#me being tired: how does anyone deal with being tired this is unbearable. [reads that its maybe less unbearable for everyone else] fuck

[sporesgalaxy]

if entering rem sleep in "under 15" minutes is supposedly something people with narcolepsy do why did that guy who did my migraine brain scan just think it was kind of funny when I entered rem sleep in under 1 minute. if there is a type 2 narcolepsy without cataplexy then how come no one mentions this . if falling asleep mid-writing and waking up to an illegible scrawl and also nodding off momentarily at the wheel is "automatic behavior" symptomatic of narcolepsy then why has that happened to me since high school. besides its basically not a problem whenever im on caffiene or medicated for adhd [reads that they are both treated with stimulants] oh come on man

[startanewdream]

Written for @efkgirldetective's Summer of Jily Prompt #7 (Ice cream + "I don't want anybody else touching you like I do).

Tumblr exclusive at the moment because I don't have a title and the 'happy ending' part of the 'angst with a happy ending' was lost somewhere.

Rated M.

I will love to hear your thoughts about this!

_______________

I.

She is at the end of her round, going towards his cabin—her friends’ cabin, though Lily knows exactly who she is hoping to meet there—when she hears it.

‘—and Potter, what a waste. He won’t ever join him.’

‘We should just wipe him away. Blood traitor, muggle lover—’

‘You mean mudblood lover, Severus?’ Avery’s voice is tinted with malice and there are snickers around. ‘Potter and Evans seem pretty close nowadays. Do you think she gives him everything she denied you?’

‘I would never filth myself,’ comes Snape’s cold reply. ‘If he is tainting his blood, all the worse for him.’

Taint his blood. Is this what Lily’s presence does to James? Is she putting him in a danger he didn’t need to be just by being closer to him?

It’s Snape’s words and she shouldn’t listen to him—the days where she would hear him, would admire him, are long gone—but when she finally reaches the cabin (when James grins at the sight of her, bright and warm, and her heart skips a beat and Lily has to smile back), she sits away from James.

‘Anything wrong?’ he asks, familiar enough to read the tension on her face.

‘No, all normal,’ Lily says, and it’s the first lie.

______

II.

It’s summer and everyone is out of age now and apparating makes things so easy that Lily finds herself less and less at home during that break.

She tells herself it’s because she is avoiding the presence of her sister’s annoying fiance; she blames the fact that Dorcas has a beach house and it’s so much better spending days swimming and tanning; she even goes introspective to blame the pressure of the war looming over them in a way that means she needs to enjoy the last summer break before real life gets them.

But she knows the reason is James.

She finds herself gravitating towards him, unable to resist that attraction even as she knows how dangerous it is for him. Once or twice Lily thinks of telling him about it, of warning how he is stupidly raising his stakes by being near her, but she gives up only for the fact that this (might drive him away and she doesn't want it, not really) would probably just make him want to be even closer to her.

And they are already alarmingly close.

Once Lily would have been repulsed by that idea, but one year later everything has changed—James has changed—and everything about him appeals to her. The way he cares for everyone around him. The way he smiles patiently whenever he is explaining something. The way he grins as if to invite the world to share a great funny joke with him. How he runs his hand through his hair when he’s nervous. How he is so expansive that he seems to occupy any room he is in. How he loves flying, even more than Quidditch, and how relaxed he seems when he is on a broom. How he talks to her, taking it seriously when she needs to and making a joke when things get too serious. How he opens up about his own life and doubts and listens to her.

That would make them friends, really good friends, but then Lily’s heart would not stop racing when he’d touched her hand, or when their knees would bump while sitting closely in the library and then she was forced to note all the physical aspects—the muscles of his arms, the shape of full lips, the line of his jaw, the hazel kaleidoscope of his eyes and how fit he was—and give up any belief her feelings were limited to a friendship.

She fancies him, okay.

Except it’s not okay, because it’s dangerous and by now Lily is positive that James knows it too. Everyone knows it.

They end up together, just the two of them, a lot during that summer. It takes Lily a few days to realize it’s not a coincidence that her interests never align with those of her friends—if she wants to swim, somehow it’s only her and James in the sea; at night, even though it’s still so warm, they are the only ones who venture into the pool for a midnight swim, while the others stay stubbornly indoors.

When Lily suggests going to town to grab an ice cream, somehow James is the only one who is in the mood for it, despite the heat.

It’s not on purpose from his part—at least that’s how Lily sees it—but he isn’t refusing her company either and neither is she refusing his, so James’ boldness flourishes that summer. It’s not cocky as it once would be, it’s just a quiet acceptance that something is finally happening between them as if he never stopped believing it would be possible. Lily feels it when he throws his arm around her shoulders when they are sitting close, almost absently, almost not noticing when Lily lays her head over his shoulder; it’s there when he openly gawks the first time he sees her in a swimming suit, only to be nudged in the ribs by Sirius and then complimenting her ('good thing you wear robes at school, Evans, or there wouldn’t be much schoolwork done'). It’s definitely there when he intertwines their hands, pulling her to the sea with him.

And it’s there when they are sitting closer than they would need for a bench so wide, watching seagulls flying over the sea, each one holding an ice cream.

‘Chocolate chips with chocolate cover and chocolate sprinkles,’ James teases. ‘I think you have an addiction, Lily.’

‘Guilty,’ she replies, not ashamed at all, proving her ice cream and very aware of how James is staring at her. ‘It’s better than asking for vanilla ice cream.’

‘Hey!’ He would look deeply offended if not for the grin on his lips. ‘I’ll let you know vanilla is the best flavour.’

‘Never took you for a vanilla guy, James.’

‘What would take me for? The adventurous gorgeous type?’

Lily laughs, but she doesn’t answer. She doesn’t want to lie to him and deny it.

‘Attractive mysterious type, then?’ he insists. ‘Handsome scoundrel?’

‘I notice your beauty is enhanced a lot.’

‘My beauty? So you admit that I’m beautiful, Evans?’

‘Do I need to? You seem to already know it.’

‘I enjoy hearing you saying all the same,’ he says, and though James shrugs easily she can sense the shift in his eyes, the nervous glint there. ‘That means we would make a beautiful couple.’

‘We would,’ she whispers, still not wanting to lie.

She turns back her attention to the ice cream, already melting under the scorching sun. It makes a mess, and James laughs as she tries to lick the ice cream out of her hands, but then his laugh dies and she watches him swallow slowly, reacting. He always reacts to her.

She licks her lips now, and he also watches this movement, the grin on his face replaced by concentration—no, determination, a fierce look and Lily knows what James will do even before he raises his hand to slide his thumb at the corner of her mouth.

‘You missed here,’ he says, and though he must have wiped off the ice cream already, his caress remains.

His eyes are dark now, even under the sunlight, and he registers how Lily hasn’t stepped back, how she raises her head just the slightest to get closer to him. His gaze strays to her lips, Lily blinks, and then James looks back at her.

‘Lily,’ he says, and it’s a question.

‘James,’ she says, and it’s the only answer she can give him.

His lips find hers and in the bright darkness that surrounds Lily when she closes her eyes, she can see everything in colour. The white of his taste of vanilla. The green of his perfume that reminds her of early mourning in the woods. The brown of his skin as he pulls her closer, one hand holding the back of her neck and the other hand finding hers, locking their fingers together. The red of her blood pumping furiously through her veins, so loud and unstoppable.

And she sees him, messy dark hair, hazel bright eyes, her own sun.

But when they break apart, when she watches him keeping his eyes closed a second longer—savouring it, remembering it—, all that comes to her mind it’s the warning.

Taint his blood.

Her smile falters.

‘James,’ she whispers, all warmth of the day gone, hating everything but herself so much more when he opens his eyes and they are filled with hope. ‘This doesn’t mean anything.’

And this is the second lie she tells him.

___________

III.

Summer is over as far as Lily is concerned, but they still have two weeks in which she forces a smile up to her lips that doesn’t fool anyone.

Everyone knows something happened, though no one knows exactly what, and Lily feels too tired to pretend everything is normal. James barely acknowledges her when they are in the same room, and in the few occasions their eyes meet, there is nothing of that familiarity that he once thrived to share with her. He looks confused and hurt.

Lily could deal with the confusion but she is powerless against the hurt. She is the one who damaged him after all.

Their friends are mostly adamant in letting them deal with the situation, one notable exception being Sirius Black, but Lily didn’t expect anything less from him. He watches her rather resentfully in the first days, and Lily starts looking for excuses to avoid attending the events she had carefully arranged with them (with James, sitting by the edge of the lake, holding a scroll against his back as they wrote everything they would do, laughing and planning and hoping).

The summer days are hot, unbearably hot, and the breeze that comes through the window of her room isn’t enough. She could cast a Cooling Charm, but her wand is far away and the fact that she can cast spells outside school has lost its appeal now. She doesn't even celebrate when her school letter comes with a badge attached to it.

Most of the time Lily just stares at the ceiling of her room, finding patterns in the painting that aren’t really there, too strained and too tired to avoid being even more strained—her mind keeps replaying the moment James leaned closer, the brief moment his breath tingled her skin and the softness of his lips over hers, and Lily has no strength to avoid it. She is addicted to it, to the one thing she had a taste of and cannot have again.

Five days into hiding (she is hiding, Lily won’t deny it), her sister knocks on her door to tell her unceremoniously that one of her freak friends has come to visit her.

‘Hurry, I don’t want Vernon finding him when he arrives,’ Petunia tells her, and Lily ignores her completely.

Him, she said. Him, Lily thinks, and her mind conjures James sitting on the couch of her parents’ living room, a grin on his lips as he charms his way with her parents (he charmed her, Lily doesn’t see what challenge her parents would present), accepting a cup of tea and looking around trying to understand all the muggle contraptions in that muggle house—

Muggle lover. All the worse for him.

She rushes downstairs, her heart pounding on her head, her mouth dry with the excuses she will have to present (go away, just go away) but it’s not James after all.

Sirius looks even more out of place than the James she imagined inside her head, standing with his arms crossed in that pastel living room, and with an unhappy grimace on his lips. He turns at the sound of her, his grey eyes burning disapprovingly—and then, as he stares at her, his expression shifts.

‘You are a mess, Evans.’

Self-consciousness washes over her, and Lily runs her hand through her hair—or tries to, because it gets stuck in the knots of her messy braid. She knows she hasn’t changed clothes ever since she woke up, though it’s nearly midday, so she does the only thing she can: she presses her lips, crosses her arms and tries to look unfazed.

‘I wasn’t expecting a visit,’ she says. It’s summer break, she can do nothing all day.

‘I didn’t even mean your appearance. It was more your… aura.’

‘Aura,’ she repeats, a tiny part of her finding this amusing, but Lily can’t muster strength enough to break a smile. ‘Very mystical, Sirius.’

‘That’s me, master of occult arts. But in this case, I just needed to look at you. You—you look miserable.’

‘Thanks. If that’s all you wanted to say—’

‘Oh, no, I came here to give you a piece of my mind about how you broke my best friend’s heart, but you look somehow worse than him. What’s going on?’

Lily shrugs. ‘Nothing.’

‘So you just decided to play with his feelings and ditch him the moment he corresponded?’

His words are a poison that crawls through her skin, entering it slowly but certain; Lily feels it reaching her bloodstream, spreading through every part of her body, until the poison finds her heart. She thought she was oblivious to pain after the last days, but she was wrong.

‘I wasn’t playing with his feelings,’ she whispers, her voice hoarse, so close to breaking.

‘Then what? I thought—everyone thought—you fancied him too. Merlin, Evans, that boy was in love with you.’

The worst part is that Lily knows it. It was not a play to James, it never was. She saw it in the way his face lighted up at the sight of her, how eager he was to become friends once Lily first extended her peace flag. She saw how his eyes always looked first for her in any room he entered, how he’d find any reason to stay closer.

And she saw everything because she was paying attention.

Of course she was. One does not fall in love also if not paying attention.

‘I don’t know what to say, Sirius,’ Lily says truthfully. ‘I am sorry for all the confusion I’ve caused.’

‘Sorry is not enough.’

‘I know.’

Sirius watches her with something that borders on disappointment now. ‘You better find a way of fixing this, Evans.’

‘I—I don’t know how. I’m trying to keep my distance—’

‘And how is that helping you two?’

It’s not, Lily knows, and that’s the point. She can’t explain to James what is the problem and she is afraid that if she sees him again, if her determination falters her for one second—

‘We are going to have a party tomorrow night,’ Sirius says, his voice leaving no room for argument. ‘Dorcas’ house. It’s a goodbye party, we even invited the muggle neighbours. You’ll come, you’ll find James and you’ll talk. Fix this.’

‘I can’t.’

‘You better find a way, Evans, because that thing of keeping your distance? Well, Hogwarts letter came yesterday. Let me guess, you are Head Girl.’

Lily nods, not understanding where Sirius is heading with this.

‘Guess who’s Head Boy this year?’

____________

Lily hears the music as soon as she disapparates near Dorcas’ house. People, young people around her age, are walking towards the house and she joins the flow letting herself get lost in that stream of people, hoping it’s enough to not draw attention to her presence.

It’s useless. As soon as she crosses the doorway, Dorcas cries for her, her voice louder than the music, and then people look at her curiously.

‘Merlin, Lily!’ Dorcas cries, ignoring everyone in the room to whom that sentence makes no sense. ‘I thought I would need to invade the Prefect’s Cabin to see you again.’

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Lily says, accepting Dorcas’ hug, and using it as an excuse to avoid looking around. ‘I had stuff to do.’

It’s vague, it’s almost a lie, and Dorcas is on the edge of discussing it when Lily says she is going to get a drink, leaving the room.

When she reaches the kitchen, Lily considers that having herself questioned by Dorcas was preferable, because of course she runs into James at the first opportunity.

And of course he already has a company.

He is with his back to her, holding a bottle of beer in his hand while he talks with a pretty dark-haired girl. In another time Lily would find amusing how James obviously has no idea what he’s talking about—muggle rock bands, a subject that Sirius would fare better—, but she can’t break a smile right now, because she sees that James is trying.

That’s what he is doing with that unknown girl. He is making a real effort to keep a conversation, trying to understand what she is saying; he is trying to look interesting, to gather her attention.

Ten days, she thinks selfishly. We kissed ten days ago and I can’t stop thinking about it and you are flirting with another girl.

He must sense her staring; he turns around, and his eyes find her for a brief second before Lily bolts through the door (she is running, and she won’t deny it), grabbing the first bottle she sees on her way out.

Sirius must have lied to her (you broke my best friend’s heart), because James looks normal. Not hurt anymore, just… normal. Not like he used to like her in those first glorious days of the summer—bright and hopeful and awaiting—but as if she is just anyone else. Ordinary.

It’s fair, all things considered. She couldn’t expect him to remain in love with the girl who kissed him then rejected him. But she sees it, clearly as day, what the future holds: James will move on whatever he feels for her (that boy was in love with you) and then he will do with someone else everything he used to do with her—that inviting grins, the glint in his eyes, throwing his arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer, so… intimate. Familiar. Hers.

He will share with others what used to be hers.

She leaves the house, in search of a quiet place at the beach to sit on, and looks at the bottle in her hands. Wine. Not good. She will take forever to get drunk on wine and afterwards the headache won’t even be worth it.

But it’s all she has and James is somewhere in that house flirting with a girl (that’s not her) that didn’t reject him and he has every right to do it. Even if it’s a muggle girl. Even if the reason Lily is not with him is that she is muggleborn.

It’s ironic and it’s sad, but it’s not the same. This is a one-night thing. It’s the end of the summer, he’s probably just looking for the last bit of carefree summer adventure as the single guy he is. They will just dance with each other, close together, enjoying their freedom, finding a secluded room, and he will touch the corner of her lips, asking, and she will say yes because that’s the only answer she can give him.

It won’t mean anything, but this time it will be true and this time James won’t get hurt by it.

Maybe Lily should do the same. Not to get even, but to start her own way forward. She can’t be harbouring her feelings for him—wasn’t that the point of not advancing things? Wasn’t that why she lied to him? (That kiss had meant everything)

She takes a sip of the wine, then another and one more for good measure, and she rises, almost colliding with him. Of course.

‘Hey,’ he says awkwardly, arms extended to steady her. It lasts less than a second, but his hands over her arms burn all the same, stronger than the heat any day of that summer.

‘Hi.’

He is looking at a point over her head, unable to meet her eyes, his hand lifting the hair at the back of his head and Lily remembers running her fingers through the strands of his hair while they were kissing, enjoying the fact that for once she was the one messing it.

‘Look, I’m just gonna say it, okay?’ James says in a rush, not as when he is excitedly talking about something he finds interesting. ‘I’m sorry for—for everything.’

Everything. What does it mean?

‘I am too,’ she answers carefully. He takes a deep breath.

‘I heard we are going to be Heads this year—I don’t know what Dumbledore was thinking, really—and I don’t want things to be weird between us.’

Weird. Things were never weird between them before. They weren’t friends, then Lily barely stood him, then they were acquaintances, then they were friends, then they were flirting with each other and then they were so close to something.

But never weird.

Somehow this notion helps to clear the fog in her head.

‘I don’t want it either,’ Lily says, and there is no doubt in her voice. James seems to breathe again with her words.

‘Good.’ There is a moment of silence. ‘Can we forget everything and go back to being just friends?’

Lily steels herself. She takes a look at James’ face—his eyes are on her forehead now, almost meeting her eyes but not yet ready—, one last look to admire him in the darkness of the beach and she is not lying when she says: ‘We can.’

By the end of the night it will be a lie, though, and that’s number three.

___________

They are trying and because no one tries better than James Potter, they are almost achieving it.

They go back to the house, keeping a safe distance between them so no one could misinterpret it, but whatever their friends see in their faces seems to relax everyone. Lily and James are fine, they believe, they are over that weird thing between them, and Lily starts believing it too.

She can do it.

A bottle of gin finds its way towards her group and the music is exciting. It’s a party, she is on a party, and it’s easy to join Dorcas in the middle of a dance, and it’s even easier when Dorcas is replaced by a cute muggle boy who doesn’t look anything like James (that’s why it’s easier—it takes only one second for her to look for any similarity and find none and it’s so easy).

She wonders if that’s why James was talking to that dark-haired girl. If he was avoiding finding Lily in someone else too.

But that’s a bad thought, it’s not a thought of someone who’s trying (and Lily is, she swears), so she accepts his arms, let who-knows-his-name twirl her around the room, but when he leans in to kiss her, she laughs and diverts—she is trying, but it takes small steps, so she says something about getting another drink and goes to the next room.

That’s a mistake.

A big, big mistake.

She finds them sitting close together on a couch that should only fit one, joining some silly drinking game. His arm is around her shoulders, holding a glass that’s nearly finished; they are laughing and as Lily watches it, the girl leans closer to speak something in his ear, her hand playing with the curls of his hair as she speaks. It takes a full second, but he grins, turning to her and winking.

It could be nothing, it could be just some joke, but it’s not harmless, Lily knows it. It’s a flirt, and James has every right to do it; he is free and Lily has just told him they can be friends. Friends don’t get jealous. Friends don’t get their hearts ripped out with the sight of the other smiling happily at someone else.

Lily can’t do it at all.

So she turns away and runs once more (she’s getting quite good at it by now), sprinting upstairs in search of an empty room, somewhere where she can rest until she can breathe again, until she can rearrange her expression into something normal enough for her to come back to the party, find that blond guy who is not James and enjoy her summer break as he is doing right now.

Until she can pretend everything is normal.

‘Lily?’

His voice breaks the silence of that room—though Lily knows she would have heard it anyway—and it sends a wave of panic through her body. She is not ready. She can’t look at him and still keep her promise.

James doesn’t know about her troubles—he is trying after all, and he is so much better at this than Lily will ever be—so he walks towards her, takes a look at her face and kneels in front of her.

‘Are you okay?’

‘No,’ she says, unable to lie. He would see through her anyway.

‘I saw you leaving—what happened?’

‘I need more time. I can’t...’

‘Can’t what?’ She doesn’t answer. James sighs. ‘Are you drunk? Come on, rest a little, I will bring you some water—’

‘I’m not drunk,’ Lily says. Another truth. ‘I just need—I want—’

‘What?’

In answer, she raises her hand and lets her fingers comb his hair. He shivers, his breath catching, his eyes widening and he holds her arm to stop the movement. Nervous. Insecure. She can’t fault him. They’ve been there before, at the edge of something, and she accepted only to turn him away a second later.

‘What are you doing?’

It’s a demand more than a question, and Lily attends it. ‘I don’t want anybody else touching you like I do. It’s mine.’

Her voice is ferocious and unfair and Lily waits for his cold reply, the one she deserves—she has no right to claim any part of him—, but it never comes. Instead, James blinks.

‘Then take it,’ he challenges. Lily does.

Her lips crash over his, and this time is not soft or patient. It’s desperate and when she tastes the whiskey in his mouth, she understands the difference and gladly accepts it. His hands are everywhere—holding her waist, climbing under her skirt, running through her hair to pull her closer—but what somehow stays with her it’s the moment he closes the door and then they are alone and the darkness is their friend.

The darkness makes it easy, embarrassingly easy, for her to break the kiss enough to lift his shirt and for him to slide her dress down and for them to find their way to the bed. He holds her, his lips incessantly, and a part of Lily wonders if he doesn’t want to break apart for fear of what happened the last time he did it.

But the majority of her is too wrapped in the feelings he is bringing to worry about anything. She accepts him, accepts every caress he distributes openly, and returns it eagerly. She tastes the saltiness of his skin, feels every muscle of his chest—the ones she has memorized after so many days at the beach though she had only imagined how they would feel under her fingers—, presses herself closer to him. His hands are exploring her—he saw her at the beach too—and then his mouth replaces his hands and the moan that escapes her lips is true.

She pulls him up, tasting her own sweat on his lips—it was a warm day and it’s a warmer night—and her hands work on the button of his jeans. There is a moment of hesitation—he breaks away, his eyes boring into hers even as the darkness barely allows them to see each other—and then it’s gone. He pulls her last piece of cloth then stands up long enough to take out his last one and then there is only them.

Only Lily and James, except they don’t feel like two anymore. They are one and in the darkness, Lily sees those colours that are so James once more, fireworks whose sounds are moans and short breaths and names whispered so low that the other could pretend they didn’t hear.

But Lily hears it and it’s hers. He is hers for that moment and she is his.

She lied before (and now she knows it). She can’t forget him. She can’t be just friends. James is bright sunny days, cosy cold nights and she longs to share it all with him (she couldn’t, but her mind can’t recall why right now). She locks her hand with his, her nails burying into his skin, and Lily doesn’t want to let go.

He holds her hand, pressing it so hard that she can’t feel circulation there anymore, and then he cries her name, this time impossible to deny it. He called her.

It’s not the last time he will do it tonight. He presses another kiss to her lips—it’s feverish and urgent and somehow even more desperate than the first one—, rests his forehead against her catching his breath and Lily enjoys the moment, enjoys that pleasure and soreness that runs through her body, enjoys how her chest brushes against his as she breathes, slower each time, recovering.

Recover. As if she could.

James breaks apart, rolling to the side and for a moment there is silence, the music distant, the world distant until it’s not anymore, until the world seems too close and the air too heavy, not one breeze to refresh it. Lily thinks of opening the window—it’s already opened, the wind bringing the smell of the sea to the room—when she realizes it’s not the air that feels wrong.

It’s them. No, it’s him.

‘James,’ she calls, panic and fear trembling her voice, coldness spreading through her skin in a way that it should not be possible, not on this summer day.

She can hear him rising from the bed, grabbing his clothes.

‘Lily,’ he answers shortly, opening briefly the door and she can’t see his face. ‘I know, it doesn’t mean anything.’

And that’s James Potter's first lie.

[stayevildarling]

Wilhemina Venable x Reader- Sick

word count: 5.4k

warnings: mention of scoliosis, sickness, dizziness, angst + fluff

A/N: Hi everyone! I can't believe this is my first sick fic but I just had to do one with Wilhemina x Reader. If anyone would like to see some more, I might do a series of these with Cordelia or Ally or even Billie. (Let me know)

This is dedicated to a very special person I met on Tumblr- I hope you remember to take a break from time to time and look after yourself! ✨

Taglist:

@lunaticwhittaker , @mrsdeanhoward , @alexajbitar , @in-cordelias-coven , @kenzbro , @loverofallthingssarah , @twistedpoeticjustice , @billiebeanhoward , @minaslittleone , @lilypadscoven , @vintagepaulson , @ninaahs , @whitelotus00 , @httpfiftyshadesofgay

''If you decide to go into work, it's at your own risk, don't come running to me afterwards, if you don't feel well'' Wilhemina's harsh words ring through your ears as you stand by your desk, trying to focus on the tasks ahead. All you can feel, as your hand wanders to the table, desperately looking for some support to not lose balance, to not give your legs the power to stop supporting you and to fight your body from giving up and letting exhaustion win.

In reality, Wilhemina's words weren't supposed to come out as harsh and rushed as they did, her stern and cold tone and demeanor, only a defensive mechanism for the woman, trying to hide her true feelings that are buried deep within her soul. She meant to protect you, from yourself mostly but also the sickness and the flu that had come knocking about a week ago, but you being stubborn pushing it away as if it wasn't real or meaningful.

However, as you stand by your desk, trying hard not to lose balance, you realize that all along Wilhemina had been right and you should have listened. The times, she told you to stop working so much and doing over hours as your job demanded it, the times she told you that making her a bath or cooking dinner isn't necessary that day. The times she told you to take care of yourself and simply lie down but you wouldn't listen, always caring more about everyone else's wellbeing, especially the redheads than your own.

''Miss Y/L/N, have you finished your assigned task yet by chance?'' you hear the voice of your boss, as she enters and you wish she didn't, as her voice only adds to the throbbing pain in your head, causing your vision to blur and everything to feel even more unbearable than it already does.

With all the fight and strength left in you, you manage to turn around and grab the folder, handing it to her with shaky hands. You had always been good at hiding, either fighting battles of sickness or overwhelming thoughts, drowning in your own emotions deep down but remaining to keep a perfect facade and smile to the people on the outside, so they didn't understand and learn your true feelings as you see no reason to bother them with it. However, no matter how much you try and hide this and pretend that you aren't consumed by sickness fighting your body, it's very visible in your features.

