, Y/N makes her way back into the dark bedroom, turning on lamps as she passes them. First, she grabs one of the assorted towels that Harry keeps folded neatly in linen closet. She chooses a big, fluffy, yellow one that she knows is Harry’s favorite. It takes her a minute to navigate through his many drawers, but eventually she finds him a clean pair of underwear and a t shirt. Deciding that, despite his fever, he would probably be a bit chilly after his bath, Y/N makes her way downstairs to put the towel and clothes in the dryer for a minute.

From his spot in the tub, Harry can hear Y/N shuffling around in his room and it makes his dimples appear along his cheeks. He loves how absolutely normal everything feels with her. Even though they’ve only been dating for a few months, Harry never has to hide from Y/N. He can be his authentic self without worry of judgement. He loves how big her heart is, how she cares for everyone and everything so dearly. The way that she instantly jumped to his aid with no questions asked. There’s so many things about her that check every single box on his list, and as she stumbles back through the bathroom door moments later, arms full of anything and everything he might need to feel better, the fact that he’s in love with her is solidified in his mind.

“Okay bubs! M’back.” Y/N smiles, placing the now warm towel and clothes on the closed lid of the toilet. “These are for when you get out, and I also brought you up some ginger ale and medicine.” Harry’s goofy smile turns into a frown of disgust at her words. “Darling, y’know I can’t stand the taste of ginger a-“ Before he can finish his sentence, Y/N cuts him off. “Shh! None of that. I know you think it’s gross but it’s gonna make you feel so much better, I promise!” Harry grumbles slightly but nods in agreement anyways, a slight smile still plastered on his lips at the way she was basically mothering him. It makes him think about how good of a mom she would be to their kids someday, but he has to reel his thoughts back in. He hasn’t even told her he loves her yet for Christ sake! But here he is, already thinking about starting a family. His friends would call him whipped, but as he watches Y/N scurry around the bathroom in his oversized jumper with sleep ruined hair, he doesn’t mind being whipped all that much.

“Alright!” She says as she stops in her tracks, looking around the bathroom, almost as if she was looking for something she had forgotten. “Are you ready to get out love? I’m sure the water isn’t as warm anymore.” Her eyes meet his, her eyebrows scrunched in a concerned way. Harry shakes his head lightly in amusement as he begins to rise of of the tub. “Yeah m’ready, you’ve got me turning into a bloody prune over here!” he smiles playfully. Y/N let’s out a distracted laugh, her eyes following the water droplets that flow down his defined and tattooed shoulders and chest, dripping down to the delicate ferns that adorn his hips. Butterflies envelope her stomach at how gorgeous he is. She isn’t sure how anyone could be so breathtaking, but here he is right in front of her. Y/N avoids letting her gaze fall any lower, a warmth spreading across her cheeks. Though she’s seen it before, now wasn’t really the time to be focusing on his dick. “Well, at least you’re a prune that smells good!” she laughs, a cheeky glimmer in her eyes as she looks back at him.

Harry hadn’t missed the way she was looking at him with noticeable admiration in her eyes, but he doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to wrap the warm, fluffy towel around his waist with a grin. Y/N smiles and leans against the doorframe as he gets dressed. Once he’s fully clothed, she guides him to sit down on the closed toilet seat. She hands him the ginger ale as well as two small pills he assumes will lower his fever. Harry looks down at the light brown liquid, already dreading the taste of it. “Do I really have to drink this?” He grumbles, looking back up at Y/N with pleading eyes. She grins at how dramatic he is, rolling her eyes slightly. “Yes you do! Ginger is great for nausea and I want you to feel better as soon as possible.” Her voice turns into a murmur towards the end, her hand reaching out to rest against his cheek. Harry sighs, unable to resist nuzzling his face into her palm. “Fine, but I’m only drinking it because you’re cute.” With that, he places the pills in his mouth, quickly drinking the whole glass as fast as possible.

Y/N throws her head back in laughter at the disgusted look on his face, her arms resting loosely around his neck as she moves to stand between his thighs. Harry is smiling up at her with a goofy grin, wrapping his arms securely around her waist. Because he’s sitting down, his head rests just below her chest, and he cuddles into her. He can feel the vibrations of her laughter, and it makes him smile even harder. Harry absolutely loves the sound of her laugh. It’s undeniably contagious and reminds him of everything good in the world. That might be a bit dramatic but, what can he say? He’s in love. “M’glad you think my pain is funny petal.” Harry mumbles against the fabric of her sweater, humor lacing his tone. Y/N’s laughter slowly fades into small giggles, her fingers twirling the little curls at the base of his neck.

“Did the bath help any?” She questions, continuing to run her fingers through his damp hair, her nails brushing against his scalp every so often. “Do y’still feel bad?” Harry hums at the feeling of her playing with his hair, every ounce of tension leaving his body. “Mhmm. Felt like I was bloody dying earlier, now m’just sleepy.” He slowly opens his eyes to look up at her, smiling when he finds her already looking down at him. “Thank you so much love. I can’t believe y’even wan’ to be near me when I’m sick. I dunno what I’d do without you.” Y/N laughs slightly, gripping his cheeks softly in both hands. “H, you could have the fucking plague and I’d still want to be near you. Nothing you could ever do would scare me away. Especially not something as small as a bit of throw up.” She smiles, concluding her mini rant by pressing several kisses along his forehead. Harry is almost speechless. He’s never had anyone care about him this much, and the emotion bubbling in his chest is overwhelming. He sees everything he’s ever wanted right in front of him in the form of Y/N, and he never wants to let her go. Before he knows it, stray tears are sliding down his cheeks and Y/N is frantically wiping them in concern.

“Harry? Baby, why are you crying??” Her voice is higher than usual, unaware of what could be wrong with him. Harry simply hugs her closer, sniffling against the plush fabric adorning her body. For a moment they just hold each other, Y/N quietly murmuring to him every once in a while. His hands run up and down her back slowly, the sound of her heart beat pressed right against his ear. Once he’s finally composed himself, he looks up at her with his beautiful, now red rimmed, eyes. “I just...” He sniffles some more, his eyes tracing over her features, and his fingers intertwining with hers. “I love you so much Y/N, and I know we haven’t been datin’ for that long but y’already mean so much t’me and it’s been eating at me and I jus’...needed to let you know.”

Harry looks down, almost shyly, after his admission. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he feels like he might cry all over again, but when he feels Y/N’s soft hands tilting his chin up, he reminds himself to breathe. When Harry finally brings his eyes back up to meet hers, they’re shining with happiness, a huge smile etched along her cheeks. “Harry Edward Styles,” She murmurs, pressing a kiss to his face between every word, “I’ve never loved anyone in my life more than I love you. You own my whole heart.” A weight is lifted off of Harry’s shoulders at the sound of her words, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was throwing up his dinner a few hours before, he would kiss her with everything in him. Instead however, he opts for the tightest hug he thinks he’s ever given anyone. “Oi! I love you but y’gotta let me breathe!” She laughs, playfully swatting at his back. She can’t help but giggle at the dopey smile on his face once he loosens his hug.

“M’so glad you feel the same, petal. That would’ve been a real bruise to my ego if you didn’t.” He laughs cheekily, earning yet another playful swat. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. How about we get you and your ego in bed? It’s almost 4 in the morning and nurse Y/N is pretty tired.” She yawns through a smile, reaching out a hand to him. Harry grins yet again, taking her out stretched hand.

“M’okay with that, but only if y’let me be the little spoon tonight.”

Y/N smiles for what feels like the millionth time tonight, nodding her head at him. “Sounds like a plan!” And as they make their way back into bed, Y/N can’t think of anything that would be better in this moment, than falling asleep next to the love of her life.

[elmentrysworld]

In Sickness and in Health, ‘Till Death Do Us Part: Shouto Todoroki x Fem! Reader

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Oh good lord, I am SO sorry for the late request! D: University bit me hard in the ass this semester, but I finally got around to finishing this request. I sincerely hope you and everyone else enjoys this! Also if anyone wants to request anything, my rules and fandoms are in this post you can click on, or you can search the tag “rules” on mobile! Love you guys :’)

Type: One-Shot

Pairing: Todoroki x Fem! Reader

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Warning: Angsty angst is angsty angst (like, illness and all that comes with it). Real world AU with no quirks. Also, due to length (literally this passes 3000+ words), this post will have a “keep reading” line!

The hospital bed feels stiff and rigid under you as you lay down with your eyes staring up at the ceiling. You have started to lose count of how many days you’ve been in this hospital room. How long have you been this sick for?

Oh yeah, a little over 2 years.

Although your mind can’t keep track if it’s exactly 2 years or a few days past, you know that your mind is nearing the brink of insanity from numbness. In between the treatments of chemotherapy and people coming to see you with doe eyes laced with tears as they would claim that “things will get better” because you’re a fighter, you begin to call bullshit. If that was all so true, why did you make so little progress healing after your diagnosis? Then again, you remember that the day you got your diagnosis, the prognosis in itself was borderline hopeless to begin with.

“I’m sorry miss,” the doctor said with a grim expression, looking up at you from the papers with your examination results. The minute he gave you the results concluding that you did have the dreaded illness was the minute you felt your heart drop to the pits of your stomach, like you have just been transported to Hell and were being thrust into an icy pathway to misery.

The illness was hereditary – your mother died from it when you only in elementary school and your maternal relatives didn’t live much longer than she did, having had the same illness. How did you not come to expect it? Perhaps it was wishful thinking, that you would be one of the lucky ones like in those happy stories. However, the reasonable part of you knew you could no longer ignore the constant nosebleeds, coughing up blood and struggles with your breathing after a case of the common cold lasting longer than the normal 3-4 days. You knew it was a bad sign, but your optimistic side tried outweighing your reality with hopeful, fictional outcomes that it was all something fixable.

It was not fixable.

As you walked out of that doctor’s office and out into the April showers, your mind trying to process the little time you were going to have left, you struggled to find any sort of feeling inside of you as you went through your coat pockets and began dialling his number.

You knew he wasn’t going to have a great reaction.

“Hey, Shouto?” you said once your boyfriend picked up the phone, trying to keep a neutral tone of voice. “Can you meet me at my place tonight? I... I have something important to tell you.”

***

Shouto came over relatively quick, having been right at your door by the time you showed up waiting for you. When you needed – or simply wanted – to see him, he always made sure to either come early or at the very least arrive on the nose. When you would tease him about it, he would say something among the lines of “I want to make the most out of every minute I spend with you” or “I just couldn’t bare waiting to see you”. He was a cheesy, caring person at the core, but only you had access to that side of him.

