#like obviously i’m out sick right now and they are surviving without me but they need me for the summer

[fingertipsmp3]

Is my work trying to pull a fast one on me or do I just have trust issues: the novel

[luveline]

i hope you’re feeling better jade!!🫶🫶

i’d love to request zombie!au steve of when he starts to realize he has feelings for reader if you haven’t already done smth like that

zombie au —Steve has some deep thoughts about you. 1.3k

“How are you feeling?” 

Steve bats a branch out of his face. “I’m okay.” 

“Yeah?” You hold the next branch out of his way. “Sorry, guess I’ve asked you that too many times today.” 

Four times, by his count. Steve takes a deep breath, the warm summer air filling his nose, the smell of earth and tree bark an assault for the senses. He has the heavy backpack strapped tight against his chest, the buckle rubbing his skin raw. His thin t-shirt offers no protection. Your coats have been packed away in the second backpack hanging from your left shoulder. You carry the canteens on your right, all six of them heavy with fresh water. You don’t complain. 

“I’m fine, I swear,” he says, squinting at the white sky. 

“You won’t say anything if you don’t feel fine. I just… I don’t want you to throw up again, and I think we can avoid it if you take it easy. If you’re not feeling up to it, that is. Not that you’re not feeling up to it.” 

Steve softens at your overexplaining. You’re used to caring about him a lot and having him snap back at you. He can’t explain it, not without deep introspection —is he emasculated? Defensive? Or just worried he can’t take care of you?— so he doesn’t think about it if he can’t help it. 

It’s harder to ignore when you worry about him. 

“I don’t feel sick,” he says, a promise as he bats another low branch aside and guides you into a clearing, where he pauses. 

“Okay, good.” 

Steve spent the last two days throwing up and recuperating in a shack of a house a few miles back. He gave himself food poisoning eating spaghetti hoops he should’ve known were bad. He doesn’t remember the first day in detail, too busy yacking and feverish, but he does remember your hand on his back. Your gentle hand, your careful fingertips. Remembers you stroking hair away from his mouth. 

It was the first time he’d realised you were his friend. It’s a shameful thing, to have been with you for this long, and to have been ignorant to you this whole time. It’s not that Steve thought you were evil, he just never let himself think about you too much. Never enough to think Hey, this girl I’ve brought with me, she’s good to me. She’s kind. 

He knew you were, obviously. It’s complicated. It’s giving him a headache. 

“Maybe we should stop here.” 

A few days ago he would’ve said No way, are you dumb? You can’t stop here, a clearing doesn’t protect you from the elements, nor a hoard, but he knows you know those things and peacocking his survival skills won’t actually keep you safe. 

He has to stop being in survival mode. Or, in huge jerk mode. 

The feeling of your face pressed to his chest as you slept, each exhale a warmth that settled him. Later, your hand feeling against his forehead, sure he was asleep. You love him. He’s not sure what kind of love, but you do. And he loves you, too, but he’s not sure what kind of love it is either. He estimates that it’s the feeling that comes with surviving a traumatic event (or, in your case, many events) together, caring for each other, tending to each others wounds, mixed with the beginning of a crush. 

Like, he loves you in that he cares very, very deeply for you, and would be wrecked now if something happened to you, but he’s not in love. Not yet. 

He looks out over the clearing. Finally, some clarity.

Steve turns to you and knows he might fall in love with you.  

“I think we should keep going. The tree cover is better, in case it rains again tonight. Maybe the heat’ll break, I don’t know. And I don’t like this, I feel like we could get ambushed from any angle.” He tries not to waver in his explanation. 

“A little rain would be nice,” you say, wiping your eyebrows, “I don’t know about that ambush theory.” 

“Oh, you don’t?” he asks. 

“What are the trees gonna stop?” you ask. 

He recognises an urge to pinch your side and stomps it down. “I don’t know, okay? Leave me alone, my head hurts.” 

“Want some tylenol?” 

He accepts. You walk for another hour or so through the woods until you can see the dark asphalt of a highway. They’re more intimidating, and so you backtrack for fifteen minutes and set up camp beside an incline. It’ll protect you from one angle, at least. 

“You okay?” you ask again. 

Steve lets the canteen he’d been holding fall into his lap. “What can I tell you to make you stop asking me?” he asks genuinely. He doesn’t want you to worry this much about him. 

“We could go back in time and stop you from eating those spaghetti shapes,” you say. 

He likes the way you say it. You look behind you suspiciously, spreading your jacket out and laying the backpack on it before you lie down. You face toward him, your eyes half-lidded. 

You hate the idea of bugs crawling into your hair or ears. Steve bites his lip. 

“What?” you ask. 

“You can lie on me, if you want.” 

“I’m not going to sleep yet, don’t worry.” You curl into yourself. “Let’s make a fire tonight. I know spoiled food is spoiled no matter what, but I think heating that soup’ll give it less chance of upsetting your stomach. It’ll taste nicer, too.” 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Just a small one, though, when it’s really dark. We’ll stay up.”

“Okay.” You smile, wide and subtly beautiful. 

Is this because you held his hair back while he was sick? Could it be something that minimal? 

You reach across leaf litter to play with his shoelace. After a few minutes, you curl your fingers around the loop. 

You’re starved for touch. He knows how much of a difference it makes at night when he ushers your face into his lap, hand behind your shoulders to hold you. He’s never not given you affection when he thought you needed it, even when he began to suspect you liked him as more than a companion. You’ve never taken advantage of this fact. If you like him, you don’t burden him with it. If anything, your growing crush has made you shier. You're more self conscious. 

He takes your hand. “You already have dirt on your hands,” he says, rubbing your fingers. If you’re hands are dirty, he can’t see it. 

“Your shoe,” you explain. 

He rubs at nothing. Then he holds it just to hold it, feeling the weight of it in his. 

It’s a relief to realise he likes you. He’s confused, but it feels good at the same time. You’re a very easy person to like, even if he’s insisted otherwise before. You can ask questions he finds irrelevant and self explanatory, but for every agitating misunderstanding, you’ve a moment of sweetness. 

You can disagree with him a thousand times, and it doesn’t change how moments like this make him feel. Like he’s found a rare slice of peace. Your arm goes limp, your hand his to do with as he pleases, and he can finally take a breather for the day. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You’ve been asking me all day, but I didn’t ask you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.” 

“How’s your mouth?” he asks. You get toothache from grinding your teeth in your sleep. Some nights, it makes you cry. 

“Fine, really. Doesn’t hurt.”

“How’s your head?” he asks, giving your hand a weak squeeze. 

Your lips twitch, eyes fluttering with something he doesn’t know. “I’m fine, Steve. Great, all things considered. I’m glad you’re not sick anymore.” 

He threads his fingers through yours. “Yeah, me too.” 

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

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123 for 🧟:

---

Buck feels relieved. She didn’t travel all this way not to have a support system in him. 

“Hershey didn’t get the worst of the outbreaks,” Maddie says. “Roads closed from Harriburg, and… Well, it was stemmed.”

Buck remembers that, from the early days. Before the internet went out. He’d tried to reach out. Even to his parents. 

“But everyone went into lockdown mode,” Maddie says. “At first I thought that would exclude me, being in healthcare. I thought I was needed more than ever.”

“Weren’t you?” Buck asks. 

“Oh, I think probably.” Maddie admits. “But Doug came home one day with new guns and told me neither of us was leaving the house again. Not without his say so.”

“What the fuck?” 

“I think he was happy, honestly. Society had gone to hell, and he didn’t have to be careful anymore.” Her eyes tear up a little. “He could do whatever he wanted.”

Buck’s blood goes cold. He knew Doug didn’t treat her right. Didn’t treat her well at all. But what she’s implying? If he had known… Oh god. He would have never left her. 

“Maddie…”

“Don’t say sorry,” she says firmly. “I worked hard to make sure you didn’t know, okay? It’s why… It’s why we lost contact.”

Buck’s head hangs a little. “I would have helped you.”

“I know. That’s why. He would have killed you.”

Buck sighs. “So what happened?”

“He got sick,” Maddie says. “Went out on a supply run one afternoon, came back sick. Infected.”

“Shit.” Buck hisses.

“So I shot him.” Maddie says, very quietly. 

“My god, Maddie.” Buck exhales. “I’m so sorry. That must have been awful.”

“It was,” she agrees. “But I wasn’t going to die there. Become infected or wait for him to fully turn and… Eat me.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t,” Buck replies. “I’m so glad you survived.”

“Me too,” she says, inhaling a little. Like she’s convincing herself. 

“Can I ask what happened to Mom and Dad?” Buck asks. 

They’re obviously not close. Never were. He hasn’t worried for them, the same way he’s worried for Maddie. But it’s not like he wishes them harm. Though, harm has come for most people anyway. 

Maddie shakes her head a little.

“I don’t know entirely,” she admits. “By the time I left and was able to check on them, the house was abandoned. No trace of them. No remains.”

Buck bites the inside of his cheek. So it will always be a question, then. 

“Sorry,” Maddie says. 

Buck shakes his head. “No, that’s… I mean, everyone has people like that, right?”

She nods. “I’m glad you’re not one of them, now.”

Buck throat feels tight. “Same with you.”

▪️▪️▪️

Buck starts his shift on cams after Maddie is asleep. He’s on from eight until two in the morning, when Bobby will switch with him. 

It sounds painfully boring, but Buck doesn’t hate cam shifts. He did at first. The stillness was grating. Drove him crazy. He learned to entertain himself, over the past months. He can’t read, really. He could miss something. But he can listen to music or audiobook CDs. Not just CDs, either. Karen’s iPhone is still in good shape, and it had dozens of audiobooks, podcasts, and music downloaded onto it. She leaves it in the cams room with a charger for whoever is on shift. So there is a lot for Buck to do to occupy his mind. Even if some of the podcast episodes and audiobooks start to get repetitive on the second or third listen. 

Tonight, he’s listening to a nonfiction selection of Karen’s. Something academic and a bit smarter than Buck. But the only way he learns is by challenging himself, so he’s trying to focus. It’s nearing ten o’clock. Most everyone has gone to bed. It’s been a long, tiring day. Full of activity. 

All this to say, Buck is surprised when he sees someone pop up on the security camera. Not just someone. Eddie. He’s walking, purpose in his step, down the hallway connecting to the front foyer, right out the big glass entryway doors. Oh. Well, that’s stupid. The doors lock from the outside. Bobby locks them before he goes to bed. Buck will have to leave his post to let him back in, which is annoying. 

He’s about to do as much, making the short walk to bang on the glass and let Eddie know, when what he sees on the screen stops him short. Eddie walks to the side of the building, leans against a brick wall, and starts to cry. 

Oh.

Well, this is very awkward. 

And, hey, there’s nothing wrong with crying. Buck has cried twice today. One over the radio, once over his sister returning. No shame in it. It’s just that, Buck has all the off-cam good crying spots down. Including his private room. This poor guy doesn’t realize Buck can see him. 

He shouldn’t watch. Surely no zombies or other forms of villain will come in the next… Well, how long does it take to cry? Buck doesn’t know. He doesn’t know anything about this guy. Other than that he saved Maddie. Really, the polite thing to do would be to turn away and give him a minute. He’s going to. Definitely. 

Except, he finds he can’t look away. 

Something in his heart cracks, watching this guy. He’d seemed friendly and collected earlier. Steady. Not like someone hours away from weeping. Maybe that’s just a front. Maybe he wants to seem tough in front of his kid. Buck thinks he could understand that, despite not being a parent. 

The crying lasts less than ten minutes. Buck watches Eddie straighten himself up, rub his eyes, and turn back towards the entrance. Which is still locked. Shoot. Buck bounces to his feet, leaves the cam room, and jogs down the hallway towards the entrance. By the time he reaches the door, Eddie is trying the handle to no avail, a panicked expression on his face. 

Buck reaches forward and opens the door. 

“Sorry, man,” he says. “It locks from the inside. Safety.”

“No, right,” Eddie nods. “That makes sense. Thanks for letting me in.”

“Don’t mention it,” Buck shrugs. Really. He literally saved Maddie’s life. Buck opened the damn door. Not the same level of effort.

“How did you know I was here?” Eddie asks.

Buck’s cheeks go a little red. “Uh…”

[writing-whump]

Bleeding silver

This is a Christmas present for my lovely friend and RP partner @clickerflight. Great writer and artist, your work lights up my day.💙 Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Flashback fic, when Isaiah was 17, an executioner in his family pack. Insight into his secrets about his father, brothers and the deal with Reuben. Angst, captivity, torture, mentions of war, mentions of death, mentions of abuse.

Father’s office was big, dark with lots of massive wood a fireplace and two smaller rooms for waiting and parallel meetings, but very few wolves knew about its greatest advantage - that it had a stairway leading to another office downstairs.

The basement office had no windows. It was that far in the ground and the walls were of thick cement. No sounds came out of there. 

Isaiah made sure no one was at the meeting room, before he went down, closing the secret door behind him. 

Reuben was in the same position as Isaiah saw him in the morning. Hands in silver chains leading back to the wall behind him. He could  sit upright, but he could not move up from there. Silver cuffs on his feet served no other purpose than to cause more burning pain. He was bleeding where silver touched him, the skin rough and blistered. 

“I brought you food,” Isaiah said, putting the plate next to his limp feet before stepping away to lean against the cluttered table behind him.

Reuben tilted his head slowly, eyes glassy and feverish as they focused on him. His brown curls were greasy from sweat and matted with old blood and he was shivering without his shadow. He still managed a sarcastic: “How very kind of you.” 

It was a bowl of soup. Isaiah figured Reuben’s last bouts of sickness could be traced back to the ongoing strain from the silver burns and that maybe something easier on the stomach could help. He could not simply give him whatever they had at dinner so he made the plainest chichen broth he could. 

“It’s such a shame,” Reuben rasped, leaning his head back, “you go through all that trouble to keep me alive, but I’ll have to say no.”

“I don’t care if you are alive,” Isaiah said on reflex. 

“Yes, you do. You know what will happen, when my dad finds out about this, right? Can you Wolfsons afford another war? I hear you are preparing for one right now.”

“You couldn’t have heard that,” Isaiah said, folding his hands on his chest. No way someone would reveal such sensitive information…

“Your daddy dearest sounded pretty sure,” Reuben said, a small smirk playing on his chapped lips at Isaiah’s discomfort. “He talks a lot like I won’t survive to tell the tale. I guess he’s right.”

Isaiah’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. His shadow rose angrily though, slashing down on the ground. He didn’t like to be left out of decisions of that magnitude. Neither did he agree with Reuben getting killed. The guy was 17, the same as Isaiah and the oldest son of the Jäger pack’s leader. It made no sense to kill him. Isaiah knew he could have easily been the one on the floor in his father’s office. 

“You should really decide already,” Reuben rasped. “You are in conflict, that’s clear as day. You bring me food, you come watch me when you father all but forgets, you worry about my survival although you shouldn’t. You want to release me, but you also want to do what daddy says. You don’t understand the logic behind his plan to torture me. If he killed me, it would be a quicker way to start a war. And your father obviously wants to start one.”

“That’s not true,” Isaiah said sharply. “Father only does what’s best for the pack.”

“So why did he kidnap me? Why this whole ordeal?” Reuben lifted himself up, hands automatically tugging before he winced at the movement and sagged back again.

“There is surely an explanation I’m still not worthy or smart enough to understand.”

“Ha! You still believe that? There is no way your father does things for the greater good of anyone but his bloodthirsty shadow. I told you. This is not how a leader acts.” Reuben coughed then, his whole torse shaking with the cough until it blew into a whole coughing fit, wracking his frame.

“I’m going to escape from here,” Reuben continued, voice breathy and ragged. “One way or another.” He looked at the bowl of soup in disgust, head lolling to the other side.

Isaiah snorted. “How? By starving yourself? That’s the big plan?”

“Why not? I can’t keep doing this forever.” He squeezed his eyes shut, sweat running down the side of his face although he was shivering. “I want out.”  

Isaiah was silent for a long time, shaken by the sheer despair in Reuben’s otherwise talkative arrogant voice. It’s been two weeks. He was running thin, constantly in pain from the silver, the beatings and rolled down shadow that came in irregular intervals not helping.