Even though your boss is a very hectic person, always caring about performing well and getting work done as ''efficiently and quickly as possible'' as she repeats on a daily basis, even she manages to notice your fragile state. Your face, which is usually filled with light and warm smiles, doesn't just lack the genuine smile and warmth but also color as you are incredibly pale. She quickly connects the dots, noticing how your hand is gripping around the desk still and how your other hand is shaking uncontrollably.

''Miss Y/L/N, are you feeling alright?'' you hear her ask before your eyes feel heavier as the exhaustion is slowly creeping up on you and you have trouble concentrating on what is happening, as you feel more in a dream-like state. For a moment, everything seems to pause and you only snap out of it when you feel some weight pressing on your shoulders and someone forcing you to sit down on a chair they pulled closer.

Only as you force your eyes open, slightly confused and dumbfounded at what is happening,  you realize it's your boss making you sit down and walking to the other end of the room to get some water for you. ''Miss Y/L/N while I appreciate your determination, you should have called in sick this morning'' she explains, while handing you a glass of water with a compassionate smile but the concern visible in her features. ''I just wanted to-to finish the'' you start but stop midway as you feel sick at the pure sensation of water in your mouth, let alone swallowing it.

''I understand but you need some rest, that much is plain, need me to call someone for you?'' she asks but you instantly tense, knowing your girlfriend Wilhemina will definitely not be amused if she has to pick you up from work, after explicitly telling you not to go in the first place, this morning and last night. Not to mention, she is at her own workplace, having to deal with her own piles of work, her constant back pain, and two idiot bosses on top of it all.

''No I am ok- okay'' you manage to get the words out and force your best smile, knowing if you aren't going to be convincing enough, she might not let you leave without calling someone. ''Very well but you better not show your face here, until you are truly better'' she warns, with a little smile, knowing how determined you are, and while she appreciates your work attitude a lot, she knows you tend to overwork yourself and forgetting to take care of yourself in the process.

Taking a deep breath, you somehow manage to prop yourself up and grab your bag, taking slow but steady steps towards the exit and the bus stop. As you walk through the corridor, momentarily blinded by the bright lights flickering, you are well aware you shouldn't attempt to get on the bus, considering there is still a little walk back to yours and Wilhemina's apartment but you could never bother your girlfriend with this, not because she told you so in the first place but because you need to remain stable and alright.

As you walk through exit and towards the bus stop, you feel some droplets of rain on your skin and instantly shiver a little as the cold water only adds to the uncomfortable feeling. Focussing on your vision and the bus timetable as you actually don't know the times because you would usually never leave work after two hours, the dizziness momentarily passes a little as the thoughts become overwhelming. Waves of uncomfortable thoughts crash into your brain, with no way of stopping ''What if they will fire me, what if people will be disappointed in me, what if Wilhemina hates me?''.

You try your best to take deep breaths and push the thoughts away but the only thing usually helpful at keeping the storm and waves of emotions at bay, is the woman you are trying to hide this from. Usually, she could tell by how stressed or anxious you seem and without addressing it much, she will just pull you into her arms or let your exhausted body rest on her lap, the soft hums and stroking her fingers through your hair, stopping the thoughts momentarily.

''Are you getting on Miss?'' you hear a male unfamiliar voice, snapping you out of your thoughts and noticing that somehow the bus already arrived and you blink a few times, confused whether you just stood there for ages, unable to focus on anything in reality anymore or if it just happened to arrive so quickly. ''Miss?'' he tries again, his voice now showing a slight sign of impatience. Your mind automatically connects it with Wilhemina's impatience whenever you would just admire her, completely taken back by her beauty and features and the same agitation in her voice, as she would try to speak to you.

''Yes,'' you quickly say and get on the bus, showing your ticket like you would every morning. Finally collapsing onto the nearest seat you can find, leaning your head against the window and closing your eyes, you feel some of the exhaustion fade as you sit on a comfortable surface. Your thoughts wander back to Wilhemina and it suddenly dawns on you that you haven't even texted her your usual good morning text yet or checked-in how her work is going. A small part of you wants to avoid any confrontation with her today as you are still worried, she will be mad at you.

After all, maybe you could avoid all the questions and confrontation if you simply lied. Of course, you are fully aware it won't be easy to lie to your girlfriend, especially with her always being able to tell but you wonder if you could somehow pull it off. Pretending to still be at work and only got off work a bit earlier, not to worry her and not to argue, as she did tell you after all not to come running to her.

Deciding on actually messaging her and pulling your phone out of your bag, you realize it was a mistake as soon as the bright screen blinds your vision yet again. All you could see before your eyes force shut, is Wilhemina's name on your screen but you can't begin to read the messages as your fragile state isn't allowing you to do so. Deciding on dealing with that later, you rest your head against the window and zone out for a while, trying hard not to fall asleep on the bus and end up somewhere entirely opposite to your direction and final stop- home.

Part of you doesn't remember how you ended up in bed a while later, your brain too tired to remember the details of getting off the bus at the right stop and walking aimlessly for a few minutes before you found yourself in front of your shared apartment. Thankfully, along the way, your subconsciousness took over and guided your body home safely, as you were in no state to focus on much anymore, your body on autopilot mode.

As soon as your tired body finally comes into contact with your mattress, pulling the blanket closer to your face and snuggling up comfortably, you feel relieved, and before any more waves of overwhelming thoughts arrive, your body finally allows itself to rest and you fall into a deep slumber. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remembered to set an alarm for in a few hours, making sure you would be awake for when Wilhemina would return, even in your sleepy and sick state, still keeping track of everything and keeping your perfect facade up.

However, whenever you try and protect everyone around you, considering every detail perfectly you tend to ignore yourself in the process and checking in on how you are feeling or how decisions might affect you. As a result, you didn't just take a small nap like intended, you fell asleep, sleeping off most of the fever and letting your tired body fight the illness. However, due to your state, you fail to wake up from the alarm or wake up to Wilhemina coming home from work, a little early as she couldn't reach you all day, not the usual lunchtime call or messages you would sent her, no matter how busy you are.

As soon as Wilhemina unlocks the door, discarding her small purple handbag on the table, she walks through the apartment in an effort to find you, her cane hitting the floor hard and with a heavy force, reflecting what she is feeling inside. Of course, she had known you haven't been feeling well and not only hiding it from her but also trying to push through like you usually would. The redhead didn't mean to lash out at you or use the harsh words she did in the end but your actions and behavior reminded the sometimes stern woman of her own behavior. Always ignoring her back pain and pushing through endless emails or documents on her desk, regretting it the same day or days later when the pain felt unbearable, and yet she still hid it from everyone.

She was trying to look out for you, the times she told you not to go in, take a break, and also when she said she wouldn't be there. Of course, she would, Wilhemina loves you and her love for you has been both the most confusing and strong thing she has ever felt for anyone. You had crashed into Wilhemina's life like a thunder, unexpected, and with heavy force, she had no idea the day you walked into her life, it would change everything. It didn't just change Wilhemina herself and being able to open up slowly, it also allowed her to feel emotions and understand them as something positive and not something you should try and hide or avoid at all costs. From day one you had brought out her soft side, allowing those walls to tumble down and letting the light and love into her life as her heart has been a dark and lonely place for long enough.

Her first stop is the kitchen, hoping deep down she wouldn't find you cooking in there, or the dining room with a meal prepared, as she wouldn't want you to overwork yourself even more after work. After not finding you there, she checks the bathroom but no sign of you either, only to finally be met with the bedroom in complete darkness. Slightly dumbfounded, she switches the light on, the lamp slowly filling the room with light and exposing your fragile, shivering body on the bed.

Wilhemina's heart almost breaks at the sight, seeing you in such discomfort and knowing at the same time it must be bad if you voluntarily went to bed early and skip the usual responsibilities that aren't actually your chores or Wilhemina expecting them of you but you thinking that regardless. She slowly approaches the bed, her cane hitting the floor very carefully and quiet now, sure to not wake you up in the process, as she wouldn't want to startle you or add to the discomfort you are in.

She finds you wrapped in a blanket, still wearing the clothes you had left in this morning and Wilhemina knows if you willingly did that, you must have felt awful when you returned home. Her hand wanders closer to your face, gently tucking at the blanket so she can take a look at your face. She gasps a little when she sees how pale you are, droplets of sweat on your forehead at the same time and her heart breaks at the sight, seeing her little one in this much pain and distress.

For a moment the redhead debates what to do as she has never been great at taking care of anyone or allowing people to take care of herself. As a child, she was often told not to exaggerate, that her back pain isn't that bad, that it doesn't need checking out from doctors and that she just has to deal with it. Eventually, she started to believe it and the emotional abuse she suffered in her young years, combined with the pain, made the redhead believe that she isn't worthy of affection or love or someone taking care of her. Even till this day, she barely allows you to help her out with her pains, not liking the fact anyone would show her the affection and tender care that was lacking in her younger years.

Gently, her hand reaches for your forehead, her rational thinking kicking in now to determine the state and severity of your illness. As soon as the back of her palm comes into contact with your forehead, she gasps, her facial expression changing from concerned and wishing she could just cure you right there, into worrying and shock. Her nostrils flare as she has no idea how you managed to get through the last hours and at the same time feeling angry, that you kept her in the dark and didn't call her. A small part of Wilhemina understands however, as she would have done the same thing, hide, keep the perfect smile and pretend like nothing is bothering her.

Wilhemina stands there for a moment, looking over your body exhausted from sickness, deciding on what to do, her rational side is telling her to take you to a doctor but there is no way she would trust them. The redhead woman had too many bad experiences before to trust them again, often mistreated with her back or prescripted the wrong medication and there is no way she would ever let her little one go through similar experiences. In the end, she decides on the only thing logical which is taking care of you herself, right at home. She balances on her cane again, trying to be quiet before walking into the kitchen to retrieve the necessary items.

The ruffling noises, mixed with cane tapping coming from the kitchen, as well as the cold unknown feeling on your forehead a little while ago, end up waking you up from your slumber, and instantly your body tenses up as you realize Wilhemina is home. In your slightly panicked state, overwhelmed with the thoughts on how to get out of this situation, ignoring the throbbing headache or the fact the room is spinning from the lack of food and water today, you once again fail to acknowledge what is right in front of you.

Right in front of you, stands Wilhemina, your girlfriend, a little tray in her hand, trying to balance it with the support of her cane and free hand, looking at you with a confused reaction, both about the fact you are awake and also the fact you are staring at the wall, not moving at all. ''Little one, you are awake'' she states, her voice sounding a little softer than usual. Instantly you snap out of it, panic once again rippling through your body as you fear her reaction, ignoring the fact she is standing in front of you with a little tray with water, soup, and medication.

Wilhemina notices you tensing, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in her back that the carrying of the tray had caused her, she walks closer to the bed, putting the tray on the night table finally, before breathing out a moment as the uncomfortable feeling leaves her. She turns to you, her eyebrows furrowing again, the concern now very visible in her features, unable to hide it any longer and not caring about that, your wellbeing her main priority.

''Little one'' she states, her head tilting slightly and her eyes slowly locking with yours as you force yourself to take a look at your girlfriend. As soon as you take a look at the redhead, you feel partly relieved as there is no sign of anger visible but at the same time, you feel awful for the concern you had caused her, not to mention the back pain you must have caused her, considering her awkward posture, standing in front of you, still balancing both hands on her cane. Finally, as your eyes wander to the little tray, you feel like bursting into tears at the fact Wilhemina had done this for you, considering she must have just returned from work and you knowing how hard things like these are for her with her condition.

''Mina?'' your voice cracks not only from the feeling of knives in your throat as illness seems to have taken up most of your body but also tears building up, both guilty ones putting Wilhemina through the effort as well as sad ones that your walls are breaking down, right here in front of the woman you usually encourage to let her walls down and true emotions in.

''I'm here little one'' she whispers, her hand wandering to your cheek, cupping it gently and stroking it with the back of her palm. It doesn't take words to exchange what is on each other's mind, you feeling sorry for lying and pushing, realizing now that indeed your partner had been right from the start. And Wilhemina also feeling guilty for using such harsh words on you this morning and at the same time upset to see her girl in such distress and pain. As soon as you feel her palm on your cheek, some tears stream down your face as you try and contain the sobs and fight back the last few emotions and thoughts, keeping you from breaking right in front of her.

As soon as Wilhemina feels the tears falling, she catches them with her thumb, wiping them away gently before whispering ''Now don't cry sweet girl'' trying to hide her own emotions and the pain it brings her whenever seeing you upset. Whenever she would see you in any kind of distress or any negative emotion visible in your features it would cause her great pain, a different kind of feeling than her back could ever cause her, as her heart would ache, her only intention to make you smile again, especially in that dorky adorable way she loves and that causes for her heart to flutter, even though she wouldn't admit that to anyone, including you.

After wiping your tears, Wilhemina hands you some water and medication from the tray and you look at her with a slightly confused expression, as you haven't fully realized yet, it doesn't need words for Wilhemina to understand how awful you are feeling. ''Now take them little one, it will make you feel better'' she promises and without thinking twice you lead the tablets to your mouth, swallowing them with some water. The feeling of the cold liquid soothing your throat momentarily distracts you from the pain that you seem to feel all over your body. ''Good girl'' Wilhemina praises as you hand her the bottle, a little smirk rising on your features.

''Now I need you to eat this'' she demands, handing you the bowl of chicken noodle soup, that you usually love. You look at her with a slightly disgusted expression as the thought of food is only adding to the sick feeling in your stomach. ''I know but eat up for me, will you?'' she asks gently, not reminding you of the stern Wilhemina at all. All you can do in response is nod and take the bowl from her hands. ''I will be right back'' she explains, leaving you behind with your soup before walking out of the bedroom. For a moment you debate whether to just abandon the food again, as you genuinely don't feel like eating but there is no way you would let the woman you had fallen in love with, down a second time today.

You enjoy the silence for a moment, the only sounds to be heard, the spoon as it scoops up the liquid, feeling soothing in your throat but painful in your stomach at the same time. Shortly after the sound of a cane fills the room again and with each tap you somehow feel nervous, knowing the conversation was still to be held why you had lied to Wilhemina and not listened to her in the first place, only adding to the anxiety you feel. You see as the redhead walks in with a few towels and your favorite pajamas, that she would usually mock, too ''adorable'' for her liking, as you would usually put it.

''Have you had some?'' she asks and points at the soup and you simply nod while your eyes are begging her not to eat anymore. ''Fine, come on there is a bath waiting for you'' she informs you and you simply nod and slowly make your way out of bed. Midway to the bathroom, you realize how severe the nauseous feeling has been and you hold onto the wall to balance for a moment before you feel a hand on your back. ''I'm right by your side'' you hear Wilhemina's voice behind you and it sends a warm, comfortable fuzzy feeling through your body, reminding you that you aren't alone in this and that your girlfriend has got your back, literally.

You manage to find your way to the bathroom, with the support of Wilhemina's hand on your back and even though it takes you a while, you manage to sit in the bath and let the warm water soothe your skin and tired muscles. ''Do you think you will be okay in here for a bit?'' Wilhemina asks and you simply nod, feeling sleepy and relaxed at the same time. As your partner, walks back in the bedroom to prepare you for the night ahead and her own night which will probably result in no sleep and a lot of worrying over you, you sink a little further into the bath, confusing the bathtub with your own bed for a moment as you feel a little too comfortable.

''Little one are you-'' Wilhemina enters the bathroom, only to find you in the bath, asleep, your head resting on the purple little pillow she had bought a while ago and attached it to the bath. She frowns at the sight for a moment, before her features change as she realizes, this time she is going to have to wake you up, as there is no way her back condition will allow her to simply lift you out of the bath and carry you to bed, as much as she would like to do that. The usual strong woman fights some of her own tears back both at your state but also the painful reminder of her scoliosis.

Slowly you wake up, as you feel some water on your head and a hand washing out some shampoo, combined with a few muffled words that you can't quite understand yet, only just having woken up from your little slumber. ''Little one, wake up we have got to get you out of here'' you hear Mina's voice. You blink a few times, dumbfounded at the fact you are in the bath, not remembering much but feeling that your body is already feeling more relaxed than waking up earlier from your first slumber. ''Mina, what are you doing?'' you question as you realize she is bending awkwardly to wash your hair out and free it from the bubbles of shampoo. Quickly you sit up and free her from the uncomfortable position. ''Come on let's get you out'' she says and with all the strength you have left, you prop yourself up and exit the bath. Soon your skin comes into contact with a warm towel provided by Wilhemina.

You enjoy the feeling for a moment, before slowly getting changed into your pajamas and following your partner back to the bedroom. At this point, the medication has already freed you from most of your pain but your body still feels exhausted, so you quickly lie down in bed and pull the blanket closer, shivering slightly from the cool sensation of the air on your legs. Wilhemina returns to the bedroom, moments later in her purple nightgown, her hair falling loosely now and you admire your girlfriend for a moment, never quite able to believe how lucky you truly are and also always finding yourself taken back by her beauty, after years of being with each other.

The redhead approaches her side of the bed, book in hand as usual but for a change abandoning it on her night table, resting her cane in her usual spot, and carefully sitting down while leaning her back against the headboard of the bed. ''Come here'' she instructs, opening her arms and freeing her lap for you to rest your head in. Usually, she would do this after you had a long day at work, Wilhemina being able to tell instantly what an awful day you must have had and how it exhausted you both mentally and physically.

Reluctantly, you move your tired head onto her lap, still worried deep down about the conversation that is yet to be held and her true feelings about this. You had lied to her, hidden the truth from her and even though the redhead had often done the same, it felt different to you, like a betrayal. Your eyes close as soon as you feel her hands come into contact with your head, her fingers running through your hair gently and momentarily numbing the pain you are in. The smell of lavender sends you in a little dreamlike state as your partner just did a small evening routine instead of the usual, more bothered about making sure you are safe and feeling alright.

''Is that the hand cream?'' you mumble, starting to feel sleepy already as your whole body is ready to forget about today, the medication soothing your tired muscles and keeping your temperature at bay. ''It is little one'' Wilhemina whispers, smiling a little and relieved that you are still somewhat in a clear headspace as you remembered the lavender hand cream you had bought her before. She strokes your hair, untangling some knots gently with her fingertips as there was no time to brush your hair, the idea of the comfortable bed too convincing.

''Are you feeling alright, my darling?'' she asks, noticing how you are already on the verge of falling asleep. ''Hm Mh'' you mumble, as you slowly start falling asleep, despite trying to fight to stay awake to be in your partner's embrace and feel her safety and the warmth she radiates onto you, just a moment longer. She frowns, hating to see you pushing yourself so hard and her not being able to do anything about it, the state you are in now only the result of pushing yourself over the past few days.

''You need to stop being so hard on yourself and pushing'' she warns, knowing deep down you aren't fully aware of her words anymore as you fall into a slumber. ''I just want you to be safe and healthy'' she carries on, holding you in her arms, as if she was trying to shield you from the outside world and things that might be thrown across your way, including yourself. As soon as the redhead hears your little snores, she smiles a little, happy you are at least getting some more rest in her arms and at the same time glad, she is able to protect you now, knowing tomorrow is another day to come to have an actual conversation about this. She averts her gaze, and she is met with the mirror on the other side of the room, seeing you asleep on her lap and for a moment the woman, usually so hard on herself crumbles for a second as tears stream down her cheeks.

She remembers the moments in her younger years or even to this day, where she kept pushing and listening to her parents or the ugly voices in her head, telling her she isn't deserving to take breaks or look after herself. As she sees you safe and sound in her arms she can't help but feel gratitude, that you had walked into her life a while ago, knowing that you both have each other now. At this moment as she watches your tired body, chest rising and falling with each breath, she promises herself to never let you push this much again and to get you to take care of yourself, fully aware it won't be easy as she struggles with those things herself.

''Everything will be okay, I'm here little one you are safe'' she whispers, reassuring you again that you aren't alone in this and that she will be by your side. After watching you for a few seconds longer, she carefully reaches for her book, opening it and keeping herself occupied while she is determined to stay awake, not caring about sleep herself as she feels the need to stay with you and be there for you in case you wake up and need the redhead.

As she opens her book, now occupied by it, you are already asleep, your body slowly healing from today, both a mix of medication, rest but also the tender care, love, and affection Wilhemina has shown you since arriving back home and continues showing, as one of her hands is still rubbing soothing circles on your head, occasionally checking your forehead for a temperature.

[scrawnytreedemon]

Victor Frankenstein and Frustration: a Not-Essay, because I can’t structure for shit.

Alright, I’ll try to keep it as clean and concise as I can, but at the end of the day this is a sorta-heat-in-the-moment thing I’m writing while all the ideas and motivation are in me yet. I will be jumping around alot of topics, as this covers alot of ground, but I can’t say I’ll do it with grace: for this, I apologise.

I’ve noticed a trend in online lit fandom, not just on Tumblr, to condense Victor’s character to something roughly following “arrogant, ineffectual and selfish weenie who failed horribly at parenting, who ought not to be taken seriously in any significant way, largely in-due to his constant whining“ --In other words, a right twat.

And here’s the thing: largely, I agree.

However, what I take issue with, I suppose, is largely how this is all framed.

See, fandom has a tendency to sort characters into boxes, and then pick favourites or bête noires from that selection; this is helpful for the largely memetic(as in, shareable,) nature of online spaces; but where I think this thinking falls short is that it tends to divide casts into More Good or More Evil, with little room for nuance.

I think you can see where I’m going with this.

Victor Frankenstein, by all accounts, is an incredibly frustrating character to witness; he gets way in over his head, isolates himself from his loved ones, leaving them worried, deems those ambitions failed, hides from them, then when shit starts hitting the fan, he takes initial actions to try and mitigate the consequence, hits a roadblock, either stops their or chooses an even worse option, someone else gets hurt, he whines, rinse and repeat until the final act of the book, as the stakes get higher and higher and his mental state deteriorates more, and more, and more. If you look at this entirely from an outsiders’ perspective, as you, the audience, being subjected to his moaning time and time again, it can wear on you and your sympathies-- Needless to say, I Get It™.

I think, however, it needs be remarked that Victor is also just some guy. 

What I feel is often missed, is that even before Victor goes to university, he has just suffered the loss of his mother, with little time to recover, and that all of this is being told in hindsight, on his deathbed.

When Victor took on, all by himself, at twenty-two years old, not even letting anyone else know what he was up to, the monumental task of creating life, and then finding that life horribly botched, he did not have the perspective that what he created was equivalent to a newborn child-- For all he knew, he might have animated an actual demon. It isn’t until two years later, after the death of his little brother at the hands of said demon, the he’s even remotely made aware of this.

Victor had worn himself out over the course of several months, physically and mentally, to this one task. He was not equipped to deal witht he consequences. I do not say this to downplay the weight of his actions, or the horrible mess of events that come afterwards, but to state perspective. Victor does not have the hindsight we have at the time of this act. I cannot stress this enough. As much as I enjoy Deadbeat Dad Vick jokes, I get the feeling many people actually view the story from this lens, and hold Victor up to that standard.

Then there’s the trial of Justine: a horrible, useless, unneeded and avoidable affair that ends in even more senseless death. This is where alot of people’s sympathy for Victor runs out-- For more than understandable reasons. He failed to act accordingly, to share the information he had, deeming it to be either dismissed instantly or for himself to be put under scrutiny; it’s clear he’s passionate about Justine’s innocence, but he cannot push himself past his fear and doubt, and ultimately, it ends in her death.

It is a horrible, horrible moment, and one that cements the tone of the story from there on out.

These are two key events that largely colour this image of Victor so prevelant online; and it certainly doesn’t help, what with fandom being almost aggressively left-leaning at times, that Victor comes from a place of privilege; he is almost tailor-made to push all the buttons of fandom sensitivities.

Let me elaborate.

A key feature of Victor’s character is his complete and utter inability to ask for help; no matter how dire the situation. Victor feels, that, despite and even because of his incompetence, that it is his cross and his cross alone to bear. Any inolvement from others, such as Clerval when he heads to England, is hesitant and highly discouraged, even when he wants nothing more than to partake in the company of his loved ones, after all he’s been through. While it is also heavily coloured by the anguished sentiment that borders on self-absorption so much of the time, I think it is also worthy to examine this too.

Victor’s tendency to indulge in self-pity and self-loathing is nigh, if not entirely, all-consuming; it pervades the narrative to a painful degree, particularly as it comes from his recollections; it is often exhausting to read through, and nigh unbearable if you already hold a disdane from his previous actions; but here’s the thing I think most people miss,

Victor is depressed.

I don’t mean “ooh, he’s so sad, leave him alone 🥺,“ I mean the guy is fucking depressed, stuck in a constant cycle of attempting to make do but failing, hating himself even more, letting it consume him because he at once feels like he deserves to be consumed and it’s the only thing he can do then and there to soothe to pain as shit gets worse and worse.

Victor Frankenstein’s internal monolgue is a prime example of deep-seated, far-gone depression, and I say this because I myself have experienced and do experience this. Depression is fucking soul-sucking, man; it turns you in on yourself, makes you feel entirely undeserving of love and compassion, leaves you feeling like you must, have to, deal with this entirely by yourself because it is your cross to bear.

Depression is so often self-flagellating and pointless, leaving the subject drained and often largely unable to experience the world outside their own miserable little bubble.

Victor is so wrapped up in this soul-sucking guilt, attempting to fight his own ineffectuality and in doing so only furthering his own ineffectuality, refusing to ask for help, that he ends up putting the ones he’s trying to protect in further danger as he tries to scramble a hodge-podge solution to the problem he created and couldn’t have even begun to forsee its consequences at twenty-two years old. It is a painful, painful example of how if only he reached out, if only he told someone, was honest, all of this could have been avoided, or at least mitigated.

And I think that’s the thing with Victor.

He’s a kind of banal evil-- If such continuous stumbling can even be considered so --He is an example of every day self-isolation and refusal to let anyone else in ballooning to such a degree it ends in distaster.

People are far, far more willing to forgive Adam for his transgressions-- And I say this as someone far more sympathetic to his plight, what with the absolute abandonment he faced at the hands of humanity --Despite their far more horrific consequences; in many ways, they’re attributed to Victor’s failing; which isn’t entirely untrue,

But I have to wonder, if alot of this also comes down to the fact that Victor’s wrongdoings are so human; leaving someone in your care behind; not speaking up in cases of injustice; being self-involved; again, the constant whining. In a way, it’s the sentiment that in stories a horrible person is often far more bearable than an annoying one.