As you got closer to the door leading into your apartment building, the hoodie of your sweater failing to keep you dry from the rain, you waved at the umbrella-holding man and gave him the best smile you could offer, receiving one from him in return and you took out your keys from your purse.

“How come you don’t have an umbrella?” he asked you off the bat as you shuffled between your selection of keys, finding the right one and unlocking the building door.

“I didn’t think it would rain this hard!” you laughed lightly, leading him inside towards your apartment and talking as you then opened your apartment door. “Plus I ended up taking the bus so it wasn’t as bad.”

“Yes, but what if you catch another cold?” he said in return and stepped inside with you, taking off his coat and hanging it in the front closet with your own. “You know how you get when you get sick.”

As he headed towards your petite but cozy living room, you froze and couldn’t help but simply stand there, wide-eyed in the pastel blue-walled room.

Sick. You couldn’t get anymore sick than you already are, can you? That’s what you wanted to scream out at him, but you couldn’t. The words were lodged; they didn’t want to come out.

The white and red-haired Todoroki paused, sensing you not following him over to the beige couch and turned to face you, only to rush over to you when he saw you fall down to your knees with your hands to mouth and tears beginning to fall down the corner of your eyes. As you could only hiccup and choke back on sobs you didn’t want to let out, he held you out in front of him in sheer concern, uncertainly clouding those grey and blue eyes of his. He called your name one, two, three times trying to get you to focus on him, but it took another two times for you to finally look directly into his eyes.

“What happened?” he asked you, trying to not show the overwhelming feeling of concern in his shaken tone of voice. “Was it your appointment today? If it’s another prescription you have to get it’s – ”

“I’m dying, Shouto!” you cried out into the nape of his neck, holding him close as you could no longer look into his eyes. “They – the doctors... they found the same illness my mom had. They said there was nothing they could do, Shouto! I’m going to die!”

His muscles felt tense under your touch, but in your sobbing and unstoppable tears falling down your cheeks you couldn’t care. You couldn’t hold back your own emotions anymore today. It felt never-ending.

All he could do was hold you and when your sobs faded into little hiccups, hold your chip up for you to look at him and promise you:

“I’m never leaving your side.” he said firmly, not showing his true thoughts. “Not today, not tomorrow. I am always here for you.”

Shouto Todoroki peeks into your room like he has done ever since your first day of hospitalization, lightly knocking on your door. He calls your name, drawing your attention and you offer him a tired smile. Even after being with him for nearly five years, you still get the warm feeling inside whenever he’s around; and you have been cherishing that feeling more and more these days.

“May I come in?” he asks.

“Do you really need to ask, love?” you chuckle, lifting your hand up and lightly gesturing for him to come in – even with the shooting pain in your arm that you try to ignore. He steps in and walks over to the chair next to your bed, sitting next to you and taking your hand into his own. His hands are warm to the touch, and you briefly close your eyes with a small smile on your eyes as he runs his thumb over the back of your hand, his eyes on your skin – which is growing paler and paler – and proceeds to form soothing circles on your skin.

“How have you been feeling?” he asks, looking back up at you.

“I’ve been worse.” you say. It isn’t exactly a lie: there have been days where you felt so bad that numbness and emptiness seemed like a form of relief in comparison. However, you keep your current numbness to yourself; Shouto already has enough going on in his home as it is and you don’t want to add onto his pile, considering your feeling that your condition already is becoming a chore.

You know he loves you. In fact, he has made it incredibly clear in your relationship that he loves you to death.

But you also know that Enji Todoroki doesn’t want his successor falling for an inferior, sickly girl. Even before your hospitalization, he never approved.

“This is who you want to carry on the Todoroki legacy by marriage?” The red-haired man said, incredulousness overly clear in his voice as he looked at you up and down. He looked back at his son, who only held onto your hand tighter and narrowed his eyes at his father, as though to tell him to watch his next choice of words.

“And what of it?” Shouto responded, eyebrow raised, testing the man in front of him.

“Shouto, you know how important carrying on the Todoroki name is.” Enji stated, firm and tense with his own narrowed pair of eyes giving you the occasional glare. “I expected you as future head to make... better choices.”

You couldn’t hold back your heart from sinking down to the pits of your stomach. You knew the man to be harsh, but to be dismissed as a bad option was not exactly what you had in mind.

“Father, she is not just a choice!” Shouto hissed back, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulder. “She is who I want to spend the rest of my life with. I love her more than words can describe and she loves me like no one has. She respects me as a person, as a human. I will not spend the rest of my life with anyone else!”

Enji simply held a pause, as though spending a silent moment condemning the pair of you before responding:

“How romantic.” he spat out. “Too bad it serves no practicality to your life. You’ll love her for maybe a few more moments, maybe a couple more years and then lose her one way or another anyway. Look at her, Shouto: you even said so yourself she often gets sick, and she looks sickly and weak. Is that really someone we need to carry on our bloodline? And that is if she even can carry children to begin with, in her physical state. Face it, Shouto. If you really want to become head of my company, it’s either you choose this company or her.”

It only takes Shouto a moment as he takes a look at you, taking in your beauty and wiping a stray tear away from your eye before he looks back at his father with a glare of his own.

“I choose my future wife.”

“My father made arrangements for me without my consent.” Shouto lets out to you. You raise an eyebrow, curiousity building up.

“What arrangements?” you asked.

“He... he wants me to marry the head’s daughter.”

Your eyes instinctively widen from the news. Ever since Shouto said he would choose you over becoming head of the Todoroki Company, Enji has become relentless on making his son change his mind and still dragging him into business meetings, even after 2 years of the same exact response of his son not wanting to take part. It shouldn’t be surprising that he would pull this kind of stunt and yet... a huge part of you just doesn’t know how to respond to a news like this.

“Oh?” you let out meekly, looking down at your hands, not sure what else to say.

“Earlier today, he called me into a meeting.” Shouto begins explaining. “I thought it was some sort of business deal to be made with another company, so I went in and it was just my father, another man and a woman around my age... my father set me up with her and said that if I am to become head, I will marry the girl and secure company relations.”

There is an awkward pause as you take all this in. Normally, you would have flipped out over this type of news, try to find a solution to this problem. Normally, you would have probably gone to Enji to tell him to suck it, that you and Shouto are happy and if his son chose to be happy over becoming head of the family business, he better respect that decision. Normally, you would have fought for your right to be happy with your fiancé.

So why is your stubbornness and strong will not there when you need it? Where is your passion?

Before you can stop yourself, you slowly look up at your love, your mind blank as you speak:

“Maybe marrying the girl is the best thing to do.”

Shouto looks at you, eyes wide with shock before they switch to having a look of horror, like you just suggested for him to massacre a town.

“What?” he says in a sort of gasp. “How can you even think to suggest that?!”

“Shouto – ”

“You know I will never marry a woman I don’t love. You know how much I love you; I will never leave your side! No company can get between us, you know that – ”

“Shouto, please!” you blurt out full blast as you lose your self control, letting the tears run down your face. It puts his outburst at a halt, allowing you to continue after a moment’s pause:

“I don’t have much time left.” you admit, looking away from him and out the window that brings in ironic rays of sun into the room. “The doctors said the treatment could only do so much... my illness has spread further into my body and now, everything just hurts. They estimate that I only have a week or so left.”

You look back at him, the tiniest smile you could muster being on your face as you try not to continue crying.

“I didn’t know how to tell you without hurting you. You don’t deserve to live alone, Shouto. Maybe you’ll end up falling in love with this girl, have healthy children and carry on your family legacy like your father wants. You never know, Shouto, it may be for the best – ”

“No.”

“Shouto – ”

“No. I refuse to give up on us so easily.”

You look back down at your hands. Up until now, you never really noticed how skeletal and pale your hands have become. How much weight have you lost? You aren’t sure. In fact, you aren’t sure of anything anymore; at this point you can’t focus or think so easily.

You look back up when you hear your name being said, the look in Shouto’s eyes filled with a determination you never thought you would see in your lifetime.

“Let’s get married.” he says, gently taking your hands in his. For the first time in a while, you feel genuine shock over this proclamation.

“S-Shouto?” you whisper. “Are you serious? Ever after what I just said – ”

“Exactly. If you have such a small amount of time, we can’t waste time. This is our chance to be happy together, to make the most of it. To hell with my father and the company, working for him will never make me happy. Hell, you make me happier than I have ever been, even now! I said I would never leave your side. I intend on keeping that promise.”

You decide to go along with not thinking it through. It’s like he said: there’s not much time left, and you deserve to be happy even for a little while, right?

“Ok.” you said, a wider smile than before plastered on your face. “Let’s do it.”

***

It is as beautiful of a wedding as it can be, especially in a white-walled hospital room that you’ve been confined to. You manage to find a simple but comfortable white dress for the occasion, one that is easy to get out of so you could switch back into your scrubs afterwards, and Shouto decides to match the theme of simplicity, opting for a white button up and black pants and shoes. He looks as dashing as the first day you met him, and he makes sure to let you know that you look as beautiful as a goddess. Even though you are too weak to do a “walk down the aisle”, your father – who got ordained for this day – makes sure to reassure you that you look radiant and smiles as he gives his blessing to your union, proceeding to marry you two.

Your vows to each other are sweet and make you feel fuzzy and warm inside. You make sure to avoid the whole “in sickness and in health” and “’till death do us part”: you don’t need to rub it in. Instead, you focus on the good you cherish, and the bad you managed to push through to be the couple that you are in the present. You gush over your rings – simple, glistening silver bands that fit snug on his and your ring finger – and as your put the rings on each other’s fingers, you feel a certain sense of comfort that you hadn’t felt for a little while.

You’re finally pronounced husband and wife and it feels like your kiss solidifies this new union.

You don’t need a fancy reception – you don’t necessarily have the energy for that either. Instead, you opt for some stargazing together in the hospital garden. You can’t help the goofy smile on your face when you notice the rose petals leading to the bench. It takes a little while for you to walk over to the bench, with your weakened legs, but with your now husband holding your hand and guiding you, you manage to make it and sit down next to him.

You’ve stargazed with him in the past, but you never really noticed until now just how much he glows under the starlight.

“The night really is beautiful.” you sigh contently, your hand intertwined with his.

“It really is.” he says with a smile of his own. “It’s definitely fitting for a day like this.”