“It’s just because you are not used to the silver,” he said quietly. 

Reuben’s eyes closed in exhaustion. “No one is supposed to be used to silver. It freaking hurts. It’s poison to us.”

“See? That’s why father training me with silver is such a good move. Silver with shadow, without the shadow, seeing how quickly you recover. Look at this.” Isaiah crouched down and rolled down the right sleeve on his coat to show the ugly red welts on his arm. 

Reuben opened his eyes to slits to look, eyebrows furrowing together.

“Silver knife with a rolled down shadow. But my shadow is already back up. I have grown stronger since he did it to me last time. Every time I get used to the pain more. I know what to expect. And I can call my shadow to come back to me sooner instead of being paralyzed by the pain.”

“Why do you sound so bloody happy?!” Reuben said, face contorting into an angry grimace. “That’s not normal, Isaiah! That’s not something a father does to his son, or a wolf does to his pup. That’s not something a parent’s shadow is supposed to be capable of doing to its child!” 

Isaiah recoiled, covering the slashes with his good hand. “You don’t understand. He doesn’t like to do it. It’s a necessary sacrifice for him, but he does it for my sake.”

“For your sake!” Reuben exclaimed, lifting himself up in the chains again only to break into another coughing fit. Isaiah felt the unexplainable impulse to steady him, to touch him. 

“That’s such nonsense, Isaiah. This is not part of the training of a successor. Or an executioner. It’s just plain sadistic torture.”

Isaiah bowed his head, staring at the carpet. It was dusty, covered with patches of dried blood.  

“And you know it. Deep down you know it. Why else would you prevent your father from training your younger brother?” 

Isaiah flinched at that, looking back at Reuben. “One executioner is enough. This kind of training is for me. I’m the strongest in the pack. It’s a burden and a blessing. And mainly, it’s my duty.” For the greater good. For the good of the pack. They need someone like me, who can bear the pain, inflict the pain, understand it and protect them from it. 

“If you truly believed this was a strength, you would have trained your brother yourself. Instead, you made a deal. Your father told me. Gloated to me, really. That you think you can do everything on your own, so much your brother won’t be needed for the job at all. That you made a deal that you would not protest any mission if Hector were excluded from the training. And that Hector himself hates you for it. Stupid bastard, not knowing what he is missing.”

Isaiah’s eyes widened. He had no idea father told Reuben such intimate family affairs. 

“You won’t protect him forever. He complied to motivate you, but he is sure your qualms will disappear. The more you do it, the more your shadow tastes the blood, the more it will crave it. Until you become like him. And then he will train Hector too. Make him into another you. And you will enjoy it, just like your father enjoys it right now.” 

Isaiah stood up abruptly. His heart was beating fast in his chest, his shadow swelling beside him, reacting to his fear, to his pain. It wanted to claw into Reuben for saying that, it wanted to tear him to shreds, taste his blood, bite deep into him just like father would into Isaiah, to calm down, to feel in control…

Reuben smiled, blood in the corner of his lips, eyes glittering with fever and irony. “See? You are on your best way to get there. To the shadow madness.”

Isaiah stepped closer to Reuben, towering over him. He was so weak and pitiful. Isaiah could break his ribs with one kick, smash his teeth together to make him shut up, he could strangle him with his shadow…

Reuben said nothing else, staring invitingly in the way of a wolf making a challenge. Isaiah realized then Reuben was truly serious.

He wanted to die. And he wanted to provoke Isaiah into doing it. 

Isaiah walked away. 

After he closed and locked the basement office door, he all but ran up the stairs, into the office, through the side exit into the courtyard.

Isaiah braced his hands against his thighs, gulping in the taste of fresh, cold air. He needed to clear his head. He needed his shadow back under control. 

**

Isaiah sat in the smaller of the adjoined offices, doing paperwork, when Marek walked in. 

Although Isaiah was younger, Marek waited patiently until Isaiah acknowledged his presence. That’s how it was these days. Marek was a Wolkenstein, he had a powerful shadow and great skill. But no wolf could measure up to Isaiah’s shadow or his control or his skill with it. None of the older wolves, not even those leading their own fractions, their own little allied groups. Not even Isaiah’s uncle. No one but father could do it.

Isaiah lifted his gaze. His shadow was up, covering the ground around the table and climbing the walls. He liked to keep it in the open when he didn’t want to be disturbed. He felt safer with it.

Marek bowed his head, eyes glued to the ground, head tipping to the side to show his throat. It was more of a symbolic gesture, but an important one, showing his submission and acceptance of Isaiah’s power over him. 

Isaiah’s shadow wiggled in satisfaction, sizzling like water dripping on burning coals. 

“You may speak,” Isaiah said, voice carefully neutral and devoid of emotion. 

“The leader said you are in charge of picking wolves for the battle,” Marek said, lifting his gaze tentatively, though looking somewhere over Isaiah’s shoulder. “With the Specter pack. They send us their challenge already, right? You have the date?”

“The date and place have been decided,” Isaiah allowed. He didn’t like where this was going. He had been put in charge of picking the pack members for the battle and he decided not to pick anyone. He would go there alone or with father at most and handle it.

“Then…who is coming?”

Isaiah gave him a measured stare. It usually scared wolves enough not to ask questions and leave him alone. Especially with his shadow up like that. 

Marek gulped a little under the pressure, but continued: “You mean…no one? Do you seriously want to go alone?”

“That is my decision to make,” Isaiah said coldly. His shadow hissed like a snake, not liking the disagreement in Marek’s voice. 

“Of course, it’s your decision,” Marek said quickly, shoulders hunching. “But Isaiah, come on. Wars are about numbers. Specters are coming after us with at least 10 of their strongest members. We should do the same. We have manpower to choose from, wolves eager for battle and we are strong, Isaiah. If you said a word…”

Isaiah said nothing, just glaring.

Marek looked up before quickly bowing his gaze again. “Isaiah, please. If you don’t want to pick, I’ll ask. Only volunteers, what do you think?”

They both knew there would be plenty of those. Isaiah disliked it. This was a great opportunity to let go of some anger and accumulated aggression, but wolves would always be eager to fight. It wasn’t civilized and it brought nothing good to fight between packs. Isaiah wanted to do it alone, so no one else would bear the risk. 

“There is no point in having a pack, if you don’t let it fight for you when it counts,” Marek said, voice low and soothing. 

Isaiah didn’t answer, but he let his eyes go to the side, conceding the point.

Marek straightened up at that, voice relieved. “Thank you. Nothing bad will happen, Isaiah. Don’t worry.”

Isaiah narrowed his eyes. Suggesting he was worried was not acceptable, even if Marek had been his friend and had seen him train long before he became the executioner. 

Marek winced, backing away. “I’ll be going then.”

But executioners didn’t have friends. Marek understood that, yet still felt like he needed to look out for him. Isaiah didn’t manage to scare him away as well as he intended. 

Maybe it was the Wolkenstein ability to tell lies and truth. And Marek was well-tuned to Isaiah’s masks, somehow able to read between the neutral expressions, threatening looks and cold tones. 

Isaiah didn’t like it. It was as if Marek could see through his defenses, all the way to the little boy he used to be, when they first became friends with each other. 

Marek went to the door, only turning at the last second, eyes briefly meeting his. “It’s okay, Zaya.”

I know you are in there somewhere. You won’t fool me. I know this is a kindness from you. It’s okay. You don’t have to do it alone. 

Isaiah said nothing as Marek disappeared out the door, staring at the spot for a long time. 

***

Isaiah walked briskly through the halls, shadow slashing behind him. Wolves and humans and witches quickly cleared the way at his approach.

He walked as quickly as he could without outright running.

“It was a necessary loss,” his father said. Isaiah could still see his ruthlessly calm green eyes staring holes into his head. “People die in wars, it is to be expected. It was an acceptable sacrifice. We only lost two people, Isaiah. This is a victory to be celebrated.”

Isaiah fumed. He said nothing, only getting out the door, shadow lashing. He needed to get home, he needed to get out of the public eye. Away from celebrating wolves, from victory yells and champagne. 

The victory wasn’t worth Marek’s life. 

Isaiah was coming to think no victory could have been worthy of it. 

It was an unnecessary war. For territory, for not forgiving a slight offense. It was entirely father’s fault. And it was Isaiah’s, because he let Marek talk him into taking more wolves.

Isaiah let Marek come. To die.

Isaiah burst into the apartment he shared with his brothers, shadow trailing behind him, long and angry.

Hector and Arnie were both in the living room, eating. They had the meet and mashed potatoes Isaiah cooked in the morning. He always cooked for them, finding it the most and if not only enjoyable time of his day. Doing something with his hands that created instead of destroyed, something enjoyable that could be shared.

Hector stood up from the table. “Ah, there he is. Father didn’t even want me at the celebration, because I wasn’t part of the war in any way. You all happy about that, huh? Keeping him and all the good techniques to yourself, you selfish prick.”

Isaiah ignored him, getting out of his coat and removing his shoes. 

“You can’t keep me out of every interesting fight! I know this is your fault, that you keep me away from father on purpose - but I’ll get strong anyway. Stronger than you and then you’ll regret-”

Isaiah turned. There was blood on his suit, Marek’s blood, as he kneeled beside him as he bled out from a silver bullet. His shadow rose around him, spilling over the living room, swelling with anger.

Hector stopped abruptly, taking an involuntary step back. 

Arnie hunched into himself at the table. He was just 11 years old, used to his brothers, their shadows and their fighting. To the good kind of fighting, the playful one. When they weren’t trying to hurt each other.

Nowadays Hector tried to hurt Isaiah whenever he saw him. Lashing out in anger, not understanding what was wrong, why he was being left out. He was 15 years old, a very sensitive age for a shadow wolf. They needed guidance and direction, a clear example and goals to follow, so they could discipline their shadows into submission. Shadows that reacted to every hormonal emotion with a vengeance and aggression. 

This was a sensitive age. And Isaiah nor father could be there for him. Isaiah made sure of that. 

“Shut up,” Isaiah said, fighting the urge to just roll his little brother's shadow down and take the peace and quiet he craved. “Shut up for once. No one is interested in your whining.” 

Hector went pale, bowing his head in submission and fear.

Isaiah’s shadow wiggled in excitement at the gesture. Isaiah felt sick.

Arnie stood up then, a little hesitant before stepping closer to Isaiah. His green eyes were wide in his childish face, blond hair messy and shining under the kitchen lamp.

“Was it bad? Are you hurt?” Arnie said quietly, reaching for his arm. He knew he had to be careful with wolves, although he was never afraid of the two of them. At least that was ingrained into Isaiah and Hector both by their mother, when she was still alive. Isaiah never worried about Hector doing anything to Arnie and until now the trust turned justified.

Isaiah fought every instinct in his body not to recoil or shove him off, when Arnie gently touched his forearm. All his muscles clenched inside him. Arnie was all softness, round and vulnerable and kind, looking at him with those trusting big eyes…

Isaiah tolerated the touch for a few seconds, revulsion and disgust swirling inside him. His shadow steadied though, pulling back and down.

The oldest wolf stepped away from the human boy and then hurried into the bathroom at the end of the hall. Fortunately, they had two bathrooms and this one Isaiah liked to reserve for himself. 

He locked the door behind him, then opened the faucet to full blast and let the shower run. His hands were shaking so badly that he barely managed to unbutton his shirt and strip down from his bloody clothes. 

That was all he managed before the tears came.

The grief and pain flooded him like a tsunami, crashing the air out of his lungs. He slid down the door, curling into himself, hoping the running water would disguise the sounds.

He held onto his composure during the battle. He held onto it when Marek got shot, and when his mother bled out next to him, trying to save her oldest son. There were still two kids she left behind. Marek’s little brother and sister. 

Isaiah’s insides shook and twisted. He buried his face into his knees, wailing quietly, while his shadow clawed at the bathroom tiles. But he wasn’t worried it would do anything anymore. This was a way to let out a strong emotions, and he would rather let it out through tears than through someone’s blood. 

At least this time around.

***

Isaiah went down the stairs. It was deep into the night, the sounds of celebration still loud. 

He went down the steps with newfound determination. The conflict in him was gone, his shadow calm at his side as he opened the door. He didn’t switch the light on.

Reuben was sleeping fitfully in the chains, but was quick to wake at the sound of his approach. The bowl of soup was untouched. 

Isaiah had no time to be hesitant. He went down to one knee beside him, taking out the keys and unlocking his cuffs.

Reuben’s eyes widened, but he pulled his bleeding hands away, pressing them against his chest. “What's going on?”

“We’ll wait till your shadow comes back and heals you. I’ll replace the chain with a steel one, so the silver doesn’t burn you. And when the time is right, I’ll help you escape,” Isaiah said, voice hard and clipped.

Reuben’s face lightened up. “Isaiah, this is the right choice. You won’t regret-”

“In exchange,” Isaiah interrupted harshly, “you won’t tell your father what happened to you or that the Wolfsons had anything to do with it. Tell him you were on a trip or spent the time passed out drunk. I don’t care. But there will be no other war, you understand?”

Reuben frowned, lowering his voice. “That bad today?”

Isaiah stood up, leaning back against the table like he did before. Reuben slid away from his usual place by the wall, as if wanting to exercise some of his new freedom, though he was weak and didn’t get further than a step.

“I won’t let another war happen. No one else has to get hurt in this. You know what my father is. You know the only ones suffering are you and me. And you said it yourself, it’s not my fault. We don’t have to make it a pack business.” 

“Am I just supposed to forgive you? Just like that? What about my suffering, huh?” 

Isaiah rubbed at his face tiredly. “Can’t you just be happy you won’t end up dead?” 

“What about the consequences? What about the silver scars, what about the pain to my shadow, Isaiah? What am I supposed to do if there turns out to be damage I can’t manage on my own? It wants revenge and-” 

“If we go to war, I’ll go and kill your father.”

Reuben froze, mouth open.

“I don’t want another war. But if you won’t help me, there will be one and more Wolfson wolves are going to die. Jäger wolves are going to die. But I’ll make sure to kill your father, so your pack is hit the most, losing its leader. So no other pack ever tries to fight us again. You want to go that road?” 

Reuben snarled at him. If he went to his father and started the war, he would not be strong enough to fight in it. And he couldn’t defeat Isaiah the first time anyway, though they were very closely matched. 

“Fine. I won’t tell anyone what happened was your and the Wolfson pack leader’s doing. But I can’t let your shadow mad father run free, Isaiah, you have to under-”

“Give me a year,” Isaiah said. “Give me one year and I’ll deal with him myself. Just don’t tell anyone.”

Reuben would always have the knowledge that could destroy his pack. Once he was free, the bargaining advantage would be in his hands. 

Reuben raised an eyebrow at him, features hard. “Fine. In exchange?”

Isaiah sighed. “Anything you want.” 

@bellysoupset

[arlo-venn]

An abridged rundown of what’s been happening at home:

Tyrell is highly codependent and I am highly independent. For the few years I’ve lived here I’ve been very sick and in survival mode and had lost the majority of my friends when I became homeless, so I was around a lot for a long time. I got my gallbladder out, and am now less sick— I reconnected with a few old friends (not ones that left during homelessness) and started getting out and socializing more again. That’s when this all started. I was spending too much time with my friend Ellil, dropping things when she needs help and going to her (I will not be shamed for this), etc. She feels like I abandon her but we literally live together and do everything together so how am I supposed to leave the house at all without “abandoning” her??

Then, I met a girl and now she’s my girlfriend. Things really ramped up then. It was scaring me— I told her I needed to prioritize exploring this relationship and rebuilding my friendships and getting back out into society. I asked for space. I kindly and gently told her she was scaring me, reminded her that I have related traumas from previous abusive relationships and informed her that the way she was behaving around this stuff was pushing big trigger buttons. It didn’t stop. She guilts the hell out of me any time I leave the house. When I’m hanging out with her I can’t even get up to use the bathroom or go to the kitchen without her being like WHERE ARE YOU GOING!? and if I need to go lay down bc I am obviously very chronically ill, I’m guilted for that too. She has called me a bad friend and a shitty friend. She says I said that about myself and she is just agreeing. I did not say that about myself. I don’t think taking care of myself and prioritizing myself makes me a bad friend. I don’t think needing space makes me a bad friend. I don’t think me wanting time to explore a new relationship and spend time with people that I love outside of the house makes me a bad friend. I invite her all the time. She doesn’t want to come.