That doesn’t even begin to touch on how much of the bemoaning might largely be and often is directly post-hoc regret colouring all his previous actions. This, above all else, is a cautionary tale to a fellow idealist in the hopes that Robert Walton doesn’t Fuck Up the way he did. Victor stresses his regret and his failings and his misery time and time again because he wants to protect Robert from a similar fate; a fate that ultimately ends in his death.

Victor Frankenstein is a study in frustration; in audience frustration, self-frustration, narrative frustration; it seeps into every corner of the story.

I am not trying to defend Victor Frankenstein as a person; he is flawed; and he’s meant to be flawed. Victor, at the end of the day, is a deconstruction of the Byronic hero-- Of Great and Powerful Men on the Fronteers of History™-- And most importantly, I think, a deconstruction he himself undergoes. Victor eventually alerts someone, a Genevan magistrate, is doubted just as he feared, and then runs off to take revenge into his own hands.

It takes the death of Elizabeth Lavenza to do so.

Victor is a flawed, miserable man, but not an evil one. That doesn’t mean he deserved to have his life crumble around him.

He could have done better. Should have done better.

And he knows this.

His entire arc is about how he knows this.

Victor dies knowing this.

Him being unlikable doesn’t make him a bad character. Him being unlikable is part of the character; and in a meaningful way.

God, I don’t know how to end this. I’ll probably come back and edit this many, many times.

I guess I’m just tired of people flattening characters just because they’re not particularly endearing.

[emeriethevalkyriegirl]

Invisible Ticklee

Lee: Hagakure

Ler: Shoji

Hagakure was a massive tickler. Ever since she was little she would tickle anyone who comes across her way. Of course the bystanders wouldn’t know it was her because she was invisible. Yeah, a naked girl running around Japan tickling other people. She could do it with clothes but that would allow them to see her. She couldn’t risk that.

When she transferred to UA, she started to tickle all her friends. Mostly in there rooms because she didn’t want them to be embarrassed at the movie theater or in the library. So she kept it to a minimum. She even managed to give Bakugo a few giggles of his own. She will never live this down.

No one gonna catch this girl.

It was now 11:30pm at night. Hagakure yawned and stretched her arms and legs. “Better catch some z’s. Wouldn’t wanna be tired for my next victim.” She said while going into her pink dorm room. She closed the door and turned off the light. She then proceeded to go to her nightstand and turn on the lamp so she could fall asleep faster.

Hagakure grabbed her favorite manga book and was about to read it when she felt a lump on her bed. “Hey Hagakure.” Hagakure squeaked at the voice but relaxed realizing it was just Shoji. “Hi Shoji. Um why’re your in my room?” She asked as Shoji smirked at her. She couldn’t tell if he was smirking but she can see through his eyes that he was here for a reason.

Hagakure gulped and felt a finger sliding onto her leg. Hagakure bent her leg up and chuckled. “Oh, does our little invisible tickler have a ticklish spot?” Hagakure gulped and tried to take off her clothes so she wouldn’t be seen but Shoji saw that her pjs had sleeves so he was able to grad her arms with two hands and use his other two hands to gently drum her tummy. Hagakure kept her mouth shut from laughing. “H-How did yohohohou know?” She asked making Shoji lean over to her ear. “You’re the only invisible girl in this school. It was that obvious.”

Shoji violently tickled Hagakure’s belly as she squealed in delight. She loved it whenever someone tickled her. It was probably why she wanted to tickle so many people in the first place. Hagakure laughed and bucked her head. “SHOJI HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!” Moving to her hip bone, Shoji rolled his eyes and smiled. “Did you stop when I asked you to stop? No you didn’t. Just be glad everyone decided to let me give you payback for all the tickling you did.” Shoji used one of his hands that was holding Hagakure’s arm and traced it done Hagakure’s shoulder. “Hmm…let’s see…I believe you neck…is right about…here!” Shoji dug his fingers into Hagakure’s neck making her tuck her head down and giggled softly. “Aw, does that tickle? Does the wittle ticklwish girl have a ticklwish neck.”

Gosh his teasing was unbearable!

Hagakure laughed more when Shoji moved to her armpits. “SHOJI PLEASE AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA IM SOHOHOHOHO SORRY HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!”

“Sorry. Oh you better be sorry.” Shoji replied smirking up a storm. He slowly moved down from her arms to her sides to tease her more. “Hey I heard Yaoyorozu say something about you worst spot happened to be a button. I couldn’t really remember what kind of button it was but it was a button.” Hagakure didn’t catch the wind and started to use her free hand to try and push off her giant friend. “Hmm…was the button…here?” He asked while scratching his finger on Hagakure’s ribs. Hagakure started shaking her head. “NOHOHOHOHOHO!”

“No not there? Alright. How about…here?” Shoji scratch around her belly in a particular area that was dangerously close to her belly button. That’s when Hagakure realized it. “NO NO NO PLEASE!” Shoji smirked. He was close. Shoji slowly lifted her shirt a bit to reveal an invisible body. “I believe if I feel around correctly…” He trailed off using two fingers to feel for Hagakure’s belly button. Hagakure did all that she could to muffle her giggles. “…that button was right…”

Oh no.

“…about…”

He’s gonna do it.

“HERE!” Shoji found her belly button and dug his index finger in it. He swirled it around not missing a single inch of it. Hagakure squealed and banged her fist on the bed along with her legs kicking as well.“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Shoji loved seeing his invisible friend in his state. Even though he couldn’t really see her. He lifted her shirt a little more so his two mouths on his arms can nibble all over the poor girls stomach. “SHOJI EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE MAKE IT STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP PLEASE ILL DO ANYTHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAING!” Hagakure pleaded as Shoji saw that his friend was about to lose it. Shoji chuckled. “Tell you what, you stop tickling us at random and I won’t tickle you in the dead of night. Deal?” Shoji asked as Hagakure still giggled from the after shock of the tickle torture. “Deal.”

Shoji made to get off the bed but Hagakure stopped him. “What is it?” Shoji asked as Hagakure blushed a bit. “Well you see the thing is….I like being tickled. A lot.” She blushed more. Shoji widen his eyes as this but let her continue. “I thought if I tickled other people, it might make them come after me to tickle me. I just thought it would work. Sorry if I bothered you.” Shoji could hear in her voice that she meant it. Shoji only smiled at her and jumped on her. A surprised yelped escaped her lips. “Do you want me to do it again?” Shoji asked as Hagakure blushed a bit. “Well um…I mean…I guess so I-AHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Aw. Does the wittle gurl want more tickles? Well I’ll be happy to give them to her. Yes I will. Yes I will.” Shoji cooed at Hagakure which only made her laughter go higher. Hagakure got her wish. A worthy tickler to tickle her back.

[tinawriting]

This is what we fought for (S.B)

Requested: Yes/No

Pairing: Sirius Black x fem!reader

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Summary: Everyone is trying to keep the Potters safe during the war. Sirius suspects. Y/n has an idea.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, one sex joke, little bit of angst at the end, not proofread, my english.

A/N: Everyone lives/Nobody dies AU! This was really fun to write and an amazing idea. This is how things should have gone.

Word count: 2.4k

Green lights were surrounding them. His breath was caught on his throat, the not knowing if they were going to get out of this one, the panic rising. He felt a hand grip his, he looked up to meet warm and soft eyes, home.

It was always like this with her, they could communicate with just a look. He nodded and let himself stand up, gripping his wand tightly, out of the corner of his eye he saw Y/n stand up as well. She was next to him but he had never felt so far away from her, he needed her touch, he needed her to get out of this one. Even if he didn't.

He started running towards the lights and felt how Y/n was closely behind him. When he saw them he didn't hesitate in start hexing them, not to kill them, no. Dumbledore said they had to just stop them, much to Sirius' dismay, if you asked him, he wouldn't care if all Voldemort's Death Eaters died tonight.

He started throwing hexes at everyone, but his mind was elsewhere. Y/n wasn't on sight anymore, and even if he knew how capable she was he couldn't help but looking for her among the crowd. He was so distracted he failed to notice the person coming from behind him.

"Crucio!"

"Protego!"

Sirius turned around to see Y/n face to face with the disgusting Antonin Dolohov. She had intercepted the spell coming in Sirius' direction. Coward, he thought, his only way of attack is from behind. Dolohov raised his wand in her direction with a sneer on his face.

He grabbed Y/n's arm and pulled her roughly behind him, his body shielding her from Dolohov.

"You hurt her and I'll fucking murder you." He said gritting his teeth, not breaking eye contact. He felt her tugging on his sleeve from behind, his arm still keeping her in place.

"Sirius, we have to go now," she said in his ear. "They're coming from everywhere! Let's go!"

He doesn't want to tear his eyes from Dolohov, but he can hear how they're being surrounded. He grabs her more firmly and Apparates them away.

"I could've handled him."

"I was just protecting you!"

They were in the Order Headquarters. After Apparating there, a couple of healers had help them with their wounds. Then, Y/n had grabbed Sirius' arm and guided him to an empty bedroom to talk to him about the Dolohov incident.

"Do not raise your voice with me Sirius Black," said Y/n lowly and with fire in her eyes. "And I don't need you to protect me. When we're fighting you're not my boyfriend anymore, you're my partner. I needed you to keep fighting."

"So you're saying it's my fault?" He said with an incredulous look on his face.

"I did not say that. But it you keep underestimating my abilities you're going to get us killed."

"I don't underestimate your abilities!"

"Then why the fuck wouldn't you just keep fighting and let me deal with Dolohov?"

"I don't want to lose you!"

"You will if you keep this up!"

They were screaming at this point, the eye contact almost unbearable. The silence allowed them to hear the laughs coming from the other side of the house.

"I can't lose you," he whispered. "I would kill me. I can't."

She took a couple steps towards him and he opened his arms for her. One of his arms on her back hold her close while the other kept her head against his chest. He kissed the top of her head and rested his chin there. Until this moment he had forgotten how small she was compared to him, how he would need to look down to look at her in the eye. He felt her shaking and how a puddle of tears were damping his shirt. In that moment he realized that tears were forming in his eyes too.

"I don't want to keep fighting Sirius," she said, her voice muffled by his chest. "I want this to end. I want to live normally, I want a house, a family. I'm tired of watching the people I care about die."

"I know my love, I promise you that I will give you that. Everything you want and more."

"I'm just saying," said Sirius. "You should keep an eye on him."

"I think Sirius is right." Said Peter.

"I don't," said James sternly. "Where did this come from?"

"We're not allowed to go on full moons with him anymore, and he’s supposed to get information from the other werewolves. How do we know what he does with them?"

Lily and Y/n were in the Potters' living room sitting on the couch. Y/n had a sleeping Harry wrapped in a blanket on her arms while Lily was reading a book.

"Do they think we can't listen?" Said Y/n looking at the closed kitchen door, behind it, James, Sirius and Peter were discussing who could be the spy that had been telling Voldemort details only people from the Order could know.

"They probably think we can't hear a word." Said Lily nodding. Y/n frowned at the closed door and decided she had to have a talk to her dear boyfriend. She gave Harry to Lily and stared a moment at the love in Lily's green eyes when she looked at her baby, this is what we're fighting for, she thought.

She opened the door a little harder that she wanted to and stared at Sirius' grey eyes, his soft smile fell when he noticed the hard look she was giving him.

"What is your problem? You don't trust your friends anymore?"

"Darling, this is really not your-"

"Not my place? Not my problem? What Sirius? Do you think the fact that there's a fucking spy breathing on my best friend's neck isn't my problem? Do you think that you talking shit about our friend behind his back without any other argument that 'he's a werewolf' isn't my fucking problem? All your life you've been judged for being a Black and you're doing the same with him? Do you really think Remus is the spy?"

"I'm not saying he's the spy just because he's a werewolf!"

"That's exactly what you're saying!"

"We can't trust anyone anymore!"

She scoffed. "Do you suspect me? Do you suspect Peter?" She noticed how Peter made a soft sound and turned to look at him, his hands were picking at a loose strand of his sweater and was trembling slightly. Strange. She looked at Sirius again. "Don't you trust your own friends anymore? Who are you?"

He looked incredulously at her and a little bit hurt. "Of course I trust you! You're my life, I will always trust you." He then looked at Peter. "And I trust Pete of course, you know what? That's it! He should be the secret keeper instead!"

What?

"What?" Said the rest of them in unison.

"Yeah! We won't tell Lupin and he'll think I'm the secret keeper. It's just a precaution."

She huffed. "Fine. Do whatever you want." And then she got out of the kitchen and entered the bathroom. What was Peter's problem? He had always been a nervous boy but the fact that he had contradicted James earlier and agreed with Sirius was something weird. She didn't want to judge him without any reasonable arguments like Sirius did with Remus. But how could she protect her friends? She heard a knock on the door and she just knew who it was, they were connected.

Se opened the door and saw Sirius standing there looking sheepishly back at her. "I'm sorry."

She sighed and let him in. "I know, I'm sorry too," she said closing the door. "I feel like we're fighting all the time lately."

He exhaled and met her eye, a smirk forming slowly on his face. "We've been doing other things too." He said looking her up and down. She chuckled softly, the tension leaving her shoulders. He raised a hand and held her cheek, caressing her softly. "I love you so much."

"I love you more." She said smiling softly at him.

"Imposible." He said leaning down and connecting their lips. She tried to show him how much he meant to her into the kiss. She let her fingers run through his hair and opened her mouth for him to deepen the kiss.

After they parted, she looked at his soft grey eyes, home.

An idea popped in her head. "I'm staying here."

"What?"

"I'm staying here, I'll be locked up with them until the Order needs me."

"What if I need you?" He looked like he was about to cry and her heart broke.

"I'll come home. I will," she said holding his face. "But I'll be here a lot, that's it, you won't even notice I'm gone."

"You know I will," his eyes were a little glassy and she hugged him tight. "Please be careful."

A week after that, Y/n wanted to give Harry the Halloween hat she knitted for him. It was absolutely horrible but she just wanted an excuse to go see her godson.

"That's really pretty." Said Sirius coming from behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. She laughed.

"No, it's not."

He chuckled. "It's really not." He kissed her cheek. "Are you going to be alright? Are you sure you want to go alone?"

"I'll be fine," she said turning around in his arms and placing a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you."

"I love you."

She grabbed her bag and wand and Apparated to Godric's Hollow, she walked where the house was and knocked. James was opening the door in no time and let her in, once inside he pulled her in a bone-crashing hug. "It's so nice to see you." He whispered into her ear. Soft giggles could be heard from upstairs, she smiled brightly and ran to see Harry. Lily was next to his crib and kissing his plump cheeks, she walked up to them and hugged Lily, Y/n kissed Harry's head softly and then placed the hideous hat on it. Lily made a face and then smiled kindly.

"It's horrible." She said.

"I know." Y/n replied.

Then, a loud explosion was heard downstairs, Lily and Y/n looked at each other wide-eyed.

"Send a Patronus." Said Y/n.

Then Y/n ran out of the room at the same time James cried out "Lily, Y/n, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

Her eyes were almost out of her skull and she couldn't go faster. She saw in a blur James' wand and she shouted "Accio wand!"  She then saw James trying to hold back Voldemort wandless and looked in horror at how he raised his wand in James' direction.

“Avada Kedav-”

"Impedimenta!" She cried.

Y/n watched how Voldemort's action slowed down, she grabbed James by his arm and got him out of Voldemort's reach. She handed him his wand and heard various 'pop' of people Apparating, she hoped it was their friends and not some Death Eater. She watched as Voldemort's actions were slowly coming back to normal when Sirius and Remus appeared at the front door, Voldemort's red eyes made contact with hers.

"Crucio!"

In a fraction of second, her back hit the ground, a high-pitched noise in her ears was making her head hurt, she could feel herself screaming but couldn't hear it. All her limbs felt on fire, the pain almost unbearable. She lifted her head to see three rays of green light from her friend's wands being directed at Voldemort, and then, everything went black.

Her head hurt so much. She couldn't move. She couldn't even open her eyes. I must be dead. That's why I can't move. And then, she heard soft sobs and someone -no, Sirius- grabbing her hand delicately.

"Please, Y/n. Please come back to me." I'm here Sirius, I'm okay. "You saved James, and Lily, and Harry. And I'm so grateful for that, but I can’t be happy if you’re not with me. I’ll never be happy without you. I know you can save yourself too, you can do this my love, please come back. Come back so I can give you that house we talked about, so we can get married and have kids. Please.”

She slowly opened her eyes, her vision was blurry and when she turned her head she saw Sirius sitting on a chair with his head down, his hair shielding his eyes. She squeezed his hand weakly and he lifted his head so fast his neck made a sound.

He got up and sat down next to her in the bed she now realised it was James and Lily's. "Hello princess," he said kissing her softly, and her headache disappeared for a moment. "You had me worried." He chuckled, but it was empty, she noticed the tears strains in his cheeks and she lifted a hand to caress them away. He smiled. He hadn’t smiled a real smile in days and she thought she had never see him more beautiful.

“You’re beautiful.” Y/n said and he laughed softly. Then, she remembered. “Peter.” She whispered.

Sirius smile fell. “Yeah,” he said. “Remus… he didn’t do anything, you were right. We’re good now, though. He was understanding of the whole situation. I can’t believe I ever doubted him.”

“Did you kill him?” She asked wide-eyed. “Voldemort?”

“Yeah, the three of us used the killing curse on him. Dumbledore said we won’t go to Azkaban for doing it.” She scoffed, of course they weren’t, she would get them out herself if they were. “It was all thanks to you. James told us what you did, they would all be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“And Peter?”

Sirius’ frowned. “He… he disappeared, that stupid rat, we don’t know where he is. But it’s over now.” He started sobbing again, but he was smiling. “It’s over, we’re okay. We’re all okay. James, Lily, Remus and Harry. Harry is perfect! He has that disgusting hat on and he laughs!”

She smiled and tears were falling from her eyes as well. “I want to see them.”

“Yes, of course,” he said hurriedly before kissing her forehead. “I’ll bring them.”

Sirius got out of the room and she took a moment to breathe. It was over now, Voldemort was gone. The Potters were fine, Remus was fine, Sirius and her were fine. When the door opened again, the first thing she saw was the smiling face of her godson and thought this is what we fought for.

[engagemachine]

"You're so gentle," she tells me. They all say it. I hear it from my patients every time I take their arm to wrap the blood pressure cuff around it, or when I place my stethoscope on their belly, or when I rub circles into their back when I've helped them sit up on the side of the bed for the first time in three days. Sometimes they cry, because it's the first tender touch they've felt since they've been in the hospital. It's very humbling and at the same time very concerning -- why has no one else offered this tenderness to you? Why am I always the first?

But I don't feel gentle. Not when a pair of ribs are cracking beneath my hands as I'm doing chest compressions on a Covid patient who's stopped breathing--the second time I've administered CPR on a Covid patient in two days. I don't feel gentle when I'm wrestling with a patient and begging for them to keep their oxygen mask on. When I have to hold them down and hold them still so my coworker can draw a blood sample. I don't feel gentle when I'm inserting a nasogastric tube down someone's nose, then throat, and into their belly while they're gagging around the tube and their arms are flailing. And I don't feel gentle when I'm washing a sacral wound with bleach and they're crying because it hurts. I don't feel gentle when I have to shout, beg, and plead for patients to listen, when I tell patients they're going to die if they don't keep their oxygen mask on. I don't feel gentle when I have to place a patient in restraints, or when I call a family member and tell them that their loved one's condition hasn't improved. I don't feel gentle when a patient tells me they can't breathe, they can't breathe, I can't breathe, and I'm yelling for coworkers to call the doctor while I'm cycling through different oxygen masks and trying to administer medication to slow their respirations and calm their anxiety.

I'm writing this because I feel like I've been living a little bit behind a veneer on here, although I know deep down that's not really true; I have always wanted my blog to feel like a positive space for anyone and everyone, including myself. I come here to have fun and destress and that's why you usually don't see me reblogging content having to do with politics or global news. I think it's possible to create a healthy space where one does talk about those things and spreads awareness for important causes, but for me, Tumblr is where I come when I need to escape the harsh realities of real life. This is my platform where I can indulge in my fictional proclivities and interests, where I can appreciate art, photography, beautiful writing, my favorite films, music, and cute animals. That's what this space is about. I also have loved meeting new people and getting to know my readers and making new friends and chatting about my stories. That's why I'm here and I thank you all so, so much for indulging me in my passions and for encouraging my writing the way that you have: it has helped me weather the current storm of stress I am feeling in more ways than I could possibly convey.

But I have to be very honest with you all about how much I've been struggling lately, as I feel like I'm reaching a breaking point and I'm somewhat at a loss for how to handle it.

Since September of last year, I've been on an accelerated track to finish the degree I'm working towards, which is a Bachelor of Science in Nursing. I've been a nurse for four years, but I graduated from a two-year nursing program versus a four-year program because I wanted to get into the field earlier than some of my peers, which has been great. Anyway, my school counselor/mentor and I agreed that I could obtain my BSN in a year if I really pushed myself. The program I'm in is self-paced, which has been both a blessing and a curse. Most of my classes I have finished in about three to four weeks. Other classes, like biochemistry, took substantially longer, about seven or eight weeks, if I remember correctly. All of the classes have relied on my ability to self-teach, as there are no scheduled lectures to attend, only assigned readings and videos to watch, if you choose to do so. Fast forward to the end of May, when I went to visit some family, and, upon my return home, really started to lose some of my motivation to complete my classes. I was meant to finish my program in August (this month) but agreed with my mentor that I would take a short break and put my last three classes on hold so that I could resume the program in September. I've enjoyed approximately a month off from school, but "enjoyed" is a term I use loosely here as I was also picking up extra shifts at work because we've been so short staffed and losing nurses left and right.

Which brings me to the main cause of my stress. This pandemic has completely changed the landscape for how I administer care to my patients, and the stress of the care itself has been so utterly overwhelming at times I can hardly bear it. I broke down in tears at work on Sunday morning, shortly after 4:30 am, right there at the the nurse's station, and was sobbing so hard that my supervisor had to pull me away so that I could have some privacy. I wish I could tell you that I sobbed harder than I have in a long time--but I had sobbed at work with that same intensity just four weeks prior, only, I had been alone at the time. It's becoming a trend--I either cry at work or I cry at home--because the stress of this job has become unbearable.

I wish--I desperately wish--I could convey to you the seriousness of Covid. I think so much of the world has already decided to move on from it because they're so tired of having to deal with it and, quite simply, are ready to return to normal. I don't even know what normal is anymore and when--or if--we'll ever be able to return to it. And that has caused me a fair amount of stress and anxiety in and of itself. I miss traveling so much and I don't know when I'll be able to do it again. I haven't seen one of my best friends since the fall of 2018 for this reason, which kills me.

I've seen so much death. Transferred so many patients to the PCU and ICU. Frantically chased patients' oxygen saturation, trying to keep them from circling the drain. Being responsible for six or seven human lives at one time is a stress you cannot fathom unless you have done it yourself. I have cried with a patient, a young woman, who had lost her husband to Covid only hours before in the ER, a young woman who was now faced with battling Covid herself but also planning the funeral of her high school sweetheart from her hospital bed. I have wheeled a patient to the ICU so that he could say one final goodbye to his wife--married for over 50 years--before they pulled the plug and removed her from the ventilator. I have raced down the hallway with my patient on BIPAP, pushing his bed to the ICU and praying that he doesn't stop breathing on the way there. I've had to console crying family members over the phone who are worried about their loved ones, not to mention my crying coworkers who are as overwhelmed as I am. These are just a handful of experiences from the past month alone. There are so many more.

The discomfort of my job has become secondary. I expect, now, to be wearing an N95 for a full twelve or thirteen-hour shift because there isn't time to take it off. Not having a chance to pee or go to the bathroom during that time. Not drinking any water until I'm in my car and taking off my mask and finally taking a deep breath.

On a more personal note, I am continuing to lose weight and it's so discouraging. In high school I used to wear a size 2 or 4. Now, depending on the brand, I wear a double 00. My hair is falling out because of my stress. I haven't slept during the night in... I don't even know how long. I'm constantly tired. Exhaustion hits me like a great tidal wave and I am powerless to stop it. I expect now to crash during the middle of the day on my couch, only to wake up at 11pm and be wide awake for the rest of the night, and, if not wide awake, then in an out of nightmares and sleep paralysis. I have thought about leaving my job, but the idea of job hunting during a pandemic, and while I'm in school... it just makes me feel even more stressed.

I need a break, but it feels like there's nowhere to go to escape. I fantasize about some great adventure, going somewhere I've never been, but I also really miss my family and I'm scared to go home to visit.

This post doesn't really have a conclusive ending. I'm just exhausted and overwhelmed. Any prayers/thoughts would be greatly appreciated.

[qqueenofhades]

pel!ivan and fedyor went through a lot of ups and some downs from the end of pel and 2021 but they also celebrated 10 years together 🥳 i hope fedyor shoved cake into ivan’s face and also you know, im sure they were mushy like the saps they are

Ivan was supposed to be out of here ten minutes ago – actually, at this point, more like twenty – but the clients are still fucking talking, and if they keep it up much longer, he’s going to add it to the bill for “initial consultation.” Drew has a man-bun and unbearably hip black glasses, and works as a developer for some start-up app that he’s tried to convince Ivan to download at least twelve times. (What does the app actually do? Don’t know don’t care.) Mia is thin, blonde, waifish, smells like essential oils, and has been flitting around with her smartphone the entire time, getting in Ivan’s way as she snaps perfectly filtered pictures of the “developmental process” and posts them nonstop on Instagram. They both have a lot of opinions on how they want the energy of the space to feel, and a preapproved list of ethically sourced suppliers. They have paid some ludicrous price for this converted loft in Prospect Heights and chose the location for its proximity to the best farmer’s markets and hippie coffeehouses. Did Ivan die? Is this hell?