You don’t need a word exchange. You’re both perfectly happy enjoying each other’s company during a peaceful evening, looking up at all the constellations formed in the night sky in comfortable silence. Who knew that the stars in the sky can form such fascinating and interesting shapes? In any case, the cool air feels nice, not chilling you to the bone.

“Shouto?”

“Yes?”

“I wish this moment could last forever...” you say, closing your eyes as you lean on his shoulder with his hand linked to yours. “If only this could never end.”

He looks at you, his gaze soft and his smile small and with a hint of sadness to it and he gently squeezes your hand.

“Let’s focus on the present.” he says after a moment of silence. “Tonight is about us and our happiness.”

“Yeah.” you say contently and entertain yourself with looking at his fingers, playing with them and looking at his ring finger.

Later that night, when he brings you back to your room to be cared for by the nurses, you call out his name before he can exit and he turns to face you with a raised eyebrow.

“Smile for me.” you say with a big, sheepish smile of your own. Though initially stunned, he gives you a matching smile and you can’t help but giggle in return.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my love.” he says, waving lightly and he leaves.

The minute he leaves, it is as though your body gives up the last bit of strength it could muster and you fall over on the bed, everything inside of you tightening. You can’t tell if it’s because you’ve been hiding your struggle to stay strong all day, the ticking time bomb inside of you or because of the actual shutting down of your body taking place, but it hurts.

All you know is that it won’t hurt for long. And what you know is that you are thankful to have seen your husband, your lover smile for one last time.

You don’t pay mind to the nurses and doctors rushing to your side, trying to keep you conscious through any ways necessary – well, you can’t even if you tried.

All you can focus on is the fading image of Shouto Todoroki smiling for you, all as you yourself fade away into nothingness.

***

A week later after finding out you were placed on life support, your husband still remains by your side, his own eyes dried up and red, swollen from having let himself cry at your bedside for days. His father tries to convince him to leave the room, even for a bit of fresh air, but the older man only gets shut down with venom laced in his son’s voice.

A week later, Shouto has had to make a decision: try to hold onto non-existing hope and keep listening to the faint heart line, or finally to let you go.

As the nurse and doctor come up to him with a look of sympathy in their eyes, the nurse leans over to him, knowing Shouto’s final decision.

“Mr. Todoroki, are you ready?” she asks – not out of curiosity, but out of obligation. He looks up at her, your cold hand in his hands, and his eyes betray the calm demeanour he was so used to presenting.

“No.” he says bluntly. “But when will I ever be? You can go ahead.”

He can’t look at you when the life support is finally disconnecting, especially as he feels you fade away for good. All he knows is that the night you were married was truly the night you two bid your farewells.

The library was busy on the day you two first met. Finals were taking place and you had been in the same economics class. However, you only got to speak to him for the first time when you noticed him sitting alone, studying at a table surrounded only by books filled with numbers and statistics. You didn’t know why, but you didn’t want him to be alone. You had a feeling there was a lot to uncover with this attractive boy and you were going to make a friend out of him.

You decided to go up to him and nudged him, catching him by surprise.

“Hey, Shouto Todoroki, right?” you whispered to him with your best smile. He looked up at you in shock but quietly nodded in response. You held your own books in one arm and held out your other hand for a handshake, giving your name in introduction.

“It’s nice to finally speak to you.” you said in a quiet chuckle as you shook hands.

“Pleasure is mine.” he said in response, tone low. When you nudged to the chair across him and gave a look, he nodded and you sat down, placing your books down. Your smile stayed on your face, radiant as ever, and you leaned on your arms, which rested on the table.

“So tell me, Shouto, do you believe in love at first sight?”

“E-excuse me?” he said with wide eyes, to which you quietly giggled in response.

“I’m messing with you,” you replied in amusement. “But I will say this: I would love to get to know you.”

Without giving him much time to reply, you take a piece of paper and write your cell number on it, passing it over to him and getting up with your books.

“Feel free to text me whenever!” you said and walked out the library, not being able to shake off the smile on your face and not truly caring if you possibly made a fool of yourself.

After all, you only live once right?

Within 5 minutes you got a text from an unknown number, making you blush and let out a light laugh:

So, what if I told you I do believe in love at first sight? – Shouto Todoroki

[littlewhitetie]

New Year’s Wrap Up!

Thanks for the tag, @bosstoaster!!

Fics this year:

Elementary (Allura & Lance & Keith) (3,734 words)

A poison in the building they're captured in leaves Keith delirious and vulnerable, with only Allura there to take care of him. Unused to comforting others, Allura is completely out of her element. Luckily, she has Lance on the other end of the line to walk her through it.

Perennial (Shiro/Keith) (23,371 words)

Keith and Shiro find each other in every life. (A series of connected AUs) 1. Shiro will do whatever it takes to promote peace between his nation and Keith's. Even if that means staying quiet about the way the prince makes his heart ignite with the power of a thousand suns. 2. Shiro doesn’t have a soulmate anymore, but he finds the next best thing in a boy in his astrobiology course. 3. Selkies are never safe, not when Hunters are near. Keith breaks Shiro out of the laboratory facility he was taken to, but Keith is captured in the process. Shiro needs to go back for Keith, but he can’t when his ability to take his human form has been stolen away. 4. Keith takes care of Shiro after he escapes from a Fire Nation prison, his arm irreparably burned. Hoping to take down the Fire Lord, they search for a new way for Shiro to bend the elements, confronting Shiro's fear of fire along the way. 5. A Galra rebel breaks Shiro out of prison, asking for his help in shutting down a weapon that threatens the lives of the entire planet Princess Allura rests on. Shiro's Altean heritage will allow him to destroy the crystal that powers it, but not without a cost.

Pulmonary (Shiro/Keith/Allura) (7,425 words)

Infected with a disease that feeds off of heartache, flowers bloom in Shiro’s lungs, choking him with petals. He keeps the petals he coughs up a secret, but it’s getting hard to hide. The only thing that can stop its trajectory is if the person he’s in love with returns his feelings.

Shiro doesn’t even know who it is he’s sick for—Keith is Shiro’s anchor, his sun; but Allura is his compass and stars. Either way, it doesn’t matter. Neither of them could ever be his. They’ve each made their feelings for him—or lack thereof—known.

Not to mention the fate of the known universe is contingent on their upcoming marriage.

The coughing attacks get worse, but he can’t let them find out why. All he can do is try to push down his longing and watch as, little by little, Keith and Allura fall in love.

Dissonance (Shiro & Keith & Hunk & Pidge & Lance & Allura) (4,557 words)

Shiro can’t remember anything from before he was kidnapped by the Galra Empire seven years ago, but his life since then has been stable. Everything goes the way it’s supposed to, in accordance with the prophecy foretold by the Score; it’s so routine, it’s almost boring.

That all changes when, hell-bent on a mission, a stranger named Keith breaks into his home, and an unexpected reaction between their quintessences transports them halfway across the world. Shiro finds himself deep in the heart of enemy territory with nothing but a bad headache, his weaponized prosthesis, and a churlish yet protective soldier for company.

Keith vows to get him home safe and sound, but returning Shiro to his old life is easier said than done. They're going to need some help along the way.

Collect Call (Lance & Keith) (2,479 words)

The boy on the screen is wearing his old black t-shirt instead of his Marmora uniform; his bad hair is even messier than usual. “Did you need something?”

Yes, but for once, Lance's words have left him. What’s he supposed to say? Hey Keith, I want you to come home because I feel like something might be wrong with Shiro, but I can’t even figure out what the problem is—if there’s even a problem to begin with. Hey Keith, I want you to come home because I’m not you, and Shiro won’t talk to me again, no matter how hard I try. Hey Keith, I want you to come home because I miss you, and I don’t want to deal with this alone.

Nope, not happening. "I—I can call back later.”

No Matter (Keith &/Shiro, Keith & Lance) (7,104 words)

“You shouldn’t have to put up with this.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Shiro draws in a stuttering breath. “I’ve hurt you, over and over. And I don’t—I don’t know how to stop.”

--

Keith returns to the Castle to help figure out what’s wrong with Shiro. He’s here for him unconditionally, even when it hurts. He’ll get the information they need to find a solution; knowledge or death.

No Rest for the Blessed (2,307 words)

A series of ficlets based on whump prompts.

1. The paladins build a blanket nest for Keith, but he's afraid to fall asleep. (Keith/Shiro) 2. Shiro has a fever. Allura's stuck on nurse duty. (Shiro/Allura)

Linger (Keith &/Shiro) (3,037 words)

“You should go back to bed,” Keith says. “Get some more sleep.”

Shiro’s tired, but no. He can’t go back to his room, not yet. He’s not ready to be alone again.

--

Not wanting to leave Keith's side, Shiro looks for excuses to linger.

Silence (Allura & Lance & Keith & Shiro, Allura &/Lance, Keith &/Shiro) (9,691 words)

An anti-Galra nanoweapon leaves Keith ill and Shiro badly injured. It's up to Lance and Allura to find them, take care of them, and get them home safe and sound.

As Many Times (Keith/Shiro) (1,439 words)

Shiro has fever dreams; Keith does what he can to help.

Just Enough (3,949 words) 

Ficlets and prompt fills.

1. “Hello, Lance,” Allura says, quietly. She cants her head and lifts her lips a fraction: it’s okay; come closer. (Lance &/Allura)

2. It’s easier to pretend the clone wasn’t a he, but an it. Lance doesn't miss him. He doesn't. He can't. (Lance &/Shiro)

3. Allura turns her body to face Keith; he shifts his weight. The hug they share is a shy little thing, tentative and careful, but genuine. (Keith & Allura & Lance)

4. “One of these days,” Shiro says to Keith, voice slurring on the brink of fever dreams to come, “I’m going to tell you.” (Shiro/Keith)

5. Shiro doesn’t know how to lead into it—nothing he could think of of ever felt right—so he just takes the plunge. “I’m in love with you." (Shiro/Keith)

6. The Kerberos mission is successful. Keith is there for Shiro when he returns. (Shiro/Keith)

Sensibility (Shiro/Keith) (1,659 words)

Shiro visits Keith in the hospital and talks about his feelings. It's okay, he thinks, if Keith's not awake to hear it.

The Only Thing Sweeter (Allura/Keith/Shiro) (1,498 words)

“I think I’m in love,” she croons. The look he gives her is as soft and warm as the melted chocolate on her tongue.

--

Keith shows Allura how to make chocolate chip pancakes as they bring Shiro breakfast in bed.