Then, I won my disability case, and everything ramped up to 100. I think she’s scared of me not Needing her anymore, of me acquiring the ability to leave here, when the money comes. She’s convinced herself that I’m obsessed with my gf. I’m not. I’ve talked to all of my other close friends about that to get their input, and not a single one of them shares that opinion. She just feels like I am bc it hurts her every time I mention her.

The more intense this gets, the more distant I become. The more distant I become, the more intense it gets. But on top of it all I cannot stop accepting financial help from her bc I don’t have the option to yet. And she never for even a second takes a moment to consider the power imbalance in this relationship or how that might affect the discussions around this.

I told her that her interpretation of my feelings around my gf were incorrect, and she told me I was gaslighting her bc she’s “witnessed it.” Thomasine said something about how I don’t let them know when I’m going to be leaving the house or coming back or how long I’ll be gone and that really freaked me out. I’m a 30 year old adult woman person. I am not the romantic partner of these people. They are my friends. I don’t have to report my comings and goings to them. I won’t do it. We literally have life360. I couldn’t even if I wanted to, I don’t make plans in advance I play my days by ear— it’s all very spontaneous bc I can’t predict what’s going to be going on with my body, you know? And all my friends operate that way, too. I’m not doing anything wrong.

I’m scared. I can’t continue the conversation because I don’t have anything to say that she’s going to want to hear which is what makes her communication turn toxic and immensely triggering for me. I’m not just gonna be like “you’re right I suck I will spend more time at home with you and I will like my girlfriend less for your comfort” and anything short of that is going to be unsatisfying to her. It was so bad yesterday that I fled with Arlo. I had to come back. I have to be here for now. But I need to leave. This is not healthy and I’m scared.

[solitarymotherhood]

hi. i’m a solo single mom. i battle with depression and a feeling that life was not meant for me. i’ve lost the ability to form a connection with people, find joy or engage in life. and i am just here, feeling out of body, on this planet, with a son, alone. i don’t believe in much. i used to have a social life and people to talk to before i got pregnant at 30. i used to be so, so happy. when i got pregnant, everyone was momentarily ecstatic. but they’ve all disappeared, like they came to the party, got busy, left and changed their numbers without notice. after having my son i felt okay for the first year and then developed a serious form of post-partum depression which has since never went away. i have just fallen severely depressed as if it’s all i’ve got. i used to even go shopping, buy nice things for myself, go out and feel wanted. people used to know me. i used to be somebody, or so it seems. back then i was also still trying find happiness, purpose, something bigger because this imbalance was stuck with me before my pregnancy. i wanted to try to find deeper meaning in my life so i decided to keep my child and i thought that things would turn around for me. that the excitement of a new life would be the cure for me to just have a baby. but it didn’t. we are fatherless, desolate, dangerously below the poverty line, and i’m here to write about the pain and struggles i feel, or we feel, everyday, because of it. my mental health got to a point of pure sadness that i tried taking my life when my child was 2 by a suicidal drug induced overdose and it took two bottles of narcan to revive me. before i went out and got the drugs, i kissed him goodbye and put him with his grandmother. so, my child got taken away for a year and i was only allowed to see him for 1 hour per week supervised which has broken our bond and has broken my heart into a million pieces. i can’t find forgiveness for what i’ve done to myself. i don’t feel right. the motions of going through the legal system to get him home has been traumatic. my dcf workers are like a couple of bad cops. so even though he’s back home, i just feel like things will never be the same between us. he developed what seems like incurable behavioral issues due to the severity of the separation and is a “special needs no diagnosis” little boy. i am a failure and let him, and myself down. my depression about surviving my death is rubbing off on him. most of the time, we struggle to love each other because it’s exhausting. now that he’s 4, and our once unbreakable bonded connection has been severed, i’m still battling with all little things that lead to this life bestowed upon me of pure loneliness and i need to go somewhere to write it down, shout to the void, and find a safe place to grieve this weird afterlife. because i want to live, i just don’t know how. there’s nobody to call because people are sick of hearing my sob stories, and obviously zero invitations. i’ll be using this account to tell my story of my lonely little life, how small i am to the world, and hopefully become a part of a community to maybe feel belonging. i vow to write down every small detail of how stuck and sick i feel because if i don’t, i might not make it.

your friend,

solitarymotherhood

[linklethehistorian]

Of Skyfall, Sigma, Ian Fleming & James Bond

A personal theory add-on for Skelechuuchuu’s incredible Ian Fleming theory. Please read and give love and support to that original theory here if you have the time!

Hello everyone! At the time of posting this, I’m extremely sick and kinda sleep-deprived right now, so I will probably not be terribly active until I feel better. :’)  

Nevertheless, after having a small chat (with a lot of breaks in between :’)) with some cool people in a BSD server, I still wanted to come and drop this little add-on to the recent (and extremely compelling) theory that dropped about Sigma being Ian Fleming (and James Bond-inspired).

As I tend to do best, I wanted to analyze and explain why Skyfall is not only a perfect and crucial choice for the episode name in S4 as OP describes above due to the inseverable tie to James Bond, but also how the lyrics to the tie-in Bond song by this name themselves relate perfectly to Sigma and the events of BSD involving him so far.

I’ll place it below the cut for both S4 spoilers and manga spoilers up to Chapter 106-107 or so! Proceed with caution if you’re worried about spoilers!

Now, without further ado, let’s get to lyric analyzing!

Before we get into the nitty-gritty of analyzing the song lyric by lyric, allow me to start with a more generalized observation:

The overarching theme of the song Skyfall, apart from being obviously intrinsically linked to Bond (given it was made for it), is about bravely facing down the end with those you love, come what may; this is a perfect fit for Sigma, whose whole character is wrapped up in the concept of needing to belong and protect those he loves. In the episode of the same name, he even fights, despite knowing he is “just an ordinary man”, with his whole life to protect his beloved people in the Casino, unafraid of dying because living without them would be meaningless.

(I would also like to note here that at first glance, it might seem to be written almost like a love song, but I feel it’s important to distinguish — especially in the context of this theory — that this is not necessarily the case, and there is one line that upon listening to it, especially seems to almost completely confirm otherwise to me; in the song, it sounds like Adele is saying “all your loving arms”, despite many lyric sites and such claiming otherwise (it is really not uncommon for artists to differ from the original written lyrics from time to time in certain recordings, so I find this rather plausible). Nevertheless, whether or not this is actually correct, the song is ambiguous enough that it can still be taken however one wishes, and I believe that if we apply it to Sigma, the song is not directed towards one person, but towards a group of them.)

I’ll get on to the more intricate stuff of analyzing lyric by lyric in a moment, but before I do I would just like to make one little key statement here before we start, and that is that despite how it seems, I don’t actually believe most of this song was  meant to be applied to the casino or the people there; rather, I believe it largely reflects and is about his feelings towards Dazai, Atsushi, and the ADA as a whole. (Again, I’ll explain this more in a bit, but…there is one particular set of lyrics that truly sets this up for me: “Skyfall is where we start”; obviously, Sigma has had his casino and known the people in it for awhile, from his perspective, but do you know who he does meet in the episode Skyfall, and first starts to find some small measure of hope/consolation in? Atsushi. The ADA.)

Okay, with that in mind, now let’s on to the main bit!

This is the end Hold your breath and count to ten

In the most recent chapters, Dazai and Sigma are trapped underwater, and literally have to hold their breath to survive. As he runs out of air, Sigma is counting the moments until he can resurface, but fears it may not happen because Dazai seems determined to stop him (for good reason, it turns out)

Feel the Earth move and then Hear my heart burst again

Being with Dazai and having hope of joining the ADA has shifted Sigma’s world around him, changing his worldview and making his heart explode with genuine hope at all of the kind deeds they’ve performed for him — especially when he realizes Dazai is not trying to kill him by keeping him underwater but protect him.

For this is the end I've drowned and dreamt this moment

As they’re staying under the water and near out of air to share, Sigma almost fully accepts his fate, thinking to himself that he may die this way, but at least he was able to dream of a beautiful life for once in those few precious moments he shared with the ADA.

So overdue, I owe them

Sigma has waited a long time to have a place to permanently belong and feel loved and cared for, and he feels indebted to the Agency for all they’ve done for him — all their acts of kindness.

Swept away, I'm stolen

When Dazai was given a chance to pick something to take with him in Mersault, he stole Sigma from the DOA completely, and this action also sweeps Sigma away with surprise, hope, and gratitude inside.

Let the sky fall When it crumbles We will stand tall Face it all together

This one is probably pretty self-explanatory; Sigma isn’t afraid of death, as long as he stands with the ADA in hope of a good life, though this attitude also perfectly fits his attitude towards the Casino in the Skyfall ep and how he stood with his people against the Hunting Dogs, unafraid to die for them.

Skyfall is where we start

I already went over this one a bit, but Skyfall is the ep where he and Atsushi (and by extension the ADA) meet for the first time; it’s his start with knowing the ADA — the time when he first experiences true hope that doesn’t involve him being used and discarded in the end.

A thousand miles and poles apart

I think this part is kinda metaphorical to how he at first thinks he and the ADA are on opposite sides, and that they care nothing for him besides forcing him to use his ability; in his eyes, they are worlds apart and he could never even get close to their world of light.

Where worlds collide and days are dark

Yet, in that moment of Atsu trying to save him, Sigma begins to feel they’re not so far apart, after all. 

Their worlds collided in that brief moment, on one of his darkest days, and he felt grateful for that, even though he still felt his fate was sealed and that he had to let go of Atsu’s hand to prevent him from tumbling to his death with him.

You may have my number, you can take my name But you'll never have my heart

I believe this would be directed at everyone else whom had used and abused him up until this point, and, from his perspective, took his memory from him; they can take everything from him, own him, rob him of his true identity, etc., but he will never be one of them. He’ll never truly be a terrorist. His heart belongs in the light — with the ADA; he realizes that now.

Where you go, I go What you see, I see

As a member of the server we were in, Cloudii, pointed out, I think this could be a reference to how similar Sigma sees himself to Atsushi and vice versa, but I think it could also be a reference to his willingness to follow the ADA (both literally and metaphorically) and with the last line, his ability to gain knowledge of someone else’s knowledge (and thereby in a limited way experiences) through touch.

I know I'd never be me Without the security [Of] All your loving arms Keeping me from harm Put your hand in my hand And we'll stand

The lines about “put your hand in my hand, and we’ll stand” in particular strongly remind me of the moment when Atsu tries to save Sigma by holding his hand when he dangled off the casino, and reflects both Atsu’s desire to have him keep holding on and pull him to solid ground, and Sigma’s desire to stand by the ADA and repay them for kindness by using his ability for them right before what he believes will be his death.

That being said, I also think this whole set of lyrics above matches Sigma’s attitude towards the ADA and his determination to stand by them now in general, even in the most dire of times. 

He knows that he’ll never get to be who he wants to be and live the life he wants to live, having a place of belonging, an identity, people who love him genuinely, if he doesn’t learn to put his faith in them and trust that they are different from the rest of those who had him before. The ADA seems to love and protect him and so he’ll do his best, ordinary as he feels he is, to stand by them, too, until his last breath — using his ability and whatever else he may have as necessary, as they face down the end of the world as they know it and those who would bring it about together.

Anyway, yeah, that’s my analysis for today! Thank you for reading! Love y’all. 🥺💖

[fiascox0xo]

I guess I’ve always felt like I personally couldn’t be in love with more than one person. Like I could love many people/ many kinds of love. But there’s a “in love” and a “I love you” & “I’m in love with you” and I have never been able to lie to someone and say I’m in love with them when I’m not. I danc around words. But I never say it…. It may seem “oh my fingers were crossed but/ I can’t make my heart stop being in love as much as I wish I could, I know I need to focus on myself. I know I need to not go be messy all over someone else’s life because I am lost I my feelings .

I almost broke when I realized how my “bff” added “Hurricane” in front of my name - may not have been a compliment like I thought. girl thugs. ) I had my feelings controlling me & always felt like I couldn’t bare to keep thugs in - or I would burst. Or I was meant to hold into pain forever if I loved someone who I knew was already with another ; or we didn’t mix well… maybe karmic lessons; maybe just young love & impulses . I do my best not to be like that anymore . I know that I am going to be focusing on my life now. I am going to do what needs to be done- putting myself first and ignoring any kind of romantic relationships or sexual ones. I am Demi’s sexual and went almost seven years celibate- I realized I used drugs and alcohol to numb myself when I would sleep with people who were bad for me. They may drain my energy, be someone who made me feel bad by obviously using me for sex, or pressuring me , negging me, by using me in some kind of malicious act towards others…. I don’t like making people hurt esp innocent people who don’t know what’s going on☸️(my keyboard did that!) <3 I may have thought being seen as scary would be better than being the one bullied- because the I could protect my friends …. However it IS a dog eat dog world - you have to get tough and develop an alter ego to survive sometimes - you do things out of character survival mode. In but making excuses just staying a fact/ you need to forgive yourself and be gentle <3

Dang man- this is so rough - I feel like there’s a huge wad of crumpled up papers - letters unsent - maybe wet- tears? Thrown in water? Growing sorrows? I feel it in my throat and right I between my breasts in the hollow between my ribs ❇️ - I want to speak but I go to say words and I know a waterfall of tears will come, word vomit, or real … I’m not sure how hard I’m going to cry when it hits. I’ve been stoned to keep myself from feeling - put this off for way too long. I feel like I’m a million miles away from Yule & Orion. Surreal - sure, real.

I miss them. I still feel like it was all worth it if it was real …. But - there’s a part of me that still feels sick because I have this feeling it was a trick or some kind of bullying ? Idk revenge sounds so dramatic - but, idk there were so may coincidences I couldn’t ignore them completely. I REALLY NEVER LIED OR DID AYTHING TO HURT THAT RELATIONSHIP .i wanted it to work so badly. Naturally but I sped it up bc im these and I know that…. I meant well I really did. I wasn’t even going to say those words to them. They were pulling away and instead of letting them go I got clingy as desperate and it was so humiliating. I had already show d them such a vulnerable side of me I was so fucking angry as heartbroken. Then after an argument I was triggered by the way they said paying me for my stuff would ve easier that returning it” eve though I said I could got get it without ever seeing them/ and gave them a month than a week & I lost my shit and said keep it - my cptsd was full swing my meds were disrupted & I basically lost my job , that relationship ship, and a hunch of friendships all at once. And I had no one there who I thought would abandon me…. 💔 and some who obviously were not healthy relationships at the time but are bad people and I still love them even if we can’t be in each others lives because of recovery or distance or whatever. When you love someone you want what’s best for them.

I need to love myself the way I love other people. Because I want what’s best for them - I wanna see them so happy as successful. With someone who makes them feel safe and free to fail at things & supported thru their successes highs and lows , life, sickness, health all that shit. <3 but be complete on their own…..

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Anyways I know this rant was long & kind of ping pong-y but I was just trying to avoid saying I really do miss them, it’s hard when I feel this tugging on my heart . I feel like I should get a chord cutting ceremony done. Lol I know I don’t need them for closure. I’ve had them able to contact me this entire time on fb - and I don’t blame them :) as much as it hurts, it wasn’t what they signed up for- as wast what I advertised when we put our cards on the table 🔐 I. Ended up doing exactly what I said I wouldn’t but not really, because like I said. I could okay be I love with or person at a time. I know none of this will probably matter in five months but let’s hope I’m doing better by then🖋️📝❤️‍🔥 from the beginning I told him I was not over you. I was trying to understand what the fuck went down between us because I was so lost in my own mind d that when it ended I was just gone. I never relapsed. I never slept with anyone else- not even when I dated someone else , we only kissed. Because I am processing though my childhood trauma. Fr I am. And also because I wasn’t ready to try to have sex again. I really can’t imagine having sex with a man again. that’s - not to say I could imagine a woman either…. But if I date again it will be a woman probably—- I know I can get feelings too mixed up for hook up culture. I’m not bashing anyone- I just don’t want to have someone having unprotected sex with a random number of people - hidden from me - and not being honest with me. I like being exclusive. I like monogamy but not controlling jealous shit. one built trust and mutual consideration for each others feelings. I know you told me you thought “ we both know we aren’t a good match” - and I never agreed. Not in a creepy way - you never bothered explaining. You said I never listened to you but you pushed me so far away you never actually talked to me. I felt like I didn’t even know what happened. I felt so betrayed as foolish.stupid because I still can’t make myself not think about you . I miss you and wish thugs were different. I was so genuine in everything I said to you even though towards the end my mind was a bit hazy, I never meant to get you or make you feel pressured, or guilted into being with me. But also I almost feel like you never even liked me- it because of a self worth thing because I know I didn’t deserve what you did to me either- it’s the fact that you refuse to see what you did to me as painful yet claimed you wanted to be friends then ignored avoided and tried to bully me out of asking for the things you knew i needed back and saying money would be easier which was insulting . I doubt a male would’ve been tolerated like that. But you had your dick inside me, …. You ,… were closer than anyone in six or seven years and I was caught off guard when you were able to treat me like I didn’t Mean shit to you. And like you were embarrassed of me .

[brokenmusicboxwolfe]

THIS is what I mean about my tech not working right most of the time:

The farmer is supposed to text me before he sprays the fields. He is very good about doing it now, and lets me know at least a few hours in advance.

Yesterday I’d gone to the woods to call Mom, and lingered a bit. On my way back I could swear I heard the sound of a tractor and smell some of the spray (herbicides at this point) in the air.

As I crossed the field I checked my phone, wondering if I had missed a warning. There was nothing. So I assumed I was just imagining it. The tractor sound might just be something out of cacophony from the highway and Mini Mart. Maybe the breeze was just blowing smells from that way too that I was imaging was spray.

My throat started to close up and hurt. I was coughing. My breathing wasn’t great. But earlier I’d inhaled a bug in the woods. I’d coughed it up and seemed fine at the time, but maybe that was the cause anyway.

Today, at noon, a text message suddenly appeared on my phone. It was the farmer, saying he was going to spray the fields “this afternoon”.

Except it wasn’t. It was YESTERDAY afternoon. The text message had taken a full 24hrs to show up on my phone!!!!!

I constantly tell people not to take it personally if I don’t reply to messages quickly, but they always seem to think it is a cop out. But see, this was a text I wanted, and desperately needed to see, that I was even checking for. If I can’t get a text that my life **might depend on in a timely fashion, why do you still expect me to get your “Just hoping you had a nice Easter” message instantly???

** Don’t lecture me about what they spray on farms. I’ve lived here my whole life, and know full well I need to avoid the stuff. Trouble is, I have no real control over what the farmer (or the highway, railroad, or power companies along their extensive right of ways across the farm) sprays.

I have very bad, damaged lungs that would react even if this stuff were completely harmless. And believe me, I know it ain’t completely harmless!

Before I got this farmer trained I used to come out of the woods from a walk and find a farmer spraying/had sprayed. Trying to cross the field, breathing shallow and covering my face would only help a little. With some stuff they sprayed I’d end up feel sick for a couple days.

Obviously this doesn’t even touch on any long term effects of exposures. I simply try not to think about it since I can’t protect myself. Survival is hard enough without spending my time stressing about things I can’t control too.

I actually ended up unfollowing someone just because I was sick to death of hearing them saying how great herbicides are as part of their bashing organics. There are issues with organic farming, both to do with scale/affordability and with the absurd marketing, BUT the various things they spray on fields can be horrible for both health and the environment too. Both are true at once!

Don’t say to me the chemicals are simply great if they aren’t spraying them fifteen feet from your damn house! And don’t say “Just move” if you aren’t living in poverty. I’m VERY lucky to have this family land to live on. Easy to say things about living on a farm when you live in a city/suburbs and have plenty of money! “Let them eat cake!” and all that…

At least I made it clear to this farmer NO spraying from the air. When I was growing up Pop would make sure we were away from farm/home on air spraying days. Have you seen fields that were air sprayed, and watched over the next few days as trees bordering the fields, including in people’s yards, died where the stuff had drifted? I have. At least spraying from a tractor keeps it closer to the target with less chance to drift!

(Sorry for the rant. I just HATE feeling trapped here, with no control of how I’m being poisoned! And EVERYONE seems to like to spray some poisons, even people in their yards for “weeds” and their buildings for “bugs”. I feel like the world considers me no more important than a cockroach as I wheeze and puke from it all.)

(Sorry again. I can’t go to the woods to walk off my feelings, ‘cause of those fields in between, and it’s got me in an angry mood!)

[sophiamcdougall]

Please don’t pirate books at least while the author is alive. I’ll make an exception for actual billionaires and wildly expensive textbooks you cannot afford yet need to complete your studies. I can’t make an exception for assholes, because we’re all considered assholes by someone.  I don’t know how many people realise how many writers who created successful, beloved stories and characters still die poor while other people get rich off the same work. I don’t think people realise that in the UK the current average yearly earnings for an author has nosedived over the last fifteen years to £10,500. That obviously is forcing people to quit writing. It increasingly means writing is a job for people who’ve inherited money or have wealthy spouses who can support them. I don’t know if people realise that in general, writers are poor and getting poorer. I’m sorry, but if you think widespread sense of entitlement to free books has nothing to do with that ... you’re just wrong. 

I say I don’t think people realise - the truth is I hope they don’t, because the alternative is that they don’t care. That’s certainly the impression I’ve got from Twitter, where a truly horrifying number of people are arguing that copyright on  all books should expire after thirty years, and you should be able to acquire books for  free after that. This ... would not just mean that everyone gets free books. It would mean if you write a book at 30, not only do you lose any royalties from it at 60, but Disney can take it, make a franchise out of it, Scrooge McDuck it up in a pool of money while you starve because writers don’t get workplace pensions.

Some threads on the unintended (?) consequences of this. I can’t go over it all again. John Brownlow NK Jemisin Michael Marshall Smith Me Marina Lostetter Kari Dru and others William Gibson and others

There are plenty of others. It’s not that this actual idea will actually happen, but I do think it reinforces the idea that it’s not only okay, but sometimes actually virtuous to search for ways to enjoy writers’ work without paying for it. Like it’s somehow a step towards a better world. Not just at the reader end, to be fair, at the employer end too. And I do see a lot of people here too who are all about supporting workers unless the workers are writers in which case fuck’em. 

Like. If you want to radically change society in such a way that mass-media conglomerates don’t exist and so can’t exploit us and we’re supported to make art in some other way than fine. But can you start the revolution with actual rich people please, not ask us to live right now, in the society we’ve got, without the money we need to survive it. Finally, a plea: I really, really, do not want to debate this. This whole thing genuinely makes me feel tense and shaky and sick. If you’ve got to disagree - unfollow me, block me, vagueblog somewhere I can’t see it. The Twitter version of this already has me feeling like I’ve been kicked in the gut. I didn’t want to write this post. I just felt I wasn’t going to have any peace until I did.

[fruggo]

I’m not gonna lie this would be the first time I requested something so if I do something wrong I’m really sorry,

Can I request Quentin, Leon, Steve, and Frank meeting a female reader who, before the entity took her, had already faced off her own killer?

And this made her kinda tough? Like she knows what she’s doing

oh my gosh thank you so much!! this is my first ever request to fulfill so we’re in this together :DD seriously i really appreciate you!

i decided to do a headcanon kind of format for this, i hope that’s okay! also these are my absolute favorite boys aaahhh this is so fun for a first request

the boys x tough f!reader (part 1) (part 2)

warnings: swearing, reader kicks frank in the shins

word count: ~700-1k each (sorry if it’s too long…i kind of got really excited and uhhh maybe i got carried away,, yeah. sorry)

(also i'll be honest quentin's is not my best. that was the one that got eaten by the tumblr abyss and i had to write all over again, and it just didn't come out the same way that i wanted it to at first :( i did the other boys hoping i'd get some inspiration to fix it afterwards, but i got kind of stuck. so it's not my favorite, but i hope you like it okay! i want to write better stuff for quentin in the future, he is my favorite sleepy boy <3)

𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

when you arrived in the realm, everyone thought you would be the same as the others—frightened, confused, and overwhelmed. but you took this nightmarish challenge in stride, adapting to your surroundings quickly and learning far faster than anybody else had.

your past experiences had made you independent and sometimes distrustful, so once you had the gist of things, you didn’t need (or want) anybody to tell you what to do. and nobody was inclined to, either—your instincts naturally told you what to do and when.

the first time you met quentin was a little awkward, i wont lie. you were wary of speaking to the other survivors; you weren’t going to let yourself get hurt again.

it was the beginning of a trial. the nurse’s fatigued shrills could be heard all the way from the edge of the wrecker’s yard, but you immediately started work on a generator, unafraid. a few minutes passed, when soft footsteps indicated someone’s approach. it was quentin—he started to work on the wires without hesitation.

you were a little surprised, only because the other survivors usually left you to your own devices. you got the impression that maybe they were intimidated by you, which you didn’t particularly mind. but you wouldn’t particularly mind some company now and then, either.

it was comfortably silent for a while, before quentin spoke up.

“what’s your name?” he asked, gaze still focused on the wires.

hesitating a little, you told him. then you said, “and you’re quentin, right?” you already knew most everybody’s name just from observation.

“that i am,” he replied.

then it was quiet for a while.

very quiet.

well, what were you supposed to say now?

the silence was deafening and very, very uncomfortable to you. normally you were okay with a quiet atmosphere, but it was the kind of silence that buzzed in your ears, chewed at your stomach, filled the area as if it were something solid. man, what were you supposed to say—

it was then that you realized poor quentin had fallen asleep, his face smooshed onto the generator. his cheek was now covered in grease and grime.

it made you smile—only a little. you finished repairing the generator on your own, causing quentin to wake with a start and bang his head on the pole protruding from the machine. he swore like a sailor until he realized where he was, smiling sheepishly.

“sorry, i wanted you to have your nap. you looked really tired,” you said. you also couldn’t stop admiring the dark grease on his face—it was really quite funny. and no, you weren’t going to say anything about it. it could stay there a little longer.

you spent the rest of the trial running the nurse around the whole wrecker’s yard, only suffering one injury until the end. quentin had no idea how you had been here for such little time and already knew how to outplay the nurse, one of the most difficult killers to survive against. he still didn’t know how to do it well himself, so he was thankful for you.

however, once the exit gates were opened, you found yourself in a bad spot. the nurse had caught you in an empty clearing with nowhere to hide or predict her moves, and she downed you instantly. quentin cringed hearing your agonized scream as you were hooked.

there was no way you were dying on his watch. once he was sure the nurse was gone, he gently lifted you from the hook, pulling out his medical kit to begin patching up your shoulder.

despite the pain, you had enough energy to smile at him and say, “thanks, nap boy.”

quentin feigned offense with a wry grin, pulling out some gauze. “is that all i’m going to be to you? nap boy?”

you hummed, pretending to be deep in thought. “maybe you won’t be if you get me out of here.”

“that won’t be a problem," he smiled, quirking an eyebrow.

“show me the gates and then we’ll talk, nap boy.”

from then on, quentin became your go-to source for supplies and general comfort. you weren't scared of this place, but it was nice to know you had somebody who would really be there for you.

he would often fall asleep on your shoulder at the campfire--he really was a nap boy, and you would never let him live that down.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘

leon could not tear his eyes away from you the first time you arrived in the realm. your presence was strong; he could tell you weren’t one to back away from a fight.

most of the survivors had been (rightly) confused and disoriented when they popped into the realm, but you tried to accept it quickly. you didn’t like it, in fact all you wanted was just to go home, but you came to terms with it and jumped into trials headfirst like an insane person.

that was the courageous part about you—maybe you were scared, but you did scary shit anyways. in fact, you did scary shit to spite the fear, to prove to yourself that you were strong enough to overcome it.

and leon couldn’t lie, that was cool as hell.

you had tunnel vision and didn’t pay much notice to the other survivors; you were too focused on learning about this place and getting out of trials. having gone through some real shit, being here hardly came as a surprise to you. if you were going to be here forever, what was the point in mourning? might as well just accept it and try your hardest to survive. maybe someday this sick game would end, but for now, you were prepared to fight for your life and that’s all you could really focus on.

your first trial was not the best. even though you were resourceful, you didn’t know what the objective was yet, so you weren’t sure where to start other than analyzing your surroundings. luckily for you, leon kennedy was one of your teammates.

after being downed immediately by bubba’s chainsaw and tossed onto a hook, you were amazingly resilient to the pain. leon was the one to lift you from the hook, and he took out his medkit to help patch your wound, but you flinched away from him before he could touch you.

he was puzzled. “what’s wrong?” he asked. he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he wanted to help you.

you hesitated and looked him over before mumbling, “i’m fine.” and you tried to stand on your own, beginning to limp away. you didn’t want or need anyone’s help.

leon sighed, following after you. “let me help, that must hurt a lot.”

“i told you, cop, i’m fine. i don’t want your help, okay?”

leon opened his mouth to insist, but decided against it. if you didn’t want his help, then he shouldn’t butt in. that wouldn’t keep him from watching over you, though.

but then leon called after you (perhaps a little smugly), “do you even know what you’re supposed to do?”

begrudgingly, you stopped walking. no, you didn’t know what to do. “i’ll figure it out,” you said over your shoulder. and you would; you had been through enough to survive any situation thrown at you.

but maybe one pointer couldn’t hurt.

“do a generator,” he told you, giving you a cheeky grin when you turned around to look at him. he was lucky he was cute.

the first part of the trial had been rough, but after that first hook you were doing a lot better. you managed to find your own medkit from a chest, and you learned how to fix a few generators. you found it came pretty naturally, and were satisfied that you hadn’t needed anyone’s help (except leon’s. but you didn’t have to admit that yet). when the killer came near, you skillfully avoided him and stayed hidden as much as you could.

you were also pretending that you didn't notice leon hovering near you. he was not very good at being subtle; he was obviously trying to make sure you didn't get hurt. it was cute. you didn't want to ruin his fun, so you didn't say anything about it.

it wasn’t long before the gates were powered and in the process of being opened. you saw a red glowing light in the distance, and assumed that must be your destination. you put all of your remaining energy into sprinting to the exit, adrenaline pumping through your body.

but then there was a heartbeat. a heartbeat so loud it filled your head, splitting your concentration. it wasn’t your own heartbeat--it was the killer’s.

the sound of the cannibal’s chainsaw roared in your ears and pain tore through your body; you collapsed to the ground with a cry of agony. shit, that really hurt, and you weren't sure you could ever get used to it. eternity sure seemed a lot longer than you had first anticipated. would you really be here forever? doing this over and over?

biting your lip until it bled, you tried to crawl towards the gate, dragging the lower half of your body with much difficulty. it was no use, though--you hardly got anywhere, and you could already feel the killer picking you up. just like that, you were going to die? you had been so close..

but as you were being placed on bubba’s shoulder, you saw a flash of a police uniform and a blinding light, and before you knew it, you had been dropped to the ground, the exit gate looking awfully lovely and much more desirable than a meat hook. you gathered all of your strength and began limping forward, when suddenly you felt an arm firmly wrap around your waist and your own was placed around someone else’s shoulder.

leon. when you looked up at him, all he did was give you a calm smile, which you felt inclined to return. with him supporting you, the two of you made it safely to the exit and began the long traipse back to the campfire, where you would find yourself spending a lot of time together.

from then on, you always remained quite unfazed by the events of the entity’s realm—the only thing that ever made you feel weak was being around leon. he was just so cute :]

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐎𝐍

you had never met someone so persistent in your life. from the moment the entity stole you here, steve harrington was after you, and there was next to nothing you could do about it. he sure was living up to his self-proclaimed role of babysitter.

you told him you were fine, that you didn’t need him following you around, but the asshole did it anyways.

“how cool do you think you are?” you asked him at some point, to which he simply shrugged with that stupid grin on his lips.

“i can take care of myself.” “i really don’t need you to baby me, steve.” “steve, if you don’t leave me alone i’m going to break your kneecaps.” these were all things that had come from your mouth multiple times recently. you were seriously thinking about that last one now.

you knew you could make it on your own, and you only wished he would give you a chance to prove that to him so he would leave you alone. but it was like he had attached himself to your hip, and for some reason the entity seemed to really enjoy putting you in trials with him. great.

he was a dumbass and a sweetheart, and you weren’t sure which one of those took higher priority. you knew he only meant well, but god, you wanted to be independent for once. why did he think he had to protect you so much? you arrived here after running for your fucking life, fighting off your long-time pursuer, and living in awful, ever-changing conditions. you had seen your closest friends die, right before your eyes. you didn’t need to be sheltered or coddled, but you couldn’t seem to make steve understand that, no matter how much you fought with him.

steve would literally throw himself in front of the killer for you. he clicked his flashlight in the killer’s face if they were after you, and he would swear and cuss until they chased him out of pure annoyance. it got him killed countless times, and you didn’t know whether to call him stupid or selfless. probably both.

eventually you decided to just copy him and see how it worked out. you weren’t scared, you had no reason to be. you wanted to show him you could be just as flashy as him.

as you arrived into a trial, steve right across from you (of course), you smiled to yourself. you had brought your best flashlight, and you were prepared to use it. the two of you began to work on a generator together, making light conversation as usual.

“if the killer comes here, hide. i’ll take him away.” “fuck you, steve harrington.” “sure, if you really want to.” “why don’t you ever leave me alone?” “it’s a mystery, isn’t it?” “i could punch you right now.” “but you won’t. i’m too good to look at.”

you know, the usual friendly stuff.

you purposefully connected the wrong wires, making the generator spark and sputter. “oops. oh no, the killer must be on their way,” you dead-panned. steve gave you an unamused look.

and indeed, only a few moments later, you heard the sound of the hillbilly and his chainsaw roaring in your direction. the two of you split up, and the killer’s weapon collided with the generator, making an awful screeching sound.

and that was when the chaos started.

steve began hollering and flicking his flashlight into the sky as usual, and after a moment’s hesitation, you did the same. steve looked at you in astonishment, pausing, but then he started again, even louder. you tried to outdo him.

“HEY BILLY! FUCK YOU!” you screamed, ignoring steve’s attempts to get you to stop. “COME AFTER ME, SHITHEAD!”

steve started actually yelling, just yelling, while you continued to swear meaninglessly. the poor hillbilly looked confused and overwhelmed, and eventually he couldn’t take the noise anymore--he just left, opting to find the other survivors while the two of you sorted out whatever it is you obviously had against each other.

it was dead silent now that the killer was gone, and you and steve were both out of breath. but as soon as you made eye contact, laughter bubbled up from your chest, causing you to collapse against the tree and slide to the ground. your voice was hoarse from all the screaming.

and then he was laughing too, stumbling over to plop down next to you, and your giggling started up a whole new round.

after the laughter died down, you stared at your hands, ignoring steve’s gaze on the side of your face until you couldn’t anymore.

“what?” you asked, finally looking at him. he was smiling all stupid again. “what?” you insisted, fighting off a grin of your own. you hated when he looked at you like that, because it made you want to smile back at him.

“nothing,” he said coyly, laughing again. you punched his shoulder playfully.

“c’mon harrington, when have you ever held your tongue before? spit it out.”

he nodded, that was true. so he said it. “i just like you, that’s all.”

oh. oh.

realization dawned upon your face. “is that why you always--”

“yes,” he interrupted you. “i thought it was obvious. man, you’re clueless sometimes.”

oh.

huh.

you guessed…maybe…steve harrington wasn’t that annoying. maybe.

𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍

to say you were feisty was an understatement. frank hated your guts at first because you were so good at evading him, which he would never admit. but the thing that made him really mad was that if he ever downed you, you would kick at him and try to trip him over, like actually bruise his shins. it hurt like hell.

this lead to his decision to constantly tunnel you, and he would laugh at you while you were on the hook, too. so you hated his guts just as much as he did yours. it was a mutual guts-hating situation.

your teammates always felt bad for you, but they also thought you were a badass and knew you could handle yourself. you hadn’t told anybody where you’d come from or what had happened to you, but they knew it was something interesting. there was a reason that nothing that happened here really got to you.

sometimes things escalated even further than shin-kicking. there was one time where frank had managed to grab the back of your shirt as you tried to vault a window, and as he pulled you closer to himself, you elbowed him in the neck and squirmed out of his grasp. while he stood stunned and lost for breath, you kicked the back of his locked knee so that he fell to the ground and bonked his forehead on the wall—the classic dead leg.

this was very funny to you.

not to him.

while you ran away, laughing to yourself, frank’s anger built and built. he was tired of letting you make a fool of him, and it was time to be serious about things.

he ignored you for the rest of the trial, forming a plan in his mind. there was something he needed to do after this, so he made sure to kill everybody else to please the entity—he couldn’t get caught up, it would derail his anger train. he also didn’t feel like getting kicked in the balls or some shit, so he let you out without a problem.

frank did some brooding at the ormond lodge before he was ready to go through with his plan. and his shins really, really hurt, so susie helped him ice them before he left.

the masked killer made his way to the survivor camp rather hastily. when he arrived, he saw you pacing around, deep in thought.

so he threw a rock at you.

it was just a pebble, really. maybe it could be considered a rather large pebble, but frank insisted in his mind that it was a pebble.

“ow, what the fuck!” you cursed, rubbing your sore shoulder and looking around to find the culprit. and then your eyes laid on him.

he looked so sultry standing there at the edge of the woods, arms crossed and mask smiling, you could almost laugh at him. he acted so serious, when really, he was just an angry and misbehaving twink.

you put on your best serious face, genuinely trying not to be amused by this, and strode over to the killer.

“what do you want?” you asked confidently, mirroring his body language and crossing your arms.

frank bristled at your approach, as if trying to make himself look bigger. he wished you were scared of him like everyone else, it would really make him feel better.

“i want a truce,” he said.

you almost burst into laughter at that. a truce? what the fuck for?

he said was willing to stop tunneling and camping you if you stopped beating the shit out of him with your sticky little hands. he didn’t say it like that, but you knew that was what he meant. you, a survivor, could beat up frank, a killer, and it upset him and his little ego :(

just to humor him, you agreed. and frank nodded.

“but,” you continued, raising your eyebrows, “you have to give me something else.”

he started to say “no, no way—“ but you interrupted him: “you’re asking me to stop fighting for myself and just give in when you catch me. i think i deserve something other than just not being tunnelled.”

frank glared at you under his mask, thankful that you couldn’t see. “okay. whatever. what do you want?”

“i want to see your face.” you thought this was a good choice, something you could lord over him forever. it was surely only a win for you. his face was something private, and you would be the only survivor to know.

of course you wanted to see his face, frank thought. everyone did; they wanted to find out if he was good-looking. which, according to him, he was. if you ever asked the other members of the legion, susie was the only one to actually respond. she felt obligated to compliment him as she was basically his sister. so she would say frank is handsome in a ruggedy, jess mariano kind of way. you wondered how she knew what gilmore girls was, since that came after her time, but susie would never give away her secret.

so with a sigh, frank agreed to let you see his face. he didn’t really care, all he wanted was to stop having bruises on his shins. it was kind of miserable, and the entity never did anything to help him.

when he said that you couldn’t do it here, and you asked why the fuck not, he said it was because some other survivor might see. you decided he had a fair point, so reluctantly you let him drag you all the way to ormond.

when he took off his mask, your first thought, whether you wanted it to be or not, was “wow! he really does look like jess mariano! but with tattoos! hot!”

you were lost for words. you didn’t really know what you were expecting, but you sure weren’t expecting him to be that attractive.

he could tell your thoughts from the look on your face.

this had been per your request, and you were planning on this being something you could hold over his head, but the situation had turned into something that he could hold over your head.

oh dear. frank morrison now held pretty boy privilege over you.

and soon you would find out that he was going to keep tunnelling you anyways.

listen i've been watching a lot of gilmore girls and i just get jess vibes from frank, except our boy is more of a twinky idk shdjfhsf i love this guy sm

[itsallyscorner]

Teaming Up with Sam and Bucky ft Zemo

Pairing: FEM!Reader; Bucky Barnes x reader, Sam Wilson x reader; platonic(?), let’s throw in some Zemo x reader

Summary: What it would be like to team up with our favorite duo. Takes place during TFATWS.

Warnings: none, TFATWS SPOILERS. Lowkey a mess :D

A/n: Ever since TFATWS came out I’ve been reminded of how much I love Bucky and Sam. Also I have a new found love for Zemo. I’ve just been so obsessed with this series and I’ve been reading so many fics about it, so I decided to finally write my own :) Enjoy my loves❤️

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

✧───── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *. ☽.* :★. ─────✧

You’re basically working with a bunch of children.

The children mostly being Sam and Bucky, though Zemo does have his moments once he joins you three.

You’ve known dumb and dumber for a few years now, being part of the Avengers, you’ve worked with Sam on multiple missions. The friendship blooming somewhere in between.

You were also close friends with Steve; when he first came out the ice, you were assigned to help him adjust to the modern world by Fury. He would tell you a bunch of stories of him and Bucky running into trouble or Bucky always saving his ass whenever he was getting beaten up.

Eventually, you finally got to meet Bucky, though he wasn’t Bucky, he was the Winter Soldier. Your introduction to each other was quite memorable to say the least.

He choked you with that metal arm of his and for a split second you swore you might’ve found it attractive—till he threw your body against a car.

You sided with Cap during the accords and helped him protect Bucky. When that whole mess was over, Steve asked you to stay with Bucky in Wakanda to make sure he would be safe.

You were the first person to have some kind of bond with Bucky. Before and after he was freed from Hydra’s hold on him, you were always someone he knew he could trust.

When Steve told you what he was going to do while retuning the stones he told you to watch over them.

“Promise me you’ll keep an eye on Buck and Sam?” He asked you, sitting on the edge of your bed. He had snuck into your room late at night, knowing you were wide awake.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, a lazy smile on your lips, “They don’t need me, I’m sure they’re capable of surviving on their own.” Steve breathes out a laugh and shakes his head, “You’d be surprised.”

“But seriously, (y/n), they need you. You know how they get when they’re together. You’re the only person in the world who knows how to deal with the both of them at the same time.” Steve reasons, his baby blues sparkling in the darkness of the guest room of Tony’s lake house.

“Make sure they’re not on the verge of killing each other or running into too much trouble?” You tiredly nod, sleep slowly consuming your body. “I promise, they’re gonna be alright, Steve.”

Sometimes you found yourself looking up at the sky, cursing at it—or Steve—for leaving you with two of the most childish and stubborn men you’ve ever known in your life.

You were like the mother of the group; breaking up fights, making sure they skipped no meals, patching up their boo-boos, etc.

“Will you stop staring at me?” Sam snapped, tossing his goggles onto the seat beside him to glare at Bucky.

“I’m not staring at you.” Bucky remarked from across Sam. His flesh and metal arm crossing with each other as he stared at Sam challengingly.

“Yes, you are. Your eyes are connecting with mine. You’re literally staring at me right now!” Sam pointed out, to which Bucky rolled his eyes at.

“Because I’m talking to you, genius. I wasn’t staring at you.” Bucky quipped.

“Yes you were!”

“No I wasn’t!”

This continued till they were sick of bickering with each other, finally yelling out your name for help.

The arguments were straight up petty. Bucky wouldn’t admit it, but he was the pettiest.

Exhibit 1: “LoOKiNG StrONg jOHn!”

Like seriously? Bucky’s the pettiest bitch, nobody can tell me otherwise.

You and Sam would definitely find it amusing how Bucky doesn’t trust Redwing.

Obviously, you all despise John Walker. Just the thought of him left a bad taste in your mouth.

He was like a fly that you all couldn’t get rid of. But because you were all painfully patient people—mostly you and Sam—you had to deal with his bullshit despite the way he annoyed you all.

Totally loosing your shit when Bucky helps Zemo break himself out of prison.

“Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.” You groaned, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose together.

Bucky looks at you with feign innocence; his mouth agape and puppy eyes. “I—didn’t do...anything(?).”

“You helped Zemo break out of prison didn’t you?” You crossed your arms at him, hip jutting out. As if on cue, Sokovian sugar daddy walks into the abandoned garage you were all in.

Before you can explode on him, Bucky tried to calm you down, “Wait, I technically didn’t do anything though! It was his plan!”

Zemo definitely lives up to being the ✨Sokovian Sugar Daddy✨ of your dysfunctional group.

I think you’d all be surprised at how rich he was. The amount of connections he had wasn’t that big of a shocker.

No like seriously, homie was pulling all sorts of shit out his ass; cars, private planes, houses in different countries, etc.

You all had a love hate relationship with Zemo. On days when he was actually helpful, you all got a long. On the days when things got horribly messy, Zemo couldn’t even let a word out since Sam would tell him to “shut up”.

Though that still doesn’t excuse the fact that he got the Avengers to spilt up and go against each other.

When you guys are all hiding out in one of Zemo’s apartments or homes, you would probably cook breakfast, lunch, or dinner for everyone.

They actually loved it when you cooked because it made the atmosphere feel a bit homey and calm compared to the current situation you were all in.

You were the person they can all go to. You were easy to talk to, making it easier for them to open up to you.

You always checked in on them mentally and physically. For example, you knew Sam felt guilty about giving up the shield, but Bucky never made him forget about his choice. You were there to reassure him that he thought he was doing the right thing and didn’t know the hidden agenda of the government.

You were like their on the go therapist, babysitter, and partner.

Sometimes Bucky and Sam would even argue for your attention.

“Can you stop hogging (y/n) please? Her ears might fall off from hearing you yap all day.” Bucky said as he gently took your arm and dragged you away from Sam.

“You literally spent the whole day with her yesterday, you’re the one who needs to stop hogging (y/n).” Sam argued, grabbing onto your other arm.

“I didn’t get to spend time with (y/n).” Zemo mentioned from his seat in the kitchen, a glass of whisky in his hand. Bucky simply turned to him and pointed, “NO!”

Honestly what’s a friendship with Bucky and Sam without some harmless flirting. They weren’t gonna lie, you were gorgeous, the most attractive one out of the group.

When you guys had to go undercover at Madripoor, both times with Zemo and Sharon, you had to wear dresses that were a bit revealing. Maybe your chest was a bit shown, but the dress definitely showed off your legs.

“So what do you guys think?” You stopped at the bottom of the stairs of Sharon’s apartment, doing a little spin to show off your outfit.

Both Bucky and Sam’s jaws drop, Zemo probably nodding in approval in the corner.

You can’t forget about the nicknames: maybe doll, sweetheart, or darlin’ from Bucky and the typical Louisiana Cher from Sammy.

While fighting against the Flag Smashers or anyone in general, you guys always had each other’s back.

You could directly be fighting someone, but you’ll naturally have an eye on Sam and Bucky to make sure nobody was sneaking up on them.

It’s a given that you all patch each other up after some fight.

You were all very protective of each other. If there’s one thing Sam and Bucky can agree on, it’s their instinct to protect you.

Like how you kept an eye on them, they also kept their eyes on you. Even though they knew you could hold your own.

“Could you walk?” Sam asked you as you laid on the concrete floor. You were double teamed by a couple of Flag Smashers. Two super soldiers against a normal person, you totally got your ass handed to you.

You pushed yourself up to rest on your elbows, “I’m fine, just got dropped kicked twice, but I’ll be fine.”

Sam smiled at you, “That’s my girl.”

Though the two can be a handful and argue almost every minute, you loved the both of them tremendously. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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[xoxoavenger]

Crazy

pairing: Luke Skywalker x reader

summary: Y/N goes a little crazy when Luke doesn't return from his patrol, and she definitely outs their secret relationship.

word count: 3624

warnings: cannon typical injury

masterlist

"Do you have to go?" Y/N asked, grabbing Luke's arm before he slipped out of the bed.

"If I don't go now, people will get suspicious and come looking for me." Luke kissed her neck, and she rolled onto her back.

"I'm sorry you're so popular, but that's not my fault." Y/N said, eyes still closed and still hanging onto him.

"Y/N," Luke whined, falling back into bed with her as she pulled at him.

"I think you're sick today." Y/N said, placing her arms around him and making him as close as he could be to her.

"There will still be people looking for me. I have to go." Luke kissed her head, untangling himself from her. "You should probably get up too, Y/N." Luke began putting on the extensive layers he had to have on in order to not freeze on this ice planet.

"I don't want to." She mumbled, and he rolled his eyes fondly at her.

"Come on." Luke pulled her up, and she finally opened her eyes. Luke had two layers out of the five he normally put on for missions, and Y/N pouted.

"Why did you put your clothes on?" She asked, and Luke let out a small laugh.

"Because it's cold. You need to put your clothes on too." Luke grabbed Y/N's long sleeved under shirt, and she lifted her arms up so he could put it over her. "Are you ready to go to work today?" Luke asked, getting dressed himself after helping Y/N.

"No." She muttered, wiping her eyes. "Can you do my hair?" Y/N asked, and Luke smiled at her.

"I can't do it as well as Leia does, Y/N. You know that." Luke said, but he still moved behind Y/N and began braiding her hair in two sections. "Here's your hat, love." Luke put the hat on Y/N, and she smiled at him.

"Be careful." She said, leaning on her tip toes to kiss him. He kissed back, lips warm against her cold body.

"I'm always careful." He smirked as they parted.

"Keep talking like that and you'll sound like Han." Y/N smirked, and Luke huffed out a breath. "I'm serious, Luke. I don't know what I'd do without you." She placed her hands on his chest, wishing he would be closer to her than the millions of layers between them to keep them warm.

"I know. You'd go crazier than you already are, Y/N." Luke smiled, hands rubbing his hands up and down her hips.

"Stop it!" Y/N whined, hitting his chest.

"I love you." Luke said, bringing her close.

"I thought you had to leave." Y/N rested her head on his chest.

"I do." He kissed her forehead.

"I love you too." Y/N kissed Luke one more time before the separated and made their way to their respective jobs.

~

"Han? Where's Luke?" Y/N asked as soon as Han walked into the control room. She knew Luke hadn't checked in yet, and he never forgets.

"He's checking out a meteorite that hit near him." Han answered.

"Alone?"

"With all the meteor activity in this system, it's going to be difficult to spot approaching ships." Y/N's question was disregarded, and she felt her heart race. Something wasn't right.

"General, I got to leave. I can't stay anymore." Han said, and Y/N looked over at Leia. She knew the princess had feelings for the captain, even if she would never admit it out loud.

"What?" Leia turned to see Y/N staring at her.

"Tell him how you feel, Leia! You don't really want him to leave, do you?" Y/N asked, and Liea turned to look at Han again, who was still talking to the General.

"When are you going to tell Luke how you feel, Y/N?" Leia whispered, and Y/N rolled her eyes. Luke and her were still new at the whole love thing, so no one knew about what happened behind closed doors.

"Well, Your Highness, guess this is it." Han said, and Y/N and Leia turned to see Han now behind them.

"That's right." Leia nodded.

"We hate to see you go, Han." Y/N said, and Han shoved her slightly.

"Don't tell me things you don't mean." He smirked, before looking at Leia. "Well, don't get all mushy on me, Princess. So long." And then Han was out the door. Leia and Y/N shared a look before Liea was after him, leaving Y/N to wonder where Luke was.

~

"Han!" Y/N yelled, making the man stand up and move from under his ship.

"What now?" He asked, and Y/N shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

"Where's Luke?" She asked, and Han's face immediately changed to concern.

"What do you mean?"

"He hasn't come back yet. Leia and I don't know where he is, and the temperature is starting to drop and-"

"Hold on, honey. I don't know where he is." Han informed her.

"Nobody knows where he is." C-3PO informed them, and Y/N and Han turned to see the gold machine standing beside them.

"Nobody?" Y/N muttered.

"What do you mean, nobody knows?" Han asked, and Y/N's heart picked up its pace as if she was sprinting. "Deck Officer!" Han was yelling before 3PO could speak.

"Excuse me, sir, might I-"

"Shut it, 3PO." Y/N mumbled, following Han.

"Do you know where Commander Skywalker is?" Han asked.

"I haven't seen him." Y/N shut her eyes as the man spoke, trying to think of the best case scenario as stomach churned.

"Is it possible he came in through the south entrance?" Y/N asked, eyes still closed.

"Yes."

"It's possible? Why don't you go find out? It's getting dark out there." Han commanded.

"Yes, sir." The man responded, and it was quiet until Y/N felt hands on her shoulders.

"Y/N?" Han's voice cut through her thoughts, and she opened her eyes. "Are you alright? You're breathing really heavily." Han said, and Y/N nodded, although her breath intake increased.

"Hey, calm down. You're going to make yourself pass out." Han put a gloved hand on her face, and Y/N didn't react. "You probably need some sleep, I'm guessing. Are you tired?" Han had no idea what he was doing, but Luke's best friend was freaking out and normally he dealt with this sort of stuff.

"We need to find Luke." Y/N muttered, suddenly grabbing a helmet and scarf. She was putting them on, glassy look in her eyes.

"You need to stay here, Y/N." Han said, hands still on her shoulders. "Are you okay? You're shaking." Han was staring at Y/N, concerned. She was blinking rapidly and shaking behind the eye shield.

"I'm just cold. Come on, we need to find Luke." Y/N said, putting the helmet on.

"No, I'm going to find Luke. You're going to stay here." Han barely gave her time to finish her sentence. She began to walk away and he grabbed her, pulling her back. "Y/N, seriously. You're not going."

"Let go of me, Han, or I swear to-

"Stop fighting! You're not going!" Han yelled, and Y/N struggled in his arms weakly.

"I have to go! I have to help him!" Y/N yelled, but Han held onto her tightly.

"You can help him by staying here and working in the command center." He then moved to hug her, and she started to cry in his arms.

"Save him, please." She cried to him, and Han felt his heart break. Although Luke and Y/N never said anything about their relationship, Han knew there was something going on.

"I will. I promise."

~

"Sir, all the patrols are in." Y/N and Leia turned to hear the conversation between the two men.

"Still no-" Y/N turned her head as the man cut himself off, the pair obviously not wanting to say more because Leia and herself were there. "Still no contact from Skywalker or Solo." The man said quieter, and Leia grabbed Y/N's arm.

"Mistress Leia, Mistress Y/N, R2 says he's been quite unable to pick up any signals, although he does admit that his own range is far too weak to abandon all hope." 3PO informed them, and Y/N took a deep breath, wishing her emotions away.

"Your highness, there's nothing more we can do tonight." One of the men said to Leia, and Y/N turned her back to them, trying to clear her mind. It was going to be very cold at night, and Y/N knew it would be hard to survive.

"The shield doors must be closed."

"What?" Y/N cried out, spinning to face them.

"Y/N, we can't do anything until morning." Leia said, pain in her voice.

"They're going to freeze out there!" Y/N cried, and she heard Chewy let out a growl.

"Close the doors." Leia said, and Y/N felt her world collapse in on her, head spinning.

"He's going to die." Y/N mumbled, tears spilling out of her eyes. She looked to Leia, who had a sad frown on her face.

"We don't know that. Han and Luke are strong, Y/N, they can do this." Leia tried to comfort her, but Y/N just shook her head as more tears went tumbling down her cheeks. Just as she was about to fall, to let her body go numb, Chewy grabbed onto her, turning her to him and wrapping his long arms around her as she cried into his fur.

"R2 says the chances of survival are 725 to one." 3PO said, and then the loud clash of the door closing sounded, causing Y/N to cry out. 3PO kept talking, but Y/N drowned him out, sobbing into Chewbacca.

"I'm sure Luke and Han will be back in the morning." Leia's hand was at her back, and Y/N turned her face to see the princess, still holding tight to Chewy.

~

She slept the worst she has ever slept in her entire life, tossing and turning, her eyes not wanting to stay closed. Still, when she woke up, she was expecting to be in Luke's arms. Instead, she woke up next to a furball, and the pain of yesterday's events came crashing down. Y/N picked herself up, wiping a hand over her face. Her head was spinning, and her chest was hurting from her heart beating out of her chest for so long. She came out of the Millennium Falcon, which she barely remembers falling stumbling in and falling asleep, to see Leia pacing in the hanger.

"Did you even sleep?" Y/N asked, pulling her sleeves down.

"Did you?" Leia looked to Y/N, seeing the bags under her eyes, and then back to the open door. "They sent the rescue team out a little while ago. I'm waiting for word that they found them." Leia said over the irrelevant chatter of the rescue team.

"Hopefully they find something more than just frozen bodies." Y/N said, and Leia frowned at her.

"Have hope, Y/N. I'm sure they'll be okay." Leia put a hand on her shoulder, and Y/N smiled at her.

"Echo Base, this is Rouge Two. I've found them. Repeat, I've found them." Came through the comm, and Y/N and Leia both let out a sigh of relief, hugging each other. Y/N almost felt herself fall as her knees buckled, but Leia righted her.

Y/N and Leia awaited the plane that would be carrying Han and Luke, and Y/N rushed over to it as soon as they landed. Luke was being pushed on a medic carrier, and Y/N followed with it. He was pale, a black eye and cuts adorning his face. Y/N pushed the hair out of his face, feeling his cold skin.

"We need to get him into a bacta tank." Someone said, and Y/N looked up.

"Will he be okay?" Y/N asked, and someone in front of her stopped, making her stop. Luke kept going, and Y/N tried to get around the medic.

"He'll be fine, Ma'am. He will need to spend at least ten hours in the bacta tank, which is a hard sight to see. Are you sure you want to stay with him?" The man asked, and Y/N furrowed her brows in anger.

"Get out of my way." She said, pushing past him and running to keep up with Luke. She watched as he was hooked up to a breathing tube, and then stripped down. The droids slipped a machine over his arms before lifting him into the tank. Y/N made her way forwards toward the tank, placing her hands on the glass as she looked at Luke. He was completely unconscious, and every so often a droid attached to the tank would shock him, causing his back to arch and his body to tense.

Y/N stayed at the tank for twelve hours, sitting next to and leaning on it while watching Luke. She needed to make sure he was okay.

"You should get some sleep. He'll be pulled out soon." Han said, putting a hand on Y/N's shoulder. Han and Leia had been in and out with C-3PO and R2-D2, but Y/N had stayed the entire time, only eating a small portion of the food they had brought.

"I'm okay." Y/N said, smiling up at Han and wiping a hand across her face. He grimaced, and Y/N looked up at Luke, wishing he could just be close to her. Watching him float in the tank lifelessly was unsettling, and all she wanted to do was cuddle with him for an entire solstice.

"You need to sleep at some point. Chewy told me you barley slept on the Falcon last night, and it's getting late." Han told her, and Y/N looked back to him

"Exactly. I slept last night so I'm fine." Y/N told him.

"You need to eat and sleep, and then Luke will be out." Han pushed, and Y/N stood up.

"Why do you care? You were going to leave anyway." Y/N crossed her arms, and Han looked almost hurt.

"I was just trying to help you. Don't want you looking like more of a mess than normal when he comes out." Han said, and Y/N punched his shoulder.

"That's for leaving me here." Y/N seethed, and Han rolled his eyes.

"You would have died out there in your state. I was doing you a favor." He explained, and Y/N pushed Han. It wasn't hard, since she was so weak, but it still angered Han.

"Doing me a favor? I was trying to save him and you stopped me."

"You were going crazy, Y/N! You can't blame me for not taking you." He said, and Y/N frowned.

"I also promised Luke I wouldn't put you in danger if he were to go missing." Han said softly, and Y/N looked to her unconscious lover.

"Why?" She whispered, placing a hand on the tank.

"He loved you, ya know."

"Yeah, I do." Y/N let a tear slip out of her eye, and Han wiped it away.

"He'll be okay." He said, bringing Y/N into a side hug.

"I know, but I just want him to be okay now." She mumbled, placing her other hand on the tank, leaning against it.

"Will you rest now?" Han asked, hoping he'd get to her after that talk.

"I'm okay here." Y/N said, and Han sighed, but left to sleep anyway.

~

"Mistress Y/N?" Y/N woke up to 3PO's voice, and she looked around to realize she was still in the room they were keeping Luke in. She sat up, looking up to see Luke still floating in the tank. "They're taking Master Luke out now." 3PO informed her, and she stood to see Han and Leia also in the room. The droid detached from the tank, and Y/N stood with the others to watch Luke be lifted out of the tank. They set him on a bed, then toweled him down. They put new clothes on him and then whisked him away, Y/N in tow. Leia and Han met her on the way, and the three of them followed the bed until a droid stopped them.

"No humans allowed until Commander Skywalker is awake." The droid said, and Y/N scowled.

"I'm his girlfriend." Y/N explained.

"Doesn't matter. Commander Skywalker needs his rest." The droid responded.

"Well how long is that gonna take?" Han stepped up, defending Y/N.

"A least a few hours."

"What? No, I want to see him now." Y/N said, trying to get past the droid. It didn't budge.

"I'm afraid you can't. Please go to your room, and we will have you notified when he wakes."

"No! I'm going to be with him in there." Y/N tried to push the droid away, but he did nothing.

"Move, you big bag of bolts!" She cried, but the droid did not let her through.

"Y/N, it'll probably be good for you to get some sleep." Leia put a hand on her shoulder, but Y/N shrugged it off.

"I don't want sleep, I want to see him!" She yelled, but the droid still stood in her way. "I swear to the Imperial Army I will rip you apart piece by piece if you don't let me through." Y/N threatened, however the droid seemed uninterested.

"We'll get clearance from the General. This isn't the hill you want to die on." Leia said, and Y/N turned to her. She looked at Leia, and then at Han, and suddenly she deflated.

"I just want to be with him. Make sure he's okay." She said, crying for what seemed like the millionth time. Leia wrapped her up in a hug, and she let out a breath against her.

"He'll be okay. He's in good hands. You should get some rest." Leia pulled away and winked, and Y/N just nodded. It appeared that Leia had a plan, and knowing her it was probably a good one.

"We're terribly sorry about that." 3PO said as they walked away, and once they turned the corner, Leia began to talk.

"We're sneaking you in here tonight." She mumbled, and the group continued walking.

"How?" Y/N asked, looking at Leia, but she was looking straight ahead,

"It's cold enough at night that there aren't many alive rebels that work in the medical wing, and droids are charging." Leia explained, still looking ahead as they began walking.

"I'll come get you from your room in two hours." Leia finished as they came up to Y/N's room. She honestly almost forgot she had her own room, spending so much time in Luke's.

"Thank you." Y/N smiled at them both, hugged Leia and then went to her room.

~

She couldn't sleep. She knew Luke was perfectly fine, but not being able to see and feel him made her on edge. She almost fainted at the knock on her door. Y/N opened it way to eagerly, smiling at Leia.

It was cold in the hallways, since it was night now. Y/N shivered as she walked through the empty space, making her way slowly to where Luke was.

"Do you know which room he's in?" Y/N asked, coming up upon the many doors leading to rooms.

"While you were throwing your tantrum, I was watching to see which room they put him in." Leia smirked, opening the door to her right. Y/N smiled, hugged Leia, and then quickly went into the room.

"Oh, Luke." Y/N mumbled, seeing Luke laying on the bed asleep. His hair covered his closed eyes partially, and his skin was still pale, making his injuries seem worse. She pushed herself onto his bed, laying down next to him. "You dumbass." Y/N whispered, clinging to him. His body was warm, and Y/N kissed his cheek, hand going to rest on his chest and leg wrapped around him.

Finally, finally, she fell into a peaceful sleep.

~

"You're not supposed to be here." Y/N woke to the stupid droids voice, and she sat up.

"I'm sorry." Y/N mumbled, moving from Luke. She looked at him, and he was still sleeping. She felt like she hadn't gotten any sleep, and she realized she hadn't been asleep for long.

"I'm going to ask you to leave, Ma'am." The droid said, and Y/N let a little breath out.

"It's fine, Med. You can go to your next patient." A human said at the door, and Y/N smiled slightly.

"Thank you." She said to the man at the door, who nodded and turned the light off.

~

Lips on hers. That's what she finally woke up to.

Chapped, bruised, swollen lips, but they most definitely belonged to the one and only Luke Skywalker.

Y/N opened her eyes, pushing Luke away lightly. She was still in his bed in the medic wing, and when she sat up, she noticed Han, Leia, Chewy, 3PO and R2 were also in the room. Y/N blushed, and Luke brought her closer.

"What happened?" Y/N asked, and Luke shook his head, cuddling closer to her.

"I got taken by a snow monster, and it was really cold." Luke mumbled, and Y/N rolled her eyes, holding him close as well.

"Well, it seems you two get along very well. When did this happen?" Han asked, and Y/N sunk farther into the bed.

"A lot of things happen behind your back, Han." Luke said smugly, and Y/N smiled.

"It's cute that you think this was behind my back."

"I'm glad you're okay." Y/N said, looking up at Luke and pretending Han hadn't just spoke.

"I am too. I heard you went crazy and threw a tantrum without me." Luke smirked, and Y/N hit his chest, beginning to move away. "It's kinda cute." Luke said, pulling Y/N closer to him.

"You're about to die again, Commander Skywalker." Y/N threatened, and Luke rolled his eyes and brought her close up to him.

"I'm so glad you're not already crazy."

[sortasirius]

“Unity” and the Broken Boys

BOY Y’ALL BETTER SIT DOWN BECAUSE THIS IS AS LONG AS CAN BE AND I TOOK OFF WORK TOMORROW SO I’VE GOT TIME

This is....one of the best episodes in the show.  Yeah, in all 325 of them, this is hands down one of the best.

First of all, stan Amara for clear skin.

That silent treatment babey, right out the gate with the Angst.  Tbh Dean deserves it.

“Like I said, killing Amara, Jack dying...that’s the only way.”

“The only way.  Our one shot.  Our Last chance.  You ever get tired of saying stuff like that?”

“We don’t have to like it, alright?  But you and me, we gotta get it done.”

Amara is such a welcome energy in this whole episode.  She’s warm and understanding, whip-smart and probably more powerful than Chuck.  I love her.

Sam is a wonderful, understanding, loving dad.  I love him eternally.  He loves Jack so much, he’s trying so desperately to do what’s right for Jack but also what’s right for the world.  Jack made this choice, but he can’t live with it.  How do you support your child when their life is at stake?

“Come on man.  Blindly following orders, lying to Amara, sending her to her death. Does any of this feel right to you??”

“It doesn’t matter how we feel!  You know what?  Stay.  Stay.  Someone has to be the grown up here.”

“Yeah well someone has to keep fighting for Jack!”

“He knows what he signed up for!”

“Last I checked, we don’t give up on family.”

“Jack’s not family.”

Y’all should have heard the noise I made.  What a fucking line.

“I know how you feel about the kid, I care for him too, I do, but he’s not like you.  He’s not like Cas.  He’s just not.”

“I’m- I’m ready.”

You can see the regret, the heartbreak in Dean’s eyes.  You can see how he wants to take those words back the moment he said them, and for Jack to hear them?  It’s unthinkable.

Sam and Cas I’m just so fucking emo dude.

“Sam, you stayed behind to find another way huh?  I woulda done the same.”

AMARA

First of all, LOVE this structure.

Amara and Chuck have such a fascinating dynamic.  Rob and Emily do a great job (as they have all along) by clearly being siblings but...heightened.  You can just tell they both exude power, and the other is the only one they consider an equal.

“You and Dean had that whole weird...thing.”

“That wasn’t you writing?”

“Ugh, not that part.  Gross.”

What I took away from this is what I’ve suspected all along.  They HAVE free will, just not total free will.  Dean and Amara’s connection wasn’t Chuck, there are parts of the story he didn’t write.  Obviously, this comes into play later. 

I also have a hunch that Chuck doesn’t write romance.  I also think that in particular will come into play.

“Balance.  Something we’ve never tried before.  Creation and destruction, light and dark, brother and sister united again, but on behalf of one world, this world.  True balance.  The way it was always meant to be.  But you can’t.  You only care about your pleasure, your story.  Well, I guess that makes you the villain.”

“Villains get all the best lines.”

We see again and again this season, Chuck is irredeemable.  He doesn’t care about the angels, he doesn’t care about the world, he doesn’t care about anything.  He is a petulant toddler who has broken his toys. And when he realizes he’s trapped, he gets angry, he shouts and screams, completely at odds with Amara’s peace.

“You can’t hold me here forever.”

“I can hold you long enough.”

DEAN

Pain is the name of the game in this section homies.  Because not only are we dealing with Dean’s pain, we’re also dealing with Jack’s.  Jack says he understands why Cas and Sam mean more to Dean, but Dean clearly doesn’t, he, once again, wants to say more, but is stopped, still stopped by his fear: his fear of not beating Chuck.

Alright guys, gals, and non-binary pals.  Let’s talk about Adam and Seraphina.

Adam.  The first man.  And Seraphina.  The angel.

“My old lady.  She’s the only one who could put up with me all these years.”

Yeah okay.  Volume at 100 I get it lmao.

But also: Adam wants God dead not because he and Eve were kicked out of the Garden, but because he went after their sons.  The theme of protecting the children strikes again.

“Killing God is your plan?”

“Yeah, Billie’s been giving us a hand but Sera and me, this is our baby.”

This juxtaposed directly with Dean’s own pain at what he has to do to kill Chuck, to gain his free will: the cost of his child.

Adam’s rib.

And who else might get his ribs hurt, only to be likely healed by an angel?

It’s fine, that’s fine.  I’m fine with that.

“Jack, I don’t know how to explain it but, when I found out about Chuck, it’s like I wasn’t alive.  Not really.  You know like my whole life I’ve never been free, but like really free.  But now?  Now me and Sam, we got a shot at living a life, without all this crap on our backs.  And that’s, that’s because of you.  So, I want to say, I need to say...thank you, Jack.  Thank you.”

I’m gonna have to do a separate post about just Dean in this episode, because there is so fucking much to talk about, but there are a couple of things that I think are important:  Dean realizes how wrong he was, to say what he said.  He knows that it’s not true, this is the way he’s always coped with loss, by pushing the person to be lost away, but for Jack to hear it?  He can’t stand for that.

And:

Dean has finally pushed through the barrier.  He won’t be quiet in the face of his doubts anymore.  This is a breakthrough for him, and, of course, there are more to come.

SAM

Sam and Cas, my chaos duo.

The box, the inscription, the door.

Death’s library, filled with dead reapers.

And there it is.  The Empty.

It tells Sam the plan, the plan for Billie to take God’s place.  For everything to go back to the way it’s “supposed to be.”

This has always been the game, since season 13.  This is the longest of long games.

Sam fuckin Winchester, lying his way out of a confrontation with the Empty like the legend that he is.

He comes back with a new purpose: to stop Billie’s plan, and here’s where we get to the heart of the episode and maybe the heart of the season.

“You hear that?  Dean, brought to the edge of doubt.  His sense of duty, his rage winning out in the end.  And poor Sam, always gotta know everything.  Can’t leave well enough alone.  This is my ending, my real ending.”

The gun comes out, pointed at Sam.

Hmm...what did I say during 15x05?  Oh yeah, this.

And:

Dean would never survive killing Sam, but he’s willing to do anything, anything to earn his freedom.  His ending, where one brother kills the other and then kill himself.

Why, you might ask, did Sam not mention that the angels would be sent back to Heaven, why does he not mention Cas?  I’ll tell you why, or rather, Becky will.

Plus, Dean looks back at Cas IMMEDIATELY when Sam says that, when he mentions Eileen, and THAT’S the first time he hesitates.  He can’t lose Cas.  But at the same time, he’s willing to do anything to have his freedom.

“Sam we don’t have a choice, Jack’s about to blow!”

“We always have a choice!”

You know me, just sitting here thinking about choice, the ability to choose, and how that translates to their free will.

And Sam...I don’t think there will ever be characters I love as much as these.

“I don’t care if Billie gets what she wants!  I don’t man, I’d trade it all, I’d trade em all for Chuck.  In a heartbeat!”

“What about me?”

“You’d trade me?”

“Chuck has to die.  He has to!  Otherwise he’ll keep us tap dancing forever, and I can’t live like that man, I can’t live like that, I won’t!”

“I know you feel like that right now, okay? I know you do, but you gotta trust me.  My entire life, you’ve protected me.  From Dad, from Lucifer, from everything.  I didn’t always like it, you know?  But it’s the one thing in the whole world that I could always count on.  It’s the only thing I’ve ever known that was true.  So please, put the gun away.  Just put it away.  We’ll figure it out, Dean, we’ll find another way, you and me.  We always do.”

Okay I feel like this is going to be one of those scenes that I cry watching for years to come.  Because fuck.  After fifteen years they finally admit that not only did Dean protect Sam from Lucifer, but he protected him from John.  John.  On a par with Lucifer.

Dean and Sam have, for so many years, sacrificed themselves for the other.  Dean’s demon deal, Sam and the trials, every season they have fought to see who can die the quickest for the other.  But this?  This is them fighting to stop the violence, to stop from killing the big bad.  This is them growing, in our eyes, in real time.  Sam has always been able to get through to Dean when no one else had a prayer, but for Dean to listen, for Dean to take his words to heart, to stop the hunt for Sam, for their family, that’s how you know they do have free will.

(Btw Chuck’s eye effect when he dusted Amara was sick as fuck but I’m emo for my boys so.)

Chuck knows it’s a loss, he knows that his story has, once again, been thwarted by the boys making their own choices.  And he’s pissed, but in his anger, we get a bomb dropped on us.

“Spare me your contempt Castiel, the self-hating angel of Thursday.  You know what every other version of you did after “gripping him tight and raising him from perdition”?  They did what they were told.  But not you.  Not the one off the line with a crack in his chassis.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

Also, just worth bringing up this one as well:

Every Castiel pulled Dean out of Hell.  Every one told him the same thing.  And yet, immediately, with this Cas and this Dean, something was different.  Because what has everyone seen about Cas, from the moment he met Dean?

And there’s our endgame people.  Laid out on the line.

But we ain’t done yet, fam.

We’ve talked about the handprint, but you know:

So there you have it, our prep into the “monumental” 15x18.  I have spec on that, of course, but I think a novel is long enough for this.

What to take away: Dean’s rage was always Chuck’s plan, they do have free will, their love for each other, for their family, is what will stop Chuck’s control, Death is about to come back with a vengeance, Cas’ deal is at play, and, most importantly, Castiel and Dean Winchester are a blind spot for Chuck, something he has never, not once, controlled.

[abundanceofnots]

The door to the darkened alley next to the Alibi Room opens behind him, letting out a jumble of voices and loud music. Mickey expected Ian to find him there sooner or later. That’s why he’s so surprised to see that it’s not his husband pushing the heavy door open with his hip, his hands occupied by holding two glasses of beer, but Tami, his—

Well, whatever they are to each other.

Strangers, mostly. Both holding the title of Gallagher family appendages—the husband and the baby mama—who occasionally shared a laugh over some Gallagher bullshit. But that has always been as far as their relationship went.

“Occupied,” he informs her curtly before he takes another drag of his cigarette.

Tami smiles, undeterred.

“I was actually looking for you,” she explains as she lets the door close behind her, cutting the sounds from the inside to mere thumps again.

“Look, if you’re already tired of your baby daddy’s dick, I can’t say I blame ya, but you’ll have to find someone else because, on principle, I don’t fuck Lip’s sloppy seconds—”

Tami makes a face. “Jesus fuck. Is that really the only reason you can think of why I might want to see you?”

His eyes dart around her head of hair as he tries to look at anywhere but her, suddenly feeling very tense.

“Yeah?”

“Well, fuck you, too. No, here, listen.” She passes him one of the beers. “I saw the way you looked back in there and thought you might wanna talk.”

Mickey’s felt sick all evening. Ever since their big announcement when Ian threw his arm around Mickey’s shoulders, squeezed him tight, and gave him that blinding grin before he told everyone the good news.

There was clapping and noise, so much fucking noise. People were reaching out their hands to tap him on the shoulder or shake his hand, and it made Mickey feel like those hands were all grasping his throat while his blood was pumping in his ears.

His plan was to spend the rest of the party here, where he could breathe again, chain-smoking his way through the ordeal. He thinks he’ll be sick if he drinks anything right now, but he takes the glass from Tami anyway.

“About?” he shoots back noncommittally.

“Why you’re scared.”

On instinct, Mickey scoffs out a laugh. “Fuck off, I ain’t scared.”

“Right,” Tami replies, giving him a pointed look over the rim of her glass as she takes a sip. “That why you’re hiding out here during your own party?”

“Just needed to—” Groaning in exasperation, Mickey pinches the bridge of his nose and composes himself. “I just needed a second away from everyone congratulatin’ me. Or callin’ me daddy Milkovich. Or fuckin’ Kermit asking if I was gonna be the mom or the dad—” He cuts himself off again, measuring Tami with a hard stare. “What’s it to you, anyway?

She responds with a sincere smile.

“Believe it or not, I was scared of having a baby, too.”

Mickey’s brows furrow in confusion. “That why you decided to have another?”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not scared anymore.”

“Sounds fuckin’ stupid.”

“Maybe,” Tami admits with half a shrug.

They spend the next few minutes in silence, Tami drinking her beer and Mickey finishing his smoke, his own beer left untouched.

“But you’re a chick, you know, so it’s different,” Mickey states resolutely after he lights another cigarette, confident he’s found an argument she couldn’t dispute. “You have, like, all those motherly instincts and shit. I don’t.”

For some reason, she snorts and shakes her head. Then, her expression softens again, and she says, “I have it on good authority that there’s one little boy who basically worships the ground you walk on.”

“He’s five. Fuck does he know,” he retorts back derisively, immediately chastising himself because Freddie knew a lot, in fact. Most importantly, how to get underneath Mickey’s skin.

Not that he didn’t love and pester Ian just as much, obviously. Everyone loved Ian, the charming motherfucker. But Mickey and the kid had a special bond, much to Lip’s irritation.

Freddie was one of the main reasons Mickey decided that he was ready to have kids all those months ago. He isn’t so sure of it now, though.

He takes another drag and lets the smoke out through his nose.

“I never thought I’d be this,” he explains ambiguously, not just meaning being a guy who gives enough shit to smoke outside a bar. “Always knew how to survive. I was good at that. I was gonna see forty, most of it behind bars, maybe fifty, if I was lucky enough and didn’t lose a fuckin’ limb at some shitty construction job. And then, one day, I wake up to a tire iron to my spine—”

“If that’s a metaphor, I don’t follow.”

“—and next thing I know, I have a whole ass husband, a fuckin’ condo on the West Side like some yuppie, and I catch myself sayin’ things like, fuck it, let’s have a kid. What’s wrong with me? I can’t fuckin’ do this, can I?”

The truth he’ll never admit to anyone, probably, is that Tami’s right. He is scared. Fucking terrified, really. Because there’s a kid who will have him for a dad, and Mickey feels sorry for it.

The poor bastard isn’t even a proper baby yet. It’s just a sonogram stuck to their fridge. A baby-like matter that Ian’s app insists is the size of cauliflower now. When Mickey finally managed to spot one in Whole Foods, he found himself apologizing to it for some bizarre reason.

He doesn’t want to be like his dad. He wants to do this right, but he doesn’t know if he knows how.

“The most important thing?” Tami breaks the silence then, reading Mickey’s reaction correctly even when he doesn’t say anything. “You don’t bail on this kid. Or Ian, because he’ll need you to be there just as much.”

Mickey bites his cheek and nods. There’s a chance he’d say more, ask Tami for advice even, maybe, if, at that very second, Ian didn’t come out to join them, bursting out of the alleyway door as if summoned.

“There’s the pops-to-be!” he cheers a little too loudly with a smile that splits his whole face. He stumbles forward on clumsy feet and envelops Mickey tightly in his arms. “I was looking for you.”

“Fuckin’ octopus-man,” Mickey laughs, careful not to let the drunk idiot spill his beer. “How much did you have to drink?”

“Just a couple beers,” Ian answers as he nuzzles into Mickey’s neck.

“Such a fuckin’ lightweight.”

Humming his agreement, Ian snags Mickey’s glass and knocks down most of its contents in one go. He belches before saying in a low voice, “I was planning on dragging your ass to the bathroom later and having my way with you, but since we’re already here, alone...”

He already has his free hand palming at Mickey’s dick over his jeans when Tami makes a sound behind him, something between a snort and a cough.

Ian’s eyes take a minute to properly zero in on her.

“Tami! Hey!” he greets her with exaggerated excitement. “You’re here, too. Why are you here, too? Something wrong?”

Tami looks pointedly at Mickey. “Wanna tell him, or should I?”

He seriously considers being honest for a second, but his next words are out before he can stop them.

“Your brother’s girlfriend was tryna jump me.”

Tami almost chokes on the incredulous huff of laughter she lets out. She finishes her beer and shakes her head, staring Mickey down.

“You’re such a fucking asshole, Mickey, I swear to God. Forget I ever said anything,” she barks at him as she goes for the door.

“Hey, Tami,” Mickey stops her last minute. “Thanks, or whatever.”

Tami rolls her eyes. Still, just before she slips back inside, she throws a quick smile over her shoulder.

“Did you just thank her for trying to fuck you?” Ian inquires stupidly when the door closes behind her.

“Sure,” Mickey sounds off without further explanation.

He turns back to his husband and lightly pats his cheek, letting his hand slide all the way down to his junk in hopes of pointing his attention in the right direction again. “So, about those plans you had—“

But all of a sudden, Ian’s white as a sheet, giving him a look of absolute horror.

“What?” Mickey asks, mirroring his look.

“Think I’m gonna puke.”

“’ Course you are,” Mickey has enough time to groan before Ian bends in half and proceeds to throw up on the sidewalk.

Mickey takes a few steps away, trying to give Ian some privacy, but he’s stopped by a hand clutching his wrist and pulling him back.

“I’m so sorry, Mick,” Ian says in between spits as his hand slides down to hold Mickey’s awkwardly.

“Hey, that’s okay,” Mickey tells him gently—just as gently as he strokes his back in big circles. “I’m here.”

[warmblanketwhump]

flight plan: part 2

no planes in this one - just some good old-fashioned sickfic! But if you want the backstory, check out part 1 here.

“A, can you hand me my glass of water? Pleaaaase?” B sticks out their bottom lip in a pout, and A can’t help but laugh.

“Okay, you. It’s been four days and I know you’re getting better, because you’re getting pesky again.” A straightens the blankets and slides their hand up to feel B’s cheek. “Still a little warm, but I think you’re on your way out of the woods.”

“So I should milk this while I can?” B flutters their eyelashes and gives a pitifully fake cough, which slips into a real one, sharp and rattling. Concern flits across A’s eyes, and they help B take a few sips from the glass.

Despite the joking, A didn’t kid themselves about how sick B had been, or how awful they’d truly felt after getting off the plane. The first two days had been nightmarish - B barely conscious, shivering with chills and sweating through their sheets, alternating between terrifying fever dreams and inconsolable moaning and weeping.

A did their best to hold them through it, but they had been minutes away from hauling B to the hospital. Thankfully B’s fever had spiked just one final time before settling into general low-grade misery.

“As long as you need me, sweetheart, you’ve got me.” B gives a tired smile and pulls the blanket to their chin, huddling around the new stuffed animal A gave them at the airport.

“Did you call C?”

“Ah, not yet. Too busy with you, ya sick little bean.” A gently fluffs B’s hair. “You rest, and I’ll give them a call now.”

But C doesn’t pick up. Nor do they pick up an hour later, leaving A stuck with the unpleasant task of leaving a voicemail.

“Um, hi…this is A. I just wanted to call and let you know that B’s on the mend. They’re still pretty weak, but I think things are looking up. So…yeah. Thanks for everything you did for B - once they were feeling better, they told me all about what you did. And I…well, I care a lot about them. Obviously. So I appreciate it. I guess you can call back if you-”

The message cuts off, and A groans. Hopefully that was enough. Still, they couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of their stomach.

Later, they settle in with B to watch a movie, B’s head cradled in their lap as A combs their fingers soothingly through their hair, reveling in the sheer normalcy of it all. They both end up falling asleep, and when A blinks awake as the credits roll, they notice a missed call from C. B’s still out, so they click to listen to the voicemail.

“Hey, A….sorry I *coughs*…missed you earlier. Wasn’t able to *sniffs* make it to the phone. So glad to hear that B’s *cough cough* doing better. I think they did a little sharing.” C laughs weakly, but A can hear the sheer exhaustion in their voice. “Anyways, glad they had you. And if you’ve got any survival tips, feel free to pass them along…..I’m just kidding. *cough* I’ll be fine. Anyways, I’ll…see you around, I guess.” They pause briefly, like they want to say something more, but a coughing fit steals their breath away, and the message ends with a click cutting off the rough gasps.

The pit in A’s stomach comes back. C sounds sick.

“Who….who was that?” B mumbles from their spot on A’s lap.

“It was C. They called back and they….didn’t sound so good.”

B’s eyes snap to meet A’s, more alert than they have been in days. “Did they sound like me?”

C pauses. They hadn’t thought about not telling B, but in hindsight, maybe they should have. After all, it’d only flood B with guilt, and they needed all the energy they had to get well. But one look at B’s concern, and they knew they wouldn’t be able to lie.

“Yeah. They did.” Immediately B struggles to push themselves up, throwing their blanket off their shoulders and trying to stand.

“Whoa, hold it there. Where do you think you’re going?”

“To C. If they’re sick, it’s from me, and if any hints from the past four days of living with me are any indication, we gotta help them.”

A throws their hands up, pressing B back on the couch. “Hold up. We don’t know them, we don’t know if someone’s already taking care of them, and we don’t know where they live. I’m sure they’re-“

B frantically shakes their head. “You didn’t hear them. On the plane. From what they said…I don’t think they have anyone. I have to go.”

A chews their lip. “Well, let’s get things straight first. You’re in no shape to go help them. Which leaves me. A random stranger they don’t know. And you want me to check on them?”

The question was meant to be sarcastic, but B nods vigorously and fear fills their eyes with a fevered anxiety. “A, you saw how sick I was. You think anyone’s gonna be able to fight through that alone?”

A sighs wearily. They could blame it on the fact that arguing with a sick B was like arguing with a brick wall. But truthfully, what did their heart in was the thought of B alone on that plane, sick and shivering and miserable, if C hadn’t helped.

Fine. They’d send a text.

You okay? You sounded kinda rough on the phone. B was worried….

A few moments later, C responds.

Eh, I’ve felt better. But thank you for asking. And tell B not to feel bad. They were a better seatmate than most.

A smile tugs at A. At least this C was polite.

Is there anything you need? B said something about you being by yourself.

This pause was longer. The dots appeared and disappeared a few times, before a message came through.

I hate to take advantage, but is there ANY way you could bring over some cough medicine? I ran out a couple days ago. No worries if not - I can figure it out.

C’s heart sank. So they were alone. Sure, they didn’t say it - but any good friend or significant other worth their salt wouldn’t leave someone they loved without medicine for days.

I’ll bring some to you! Want to meet somewhere neutral, or just want me to drop it off?

In moments, C sends a response and an address.

Dropping off is fine. You are an actual lifesaver.

A settles B into bed with blankets, a cup of water, hot tea, and six types of medicine on the side table. “Now if you get worse, call me and I’ll turn around immediately. Nothing’s more important than you, okay?”

B shook their head. “I’ll be fine. They need someone.”

A heaves a sigh. “You’re too good, you.” They give B a quick forehead kiss, and head out into the night.

By the time they get to C’s apartment, their stomach is flip-flopping - C is a stranger. A lonely stranger, but a random stranger nonetheless. They come to C’s door and knock tentatively, gripping the paper bag of cough medicine (plus some cough drops and Tylenol for good measure), and hold their breath.

Nothing. A few minutes go by and A knocks again. They’re ready to break down the door if C doesn’t answer soon, but they realize what took so long right after they hear the click of the deadbolt.

A had seen corpses that looked more alive than C did right now. They lean heavily on the doorframe, sweat beaded on their forehead, a thick grey throw blanket clutched tightly around their shoulders. Their face is hollow and devoid of color, lips dry and cracked, their hair mussed and matted to their head. The cool night air hits their fevered body, triggering a round of chills that make them shudder. Despite their misery, a tiny light of gratitude flits across their eyes, and they stare incredulously at the paper bag in A’s hands.

“C….” A’s jaw drops to the ground.

“A, I seriously owe you one.” C tries to laugh, but it turns into a wheezing chest cough, high pitched and tense as they fight to catch their breath. Their eyes blink slowly, and they start to slide down the doorframe, but A grabs them and they both tumble inside.

Even through the blanket, A can feel C’s every bone. C weakly clings to A as they stumble toward the couch, and A deposits them on the cushions before tearing into the package of meds.

“What have you taken so far today?” A asks, trying to figure out the dosages.

“I….nothing…” C mumbles. A meets their eyes in disbelief before cracking open the blister packet and retrieving a proper dose. Grabbing an empty glass on the side table, they fill it before helping C choke the pills down. C greedily gulps the whole glass, breathing heavily once they’ve drained it.

“Water…water’s good.” C smiles blearily - they’re almost completely out of it. A presses a hand to the side of C’s neck, and C flinches at the cool touch. Their neck feels like a bank of hot coals, slick with sweat, lymph nodes sore and swollen. Their forehead isn’t much cooler either.

“C, when’s the last time you ate or drank anything?”

C cocks their head like A just asked them to recite the entire periodic table. “I….not sure? Days….kinda blurry.”

A’s seen enough. “C, you’ve got to go to the hospital. I haven’t even seen your temp, but you’re burning up even worse than B was.”

C frantically grasps at A’s wrists, sharp panic flooding their eyes. “Please…no…no hospital. I can’t. The meds….I’m fine here. Please.” A shiver wracks their body, and they hunch their shoulders, wrapping themselves back up and pulling the blanket over their nose. “Please. You can go now.”

“C, you need help-“

“I don’t.” Their voice breaks on the last word, cut off by a brief hiccuping sob.

Confusion rises through A - one minute C’s a grateful wreck, and the next moment they’re demanding they leave?

“C, I don’t understand-“

“You don’t get it. You think it feels all nice, having people care about you. Making you feel like you matter. And then they leave you. Get tired of you. Decide you’re not worth it. And it hurts worse than if they were never there at all.” C scrubs their eye with the corner of their blanket and sniffles as tears run down their cheeks. “I can’t let it happen again. I have to be alone. So just go. Please.”

A’s speechless. They kneel down next to the couch, hand tentatively hovering above C.

“C, is it okay if I put my hand on you right now?” C’s still sniffling, but they nod and mumble a weak “yes”, and A gently lets their hand rest on this stranger’s shoulder.

“C, I want to respect what you want right now. But you should know that you’re very sick. And you’ve managed in your own way - how, I have no idea - but you need some help right now. Now I can either call the hospital and let them handle it, or take you home with me. It’s up to you. Otherwise, you need to look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you want to be left alone through this.”

They squeeze C’s shoulder, and it triggers a deep gasping sob from their broken, aching body, sending a fault line straight through A’s heart. The sob turns to weeping, and A can barely make out the words C whimpers: "I don't want to hurt anymore."

God, who broke this poor thing? A bites their lip. C’s losing it. They’re running out of options short of forcing C to come with them, and that’s the last thing they want to do to a delirious, love-starved person who’s known them all of 6 minutes.

“C, I’m not gonna hurt you. I want to help you. Heck, even B wants to help you. I had to practically pin them down to the bed before leaving, they were so hell bent on this rescue.”

C’s red, swollen eyes meet A’s. “You mean….they asked after me?”

“Yes. They did. They could hardly stop talking about you once they came to their senses.” A rubs C’s knee through the blankets. “And they’d never forgive me if I left you here alone - they were very adamant about that. So if you want to save me a lot of arguing with and consoling of a very sad B, you’d actually be doing me a favor coming back with me.”

C seems to be weighing their options, all while struggling to stay awake on the couch. “I mean…if it saves you the trouble….”

A’s the one nodding vigorously now. “Please. It would.” Please. Just come back with me. I can’t leave you here like this. But I don’t know what else to do.

C presses themselves up off the couch with a single shaking arm. “Well, if it’d help you, then I accept.” And then they promptly pass out into A’s waiting arms.

It’s late when A gets back home with a limp C, and B is knocked out in their room, light still on - they’d tried to wait up, but their body still craved rest.

A carries C over the threshold and into the house. They gently lay the bundle on the bed and feel their forehead - still too hot, but the medicine seemed to be working. They manage to wake C up enough to take a few sips of broth from a mug before they pass out again.

For the briefest moment, A lets their hand touch C's shoulder again, making a silent promise they barely know how to keep: I don't know who broke you, but I'm not gonna let you hurt any more. I won't allow it.

A wave of exhaustion floods their body as they feel the effects of several late nights and long days of caretaking. They'd be no good to anyone if they didn't get any rest. A drapes an extra blanket over C’s sleeping form and heads for the couch for the night - they’d check back in an hour or so.

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

B’s awakened by the sound of sniffling. And it’s not theirs. They blink tentatively in the lamplight, sleep clouding their thoughts. Snatching a blanket from the top of their bed, they wrap up, stuffed animal under one arm, and shuffle across the hall to see where the sound is coming from.

It’s C, swathed in two blankets, holding a wad of tissues and trembling like a leaf. B flicks on the bedside table lamp, and C winces at the light. B can see the tear stains on their cheeks.

“Cold,” C whimpers, coughing weakly. Pity floods B - it’s like looking at a picture of themselves just a few days ago. They reach out and put their hand on C’s head, and C leans into the touch.

“Yeah, this part sucks,” B says softly, guilt flooding their core. Sure, they didn’t mean to make C sick. But they did. And they felt a certain responsibility to make sure they made it through okay - just like C had cared for them on the plane.

“Can I get you anything? Another blanket, tea, medicine?”

“Throat hurts…water…please?” B nods and places the stuffed animal next to C before beginning the long, slow shuffle to the kitchen. A’s asleep on the couch, and they can’t bear to wake them up for something this small. But by the time they get to the kitchen, their legs are trembling with exertion. Easy there. You’re still sick, too.

They brace themselves against the sink as the glass fills, and will themselves to make the final journey back to C. By the time they’ve returned, the glass feels like a lead weight in their hand, and their entire body is chilled and shivery all over. They do their best to help C take a few sips, holding the glass with trembling hands, bracing themselves on the bed so they don’t tip over.

“Thank….thank you,” C’s grateful eyes meet theirs, and in a split second B knows the effort was worth it. But the validation is replaced with a bout of lightheadedness that nearly topples them onto C.

“Sorry,” B gasps. “Still not up to marathons yet. Just...need a minute.” They tug their blanket tighter, closing their eyes. “And this body forgot how to stay warm when I do stuff.” C’s eyes flood with concern - even in their fevered haze, they can see B struggling.

"Want to sit for a minute?" C asks softly, patting the open spot next to them on the bed. “I’m still cold, too.”

B wriggles into the spot, propping themselves up on pillows and pulling blankets over them both. "Just a minute - you need your sleep."

C's already dozing. "S'okay. I'll sleep just fine. 'Sides, you're warm." C's nestled themselves into B's side, head resting on their chest, and B wraps an arm around C's shoulder and holds them close. They’re warm, too. Just a minute....

Many minutes later, A pokes their head in to check in on C - and finds two sick peas in a pod curled up together, C's head still on B's chest, B's arm curled protectively around C, stuffed animal squished between them, both tangled in blankets and Kleenexes.

In spite of their own exhaustion, A smiles. After everything that had happened, they had a feeling C wouldn't ever be alone again.