Somewhat ostentatiously, he looks at his watch. “Okay,” he announces. “I think that wraps up. You have work number, so – ”

“Oh, just one more thing!” Drew has recently read one (1) book on home design and thinks he’s an expert, so Ivan is forced to suffer his idiotic opinions about the kind of tile they want to use on the kitchen backsplash. Somehow, he manages not to roll his eyes directly out of his head, for which he should be commended. Ivan has discovered that the secret of successfully dealing with people, especially clients, is to smile and nod at everything they say, while mercilessly mocking them in your head. Amazing, the things you learn as a small-business owner in Brooklyn in the year of our lord 2021. Especially when it comes to renovating overpriced tiny gentrified apartments for insufferable techno-douchebags and their vapid influencer girlfriends. And people think Ivan might want to live like this more often? No fucking thank you.

Finally (it’s another ten minutes after that, this is definitely going on the bill), they more or less wrap up, except for the fact that Mia then wants a picture with the three of them. “It’s just so important to us that we’re supporting the immigrant community,” she explains earnestly. “After all, being open, tolerant, learning from our neighbors, people who are different from us, that’s what life is all about. We just love that you’re foreign. The energy feels so right, you know?”

Ivan wonders whether to inform her that he has lived in this country for eight years and been a full citizen (passport and voting rights and everything) for three, then decides that this would venture into sharing-personal-information territory and he is having none of it. His English has improved to the point where he can handle almost all business transactions by himself, but feigning incomprehension can sometimes get him out of them when they turn really stupid. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option here, and so he diligently leans into the frame, smiling half an inch, while Mia snaps a picture of “us and our adorable Russian contractor!!” Ivan informs her of the correct flag emoji to add to the filter, decides that he’s going to add an extra fifty bucks just for that, and finally, finally, makes his escape.

It’s rush hour, and the Q is crammed as Ivan heads into midtown. So much for social distancing and not getting too close to anyone, which is the only thing from the pandemic that he wouldn’t mind keeping. Only about half the crowd is wearing masks, including him, and so he gets off at Times Square, dodges the latest lunatic standing on a soapbox and shouting about how it is all a hoax, and walks several blocks uptown, just to get some space. He finally reaches the restaurant, where he has to flash his vaccination card to get inside (Ivan, who remains Russian to the marrow of his bones, is a little irked that he couldn’t get Sputnik here and had to settle for Pfizer) and climbs up to the open-air rooftop terrace. It is only when he spots his husband, waiting at a table that overlooks the glittering evening lights of the city, when Ivan pulls off his mask and allows himself to properly smile. “Sorry I’m late,” he says. “They are the worst.”

“I figured it was something like that.” Fedyor musters a smile in return, though his eyes look permanently tired these days and Ivan would bet that he’s been scrolling through more depressing emails on his phone. Technically Fedyor is on a two-month sabbatical from work, but he can’t stop himself, and Ivan has had to pry it from his fingers on a number of occasions. “But you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Ivan nods stoutly, they are furnished with the drinks and appetizers list, and when the waiter asks if there’s any special occasion tonight, tell him that they are celebrating their ten-year anniversary, albeit somewhat late. This was supposed to happen last spring, but obviously, nobody in New York was going out to a restaurant in the early months of 2020, and Ivan himself had barely gotten home from the hospital and still could be knocked over in a strong breeze. They’re celebrating a lot of things tonight, in other words, even if it’s now been eleven years, not ten, since the day Ivan marched into a Red Square coffee shop and engaged in – well, Fedyor has made sure to inform him that the first date didn’t go nearly as well as Ivan always thought it did. But it worked, didn’t it? Here they are, wedding bands on their fingers, a couple of successful American urban professionals who have built a nice life for themselves and are, if anything, even more madly in love than they were when this whole nutty adventure together first began. So really, if you ask Ivan Sakharov Kaminsky, it went just fine after all.

The waiter congratulates them, gives them two drinks for the price of one, and they both relax and start to talk, fully at ease in the way they only are in each other’s company. Ivan does his Mia impression in an extremely convincing falsetto (after all, [NAME REDACTED] has practice at this) and Fedyor almost dies laughing. They hold hands on the table – no need to hold them under the table – and gaze into each other’s eyes all they want, order dinner and dessert, and take a long time about it. They raise several toasts to this, to them, to ten years, may there be many more. Ivan pays the bill, his treat, and they walk slowly back to Times Square, hand-in-hand, Fedyor’s head nestled on Ivan’s shoulder. It’s New York. Nobody cares.

They ride the Q home, in all its smelly, secondhand glory, taking an hour to bang out to Brighton Beach and descending the elevated stairs into the familiar down-at-heel comfort of their Russian-American neighborhood, neon Cyrillic signs glowing in windows and somebody shouting about how if Sergei ever shows his face here again, she is going to cut his dick off. Ivan and Fedyor look at each other and snort, resisting the urge to shout up and ask what exactly Sergei did, and walk a few more minutes to their building. They climb up three flights of stairs to their apartment, unlock the door and the deadbolt, and step inside.

The instant they are home, Rasputin shoots out of nowhere, yowling as if he has been neglected for months, and curls himself around Ivan’s ankles (he is still liable to give Fedyor evil looks when he feels that this interloper has been stealing his human too often). Ivan sighs, trudges to the kitchen, points out to Rasputin that his food bowl is still half full, gets a wounded look in return, and adds an extra scoopful. Once the cat is happily snarfing down, Fedyor pulls Ivan by the hand, into the dim living room with its blowing curtains. “Come here, my love,” he says. “Hold me.”

Ivan does as ordered, because it’s his favorite thing in the world: cuddling Fedyor close, nothing but the two of them in all of time and space, swaying slowly in the blue hour with fingers and arms and hearts entwined. Ivan kisses Fedyor’s temple, and Fedyor nestles even closer, melted into his embrace. “I love you, Vanya,” he mumbles against Ivan’s collarbone. “I love you so much. I love you more than anything in the world. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I love you too, Fedya.” Ivan leans down and kisses him properly, sweet and slow and lingering, as they continue to waltz in stately time to a music that nobody except the two of them can hear. “I’m still not always sure why you married me, but I am very glad you did.”

[howlingsaturn]

and in your arms, i will find shelter (1.9k)

i wrote a little hurt/comfort cause the tarlos hug wouldn’t leave my mind so here you go, i guess? spoiler warning for 2x02 of lone star even though no names are dropped. also minor trigger warning for panic attacks and death (always with a happy ending though). stay safe everybody. <3

as you pry the hurt

from my aching body

and the grief

from my shaking hands

i realise

there's nothing more powerful

nothing more healing

than love

When the realisation hits, the weight on his shoulders becomes unbearable. He's surprised it doesn't bury him right where he stands. He takes a look at the rest of his team, small and quiet in the usually so joyful firehouse, and he wonders how he's supposed to survive this, how Judd and Owen can still offer words of encouragement and touches of comfort after all the loss they've suffered. It's excruciating. The whole thing. Every second of it.

Every breath he takes sends a stabbing pain through his chest and his hands start shaking so badly, he can't even ball them into fists. He feels suffocated, like the walls are closing in around him and there's no way out. He feels the sudden, overwhelming urge to run, to get as far away from this place as possible but before he can move there's a hand on his arm and fingers squeezing so hard that he winces.

"TK," his father says alarmingly and his voice sounds so far away, so frighteningly inhuman, that it sends TK into a frenzy.

"I need to go," he breathes out between clenched teeth, his heartbeat echoing in his ears like a stampede. He needs to get out of here. Right now. TK pulls his arm free and turns around, ignoring the calls of his name that follow him out of the door and then he's running. He doesn't know where his legs take him, he can barely focus on the path in front of him through his blurred vision but it doesn't matter. None of it matters. They've lost one of their own today and TK doesn't know if he can ever fully recover from that.

His legs and chest start burning, begging him to slow down and catch a breath and so his frantic run comes to an abrupt halt. He's heaving now, seemingly unable to get enough air into his lungs and it doesn't help the feeling of panic that's been sitting in his gut all day. He fears he might pass out but he manages to get his breathing under control, enough so that he can keep walking. His mind is still too chaotic to rest and there's only one place he wants to be in right now, this one person who might be able to shoulder some of that weight he carries, and so with weak knees and his heart in his throat, TK makes his way to Carlo's condo.

It doesn't take long for the familiar building to appear in his line of sight, he's covered quite a few miles with that run, but it doesn't fill him with the relief he had hoped it would. He's overwhelmed all over again.

Is he overstepping? Should he even come here this late and pull Carlos out of his sleep? He's had a tough day too, shouldn't he let him rest? He can't pour all of this grief on him unnoticed, can he? Does Carlos even know what happened?

He doesn't know what to do, torn between wanting to seek comfort and knowing he will be a burden to Carlos. He longs for him though, his gentle eyes and warm smile and TK is too tired, too upset, to deny himself of Carlos' embrace. Eventually, TK pulls out the key Carlos handed him one night, for safekeeping, he had said with a smile, and TK knew in that moment, with a frightening clarity, that Carlos was his forever, his one.

He takes a few more minutes to collect himself before he opens the door, careful to be as silent as possible in case Carlos was already asleep, and when he lets the door fall shut behind him, he surprisingly finds those brown eyes he's been aching for already locked on him. Carlos is right there, sitting in the middle of the staircase in his pyjamas, looking at TK like he was expecting him all along, and TK feels his heart swell with gratitude. As he stares at him, the pain in his chest slowly eases and he suddenly doesn't know why he was so worried about coming here. He doesn't understand why he was so insecure about seeking out Carlos' presence and asking him to deal with a pain that wasn't his own. It's so clear now, in the way Carlos wordlessly opens his arms and holds out a hand, that he will gladly shoulder some of TK's pain.

TK's legs move on their own account and he all but stumbles into Carlos' waiting embrace, reaching for whatever warmth he can find and hoping it will fill the cold that has seeped into his heart. When Carlos' arms close around him, holding the broken pieces of himself together, TK feels safe.

They stay there for a long time, neither of them talking, and TK finds comfort in the silence Carlos offers. He focuses on the strong beat of Carlos' heart against his ear, matching his own to its rhythm, and when he feels like he won't fall apart with every breath he takes, he opens his eyes and raises his head to look at Carlos. Carlos reaches for him immediately, stroking his cheek with a sad but kind smile, and TK wonders, for the millionth time, how he got so lucky. He wants to tell Carlos how grateful he is and how much he adores him but the words are stuck in his throat. He only hopes Carlos can read some of it in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Carlos finally breaks the silence, and the agony in his voice is evident. He doesn't know what else he can say, there's nothing that will make it okay. TK looks at him for a long time, eyes scanning over his boyfriend's face in a futile attempt to memorise all that he is. He's overcome with emotions, torn between gratitude and the fear of losing him.

He's lost someone today. He can lose someone else tomorrow. Time is not guaranteed, not for anyone, and he's hit with the sudden urge to create a bubble where time doesn't exist and lock the both of them in, if only for just a moment. Carlos swipes his thumb over TK's brow, seemingly having noticed his mind drifting, and TK falls back into his painful reality. He reaches for Carlos' shirt, holding onto him as if he's afraid he's going to disappear, and when he looks back into Carlos' eyes, he finds nothing but understanding.

I love you, he thinks suddenly, feverishly. I love you, I love you, I love you.

He doesn't say the words that are echoing in his head and his heart is yearning to hear, instead he pulls Carlos down and presses their lips together in a desperate kiss. Carlos reciprocates but pulls back quicker than TK would've liked, though he keeps him close, gently holding his face in the palms of his hands.

"I'm right here," he says softly, lovingly pressing a kiss to TK's forehead, and somehow that causes the dam to break. It catches TK so off guard that he can only hold onto Carlos as the waves of grief wash over him, drowning him in a series of uncontrolled and horrible sobs. He barely listens to the soothing words Carlos whispers into his ears, he's too focused on getting his breathing back under control and swallowing down the nausea that hits him. He feels the panic advance on him like a shark, pulling him back underwater and TK needs it all to stop, he can't do this anymore, his limbs are too tired to swim. He tries to tell Carlos as much but his throat produces nothing but broken hiccups. Carlos tries to soothe him, telling TK to breathe and assuring him that he's going to be okay, and after a few agonising minutes, the water finally calms.

There's nothing left of him then. TK feels wrung out and hollow and if it weren't for Carlos still holding him close, he probably would've passed out right where they sit. But Carlos is here, curling a strong arm around his back, and TK lets himself be cared for.

He doesn't remember much of what happened after his panic attack but he wakes up in a warm bed, Carlos wide awake at his side and a few strands of sunlight making their way through the blinds.

He blinks up at Carlos who's already looking at him, a worried frown between his eyes but he smiles upon noticing TK's gaze. He lets his fingers move through TK's hair in a soothing manner and something about that loving gesture makes TK feel less alienated. He's oh so thankful that Carlos is right here next to him.

"How are you feeling?" Carlos asks quietly, pulling TK out of his haze, and TK takes a few seconds to think about his question.

"I don't know. Tired, I guess. Like I've run a marathon. My head hurts. And I'm just…" he breaks off, lost in thought.

"Sad?" Carlos offers.

"Yeah," he agrees, "Sad."

"Me too," Carlos confesses and that's it. He too has lost a friend and co-worker, he too has suffered through a loss that isn't easily accepted, and all of the sudden TK feels guilty for not realising it sooner, for not being able to keep his emotions under control and checking in on Carlos. TK opens his mouth to apologise but Carlos raises a hand in warning, aware of TK's train of thought.

"Don't even think about it," he says but there's kindness behind it. "I'm okay. You were not. And that's alright, it's understandable. But you have nothing to apologise for, Ty." He says it with such conviction that TK doesn't even try to argue with him.

"I'm always here for you if you need me," Carlos adds, "It's what partners do, right?"

"Yeah, I know," he admits, "I just want you to know that I'm here for you too. If you ever need me."

Carlos smiles at him and adjusts his position on the bed so that they're on eye level, his gaze wandering to the fingers that instinctively reach back into TK's hair.

"I care about you," TK goes on and he waits for Carlos to look at him before he continues, "I care about you a lot, actually. More than I can comprehend sometimes. And after what happened yesterday I-- I realised I'm terrified of losing you."

The confession catches Carlos off guard and his hand in TK's hair stills abruptly.

"You're not gonna lose me," Carlos says, a little dumbfounded.

"I could. It's not unreasonable considering our lines of work and I'm --" he breaks off, leaving his self destructive thoughts unsaid but Carlos knows. He always knows.

"No, it's not unreasonable," he sighs, "but listen to me carefully, I'm in this for the long run. I won't leave, not ever, not on my own accord and believe me when I say that I will do anything to come back home to you each day, unharmed. I can promise you that much."

There's a fire in his eyes that TK has rarely seen and he finds that it isn't difficult to trust his promise at all because TK will do the exact same thing. He reaches out a hand then, tightly clutching Carlos' fingers in his own, and there they are again, these terrifying three words. They're itching beneath his skin and tickling in his throat, desperate to be said out loud, but TK decides to keep them for himself for now. There will be a time for them, there will be a time to love and to hope. Right now, he needs to let himself heal. There is, after all, no safer place to do so than in Carlos' warm embrace.

[sturchling]

An Awfully Big Adventure

Hey! I found an angsty prompt for a Fairy Tail fanfic a while back and have been wanting to write it for a long time. Can't remember where I saw it, but if I figure it out, I'll make sure to tag them in this! Anyways, hope you like it! And if anyone understands the references to the book/movie in this story, you are awesome! 😊

The feeling of the old leather book cover was hardly noticeable to Lucy, as she was engrossed in her book. The book had seen better days, having been damaged from being read over and over. She was so focused on the story, traveling to a far away land only found in the pages of this book, that she didn't notice a certain pink haired wizard coming up behind her. "Lucy! Let's go! I got our next job." But the celestial mage didn't hear him, turning to the next page in the story. Natsu stopped and looked over Lucy's shoulder, reading the next line out loud. "To die would be an awfully big adventure? What does that mean? Sounds stupid." This time Lucy heard him, and jumped at realizing how close he was. Then when it registered what he had said, she jumped to her favorite book's defense, chasing Natsu around the guild hall. "Its not stupid! The hero of the story is cornered by the villain but is still trying to be brave for his friends! He is scared, but doesn't want to scare his friends! This is a great story, with great writing, and don't you dare insult it again! As Lucy stands there, out of breath, Natsu walks up, grabbing her wrist. "Sounds sappy to me. Come on! We have work to do."

Natsu, and Lucy had made camp for the night, just a little ways outside of the town where their job was. Gray, Erza, and Wendy would meet them in the town tomorrow afternoon. While they sat around the fire, Lucy pulled her book out again and read by the fire light. Natsu just stared at her as she was reading for the longest time. Until Lucy finally looked up. "What? Why are you staring at me?" Natsu looked at the tattered book in Lucy's hand. He had seen her reading this book several times before. "Tell me something. Why do you love that book so much? You read it all the time. Surely it gets old after a while." Lucy looks at Natsu, before looking down at the book cover fondly. "Well, its because of the memories I have with this book. This was my mother's favorite story. She would read it all the time, and then finally when I was ten, she read it to me. It was an amazing story filled with adventures and sword fights and even a few pirates. We must have read it together a dozen times." Lucy paused, her smile fading from her face. "But then, mom got sick. So I would read it to her every day. It always made her smile when I did. Not long after that, she passed away. After that, I always kept this book with me and would read it all the time. It was one of the few connections I still had with my mom. Any time I read it, I felt like she was right there with me. I love this book, because my mom loved this book and its a way to still be close with her."

Natsu just sat quietly listening. He understood what Lucy was talking about. It was kind of like him and his scarf. It was a connection to Igneel. Lucy looked back up at Natsu. "Sorry to dump all that on you. I know to you its just a sappy book, but to me its the best book I have ever read. Anyway, we should go to bed. Its late and we have a job in the morning. The two got ready for bed, and Lucy quickly fell asleep. But Natsu decided to do something else. He crept over to Lucy's pack and grabbed the old book. He went and sat back by the fire and turned to the first page. He spent all night reading that book. In the morning, before Lucy woke up, he slipped the book back in her pack and laid on his bed roll. He was exhausted, but he had to admit, it was a good book. Maybe if he had slept instead, he wouldn't have been so tired, and he wouldn't have gotten hurt.

Lucy heard Natsu yell from behind her. They had gone into town to get the information for the job, but were ambushed. The job was a fake, posted by a dark guild that wanted revenge for a Fairy Tail team roughing up their members. It was only Natsu and her in town, the others hadn't arrived. So they were on their own. Natsu had taken the leader, and Lucy was dealing with the others. There weren't that many opponents, so it should have been fine. She had just finished with her opponents when she heard Natsu yell. She whipped around just in time to see the leader's sword go through Natsu's stomach. She stared in horror as Natsu collapsed to the ground. She summoned Loke to keep the leader busy and raced to Natsu's side, praying to anyone who would listen that he was alive.

Lucy dropped to her knees beside Natsu, looking for any signs that he was alive. When she saw that he was breathing, she almost collapsed in relief. But he was bleeding too much from his wounds. She pulled some bandages from her pack and pressed on the wound, earning a groan from Natsu. He started to wake up, and looked at Lucy with eyes fogged by pain. He could see the battle between Loke and the dark guild leader behind her and it wasn't going well. If Lucy stayed here, she would be in serious trouble. "Lucy, listen. You need to go. Run and go find Gray, Erza, and Wendy. They must be close, so it won't be hard to find them. Go!" Lucy didn't even look at him, to focused on stopping the bleeding. "No! If I leave, and don't stop the bleeding, you'll die! I won't let you die." Natsu gave her a pained smile. "To die would be an awfully big adventure." Lucy jolted hearing that line, and looked right at Natsu, tears in her eyes. Natsu grimaced, but smiled at Lucy again. "That's it right? That's the line from that sappy book of yours, right? Hah, nailed it!" Lucy almost lost the grip on the bandages in her shock. "You read the book?" Natsu's smile was becoming more strained as the pain in his stomach grew unbearable. "Last night, didn't finish though. But I got to that line you love so much. And it may be sappy, but its a good story."

Natsu was quickly fading and that was obvious to Lucy. She replaced the now blood soaked bandages and pressed down on the wound again, but it wasn't doing any good. The bandages were quickly soaking through with blood again. Lucy grabbed more bandages, even knowing it was doing no good. She couldn't sit here and do nothing! She just had to keep him alive until Wendy and the others got here. She had to keep trying. Her voice shook as she tried to keep Natsu talking. "Well, then you have to get better. You have to finish the book. We can finish it together. And W-We can go on tons of adventures. Together. All the time, any time you want. Every day for the rest of our lives, will be full of adventure and excitement, okay? I promise, we will have the best adventures of our lives. But you have to get better Natsu. You just have to! Please don't make me break that promise. Just hold on!" Natsu's eyes closed, but he was still smiling. His voice was quiet now, quieter than Lucy had ever heard it. "Yeah, sounds like fun Lucy. Let's go on more adventures..." Natsu trailed off, and Lucy felt her heart stop. "Natsu? Natsu?! Please Natsu, wake up!"

Tears streamed down Lucy's cheeks, but she wouldn't give up. His breathing was slow, as was his heartbeat, but it was there. He was still breathing and his heart was still beating. And that was enough for Lucy. She heard Loke yell from behind her, and felt his gate close. But she wouldn't leave Natsu. If she left, he would bleed to death before Lucy got back. So she stayed focused on Natsu, even as she felt the footsteps of the dark guild leader approach her from behind. He had long since abandoned his sword and started punching Lucy from behind. But Lucy wouldn't let go of Natsu. She would never just let him die. Then, just as darkness started to invade her vision, she heard someone call, "Natsu! Lucy!" She felt a blast of cold behind her, and when she looked, the leader was now completely encased in a blast of ice. She looked at the tree line and saw Gray, Erza and Wendy running toward them. Good. Wendy is here. She will help Natsu. With that last thought, the darkness completely took over Lucy's vision.

When Gray, Erza and Wendy finally got to the two unconscious wizards, they were horrified to see the condition of their friends. Wendy got right to work, healing Natsu as best she could. She was able to stabilize him, but he remained unconscious. Lucy was healed when Wendy recovered, and woke up pretty quickly. Now, Lucy sat by Natsu's bedside in the guild's infirmary. She wouldn't leave his side. She wanted to be here when he woke up. She had started passing the time by reading that old book to him. It seemed silly, but she had always read to her mom when she was sick, and it just seemed right to read to him now. She was about half way through the book, and she had arrived at that scene. Where the hero is cornered and says that line. That line Natsu had said while he lay bleeding in front of her. She instantly started to cry, remembering that horrible day. She hung her head and silently cried. But then she heard a quiet, raspy voice. "Why did you stop reading Lucy?" She whipped her head up and stared into the now open eyes of Natsu Dragneel. "Why did you stop? You were just getting to a good part, and I want to know what happens next. And maybe after you finish the book, we can go on those adventures you promised me?" Lucy smiled, tears of happiness now running down her face. "Yeah. Lets go on an adventure!"

[voiceless-terror]

all those sleep prompts are so killer and such big jon vibes!!! i would love to read anything on "- a character who refuses to share a sleeping space with anyone else, and it’s because he doesn’t want to disturb others/doesn’t want pity/is ashamed of his nightmares" with jon. bonus points if tim is involved and extra bonus points if tim also has experience with insomnia/nightmares, either himself or used to taking care of someone in his life with those issues...

Hey there! Here I am, finally writing the promised Jon/Tim that I should have written ages ago. Feels good to be on this train! I’ve placed this in pre-canon, when Jon and Tim are researchers and have just started dating. Hope you like!

“That was...really nice, Tim. Thank you.”

“Thank you? Jon, we split the check,” Tim throws an arm around his shoulder and it’s heavy and warm in all the right ways. “You know my policy on that. The person who asks you out pays the bill! Ergo, me.”

“I know, I know,” Jon relents under the pressure and burrows into Tim’s side. The wine’s gone to his head, he’s sure of it. Shouldn’t have had those three glasses. But the waiter was so attentive and Tim’s smile was infectious so he couldn’t help but say yes, of course, thank you, to every pour. “I just...I really enjoyed myself, is all.”

“I did too,” Tim’s voice goes to that soft, fond register he’s only just started using with Jon. Before it had been all gregarious charm, winks and nudges that he used interchangeably with friends and acquaintances alike. When Tim first asked him out, Jon thought he was joking; he rolled his eyes and went back to work, ignoring Tim’s look of hurt. Jon was used to practical jokes of this nature- he’s not exactly an attractive prospective partner, and several people have implied he was more trouble than he was worth. But a week later, on their usual coffee run, Tim offered to buy him dinner, his voice serious and shy and utterly unlike him. The look in his eyes was genuine and Jon had to say yes; who could refuse him, in the face of such sincerity?

It’s been a month and they’ve fallen into a sort of routine. Every week is a new spot- Tim’s a bit of a foodie, and he overheard him making a list of places with Sasha. It took up an entire page in his notebook, and Jon wonders if Tim will get sick of him before they finish it.

He stumbles on the sidewalk and Tim catches him with a steady hand on his waist. The cold air should be bracing but it is not; his dizziness increases two times over and it’s a long journey home. Tim knows this, which must lead to his next suggestion.

“You can spend the night at mine,” he says, voice purposefully light. Jon freezes. They hadn’t broached the topic yet, but he thinks Tim has some sort of idea. Rumors abound in research, after all. Tim must notice his nervousness because he stops walking, turning to face Jon with that same unbearable sincerity. 

“Nothing untoward, I promise,” Tim says, and Jon believes him. Tim hasn’t lied to him yet. “I just don’t feel comfortable putting you on the tube, and you’re a long way from home while I’m right around the corner.” Jon still doesn’t respond, so Tim continues. “No pressure, honestly. I could call you a cab, it’s not a big deal-”

“No, that’s-that’s too expensive.” Living in London is hard enough, especially on a researcher’s salary. But to spend the night at Tim’s, as innocent as it may be, fills him with dread. There’s a reason he lives alone. There’s a reason it took him almost a year before he stayed the night at Georgie’s.

Sleep has never been kind to him.

Jon has nightmares. Terrible, horrifying visions of make-believe that leave him screaming and crying and choking on his breath. Georgie had been about ready to call an ambulance the first time she witnessed it, but Jon was able to talk her down.

“These happen every night?” she’d asked, her face a mix of pity and concern. 

“Not every night,” he insisted. It was true. If he stayed up late, working himself to exhaustion, he could usually manage a dreamless sleep of at least five hours. But that came with its own difficulties; crankiness, irritability. It put a strain on most of his relationships. 