Make Believe (Keith/Shiro) (15,125 words)

This was a terrible idea. An excruciating, tantalizing car crash of an idea. Keith should never have agreed to this. It was everything he’d ever wanted and more. He was never going to be able to come back from this.Careful metal fingertips traced his jaw, tipping his face up to meet gentle, storm grey eyes. He was close, so close. “Everything okay?” Shiro asked, quietly.“Of course,” Keith said. "Everything is fine.”It was a bald-faced lie; everything was not fine. It was wonderful and devastating and nowhere in between.

--

In which, in order to form an alliance, Keith and Shiro need to fake a relationship and endure a series of related trials.

Total Fics: 14. 15 if you count The Price of Peace, which was part of a reverse bang--the words are @sonderquill​‘s, but I came up with the concept and helped out with the plot. :)

Total Words:  108,022

Ship/character breakdown: Ship breakdown:

A lot of my fics can be interpreted as either platonic or romantic, so depending on your interpretation:

Sheith: 8-12 fics + ficlets Shallureith: 2 Shallura: 1 Allurance: 0-3 Shance: 0-1

Character breakdown:

Keith: 19 Shiro: 17 Allura: 9 Lance: 9 Hunk: 2 Pidge: 2

Not much Hunk or Pidge in there, but I do love them. Maybe I’ll have to write that companion fic to Finding Home sitting in my WIPs that focuses on the Garrison trio.

Characters that had the main focus:

Shiro and Keith, no surprise there. I had fun with Allura and Lance this year too! 

Specifics:

Best/worst title? Best title:  Make Believe. It’s a double entendre and I’m damn proud of it.  Worst title: Linger. I literally just picked a word from the prompt. :/

Best/worst first line?

Best: maybe Elementary?

Something is wrong.

It’s not anything special, but it sets the story up the way I want it to.

Worst: Silence

“Lance? Will you tell me a story?”

Enh.

Best/worst last line?

Best: I’d say either Linger or Sensibility.

Linger:

With a soft sigh, Shiro lets his heavy eyelids fall closed. He’s calmed by the sound of fingers tapping against keys, interrupted occasionally by a gentle touch. A press to his wrist, a stroke of his cheek, a brush of fingers through his hair. He falls asleep to sweet, subtle reminders that he’s not alone, not anymore.

Sensibility:

Shiro’s never been one to back down from a challenge, and it’s not like it’s a secret any longer. So he says, with every intention of being heard, “I love you too,” and the way Keith’s little smirk fades into something soft and genuine is completely, utterly worth it.

Worst: The Only Thing Sweeter.

Yes, she could get used to this. Breakfast in bed with her two favourite people? It’s not Altea, it’s not the Castle, but it’s exactly where she wants to be.

This one was for a flashbang, and I was at my word limit. I think the ending could have been better. 

General questions:

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

More for sure! I’m a very slow writer, so I’m impressed by my word count. :)

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year? I wrote a domestic fluff piece! Surprised myself with that one. I don’t think I’d have expected to write Allurance a year ago either, since I only got onboard with that one around season 5-ish. 

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

Hmmm. Maybe Pulmonary. It’s so self indulgent. Shiro-centric, check. Hanahaki, check. Sheith, check. Shallura, check. Kallura, check. Political marriage, check. Angst with a happy ending, check. Pining Shiro, check, check, and check. 

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

Make Believe is most popular in terms of comments/kudos on AO3, though Sensibility got more notes on tumblr. 

Make Believe: Fake dating is such a fun trope, and I love writing from Keith’s point of view. It’s a bit of a rollercoaster, and there’s SO much pining. I always love getting comments on that one--everyone’s so frustrated with them. >:) 

Sensibility: This one was a bit of a surprise! My writing is usually pretty dialogue-heavy, so having only one character speaking was an interesting challenge--especially so with Shiro, whose emotions are so repressed. I’m glad people liked how it turned out!  Story most underappreciated by the universe? Dissonance, by a large margin. It’s sort of a niche AU, so, fair enough. It's a lot of work to write, since I’m a bit obsessive about details, so it’s on hiatus for now.  Story that could have been better?  I like how Linger turned out, but there are a few things I would probably go back and change. There are parts of Silence, too, that I think could have been done better. Sexiest story?

 Haha, my stories are all very wholesome. They’re mostly just cuddling and pining. The closest I ever got to sexy was two years ago with A Game of Cat and Space Mouse, and even that was pretty chaste.  Saddest story? I cried writing the scene in No Matter where Shiro attacks Keith. I was sure that would never happen in canon since that would be too emotional... I am delighted to have been wrong. 

I wrote a couple sad drabbles, too, with Easier (Lance processing the clone situation) and the Kerberos Success AU (Keith helping Shiro live with his illness post-Kerberos). They earned me some lovely tags, such as “who the fuck needs a heart”, “*sobbing*”, “how dare you”, “fuck you??”, “are you trying to murder me”, and “CALM DOWN SATAN!” Job well done, I guess. :)

Most fun? Make Believe!  Fake dating is always fun.  Story with single sweetest moment? The entirety of The Only Thing Sweeter is sappy enough to give you a toothache, but single moment? Maybe the end of Linger, where Shiro doesn’t want to be left alone, so Keith lets him sleep in the common room with his head in his lap. 

Three words come back to him like a beacon, cutting through the swathes of dark memories under Haggar’s influence. “What you said to me,” Shiro says, “When we… when I almost… when you got that scar. You— you really meant it, didn’t you.”

Keith pulls back so Shiro can see his smile, honest and kind. “You know I always mean what I say.”

“Yeah,” Shiro whispers. “You do.”

“I meant what I said about you needing sleep, too,” Keith says. He rubs the tear tracks from Shiro’s face with his thumb, then guides him to lie down, bringing Shiro’s head to rest in his lap. “Get some rest, alright?”

With a soft sigh, Shiro lets his heavy eyelids fall closed. He’s calmed by the sound of fingers tapping against keys, interrupted occasionally by a gentle touch. A press to his wrist, a stroke of his cheek, a brush of fingers through his hair. He falls asleep to sweet, subtle reminders that he’s not alone, not anymore.

Hardest story to write?

Oh maaan, there were a few. The last AU in Perennial (Sacrifice) was definitely a challenge, the latest chapter of Silence just hated me, and the zine piece I recently wrote for @vldwhumpzine​ fought me tooth and nail. 

Easiest/most fun story to write?

Elementary for sure! Allura & Lance’s banter was just so fun and natural. It basically wrote itself. 

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

I don’t know about shift, but Collect Call, Elementary, and Silence all really reinforced how much I love supportive Lance. 

Most overdue story?

I need to finish up Silence. There are also some prompts sitting in my inbox that I haven’t gotten around to.  

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

I tried something different with the pacing for Linger. I was reading one of @lightshesaid​‘s fics and was in awe of her descriptive imagery, so I tried to slow down a bit and pay more attention to details. I’m not sure if it worked, but I tried!

I also wrote a couple stories without Shiro in them, and that was just crazy. 

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

Finish Silence and Make Believe! Those are the big ones. I’ve also got some unpublished WIPs I’d like to get around to, like a piece set in the Kerberos Success AU, maybe a follow up to Pulmonary, and maaaybe that angsty post-s6 fic where Shiro comes out of the astral plane forgetting how to interact with the world and the people around him. Peer pressure is a great motivator. :)

Tagging: I’m awful with tagging and don’t want to put pressure on anyone, but if you want to please do and let me know--I’d love to see! 

[theladyfangs]

Reflections/The Other Part 11

I’ll You Mine, If You Tell Me Yours

“Tell me what happened over there.”

Lorca glances up, surprised to see her so early. Their shift has just ended. He’s just reached his quarters, just taken off his boots when the door opens and she enters without invitation. Well, she does have a standing one. But still…so abrupt.

He sighs, knowing eventually she would want to know. Eventually, they would have to discuss it. Eventually, he would have to tell his. But, “I won’t apologize.”

The words send a chill down her back, but Michael steadies herself as her lover goes to the liquor cabinet.

“No.” She says, the word stopping him before he has a chance to reach for a bottle. The liquor is how he copes, she has figured out by now. And she refuses to have him inebriated, drunk, as he’s been before. He will give it to her straight. He owes her this, at least.

Suddenly, he’s tired. But Michael stands there, unrelenting.

“I want to know,” she says. “Tell me the truth.”

The truth.

“Do you know what agonizers are, Michael? Did you see them, when you were there?”

Her stomach lurches, as he unzips his jacket.

“How about what about how it feels to be stabbed in the back, literally?”

His shirt comes off.

“Turns out I had enemies on both sides. The empire wanted me dead, so did the rebels. When I got over there, the ship was already breaking up. I didn’t know who those people were, faces that looked familiar but weren’t. I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew something was wrong. We took shuttles. Some got blown up. Some got caught. Mine managed to make it to the surface. That’s where the real fun began.”

The surface was where rebel forces awaited him as he climbed out the wreckage that was his shuttle, bleeding and coughing, staggering on his feet. He and his companion were surrounded immediately by hostile forces. The man had been shot. Lorca had been taken, locked in a cell the first few days, dragged out and beaten on the third and fourth. Interrogation—demands for information on empirical positions. They knew his name. But he couldn’t seem to convince them that he wasn’t who they thought he was.

“First they tried to beat me,” he says. But he grew up fighting, to his parents’ chagrin, and he carried that fight to Starfleet—specializing in security and intelligence. He’d been through torture training and covert ops, endured more and lesser men had long dropped before he ever did.

“General Lorca,” an Andorian sneered down at him, “your bitch is dead.”

He thought they meant Katrina. It was the one time he felt broken. But then, they showed him a picture.

“Your face,” he says, “Eyes open, bloodied, looking at the sky.”

I don’t know who the fuck that is.

The sneer and vitriol behind the words is what finally made them stop.

He was dragged back to a cell, thrown in. By now, Starfleet blues were filthy—blood and bile and…other things, all over.

“Do you know one of the best ways to torture a person?” He asks Michael, as she watches him quietly. “Make them feel unclean.”

Next came the agonizers.

“That’s when I shit myself.” A dark, haunted laugh.

“They do it in bouts at a time. Make you feel safe. Shoot you again. Off and on, to the brink of death, then to recovery, then back to the brink.”

Delirium—he’d thought about Kat. Thought about their home in Tahoe, thought about the baby they didn’t get to have. Forced his physical predicament down and let the memory of her smile, her face, her laugh and their love wash over him. He stopped paying attention to his captors. Eventually, he’d die and they’d be left without a damn thing.

Until one day, he saw Sarek.

“Let me tell you,” he says. “Vulcan pacifism is a fucking lie.” Because Sarek tore his mind inside out until he realized he wasn’t dealing with the Gabriel Lorca of this universe, and finally convinced the rebels they had the wrong Lorca.

Not all were ready to play nice, though.

The first night out of the cell, with clean clothes, he felt the knife go through his side.

Emergency surgery. Later, he saw the same Andorian who’d sneered at him, now held in the cage he had been in. “You killed my wife,” the male told him. “My daughter.”

He couldn’t say he didn’t do it, knowing very well a version of him had.

He learned the stories fast. General Lorca. Emperor Georgiou’s Angel of Death. Her daughter, Michael, consumer of worlds. Together, they became the sword of Georgiou. Feared and despised for their cruelty. There were other stories too, other versions. Michael and Gabriel were almost mythical here.

My how the mighty have fallen.

Lorca was angry, but couldn’t show it. Resentful, but couldn’t express it. So he accepted this new fate. And did what he had to do.

Neither side was any better, he thought as they made their way into a Terran outpost. He’d watched dully as whole families were murdered—mothers, fathers, children. And over time, he lost himself, too—kill, or be killed, in this world. He was a survivor. So he killed. Starting with the Andorian who’d stabbed him. And felt no remorse.

He points to places as he talks. His chest. Back.

“I wish they would have let me keep this one,” he drags a finger across the lower right side of his abdomen, a callous, hard chuckle. “It was impressive.”

The physical scars are gone—dermal regeneration when he was unconscious in Sick Bay. Yet emotional and psychological scars remain.

“I HATED Gabriel,” he tells her. “I hated you. I hated them, the whole fucking thing.”

It makes her heart hurt to hear him speak of despair in a way that sounds so detached. Like he’s speaking about someone else. What he needs, she is beginning to understand, is more than what she may be able to give him. But she knows no other way of going about repairing what’s broken. And this Gabriel Lorca is still very much in pieces.

Michael goes to him and wraps her arms around his waist, and lays her head on his chest. it seems to bring him back to the present, and he looks down at the top of her head, seemingly amazed she is still here, even more so that she’s still willing to touch him. Carefully, as if she may disintegrate, he wraps his arms around her shoulders and buries his face in her hair.

.

.

“Explain.”

The only word he utters. They’re together, she’s tucked into the crook of his arm, a hand on his chest, molded to the side of his body. Lorca’s eyes are closed. Hers are too. But neither is asleep, just quiet. Michael has been ruminating on what he’s told her. He’s been silent and mentally exhausted but not too tired to ask now.

Tell you mine, if you tell me yours.

“I loved him and didn’t know it. Couldn’t face the truth of it. So I denied it,” she says quietly. “I denied it until I couldn’t.”

He seduced you too…even now the Emperor’s words curl like smoke in her mind.

“Maybe I was seduced,” she says slowly. “They tortured him, too. But he wouldn’t let me help him.” As if he had something to atone for. Willing to accept this punishment. She realizes it was likely a combination of self-punishment fueled by guilt, and raw determination to reclaim what he believed was rightfully his.

She told me that they raised me,” Michael says, and for the first time, Lorca’s eyes open, and cast to the side at her. But she’s not looking at him, just down. “She said he was my father figure until I got older”… And it became something more.

Reflexively, Lorca begins to feel his skin crawl at the insinuation. Growing more uncomfortable with where she’s heading.

“We were lovers,” Michael says. “Georgiou told me he groomed me. I couldn’t look at him the same after that. I was so angry. I felt betrayed. Disgusted even. We fought. I didn’t kill him, but…”

She remembers the look of hurt on his face, the way the sword stuck out of his chest—as if he couldn’t believe his own death. He’d reached out to her in those final moments, eyes pleading and… “I moved away. I couldn’t let him touch me.”

And he’d fallen into the abyss. In his dying moments he’d reached out to her and she’d denied him any sort of basic human comfort. She let him go. Alone, remembering what the logs said. That he was wanted for the murder of the other her. And that, coupled with Georgiou’s words, and his months of lies had done them in.

“You didn’t kill him,” Lorca tries to reassure her. But it doesn’t work.

“Then why does it feel like I did?”

She buries her face in his side.

Groomed her. He wants to recoil at the words. The implications. But he knows that’s something a Lorca would NEVER do. There are bounds. And that—is completely out of them. He is many things. But even the devil has limits. And Gabriel knows himself too well—both iterations--to believe that to be right. He thinks back to the message the other him left her…and realizes that this is the reason why. Gabriel must have figured in advance that if his plan worked, Georgiou would try to turn this Michael against him. And he’d wanted her to know—to have the other side—so that she wouldn’t think him a monster, wouldn’t still carry guilt about her feelings for him. He’d wanted her to know…

“I need to show you something,” Lorca tells Michael, getting up and getting a PADD, before coming back. She’s sitting up now, perched on the side of his bed, hands in lap watching, as he enters commands.

The screen comes on.

“This is for you,” he tells her, “Gabriel wanted you to see this.”

He hands her the PADD, and goes to the vestibule, leaving her alone with it. Maybe she will hate him now for withholding this. And if she does, he can’t blame her. He’s had a front-row seat to everything she thought was private, sacred.

Michael had denied him the first drink, but now he gets it, needing it to take the edge of his frayed nerves. Their nights are long, filled with painful things, and he doesn’t know how she will react once she realizes he knew before she ever said a word.

The bourbon and wines are gone. He has switched to whisky. Just a cup.

The words reach his ears as he sits on the couch, waiting.

.

.

“Hello, Michael. If you’re seeing this, I’m dead.”

Her fingers touch the outline of Gabriel’s face on the monitor.

Is that regret she hears in his voice? The face is set, but his eyes, Lorca’s eyes, Gabriel’s eyes, they’re sad.  

“I should have told you the truth,” he says. “But would you have believed me? I know you don’t believe in fate, but I do. And I still believe it was fate that brought me here, to you.”

Gabriel’s shoulders slump slightly, and she watches as he pauses, thinking deeply.

“The files we recovered,” he says, speaking slowly, voice becoming lower. Thicker. “They say you died, and I’m wanted for your murder.”  She remembers reading it.

“I didn’t kill you, Michael,” Gabriel whispers. “You may not believe anything I say, but I didn’t kill you. I loved you. And I had to watch you die.”

He watched her…die? He was there? He knew?

“If you see this, and you’re still here, in my universe, I know you’ll want to trust Emperor Georgiou. Don’t.” It’s said forcefully.  His hands fists. “Do not trust a word she says. Don’t believe what she tells you about me,” he continues. “It was by her order you were killed. She sent you after me and used you as a beacon. You were followed. And she knew—about us. And she also knew…” Again, he hangs his head.

“She took everything from me,” he says, “because I dared to defy her rule. And I watched you die, and when you died, our baby did too. You were pregnant, Michael. Georgiou knew. And she still did it anyway.”

The PADD clatters to the floor. Michael just stares at it, blankly. Trying to process what she’s just heard. What he said. That she was…that they were…

He hears the clang and gets up, entering the bedroom to see her sitting there, frozen in the spot.

Slowly, she raises her face to his.

“Did you…know?” Her voice is choked. Full. Lorca swallows, tasting the whisky at the back of his throat. He knows what she’s asking about. The last thing Gabriel said. The other thing. Two men in different universes with the exact same regret.

“Yes.”

He won’t lie to her.

Michael weighs her next question carefully, trying to decide how much else she wants to know. Eventually, she settles on it.

“Is there more?”

Lorca cringes at the question. She catches it. But she must know. Everything. Every word.

“Yes.”

“Have you…seen them, all?”

“Not all,” he tells her. “But most.”

He picks up the PADD and unlocks it, giving it the commands and handing it back to her, leaving the room again.

This time, she doesn’t drop it.

Sometimes, Gabriel makes her want to scream at him. In other entries, he makes her want to cry. When she realizes he recorded their lovemaking she blanches—realizing why Lorca kept asking her whether they were intimate. But the entry that breaks her heart, is when Gabriel begins to talk about Ash.

“I think you’re falling in love,” he says, glancing at the screen then away. “Had I known this would happen I would have left his ass on that Klingon prison transport.” Dry. Humourless. He’s dead serious.

“No. I love you too much for that,” Gabriel says. “Do you even know what love is? I don’t know if you—this version of you—has ever been in love before.”

She hadn’t. She didn’t. What he’s talking about now, it feels like a lifetime ago. When she was still naïve. A woman in body but still very much a girl, in other ways.

“Is it because you’re afraid of me?” He asks. “Did I do something wrong for you to go to him, instead? Was it because of what…we did? I shouldn’t have done that. I knew better. Maybe, you and him—maybe this is all my fault.”

Gabriel sits back in his chair, runs his hand over his face, one arm across his chest.

“What kind of man would I be to interfere with your love?” he says slowly. “If it makes you happy, Michael. If he’s what you really want, then I have no choice. But I don’t believe you do want him. And I will wait for you,” he tells her. “For as long as it takes. I’ll wait. Because I lost you once. And I would rather die before I lose you again.”

He did die.

Lorca doesn’t hear anything after Gabriel’s muffled voice finishes.

So he goes into the room and sees her, laying down, eyes closed.

“Lay with me,” she says, a question not a command. He does and she curls up and brings one of his arms around her waist.

“You’ve been drinking.”

He has, won’t deny that, either.

“They’ll find me another liver,” he tells her, fingers touching her belly, unconsciously rubbing her, there.

She wonders if he’s fully aware of what he’s doing.

Oh, the tangled webs of the universe.

A cruel joke? Nature’s humour?

They spoke of nature versus nurture once. Is it their nature to be together? Or just a strange twist of circumstance? Gabriel believed in fate. Michael hadn’t before. Now, she’s not sure what she believes.

Individually, they could never have healed themselves. But they’re slowly stitching each other back together.

.

.

In the belly

“Open hailing frequencies,” Katrina commands as the Leviathan comes within parsecs of Discovery.  The ship comes up on her viewer, just floating in space for the moment. Still. Tyler comes up to stand next to her, admiring the view.

“It’s lovely,” he says, wistfully. She glances at him, sees the longing on his face. His human half in view.

“It’s a good piece of work,” she relents.

From behind her, the comms officer turns. “Discovery acknowledging.”

“On screen.”