Tim, though- Tim is kind and understanding. Beneath the mask of sociability and flirtation lies a serious, determined person. Compassionate, loving, but in a quiet way and with small gestures. He makes lists. He puts in time. He asks Jon what he wants when they go out to eat and he doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes when Jon carries on for too long. 

“We can go to your place,” he whispers. “I-I think I’d like that.” Tim smiles and hooks an arm through his and Jon knows he’s made the right decision. Maybe tonight will be different. Maybe the wine will dull the terror that rules most of his life. The night is dark and Jon’s flat is cold and lonely. 

Tim’s flat, on the other hand, is warm and cozy. It’s neat and organized, but cluttered enough to give it personality and charm. There’s a couch calling his name and he answers it, practically collapsing in the cushions as Tim lets out a little laugh.

“No going to sleep yet,” he instructs and Jon can’t help but let out a groan. The warmth and safety of the spot and the closeness of Tim has suddenly made him comfortably tired, and he’d like to slip off to sleep in this pleasant haze. “Not until you’ve had some food and water. I’ve even got those crusty little granola bars you like so much.”

“They’re not crusty,” he grumbles, his voice stifled by a pillow. But he’s not in a fighting mood and his mind’s currently swimming with the fact that Tim stocked his favorite snack. 

“Very crusty, indeed,” Tim’s nudging him up into a sitting position and forcing water into his hands. “Drink up!”

“You’re very irritating, I hope you know,” Jon says as he leans his head onto Tim’s shoulder. Tim makes for a comfortable pillow. 

“Aw, you love it.” 

Maybe he does.

By the time he’s choked down the last of the bar, his eyes are fluttering and he can’t keep in his yawns. Tim puts a warm hand on his arm and it burns pleasantly as he pulls him up. “Time for bed, I think.”

The words startle Jon out of his haze and he blinks his eyes open, focusing on Tim’s gentle smile. “Er, I think-” he doesn’t want to disappoint the man, but he would rather be as cautious as possible. “I think it would be best if I slept out here.”

“On the couch?” Tim asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Oh- would you rather sleep alone?” Tim doesn’t seem too miffed about it, just confused, so Jon answers as honestly as he can.

“Yes.” He doesn’t want to, not really. But he needs to.

“Alright,” Tim agrees easily enough. “But you should take the bed, then. The sofa’s comfy but I know you have a bad back-”

“It’s fine for one night,” Jon responds. Forcing Tim to sleep on the sofa in his own flat seems terribly selfish.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am,” Jon assures, trying to convey his affection in a gentle smile. Tim returns it.

“I’ll just get you some sheets, then. Change of clothes, too.”

By the time Jon’s head hits the pillow, comfortably attired in Tim’s old joggers and t-shirt, he’s already half asleep. He thinks Tim’s already left the room but then he feels the warm pressure of a kiss to his forehead.

Perhaps he dreamed that, though.

__________

There’s a thread and it’s pulling Jon forward.

It’s not comfortable. Jon would rather stay here, in the library, surrounded by books and dim lights and knowledge he has control over. But there are whispers in the hallway, and someone’s telling him to go, go, go. 

And go he does. Down stairs, so many stairs, more stairs than the institute ought to have. There is something watching and something pulling; Jon is being split in two and somehow this is worse than actually seeing the spiders and the eyes that have haunted him all these years. This, he feels in his soul. Something is at stake.

There’s a door. This is how it always ends, you see- with a door. And Jon’s fist, small and childish and grubby, raises to knock against the wood. It echoes too many times as Jon tries to step back, get off this porch and out of this nightmare but it is too late, the deed is done and the door is opening and a single, spindly black leg creeps out of the door hello, Mr. Spider-

“Jon!”

There are limbs holding him but it’s not the many-legged creature of his nightmares- they’re familiar and strong even as he thrashes against them but someone is screaming and the sound is haunting and painful-

And it’s him. Jon wrenches his eyes open to find himself safe and sound, held in place by Tim’s arms. His heart continues to stutter and he wheezes- Tim’s got a hand on his back and a soothing murmur going.

“You’ve got to breathe, Jon. Slow.” Tim takes his shaking hand and puts it to his own chest. “Like this. In and out. There you go. Nice and slow.” The words are calm and practiced; Tim’s done this before, with someone else. As his heartbeat resumes a normal rhythm, he wonders who. 

There’s a hand on Jon’s face, gently wiping away tears he wasn’t aware he shed. Tim’s eyes are far-away, sort of, like he’s just going through the motions, slow and loving. “There we are,” he says as he finally meets Jon’s eyes. “Better now?”

“Y-Yes,” he croaks back. His hand is still gripping at Tim’s shirt but he doesn’t let go until the reality of the situation sets in. “Oh God- I’m- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“Is that why you slept out here?” Tim asks, his voice patient. “Does this happen a lot?”

“M-More than I care to admit.” Jon feels a sudden need to explain himself, to let Tim know he tries to keep it under control as best he can. “I’ve tried everything- tea, therapy, p-pills- it doesn’t work.” A note of frustration creeps into his voice. “Something doesn’t want me to sleep, I guess.”

“Just thought you were a workaholic, to be honest,” Tim pulls him into his side and Jon melts, the tension slowly leaving his body. “Should’ve known better. We work at the Magnus Institute, after all.” The laugh that comes from both of them is bitter. “D’you want to sleep in my bed, maybe? Just- just for company. I’ve been told that helps.”

“I-I don’t want to wake you.” The argument is weak and the both of them know it.

“You already have, love.” The endearment slips out unnoticed by Tim, but Jon hears it. “You’ll wake me either way, but I’d rather you didn’t wake up alone.”

“O-Oh.” There’s a lot of care in those words. Jon doesn’t know what to do with it, except agree. “Yes, I’ll- if, if you don’t mind-”

“Wouldn’t offer if I did.” He wouldn’t, Jon knows. Tim always means what he says when it comes to him.

So they curl up in his bed, an arm slung across Jon’s waist, his back to Tim’s chest. There are no spiders here, not in this bed that smells of dryer sheets and detergent and Tim. He’s almost asleep when the arm around his waist tightens suddenly.

“My brother always said the pressure helped. When he had bad dreams.” Jon opens his eyes.

Tim never mentioned a brother; it never came up in any of their conversations. Tim knows Jon is an only child, that he was brought up by his grandmother and had a lonely childhood. He didn’t realize, in all of their time together, that he knew so little of Tim’s own background, besides his publishing career.

Nobody liked to talk about what brought them to the Magnus Institute. It was like some unspoken rule, some shared trauma that somehow kept them all silent and apart.

“Your brother?” he whispers, turning over to see Tim’s face. Its dark, but he thinks he can see a brightness in Tim’s eyes like unshed tears. 

“Danny.” Tim says the name like he’s asking for forgiveness that Jon can’t give. He sees a tear drip down the man’s face and he reaches for it, just like Tim did before. “He was...he was my little brother. And he was so, so good.” Tim’s voice breaks and something in Jon breaks too. “And something took him from me.” His expression is hard but his hand reaches out to lovingly trace Jon’s face, as if trying to memorize its shape.

“I’m sorry,” Jon knows his apology is not enough, that it will never fill the gap in Tim’s heart. Instead, he finds words spilling from his lips, as if sharing his own pain will help too. “I-I saw someone get taken, once. I didn’t- I didn’t love them, but- but it was because of me.” Tim’s hand is in his hair, tucking a curl behind his ear as his voice wobbles. “It should’ve been me.” 

Tim draws him close and squeezes; Jon buries his face in the crook of his neck and inhales. “I’m glad it wasn’t you, Jon,” Tim whispers as he runs a hand down his back. “I’m glad it wasn’t you.” Jon isn’t Danny and Tim isn’t offering him absolution but it’s fine, for tonight.

Jon doesn’t dream.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27494077

[satansbooks]

Obey Me Headcanons

Reader is gn also winchester.

warnings: swear words. I don't know what to put in this. it's my first time actually so definitely be prepared of messy writing and some grammar mistakes?

a/n: hey! I hope you like it since I started watching supernatural again. I thought why don't I give it a try. I didn't add belphegor since this headcanon/fic takes a place in the first month of the whole exchange program. ✨here you are✨

word count: 1,7k

summary: reader is the youngest sibling of winchesters, end up in devildom.

okay so, you and your brothers were after a stupid shapeshifter for two weeks now and let me tell you that, being in a same car with your annoying brothers for two weeks without getting any rest to deal with them was sucked.

this shapeshifter (you guys were guessing he was an alpha since he was fast and wasn't struggling with shifting.) was homicidal maniac to be honest. he killed more than thirty children in a two weeks row and they were so random. like he was killing for fun. there were not any pattern or connection between them.

town to town, city to city. you and your brothers chased him non stoppingly. your body was craving for some bed to sleep on. or a pillow. or anything that is soft and resting. these leather seats were hella uncomfortable.

and still, still you had a very little information about him. he was leaving lots of trace for you to find him. he seemed like he was enjoying your little chasing game. well that makes one. because you were this close to lose your shit.

you were watching stars from your side of the car window while driving (the road was soo empty. you were sure you could drive with your eyes closed). your older brothers music was keeping you company on a low sound level to not to wake them up. normally Dean wouldn't trust you with his car but he was tired. after all he was driving for two weeks with a very little rest. he needed some sleep. at least more than six hours. and Sam, well he just likes sleeping and napping.

so when your vision blurred suddenly you act quick to pull over. without any second you found yourself in a room. it was like a court room with eight chairs. different animal shadows was painted on the walls behind the court chairs. dark decorations and purple&black flags all over the place. only some candles were lighting the whole room.

spooky?

later you found out you were in devildom as an exchange student for a whole year just because some fancy underground elite wanna show off to three realm that he's the one and only king that can bring peace and serenity. you were his little experiment.

anyone could tell you were beyond being angry. you were frustrated. and nothing, nothing you do could change that.

or you thought...

he knew keeping you under his control would be hard so he decided to do what he can do best.

dealing.

if you could stay here without giving him or the house of lamentation any trouble for a month, he was going to release you. but he was sure you would want to stay here after you spent a month. (he knew thanks to barbatos..)

you didn't say anything to him. you knew your brothers would come to get you before that. even if it means they have to destroy whole "devildom". you were sure. also you didn't have anything to use against these demons except your tattoo (which would only work if one of them wanna take over your body.) so the best option was keeping your mouth shut and agreeing with them. you just had to wait for a month.

first night was hard.

not that it got any easier for some time.

you couldn't sleep but who could have blame you. you were in hell. it doesn't matter which fancy name they were calling it. it was hell. the sulphuric smell was unbearable and of course you only had silver knives with you (you were carrying them in your shoe. they were kinda small but since a lot of creatures has a weak spot for silver the size didn't matter. you wished it could harm demons too) so you were unarmed.

they seemed nice tho. they were kind to you (most of the time) especially Beelzebub. so you thought to give them a shot. what could have happen worst?

Lucifer realized the runes you used to seal your room when he was bringing some paper work to your room about exchange program.

these kind of runes were useless here. but he didn't want to say anything to you, clearly you needed them.

Mammon was your 'first' guy. he was with you on your way to RAD and also in your classes. (Lucifer made sure that you two have the same class schedule) eventually you started talking with him because it was impossible not to. he was charming, talkative and funny. you would be lying if you said you wouldn't enjoying his company during your time with him. (especially after the whole pact thing. it only brought you two closer.)

you were quick to remove all runes in your room after that.  because you and mammon started watching movies together. sometimes Beel and Levi would join you.

and when you were not, you were with Asmodeus.

your father was trying to keep a balance between his kids and his hunting business, most of the time you were with your brothers. they were pretty protective over their younger sibling. that actually explained why you didn't have any friends.

so when asmodeus asked you to come shopping with him you were slightly shocked?

yeah, of course you and your brothers went to shopping but it was because of some necessity not for fun or spending your time.

but your nervousness passed quickly around him. he was lovely, and so very kind. you actually liked how straightforward he was. and this little "shopping sprees" turn into your things.

your first and genuine interactions with all of the brothers were on a dinner.

they were trying to scare mammon by using the so told "ghosts" in their house. they were just joking around but even the thought of them made the second eldest shudder.

you didn't say anything because you were enjoying your well-cooked meal which was from human realm (they decided to put some human world food in their menu in order to make you feel more comfortable)

"there's no such a thing as ghosts!"

Mammon said without waiting more. you could sense the anger mixing with fear in his voice. then you feel a sudden urge to laugh.

"oi, what are ya laughing at human!"

"of course there is Mammon. they're pretty common. I'm sure there is one in this house."

you couldn't stop your laughter. there wasn't anything funny about it actually but come to think of it, he was one of the most powerful demon in three realms and scared of low level creatures like ghosts?

brothers always forgot they actually have a hunter in their houses---

they all asked tons of questions about ghosts and other stuffs you've been hunting.

satan was the most curious one about this topic. he asked you many questions about them after dinner. of course he read all about them but it was just basic informations to be honest. (and they all sounded like a fairytale tbh)

please don't be surprised when he actually arranges some kind of hunting trip with you to examine them closely. lucifer didn't know about that.

but figured it out when two of you showed up to RAD very late, smelling like rock salt and fuel.

you gave him one of your notebooks (you started to take notes about the creatures you're hunting with your brothers just like your father did. you already had four notebooks for now. it was like diary.) to study. he appreciates it. :''

okay here's another thing, your older brothers appetite was something you've never seen before. or you thought before meeting with Beelzebub.

when you met Beelzebub for the first time you didn't mind his eagerness to eat that much. (Dean was your family's Beelzebub lol.) obviously you couldn't eat as much as he does but your company kept him happy.

he was giving you big-bear-hugs whenever you talk about your brothers or how bad you missed them. (he feels you :'))

you two started to go diners or whatever they were calling it so often. he was kind and thoughtful. even invited you to join him for workouts. (since you're not going hunting trips anymore, you decided to join him on gym to keep yourself and your form steady.)

after gym you usually would watch a show called "I'm an unstoppable powerful wizard but still don't know how to fall in love with someone so I'm hunting other creature's to forget about my massive heart-break but it's not really a heart-break." which was a good show to be honest.

thats how you got close with Levi. he already was impressed your skills as a hunter ('they're like, out of an anime!' he thought) so he invited you for long gaming sessions in his room. since you were always in a car. it was difficult first. but you got used to it. (he was good at teaching)

you spent tons of sleepless night with him: watching movies and animes, playing games, reading and re-acting manga scenes.

the most challenging demon to communicate was lucifer. he already met your brothers. and he didn't like them. he had a strong prejudice about you. he thought you were just like your brothers.

but after some time, when you started to get more comfortable around other brothers it also effected your relationship with the eldest.

and it all started with a dumb question.

he was doing some paperwork for lord diavolo with you about the exchange program. when you sighed for the millionth time in an hour. he had no choice but ask what was the problem.

"can you look into my eyes and ask me what do I truly desire?"

he was confused?

"I mean there's a Lucifer in human world who can bring people's darkest desires. so I was wondering if you could do the same."

now he was more confused.

there was a Lucifer in human realm? and what was his ability again?

when you try to explain him and failed over and over again you decided to show him.

and you two started to watch Lucifer.

he actually enjoyed spending some alone time with you.

after a month, your brothers never showed up. you didn't want them to. Lucifer said he taken care of them. and he promised that he didn't hurt them.

even if you missed your brothers too much. you knew one year wouldn't hurt anyone.

after all maybe that 'underground elite' was right. he was the one and only who could bring peace and serenity over the three realms...

and you were very thankful to him.

[exquisitley-obsessed]

Fiancés, Firebirds, Foxes and Fawns: 6

Author: @exquisitley-obsessed

Summary: A few weeks after Briallyn’s attempt at uniting with Koschei, Lucien opens the door of Lockhart Manor to find Elain, cold from the rain and holding a note from the High Lady of the Night Court demanding her to assist Lucien in building alliances with the human councils. Forced to work together by their exhausted High Lord and Lady, Elain is able to convince anyone to do anything, while Lucien has the acquaintances to go anywhere he likes. Together, they attempt to unite the fae and mortal lands and unravel the deal made between Koschei and Vassa, while Lucien remains haunted by his own promise to Elain’s father. ELUCIEN, POST-ACOSF

Pairings: Elain x Lucien, Elucien

Warnings: None.

A/N: I’ve added a tag list for those who wish to stay updated with this story! Just message me if you wish to be added <3

MY MASTERLIST

THIS FIC’S MASTERLIST

AO3

Chapter Six: Moonlight Meetings

The contracts were beginning to make sense. Turns out, there weren’t nearly as many for Elain to sort through as she first expected. It seemed that the Band of Exiles had had a pretty stagnant first year whilst staying in the mortal lands, with their biggest success lying in the Declaration of Peace Between Fae and Mortal Realms achieved on the anniversary of the Hybern War.

Elain had gone through each contract and made a note of it in her own diary: the contract between the Spring Court and the human lands to organise trade routes in the future, the agreement of a ceasefire on trespassing fae in favour of imprisonment, etc. There had even been copies of contracts between other humans that had most likely occurred at these weekly meetings: such as the Nolan’s agreeing to 100 shipments of Ashwood Weaponry per month to the Darlingtons, and the reinforcement of internal borders.

Elain had sat with Nuala and a few pots of tea in the library, and by the time she stretched her legs to take a turn around the room, the sun was plummeting towards the horizon. She liked it. She liked the feeling of her hand aching from her meticulous note-taking, she liked that the pages of her new notebook (a gift from Rhysand) had slowly began to fill up, she liked that she now had detailed questions to ask Jurian, Vassa and maybe even Lucien.

If anything, she liked that tonight she would sleep, her eyes tired from reading by the candlelight and her brain fizzing with the numbers of stock, armies and debt.

The library was at the back of the house, with delicate yet large glass windows that looked out onto the Manor’s Garden. So far, Elain had avoided the grounds, mostly because one look of the greenery told her that there was nothing for her to do. Whoever tended to these gardens had a similar mind to hers, it was wild and restless. A garden belonging to a true cottage, her father would say.

“Lord Lucien is home,” Nuala’s velvet voice swam into the air as she spoke without looking up from her book. The shadow wraith’s always had been Elain’s closest friends, and she liked the side she got to see of them, the one she was sure no other had yet had the privilege.

“Oh…good,” Elain said non-committedly, forcing her eyes back to her notes which she’d already preened to perfection. Sighing, Elain looked over her and Nuala’s make-shift joint desk, and without thinking, she reached for a local map.

It was strange, to look over a map of lands which felt both so familiar and so foreign. With her finger, Elain could trace the path from her first childhood home, the Manor down by the lake, up and up to their runt of a cottage so close to the border, and then a little east to their other home. Elain’s hand recoiled from the paper. That home was cursed. That was the home from which she had been stolen from.

“Do you miss it, being human?” Nuala asked. Elain peered at her. She’d always found the term ‘lesser fae’ to be entirely unbefitting. Nuala was perhaps the most gorgeous person she’d ever seen; her skin was a deep grey and her hair a shifting black in which shadows seemed to fall in whisps as it moved. Her eyes were uncannily wide, and her irises were of purest black and filled her entire lids.

“I don’t think so,” Elain answered softly, her finger running back to that first home. The home in which her parents were alive and well. “But I avoided coming here for a long while because of that reason.”

“You wanted to go back?” Elain nodded, a small shift of her head.

“Becoming fae didn’t make sense to me for a long time. I didn’t understand how to be fae, despite the body. When I looked around all I could see were my sister’s, who fit in so well at the Night Court and I just…didn’t.” Elain looked at her friend. “I feel terrible about it. About how I tried to come back to Graysen. It was the first time in my life I’d made a stand and it was for something so, hollow.”

“You’re not a terrible person for feeling as though you don’t belong, and wishing that you did.” Nuala tilted her head, her pin straight hair falling with a trained precision across her bare shoulder.

“No, but I feel terrible because…I still feel that way, to some extent.” Elain sighed, tucking up her legs on the chair and leaning her head back.

“I got into a fight with Jurian today – I slapped him -” Elain peeked a look at Nuala and was pleased to see her mouth slightly ajar and her eyes bright with amusement. “I know. But what he said was true, and I can’t stop thinking about it. He saw me during the war and saw how I was so desperate to be human again, and he thinks I’m here for that reason-” Nuala opened her mouth to protest, “I know, it’s stupid, but…what if I am here for that reason, and I just don’t realise it yet? Because Nuala, if I am, I can’t – I can’t forgive myself for that, I can’t do that to-”

Elain cut herself off by biting her tongue. She’d only spent a day and a night in Lockhart Manor, but Elain was sure she could feel the bond. Often she didn’t, then every couple of months, something would happen, she would feel some emotion that wasn’t hers or have dreams of places she’d never been to, and she’d just know that it was him. But being here, actually being around him, she felt herself turning towards him the way flowers turn to the sun.

“I don’t think it’s strange, if you feel you do not belong in the Night Court, to want to belong somewhere else,” Nuala spoke carefully, slowly, as though every word carried weight, “But just because you feel you do not belong in the Night Court, does not mean your only other option is the human lands.”

“What? I might belong somewhere else in Prythian?” Nuala stretched and leaned back in her own chair.

“Prythian is a large place, and you have an eternity ahead of you. You do not need to rush in finding somewhere you can settle, travel around for a bit, see the world. There is not the same pressure for you to be a wife as you had when you were human, maybe you could try just being Elain for a while?” Nuala yawned after she spoke, a sign that she was well and truly relaxed. Elain just hummed, her mind whirring as she looked back at the map, her finger drifting back to that last home, the one she had been ripped from.

Just then Elain noticed how the sun and well and truly dipped behind the horizon, casting the world in shadow. The night sky looked unbearably dull compared to the thriving chaos of the Night Court’s evenings, but there was something familiar in the mundanity, something that allowed Elain to be the magical thing in the world, not the other way around.

“Vassa and Jurian are preparing to leave,” Nuala said without opening her eyes.

“Ugh, teach me your ways.” Elain joked, and a sly smile pulled at the shadow wraith’s lips.

“No, because then you won’t need me, and I won’t get to come with you to see the world.” Elain paused, and looked at her friend.

“You’d come with me?” It was now Nuala’s turn to peer at her.

“Of course, don’t tell the High Lord but, since being Under the Mountain, I’ve rather missed the world, and I’d very much like to see it.”

“I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like,” Elain shivered. She’d never bene able to truly comprehend what had occurred in those 50 years. The idea of her friend being subject to such atrocities for a time longer than she had been alive, it was unfathomable.

“I remember your mate being there,” Nuala said, tentatively. Every muscle in Elain’s body went rigid. She’d assumed, somewhere along the line, that Lucien must’ve been there with Tamlin when they’d been taken, but Feyre had never confirmed, she’d been surprisingly elusive of the specifics of what had occurred. She couldn’t think about it. Because the instant she considered the torture Lucien must’ve faced, she began to feel herself lose control.

“Speaking of your mate,” Nuala murmured, and Elain didn’t miss the slightly pleased look in her friend’s eye at having gotten a reaction out of her.

Just then a knock came from the door casing Elain to turn in her chair sharply, by the time she turned back, Nuala had already disappeared into the shadows.

“No, but thanks for the offer,” Lucien ground out through his teeth. Waiting on the cartographer had taken all day and it turns out the maps he wanted hadn’t even been done correctly. It had been so much of a waste, that some part of Lucien was grateful he’d managed to send Elain home, he didn’t want her thinking that the extent of his life consisted of pathetically waiting on map-makers who can’t even make the right, damned map.

“No, but thanks for the offer,” Lucien ground out through his teeth. Waiting on the cartographer had taken all day and it turns out the maps he wanted hadn’t even been done correctly. It had been so much of a waste, that some part of Lucien was grateful he’d managed to send Elain home, he didn’t want her thinking that the extent of his life consisted of pathetically waiting on map-makers who can’t even make the right, damned map.

“No, but thanks for the offer,” Lucien ground out through his teeth. Waiting on the cartographer had taken all day and it turns out the maps he wanted hadn’t even been done correctly. It had been so much of a waste, that some part of Lucien was grateful he’d managed to send Elain home, he didn’t want her thinking that the extent of his life consisted of pathetically waiting on map-makers who can’t even make the right, damned map.

“Oh come on Luci, it’ll be fun,” Vassa goaded, looking a bit more like herself than she’d been the past few days. Her hair was iridescent, and her gown was of deepest emerald, with golden gemstones that matched the simple, modest tiara upon her head. Lucien snorted.

“Oh yeah…fun. Well you can have fun for me, but I’m not going.”

“You might as well go for the free whiskey. That’s the only reason I’m interested.” Jurian grinned, throwing a far too casual arm over the queen’s shoulders, who huffed a laugh and shook him off.

“No touching Jurian. This dress is worth more than your head.”

“Ooh – not sure about that love.” Jurian grinned back, and Lucien observed the way the two mental mortals bounced off each other.

“Ugh, I don’t know who I feel worse for, you or the Nolan’s.”

“Oh it’s not just the Nolan’s going,” Jurian grinned, “I have it on good authority that Delilah will be there too.”

“Oh, Delilah,” Vassa hummed, twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes.

“Shut up the both of you,” Lucien rolled his eyes.

“Well if it doesn’t work out with the mate, just know you have a small army of humans who wouldn’t mind a piece of you,” Jurian chortled.

“Men and women,” Vassa smiled at Jurian, “I heard that Lord Smith wouldn’t mind warming himself by the fireling.”

“Yeah, yeah, I trust you got her home safe then,” Lucien pointed at Jurian, hoping his easy smile covered the anxiety that had been growing over the day as he became convinced that something terrible had happened to Elain now that she’d been removed from sight.

“Oh, the Archeron is home safe alright,” Jurian said in a tone Lucien couldn’t quite read.

“Good…well then, you two bests be off,” Lucien turned back to the house. “Don’t stay out too late kids.”

“Alright dad,” Vassa scoffed.

“Oh and Luci,” Jurian was halfway down the garden path, “Don’t make us regret leaving you home alone with your mate!” He winked at him that time and then he and Vassa were two colourful blurs in the summer evening, their laughter making music with the chirping of cicadas.

Something cold ran the length of Lucien’s spine. He would be home, alone, with Elain, for an entire night.

Fuck.

***

“Come in?”

Elain already knew it was Lucien before his head of fiery hair, now unbound, peered at her from around the door.

“Good evening, Lady, um…may I come in?”