Before them, stands Commander Saru.

“Admiral,” he says with a slight, genteel bow. “We didn’t receive word of your arrival.”

“That’s because I didn’t send it. Where is your captain?” She asks.

“It’s 0400 hours. I believe he may be in his quarters. Should I notify Captain Lorca of your arrival?”

“No. I’ll speak with him directly. Lieutenant Tyler,” Admiral Cornwell calls. He steps up beside her again. “You’re with me. Prep for transport.”

They beam over. And as soon as she re-emerges in the transporter room, she feels that something isn’t right. It’s in the stiffness with which Saru greets her. Kelpiens are very transparent. Cornwell takes a look around, noting nothing seems to be amiss, but still.

“Lieutenant Tyler,” the first officer greets him a little less anxiously, but still, even as Tyler speaks back he casts a look at Katrina and she can tell he’s picked up on the same thing. The hour is early. Most of the crew is asleep. The captain should be, too. Technically. And so Katrina decides to use this time to see for herself what’s been going on. “The conference room,” she directs. Saru nods and escorts them down empty corridors, into the turbo lift and onto the bridge. It’s a different set of faces than those she’s accustomed to seeing—the third shift—and they stand at her entrance.

“At ease,” she tells them and they relax, still looking slightly rattled at seeing an Admiral on the bridge.

The conference room doors open and she and Tyler take a seat. Saru stands until she beckons for him to sit as well.

“Tell me about the decision to strike inside Klingon space.”

She doesn’t make small talk. Doesn’t mince words. For a split second, she thinks the Kelpien almost shirks away, but he holds himself tall. “We decided it would be advantageous…”

We. That word. But she already knows it wasn’t a “we” decision.

“We? Who is ‘we’?”

“Myself, Captain Lorca, Specialist Burnham, Lieutenant Stamets.”

“Uh, huh…”

“Saru—while it is one of the roles of the first officer to protect their captain, I will only ask you once again—who came up with the initial idea to attack in Klingon space.”

A few blinks.

She can tell he’s weighing it—whether it would be considered a betrayal to Lorca, and she’s glad to see that sort of loyalty. However, at the end of the day, both officers know that command decisions lie squarely on the shoulders of the person in command.

“It was…Captain Lorca’s idea, sir,” he says finally.

“And did you all agree?”

“Yes…for the most part.”

“For the most part?” She presses him.

“Well…not at first,” he starts to hesitate. “It…seemed like a greater risk than was necessary.” Ah, so he too had reservations.

“However?”

“But…Specialist Burnham…”

Katrina stops listening. Of course, Specialist Burnham. She left Michael Burnham behind to act as a check on Lorca, should he get too far out of hand, believing that while they wouldn’t stand idly by, she could count on Burnham to control some of Gabriel’s other…impulses—like his recklessness. Yet Burnham, from all appearances, had concurred with the foolery. This is disappointing, to say the least. And she’s got a good mind to just drop the former Commander Burnham off at Colony One and strip Lorca of command. But…

“That’s all, Mr. Saru. T hank you. You can wake your commanding officer now. Tell him Admiral Cornwell is here.”

He gets up to go…and as he does, something continues to niggle at Katrina.

She finally follows as he resumes his post at his station and makes the call.

“Captain Lorca to the bridge.”

It’s a ship-wide hail.

They wait for a response. When it doesn’t come after a moment, Saru’s long fingers key in a different set of codes. 2-1-1-2. The Captain’s quarters.

“Captain Lorca to the bridge.”

.

.

He gets the call in his room and turns over groggily. Michael shifts beside him, shivering, suddenly cold at the loss of body heat.  It’s 0446.

Early.

“Lorca here.” His voice is low, craggy from being halfway between sleep and waking, and there’s still the lingering whisky from earlier. Though he’s not hung over, it remains.

“Sir, Admiral Cornwell is here.”

At that, he’s wide awake.

“I’m on my way.”

He gets up, pulling on a shirt, jacket, then his shoes. He’d never taken off his pants.

Before leaving, Lorca brings the blankets up over Michael’s shoulders and kisses her forehead. She’s his lifeline. He can’t afford to lose her.

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

can you do a blurb where y/n and y/n and harrys new babygirl get the flu while he is away for the first leg of the h.s. tour and he comes home to take care of the both of you? and what it would be like? FLUFFY HARRY PLEASE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH XX :,)))))

Okay so I feel like this would be immensely important to him no matter what, but more so now bc this is your first baby and he wants to do everything right.

Harry seems like the kind of dad who would move heaven and hell for his child and this wouldn’t be an exception. Especially with the flu, since it has to do with his baby girl’s health.

So he’d take a small break from the tour (probably have to move some show dates around a little) and fly right home into your arms.

As soon as the plane would land, he’d be in a huge rush, literally sprinting down the lobby of the airport with his bags in tow, stumbling over his long legs and big feet and bloody fucking hell, why did he decide to wear his heeled boots today?

He’d chuck everything in the rental car and dive into the seat, backing out of the parking lot and taking on the highway like it’s NASCAR. The dolt would come a hair short of getting himself killed, almost ramming a minivan into the tree area on the side of the road while switching lanes, and nearly pancaking a random Camaro that was merging with him at a ramp. Mumbling apologies the whole time (Fuck…FUCK, sorry! Damnit. It’s a code red– my daughter’s on the brink of death! I’m so sorry…“ and “How the fuck does a van even move that fast?!”) He’d feel bad for being a hazard but his girls are more important than anything right now.

Harry’d stop by the pharmacy and pick up a bunch of DayQuil and Advil for you along with three different flavors of liquid Tylenol for your baby daughter because he doesn’t know which one she hates and which she likes. And as he’d be heading to the check-out counter with his arms full, he’d side-eye a limited edition My Little Pony Rainbow Dash plushie that is the type you can heat up in the microwave and give it to the child to sleep with so that they’re nice and warm. He’d grab it without hesitation.

Once he gets home, he’s literally bursting through the front door, accidentally dropping the keys two steps into the house and when he leans down to grab them, his carry-on slips off his shoulder, throwing him off balance so that he ends up slamming into then nearest wall of the long corridor that leads to the living room.

You’re in your bedroom with your daughter, cuddled up and watching reruns of Scooby-Doo with a box of tissues resting on your stomach on stand-by. She’s snuggled into your side, sucking at her thumb (a habit Harry had tried get her to break and insisted you aid in it as well but you’re too tired and depleted and sick to enforce the law at the moment) with her cheeks flushed a bright shade of raspberry red, her nose matching the color from being all stuffed up. She’s very warm, just like you are, but you’d read a parenting article that Harry had sent you a link to saying that in this situation, it is best to keep her as hot as possible so that the fever will break (when Harry had subscribed to Mommy Monthly, you don’t want to know).

You’re patting her back gently and dabbing at your nose with the opposite hand when you hear Harry arrive. “Arrive” isn’t the correct word, though– no, it’s more like “crash land.”

All you hear is the clink of the metal from the keys falling and then a loud thumb, followed by a garbled, high-pitched, “Fuck! Holy shit, that hurt…”

You get up, your daughter grabbing onto you koala style as you shuffle out in a pair of worn Tinker Bell pajama pants and an oversized Captain America t-shirt, your three-day hair up in a careless bun.

Harry’s managed to get himself together, having set all of his bags and thing on the couch, rubbing the side of his head with an angry pout plumping his bottom lip and you deduce it’s where he took the blow.

“Trying to land us all in the hospital, then, are you? Us two with Level 87 Ebola and you with a mild concussion?” You hike your daughter up higher on your hip, her hot lips pressed to the side of your neck as she lays her groggy head to rest on your shoulder, hugging you tightly.

Harry’s head jerks to the side, a small, apologetic, as well as sympathetic, smile winking one of his dimples to life. “Hi, baby. I missed you.”

He comes towards you with his arms wide open, Gucci sweatshirt looking big and cozy on him as he goes to envelope you into his warm, lanky body. The hug in itself feels like the cure to everything bad in the world, full of loving back rubs and lots of fluttery kisses to your damp forehead and simmering ears.

“How are my two favorite girls, huh? You doing any better?” He crouches down a bit to get level with your daughter’s face, thumbing over one of her chubby cheeks and frowning with deep concern. “She’s burning up.”

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to keep her as warm as possible to break the fever but it doesn’t seem to be working.” You hand her over, feeling a pang of pain hit you square in the chest when she starts fussing.

This triggers Harry’s Ultimate Dad Mode, cradling her into his arms and swaying her back and forth, cooing at her quietly as he plants lots of kisses on her hair-scarce little head. “S'okay, darling, s'alright. Daddy’s here now, yeah? Been missing you something awful. My poor little girl’s feeling under the weather, huh? Don’t you worry. Daddy got you, like, fifty flavors of Tylenol. Oh, and this cute little pony teddy bear thing that warms up to keep you toasty all night long! You’re gonna be just fine, princess.”

You cross your arms over your chest in order to preserve heat, your body already aching and shivering from being away from the warm duvet for too long. You sniffle a couple of times, smiling over chapped lips and a peeling nose because the view of Harry taking care of your daughter is truly a sight for sore eyes. Literally. Your eyes feel swollen twice their size and it’s horrible.

Harry looks up from tutting at the baby, eyes softening with love and care. “Y'know I love you with all my heart, right, pet?”

“Yeah.” You cough dryly, nodding your head.

“Then know I have your best interest in mind when I say this. You look like hell.”

You roll your eyes, sighing grandly. “Thanks. Thanks a lot. That’s totally what I wanna hear right now.”

Harry chuckles softly, coming over and wrapping one of his strong arms across your shoulders, leaning in to press his lips to your forehead. “Y'hungry? I can make my Nana’s famous chicken noodle soup. I’ll add some hot sauce to yours. It’ll clear those sinuses right up.”

He gives the bridge of your nose a signifying peck, his free hand caressing your flushed cheek with his thumb as you nod. You cradle your face into his large palm, extracting so much comfort and security from his touch and affection. It’s insane, but having him here, where he can take care of you and the baby, makes you feel better than half the remedies you’ve taken.

“Alright then. There’s medicine in the bag over there. Grabbed the extra-strength stuff ‘cause I knew you’d need it.”

“Thanks, Har.” You rasp out, giving the plastic grocery bag a glance and then looking back up at him. “Do y'need me to grab her while you cook or…?”

“Yeah, here…” Harry tries to pry your baby daughter from his shoulder, but she seems to be holding the hood of his jumper in her tiny fists, refusing to let him go. She snuggles her face deeper into the crook of his neck and you can practically see Harry melting into a puddle of mushy, endeared goo. His shoulders slump and his eyes go all watery, bright green irises twinkling with fondness.

“You wanna keep ‘er, then?” You croak, a gentle smile stinging your cracked lips.

“Forever.”

[folklore-musings]

If I Can’t Have You Part 1

Summary: Very AU. Archie Andrews is dead. The only leading suspect is one of his oldest and dearest friends, Jughead Jones. Betty Cooper is forced on a mission to find Jughead and bring him in, getting herself kidnapped throughout the process. Everything is a lie and nothing is the truth in this twisted tale of love and death.

Read on AO3 here

A/N:  So I’ve been playing around with this idea in my head for a while now. You can all thank @jandjsalmon for this side of Jughead. She introduced to me a world of Dark Jughead that I wasn’t aware I needed in my life. The prologue here will be the only chapter to include graphic scenes of violence. From here on out it will be a little easier to read I promise. I hope you like it! Side note - this whole first part is in italics because it happened in the past, just in case you were wondering why I wrote it that way.

It was like any other Friday night. Archie Andrews sat along with the other cronies at the bar, nursing a half empty beer bottle. His ginger hair was pushed back in a way that screamed, “I’m trying too hard to make it seem like I’m not trying at all.” His hand was on the knee of the leggy brunette beside him, their heads bent together in a private conversation. The woman threw her head back and laughed, and the man in the beanie at the corner booth wondered what was so incredibly funny.

Red hot anger coursed through Jughead Jones’ veins as he watched the scene unfold before him. He wanted to take the ginger out then and there in the Starlight Bar, but he had to hold himself back. ‘Just a few more hours’ he would remind himself. Jughead made sure the waiter kept the glasses of coke and the fry baskets coming. This was a stake out unlike any other he’d been on before.

Usually Jughead would never let himself be caught dead in the Starlight. His domain was the Whyte Wyrm, back in their home town of Riverdale. But he had more important things to do than toss back a few beers and play some pool. He had only one thing on his mind and it was getting Archie alone.

Jughead took a break from staring sulkily at Archie and went to the bathroom. Three cokes later and he couldn’t hold it any longer. He held his head low, staring at his shoes as he walked past the ginger hoping Archie wouldn’t notice him. Just when he thought he’d cleared customs Archie called over his back, “Jughead! What are you doing out here?” His voice was higher than normal and he quickly removed his hand from the brunette’s leg.

“Hey Arch.” He started out, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “I just decided it was time for a change of scenery.” Jughead’s eyes flickered to the brunette in the tiny black dress. “I guess that makes two of us, huh?” He turned on his heel and continued for the restroom, not bothering to hear Archie’s reply.

“Wait Jughead, I can explain!” Jughead ignored his old friend and kept on walking.

When he returned from taking a piss Archie and the nameless girl were gone. Swearing under his breath he left more than enough cash on the table to cover his bill and headed outside, hoping he could catch them before they left.

Thanking his lucky stars Jughead watched with livid eyes as Archie held the door open for the woman, giving her ass a tight squeeze before shutting the door behind her. Jughead snuck around the building to his beat up old Cadillac and hopped in, waiting a few minutes and following them into the night.

They parked outside an old brick house and let the car idle. Jughead was careful to park one street over, attempting to stay undetected by the pair. He imagined what they were doing; probably tangled up in each other’s arms as they fucked on the curb outside her house. It figured she’d be a cheating whore. And to think Jughead thought opposites attracted. Definitely not in this twisted storyline.

He tore his thoughts away from Archie and pulled a book out from his glove box, wondering how much longer he’d have to wait. His fingers started to shake and he reached for the pack of smokes wasting away in the pocket of his leather jacket. He couldn’t risk the jitters. Not now when literally everything was on the line. After tonight there would be no going back to the life he lived before. But it was worth every promise that was yet to come. Jughead would finally have a chance to be happy. He took a few relaxing puffs from his and threw his head forward on his steering wheel, trying to steady his racing heart.

The squealing of tires on the asphalt pulled Jughead back to reality. “Fuck.” He muttered, turning the key in the ignition and racing after Archie, desperately trying to catch up. He couldn’t have gotten far, but the sooner the dirty deed was done, the better.

Familiar taillights of Archie’s mustang soon appeared in Jughead’s windshield and he breathed a sigh of relief. His heart was hammering away in his chest, refusing to let up. He could hear the blood flow in his ears and his fingers began to throb. In need of a distraction he turned the volume up on the radio, anything to drown out his thoughts.

Was he really about commit the worst felony known to mankind? To take the life of another living, breathing human being? His world was spinning, turning upside down and his stomach clenched in thousands of tiny little knots. He cursed himself for eating two baskets of fries. Ketchup was not going to taste very good when it undoubtedly came back up.

Jughead sped up to Achie’s vehicle, the brake lights gleaming like rubies under the dark night sky. He took a deep breath and grabbed the police light he’d nicked from Kevin Keller down at the sheriff’s office. Opening his window, Jughead stuck it to the roof of his car, igniting the surrounding trees in shimmering flashes of red, white and blue. He found the irony of the entire situation hilarious and threw his head back laughing. There was no turning back now.

Archie pulled off to the side of the road and Jughead followed, leaving a few feet between their bumpers. He flipped the switch on the light of justice and stepped out of the car.

Jughead grabbed a pair of black leather gloves from the back pocket of his jeans and slid them on over his fingers, surprised to find the shaking had stopped. He walked over to Archie’s driver side window with a smile on his face as he reached for the handle. “What the fuck?” Archie said, Jughead surprised to find the door unlocked. “You’re not the cops.”

A deep chuckle escaped from the back of Jughead’s throat. “Obviously. But you were speeding.” Jughead sniffed the air. “And drinking and driving too. Not so smart Old Sport.”

Annoyance gleamed over the curves of Archie’s face. “Can I go now?” he asked. He tried to close the car door but Jughead forced it open wider.

“Not so fast. Who was the girl?”

Archie’s eyebrows shot up and he choked on his next words. “J-Just a friend from work. We met up for a couple of drinks. What’s with the third degree?”

“No degree. Just natural curiosity, its human nature to be curious Arch,” Jughead paused and inhaled deeply. “So tell me, does your fiancé know about your friend in the little black dress?” Jughead swore he could see Archie pale before his eyes. He was already of a ghostly complexion, but now he was almost transparent.

Archie gripped the door handle tighter, trying harder to force it closed but Jughead refused to budge. “No. And from one friend to another, I’d really like to keep it that way Jug. Please. I promise that woman means nothing to me. Don’t tell Betty.”

He didn’t know what came over him but at the sound of Betty’s name Jughead absolutely lost it. He lunged for Archie, desperate to twist his fingers around his neck. If he was going to kill Archie, he was going to make him suffer.

Jughead had his knee bent into Archie’s groin. His hands were clamped around his throat and he could see the light draining from Archie’s eyes. He was doing it. He was going to kill him. “Any last words, Archiekins?”

Archie opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. He was flailing under Jughead’s hold, trying to force and shove him away but the alcohol in his veins slowed down his reaction time. Finally he got in a punch to Jughead’s jaw, creating stars behind his eyes. It took every ounce of strength in him but Jughead refused to let go, tightening the grip around Archie’s neck. His arms began to shake as he forced all his weight upon his old friend. He thought Archie would’ve put up a better fight than this. It was pitiful on the brink of pathetic.

“Do you want to die? Fight me Archie! Punch me! Hit me!” Archie writhed underneath him, trying to squirm out of Jughead’s grasp but to no avail. It wasn’t supposed to be this easy. Tears spilled from the corners of Archie’s eyes and rolled slowly down his hollowed cheeks. He threw a punch into Jughead’s stomach and the brunette sputtered, loosening his grip only slightly. “That the best you got?” He spit in Archie’s face. Jughead was going to be sick. In a million years he never would’ve guessed this side of him existed. Sure he’d been a rather angry kid growing up, but he never imagined he’d be capable of murder. His stomach coiled, rolling over itself but Jughead forced the feeling away. He was going to finish this.

A few more seconds dragged on and Archie’s attempts to break free slowed. The strength in his body was depleting. His eyes rolled back into his head, his limp body falling back against the leather interior.

Jughead removed his hands from around his neck. Archie’s throat was bruised and beaten but Jughead didn’t care. He needed to get the fuck out of there. Carefully, he set Archie’s leg back into the car and Jughead closed the door, running back to his car. Thank God they lived in a small town, not a single car had driven by to witness the horrifying scene.

Once back inside his Caddy, Jughead tossed the gloves into this back seat. His palms were clammy and his forehead was dripping with sweat. He reached for the beanie on top of his head and threw it up on the dash. Starting his car he drove away, his hands slipping over the wheel as he did.

About a mile or so down the road Jughead stopped and pulled over. He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Running into the trees he emptied the contents of his stomach into the grass, gripping the nearest tree trunk for support. His legs were quivering and his heart felt like a ticking time bomb, reminding him of an old poem by Edgar Allen Poe. The events of the evening would surely haunt him for the rest of his life.

His throat burned and ached and he ran the back of his hand across his mouth to remove any excess throw up from his lips. He stood up tall, desperately straining to slow down the beating of his heart.

With shaky hands he reached into the front pocket of his jeans and flipped open his phone. He pressed number one for speed dial and waited as the shrilling ring echoed in his ear. His breath hitched when the phone on the other line picked up. Everything was silent.

Jughead breathed into the receiver. “It’s done,” he whispered, and the line clicked dead.

[shutupandshipit]

With Stars in Your Eyes, Heart on Your Sleeve - Ch. 9

Summary: Her eyes wide with drink, she slapped both of her hands on either side of his face, squeezing his cheeks until his lips puckered. “Listen to me. Don’t baby him, just help him. Also, he’ll probably accept your help more than you think. Also, give him this.” She shoved a thin cylinder into his chest, waiting until he fumbled his fingers around it to turn back to her laptop.

“What is it?”

“Tell him he can be Daredevil now.”

Chapter: 9/11

Previous <- Chapter 8

Chapter 10 -> Next

Masterpost

It had been weeks since Keith had left with his parents, weeks of Lance sleeping alone. Weeks of Lance not sleeping at all.

He had started making rookie mistakes, mistakes he hasn't made since he first got to the Garrison, trigger happy and hot to prove himself. He had started making mistakes he hasn't made since they all first started piloting the lions together. He hadn't made a mistake that effected the outcome of the mission, but that wouldn't be true for long.