Elain looked at him over the papers she’d randomly grabbed and was now pretending to read. Nuala certainly could have given her a little more warning.

Lucien looked so shy, half standing behind the door, and Elain found all her anger at him having sent her home evaporating. He was just as confused as she was about this whole bond thing, it was something they’d have to figure out together.

Elain gave a small nod and Lucien seemed to let loose a long breath before he walked into the room, turning around to shut the door and then turning to face her. Lucien glowed in daylight, out there in the woods it looked at though the sun were always reaching for him, as though it, like so many others, adored him. But there was something so alluring about Lucien by candlelight. The shadows and the orange light that moved over him, he seemed darker somehow, more dangerous. More intoxicating.

Lucien cleared his throat, standing with his hands held behind his back, and Elain adverted her eyes.

“I’ve come to apologise, Lady.”

“Apologise?” Elain repeated numbly. She hadn’t been expecting this, to her knowledge, men didn’t apologise.

“For how I spoke to you, earlier today…” Lucien seemed to shift slightly, “It was entirely unreasonably for me to send you home when you wished the know the way. I got spooked with the trap and, and-”

“It’s fine. Thank you,” Elain smiled at him, setting the papers down and leaning forward in her chair. Lucien looked bemused.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I, uh…it’s not your fault I got upset, not really. I’m just quite on edge recently,” Elain began to fiddle with the threads of her dress.

“Is something wrong?” Pure concern laced Lucien’s voice as he strode a little further into the room.

“No, just…I think it’s just being around you…” Elain trailed off and Lucien’s eyes widened. Never before had she brought up the mating bond. Not with him.

“Oh, yes, it’s...uh, quite annoying isn’t it.” He grinned easily, and Elain felt something inside her relax.

“Not annoying just…things get to me easier.”

“Yes,” Lucien nodded, “When we’re close to each other the mating bond will be more…demanding. You’ll probably be more aware of it, as I am.”

“You…you feel like this, all the time?” Elain blinked at him, and Lucien shifted awkwardly, he did not want her to pity him.

“You get used to it after a while,” He grinned at her again. Elain quickly became lost in thought and Lucien could practically see her mind working, her eyes becoming distant. He took this moment to look her over, just checking for injuries, of course.

She’d changed her dress; the other one no doubt having being stained with grass and mud. It was a pale yellow, one that he found suited her hair greatly. Layers of skirts and a corset bodice, and with her hair pinned up and away from her face she looked every bit of the goddess he thought her of being.

It was then that his eye caught on the dainty necklace around her throat, a single pearl hanging at its end and…

Mother, that was a low neckline.

A low neckline for Elain of course. But still. The dress allowed him to see the beginning curve of her breasts where that single pearl lay, nestled-

Lucien snapped his eyes away and dug his hands into his pockets, digging his nails into his thighs.

He was sure that by now, Elain could read scents, and he really, really, didn’t want to make this more awkward than it was. Mother, he’d just been talking about how he’d become accustomed to controlling himself. But perhaps the beast within hadn’t been tamed, maybe it was just resting.

As though they’d been called by his arousal, the base mate desires sang through his blood. Touch, smell, taste…The last one was strangely powerful today, but maybe it was because the more time he became familiar with her scent, the more he could imagine what she tasted of. Sweet but in the way fruits are sweet, like his own personal nectar-

“Are you alright?” Elain’s soft voice sung into the air and Lucien realised that he was digging so hard into his thigh that tears had sprung up into his eyes.

“Yes, sorry,” He sniffed before huffing a laugh, “I’m just tired is all.”

“Of…” Elain prompted softly, and for a moment their eyes met and something enigmatic passed between them. “I um,” Elain sprang from her chair and began to gesture, unable to meet his eye. “I was about to go to the kitchen and steal a pot of tea and sit if the garden if you wished to, if you wished to-”

“Yes,” Lucien blinked, and Elain nodded furiously before meeting his eye and giving him a shy smile.

“Lead the way,” Elain said softly, and Lucien felt his heart skip a beat, and from the way Elain’s smile grew, he knew she’d heard it too.

***

Since it was well into the night, Elain and Lucien had to make the tea themselves, Lucien trying not to puff his chest too much when Elain gasped at how he heated the kettle with his fingers.

“It’s about as useful as it gets I’m afraid,” he grinned at her as steam started to pour from the spout.

“Well, being a seer seems far more pointless.” God she looked good in the moonlight.

“I wouldn’t say that…” It seemed that that part of Lucien would always protest at Elain being insulted, even if it were her dishing out the affront. “You knew to find Vassa, your visions before the war were invaluable, we most likely would’ve lost without them.”

Elain poured the tea, her brows furrowed in thought. If they were truly mated, if the union had been accepted, Lucien realised that this was a moment where he’d be able to reach for that bond and feel what she was feeling. He could understand, in a millisecond, what was going on behind those honeyed eyes.

Elain moved to the kitchen’s backdoor, which looked out onto the path leading down to the road which led to town, arching through the gardens. To his surprise she settled in the doorway, tucking her skirts so that they spilled out onto the gravel path.

“What is it?” Lucien prodded, as he settled down next to her, making sure that he was leaning against the left doorframe and that no part of his body was touching hers.

“Compared to the likes of Feyre and Nesta,” Elain began in a dreamy voice, “My powers are pointless; you can’t deny it.”

Lucien didn’t know what to say to that. It was all kinds of wrong. As he thought about how to exactly tell Elain she was quite insane for thinking such a way, he looked out on the moonlit gardens. The sky here was duller than the Night Court, but there was something peaceful in these lands, something innocent. A warm breeze caressed his face, and just as he was about to speak, Elain beat him to it.

“I should’ve been there, tonight, Feyre and Nesta would’ve gone.” Lucien’s hand paused as it carried his tea to his lips. Fury jolted through him.

“I don’t know about that,” Lucien proceeded in sipping his tea, trying to cool the flames within.

“If Feyre could handle seeing Tamlin, then I could’ve handled tonight,” Elain said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Lucien considered what she had said, trying to slow his heartbeat as he thought, especially now that he knew she could hear it.

“Are you so desperate to be like your sisters?” Elain cocked her head at the garden.

“Of course…they’re brave and I…I don’t know, how could I not?” Elain appeared as genuinely confused, and something inside Lucien’s chest ached.

“No offence,” he flashed her an easy grin, one that seemed to tell her that everything was going to be okay, “But I don’t think the world would recover from having another Feyre…and especially not another Nesta.”

“You know what I mean…” Elain huffed, bumping into his shoulder slightly as she flashed him a shy smile, one that made him feel like glowing. “They would’ve gone tonight. They would’ve marched into that manor and sat down in the Nolan’s chair and if Gray so much as looked at them wrong they would’ve burned the house to ashes.”

Lucien ignored Elain’s nickname for her ex-fiancé, and took a moment to cool the raging part of him that sought to seek out the boy and erase him from history. Elain was poking fun at her ex-lover, she was wrinkling her nose and shaking her head, it was obvious she wanted nothing to do with him. And yet that nickname stood like an island in the stormy ocean, a reminder that at that moment, some unevolved, bastard, human fae-hunter had a firmer place in her heart than he.

“What the hell is the Nolan’s chair?” Lucien asked after a moment, batting the vitriol from his mind.

“Oh,” Elain’s eyes lit up, “It’s some stupid, big Ashwood throne which they have in this weird trophy room, apparently it’s been passed down through generations of fae-hunters. I couldn’t touch it of course because I hadn’t been initiated into the family and that would be sacrilegious or something.” Lucien tipped his head back and huffed a laugh, and Elain felt something inside her sing to answer. She’d noticed Lucien’s beauty more this past day, but that moment right there, had been the loveliest he’d ever been. His eyes shut, his grin wide. He seemed happy. It was beautiful.

“Oh Gods, let me guess, they have it behind some sort of curtain and they do a grand reveal whenever guests come for tea?” Elain blinked at him with those brown saucers.

“Have you visited?!” Both of them titled back and let out genuine laughs, no one to interrupt them but a warm breeze making the plants rustle.

“You know, it’s funny,” Elain sighed, curling her arms around her knees and looking out on the moon-lit shrubbery, “When you stop loving someone, it’s almost like you see them for the first time.” Lucien shifted awkwardly, trying to ease the itching across his skin. He’d never talked so much about the boy before, and it was making his powers sing.

“And what do you see now?”

“I…I can’t say a bad word against him. I don’t know why. I think even if he were standing in front of me right now I would just politely ask him to leave.”

“I think that says more about your character than his.” How could the Cauldron have thought him worthy of this female? In the face of her abuser, she chose pacifism.

“It’s strange because now I guess I see him how everyone else has always seen him. But when I was human…” Elain’s speech faltered and she flashed her eyes to him, “I’m sorry you probably don’t want to hear about this.” Lucien took a deep breath before setting his cup down.

“Elain I…I want to be your friend, and I want to know everything about you. If that includes your weasel of an ex, so be it.”

“Be nice,” Elain half-told him off with a laugh as she reached out and shoved his shoulder. Lucien saw stars.

“When you were human…” Lucien found his voice after a second, and prompted Elain along. She curled her arm back around her knees and her eyes drifted off to some far off place.

“I…I just wanted to be loved, so badly. I wanted a fairy-tale romance and, I don’t know, someone who would want me, you know that kind of romance you only read about in novels where the guy walks into a room and only sees her.” Elain huffed a laugh and Lucien bit his tongue. “I just assumed that it would never happen, not with us falling into poverty, but then, we weren’t in poverty anymore, and Nesta and I were back looking for husbands. Graysen isn’t…special…I know. But I never wanted special, and for a girl who had grown up believing she’d have nothing, what he gave me seemed like the whole world. Things like sneaking out to meet him without a chaperone, or, or, sneaking away from family dinner’s to hide in the gardens. It…it felt like falling in love…”

“When you having nothing,” Lucien began tentatively, “And someone shows you an inch of kindness…well, that becomes invaluable.” Elain hummed softly in agreement.

“I didn’t want much – I’ve never wanted much - but that’s because it always seemed greedy. I just wanted my own garden, and then Graysen promised me 12 acres of land, and he did seem to care for me. Well…at one point he seemed to care.” Elain shivered, and that age-old anger flashed in his eye. He didn’t know what Graysen had said to Elain when she’d come to the Noland Manor during the war, but by the way the entire Inner Circle seemed one bad day away from cleaving the boy’s balls from his body, he got the idea.

“Now that I can see him clearly, and I can see all the terrible things he did and said, to me and…and about me…” Elain turned to look at Lucien and found him already looking at her, his expression soft, but something made of steel in his eyes, “It’s easy to not love someone when you don’t like them, but I am afraid.”

“Of…” Lucien said gently, his voice as soft as the wind in the leaves.

“How can I…” she was looking at him directly now, “How can I do it again,” she whispered in a voice that reminded him of a petal. “I was so blinded by love; how can I trust myself? You know, sometimes it feels like I’ve felt enough heartbreak to fill several lifetimes.”

Lucien surprised himself by huffing a soft laugh.

“I know how you feel. But that’s the thing about being immortal. They say time heals all wounds, and it does. But most of us, and I suppose particularly humans, don’t get the chance to wait out our pain. But being fae, well, you’re convinced you’ll never get over it until one day you wake up and, you just are.”

Elain had never heard him speak for so long before, and she realised she could’ve sat here and listened to him talk all night. There was an aged wisdom behind his words, like a promise that everything was going to be alright. A small silence settled on the two as they both looked up at the moon, glowing like an eye of the Mother, winking with contentment.

“Graysen is a bastard isn’t he.” Lucien laughed, loud and brashly, and even though it was nearly midnight, Elain was sure he’d momentarily lit up the world.

“No comment,” Lucien held his palms up to face her to show his pacifism.

“Oh come on, you must not like him if you’re sitting here with me rather out there at the Nolan’s sipping, oh, coffee liquors.” Lucien wrinkled his nose.

“Gods, they sound awful.”

“Oh. They are,” Elain moaned with a smile. Then she peered at him again, “You’ve really never been.” Lucien shifted slightly, sitting a little straighter.

“Yes I, uh, I hope that wasn’t an intrusion or-”

“No, no!” Elain rushed, before sighing heavily as she bit her lip in thought. Lucien’s eyes, one metal one fae, roved over her. Oh how he wished to know her thoughts.

Then, Elain was reaching out for him, putting her small hand on his shoulder and looking up at him with those dark, sultry eyes.

“Thank you…for having my back,” she practically whispered. But Lucien wasn’t quite sure he’d heard her given that his entire focus had been zeroed onto that single palm pressed against his shoulder, how he could feel the warmth of her skin through the thin linen of his shirt.

“I…no problem, Lady…It’s no problem at all.” Elain smiled at him softly, but her hand stayed where it was.

Lucien wondered if she felt it too. The electricity that was flowing through his blood. The bond that seemed to glow from between his ribs, buzzing with contentment at their contact. He wondered if she felt the squeeze in her chest – the possibility that this wasn’t just a bond at all.

Suddenly, voices from the hall erupted into life. Brash singing, and a cackling laugh that startled Elain enough for her hand to lift from his shoulder, before she slowly pulled it back in her lap. Lucien was dangerously close to running into the hall and carrying both his friends back out into the garden and dumping them in the flower beds.

He’d had two stolen moments with Elain today, and the secret seemed to lie in their solidarity from the rest of the world. Sighing Lucien leaned back on his hands.

“It seems that Jurian and Vassa have made it home.”

Tag List:

@ladyelain @chloepereyra @exiledelain @bow-dawn​

[write-orflight]

Like Real People Do Chapter 7

*Gif not mine*

Masterlist

Rating: M

Words: 2.2k

Warnings: Kinda NSFW not smut tho

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

A.N: Kinda short chapter but we only have 2 Chapters and an Epilogue left. Thanks for reading. Message to be on taglist, much love Cia

Chapter 7: I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask you, neither should you 

“You’ve gotta hold it like a pencil.” You laugh, trying to explain chopsticks to Spencer as you sit at your kitchen table eating the Thai food you mentioned beforehand. Spencer just seemed to grip the chopstick tighter, you laugh.“Spencer, you write all the time. Is that how you hold a pencil? Here.” You say, placing your hand over his, maneuvering his hand to hold the chopsticks properly. He looks up at you and smiles before leaning in to kiss you again. You don’t think you could ever grow tired of that. “What was that for?”

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s just nice to kiss you whenever I think about it now.” You watch him struggle again before taking pity on him and handing him a fork. He looks at you with gratitude. 

“When?” You ask. “Did you think about it,  I mean.”

He blows a breath, thinking. “Every time? Or the first time?” 

Knowing Spencer probably could name every single time he’s thought about kissing you, you laugh. “Let’s start with the first time.” 

“The first case we worked together. The bus driver.” He says. “You looked so excited when you figured it out, you were practically flailing your arms. I wanted to kiss you so bad, but of course I had just met you days prior, so it wouldn’t have been appropriate.” He laughs. “What about you?”

“The first time I wanted to kiss you?” You ask, he nods. “Probably the Milwaukee case last winter. When you talked down that gunman with no weapon, no vest. I also wanted to punch the lights out of you.” You both laugh. “But you really had me worried and guess when I saw you were safe it was all I could think about doing.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Well, why didn’t you?” You shoot back. 

“I told you, I didn’t know you then.” 

“Well, I also didn’t know you well back then.” You sigh. “Plus, I always thought you were extremely out of my league, you still are.” 

Spencer snorts, you slap his arm. “I’m being serious, you were extremely smart and attractive and I’m not so I never thought anything would come of this.” You shrug. Spencer grips your hand tightly. 

“Hey, look at me.” He says, you meet his eyes and you’re suddenly hit with a look that could only be described as complete admiration. “You are the single most beautiful, talented and intelligent girl I know. If anyone’s out of anyone’s league, it’s the other way around, trust me.” 

You hum, thinking. “Yea, I don’t think so.” 

“I’ll have to prove it to you then.” He says, smiling, looking at you like you personally put every star in the sky.   

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

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

Spencer spends everyday for the next 4 months proving you wrong. 

Your second “official” date was at the planetarium after you told Spencer offhandedly one day that you didn’t know much about stars other than your astrological sign. He then surprises you early one Saturday morning rushing you to get dressed so you don’t have to deal with the crowds. You end up in an empty theater as he whispers his own facts to you about the constellations completely ignoring the tour guide. 

He takes you on several dates like that. To museums, art galleries, the two of you even watch that 5 hour movie he loves so much though you end up falling asleep hour 2, you couldn’t help it. 

You decide to keep it secret from the team for the first couple of months, just to see it was something you both still wanted. Since the two of you spent so much time together before you were dating, it was like nothing’s changed. Garcia still ends up finding out around month three, during your monthly Doctor Who rewatches. You had sent Spencer to the kitchen to get a bottle of wine when he calls out to you. 

“Babe, where’s your corkscrew?” 

Without thinking, you automatically answer back “In the drawer below the coffee maker.” You go to start the next episode when you look up to see Garcia staring at you like you grew a second skull. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, genuinely confused. 

“Babe???” She says, incredulously. Spencer is out of the kitchen, watching the two of you in the doorway. “Babe?!?” She asked again, Spencer realized his mistake, looking at you awkwardly, a clear I fucked up, you have to fix it face. You sigh, putting your forehead in your hand. Despite him technically being a genius, you were dating an idiot. 

“Garcia—“ you start.  

“How long?” She says, stumbling slightly. 

“How long what?” You ask, hoping playing dumb will get you out of it. It doesn’t as she just levels you with a stern look. Or as stern as Penelope Garcia can get. “3  months.” You sigh. 

“3 Months?!” Suddenly Garcia is pulling you into a hug, waving her arm frantically behind your back for Spencer to join you, which of course he does. “Oh my sweet sweet summer children, Why didn’t you tell me?!”She pulls from you, hitting you both in the arm instantly. 

You rub your arm. “We just wanted to keep it under wraps for a while, to see if it was something we both wanted.” 

“And is it?” She asks. 

You look at Spencer only to see him looking directly back into your eyes, smiling. “Yea it is.” You say. “Garcia, I know you don’t like keeping secrets but can you not tell anyone. We wanted to wait to tell everyone.” 

Garcia blows a breath. “For you, my dove, I will try. Now I was promised wine and Doctor Who and I still haven't gotten either.” 

With that you fill her glass and the three of you spend the night watching Doctor Who and eating pizza. At some point of the night, Spencer’s arm ends up around you. You scout closer to him so you can lay your head on his chest. Suddenly, you see a camera flash. 

“Garcia!” You yell. 

“Relax, I won’t show anyone. This’ll be for me, you guys are just so cute!”   

You roll your eyes, laying back on Spencer. You can’t help but smile at the feel of his light chuckle. 

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

Sex doesn’t come up despite your best wishes. You can tell Spencer’s holding back, trying to respect you and you appreciated that, you really do. 

But God, you want him. 

There’s been times where you think you’re going to get there. Like last month, he had come over to watch a movie which ended up just being an excuse to just make out. You didn’t think you could ever get tired of kissing Spencer. Most of the time, his kisses were sweet, filled with admiration. But sometimes they were heated with passion and want behind them. You liked both, loved both even, but if you had to pick a favorite it’d be the lather. You’ve never felt as desired as you do when you’re with Spencer. 

His tongue swiped along your bottom lip, you opened your mouth giving him permission. You’re rewarded with a small moan as he tries to move as close to you as your small couch will allow. You’re suddenly hit with a bright idea and push him back so you could crawl on top of him, straddling his waist. You pull back slightly to look at him, making sure this was ok. He looks at you shocked for a moment, you guys have never done anything this far. That shock breaks though the second you lean back into him, his hands going instantly to your waist. You move in closer, running your hands through his hair as his tongue rejoins your mouth. You moan, tugging slightly at the roots earning you a groan, his hands sliding under your shirt gripping your waist tighter. As lean forward to kiss along his jaw you can’t help but become hyper aware of a certain predicament he was having. Deciding to test the waters, you start grinding your hips on him slightly. 

“Fuck.” he moans quietly, his grip on your bare waist suddenly becoming tighter. Spencer hardly ever cursed, not even when he was mad. Very much unlike you who cursed like a sailor at any minor inconvenience. So hearing the expletive, especially in a situation like this, was enough to turn you into a faucet. The two of you went on like this a bit, your hands on his jaw, not even being shy about your grinding now. You needed him to know just how bad you wanted this, how bad you wanted him. Eventually, his hands slide out your shirt settling on your lower waist to stop you. You pull back to look at him confused. 

“We’ve got to stop.” He says, sitting you up a little bit so you weren’t completely seated completely on top of him. 

“Why?” You all but whine. You didn’t mean to sound like a child but you were genuinely curious. He chuckles lightly at you before kissing your cheek and moving you so you were seated next to him, still cuddled under his arm. His attention turned fully back towards the movie, neither of you had been paying attention to prior. 

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

And if working with him was hard before, it’s proven itself to be unbearable these past months. Now that you knew what it was like to be with Spencer, thoughts about it seemed to cloud your brain on a daily basis. And it seemed like he was mocking you with it lately. With the rolled up sleeves of his button up and the skinny ties it seemed like he was intentionally trying to break you. 

Right now, you were in a small town off the coast of Oregan, listening to Reid explain the geographical profile he’d come up with for the Unsub. You try to listen, you really do but your focus keeps going to his forearms and hands. You knew you like his hands before but now that you knew what they felt like it was hard to focus on anything else. That combined with the rapid words coming out of his mouth and the hair he’d recently been growing out (something you didn’t know you were into but could definitely now confirm you were) were sending you spiraling. 

“Y/N.” You suddenly heard Hotch call. You looked around to see everyone looking at you, expecting an answer to a question you did not hear. 

You clear your throat awkwardly. “What was your question again?” 

“I asked why you think the Unsub is a flight risk.” JJ says. “Are you ok? You seem off.” 

Everyone’s eyes is on you again, this time Spencer included. He’s narrowing his eyes at you now. You can tell he’s reading you like a book, trying to hide the smirk on his face. He knows. You think to yourself. 

“I’m fine.” You clear your throat. “Based one the geographical profile, I think the Unsub is from this town and is very familiar with the water. Possibly from a fishing family, which is why I think he has a boat and will try to make a run for it tonight. Especially since the news announced we’re here.” You point out. “I actually don’t believe we have much time.” 

“Alright, Reid, Prentiss and Rossi check his house. Y/L/N, Morgan and I will head down to the Marina. Dismissed.” 

You go to grab everything you need before leaving (vest, gun, etc.) when Spencer approaches you. 

“And you thought I wouldn’t be able to focus on work when we got together?” He says, smirking. 

“Shut up.” You mumble. Before you can turn away from him, he grabs your wrist pulling you into a tight, passionate kiss. 

“Please be careful.” He says looking into your eye. 

“I always am, Spen.” You smile. 

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

You, Hotch and Morgan Are silent driving to the Marina but that wasn’t unusual that was how it usually is with you three, especially with stakes like this. Hotch assigns the both of you quadrants to search and you split apart. You’re walking your quadrant when you hear a snapping sound. You turn and see the unsub untying a boat. 

“FBI! Don’t move.” You scream after him. He sees you turns to his boat that’s started to drift further and further away in the high tide before he starts booking it down the dock. You run after to him. 

“Unsub is on the southeastern dock! Requesting Backup.” You scream in your radio before focusing your full attention on running full speed after the man you’d been searching for for days. He’s looking behind himself every so often to see you gaining on him but you’re still not fast enough to get him before you jumps off the end of the dock, swimming fast towards his boat. 

“Shit!” You yell. You hear hotch and Morgan’s steps running behind you before you make the split decision. 

You throw off your vest, radio and gun on the dock next to you before careening off the dock into the icy cold oregonian waters.          

Taglist: @haylaansmi​     @yoruebeautiful​ @kianagilder-blog​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @bihoeofmanyfandoms @dreamer7black​ @baby-banana​ @drreidshands​ @blameitonthenight21​ @slyskyeey​ @liaabsurd​ @di-essere-amato​ @oliviamaerose​ @nightlygiggless​

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship: Respect

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Warnings:  Mentions and depictions of smoking/tobacco usage

Next chapter | AO3 version

Slight revisions and full version posted on: 5/4/2021

The alarm clock on your phone is loud and annoying, but it’s the only sound that will wake you up without fail so you can get a head start on your more demanding days, like today.

Groggy and neck a bit strained, a sign that you’ve slept on it wrong, you carefully push yourself up and off your bed. You come across your first hurdle of the day. A few wolf cubs had settled on your chest and your sides during the night. You try carefully to move them off of you and to the side of their mother, who has settled near your feet and isn’t afraid to growl or snap her jaw should you even think of shifting or moving away from her. Unfortunately, the pups seem determined to stick by your side despite your efforts. Luckily the pack’s alpha, Gunter, is settled right behind your head and acted as your pillow for the night. He must be why your neck feels stiff as hell.

You reach back and start petting behind his ear, rubbing into the bunch of dotted scars beneath his coarse hair. You feel his body stretch and shake as he wakes up as well. A small whine comes out of him as he gives out an enormous yawn. It makes you yawn as well.

“Ready to start the day?” you whisper to him.

He huffs with a bit of attitude as if to say, “Not really, but what choice do I have?”

You redirect his attention to his pups, preventing you from sitting up without disturbing everyone else. With silent understanding, he removes himself from underneath your head and carefully steps over one of his brothers, who has graciously allowed you to use him as an armrest somewhere during the night. After another good morning stretch, Gunter begins the slow and steady process of picking the pups up from the scruffs off their necks and setting them elsewhere on your bed.

While he does this, you grab your phone and do a quick sweep of all your notifications. You have a few emails, one a weekly newsletter about current and future school events, most of it spam. You have a couple of dozen messages from Ace and Deuce detailing an argument over whether the former ate the latter’s piece of strawberry shortcake they were saving for after dinner. Apparently, they thought to ask you to be their mediator since it was clear they weren’t going anywhere arguing and pointing fingers back and forth at each other.

Unfortunately for them, they messaged you right after you conked out. You were exhausted yesterday, having to deal with an especially rambunctious and mischievous Grim. You were also scrambling to gather the reading materials needed for one of your classes before the other students can snag them. The most recent and urgent incident is figuring out what to do now that the only generator that powers up all of Ramshackle is going out or outright failing to even start up at all. You also have a decently sized garden to tend to, and the next large harvest is today. Once everything has been properly collected, washed, and either stored away in your pantry or given to Sam so he can sell and make a profit on your behalf and his own (it’s a 60/40 split and you had to fight tooth and nail for that 60), you have to replant everything once again after you’ve tilled the soil…

To say that there’s a lot on your plate is an understatement.