His lack of sleep was affecting his decisions, his agility, his health, his connections with not only Black, but the rest of the lions as well. His lack of sleep was affecting everything. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, he was shaping up to be a pretty poor leader.

Not that he wasn't trying. God, he wished he could go to sleep. Just for an hour. Just for ten minutes. Just for a few minimal seconds. He was tired, and he really had tried everything. He'd taken melatonin, drank tea, worked out, not worked out, mentally exhausted himself. Nothing had worked so far.

He fell asleep here and there. He had to, Pidge explained. If his body didn't force him to sleep, he would eventually die. Simple survival instinct, she told him.

There were more times than not now that he'd be working on something whether on the Bridge or in Hunk's room, and he'd suddenly wake hours later with no memory of when he'd fallen asleep. Always, always, there would be a blanket draped over him. Even when he did literally pass out, it was never for more than three or four hours, and then he'd be up for 48-72 hours again. He was living off of naps.

Lance was exhausted.

He was so exhausted that he couldn't even muster up his usual anger or longing for Keith.

He just wanted to sleep.

Allowing his eyes to slowly drift close, lids heavy as lead, he breathed slowly.

The alarm system blared, ringing sickeningly through his body. 'Lance! Get to the med bay right now! Hurry up!' Allura screamed.

Moments passed where he all he could do was listen, but not comprehend. He couldn't move. The exhaustion had finally found its home in every one of his limbs instead of wandering aimlessly through his body. He was ready to give himself over to sleep.

'Lance!'

There was desperation in Allura's voice now, and Lance jerked, remembering his position. He had responsibilities. Even if he didn't, the tone of Allura's voice would have normally made him bolt into action anyway. As he rolled from bed, he finally listened to what she was screaming.

'Keith, lie still! Hunk, Shiro, someone, hold him down! Lance, we need you in the med bay as quickly as possible! Keith! Someone, turn him on his side!'

“Keith?” Lance scrambled, sweeping his hands across his bed and then the floor for his cane. No where. He couldn't find it. Overhead, the intercom was still live.

'He's having a seizure! Someone turn him on his side! Hunk, stop trembling and help!' Pidge was yelling, her voice high with stress and terror. 'Goddamn it, Hunk! Help me!'

There was a roar of rage. 'What are you doing to my son? If you are hurting him, I will-'

'Shut up! Someone get her the fuck out of here!' Pidge screamed over Krolia.

Stumbling to his feet without his cane or Pidge's echolocation glasses, he ran from the room. He was as blind as the day he'd woken from his coma, but he felt at home in the darkness for the first time.

'Pidge, Matt, Coran, Hunk, keep him still. I need to cut away the cloth. I need to- Oh god-' Several gasps filled the hall around him followed by the unmistakable sound of Hunk puking. Someone -Keith, it was Keith- moaned in pain.

Lance sprinted, careening down the hallway. He slammed into walls as he skidded around corners.

'Lance. Lance. Where's- I- I need to tell him- Where's Lance?' Keith's voice was weak, but the clearest thing Lance had heard since he had left. Slowly, his voice grew with panic. 'Lance? Lance! Don't let them- No! No! Not my leg!'

'H-hold him still. Hold him still! We can't save the leg!'

Sick horror filled Lance. He never knew he could move so fast.

There was no doors to stop Lance when he finally reached the med bay, hurtling through the open doors. “Lance!” Shiro shouted, catching him around the waist and bringing him to a stop, “You're here. Finally.”

“Where's Keith?” he panted, twisting and turning as he tried to free himself from Shiro's grasp.

“Right in front of you. Matt and Hunk are there-”

Lance slammed into their backs, shouldering between their bodies until the edge of the bed was pressing into his abdomen. He found a hand clutching the railing, and gripped at the owner's fingers. “Keith.” Lance's voice was only a whisper of breath, and tears burned at the back of his throat.

“Lance,” Keith moaned, a sob overlaying the agony in his voice, “They're trying to take my leg. Don't let them. Please, don't let them take my leg.”

Allura was ignoring them, her voice trembling, but authoritative as she said, “Pidge, I need you to bring me the anesthetic. We don't have time to put him under. He's already lost too much blood-”

“What blood?” Matt squeaked, his voice high and reedy as Pidge's in that moment, “It's all pus! How did this even happen?”

“Shut up, Matt! Now's not the time!” Allura and Pidge shouted together.

Lance was silent as he listened. There was grunts as the others struggled beneath Keith's writhing body. There was the telltale scrambling of trembling bodies attempting to be efficient. There was moans as Keith struggled.

He could smell the sharp tang of blood made only more sickening by a musky scent that he'd only ever smelt a few times. The smell of rot, of infected flesh. He didn't need sight to know that Allura was right. There was no saving Keith's leg, no antibiotic that would cure what had already eaten his flesh. Not even Star Dust would work, but they could still save Keith. They would save him. “He's gone septic, hasn't he?” he asked quietly as Keith's hands found him, feverish and sweat slicked as they traced the curve of his face.

“Yes,” Pidge snapped, closer to his ear than he'd expected, “Don't try anything, Lance. We don't have time for it. If the infection spreads any further-” She didn't have to say anything more. If the infection spread, they would loose Keith.

He wasn't going to let that happen. Not like this. Not willingly.

“How did this happen?” he asked, voice trembling as he took Keith's face in his hands. He traced his thumbs over his cheekbones.

Allura was the one to answer, her voice accompanied by the ring of metal against metal. “He ran out of pills. That accompanied with not giving himself enough time to heal properly and ripping open the wounds every time he trained, there was no chance. And he's too quiznaking proud to ask for help. The healing pods were finally back up. We could have-” There was a sob on her exhale. “I don't know how no one noticed. How-”

“Allura, we need to start now,” Pidge told her sternly, “Keep it together alright. Just for a little while longer.”

Keith sighed beneath Lance's touch. His breath was hot and moist and smelled like death.

“Keith, there's nothing they can do for your leg. It has to go. If they take it, it'll save you. You may not agree, but I can't let you die. I won't let you die. I will drag you from the brink of death over and over again. I need you, more than you'll ever know. You're going to hate me for this, but if you live, it won't matter. I just... You need to stay alive. Can you do that for me? Please, Keith, please, I can't lose you.” Tears slipped down his cheeks, and he wiped the splatters from Keith's cheek with each swipe of his thumb.

“Stay with me,” Keith whispered, fingers wrapping around his, “Promise you won't leave me.”

“Never. I will never leave you,” Lance told him, pressing a kiss to his forehead before standing straight. He turned his eyes towards the metallic clinking where he knew Allura and Pidge stood waiting. “Okay. Do what you need to do.”

Keith's nails bit into Lance's skin as the first of many screams tore up his throat.

[journeysintowebcomics]

Girl Genius Liveblog #120

UPDATE 120: The Fight Everyone Wanted to See

A short update today. Lately I have been rather busy, I apologize for taking so long to make an update.

Last time, well, Agatha had now to include herself in the plans to heal Gil and Tarvek. She’s sick and pretty much dying, changing colors like the rest. The problem here is that since Agatha is the last Heterodyne around, the Castle isn’t willing to let her die, even if it’ll save her life – supposedly. In a way I can understand that he’s very against this, but he’s also being irrational. Agatha’s going to die unless something’s done. Let’s see if they do manage to go against the Castle’s wishes.

I’m not sure saying ‘I think’ it’ll work will give the Castle much confidence about the plan, Agatha, you may want to rephrase that. It’s too late to even try to rephrase, because the Castle decided to take matters into its own hands, all in the name of keeping Agatha from self-destructing.

I don’t think the Castle really cares about Tarvek and Gil, Agatha. They’re not the last men on the surface of Earth, and they’re not you. Oh well. Agatha ultimately manages to convince the Castle to leave her back down by saying she has a plan that doesn’t involve dying – and luckily for her, the Castle doesn’t ask what it is.

I don’t think Agatha is in mood to give you more weathervanes after this little show of insubordination, you know!

Turns out Agatha does have a new plan, alright: stick to the old plan while Tarvek and Gil distract the Castle. You know, something I have found odd is that despite being, you know, this kind of huge presence all around the characters, it seems to be able to focus on only one thing at once. There’s this big whole place yet its attention is centered only in one thing. Well, I guess that’s convenient for moments like this one.

Since there’s a need for a distraction and Tarvek seems to have been the only one to have caught Agatha’s subtle demand, he takes this matter into his own hands! Literally.

Hah! How daring! This can only end well. Gil was all for beating the crap out of Tarvek before, this’ll only encourage him. It’s certainly going to work as a distraction, that’s for sure. ‘Stomping that lout into dirt’ is bound to be fun to watch. I believe Gil is going to win, he’s been wanting to do this for a long time already.

You’re getting way into this distraction, Gil! But it’s effective, it has everyone’s attention. Now that I see this...why’s Zola’s ruined Castle destruction machine over there? And looking less broken than before. I suppose it’s possible Agatha was using it as a way to fix the generator, but it makes me a bit nervous to see it.

Tarvek is having a grand time humiliating Gil, much to Violetta’s surprise. I admit I’m surprised too, I thought Gil would be doing better than this.

So you mean to tell me Tarvek has some of Violetta’s training? He doesn’t make much use of it, then! For someone with so much agility he sure has gotten gravely injured way too many times. I suppose the training doesn’t mean he’s able to dodge danger every time.

About time you fought back, Gil! Come on, throw him to the floor as if that’s Captain Vole, show him what you’re made of! And finally he does, he’s dodging every punch and being smug. This is exactly what I was waiting for!

They’re rather even, all things considered. It’s a good thing they’re not serious about fighting each other, or things would get rather ugly in here.

Tarvek, when your move is to choke your opponent with the cables of the device that’s keeping you both alive is when you know you have gotten way into the plan, you really should stop. Eventually, they get tired enough to stop and just glare at each other, giving compliments about how the other isn’t a mere sitting duck waiting for the other to twist their neck off. Did it work?

Apparently it did, because the Castle didn’t notice whatever Agatha was doing ten feet away from the show. How long did this fight go? Because depending on how much time passed, these two may be on the brink of death – again. I lost count how many times it has happened so far.

But hey, if it’s done, then that means there may finally be a cure to this resplendent immolation soon, and that’s a plus in my books. Now the problem is to stop the Castle from intervening. But that’s for next time.

Next update: two updates