Free from your furry prison, you’re finally able to sit up and move your limbs freely. Something slightly damp presses against your bare shoulder, calling for your attention. Gunter, still clearly tired (expected of anyone, human or wolf, having to wake up at six o’clock in the morning), is now awaiting proper payment for his services.

“I got some dried venison in the kitchen,” you offer. The way his one good eye pops wide open and his tail begins to rapidly wag, the deer jerky will suffice.

You give the top of his head one last rub before standing up and heading straight for your bathroom to take a quick shower. Since the availability of electricity has been scarce lately, so is the availability of heating throughout the dorm. Unlike the ghosts, who can’t differentiate between hot and cold (unless it’s magically sourced), you can. Unlike the ghosts who are already dead, you will die in this late winter cold. Grim has better control of his blue flames compared to when you first met him, so he can now essentially be his own heater. He seemed a bit too comfortable keeping himself warm and letting you freeze to death, considering you’re the only reason he’s enrolled in this school.

You make do with what you have and your situation. Even when you gathered all the untorn and clean blankets and piled them on top of you last night, the cold still found its way underneath your cocoon. Gunter, the leader of a small bunch of wolves you had been taking care of during your first few weeks in Twisted Wonderland, must have seen you struggling to stave off the cold and settled himself next to you during the night followed by his brother, his sister, and finally Gunter’s mate and their pups.

Of course, with three full-grown wolves and four chubby wolf babies as your immediate heat sources, you overheated in no time and had to throw off all your covers and strip down to your underclothes in the middle of the night since your pajamas had quickly gotten soaked in sweat (and most definitely covered in their thick fur). A cold shower is just what you need to clean up after a long night drenched in sweat.

You also need to clean your sheets, but without electricity, your washer and dryer are out of order for the time being…

Dammit.

Cold showers suck, but once the ice-cold water hits your back, it woke you the hell up. You probably spent only five minutes in there before you quickly rinsed off and got out because of how unbearable the ice water was.

Once you’re properly toweled dried, you head to your closet and change. You put on clothes you don’t mind getting covered in dirt and sweat; a simple wool sweatshirt and some overalls lined with thick fleece. You also put on a pair of knitted crew socks and secure them to your leg with a pair of garters.

Right as you snap the final metal clasp on the knotted fabric, you feel a familiar bump on your shoulder. Gunter is giving you his best pleading face he can manage. Most people likely wouldn’t fall for it, what with the many scars littering across his body and face, making him look scary rather than cute. You feel a little tug in your heart. Luckily, you’re all dressed up and ready to start your day, so you quickly straighten up and usher him downstairs to give him his well-deserved treat. You grab your phone before you exit your room so you can peruse it on your way.

As you read over old texts and useless emails, a new notification comes in. It’s another message. As surprised as you are to receive a message so early in the morning (Ace and Deuce are likely still snoring and drooling into their pillows at this hour), it is the sender of the text that makes your slowed strides halt completely.

Good morning. I hope you had a pleasant and well-deserved night of rest. I’m currently getting ready to head over to the Ramshackle dorm to help you with your harvesting, as I promised. The coat you’ve made and gifted me during the holidays also fits perfectly and is by far the most comfortable piece of clothing I now own.

Thank you again for your most generous gift. I will inform you when I have arrived.

Yours truly,

Malleus Draconia

You can’t help but smack your palm on your forehead. You’re not annoyed or exasperated, it’s quite the opposite, actually. You’re happy that Malleus’s charm can somehow manifest even within a text message. In fact, this isn’t the first time he’s sent you a message formatted and written like a formal letter. If someone were to look at the small messaging history between you two, they’d see that a great majority of it is just Malleus sending you these long strings of text. They would also find your messages, or rather, your poor and embarrassing attempts at mimicking his language and style (he says he gets a laugh out of them, so maybe they’re as bad as you think). There’s also always a follow-up message, gently reminding and encouraging him to relax and not worry about offending you for speaking casually for you.

His response is always the same, and it makes your stomach feel strangely fuzzy.

You have earned my respect, now I must strive to earn yours.

It’s only been a little over a month since he dropped the bombshell that was his desire for your friendship to evolve into a proper, romantic relationship. To say it surprised you is another understatement. You were thoroughly flabbergasted once your mind finally registered his words as genuine. To hear him say “I love you” and direct such a powerful statement towards you was truly the last thing you expected since arriving in this strange world.

But through all the outer uncertainties there was one thing you were certain of, your inner uncertainties. Malleus is a dear friend of yours. Even amongst Ace or Deuce, two individuals who have been with you since the beginning and nearly every overblot incident that has come your way, Malleus holds a special place in your heart as your dearest friend.

But a friend is all he’s ever been in your mind. There was truly never an instance where you pondered or even held some amount of desire or expectation that your friendship could evolve into something more. You felt like a total prick during the end of his confession, asking him if you could sit on his words for a while and come back to him when you have a more certain and final answer to give. Watching the hope and nervousness in his eyes turn into one of pure and utter sadness and even embarrassment, yet he willed himself to conceal his heartbroken emotions back for your sake. It hurt like hell. What was supposed to be an exciting and relaxing end-of-winter-break party in Scarabia’s dorm (and an apology party for Jamil’s actions against you), turned awkward. Neither of you stayed any longer once you went your separate ways.

Despite what had happened, when you received a proper smartphone (and a proper phone plan to boot) as a gift for Christmas, one of the first things you did was transfer all your old contacts into the new device. The first person you messaged was Malleus, wanting to check in on him after your last encounter and to wish him a happy holiday. He answered back in a matter of minutes, much to your surprise. While he’s not the most tech-savvy, your major concern was whether he was holding up well after what happened and if you guys were going to remain as friends. You went on a whole tangent, trying your best to not sound so desperate and ensure that your response is in no way his fault because it most certainly is not. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s you.

Gunter suddenly tenses up. His fur instinctually puffs out, trying to appear bigger in anticipation of whatever threat he’s detected in the kitchen. Metallic clanking and clashing come from underneath the kitchen island where you store all the pots, pans, and heavy-duty appliances. A loud and harsh crash riles up Gunter enough that he feels the need to growl at whatever is underneath the cupboard.

You quietly move past him and wave your arm, signaling him to move back a bit. He listens to your orders and takes a few slow steps back. You position yourself on the side of the cabinet, fingertips pressing onto the top of the door to prepare to open.

“On my mark,” you whisper to Gunter. “One... Two…Three!”

You yank the door open, and Gunter quickly launches himself towards the potential threat. Though, not a second passes before he’s suddenly skidding across the floor, trying to immediately halt himself. He barely avoids hitting his head against the wood and giving himself a nasty bruise. When you ask him what’s wrong, he sticks his head into the cabinet and pulls out the apparent intruder.

It’s Blossom, a young fawn you rescued from the rose gardens of the Heartslaybul dorm. It was during the preparation of the unbirthday party near the start of the school year that subsequently led to dorm leader Riddle’s overblot. Cater assigned Grimm, Ace, Deuce, and yourself to paint the roses red with him. On top of rose painting duty, Cater was also on the lookout for a supposed ‘rose thief’ who had been snagging some roses from their garden right from under their noses. The scoundrel they were looking for was the fawn before you. From the way he still wobbled on his feet, he wasn’t even a month old when you initially rescued him. He’s lucky you found him when you did. His front leg was caught in a rusted and dull, but full-sized bear trap they set up in case the thief was a wild animal.

“What are you doing in there?” you ask the little troublemaker. “Probably trying to find a snack to chew on, huh?”

Blossom thrashes, trying to break free from Gunter’s hold on his scruff. He of course fails, but not without giving out a distressed scream and trying to plead for forgiveness by giving you his best innocent look. You shake your head before looking up at the small clock hung up on the wall above the refrigerator. It runs on battery so you have to worry about the time no longer being correct when the house lacks power.

It’s 6:15, still way too early. You tell Gunter to let go of Blossom and he does it without argument. Blossom quickly runs up to you, using your own body as a foothold to jump up into your arms. Once you have a hold of him, he bombards your face with little licks and nuzzles of his snout. While this action is normal and you would gladly accept it, you know better than to think it’s not the fawn’s attempts at trying to distract you from his misdeed.

“If you’re looking for the sugared flower petals, you won’t have any luck down there,” you tell him. He immediately stops his loving ministrations and gives out a disappointingly snort before relaxing in your arms.

You chuckle and give him a few apologetic pets on the head as you walk over to one of the upper cupboards and rummage around the various jars, trying to locate the dried venison for Gunter. You also grab a jar placed far in the back with the aforementioned candied rose petals Blossom was most definitely looking for. The moment you open the jar and the heavy scent of sweetness and floral whiffs in the air, Blossom begins to excitedly thrash about in your arms and tries to stick his head into the container. Luckily, the small nubs on his head, his newly budding antlers, stop him from reaching too deep.

You spend the next few minutes feeding your companions their early morning treat. The doorbell rings as you let Blossom lick the last specks of sugar off of your now damp palm. After rinsing your hands off and drying them, you head to the door. You open it and take in the sight of a newly arrived Malleus, dressed in a simple black dress shirt and a pair of loose-fitting linen pants you made for him when he expressed discomfort over his PE uniform the last time he helped you in your garden.

“Good morning!” you greet him as brightly as you can without being too loud.

“A good morning to you as well,” he greets back. Unlike you, who is still groggy and slow, he seems properly energized despite the time. You’re jealous. You’ve been waking up at the crack of dawn for years, at least a decade now, yet your body isn’t used to the early routine. Though compared to the hundreds of years Malleus has on you, you probably won’t show any sign of improvement until your hairs are gray.

“Have you eaten yet?” Malleus asks.

You shake your head. “The electricity is out, so I can’t use the stove or open the fridge too often.”

“Crowley still hasn’t replaced your generator?”

“No,” you frown. “Every time I try to bring it up he either gives an outlandish excuse or just flat out tells me I don’t need a new one.”

His eyebrows pressed together, clearly upset as you are at the headmaster’s failure as your caretaker. You reassure him it’s fine. Everyone in the dorm has been saving money for emergencies like this, and it just so happens that the money you’ll make for selling the produce you collect today will bring in just enough to buy a brand new generator. You’ll be out of electricity for another week, two at most, but have enough firewood and nonperishable foods to last until then.

“You should at least make yourself some coffee,” Malleus urges. “It’s bad to work on an empty stomach. You've said so yourself.”

“I will once Grim and the ghosts wake up,” you reassure. “For now, let’s head to the back and get started. There’s a lot to harvest, so the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish up.”

He’s clearly unhappy at your dismal of his concerns. You know that being so nonchalant towards a fae is rude, but you don’t want to worry him with your own issues. You also have no desire to eat or drink, not this early in the morning at least. If you tell him as much, he’ll probably freak out like he did last time, thinking you were unwell and forcing you to lie in bed for the rest of the day.

Yes, you could have pushed back and argued that you were fine, but it’s very hard to tell him “no” when his intentions are purely out of concern for your well-being. Better to let him hover over you and see that you’re fine than to leave him stewing in his anxieties in silence.

“What have you been growing this season?” Malleus asks as he tugs on the loaned gardening gloves you handed him.

“The usual spread. Some potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. The only fresh additions I planted are some peas and kale. Oh, and broccoli!”

“Did the crops hold well when you were gone?”

“They did thanks to the ghosts. The heat from the fire faeries around the campus also made them easier to protect from the cold,” you explain. “I should probably give them some type of exotic wood as a little thank you gift.”

“You can never go wrong with a bit of mahogany,” Malleus says as he ties back his hair.

You hand him a straw hat, one that you weaved to accommodate for his black horns. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” he smiles at you before turning back to your garden. “So where shall we start first?”

“I’ll work on picking the cabbage heads. You can cut off the pea pods and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well. I’ll follow your lead.”

It’s 8 a.m. You know this because Ace and Deuce are woken up at this hour by Riddle and one of the first things they do is bombard you with text messages which usually forces you to turn your phone on silent mode. Despite it being late winter, you’re already working up a sweat from the repetitive and demanding motions of picking and carrying around baskets full of vegetables and cleaning them. Malleus is no better, hand continuously raising to his face to wipe away the constant wetness clinging to his forehead. You know he’s not used to manual labor like you are, so you try to bring him a pail of water every so often so he can stay properly hydrated.

“Oh my, you’re already up?”

You turn around to see who’s speaking to you and see one of the ghosts that live with you and Grim in Ramshackle floating towards you.

“Good morning!” you greet him. “Did you need something?”

“No no,” he shakes his head. “I just came to check up on my bees and saw you already hard at work.”

The ghost (Franklin is his name, but you all call him Frankie for short by his insistence), affectionately ruffles your hair with his large white palm. He’s one of the tamer ghosts, but he’s still capable of pulling a prank on you or his fellow housemates now and then. You and he have been cultivating and maintaining a small beehive since October, but he does most of the work and maintenance since he has more experience in the ways of beekeeping than you from when he was alive.

Frankie does a quick once over of the garden, his scanning gaze doubling back at seeing Malleus carefully rinse a couple of heads of broccoli.

“How long has he been here?”

“Since 6:30,” you answer back. “Why?”

“No one gets up that early unless it’s for someone they fancy,” he says rather nonchalantly, but the way he quickly side-eyes you show that he’s clearly talking about you. You try your best to appear unaffected and give a “Is that right?” type of hum, but your efforts are in vain since he just laughs at you.

“If even you know, that means he’s got it bad.”

You say nothing back because you honestly don’t know what to say, or if you should. You’re content to just go back to plucking potatoes out from the ground, but Frankie doesn’t seem to want to leave you alone just yet. He asks you to come with him to the greenhouse where the hive is being kept. The small glass enclosure also houses some flowers and herbs you use for cooking or medicine.

You quickly close the door behind you once you enter, reveling in the warmer air that hits your face. While Frankie lights his cigar and gets a heavy cloud of smoke going (his personal method of keeping the bees calm), he has you open the top and carefully pull out the panels one by one while he checks for any signs of a decaying hive and ensures the queen is alive and healthy. One of your initial worries about beekeeping was getting stung, but Frankie reassured you it’ll only happen if you purposely upset the bees or fail to care for the hives consistently. Now, you gladly let the buzzing honeybees wander around your bare skin.

As Frankie pulls out his cigar from between his lips and taps off the ashes into the respective ashtray, he looks over at you and asks, “Is everything ok?”

You give him a confused expression as you snap the cover for the hive back into place. “I’m fine?”

“You sure? Because if you ask me, you don’t seem like it.”

“I mean, I already have a pile of schoolwork I need to finish and a rundown dorm to take care of. I’m as ok as anyone in my position can be-“

“I’m not talking about any of that,” he interrupts. “I’m talking about you. Forget about Grim and your studies. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” you answer again.

“Are you sure?”

Well, when he puts it that way, even he must be able to see that you’re clearly not doing alright. In fact, you haven’t been alright since you were literally kidnapped and held against your will in the Scarabia dorm. Luckily everything worked out fine for everyone else, but not so much for you. You’ve noticed that your appetite is waning and you wake up multiple times during the night because you don’t feel safe, even in your own room.

Malleus’s confession unfortunately was another wrench being thrown at you. With your hands already so full of this and that, you’re struggling to figure out what needs a priority and which issues you need to either drop entirely or find someone trustworthy to take care of it in your stead. It’s hard to ask people for help when they either find a convenient reason to say no or you feel as if you can’t trust them to do something as simple as watering your plants. The only person you feel you can trust and ask for help is Malleus, and things aren’t exactly as they were between the two of you.

“Talk to me kiddo,” Frankie prods. “What’s been eating at you?”

He lifts his ashtray and makes to snuff out his cigar so he can focus on speaking to you, but you hastily reach over and stop him. You take the smoke from him and bring it up to your lips and puff a few grey clouds. Strangely enough, it tastes rather pleasant, floral, and creamy. You didn’t expect to taste like this because of the way it smells, like soil that was just freshly rained on.

“Sorry,” you hand it back to him. “I haven’t eaten and I’m practically running on fumes.”

“That’s alright,” he says, handing it back to you. “You look like you need it more than me.”

Malleus carefully blows small bits of green fire onto his freezing fingertips, trying to warm them up after being drenched in the icy water from the water pump. He looks over his shoulder, over the stalks of peas, towards you. You’re still in the greenhouse and frantically moving your lips. He can see your eyes are glistening with a fresh layer of… tears? You don’t allow a single drop to get past your lids, wiping them just at the last second before they can pass over the threshold.

He’s only ever seen you cry one other time, when he came to your rescue in Scarabia over the break. He initially thought he frightened you with his aggressive display of magic. Once the dust settled and the blot on Jamil was expunged, no one was more shocked than he was when you boldly ran straight towards him and jumped into his arms. It was all he ever wanted, what his mind dreamed of every single time he closed his eyes. He could no longer brush off the fluttering in his stomach as the mere excitement of making and spending time with his first genuine friend. He was determined to keep his newfound affections for you with him under lock and key, not willing to risk ruining your close-knit friendship with his selfish and potentially one-sided desires.

Your desperate embrace, your toughie exterior lowering to that of a sniveling and shaking human, gave Malleus the impression that the only reason you would display such vulnerability before him was that you reciprocated his sentiments. It gave him a sense of confidence he never knew he was lacking, usually so sure of himself most other times. It made his chest burn with an aching desire to say “to hell with it all” and spill his heart right then and there.

When you extended the invitation you received from Kalim to him, he saw it as his proper opportunity to let his affections be known. He was upset (according to Lilia, more than usual) that he had to take Sebek and Silver along with him for the usual security, but he was determined to get them distracted long enough so he can pull you aside and confess to you without fear of interruption or letting his personal affairs be known to anyone else, at least, for as long as he can keep something so monumental under wraps.

As a prince, he has been taught to look at the long term for each of his decisions, as they carry substantial weight. The long term of pursuing a relationship with you meant having to deal with the prejudices and stigma against humans that still live within the hearts of his people. For once in his life, he didn’t want to think like an heir. As he watches you continue to talk to one of Ramshackle’s ghosts with increasing frustration, he realizes his love utterly blinded him back then. The only long-term his rose-tinted mind could comprehend was of the happy moments he had long conjured in his head becoming a reality.

You didn’t explicitly reject him, however; he knows your behavior well enough to know that once his feelings were laid bare before you, you would not take them into your arms and hand yours over in return. Arms crossed and avoidance of eye contact, you do this when you’re nervous or unsure, sometimes both. He held onto the self-indulgent hope that you’d show him what you look like when flustered. Perhaps you’d stutter?

You did stutter when you spoke up, but they were not the words that he wanted, that he thought he was, going to hear.

“Malleus...I’m so sorry…”

“Ah, you’re here early!”

“It’s just that…I don’t think I can…”

“Hey! Are you listening to me? You better not be ignoring me on purpose!”

“It’s not that I’m telling you I don’t feel the same way, but I can’t exactly say that I do. It’s just... I’ve never- “

“Tsu-no-ta-rou!” Grim’s shrill voice, still a bit riddled with drowsiness, still pierce Malleus’s eardrums and nearly causes him to drop the vegetable in his hand. “Pay attention to me when I’m speaking!”

“Quiet,” he growls at the monster. “If you need your master, they’re in the greenhouse. Though, you might want to come back another time.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

Malleus lifts Grim from the back of his fuzzy robe (you must have made it and gifted it to him during the holidays) and points to you. Frankie has one of his translucent hands on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly now and then while he speaks. You were no longer wiping your face so furiously, allowing your tears to fall and drip off of your jaw and wet your shirt as you listened to your fellow dorm resident.

“What happened? Did you smash all the tomatoes again?” Grim cranes his neck to look at Malleus accusingly.

“No, I didn’t. Those are out of season.”

“Maybe it’s about what happened at Scarabia,” Grim muses. “They haven’t been sleepin’ too good since we came back, y’know?”

Malleus nearly drops the cat. “They haven’t?”

“Nah,” the cat answers, far too casually and dismissively for the fae’s liking.

“This is news to me,” Malleus says, almost whispering to himself. He’s sad, almost offended, at the fact that you haven’t told him you’ve been having some difficulties this whole time. You normally keep him up to date with your personal life. He’s even more offended once he realizes that you’ve been worrying and reassuring him that your friendship with him isn’t ruined after what’s happened.

There’s a small voice in the back of his mind, conniving and twisted, that feeds into his already prevalent belief that your unwillingness to share with him your personal problems anymore is a sign that he hasn’t earned your respect. It’s a ridiculous explanation, but no amount of reassuring from either you or himself is going to stop his Mind from asking such a multi-sided question. Surely, if you thought admirably of him, you’d continue to allow him to bear witness to your moments of weakness and vulnerability. He feels close to you, connected to you in a way he’s never felt. He can be slow and downright miss some references to your jokes and behavior. You always put on a face of understanding, but is he so lost that your patience has worn paper-thin?

Are his feelings for you truly one-sided? Is he still jumping to conclusions too soon and just needs to give you more time and space? Did he just set a course for a ruined friendship or could his hastiness have been a fruitful gamble?

If it’s not iron that kills him, it’s the uncertainty within his heart and mind.

A shrill whistle pierces through the air and Malleus’s eardrums. Grim hisses at the sudden noise and the hairs on his neck stand up. Even Frankie and you can hear and turn your heads towards the source despite still being in the middle of a conversation. The one who whistled was another one of the ghosts who live in Ramshackle. Johnathan is his name, usually shortened to Johnny. His sunken cheekbones make him look unassuming, but you’ve rightly warned Malleus never to turn your back on that one for too long. It’s a miracle that you can keep up with all their shenanigans.

“I got the generator to start up and made some coffee!” Johnny happily announces. “Come get it while it and the dorm are nice and warm!”

“I’ll have a cup or two, so long as there’s a ton of cream and sugar!” Grim says whilst smiling. “And I ain’t skimping this time on the sugar!”

“You better if you know what’s good for you,” you sternly say, now out of the greenhouse along with Frankie. “We’re short on sugar and I’m not stocking up till next weekend.”

“Whaaaat?!” Grim exclaims, his lower jaw almost reaching the floor. “Since when did you become such a cheapskate?”

Everyone, including Malleus, did a sharp intake of breath as soon as the words passed the cat’s mouth. Everyone turns their head towards you, awaiting your reaction to Grim’s comment. This isn’t the first time Grim has gotten lippy with you and, given his nature as a mischievous little monster (a common trait between Ramshackle’s residents, Malleus is now noticing), it won’t be his last no matter how badly you scare or pull a fast one under his clawed feet. Even when your face is all puffy and wet with semi-dried tears, the look of “oh you’re in it now” is still so panic-inducing to everyone, ghosts, and feline alike. To the sole Fae present, he thinks of you as nothing short of adorable and wants nothing more than to wipe your messy face clean.

“Well, if you want more sugar there is one way you can get some more.”

“W-W-What is it?” Grim says, pudgy body shaking and sinking into the comfort and small safety of his fuzzy robe.

You approach him and bend down to grab him by the back of his neck, lifting him so he’s at your eye level before deadpanning, “Get a job, Make some money, and then buy your own.”

Once you set Grim down, he scrambles back into the home with an almost comical amount of fear in his eyes. He screams about how he’s never getting a job even if it kills him and his continued determination to find the small money vault you have hidden around the dorm and spend it all on canned tuna. Johnny, Frankie, and you all give a unison chant of good luck to him before he disappears completely.

“Has he made any progress in his search?” Malleus asks.

“Our money vault isn’t even in the house, so no,” Johnny answers, resulting in you and Frankie cackling and high-five one another.

With the power back on, you announce that it was time for a well-deserved break. It’s your turn to make breakfast and you immediately begin to ask everyone for their preferences. Frankie cuts you off and insists he take over your duties for the day. You normally would protest and insist to whoever was offering to cover for you it wasn’t a problem for you at all. “I enjoy doing [insert chore], so it’s fine!” is your usual go-to reasoning, but not this time.

Malleus notices the way you make to protest as usual, but you quickly back down and just let Frankie go ahead inside to take over for you. In normal Ramshackle fashion, Frankie mentions the cigar you were puffing and waving around earlier and says that you owe him another one, particularly an artisanal one that he’s recently read about in the local newspaper and has been aching to try.

“You got any more highly specific goods you want me to fight tooth and nail for?” you sneer.

“No, just the cigar will do,” he says before turning around to head back inside. Before he can close the door behind him all the way he pulls it back and says, “If you get it sometime this week I’ll buy a new bag of sugar.”

You whisper an impressive string of curses under your breath. Malleus has to restrain the urge to laugh at your colorful vocabulary.

“In that case, I hope your schedule is free tomorrow night. I’ll have it by then.”

Frankie gives you a thumbs up before heading back inside. Once the door behind him clicks shut, you turn towards Malleus and he physically feels his body shift from somewhat relaxed to stiff and proper. You notice this and crinkle your nose a bit, something to do when you find something endearing or as a way of silently giggling. Malleus watches with such an unnecessary amount of focus as you reach up to adjust his straw hat and wipe a bit of dirt off the collar of his shirt.

“I’m sorry for leaving you hanging back there,” you say as you pick off a stray leaf that somehow got tangled in his dark locks. “I’m also sorry you had to see me crying like that. I’ve just been so tired lately.”

There it is again. That damn twisting ache right in his heart.

“It’s fine,” he reassures you. “But if it isn’t too rude of me to ask, is your lack of sleep really all that’s wrong with you?”

You give out a long sigh. “I’m guessing Grim told you a bit of what’s been happening since winter break?”

“He has.”

Your arms cross and the ground suddenly becomes more interesting. You’re unsure, but the way your eyebrows press together is a sign that you’re conflicted. Malleus feels his frostbitten hands accumulate a layer of sweat as you silently mull over your thoughts. Despite the pain and hesitance in his heart, he wills himself to grasp you by the arm and pull you into an awkward hug. He knows it’s not exactly what you might need at the moment, and he was fully preparing you to push him away. He’s relieved when you bring your arms around his torso and reciprocate the embrace.

“I’m tired,” you sigh

“You haven’t been resting well, so it makes sense.“

“No,” you shake your head, the tips of your hair tickling Malleus’s neck. “It’s not just a lack of sleep that’s making me feel exhausted. After what happened with Scarabia, especially with Jamil, I don’t feel safe anymore.”

“Are you afraid?” he asks. To think of you as fearful is an entirely foreign concept for him when you’ve only ever been confident and certain of yourself since the first time he met you.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit without skipping a beat.

Considering what you told him, Malleus thinks your fear is justified. You have no defense against magic…

He fills a strain in his neck as his entire body suddenly seized up. You notice this and pull away to ask him what’s wrong. “Nothing,” he quickly dismisses, but you don’t let him go silent on you.

“If,” he hesitates. He’s thinking too rashly already, yet he’s still so compelled to act upon his thoughts. “Should anyone attempt to do you harm, I swear upon my name and title that I will do whatever it takes to protect you.”

He means every word, but you seem to take it far too casually than he would have liked. You press your face against his shoulder and laugh against his skin, your breath bringing him some much-needed temporary warmth. Such an ordinary action, yet it causes another pang within his heart. It settles next to the one that arose before, but he bites his tongue and endures it for your sake.

“Maybe you could play that electric violin for whoever comes after me,” you jest.

As embarrassing as it is to hear that you know about that incident (he’ll have to reprimand Lilia for telling you about that), he can’t help but laugh along with you. If making a bunch of teenagers’ foam from the mouth amuses you, then so be it.

“Thank you for offering to get your hands dirty for my sake,” you say. “That’s one thing I respect about you. You take care of the people you care for.”

His body goes still once again. “Is that right?” is all his mind can wrap around and say.

“Yes, oh Wise and Great Lord Malleus. I do, in fact, respect you.”

He cringes at that title. It’s something he has heard Sebek try to enforce you to refer to Malleus as, which you never do purely so you can get a rise out of his loyal guard. Before he can ask you to never call him that again, a bunch of howl’s ring out, and the two of you pull away from each other. The wolf’s howling is usually a sign that food is ready, which you seem rather eager to get to as you interlock your arm with his and drag him inside with you.

He looks back at his basket of still dirty vegetables. “What about-“

“It’s alright! I’m not throwing a fuss over a few broccoli heads!”

Crispy bacon, over easy and scrambled eggs, and a mountain of sizzling hash browns. Once everyone grabs a plate and sits down at the dining table (Malleus sticks close to you, hoping he can sit next to you), they grab whatever pieces of food they want in whichever quantity. Somewhere in the next room over, a faint melody plays through the speaker of an old record player. The vintage singer has a rather cheeky attitude in her vocals but with the accompanying music, it all comes together harmoniously. It’s perfect for a rather excitable breakfast.

It seems you never told the ghosts too many details about your sudden disappearance during the break. You downplay the true extent of your dilemma as you willingly giving your time and effort to help a desperate Jamil figure out what was causing his normally kind dorm leader to have a sudden personality switch. The ghosts listen carefully, and as you gradually get to the big climax that is Jamil’s betrayal and overblot, followed by Malleus’s sudden appearance, they’re all practically hanging on the edge of their seats. Your tale even intrigues the wolves and Blossom. They gather and settle near the legs of your chair, ushering you to continue your story by whining and scratching your ankle.

You don’t exaggerate Malleus’s part in your tale, something he greatly appreciates. You tell them how things happened just as they did: Grey clouds suddenly covering the sky and the occasional peak of lightning through their fogginess. Just when it seems like Jamil has the upper hand and is going to put an end to Grim and you, as well as Jade, Floyd, and Azul of Octavinelle, Malleus appears out of nowhere and effortlessly zaps the blot right out of the vice dorm leader of Scarabia.

“That deserves some praise,” Benjamin, the third of your ghostly residents, raises his half-filled mug of coffee and extends it towards the middle of the table. “To Malleus!”

Everyone, including you and Grim, raises your glasses and repeats his chant. “To Malleus!”

“To me, I suppose,” Malleus half-heartedly raises his own cup. “It really wasn’t much effort, or any praise really.”

He catches you looking at him in his peripheral and he feels a lump form in this throat that he immediately swallows. “I simply did what I believed you would have done for me if our positions were reversed.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” you say after swallowing a hefty mouthful of scrambled eggs. “But it’s nice knowing you have my back. It makes me feel safe.”

“Safe?” Malleus is surprised to hear you say this, considering what you told him earlier. “I make you feel safe?”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “Y-Yeah. I guess you do.”

“You guess?”

“You do,” you say, more definitively this time. “I promise. If you didn’t you’d know.”

He can’t help but laugh. “I can only imagine what interacting with you would be like then.”

“Probably not that good, or not at all. I steer clear of people I don’t particularly like.”

His eyebrows raise in intrigue as he sips his now lukewarm coffee. “What makes you dislike someone?”

“I dislike people I have no respect for,” you say casually. Malleus thinks you might be joking or poking fun at him, but how you take the time to look up to him while you busy yourself with feeding Gunter a few bits of bacon clearly means you’re trying to tell him something secretly. It’s definitely something along the lines of, “I don’t know where this mindset of me not respecting you came from, but it’s a load of bullshit and you need to get that thought out of your head.”

Even within his head, your language is still so vulgar and blunt. Only you would talk to him in such a rude manner.

But he respects that part about you.

[writer-monster]

Picking Up The Pieces - Chapter 1

Sambucky. Slow burn. Friends to lovers. Longfic.

03/05

Sam sits in the van with Bucky and Steve. It’s quiet, now. It never used to be quiet like this. Not until “Bucky” joined the team.

Sam bites his lip. As bad as it sounds, he really wishes Barnes weren’t a part of their team at this particular moment. Because if it were just him and Steve, they would be laughing and talking and having fun and taking their mind off of the fact that they’re about to be risking their lives in battle.

But now… it’s hard to think about anything but that. The fighting, the danger, the death. How every adrenaline fuelled heartbeat could be their last. And Barnes just sits there, looking like death (only slightly) warmed up.

Sam has seen plenty of soldiers who've been traumatised, in fact he's helped many of them deal with their trauma. He’s seen coldness, anger and apathy. But he’s never met a guy like this. And it’s hard to explain, but James Barnes bothers him, in a way that no one else has ever bothered him before.

Which is a particularly weird way to feel about a guy who is your closest friend’s other closest friend, and your co-worker. It isn’t hate… but maybe it’s close to it.

Barnes clears his throat and frowns over at Sam, his long hair swinging over his face.

“What?” Sam asks.

“You’re looking at me.” Barnes says.

“I’m not allowed to look at you, now?” Sam asks.

“Could you guys please stop it?” Steve interrupts. “I get that Bucky’s a new face, and that you both need some time to adjust, but…”

Barnes looks down at his own shoes through hooded eyes, his expression blank. And Sam wishes he could know what he was thinking right at this moment.

Then Barnes snorts gently to himself. He looks back up at both of them, with something that’s almost a smile inching its way onto his face. “Heh. New face.”

Sam and Steve exchange a look of mutual confusion, and Steve shrugs.

Bucky’s smile fades almost instantly. “Because I’m very old.” He says, avoiding Sam’s gaze.

“Oh.” Steve says, putting on a fake, watery smile. “That’s funny, yeah.”

His voice doesn’t sound at all convincing.

When they’re out in the field, however, everything changes.

Bucky and Sam work together like they were made for this. Their eyes meet across the battlefield and it’s like an instant connection. Barnes actually grins, and Sam grins back. Sam kicks a guy in the chest and Barnes catches the flailing bad guy, and knocks him out with one punch.

“Thanks for the assist.” Sam says, landing smoothly next to Bucky, his wings still outstretched.

But Barnes turns away again just a moment after their eyes meet, his long hair hiding his face from Sam’s view. He doesn’t say anything at all.

“You’re welcome, Sam. Is the polite thing to say.” Sam says snarkily, before punching another AIM soldier in the face.

“What’s your problem?” Bucky asks, barely dodging the next soldier’s blow, and wavering a little on his feet.

“My problem? What’s your problem?” Sam asks, grabbing the soldier that almost hit Barnes and kicking him in the back of the knees, with one hand still tight around his arm. The AIM soldier falls to his knees, struggling to get his arm back from Sam’s grip so he can turn around and fight back.

“I haven’t got one.” Bucky punches the struggling AIM soldier in the gut.

“I haven’t got one either.” Sam lets the guy go, where he falls to the ground clutching at his stomach.

“So then why are we fighting?” Barnes asks. He takes a step back.

“Sounds like you two… need couple’s therapy.” The AIM soldier wheezes from the ground. “My wife and I used to fight like this all the time… before we went.”

Barnes glares at the AIM soldier like he very much wants to punch him again.

Sam raises his eyebrows. “Oh, you’re good. You should quit the whole AIM terrorism business and join a comedy club.” He says dryly.

The AIM soldier looks nervously at Barnes (who is still glaring daggers at him), then turns to Sam. “Could you tell Scary over there that I’m down for the count, already? Please?”

Sam grins. “Hey Scary! He’s down for the count, already.” He says cheekily to Barnes, who glares even more fiercely, now at the both of them, before turning on his heel and stalking away.

“Hey Scary!” Sam calls out as Barnes walks away. But Barnes doesn’t turn around. What he does do is give Sam the finger.

“Oooh.” Sam says softly.

“I wasn’t joking about the couple’s therapy.” The AIM soldier says.

“We’re really not a couple, dude.” Sam says. “I don’t even like the guy.”

The AIM soldier chuckles. “That’s exactly how I felt about my wife when I first met her. I remember at the time thinking that her theories were derivative and that she was a total stuck-up… well, B-word, really. We spent months just tolerating each other’s constant presence. Until one day I saw her in the lab when she wasn’t supposed to be there. It was two AM, you see. And I was just there to fetch some notes that I forgot. Her hair was in a messy bun, and her eyes were all pink from crying. I didn’t say a word, I just held her in my arms and kissed her, and told her everything would be alright. And that was that. I knew in that moment that I loved her.”

Sam gives the AIM soldier an odd look. “Yeah, well… Somehow, I don’t really think that’s going to happen in this case.” “Sorry to burst your bubble.” He adds sarcastically.

“Hey.” Barnes says as Sam joins him in the van, ready to go back to base. “You’re welcome.”

Sam turns to stare at Barnes in disbelief. “Seriously, go fuck yourself.” He mutters. “Stuck up asshole.”

“No, really, Sam. You’re welcome.” Barnes says teasingly. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”

Steve finally gets into the van and joins them.

“Steve, are you sure I can’t punch the new guy?” Sam asks, just begging Steve to say yes.

“I think you know.” Steve said, before turning to Barnes. “And what did you do?”

“He keeps saying you’re welcome.” Sam says.

“That’s all?” Steve asks, wrinkling his nose.

“But you haven’t heard the way he says it.”

“Can you guys please just get along? Please? For my sake?” Steve asks, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers and wrinkling his forehead. “I can’t keep doing this. It’s ridiculous. You guys need to get along.”

Sam sighs. “Fine. I’ll try.” He says.

Steve smiles happily. “Fantastic. Bucky?”

Bucky stares at his own hands, clenched together in his lap.

“Ok.”

“Good.” Steve says.

03/22

It’s three weeks later, and Steve has sat them down and made them make that same promise to get along exactly forty-seven times since then.

Sam’s been counting.

Sam’s been counting so that he can bring it up to annoy Barnes. He's thinking of waiting until Steve lectures them both for the fiftieth time, and throwing a little anniversary celebration in honour of the momentous occasion. Just to piss him off, and he knew it would.

And Barnes deserves it too. He’d gained confidence since he’d joined the team, but that had only led to him blossoming into the most annoying little shit on the face of the earth.

Recently Barnes had taken to making bad bird puns. If Sam showed off with an aerial stunt in the middle of battle, Barnes would accuse him of ‘peacocking around’, and then just make the most unbearable smirk imaginable.

If he was the first to spot something in any given scenario, be it a signpost or a bad guy, Barnes would almost certainly comment on how he was ‘eagle eyed’.

Once Sam had been tired on a mission, and Barnes had called him a ‘night owl’.

It was on.

03/23

He doesn’t have to wait long for fifty times either. As it happens the very next day at Steve’s apartment, and Sam is ready.

As Steve lectures them both, looking considerably more exhausted and downright cranky than Sam has ever seen him before, Sam pulls a carefully wrapped package out of one of the pouches at his belt.

“Hey, Scary. Over here.” Sam says, tossing Bucky the present.

“What the hell is this?” Bucky asks.

Sam gestures at Steve. “It is officially the fiftieth anniversary of you annoying me. Steve here’s been kind enough to keep count of all the times and mark the occasions for us. Haven’t you, Steve?”

Steve glares at Sam. Actually glares at him. Although to be fair, he glares at Bucky too. “I’m seriously starting to reconsider being friends with either of you, anymore.” He grumbles. “I’m going to go take some Tylenol.”

Steve leaves them alone as Barnes unwraps his present suspiciously.

It’s a book entitled ‘How Not to Be a Dick: An Everyday Etiquette Guide’.

Barnes starts shaking. For just a moment Sam is worried that perhaps he might have taken it too far.

Until he realises that Barnes is laughing.

“I think we might need to share it.” Barnes says, covering his mouth. But Sam can tell he’s grinning behind his hand.

“Maybe we do.” Sam admits, smiling to himself as well.

“Steve’s missing a very special moment.” Barnes says.

“Yeah, he is. What’s wrong with him?” Sam jokes.

Barnes looks pensive for a moment. “He actually has been getting a lot of headaches lately. Is that normal?”

Sam dismisses his concerns with a shake of his head. “He’s exaggerating, he’s not really got a headache. He’s just sick of having to deal with us.”

“No. He’s not exaggerating. That wrinkle across his brow, it’s the same one he always used to get whenever he got a migraine, back before the Super-Soldier Program.” Barnes insists.

Sam frowns. “I didn’t know. But he doesn't normally get headaches. Not since I’ve known him.”

Bucky and Sam exchange a quick look.

“Well, I’m sure he’s alright.” Barnes eventually says. “He would have told us if he was really unwell, since he’d be putting us in danger anyways, fighting alongside us if he was.”

“Yeah.” Sam says. “You’re right.”

Barnes turns the book around and reads the back with a half-smile.

“You’re a good friend to him.” He says.

“So are you.”

Barnes shakes his head. “Not me. I’m a bit of a wreck. I’m not sure I’m even capable of being anyone’s friend.”

“Then what are we?” Sam asks. His voice wavers a little. He almost can’t believe he said that, because of course they’re not friends, they’re-

Bucky considers this for a bit, like he kind of wants to go back and admit that he’s wrong but is desperately trying to think of another option out of sheer stubbornness. “Soulmates, I guess.” He eventually says with a shrug.

“Ok, what the hell?” Sam asks, in pure surprise (and a little bit of horror). “We are definitely not soulmates.”

“No, it’s not soulmates like ‘people who like each other’.” Bucky says. “I just meant… That we’re very similar in some ways. Like we kinda think the same. I don’t know, like we’re on the same wavelength, maybe?”

“Not similar, no. We are… very different people. But I do kind of get what you mean about being on the same wavelength. It’s kind of like I know you. Even though I’ve only known you for three weeks it’s like I know you.” Sam admits.

“Exactly!” Barnes says. “Yes! It’s weird!”

“You’ve got a kusare-en, dummies. That’s an undesirable but unavoidable relationship.” Clint Barton says from the corner, where he’s chewing on a sandwich made from ingredients raided from Steve’s fridge.

Sam and Barnes both jump in surprise. They hadn’t even noticed that he was there.

Sam goes wide eyed when Barnes suddenly lunges towards Clint with his metal arm drawn back for a heavy punch. Without thinking, Sam grabs Barnes by the shoulder.

Barnes actually stops. He stops dead, still and silent.

“What were you thinking, sneaking up on Barnes?” Sam hisses in exasperation.

Clint just shrugs. He hadn’t even looked concerned when Barnes was charging him.

“You okay… Bucky?” Sam asks. And it’s the first time he ever called him anything but Barnes.

Bucky turns around. He’s stiff as a board and something about his eyes doesn’t look right, like they aren’t focused properly, Sam thinks.

He nods once, then brushes Sam’s hand off his shoulder and slips from the room. A part of Sam wonders if he’s going to see Steve. They seem to have an especially close relationship at times like this one.

And when Barnes is having a particularly bad day, it isn’t that unusual for him and Steve to sleep in the same bed, huddled together with their arms around each other. Sam had walked in on them like that before, been completely shocked, but both of them had assured him that they weren’t actually together and that it really wasn’t sexual.

Sam still isn’t sure that he believes them about that. Because he’s had girlfriends that he hasn’t been that intimate with.

“Kusare-en.” Sam mutters. “Sounds about right.”

He almost waits for a response, until he realises that Clint is gone.

03/29

Sam wakes up. He clutches at his head. He feels… oddly hung over. But not sore, just sluggish. And the only thing that he can remember from last night is laughing with a girl who seemed really, really into him.

But there’s no way he was drinking last night. Absolutely no way. He didn’t drink. Ever. And today he was supposed to have a mission, a really important mission. And he would never-

He looks at the clock. It’s ten-thirty already. Sam scrambles to his feet and rushes to get dressed, stumbling from his apartment in a desperate daze. Can he still make it there in time?

As he races to his meeting he rushes past a television store where a small crowd of people are watching the news. “I told you.” He hears someone whisper. “There’s no such thing as a hero. They’re all just freaks in costume.”

He keeps running. He takes the first stairway down into the subway, and hops on a train. He’d normally drive, but there's something kind of off about his co-ordination and he doesn’t trust himself to. He clutches at his head in confusion. He doesn’t drink. So how is this possible? Is he having a stroke or something?

He looks briefly up at the wall of the train, where a tiny screen shows their progress through the stations. The newsreels scroll down the bottom of the screen. The one that’s currently scrolling says, ‘AIM Scientist killed by-‘

Sam rubs his eyes. He’s got a few more stops to go, and then a light 1k jog over to the building. Normally that would be a breeze, but today he’s got to psyche himself up for it or he may just puke his guts out.

He thinks carefully about what could have happened last night. How could he have possibly lost control of himself? He tried to remember the girl, tried to picture her face. She had dark hair, he remembers that. She had… come up and introduced herself to him? At the supermarket, maybe? But he can’t remember a name.

Sam worries gently at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He remembers her silver rings, the shine of them in pale light. The way she laughed and whispered in his ear… ‘Hail Hydra’.

Sam draws in a sharp breath, his eyes widen, and he suddenly feels more awake than ever. She said… Hail Hydra?

He swallows and stands up. This… this is his stop. He’s gotta go. He’s got to make this mission. But something inside of him begs him not to go, for fear of what he may find when he arrives.

Nevertheless he steps out of the train. He walks, quickly and purposefully towards the building where he’s supposed to meet them. He doesn’t want to think about last night. This mission is really important and people are relying on him. He can’t let them down. He knows he isn’t brainwashed, because he remembers Barnes telling him that the brainwashing always gives you a headache. And he hasn’t got a headache.

He stops when he feels something cold on his neck. A SHIELD tactical squad surround him. Sam feels his heart sink into the ground at his feet.

“You’re under arrest.”

“For what?” Sam asks, as his hands are tied roughly behind his back.

“For murder.”

Sam is taken to a small room on the SHIELD base. It feels wrong to be on this side of that door. He lifts his head as Steve bursts into the room.

“Sam!” Steve wraps him up in a tight hug. “Don’t think for one second that I believe them! Not for one single second!”

Sam hugs Steve back without a word.

“Someone must have stolen your wingsuit. That’s the only explanation.” Steve says.

Sam nods. Although no one’s told him exactly what happened yet. All he’s sure of is that it wasn’t him.

“What about your alibi? Have you got one for last night? You must have one. You’ve got to be prepared.” Steve says worriedly, clutching Sam even tighter.

“Steve.” Sam says. “Last night… something happened. I don’t know. It was Hydra. Hydra did something… but… I can’t remember, Steve!”

Steve stiffens. “What did they do?”

“I don’t remember!” Sam insists. “But I think they drugged me!”

The look on Steve’s face is pained. He swallows and nods. Then he steps back. Sam starts to panic. Steve’s leaving already?

“Bucky wants to talk to you.” Steve says, and Sam looks at him in confusion. Barnes wants to talk to him? Barnes? Why would he?

“It’ll be ok, Sam.” Steve says, already backing away. “I promise, it’ll be okay.”

He shuts the door. And a few minutes later, Barnes opens it.

Sam stares at Barnes in confusion. To his frank relief Barnes doesn’t hug him like Steve. Instead he strides up to him and grabs him by the cheeks, first lifting up one eyelid, and then the other.

Sam struggles out of Barnes’ grip. “What’s that for.”

“I’m checking to see if they brainwashed you.” Barnes says. “And they didn’t.”

“Steve told you?” Sam asks. “About Hydra?”

Barnes frowns. “No. What about Hydra?”

“Something happened last night, and Hydra were involved. And I just… can’t…”

“Remember.” Barnes says.

“Yes.”

Barnes looks thoughtful.

“I’m going to say things now. Either nod or shake your head, for yes or no. If you don’t know, it’s no. Nod if you’re ready.”

Sam nods.

“Elizabeth.”

Sam shakes his head.

“Red.”

Sam shakes his head again.

“Silver.”

Sam nods. Barnes has no reaction.

“Pain.”

Sam shakes his head.

“Drugged?”

Sam nods.

Barnes bites his lip.

“You didn’t do it.” He says.

“I didn’t do it!” Sam repeats. He’s getting emotional, even though he’s trying very hard not to.

And all of a sudden, Barnes hugs him.

Sam’s thoughts become a confused whirlwind, as Barnes presses his lips to Sam’s ear.

“Tonight at one. I’ll be here. You be ready.” Barnes whispers. “You got that?”

Sam clutches Barnes back a little tighter in response.

“Good.” Barnes says, before pulling away.

03/30

The clock strikes one. Sam waits with bated breath for Barnes to walk through that door. And at one-twelve the door opens.

“Sorry I’m late.” Barnes grumbles. “Come on, quickly. Come with me.”

Sam follows him. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to run.” Barnes says, as they make their way through the familiar corridors of the SHIELD base.

Sam stops short. “Maybe I should go back. Maybe I shouldn’t run. This’ll just make things worse.”

Barnes turns around. “Hydra did this, Sam. And Hydra don’t leave loose ends. They don’t fight fair either, which means we can’t afford to do this on their terms.”

Something in Barnes’ eyes is deeply genuine, and Sam feels shocked to realise just how much he trusts him.

Soon, they pass a pair of passed out SHIELD agents as they go through a doorway.

“I’ve seen it before.” Barnes says quietly, as if he’s explaining himself for the knocked out SHIELD agents. “I’ve seen this before, and it never ends well. Hydra’s loose ends tend to end up dead.”

The drive is silent. And awkward. And not for the reasons Sam’s used to.

“Where’s Steve?” Sam asks.

Barnes tightens his hands on the steering wheel. “He’s not coming.” Then there’s a little pause. “It’s just me.”

There’s a burning question in the back of Sam’s mind. Why exactly is Barnes helping him?

Instead, he keeps his head down, and tries to focus on remembering. If he can remember exactly what happened to him, then maybe he’ll remember something important. Something worth remembering, maybe something that can clear his name. Or at least give him an idea of why this is happening.

“Do you know what happened? Why they brought you in?” Barnes asks.

“No.”

Barnes takes a breath. “There was a scientist amongst the AIM personnel we brought in, who claimed he had information that could bring Hydra to its knees. He was being transported to the Helicarrier for questioning when he and the agents moving him were attacked and killed by someone wearing your wingsuit. But obviously not you.”

Barnes taps a finger against the wheel.

“It was under cover of night and there were no survivors. The whole thing was filmed on a cell phone from a distance, and the face of the attacker was never visible at any time.”

“You’re sure it was my wingsuit? And if so, how could they have gotten ahold of it?”

“Yeah. I checked and it is gone.” Barnes says. “But that’s the problem. It could only be accessed by members of our team, plus Director Fury, Maria Hill and a few other high level agents, right? Unless someone got the codes some other way.”

“My biggest question in all of this, is why you?” Barnes says, his jaw tense. “I know Hydra. Actually better than I know myself. They could have picked a patsy that’d draw less attention. Someone lower down in SHIELD. Someone who isn’t as much in the public eye.”

“I don’t know.” Sam says. “I have no idea.”

Barnes nods. “Don’t rush yourself. Don’t try to remember all at once, or push yourself to think of a reason why. Just keep it in mind. It’ll come to you, eventually.”

Sam takes a deep breath and nods.

Barnes drives straight ahead. And Sam tries his best to fall asleep. He’d probably have to take over later, drive in shifts, so they can keep moving.

It occurs to Sam, as he’s drifting off, that this makes Barnes a fugitive too. That he’d just gone and given up everything, in the blink of an eye. They’d known each other a month and he’d given up everything.

Barnes had even left behind Steve. And Sam knew how close they were. Whatever they were to each other, be it lovers or something else, Barnes had just left it all behind for Sam. And Sam doesn’t know how to feel about that.

Sam finally falls into a restless sleep as Bucky drives along the highway. Bucky doesn’t notice. His eyes scan the road ahead carefully, watching out for suspicious vehicles. His gaze flickers to the dashboard clock and he bites his lip. He does a mental check of his weapons. One metal arm. Check. (Because it counts.) Three hidden-carry handguns. Check. Four machine guns in the trunk. Check. Knives strapped to his right arm, right shin, left thigh, right shoulder and lower back. Check. That last one in particular felt deeply uncomfortable against the car seat. He’d carried extra weapons into the SHIELD facility just in case he got caught, and so that he could hand those extras over to Sam once they were out of there.

He breathes in and breathes out again. He can do this. He knows he can do this. He can keep him safe. Those Hydra bastards will not touch his… his friend. Sam Wilson is his friend.

He counts one more. Not a weapon. His book, the one Sam had given him. It’d been brought with him and tossed into the glove box without giving it a thought. It was the only thing he’d brought with him that wasn’t either dangerous or food.

Bucky remembers the title and stifles a smile.

He’s helping a good man. And for once in the Winter Soldier’s life, he’s saving someone’s life instead of taking it away. More than that, he’s helping a friend.

Steve, he’s sure, would be proud.

Read the next chapter here: