#my nose is runny and i’ve been coughing a tiny bit

[peachlit]

i’ve felt like i’m starting to get sick for the past week and it’s annoying. either fully make me sick or fuck off

[sillyseaveerablogs]

Comforting Souls Part 2 of Chapter 3

Oh, what da frick?!!

In his house where he and his siblings are staying, Humbert wrote his postcard to Wilbur when he started to rub his right eye. It was a dead night. A few monsters are asleep and some are and still doing their job. Humbert felt a little bit tired after taking care of his siblings when they got home. But his gut just told him to visit Berlioz and another Wubbox Xe knew.

Wait! I have to check my siblings tho, thought Hum. Stood up from his office chair and scrambled to his siblings’ rooms, Xe peered into Xe's triplets’ room. It was a mess! Toys and books and stationery are scattered everywhere. The clothes next to the wall are piling up. It looks like a montain. Hum then skulked to Skia, who is the youngest out of her two other brothers. She has brown hair like her mother with a pink-tinted red on one of her strands. She is sleeping soundly, with a Furcorn plush, made of dyed Woolabee fur and a twig they found at Plantera as a visit. He planted a kiss on Ski’s cheek and said goodnight to the triplets before going out to visit the Rare Wubbox and Berlioz.

After a few minutes or so, Humbert finally arrived at the apartment where they live. He knocked on the door and asked,” Hey, it’s me, Humbert. Can I come in please?”. The door creaked, and with a blink, a rare Wubbox appeared from the inside. They’re a guy who has messy flaming red hair and the eyebags have come to make his appearance look a bit sad. “Oh, it’s you, come in, Berli wants you to comfort him,” Like the triplets’ room, it was messy, but it was just a tiny tad. Humbert felt something and skulked to Berli’s room. And there he was, sitting at the edge of his bed.

His appearance looks like his father’s (Lucazia “Luca” the Galvana), with a sunset orange hair and horns that bent downwards. However, he still has his other father (Vincent) looks, as a teal wavy strand made its appearance. His right arm and right leg are rusting, causing him to cough and clench his chest hard. Very hard. “...Hey,” he greeted with his clenched teeth. His mouth has retainer bars on his teeth. Braces. His gentle golden eyes meet Humbert’s lime green eyes. He smiled, but it was a sad, soft smile that made Humbert almost have a breakdown.

Xe sat with Berlioz with a smile that made him assured. “Hey,” xe greeted back.

“Waltz called you here?” Questioned Berli.

“Yea,”

“What brings you here?”

“Well, I was writing a letter to Wilbur, your brother, about how I was feeling. But then I thought about you so,” he paused to sniffle his runny nose.

“I-I-I visit you to know how you feel about it.”

Sadness has clouded his face. He put his palm onto his sadden face. Shivering. Quivering.

Berli patted his back. Pat-pat.

“Hey stop crying, it’s not your fault that your best friend slapped his sister and ran away,”

“YES, IT IS!”

Berli flinched. He never saw a Humbug lashing out his angriness before, but they did.

More will come when Hum is growling his madness towards Wilbur.

“HE DID NOTHING BUT-BU-BUT YELLED AT US FOR NOT SAVING OUR PARENTS A-A-AND GUARDIANS ALL BECAUSE OF THIS STUPID GREEN BIRD THAT STOLE OUR FU**ING GUARDIANS DREAM AND DAMN, I’VE WANT TO KILL THIS BIRD!!”

“Hum, calm down!” quipped Walter, nervously. “They got killed by our guardians so it’s fine,”

“FINE?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN FINE?! THEY JUST AN ASSHOLE WHO WANTS REVENGE!” Screamed Humbert. They are tears streaming down to their cheeks.

“Well, they got defeated, so just breathe,”

Realising that he’s been yelling at both of them, Hum slowly inhales and exhales. Feeling calm right now, Xe asked,”Are there any chocolates in here?” ───※ ·❆· ※──────※ ·❆· ※──────※ ·❆· ※───.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.

Back at their house, Humbert was lying down to his bed. He finally wrote down the letter and let the Meeb send it to Wilbur just for a reply. Lying on his side, he admired Gossamery at the window. It was night here, but to Gossamery, no matter what day it is, it’s always night, even in dark, calm nights. The moonlight shone to the crystals, causing Hum to block the bright light by squinting his eyes.

What is wrong with me? Why out of all the responses I could give to him, I yelled at Berli? Question swirling his head like a tornado.

God, what is happening?

Please, colossals, answer my questions.

[groundcontrol21]

House Calls (M, Original)

This takes place in some vague 20th century Russian countryside winterscape. I might have more to say about Anatoly later as a character, but as for now he’s a new young doctor just doing his best.

***

After a long day, Anatoly let the cold wind blow the door shut behind him as he slumped, weary and chilled, against the wall. His medical bag dropped from his hands to the floor with a thud, and he swiped his hand beneath his runny nose. In a moment he’d move, shake the snow from his overcoat, brew a tea for his throat, but for now…

A mewling sound drew his attention to the window above the washbasin in the kitchen, and he groaned. “The least you could do is close the window behind you,” he grumbled as he scooped Mashka up with a hand under her gray belly. With the other hand, he pushed the offending window shut and locked it, more for habit’s sake than out of any utility, as even a tiny stray tabby cat could find her way in through it. No wonder the house was always freezing.

He set Mashka down on the floor near the tiny hearth and lit a fire there to chase away the chill of the open window as well as the general chill that seeped into the house as a matter of course. Living in the countryside granted him slightly larger living quarters than the city tenements he had called home in his youth, but he had no one with whom to share his little shack. The loneliness of it all, especially when the wind whistled hard against the shoddy window frame , made the house feel colder and more expansive than ever, and there was no-one he could press against, to keep warm and chase away such a feeling.

As if privy to his thoughts, Mashka mewed reproachfully.

“Except for you, of course” he told the cat. “Though you could learn some manners.”

Anatoly supposed it was good the cat had shaken him from his reverie, else he might have fallen asleep at his doorstep. While he knew enough of medicine to know napping a bit in a wet coat would not actually make him sicker, he knew enough of life to know the experience wouldn’t have been enjoyable.

He brewed a pot of tea, more water than leaves, over the fire and warmed his stiff hands while he did so. Besides the tea leaves, all that remained in his measly kitchen was sad-looking half potato that not even Mashka had nibbled at. It was just as well; Anatoly didn’t feel much like eating anyhow.

Mashka climbed into his lap, kneading at his stomach and blinking up at him expectantly. “I don’t have anything,” he told her sternly. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not going out to get anything either, not in that—“ He gestured at the snowstorm raging beyond the window “—and definitely not with the c-c-c-cold I’ve–I’ve got, Hehh’TSCHHH!”

The expulsion nearly launched the cat off his chest, and Mashka yowled her displeasure. “Snf! I’m sick. If you want to be my housemate, you’ll have to get used to it.”

Mashka mewed again disapprovingly, before burrowing her head into Anatoly’s shirt. No sooner had she done so, however, than did his breath hitch again and send her scrambling.

“Hehh’TSCHHoo! Ihhh’TSCHHooo! Ugh.” He sniffled wetly, feeling oddly betrayed that the stray cat would desert him so easily. He called after her. “Make yourself useful and make me some soup.”

Anatoly coughed, feeling suddenly shivery and a bit weak. He thought about taking his temperature, but his bag was out of arm's reach, so he disregarded the idea. He probably didn’t have one anyhow, and even if he did, he didn’t intend to do anything about it.

He was half-asleep again, lulled this time by the pleasant warmth and crackle of the fire, when he was startled by a knock at the door. No one who had any sense would be round for a social call in this weather, so whatever it was must have been urgent. Anatoly forced himself to his feet and opened the door, bracing himself against the cold wind it let in.

“Lydia,” he said upon seeing the neighbor girl bundled at his doorstep. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Lydia blushed and turned slightly away, worrying her braid between her fingers. “I know it’s late but Mama just cut her hand chopping potatoes and she says she’s fine but I’ve held pressure to the wound for ten minutes and it’s still bleeding so I think it needs stitches and I’d do it myself but–”

Anatoly held up his hand with a smile. “Just let me get my bag and my coat and I’ll come with you.”

He went to retrieve his coat from its hook, only to see Mashka sitting atop the washbasin, paw outstretched toward the window. He went to retrieve her, debating the merits of stuffing her in his bag to avoid any troublemaking in his absence, but before he could do anything, a tickle sprang up in his nose.

“Ehh’TSSCHH!” He sniffled heavily and winced; that one had hurt his throat. “Mashka, don’t even think about opening that window!”

Lydia, ever the polite and slightly timid girl she was, had remained in the threshold instead of following Anatoly in. “Oh,” she called worriedly, “if you have company…”

Anatoly settled for placing the offending feline near the hearth, hoping that the warmth would prevail upon what little sense she had and make her reluctant to move to invite more cold in. “No, I don’t have company–snfff!--it’s just this damn cat is always leaving my windows open.”

He slipped into his coat and collected his satchel. “Ehh’KSSSHHoo!” He turned, burying his nose in the crook of the arm that did not hold his bag. Blinking away stray tears (that sneeze really grated on his throat), he straightened up. “Ready. Let’s go.”

Lydia frowned, her fingers slipping from the ends of her braid. “You’re sick.”

Anatoly shrugged. “There’s only so many times you can be sneezed on before you start sn–ehh–sneezing yourself. KSSHHEWW!”

Lydia still eyed him dubiously, but led him back through the snow toward her home down the road. The cold air instantly made Anatoly’s nose run, but it wasn’t worth it to dig out a handkerchief for the journey, so he merely lagged behind Lydia to spare her listening to him sniffle as if his life depended on it.

They reached the house, which only slightly larger than Anatoly’s but in a lesser state of disrepair and much warmer inside. “Mama, I’ve brought Anatoly to give you stitches,” Lydia called, shutting the door and taking Anatoly’s coat. A vicious shiver assaulted him at the layer’s removal, but luckily it went unnoticed. At the table sat Lydia’s mother and a half-chopped radish, which she eyed in a way that spoke of betrayal and vengeance.

“Stitches,” the woman spat, even as she pressed a reddened cloth to her palm. “I don’t need stitches.”

Anatoly set his bag on the table and gestured to the handkerchief beside her that had already been bloodily sacrificed to the cause. “I would say you do, Yelena.”

“Anatoly, what’s happened? You sound like you’ve gargled with walnuts.”

Anatoly felt his cheeks warm, but there was no use in lying. “I’m just a bit under the weather.” Or, no use in lying too much. “Let’s see your hand.”

Even as Yelena did as she was told, she shook her head. “Tch, Lydia, bringing a sick boy out in the storm for a little knick.”

“Lydia did exactly the right thing,” Anatoly said, and instantly felt the girl relax beside him. “No sense bloodying up more handkerchiefs than necessary when a little needlework can avoid it.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Yelena reached out with her uninjured hand to pinch Lydia’s cheek. “My smart little girl.”

Anatoly smiled to himself as he went to the sink to wash his hands, then took the supplies he needed from his bag. He tipped a bit of iodine solution onto a cotton bandage, then motioned for Yelena to give him her hand.

“First, I’ll disinfect–“ Anatoly pulled away and turned his head. “No, first I’ll Ihhh’hihhhmKSHHH!! Hehh’KSHHH!” He shook his head vigorously with a sniffle. “Hopefully I got those out for the time being.”

Yelena made a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat, but said nothing more as Anatoly prepared and began to stitch up her hand. He took his time, wanting to leave her with as little a scar and thus as great of mobility in her palm as possible. Lydia was practically on his back, so close was she to watch him work, but he didn’t mind.

What he did mind, though, was the unfortunate consequence of looking downward so intently for such an unbroken stretch of time. He was sniffling, first frequently, then urgently, before trying to turn and wipe his nose on his shoulder.

“Snf! Snf! SNFFF!”

He was so close, just two more stitches, but he could not wait any longer. He held Yelena’s hand in place and twisted the opposite direction, hoping the warning he was about to give was enough to avoid spraying Lydia. “Excuse me. Hehh’KMPFF! Hihhh’TSHHOooo!” He crushed his nose into his shoulder again as he turned back to his task. “Sorry,” he said blearily.

“Poor boy,” Yelena cooed.

Anatoly managed to hold back his next sneeze just long enough to finish the stitches and tie them off, but no longer. “Hehh’RSHHH!” He twisted away again, before turning back to give Yelena’s wrist a soft pat. “There you go.”

Lydia helped him clean up afterward, and once everything was clean and cleared away back in its proper spot, Anatoly couldn’t help but sink into the tattered sofa, his eyes fluttering shut. “Hehh’TSCHHH’uhhh! HESHHooo! Hehh’RSSHH’uhh!” He blew his nose and, feeling a hand on his forehead, opened his watery eyes to find Yelena frowning at him. “It’s just a bad cold. Snf! I’ve seen enough patients with it to–to know. Hhh’TSCHOO!”

Yelena narrowed her eyes. “And I’ve had enough colds in my day to know that you must feel completely miserable. I’ll get you some soup and tea.”

“Mind your hand!” Lowering the handkerchief slightly, Anatoly called hoarsely at her retreating back.

She waved her injured hand dismissively. “Ahh, pff!”

“At least mind it for my sake, so I don’t have to do those stitches again!”

In response, Yelena set to preparing the tea with more vigor and clashing of cookery than was strictly necessary. Anatoly rolled his eyes, ignoring the way doing so made him slightly dizzy.

Lydia laughed softly and took a seat next to him, infinitely more at ease now that she was at home and with everything sorted. “She won’t listen.”

“Perhaps I should start charging her by the stitch, then. Ahhh’KSSSHHH’uhhh!” Anatoly kept his eyes shut for a moment, palm lingering at his throat as he waited for the soreness to recede a bit. He was infinitely grateful that Yelena hadn’t listened to his protestations of wellness, for he truly, truly wasn’t well.

“You shouldn’t work tomorrow.”

“And if I don’t?” Anatoly asked, a bit more snappishly than intended. He softened. “People don’t stop getting sick just because I’m sick.”

“Still…” Lydia said, worrying at her lip. “Ask Doctor Rosenbaum to help you. Just for a day while you rest.”

“And steal him from the next town over?” Anatoly shook his head. “The two of us are stretched thin as it is, I don’t need to make any more trouble for him.”

The house was silent for a moment, save the whistling kettle and Yelena’s lowly hummed accompaniment. If Anatoly had been concerned with anything but stemming the flow of his nose before it dripped onto the floor, he might have seen the glint in Lydia’s eye as she steeled herself to suggest:

“I could help you?”

Anatoly kept himself from laughing only because he knew what it took for Lydia to even make such a suggestion. “Lydia,” he said firmly, but not unkindly, “you have to go to school. Aren’t there exams you should be revising for?”

“I’ll pass all of them anyway,” she said lowly, shyly, cheeks coloring at her rare display of confidence. “You know I will.”

And Anatoly did know, not least of all because he had been helping her study since the month he’d arrived in the village and she had started secondary school. Her marks had been increasing steadily, ever since Anatoly had realized he needed to imbue her less with formulas and his own knowledge of anatomy, and more with the idea that she would and could succeed.

She watched him now, eyes bright, and Anatoly got the feeling that this moment could demolish whatever building blocks he’d given her in the past. Still, he could not in good conscience ask that a fourteen-year-old girl neglect her studies because her doctor neighbor had the sniffles, and so he was at an impasse. It would have been the perfect time for a sneezing fit, to buy himself more time to deliberate, but of course, his body was unobliging.

Anatoly let out a careful sigh, managing only to cough once. “I’ll let you help if and only if I am so sick I physically cannot do it myself, alright?”

“Alright,” Lydia said with a smile as her mother returned, carrying tea. “I hope you are, then.” Lydia’s eyes widened, and she almost shot out of her seat. “Wait! I didn’t mean—”

Anatoly took the tea graciously and sipped at it with a chuckle. “It’s no worry, Lydia. I know what you meant.”

[catgirlforkaeya]

sick

kaeya x gn!reader

sickfic + fluff (?) + modern au (visions still exist tho)

warnings: all lowercase + not proofread

a/n: i’ve been tryna work on requests this week but writers block has me in a chokehold with most stuff rn. i also got hit with something (pretty sure it’s strep— it’s what it feels like idk it cld also be covid since my mom has it all ik is it’s painful) and that inspired this so enjoy 🥲 (i’m sorry if some of this doesn’t make sense i have extreme brain fog rn)

illness wasn’t uncommon for you— you always managed to come down with something at least 2-3 times a year. there wasn’t really any reason for it, your immune system was just a tiny bit weaker

more utc!

this time though? jesus christ you thought you were gonna die (not literally that’s an exaggeration)

headache, body aches, runny nose, sore throat, fatigue, nausea, fever, cough, all that fun stuff but way worse than you’ve ever had

hell you even lost your voice for a few days and could barely choke out whispers

thankfully you had your amazing boyfriend kaeya to take care of you

he’s used to taking care of you when you’re sick— he knows what all to do for you (you always repay the favor whenever he gets sick, which isn’t a lot but even if it’s just sniffles you do something)

when he noticed you were sick (which was very obvious) he was very quick to take your temperature and get you to bed

once he was sure you were comfortable he’d bring you some water, then return downstairs to go make you some food

kaeya had some special chicken noodle soup recipe that his family made that he’d always fix up for you

that shit was like magic, you’d always feel better after eating it— even though it was temporary it still relieved the misery for a little while

when you didn’t show any improvement after a few days kaeya would take you to the doctor to get some medicine since it obviously wasn’t a little cold

he’d always make sure you’d take your medicine as many times as the doctors said to, not in an annoying way just an “i’m worried about you please just take this” way

you spent most of the time in bed resting. kaeya would mostly stay by your side the whole time. he’d give you a bunch of small kisses here and there

you scolded him saying he was going to get sick from being so close to you. did that stop him? no

whenever you would go downstairs just to move around some kaeya would still be by your side, getting you anything you needed and just being there for you

9 times out of 10 kaeya would call in sick from work, saying he came down with whatever you had too (most of the time he didn’t, he just wanted to stay home with you). if it was a cold then he wouldn’t worry about it but something like this he’d definitely call in

your fever would usually spike at nighttime, so kaeya would use his vision just a teeny tiny bit to cool you if it was high. it was a weird sensation but it was enough to soothe you and allow you to go to sleep

i think kaeya would be the best possible person to take care of you while you’re sick (am i biased bc it’s kaeya? yes but lets overlook that). he hates seeing you in any kind of pain so he will go out of his way to make sure you’re better, even if it means putting his own health at risk

if you have any rough nights where you just can’t sleep kaeya will stay up the whole time, keeping you company while the tv hummed in the background

whenever you do fall asleep he’ll wait until he knows you’re asleep to allow himself to sleep

he’ll whisper sweet nothings while you’re falling asleep

“i love you, darling. get some rest. i’m right here if you need me, okay?”

© all rights reserved to catgirlforkaeya. reposting, plagiarizing, modifying, and translating is NOT allowed.

[dontfeeltoohot]

happy birthday! I hope you have a good one :) tiny little bday prompt: locked out~

Thank you!! This is actually my second ‘locked out prompt’ I’ve gotten in the past hour LMAO. Y’all out here wanting misery 🤣 enjoy some locked out canon (divergent bc he lives) Eddie. Also this got a bit long, whoops.

X X X

Of course. Of fucking course today of all days he’s going to get locked out of his damn van. There’s no way he’s breaking his window or door, and though he knows how to break into a car, it requires a damn hanger which he doesn’t have. Sighing, he knows he’s going to have to get help.

The thing is, it’s fucking cold outside, and he’s already feeling like shit. Whatever flu’s been going around Hawkins has started hitting him since he woke up, and his dumb ass didn’t even wear a heavy jacket. The walk back to the trailer park is well over 5 miles from the pharmacy he’s just walked out of, a brown paper bag containing Tylenol, cough drops and a thermometer in his hand. The long haired man would rathe walk to Harrington’s than attempt walking icy back roads right now.

Harrington.

Looking around, he spots a pay phone down towards the next store, so Eddie huffs, grips the bag tighter, and walks over, careful of the patches of ice on the sidewalk. As he gets closer, he pauses to cough into his arm, grimacing as his throat stings. Fuck Hawkins and their inability to cover their damn mouths. After paying the 25¢ to call, the musician dials the ex-jocks number and waits, praying the guy is home.

“Harrington residence.” The voice, while still his friends, is much more enunciated and proper.

“Harrington, hey, it’s- snf! it’s Eddie.”

“Oh, hey man,” the voice on the phone relaxes into a completely different persona. “What’s up?”

“I kind of got locked out of my car…is there a way you could pick me up? I have a spare set of keys back at my-“ Eddie turns away to cough, before returning to the mouth piece. “-sorry, my trailer. I can come back to get it later.”

“Oh shit, yeah, I can pick you up. Where are you?”

Eddie can’t help but thank whatever higher power there is. He’s starting to feel gross and achy, and while he knows his name has been cleared, people still look at him with disdain. Going back into the pharmacy, or any other store, really, isn’t his best option. Freezing to death would suck too.

“The pharmacy down off Main.”

“Okay, I’ll be there in like..ten minutes. Just gotta find a jacket and I’ll be there.”

“Thanks princess.”

By the time Harrington gets there, Eddie’s shivering, nose pink from both the temperature and the attention he’s been giving it from it getting runny. Hauling himself up, body feeling ungodly heavy, the twenty year old walks up to the others car and gets in, instantly blasted with heat. Thank fuck.

“Sorry about this,” Eddie clicks his seatbelt and puts his bag on his lap, wincing as he swallows.

“No worries man, seriously. Happy to help. What were you doing over here anyway? It’s cold as hell, would think you of all people would just stay in your house and keep warm,” Steve smiles, and Eddie watches, warmth pooling in his stomach.

“Think that shit that’s been going around finally hit me, needed to grab some Tylenol, we don’t really have anything at the trailer.”

Rubbing his face, he’s thankful Harrington knows where his place is, even if the reason for knowing sucks. He’s too tired to keep his eyes open, though he wishes he could, with someone as hot as Steve sitting next to him. Eddie curls away from the driver and presses his arm tight to his face, not wanting to get his germs all over the man’s car.

“Damn, that sucks. Robin just caught it too. I had it back last week, finally feeling human again,” he explains, looking at Eddie in sympathy.

“Why does it not surprise me you caught it first?”

“Yeah yeah, my immune system sucks,” Steve rolls his eyes fondly. “Have you eaten? We can grab soup on the way.”

“Nah, I’m not hungry. But thanks anyway.”

“I was going to bring some to Robin anyway. You sure? It’ll save me a trip too.”

And damn, Eddie’s too gone on Steve fucking Harrington to say no to that, especially when he’s been grateful enough to come pick him up in the first place. Forcing his eyes open, he looks at the man and nods.

“Yeah, that’s fine then. I don’t need any though, kind of scared I might hurl it up if I try to eat it.”

Steve turns down one street, then back up on to Main, parking in front of the small family owned deli. He keeps the car running, then puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“I’ll be right back. You just stay here and relax.”

As if Eddie would do anything else. He drifts for a bit, letting the aches and chill take over. A door opening and shutting makes him open his eyes again, and Steve is there with two brown bags, setting them in the back of his nice BMW.

They don’t speak as Steve drives, Eddie’s too tired and the other man seems to respect that. He did say he’d been sick last week with it, he probably still remembers how awful talking is. The long haired man leans his too warm temple against the cold window, a tiny, quiet moan escaping his mouth.

“Eddie? Hey man, we’re here,” Steve shakes his shoulder gently, and he opens his eyes, feeling worse. Damn this shit hits quick.

“Thank you, seriously,” Eddie gives the shaggy haired man as much of a smile as he can muster.

“No problem, what was I going to do, say no?”

“Could have. Instead you were my knight in shining armor,” Eddie jokes, grabbing his pharmacy bag, opening the door.

“Oh! Here.” Steve thrusts one of the two bags from the deli at him.

“What-“

“It’s soup. I know you said you did t want any, but…you might get hungry later.”

“…you bought me soup?”

“Yeah? It’s not a big deal.”

“Thanks Stevie.”

Half an hour later, Eddie’s back in sweatpants and one of Wayne’s old, heavy sweaters. If he finishes the entire cup of soup, almost wishing for me, well….Steve won’t need to know.

[wexhappyxfew]

The Sun Will Always Rise || Ronald Speirs

inspired by a quote from Ruta Sepetys’ book, Between Shades of Grey ~ ❛you stand for what is right, without the expectation of gratitude or reward. ❜

Happy HBO War Secret Santa 2020! I can’t believe the time has officially arrived and to say I am beyond excited for this lil Ronald Speirs imagine I cooked up, is an understatement. This is for @incorrectbandofbrothersquotes​ , for Kelsey!! It’s not as much of a Christmas theme, more of a snowy, wintry theme, which I love!!

I was beyond excited to take up a request for Secret Santa and laying out my options, going off your list, I chose Ronald Speirs to write for you - I am so happy with how this turned out, and I hope, more than anything, you enjoy it and it brings some holiday cheer to this time of year, especially after a year where it seems like every thing that happened just got worse and worse.

Take time to yourself this holiday season, Kelsey, and you enjoy some time for yourself as well - you are such a wonderful human being, who I believe if I’m correct, I have followed since Day 1 in this fandom, nearly 2 years ago - if that even sounds right LOL! It’s been a long while though! Happy reading and happy holidays for whatever holiday you celebrate, or if you don’t celebrate any at all! Thank you and enjoy! And thank you @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant for doing this!!! <3

ronald speirs imagine x reader - 2.5k word count <3 

Captain Speirs had been rather adamant on letting you go early from the tiny meeting Captain Winters had organized - between the runny nose, your numb fingertips, and your pale cheeks which seemed to stand out especially in the bleak wilderness around you, you figured it was for the best. 

Haguenea, France was far from the paradise that Mourmelon-le-Grande had offered back in the convent in Rachamps when it was the only thought inside your mind, the warmth reaching your hands for the first time in what felt like months. 

Now, your toes were numb just like your mind. Your helmet was cast down over your tired eyes, the dark rims that had accompanied you through Bastogne, along with the terrors of the Bois Jaque, you were surprised that you could no longer get a proper night of sleep at this point. 

OP 2 stood with its bullet speckled fortifications, shattered glass window panes, and mud covered path way but more than anything you felt a tiny smile poke up at the corner of your mouth, more than anything in that moment. 

Crossing your arms across your chest, you tucked your little hands towards the coat portion near your armpits, relishing the bit of warmth your body still managed to produce. 

Moving up the few steps you had taken that morning, up to the depths of OP 2, you stomped the bits of mud out from the portions of your new winter-boots pack and pushed inside the bit of warmth that drifted from the outpost. 

You could hear a few of the men moving around downstairs, most likely eating their fill before the patrol slated for 0100 tonight. It was quiet on the main level though, beds left unmade from where men had taken much-needed naps from the bitter cold which brought on layers of tiredness and loss of calories more than the normal days of what war brought. 

Pulling the Thompson from your shoulder, you let it drop into your cold hands before lying it beside the bunk you, yourself had taken a nap in before you had woken up for the meeting. 

Yawning, you glanced towards the open French doors that let in the cold draft of air in the late, dreary afternoon. The quiet river that trailed outside let it’s soft presence be known as the sun did its best to warm the land underneath which lay tattered in ruins and soaking snow and mud pits, decorating it with war. 

Moving outside again, you let your pistol bump at your hip - no one wanted to start another battle when the war had already taken enough, no one wished to throng bullet after bullet towards one another when there was already so much bloodshed - for a moment there was simply just peace as you moved outside towards the river. 

Turning the corner, where you had found a little secluded spot to just sit and let the tiny bit of peace you felt overtake you, you noticed a figure standing stiffly, his dark eyes looking out across the river, with a scarf pulled up around his stubble cheeks, eyes evidently alert and awake. 

You had found the area just that day, frosted hedges and a leafless tree hanging overhead with the dreary sky as a saddening backdrop. 

Clearing your throat, you took a tentative step forward, watching the man with gentle eyes. He didn’t seem to notice your presence, he didn’t make a show of it, but you knew he did, by the subtle shift in the way his shoulders dropped the slightest inch, and even his eyes seemed to soften, the hard glow from your side view of him fading. 

Captain Speirs seemed no stranger to your presence in the simple way, he suddenly turned his own head towards your eyes, his lips pulled into the thin line you had seen previously at the small gathering with Captain Winters. 

“ I thought I told you to get some rest, Lieutenant.” he said, his eyes softly moving up and down your small stature, stopping briefly on your hands which looked nearly as pale as the sky by that point - you looked so fragile and small in his eyes for a moment. 

“ Sleeping and I aren’t exactly compatible.” you said as you approached him, your feet in the mud covered boots slowing to a pause in front of him as he watched you earnestly.

“ What are you doing out here, Lieutenant?” 

“ I could ask the same of you, sir.” you answered quietly back, watching as he studied your eyes, noticing the build of stress lines that stretched like the horizon underneath your stressed eyes, the sunken in cheeks showing the wounds of war in someone who had fought so strongly against it and the pain of a million souls rupturing your heart. A slight hint of a smile poked up at the corner of his lips, as he finally rested his eyes on your own again, before looking back out towards the river and the enemy’s side.

“ It’s peaceful out here.” he said and you watched as he let his eyes move along the bank of water, softly picking on each and every little part of the river from its banks to the white caps. 

“ I’m glad I’m not the only one who found it peaceful then.” you said quietly, your own eyes caring out towards the, admittedly, cold water. Slowly, willing yourself with the might you had, you walked forward and slowly positioned yourself beside the man, barely reaching his shoulder if you could admit it and let your eyes remain out on the river. 

Captain Ronald Speirs had come into your life only recently, but even years before you had bumped into him on occasion - it was always a mutual greeting, signs of respect being passed between the two of you, both Lieutenants in your own realms. He had even complimented the dress you’d been wearing out on the town one night with a group of the guys in Aldbourne after the Normandy Campaign. He had liked the color - it had been a soft baby blue, like robin’s eggs - and he had liked it. 

Of course at the time, you hadn’t thought much of it, the sun rising and setting, the moon coming out to expose the raw pain and truth of war, the bloodshed and endless battles and the grief that consumed merely just one person after the next - you’d forgotten about it almost instantly. You still remembered the softness of his eyes - that hadn’t changed. 

Now, he was your CO and you remained a close Second to him; he turned to you when he wanted to run something over, and on occasion, you two shared a cigarette under the moonlight when all the men were tucked away and finally getting the restful sleep they deserved. 

“ What do you think’s gonna happen on that patrol tonight, Lieutenant?” he asked you, voice soft, in a way gentle, but the soft rasp of a cough in his throat was far from evident. He always seemed to confide in you when these circumstances arose - especially after Rachamps. 

“ I think the men will be okay, they’ve fought for a while in this war, just as the enemy has. They’ll do their best.” They were tired is what she wanted to say, all the men were - she gave a prayer to Sergeant Martin for the heed he took when assigned to lead the patrol over the exhausted Sergeant Malarkey. 

“ They’ve all fought long enough.” the Captain said quietly and you peaked a hesitant glance up towards him. Your heart didn’t fail to speed up the slightest bit at the gentle nature that encased his face and the way he seemed to undoubtedly care for each of the men like a father would. 

Turning from the river, he slowly met your eyes which didn’t falter in looking away from his own - you were rather mesmerized by his beautiful irises, the way they glowed even in darkness or in the bleak snow, even when the sun would rise, they glowed so purely. 

“ Sir….I….” He watched you speak, head inclined towards you, waiting for the words from your lips, but you were caught up with the caring nature he seemed to inhibit within himself in that moment of time where there was no war, no peace, just him and his eyes, and just...him. 

“ I know you care for these men, Y/N.” Captain Speirs whispered softly, as he watched your eyes change from the stressed expression they seemed to constantly encompass to a gentleness, a warmth, merely at the direct comment of her name and not just the soft rasp of Lieutenant - no he had said your name. So softly and tenderly, each letter off the tongue like a song. 

“ I’ve been with them since Toccoa, sir….I…” your shoulders managed to slump as you found yourself unable to finish your sentence under the Captain’s gaze, unable to process mere words. 

“ These men don’t deserve this Y/N, I know that and so does Captain Winters - I think we all do.” 

“ Battalion’s orders.” you managed out weakly, with an attempt at a frosted smile as he nodded, watching the sadness flood your eyes again - he found out he didn’t like seeing your beautiful eyes sad like that, even if they still looked just as beautiful, your eyes didn’t deserve to see and feel such pain, for their mere beauty was worth much more. 

“ You don’t deserve this either, Y/N.” Shutting your eyes for a moment, you felt your heart squeeze at his words - you always thought in some way you had - for the lives you took, for the ones you couldn’t prevent being taken, from everything. In some ways, it was alright - to pay your dues as such. 

“ You deserve to be happy, warm...in a little cottage by the sea that you’ve always liked…” 

He had LISTENED to that story? He had HEARD that story? 

You swore it must’ve been the fever or maybe that the recollection you had was just you mumbling to yourself, you swore it had been.

“ You heard all that?” you asked softly, your eyes opening as you met his own again. A chuckle left his lips and you found it enough to boost your own into a shy smile at it, his eyes downcast before glancing up to your own. He had a nice laugh.

“ Yeah, yeah I did,” he said biting back his lips as a smile crossed his lips, twinkling eyes shining on you,” must’ve been the fever but you were going on and on about it and I wasn’t going to stop you either.” You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head at your clumsy way of speech - through a fever and the cold and you had blabbered to Captain Speirs about the cottage by the sea you wished for. 

Both your smiles seemed to fall once the moment past and almost like a little angel on your shoulder, your heart pleaded to see that dash of a boyish grin on his lips again. Your heart nearly yearned for it when it’s only human contact was the Captain in front of her - maybe she wanted it too. 

And from the proximity of your bodies, you were nearly in reach of him. 

“ Your eyes..-” Softly looking towards you as you spoke, your lip hanging open a bit as you met them again,”...I mean, sir, I..I don’t know if you’ve been told, but you’re eyes…” He watched you softly.

“ They’re beautiful, sir, and I just thought you should know.” Because in war, this war, I may never see you after tonight, you wished to say, but your head was saying no as your heart was saying yes. 

The smile that had gone underground on the Captains’ face suddenly grew, spreading across his face and you couldn’t help but let your breath get caught in your throat. 

An ethereal being was your first thought. 

It seemed like he too was caught at a similar crossroads, his eyes betraying him and his heart - you were within reach, you were standing right there, despite everything. 

You were standing there with a wounded heart. 

“ I could say the same to you,” he said quietly,” Lieutenant.” Your heart squeezed the slightest bit tighter as he said it.

“ Baby blue,” he said quietly,” like robin’s eggs.” Your eyes carried up to his again and you met them within seconds, suddenly aware of the heat on your cheeks, the pounding of your heart - none of it.

“ I didn’t just notice that dress you wore that day, Lieutenant,” he said quietly,” I noticed those eyes too.” He swore they could make the sun want to rise on its worst days. You swore it was just the cold, but you had no words left to say, you had nothing to say at all - because his eyes which glowed like the sun, said it all. 

“ Sir….” you whispered, but he suddenly turned and gently pressed his hands which had been crossed over his chest, flush against your red cheeks and watched you tenderly, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin of your sunken in cheeks, as he watched your eyes. He watched you so selflessly, like you were his sun, his world. 

Could a person ever mean that much to another - maybe Ronald Speirs thought that way. 

Maybe he always had. 

It seemed for a moment the stoic Captain did everything to break down the walls which encapsulated him just so he could touch the human in front of him - you. The bit of warmth he still felt under his fingertips coming from you. 

Softly, ever so lovingly, he shut his eyes as you watched his long lashes cover his irises. 

And in that moment, you shut your own as he held your there, inches from his face, faintly hearing his heartbeat which raced for the first time since Foy. 

“ You stand for what is right, Y/N, without the expectation of gratitude or reward.” he whispered softly as your heart rushed and hurriedly skipped over a beat without hesitation,” And through this war, even after, it’s all you deserve.” 

And within a moment, a softness pressed against your cold cheek, the touch of his lips on your skin, a gentle kiss from the servant of the sun - and just as fast as it had happened it disappeared. 

Your own hands slowly moved upward towards your flushed cheeks - you could still feel the brush of his lips against the skin of your cheek. 

Opening your eyes, you found yourself alone, all alone by the rushing water of the river, your heart pounding. Slowly, you glanced over your shoulder and found the figure of the Captain moving away from you, his commanding presence which had fallen to his queen for a mere moment of time, back up. 

Yet you had seen it fall, and you had seen his heart, his beautiful heart - for not only were his eyes as beautiful as they had been, but so was his heart - it had always been, but this time, so was everything else about him. 

Everything.

The sun smiled, it would always rise. 

The sun would always rise. 

[meltwonu]

s n a k e     |     e y e s     [chapter 7]

pairing; snakehybrid!woozi x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; SWITCH!WOOZI, jihoon being a bit of a brat, mutual masturbation, blindfolds, cockwarming, some dirty talk 🥺💕 thank you to everyone for being so patient with me! Some new minor characters in this one too!! 💕💕 Also this chapter is abt 4k+ so strap in for the ride~ 

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - x - x - x

The first thing Jihoon notices when he wakes up is that he feels cold despite being wrapped up in a ton of blankets.

His tired eyes scan the room, noticing he’s now in your shared bedroom and that the heaters and humidifiers had been moved into the space to help bring his temperature back up. A whimper escapes his lips as he shifts slightly, tiredly nuzzling into the soft sheets. He also picks up on familiar scents; eyes fixated on the door while not making any movements to get up.

And almost like he wills it, the door slams open, Mingyu on the other side with a worried face.

“Jihoon-hyung!! I’m here!!” The tall puppy hybrid bounds towards the bed, a fistfull of flowers in his grip as he kneels next to it. “I knew you were awake! Are you okay? Do you wanna eat?” Mingyu’s ears flatten atop his head in worry, tail swishing behind him as he leans closer into Jihoon’s face.

“You wanna cuddle?”

“...No.” Jihoon’s voice is hoarse, tugging the bed sheets up to cover his face. “Where is Seungcheol-hyung? I assume he’s here with you.” The puppy hybrid sits back, crossing his legs as he sits next to the bed on the floor.

“I think he’s still talkin’ to Wonwoo-hyung.” A lightbulb goes off in Jihoon’s head; that must’ve been the other hybrid that he had picked up on other than Mingyu. Wonwoo was a red panda hybrid and also a doctor on staff at Seungcheol’s. Jihoon never really saw him since he usually only came around when there was a medical issue, but he did remember Wonwoo from the few checkups he had while at Seungcheol’s.

“How long have you guys been here?” Mingyu sets his, clearly, stolen flowers on the nightstand, a pout on his lips as he stares at the ceiling.

“Well, you’ve been asleep for like 13 hours? I think we’ve been here since last night…”

“Wait… last night!?”

Mingyu quickly relays the info to him; letting Jihoon know what exactly happened while he was knocked out.

You had called Seungcheol immediately, letting him know that Jihoon had passed out in your arms and that he was colder than usual but breathing fine. Seungcheol had shown up with Mingyu in tow 20 minutes later, phone pressed up to his ear talking to Wonwoo when they had arrived.

Mingyu had helped transfer Jihoon into your bed while you and Seungcheol moved all the heaters and humidifiers to the bedroom and Wonwoo had shown up soon after to assess the situation.

“And?”

“Well, then Seungcheol-hyung and I slept in the living room on an air mattress but Wonwoo-hyung had to leave and just came back this morning. Hyung said we should stay overnight just in case, so we did! Um, I think one of the night shift nurses from the adoption home came by at some point?? It might’ve been Joshua-hyung but I was asleep so I’m not sure.” Jihoon asks about you; guilt washing over him almost immediately when he thought of how worried you must’ve been.

“Oh yeah, she was really worried! She slept on the floor in here if I remember correctly. But she’s out there talkin’ to ‘Cheol-hyung and Wonwoo-hyung. Did you want me to get them?”

“Yes, please, Mingyu.” The puppy hybrid gets up and leaves, yelling down the hallway that Jihoon was awake. The snake hybrid chuckles softly, sitting up as best as he can while he waits for you. His head feels fuzzy and a little lightheaded but when you cross the threshold of the bedroom he can’t help but break into a small smile.

“Jihoon! You’re awake!” You all but launch yourself at the bed, pulling him into a comforting hug as he nuzzles into your neck. He takes in your scent; something he had come to love so much. “I was so worried about you!”

“I know, I’m sorry...”

“Silly, don’t be sorry!” The two of you stay in each other’s embrace for a little longer as the other three males stand by the door, watching with fond eyes. But Wonwoo clears his throat, stepping closer towards the two of you. “Um, I hate to be that guy but I need to check how Jihoon’s doing…”

You nod, pulling away and letting Wonwoo do his job. His ears perk up as he gets closer to Jihoon, fluffy tail swishing behind him. You thought Wonwoo was a very cute hybrid. “Hey, bud.”

“Don’t call me that please…”

“Okay, sorry. Anyway, do you know what happened to you? Were you feeling ill or did you have any weird symptoms? Did you know you were getting sick?” Confusion paints Jihoon’s features as he listens to Wonwoo speak. Sick? He hadn’t even felt anything different.

“No… not at all. I mean, I--I was kinda sleepy so I went to lay down and I--I forgot to, um, turn on my heaters and stuff...”

“Is that all? Do you know how long you were asleep like that?”

“I g-guess a couple hours?” Wonwoo hums, “You didn’t feel weird? Like your temperature was dropping?” Jihoon shakes his head no, fingers playing with the sheets as Wonwoo checks his vitals again. “I was just… really tired I guess. I was feeling okay when I went in, and I didn’t--I wasn’t thinking straight. I guess I was distracted.” Wonwoo checks his temperature and heartbeat once more before he pulls away.

“Okay, I mean… your vitals were stable last night, this morning when Vernon came to check and right now. Your temperature is still kind of on the lower side though. You’ll probably feel a low-grade human cold, so sniffles, a bit of a cough, sore throat. Basic stuff. It’s nothing serious but you should probably keep all the heaters and humidifiers on through the night to help bring your temperature up. It’s still raining outside so avoid going outside too. You should be okay in a day or two, realistically.”

Nodding, you take a seat on the edge of the bed. “Is there any medication he can take?”

“I have some cold medication I can give Jihoon. It’ll just help with the sore throat and runny nose but his temperature is strictly based on how quickly his body stabilizes itself.” Wonwoo fixes his stare on Jihoon, making sure he understands. 

Jihoon nods in return.

Wonwoo leaves a small prescription of medication on the nightstand and gives you his direct number just in case you need it. You thank him, getting ready to walk the three males to the door but not before Mingyu stops you all in your places.

“Wait!! I wanna hug Jihoon-hyung if it’s okay?” Mingyu shoots Wonwoo a questioning look, the red panda hybrid nodding silently before he and Seungcheol start down the hall to the door. “Jihoon-hyung may I hug you?”

“...fine…” The puppy hybrid beams before walking over with open arms, slightly lifting the smaller male into his arms as he squeezes. “You need to come visit us sometime!! Seokmin misses you too, y’know!” Jihoon nods, gently returning the hug as he pats Mingyu on the back.

“I know, I’ve been meaning to, I just haven’t found the time. But I will.” Mingyu leans in closer, his lips close to Jihoon’s ear; his canines peeking out when he smirks.

“You should be careful about fuckin’ on the sofa too, y’know. I made Seungcheol-hyung sleep on it but imagine if he knew? Wonwoo-hyung and I could smell it from a mile away.”

“Good, you should know to keep your hands to yourself around here then?”

The three leave soon after and you decide to order in some food so the two of you could properly get some more rest; Jihoon settling back against the pillows as you lay next to him.

“How are you feelin’, Ji?”

“M’okay… A ‘lil sleepy but I think I slept a lot already. Might be itching for a nap in a bit or something.” You nod, intertwining your hand with his. “We can wait for the food to get in and then you can eat and maybe take some of your medicine. We can cuddle ‘til then though.” Not waiting for a reply, you scoot over, wrapping your arms around Jihoon from the side as he adjusts to accommodate you, tugging you into his arms. You nuzzle into his chest; a tiny frown on your face when you can feel the chill radiating off of his skin.

But Jihoon immediately relaxes in your touch, loving the warmth radiating from your body as he wraps his arms tighter around you. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Sure?”

“Mingyu said you slept on the floor? How come you didn’t sleep next to me?” There’s an underlying hurt in Jihoon’s voice that you catch, leaning in closer to press a soft kiss to his exposed collarbone. “I would’ve but we didn’t know what was wrong or how sick you were. Wonwoo was worried it was more than a cold so he asked that we all kind of keep our distance, just in case. I had to beg him to let me even sleep in here, to be honest. He’s a pretty strict doctor, huh?” Jihoon smiles, pulling you closer until he can lay a kiss on your forehead.

“Yeah, he is. But he’s a good doctor. And as a hybrid he really understands how to take care of other hybrids. Joshua-hyung and Vernon are good nurses too. It’s pretty interesting that the doctor is a hybrid and the nurses are humans, right?”

“Mmm.. it’s a good thing though! Wonwoo would know best and the others are probably good at following his lead since he does. He’s also got a really fluffy tail, s’pretty cute.”

“Are you crushing on my doctor now? The same one that knows we fucked on the sofa?”

You break into a blush, ears burning red when you remember that hybrids had a better sense of smell than humans did. 

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, only getting up when the doorbell rings to let you know your delivery is in. You slide out of bed, giving Jihoon one last kiss before you exit the room.

Jihoon takes the time to think. He really did want to go visit the adoption home again; if only to visit the only other friends he’d come to know and like. And even though he always happily accompanied you on grocery runs and even a few times when you had to pop into the office, he figured a trip back was due sometime soon, for himself.

“Okay! I got the food~ Did you wanna eat now or later?” On cue, his stomach grumbles, a sheepish smile on his face as he sits up in bed. “I think now would be good.”

You set up on the nightstand, moving his medicine and Mingyu’s stolen flowers to your vanity. “Where did Mingyu even get these?”

“Trust me, none of us ever know. Back at the adoption home he always came back from walks with the weirdest stuff. One time he found a whisk outside and brought it back in. We still don’t know where he got it.” 

“I mean his heart is in the right place, at least?” Jihoon nods, watching as you grab the bowl of rice porridge and the spoon, sitting at the edge of the bed next to him.

“Are you gonna feed me too?”

“Shouldn’t I? My sick ‘lil baby needs some lovin’.” Jihoon rolls his eyes jokingly but lets you; secretly loving being pampered. The two of you soon fall into idle chatter, enjoying each other’s company while you feed the sick male.

“Oh, by the way…”

“Mm?”

“Mingyu mentioned me visiting them sometime soon so… I was thinking about doing that.”

“That’s fine with me! Maybe you can take Chan with you and introduce him to the others. I don’t know if he has that many friends either. He might like it?” Jihoon nods, asking you to ask Minghao what days were okay for Chan to come visit at some point within the next week. You promise to text Minghao soon, finishing up feeding Jihoon before you set down the bowl and get up to grab his medicine.

“I thought you didn’t like Chan, but I’m glad the two of you seem to hit it off.”

“What? When did I say that?”

“Well… you didn’t say it necessarily but need I remind you what you did to my panties last time?” Jihoon chuckles, a smirk gracing his features as he leans back. “No, I think the kid is nice. Just needs to know his place, y’know?”

“Okay well Mr. Possessive, Wonwoo said it’d be best for you to take these after you eat so I guess now’s a good time!” You pass him the medicine and a glass of water, making sure he takes it before you start to clean up around him.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?”

“In a bit. You’re probably gonna start feeling the effects of the medicine soon, so it’s okay if you want to sleep, Ji. You probably need it so that you can get better quicker.” He watches you tidy up for a little while before his eyelids start to feel heavy, a yawn on his lips as he starts to settle back under the covers.

“Mm… ‘m jus… gonna nap a bit…”

When Jihoon comes to, 2 hours later, you’re in bed next to him working on your laptop. The drowsiness from his medicine was still apparent as he whines slightly to get your attention.

“Everything okay, Ji?”

“Just.. a ‘lil cold… can you cuddle with me?” You set your things aside on the nightstand, adjusting yourself until you’re spooning him from the side. “Still feeling sleepy?”

“Mmm… kinda… usually I’d eat you out by now or somethin’ though. I wish I wasn’t so weak, right now.” You snort. Of course Jihoon always had that in mind. “Is that all you think about? Eating me out?”

“I mean… it makes you extra warm. It feels good for me and for you too.” Ok, not wrong. An idea pops into your head and you bite the inside of your cheek wondering if it was too out of pocket to ask or not. But Jihoon can feel you tense up behind him, his body shifting in your arms until he’s facing you.

“Penny for your thoughts? I could feel your body going stiff.”

“Well… I have an idea… But I don’t know if you’ll be into it or not…” You blush, already kind of regretting even bringing it up, but you’ve already started so you decide to not hold back. “What if we tried… me being the dom?”

Jihoon can’t stop the thrum of arousal that shoots down his spine, already curious about what that entailed.

“I… yeah, let’s try it.”

You can’t help the way your throat feels dry as you rummage through your things; grabbing a silk ribbon and a vibrator from inside your dresser before you strip down to just your panties and bra.

Shockingly, Jihoon had been interested in your ideas, letting you take the reins as he got comfortable, soft pillows tucked underneath his head as he watched you. He couldn’t deny the way his cock throbbed in his sweatpants, already anticipating what you had in store for him. “Ji? Wanna use the same safeword?”

“O-oh? Yeah, sure…”

You make your way back to the bed, instead sitting at the foot of the bed across from Jihoon. The room already feels warm with the humidifiers and the heaters going; a bead of sweat trickling down your temple as you set your things down next to you. There was no denying that you were already a little wet; the thought of Jihoon being a sub was always something you were curious about but unsure if he’d even let you have that much control.

“I want you to watch me first…”

Jihoon gulps, eyes trained on you as you spread your legs slightly. You grab the vibrator, setting it to its lowest setting before you start to drag it across your body, up your torso and towards your lips, licking the silicone before sending him a smile.

“You can touch yourself too, if you wanna. But no cumming.”

Jihoon processes your words but doesn’t move, too fixated on you to even care about himself.

He watches you drag the toy back down, running it across your thighs before you press it against your clothed slit, a mewl on your lips as soon as soon as you feel the vibrations. “Mmh, Jihoon…” Jihoon licks his lips, eyes focused on the way your toes curl against the sheets and your legs only spread open wider.

“C--can you take off your p-panties…”

“Hmm? Do you think you deserve it?”

“Y-yes…” You shoot him a sultry smile, setting the vibrator down for a second before you unhook your bra, tossing the material to the floor before you shimmy your panties down your legs. This time, you throw the material towards Jihoon, letting it hit him in the chest as you giggle.

You return to what you were doing, picking up the vibrator as you bring it to your folds again, slowly bringing the toy towards your clit. Jihoon’s mouth opens in a quiet moan the same time yours does, his fingertips gripping the sheets tightly. “Fuck, I wanna touch you so bad…”

“I know you do, but that’s not how we’re playing right now, baby boy.”

The nickname sends a shiver up his spine almost instantaneously.

Jihoon keeps his eyes trained on you as he moves the bed sheets off himself, hesitating for a second before he takes his clothes off as well. “Shit, it’s c-cold…”

“Oh, I know, baby. Don’t worry though. I’ll warm you up soon, okay?” He nods as he takes the panties you’d throw at him and grips the material in his hand. His cock is already half hard, curving towards his abdomen as he brings the material towards it. You watch as he wraps your panties around his cock, using the material to get off on while he watches you too.

The room is undeniably hot; only getting worse when you turn the vibrations higher, a wrecked moan cutting through the air when you press the toy harder against your clit. You can feel the wetness starting to gather on the toy as you drag it down your folds; spreading your legs as wide as you can to give Jihoon a show.

“Wanna fuck me yet, Ji?”

Jihoon’s jaw clenches at your words, his grip on his cock tightening ever so slightly.

“Just as much as I know you wanna sit on my cock.”

Touché.

Jihoon is slightly hesitant when you clamber into his lap, silk ribbon in between your fingertips.

“You gotta trust me, baby. I let you tie me up with my ripped up panties, I’m sure you can be blindfolded for a bit, can’t you?” He nods, licking his lips out of nervousness. “You can always use our safeword if you feel uncomfortable, okay?”

“Okay… I trust you.”

You lean over, wrapping the silk ribbon around his head until his eyes are covered with the soft material.

“Everything okay so far? Not too tight?” He shakes his head no, giving you the okay to continue as you tie a pretty bow to finish it off.

And despite Jihoon’s initial hesitation, he can’t deny the way his body already feels so much warmer with your skin touching his; the sensation heightened now that his vision was diminished. He feels your hands snaking down his torso, your lips on his collarbone leaving soft kisses, and he can’t help but think that he can get used to this.

But the part that Jihoon loves is when you finally sit on his cock, lowering yourself onto him until he’s fully sheathed inside your warmth. Goosebumps are all over your skin when you do; Jihoon’s temperature still colder than usual.

“How are you feeling, baby boy?”

“Fuh--feels g--good…”

Without saying anything, Jihoon keeps his hands to himself, sliding them underneath the pillows as he digs his hands into the soft material. “Fuck, you’re so hot and w-wet around me…” He finishes with a moan, just wanting to plant his feet on the bed and thrust up into you. But Jihoon knows his limits and knows his body is still weak so he lets you sit on his cock, clenching around him every so often. And if Jihoon is being completely honest, just having you do this much was already doing wonders for his body.

“Ngh, I could live like this, y’know.”

“Oh? Just me sitting on your cock?”

“Mmhmm, I’d make you sit on it all day. Then I’d make you beg me to let you cum.” There’s a cocky smirk on his lips and you can almost see the smolder in his eyes through the blindfold.

“Yeah? Just like the way I’m going to make you beg me to let you cum?” Jihoon suddenly hears the vibrator come back to life, hearing it come closer as you press the silicone toy against his torso. He swallows thickly, his head suddenly feeling insanely hot as you bring the toy to a nipple, letting the vibrations assault his skin.

“Fuck! Fuck, please, okay, okay!” He whimpers right after, unable to decide if he wants to arch into the feeling or away from it from how ticklish he was. “Fu--fuck, you’re a demon. You really are.” You turn the toy off, tossing it next to him as you lean in close.

“Oh, I am. But you are too. It’s why we’re so compatible.”

Time passes slowly for Jihoon as you run your hands all over his skin. The urge to cum is undeniable as he tries to stave it off for what feels like the 8th time. 

However, you can already notice a difference in his body temperature which makes you happy, despite the interesting situation.

“I can’t believe you got sick. And that one of the ways to get your temperature up is… this.”

“Honestly? No complaints.” You clench around him for effect, a mewl cutting through the air from the snake hybrid. “Ugh, please… please f-fuck me…” A cherry blush coats Jihoon’s skin as he mutters.

“Can’t take it anymore?”

“N--no, I can’t I--I want to cum, please. I need you to do something, I’m fucking going crazy...”

“Okay, but you can only cum after I have.”

You grab the toy again, letting it buzz to life in your hand before you press it to your clit. Simultaneously, you start to bounce on his cock, alternating between that and grinding down onto his lap as Jihoon fights the urge to push you over and take control.

The room smells of sex; moans bouncing off the walls as you chase your orgasm. “Can you take off the blindfold, I wanna see you…” You figure Jihoon’s been good enough, so you oblige, tugging the bow undone as he pulls the material down. And once his eyes adjust to the light, he takes in your body, watching as his cock disappears into your pussy as you hold the vibrator to your clit. “Fuck yes, make yourself cum on my cock.” Jihoon can feel you getting tighter around him, urging you with pretty praise to fall apart on his cock.

“C’mon, cum for me. I can feel your ‘lil cunt getting so tight around me.” You moan in response, setting the toy to a higher setting before you cry out Jihoon’s name, thighs trembling as you feel yourself cumming.

Jihoon feels a twinge of electricity go through his body as he sees red for a second, pushing you onto your back in the midst of your orgasm. And you have no time to figure out what’s going on before he’s pounding into you; thrusts erratic as he chases his own orgasm.

“Fuck, you’re insane. It took me everything to not pin you down to the bed and just fuck you senseless. And don’t get me wrong, it felt nice to be pampered and doted on but… Fuck, I love fucking you just like this too.”

Jihoon keeps your hand that still has the vibrator in it, pinned to your clit, making you whimper. “Aww, cute ‘lil baby still cumming?” You nod shakily, the overstimulation biting into you slowly as you squirm underneath him. “S’okay, I’m gonna cum inside your pussy now that you’ve had your fun.” He starts grinding against you, growling slightly when he starts to feel himself cum. And he can’t tell if it’s because he had already been feeling lightheaded, but his orgasm feels ten times as intense; tingles spreading all the way down to his fingertips as he cums inside of you.

You moan at the feeling of being filled, your shaky legs wrapping around his waist to pull him in closer. Jihoon pulls your hand away, the vibrator falling to the sheets as he pins your arms down to the bed instead. He watches as you catch your breath, your post-orgasmic face cute to him. 

“God, you’re so perfect for me baby.” He leans down, kissing you on the lips gently as he comes down from his high. You lay underneath him completely exhausted, letting him keep you pressed into the sheets as he enjoys your warmth.

“Fu--ck, Ji, I... how are you even?? Where?? The energy???” You words are jumbled, confusion painted across your features as he smirks down at you. 

“Maybe you took home an incubus and you didn’t know.” 

[hitsuackerman]

Hawkweed (Hawks x Reader)

Prompt: Hawks and you have known each other for a good 4 years till your feelings made you walk through a rather… difficult path.

warnings: FEELS, a little bit of FLUFF

word count: 2.8k (its a long one folks)

4 years.

This all began 4 years ago.

It was still clear as day. The moment you stepped into his agency via request of Endeavor. Such a new environment for someone who preferred working underground. Scanning the lobby, each person had been doing their own thing, there were always 4 or 5 people running from one corner to another; phone in hand and laptop balancing on the other. Fast paced agency for a fast paced hero. All too fitting.

“So you’re the hero Endeavor-san sent?” Hawks inquired as he offered you a chicken wing. The smugness of his features still manage to make your heart flutter till now. “Look forward to workin’ with you then!”

You knew he was a flirt. You knew he was cheeky. Endeavor himself told you to be careful of the #2 Pro-hero. Enji Todoroki popped in and advised you to be wary for he can, undoubtedly, pull and win you over with his cheekyness.

You listened. You tried. You really did.

Until that one time.

A month ago.

You two were doing paperwork in his office. Side by side. Nothing new, really. Over the years, you’d grown accustomed to all his antics. If it meant being a little closer to seeing his genuine side, the side which always fascinated you, you were willing to keep up with him.

“Ya know, I’ve known you for 4 years and you still manage to captivate me like those chicken wings from down the block.”

Those were the words. Those words made you burst into laughter at just how random it was. Of course he would say that. He was Hawks.

That was the same day where everything just… spiraled out of control.

That same hour, he had excused himself to answer a call. When he turned his back, you let out a small cough.

You know those coughs you have when you laugh too much? You thought it was that. Until, you felt something clog up your throat. Coughing a little harder, you felt a foreign resting on your tongue.

Spitting it out, a small quiet gasp escaped your lips.

The legend was real. Your world came crashing down at the realization that this would be nothing but one sided love.

A small petal from a Hawkweed wedged between your fingers, mocked you. Turning your head to the person still talking on the phone, your heart beat began to spike as tears began to well in your eyes.

This was a slap to your face. A harsh painful slap that the feelings you tried to push aside came back at you with a much greater force than you would have ever anticipated.

Blinking the tears away, you tucked the petal into your pocket and resumed the paperwork. Not a moment too soon, Hawks flopped into the cushion next to you. His arm draped on the sofa’s back.

“As much as I like workin’ with ya, I gotta scramble. Committee wants me to head over there.”

“Sure. No problem.”

On that same day, just as he was about to fly his way, before bidding his farewell, he playfully pinched the bridge of your nose.

Such an interaction would have made you feel little tiny butterflies in your stomach. No. You felt as if small thorns were playfully poking your insides. Almost as if, small needles were teasing your skin. Waiting for the perfect moment to stab you relentlessly.

When he flew away, you coughed one more time. The choking sensation there as you tried to let the petal out of your throat.

A week had now passed since that day. No matter how hard you tried, the winged hero always managed to pair the two of you together. You loved it. You really did. Spending time with him was all you looked forward to each day.

But now, seeing his golden eyes meet yours sent pain through your lungs. What started with petals now became small chunks of the flower. What began with a bright yellow petal now changed into red tainted ones.

“Are you okay, birdie?” Hawks asked. His eyes taking in your features. He wasn’t blind. He was raised this way. You had changed, he knew it. Your cheeks weren’t as fluffy as they were. The brightness of your smiles seemed to be hiding something else. The shine in your eyes seemed to dull. “You know you can tell me right? What are chickens for…”

Of course. He only saw you as a friend. Nothing more, nothing less. For the first time, you looked away. Focusing on not the pain but on holding the cough you wanted to let out.

“It's… nothing.” You couldn’t fool him. That tone of voice was not you. You knew too well that he could see beyond your actions. But this one was beyond explanation. Luckily, he just let things slide and proceeded to chat about his day.

It really was nothing. You inside the women’s toilet, crouched down while holding desperately on the seat, coughing harder than you’ve ever did this week. Your tears came falling down when you saw how fast the sickness was growing. Floating in the water, fully bloomed Hawkweeds stained with your blood.

The pain you had grown used to was now too much. Each breath you took felt as if more flowers were blooming for the sole purpose of suffocation. For now, all you could do was to watch as you turned into the falling Icarus.

Flushing the yellows and reds away, you stood up and composed yourself. Stepping outside the stall, you walked towards the sink. Your eyes stayed glued to the mirror.

Puffy red eyes. A runny nose. Blood stained teeth with a small petal clinging onto the corner of your mouth. Eye bags that grew deeper as the days passed by. It felt as if a stranger was on the other side of the mirror. A stranger who was in pain of unrequited love.

Another week had passed. By now, you were barely functioning. All you had was the constant aid of your close friend.

“Do you love him that much, (Y/N)?” Fatgum asked as he held your hair back. This was the 3rd time he saw you cough up flowers and vomit blood. This was the 3rd time he had to go on his knees to aid your shivering hunched over body.

“I can't…” That’s what you always answered. By now, each breath was sending ridiculous amounts of suffering on your end. “I love him too much, Gum.”

“You’re already coughing up fully bloomed Hawkweeds. You have more than enough to make a dozen bouquets…” He had to rub circles on your back. Once again, you coughed, choked, and puked out blood stained flowers. “You know how this ends, dontcha?”

“Then perhaps I’ll just have to watch from a distance. You know, I always found him beautiful. I’ve always been a sucker for flowers. I’ve always dreamed of kissing the person who likes me back…” You lowered your head and stared at the puddle of blood and flowers. “But having to remove my feelings for something as ironic as this, I can’t Gum.”

Accepting his hand, you try to recover your balance. Taking the handkerchief he offered, you wiped away the blood and swallowed the metallic taste down your throat.

“That’s why… When the time comes, please don’t tell him.”

All Fatgum could do was bring you into his warm arms. Sobbing with you and the painful end you chose to bring yourself. Ever since that day, Fatgum would have a hating for flowers.

Today was the day. You knew it. You had woken up due to lack of oxygen. In the comfort of your own bed, you had puked a valley of bloody Hawkweeds. For a solid 3 minutes, you felt what it was like to lose air in your system. All you could do was grab onto your chest and breathe through the immense amount of pain your lungs and heart bestowed you.

As in on cue, your phone rings with his name on the screen. Biting your lip, you took the device and let out a shaky exhale.

“Hey, chicken. You okay?”

God his voice was smooth as silk. Your tears fell once more. Why was he showing you care? Why did he have to constantly feed you the idea of hope in this tragedy?

“I’m fine, Hawks…”

“Have you been crying? Chicken, please tell me what’s wrong…”

“Really. There’s nothing to worry about…” You managed to hit the mute button. Another round of petals and blood exited your system. Don’t cry. Don’t let him know you’re suffering. Don’t ruin the friendship. Unmute. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“I can pick you up if you wa-”

“No.” You had to cut him off. Your voice gave in and you knew he heard the crack in your voice. The small device on your ear was shaking from your hold. This pain crushing your lungs and heart was nothing like before. Still, you had to reassure him. “Please. I’ll be fine Hawks.”

You couldn’t take anymore. You hung up.

Putting your face in the palm of your hands, you sobbed and let go of all the sadness you felt in the moment. There was no sense of relief for releasing your sadness.

Unbeknownst to you, outside your window, a winged hero could hear your cries. A hero who was wondering why you would lie and choose to close yourself off from him. Knowing you hated it when he invades your privacy, he glides himself away with thoughts running in his head.

‘What did I do to hurt her?…' 

Hours passed. Each step you took, each time you flexed a muscle to aid a civilian, your vision grew blurry. For once, you wanted to drop being a hero and be saved. The look on the civilian told you just how battered and in pain you were.

“I don’t know what you’re going through…” She whispered as you put her somewhere safe. “But if it’s any consolation, it’s okay to be heroed every now and then…”

Were you that easy to read now? Thanking her for the comfort, you ran back to the site of debris. Trying to hold back another attack

Heading towards an area you hadn’t searched yet, you surveyed for any civilians but it seemed to be clear. In the distance, you heard the announcement that it was all over and each civilian was now safe and out of harm’s way.

Going back to the base, you stopped your tracks and clutched on your chest. The world around you was spinning. Dropping onto your knees, you gave in for another attack. There was nothing you could do. You had been holding it for the past hour and your lungs needed sweet release.

Flower after flower, you coughed and choked just to get them out. Your body barely gave you the chance to breathe. If not a cough, you were puking a waterfall of blood and petals. 

This was it.

Just when you were about to let go, a pair of gloved hands lifted your face.

A look of fear and worry etched on his handsome features. The way his eyes darted from you to the mess you made, your secret was now exposed.

“Who?” Hawks asked. His hands firmly keeping your face upright. “Who is he?”

“I can’t tell you, Hawks.”

His pupils shrunk and he grabbed a handful of blood stained Hawkweeds. Thank goodness he has zero knowledge of flowers, you thought.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Please… Stop…” The care he was showing you only made things worse. There was no holding it in, you had to let it out. Right in front of him, you coughed a hundred bloody flowers. Tears falling down your face at the shame of him seeing you like this.

“Don’t push me away, (Y/N).” Hawks was now gripping your shoulders. “Let’s take you to the hospital, yeah? We can still make it.”

“It’s too late, Hawks.” You couldn’t find the strength to look him in the eye. Who knew that the last minutes of your life, you would deny yourself the pleasure to stare into the eyes you loved dearly.

“I won’t take no for an answer, (Y/N).” His voice was stern but deep down, his heart was racing. He just couldn’t imagine his world without you. Seeing how you coughed up petals broke whatever was left of his heart. “I can’t lose you, (Y/N).”

“It’s you…” Barely a whisper. All you could do now was to focus your breathing. Just until he knows you love him.

“What?…”

“These are Hawkweeds.” Despite the tears falling, you managed to smile. It was the most agonizing thing you had to do. Telling your feelings in the brink of death. “I guess there’s no use in hiding it now…”

You cough once more. This time you let out a scream of pain. This was it.

“I love you, Hawks. Always have and always will.”

Not wanting to waste any time, Hawks pulls you in. He could care less about the taste of your blood in his mouth. He could push aside the taste of your salty tears on your lips. But he would never forgive himself if he failed to reciprocate your love.

“You can’t leave me now, chicken. I haven’t even asked you out on a date. I haven’t told you just how much you matter to me. You haven’t even given me the chance to properly say how I feel about you.”

You finally meet his eyes. However, this time, you weren’t staring into Hawks, you were staring into the man behind the hero. The same man who intrigued you from the start.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you breathed in. Whatever gut wrenching pain you felt, slowly began to vanish. Your throat finally felt free from all the flowers you had cultivated in your system.

“You… You love me?”

“Maybe my flirting was a little too vague. I love you, (Y/N). I really did want to tell you and make you mine but with the LoV and the committee always behind me, I had to push it aside.” Hawks began to explain. “I wanted to tell you when things would finally be safe and we could freely do the things we want. Had I known…”

Rummaging for something in his pocket, your eyes widened at the sight of your (favorite/flower)’s lone petal.

“When did you…?”

“2 weeks ago.”

“So you mean to say…”

“We were dumb enough to let this stupid sickness bring us together.”

After 3 weeks of suffering, you finally laughed. You finally felt free from the tragically beautiful but ironic disease. Both of you finally felt relief wash your souls as the remaining stems withered.

“So watcha say, birdie? Wanna grab some chicken wings?” Hawks managed to ask. A small smirk on his face knowing things turned well in the end.

“The one from down the block?” The shine in your eyes were finally back and the thorns Hawks felt in his stomach were now replaced by butterflies.

“You read my mind.” Hawks winked. Taking his glove off, he cupped your cheek and brushed it with his thumb. “I’m sorry I inflicted so much pain. I had no idea you were going through it as well.”

“I’m sorry, too. You ended went through pain because of all these cursed flowers.”

“I’m guessing you’ll slap the wings off me if I buy you a bouquet of flowers.” The cheeky grin you came to love now on his face. 

“Damn right, Hawks.”

“Let’s cut the formalities. Drop the Hawks-oh and call me Keigo.” He gave you the finger guns. Something you hated but loved at the same time.

“I swear to the flower gods I wonder why I fell for you.”

“Well… We have all the time and chickens in the world for me to make you remember why!”

Pulling you back into his arms, you gladly hugged him back till you felt as if you were floating. Realizing the two of you were being carried by his wings, you couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

All this time, you simply needed the courage to tell him how you felt. All this time, you were not alone and your feelings were reciprocated.

Feeling his hold on you tighten, you breathed in the fresh air and the scent of something new growing between you and Pro-Hero #2.

4 years and 3 weeks. That’s how long it took for the two of you to finally start a new chapter together.

4 years and 3 weeks to finally hear the words you two longed to hear.

This was a rather unique start to the relationship but the two of you didn’t mind. Not one bit.

- - - - -

a/n:

how do ya’ll like this hanahaki au? ive always been fascinated with this concept and this would have to be my first :’) hope yall are okay~ always a happy ending here in my account :’)

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

the best by far is you: chapter 5

Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

Summary: An exploration of Claire & Jamie’s story if their firstborn had lived and they had the chance to be parents together of wee Faith Fraser before the battle of Culloden.

Chapter 5

With January came the wet, hacking coughs that settled deep in the lungs, runny noses, and fevers that spread quickly through each Highland home. Lallybroch was not spared from this; however, Claire had been and, to her relief, so had Jenny. At eight months pregnant, Jenny had enough to contend with and she seemed to get by on sheer willpower alone. Jenny simply couldn’t afford to come down with a fever and her immune system seemed to quite agree.

The sickness swept through in waves, but when the children all came down with it, the nights dragged on longer than most. 

“His fever is very slight, Jenny, and we’ll keep an eye on him.” Wee Jamie was cradled in his mother’s overcrowded lap, curling his slight form around her round belly. Jenny held his head to her chest and dropped a kiss to his dark hair. With fourteen-month-old Maggie balanced on her hip, Claire reached for the goose grease that she had brought with her. “Open up his nightgown. I’m going to rub some of this on his chest. It’ll help him breathe better through the night.”

Jenny pulled at the neck of the gown and pushed the shirt off of one shoulder for Jamie while Claire scooped a bit of the goose grease onto her fingers and rubbed it onto the small boy’s chest. He sat lethargically while they administered this, but he began to whine when the smell hit him. Jenny began at once to comfort him in gentle, Gaelic words and Claire dropped a kiss to his cheek as she finished. “All done,” she told him. To Jenny, she smiled encouragingly. “Just keep them both hydrated‒ that is, make sure they’re getting plenty to drink. Either the tea I brought up or water. I’ll make sure Mrs. Crook has plenty of broth made up for tomorrow, too. And besides that, they just need their rest.” She looked to Maggie, resting her head placidly on Claire’s shoulder. But when she shifted her hold, Maggie clung to her with rousing ferocity, lest she try to put the girl down. 

“Och, Maggie, dinna throw a fit,” Jenny chided softly. She was in the process of shifting Jamie from her lap to the middle of the bed, where he would sleep for the night. Ian, one of the first to come down with the cold, was already asleep and absolutely useless to Jenny in his current fevered state. 

Her arms were free only for a moment before she was taking Maggie from Claire. “You too, mo chridhe.” Jenny murmured, tugging the baby’s nightgown out of the way for Claire. 

“There we go, big girl.” 

More clingy than anything else at the moment, Maggie took the goose grease better than her brother so long as someone held her. With her clean hand, Claire felt the girl’s forehead again. “I don’t even think she has a fever, but we’ll watch her, too.” She grabbed a clean cloth from the tray and wiped off her hand. She cocked her head at Jenny still sitting up on the side of the bed with one child squished in her lap against the very round presence of her bairn soon to come. How she made it all look effortless... 

The door opened suddenly and Jamie stood in the doorway, clad in his nightshirt and his tartan thrown around his shoulders. In one arm was Faith, her head peeking up from the tartan that had been wrapped around her too, so Claire was immediately struck by the matching heads of red hair waiting in the doorway. Hers, her heart sang. 

“You’re supposed to be resting” was how Claire greeted him. His gaze shifted from Claire to Jenny to the sick, fussy children and the lump of Ian under the covers before settling back on Claire. 

“Is everything alright?” She asked.  

“Aye.” Jamie managed to say before a spasm of coughing overtook him. He had turned his head away from Faith and coughed into his fist. As much as Claire would berate him for being out of bed, she felt a flush of pride that her instructions on not spreading a cough were sinking in with at least one person. “I just wasna sure where you disappeared to. Ye need anything?”   

Claire looked to Jenny before responding, her brows raised in silent questioning. 

“Go on,” Jenny said. “Take care of that clot-heid brother o’ mine.” Claire chuckled, her gaze swinging up to Jamie, who looked dead on his feet even as he offered his assistance. “I thank ye, Claire, for all yer help. We’ll be fine for the night.” 

“If you need anything, you let me know. Don’t overdo it. You are growing a whole ‘nother human in there.”  

She met Jamie in the doorway and turned with him to leave, settling into step next to him. She felt his arm ‒ and thus his tartan ‒ wrap around her shoulders, taking her under his wing like a baby bird. She studied his flushed face and bright eyes as they walked. Still fevered. “How do you feel?”

“I’ve felt worse.” His voice sounded strained, and he had to clear his throat after speaking.  

“Not exactly a ringing endorsement, either.” Her gaze shifted to her baby on Jamie’s opposite side. Glassy-eyed and with a nose running like a faucet, Faith wasn’t faring much better. Claire’s heart squeezed at the pitiful sight of her and, as much as she cared for every other member of this household, seeing signs that Faith had come down with the same virus made her feel like a failure for not being able to protect her from this. 

When their eyes met, the baby seemed to register her presence for the first time and suddenly Faith was reaching across Jamie for her, a tired cry slipping out from her. “Come here, little love.” Claire reached for her, aided in the transfer by Jamie. Faith’s little arms went around her neck immediately, tiny fingers grasping at Claire’s loose curls and taking hold. She pressed a firm kiss to the baby’s temple and sighed heavily. 

“I was making some tea for you downstairs before I ended up helping Jenny with the little ones,” she explained to Jamie when they reached the threshold of their room. “Get into bed, I’ll be back in a moment.” 

“Ye do like barking orders this evening, Sassenach,” he said with a slight twitch of his mouth.   

“You wouldn’t listen otherwise if I made it a mere suggestion,” she shot back lightly, stepping out from under his arm and missing the closeness it had afforded them. But she realized then how warm he was in contrast with the cool air of the hallway. She reached up to touch his forehead and the skin was burning under her cold fingers. He sighed and turned his head further into her hand. Sweet man. He must’ve been more miserable than he was letting on and he still came to check on her when she hadn’t returned. Or perhaps he’d wanted her and hadn’t been able to say it. “I’ll be right back,” she repeated, this time in promise, and reached out to caress his back when he turned away. 

When she did make it back up to their room, she found that Fergus had abandoned his pallet by the fire, crawled into bed next to Jamie, and fallen asleep. Her gaze met Jamie’s and they shared a smile over the dear sleeping boy. 

With Faith still on one hip, she handed Jamie a cup of tea. “Finish that, if you can, before you go to sleep.” 

He was propped up slightly against the headboard so he could drink it. “What about you, mo nighean donn?” 

She knew what he was asking and her gaze drifted to the baby in her arms. “She’s my last charge for the night. If she sleeps, I sleep.” 

Claire grabbed a clean handkerchief and tried to wipe Faith’s nose, which had begun to run again, but the baby turned her head away and howled. “I know. I’m sorry.” Claire managed on the second attempt to get most of it, but some snot smeared sideways onto the baby’s cheek. “I’m not trying to rub your poor little nose raw, I promise.” Faith still dodged the handkerchief, but Claire got the last of it. “There, all done.” 

She pressed a kiss to Faith’s forehead and rested her cheek there a moment longer, feeling no corresponding fever as the others had. She let out another sigh. Perhaps only a matter of time for poor Faith, or perhaps she would be spared from the worst of it. 

“Ye want me to try wi’ her?” Jamie croaked. She shot him a look, wondering if he realized how absolutely miserable he sounded just from his voice. As if on cue, he succumbed to another coughing fit. The last few days had been hell trying to get him to care for himself when so much of who he was revolved around caring for his family and trying to muddle through. The temptation to hand Faith over to Jamie was strong, knowing his warmth even when he wasn’t burning with fever would often soothe the girl to sleep. 

“Not this time.” She smiled appreciatively. “But thank you, love.”

An hour passed for Claire in the company of one stubborn, fussy, miserable little girl. When it came time for Faith’s night feeding and she settled into her arms to feed, Claire hoped there was something within her that could keep Faith strong and healthy; that there was some vital piece of immunity she could share with Faith to help defend her against anything that her immune system might battle. As Faith latched on, Claire studied her slight form in the dim candlelight. Her thumb traced over the shell of Faith’s ear, which still stuck out a little. Perhaps her ears always would, but it made Claire smile nonetheless to see the delicate point to Faith’s ears. She hoped her girl would grow up to love that part of herself, too, someday. 

Faith sniffled and squirmed restlessly, struggling to feed and breathe in comfort, and Claire looked around for the handkerchief, unsure of where she’d left it. This was no serene moment tonight. She swiped the handkerchief from the end table and wiped the baby’s nose again, knowing it didn’t do much to clear it out for her to breathe better, but at least it kept her clean and dry. “I’m so sorry you aren’t feeling well, lovey,” she murmured. “It won’t last. You’ll feel better soon.” 

Her thumb smoothed over the wrinkled brow of Faith’s scowl, trying to ease the tension from the baby’s face. It was only a bad cold ‒ Claire knew that. Still, it was one thing to know that cold viruses were a part of life and quite another thing entirely to watch the tiny one that she’d birthed succumb to it. And it wasn’t only this cold that weighed heavily on Claire but the knowledge of the immunizations that existed in her time that Faith wouldn’t have access to, wee fragile thing that she already was. The risks were so much higher here, but Claire would try her damndest to keep Faith safe and healthy with what knowledge she had of the spread of diseases and how to combat them. 

“Such lovely thoughts to have before bed, hmm?” She muttered to the baby, pulling Faith up onto her shoulder once she’d finished and let out a loud belch. She swayed slightly, her cheek pressed to Faith’s, and savored the seconds of calm before rising from her chair to attempt getting some sleep with her tired little one.         

She settled Faith on top of the covers with her own blanket and grabbed a spare pillow to wedge between Fergus and Faith so he wouldn’t roll over her in his sleep. They hadn’t slept four to a bed before and it was a tight fit, but Claire couldn’t bear to move Fergus from where he slept so soundly cuddled against Jamie. And Faith would scream if Claire tried to place her in her cot tonight, she just knew it. No, they all needed the comfort of each other in their current state.  

So she slipped under the covers and curled around the baby, acting more or less as a barrier from the edge of the bed. Fergus had rolled over from before and now faced her and the baby with his back snug against Jamie’s side. He breathed through his mouth on account of his stuffy nose.  

Claire tugged the blankets up higher about his shoulders and, as she had with everyone in this house, pressed her hand to his forehead, checking his temperature as best she could. He felt quite warm but not alarmingly so. That was good, Claire thought, studying the sweet face that was slack in his sleep. 

Who had cared for him before this when he got sick? Or wiped his nose when he was too small to do it himself? Claire swallowed roughly at the thought, knowing the hard truth was no one in particular. He passed through many hands at Maison Elise, but he had said himself that he never knew which, if any, of the girls there was his mother. Although Claire was unfathomably grateful that they had found him, the indignation that he should have gone so long without someone caring for him until Jamie brought him home would never be quelled for her. 

She smoothed a hand over his brown curls, wanting to give him comfort in some way for the years of hurt she couldn’t heal for him. He’d recently told them he turned ten years old. He told them a few days after the fact, like an afterthought, and they had scrambled to make a celebration of it for him. And Claire had mentally kicked herself for not even inquiring sooner about his birthday. He had been with them for almost a year now and she was only recently made aware that this boy’s birthday fell on New Year’s Day. 

A New Year’s baby. Shouldn’t his birth have brought with it all kinds of hope and promise for the future? 

He deserved not just a home, but a family. 

Her hand stilled where it rested on his head. 

“Mo nighean donn?” Jamie whispered suddenly, his gaze lingering with concern. She startled slightly, unaware of his watchful eye until just then.   

“Fergus…” She began, dropping her gaze to the sleeping boy in question before sliding back up to meet Jamie’s open, curious eyes. Perhaps it wasn’t the time for this, but Jamie was awake just now and she felt a certain boldness in talking with him in the dark. “He’s… ours, isn’t he? You feel that way, too, don’t you?” 

What she’d meant to say but couldn’t quite articulate was that her love for Faith had been immediate and all-consuming when she learned of the baby’s presence within her, adapting only in the way it naturally did when Faith was born and her child was real, a whole person to be loved for who she was and no longer an abstract nudge from within. Claire’s love for Fergus, however, had softly snuck up on her, growing steadily from their plotting work in Paris to these quiet days at Lallybroch. And yet, she had reached a point where the love of both of them became inextricable from who she was as a mother. Without her realizing it, Fergus had gone from Jamie’s wee pickpocketing shadow to simply… theirs. 

“Aye,” Jamie whispered at once and Claire released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “Aye, I do. He is.” 

His hand reached for hers, their fingers meeting on the pillow just above the boy’s head. 

“I canna say when it changed.” Jamie’s voice rumbled in the dark. 

“No, I can’t say either,” Claire agreed. “But it did.” 

“Aye.” 

Claire’s thumb stroked the back of Jamie’s hand gently and the warmth of him could be felt even in that slight touch. “Sleep, if you can.” She pulled their entwined fingers to her and kissed his knuckles. “You need your rest.” 

“You too,” he said, his voice gravelly from his cold and weariness. “You’ll wear yerself out, mo nighean donn, if ye dinna take yer own rest.” 

She sighed, acknowledging the truth of his words. “I will,” she agreed. “If these little ones let me.” Her gaze dropped to Faith, who wasn’t fussing for the time being. Still, Claire couldn’t seem to put to rest the part of her that needed to watch Faith breathe just to know she still could. Her fingers untangled from Jamie’s and her hand came to rest on Faith’s tummy, feeling her steady breaths under her palm. Claire’s eyes slid shut and she sighed.  

It was a cold, brisk evening in February when the third Murray child decided to make their entrance into the world. Jamie was sent to town to fetch the midwife, a task that he took with grave seriousness and no short amount of hastening. So it was quite a shock for him to enter Lallybroch with Mrs. Martins, the midwife, and be greeted by a frazzled Claire bearing the news that he had a new niece. 

“You canna be serious.” 

But Claire still donned an apron that bore the messy evidence to her story and her face, which never could lie to him, spoke volumes of the whirlwind hour she’d just experienced. “You can go upstairs and see for yourself if you don’t believe me.” 

As if roused by the conversation, the loud squall of a newborn drifted down to them. Mrs. Martins made a loud harrumph and turned back to the wagon, not bothering to come all the way in. 

“Is she serious?” Claire whispered furiously in her wake and that was enough to break the nervous tension in the room. Jamie let out a surprised bark of a laugh and when he’d caught his breath, he shook his head in disbelief. 

“And Jenny and the bairn are fine?” He checked. 

“They’re absolutely perfect. Ian is with them now.” Claire assured him. She noticed then that her apron was still on and began to remove it. “Baby was just ready, I guess. I’ve never seen labor progress that fast before.” Jamie held out his hand to her and she took it, letting him pull her to his side and gently kiss her forehead. She felt the tension in his body ebbing away as her news sunk in. 

“Thank you, mo ghraidh.” 

“I really didn’t do much this time. Just caught the baby. Jenny hardly even had to push!” Claire squeezed him around his middle. “I think the adrenaline is finally wearing off for me.” 

“The what?” He blanched at her. She was in fine form just now, thrumming with energy and talking breathlessly. 

“Nevermind.” She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Should we go meet our newest niece?” 

“Lead the way, Sassenach.”

“Wait.” She froze. “Mrs. Martins!” 

“Ah Christ,” Jamie muttered under his breath. “I’ll send Rabbie wi’ her now to drive the wagon back.” He broke away from her then, moving toward the door to the courtyard, and all the while he shook his head.

Late that night, lying in bed together after a rather celebratory round of lovemaking, Claire rested her head on Jamie’s chest and dosed contently. Jamie’s fingers played with Claire’s curls and she felt only the bliss of that moment with him. “Sassenach, how does it work after…” He pattered off, seeming to still be working out the question in his mind. 

“How does what work after what?” Claire asked, her eyes still closed. 

“After a bairn, when do your courses start again?” She looked up to find him staring up at the ceiling, his brows furrowed together in puzzlement. “Ye’ve not had yers since Faith, but Kitty would’ve been conceived when Maggie was only six months of age. And Ian said he tried to avoid getting Jenny with child so soon after Maggie, but ye’ve never…” This time, he did meet her gaze, a wry smile in place. “Well, ye’ve never made me sleep elsewhere, Sassenach. And wi’out yer courses, how will we ken when ye might be able to carry another bairn?” 

Claire breathed in deep and rested her chin on his chest, staring up at his beautiful, puzzled face. “I’m not quite sure. I think it varies, but I know when a woman breastfeeds, that often will delay her courses.” Her fingers traced his jaw and she smiled at the small sigh this drew from him. “Nature’s way of giving women a break, I suppose.” She laughed. Jamie exhaled a soft laugh, too.

“Aye, I suppose. Though it didna work too well for Jenny and she’s not the first woman I’ve known to have bairns within a year of each other.”

“Yes, well, as I said, it varies.”   

She was surprised to feel an ache for another baby after holding Katherine in her arms tonight. Faith was still so young, still a baby herself, and Claire didn’t really want another one right away but… someday.   

“Is it possible to get ye with child before your first course would start?” Jamie asked suddenly, still turning over the workings of the female reproductive system in his mind.

“I… yes, actually. I think that would be possible.” She quirked a brow at him. “You are something of a marvel, James Fraser.” 

He returned her look of astonishment. “Because I ken how to have a bairn? I’ll remind ye, Sassenach, that we’ve already succeeded there once and it was no’ by accident or ignorance.”

She smiled wryly. “No, more than that. Because you want to know how my body works. You need to know. I doubt many husbands care to know the details, especially around their wives’ courses.”  

He hummed. “I happen to find your body to be a verra…” His hand snaked down from where it had rested on her lower back. “Interesting. Subject.” He punctuated each word with a smack to her ass, causing her to jump, and then kneaded the flesh. “God ye have such a round arse,” he said, as if she’d somehow sidetracked him from their conversation with it. 

She stretched herself upwards so she could capture his mouth with her own. “What do you say we explore this subject a little further tonight, then?” 

“Ye dinna need to ask me twice.” 

[almondharry]

you look so good: four

you look so good — [10.1k]

She should’ve stayed at the library.

She should’ve gone home.

She should’ve gone to a coffee shop.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” His eyes did not part from the novel cracked open in front of him. His nose wiggled when he found a particular line amusing. An awkward beat passed and Genevieve was at a loss of words. “Have you become a statue? Do I need to unfreeze you?”

She should’ve gone anywhere, but here.

Part Four: The Markov Theorem

The Markov Theorem

November 3, 2016

“You’re staring.” Genevieve noticed without looking up. A pen pressed tightly to paper, runny swirls of leaky blue ink stained the page.

Her neck was stiff, like age old wood, bent like an archer’s bow. The only time she blinked was to copy a specific formula needed from her textbook—situated strategically to her right. Her iced coffee had condensation lined around the plastic to-go cup, the beads came together to pool in a ring on the library table. She was running late and skipped on grabbing a napkin. It was full to the brim, not a sip had been taken. Time slipped through her fingers like playground sand. The answers were due at the beginning of her next lab, t minus twenty minutes. The clicking of calculator keys was the loudest sound in the room, apart from the coughing radiator.

He looked on in slight terror, but mostly amusement, at the rate her pen skimmed over her notepad. He found it a bit odd that she preferred to use grid lined paper than regular. He remembers her starting at the top left corner of the page, he had turned around for a minute to plug the thick cord of his laptop charger into an outlet, and when he turned back she was already past the middle.

Futile attempts were made to decode the numbers and letters scribbled in her path. The page resembled a bowl of alphabet soup, letters and numbers swimming together. He gave up all too soon when he felt the beginnings of a headache. The only thing he took away is that she looped her two’s.

Her penmanship captured an urgency. The once pin straight numbers became more and more italicized, as if they sprinted to chase a bus that slowly drove away. His line of sight started from the tip of her pen to the escaped wiry strands of hair from her ponytail, and lastly, to the hold her teeth had on her bottom lip. A skittish frenzy bounced in her eyes behind the square frames. An impression of a mad scientist, he thought. They rest on the apple of her cheeks and slide down the bridge of her nose at a sloth’s pace.

“Crazy,” he said after observing her for another second. He shook his head, a ghost of a smile quirked at the end of his lips. “Absolutely insane.”

“A bit looney,” she hummed. Her lips pursed and they both knew it was a poor effort to hide a grin.

“Little obsessive.”

“Quite dull.”

“Completely mad.”

“Oh, most definitely mad,” Genevieve settled. Her pen paused its dance and her hand reached to push her frames up to finally look across. He was already staring at her, his grin widened to a size that can span out acres worth of empty land.

It was something they did, a harmless game of bickering adjectives that goes back and forth between them like an intense ping pong match. It was a childish way of name calling and poking fun. Their legs were a comfortably tangled mess, hidden by the smooth wooden desk, but his knee would knock against her shin every once in a while.

Genevieve sighed, “Now, are we done discussing your outstanding qualities or—”

“—Remarkably clumsy,” He added on abruptly. Genevieve knew he preferred to get the last word in.

She paused. “—Oh, you’ve still got a few then.”

“No,” he laughed through his nose, the corner of his lips twitched like he knew something she didn’t. His eyes squinted and gleamed like a reflection does in a fresh puddle after rain.

“Then?”

“There’s…” Genevieve heard blinds being tampered with across the room, soon something is sliding against a metal rod. A flash of yellow is thrown at them like a bucket of splattered paint. His pupils slowly dilated to accommodate the sudden change of lighting, and Genevive decided then that she would want to see that happen once more. Tiny dust particles floated up and waltzed together as their skin warms. His index finger gestures towards his face. “You’ve… nevermind.”

He dismissed with a quick wave when her brows curled inwards in soft curves.

Genevieve gave him a look, wary and doubting.

Their table was pressed up against a wall. It had a bookshelf that once was seeded at ground level, but now has branched out and up the ceiling, only stopping once the plaster slopes into a curved, dome-like ceiling.

He busied himself by trailing the tips of his digits over worn out spines. Genevieve watched his lips part to gently mouth words. He silently recited a title of interest to himself under his breath. His pointer finger curled into a pirate’s hook and attaches itself to pull a hardcover from its slumber.

He kept a list of unread books he planned to read, she pondered if this one would make it.

There was a way—a careful cradle, a light touch— that came so easily to him when he held a book between his fingers. It was as natural as sunlight and brought a distinct warmth to her bones. He regarded every page with a keen consideration, a dip sat between his brows from his concentrated frown. But it was after some flipping that the pad of his finger hovered over a particular sentence. Genevieve wondered if the same arrangement of words were to be on her skin, would he touch her with the same tenderness.

That’s when something shifted for Genevieve, a twig snaps. The air, once crisp, goes stale and dormant. The tip of her tongue stung and she tasted copper behind her clenched teeth.

She doesn’t know how to define this variable. It’s part mixture of guilt and shame that pricks her spine. Her brain feels like a ball of yarn, tangled. She tried to unravel the string in hopes to understand where this is coming from. How could she reach such an irrational conclusion? She looked across the table one last time, to remind herself that the statistical probability remains zero.

She pressed her lips together and stood up from her seat, it’s wooden legs screech against the floor. “I’ve got to go.”

She tucked her notebook, pen, and calculator in her bag. She almost lost the grip on the calculator slider. Her hands, shifty and restless, trembled from wound up nerves. The strap of her bag sunk into her shoulder. She hadn’t taken more than three steps away from the table before another set of wooden legs sounded.

“Wait,” he called out.

Genevieve glanced to her wrist, the second hand slowly crawling towards the twelfth digit.

“Yeah?” She turned around, eyes still on her wrist watch, an inquisitive pinch between brows.“Gotta be quick or else I’ll be late”

“You’re…” His strides made up for the lost distance. She was hyper aware of the heat his body brings forth. “Come here.”

It was a gravitational pull, she neared him like waves hit the shore. With half a step, she is the closest to him she will ever get. Genevieve inhaled a strong scent of pine needles. It mixed with lingering whiskey and mouthwash. She takes whatever she can with him.

“Hold still,” he instructed tentatively.

Her head angled up, a strain knotted at the back of her neck. But all sense of unease evaporates when he raised his hand and cupped her jaw. A careful cradle, a light touch.

Genevieve doesn’t move—she can’t move. Her arms and legs were dead weight. The neurons attached to her face where his skin meets hers are flamed. Everything was in overdrive, her heightened awareness only furthered this torture. She watched his gaze zeroed in on her parted lips. A focused and determined stare locked on to the bottom half of her profile.

His thumb, previously settled on her cheek, teetered towards the corner of her mouth. The tension was like pulling both ends of an elastic band. The rubber stretched at a snail’s pace. The tension grew, the band thinned.

Tiny ridges in the skin of his thumb were felt as he pressed it down on her bottom lip. He gradually dragged it from one corner to the center, each second felt like an hour. Her lip wobbled with the pressure.

“There,” he said easily.

The elastic snapped.

He removed his hand from her. The pad of his thumb is coloured a deep blue like he had given his fingerprint for a passport. Genevieve’s eyes widened and her fingers immediately touch her mouth, trying to press the feeling there forever. Her lip, caged behind teeth, tasted bitter like a potent chemical—residual ink. “All good.”

Good. Good. Good.

He stepped back and her lungs take in a breath through her nose. It was much easier to breathe when he stood in his respective bubble and didn’t steal her oxygen. Or sanity.

The reality was, if he asked for either, she would present it on a golden platter.

***

November 8, 2019

The fourth floor of the library was something else really. In the corner, a girl sobbed as she clutched the grade of her failed midterm. Another girl stared off into space for more than twenty minutes, going through an existential crisis of some sorts. A boy opened his textbook to do a question then shut it promptly two minutes later, only to open his laptop to change his major. It was a help centre for math related inquiries. Computers lined in two neat rows and a couple circular tables were occupied with graduate students tutoring students with appointments and the occasional walk-ins.

A student slowly dragged their feet on the carpet walking towards the front desk. Their eyes glazed over in a zombie like fashion; the coffee mug in hand and eye bags were this season’s hottest look.

“Hi.” Genevieve smiled. “What can I do for you?”

The first year girl wore a hoodie a size too big for her. “I need to book a study room for my group. Is there any available?”

“One minute.” Genevieve spun, the wheels on the chair pulled towards the administrative computer. Trained fingers typed their login and password, before a scheduled calendar popped up. “How many people are you looking for? And would you like a tutor with you?”

The girl mentally counted the people in her head. “I think there are four of us, and a tutor won’t be needed.”

Genevieve scrolled through the previous bookings with her mouse. Different colours blocked out specific periods until a vacancy popped up. “The next open slot is in fifteen minutes. Floor twelve, room nine. It’s available for two hours, how does that sound?”

“Perfect, that will be just fine.”

For a second, the sound of keyboard typing filled the hole in the conversation. “Can I get a student ID number?”

The girl presented her university issued card. Genevieve copied the numbers before finishing the booking. “That’s it, you’re good to go.”

The girl mumbled her thanks and dragged her feet towards the elevator.

Between the diner and her lectures, Genevieve had found herself at the library more often than she’d like to admit. This eventually lead her to pick up a part time position as the front desk help.

People would either come up to schedule bookings for study groups, tutors, or a computer. Professors of the mathematical science’s department held their office hours in certain rooms, so maintaining a strict schedule was key to avoid overlap. Dr. Bida, a professor she had done research with during her first year, always smiled brightly and waved whenever he passed by. The pay was great, the tasks were minimal, and it gave her the opportunity to do her course readings when it was particularly dead.

“Zayn, what the fuck are you talking about?” The faint voice travelled from a distance away. Genevieve’s ears perk up from the familiarity. “I’m completely lost.”

“Okay, how about one way ANOVA? You must have done that by now at this point of the semester.” Genevieve knew it compared the means between groups and determines whether any of those means are statistically significantly different from each other. Specifically, it tested the null hypothesis: where µ is the group mean and k is the number of groups. “Does that ring any bells?”

“Maybe, I don’t know?”

“Please tell me you know what the acronym stands for at least.”

“Nope. Nothing. I’m blank.”

“Really?”

“I’m dead serious.” Angie’s words held no comic relief. “When I told you I needed help with this course, I really meant it.”

“And you tell me this a day before your assignment is due.”

“Sorry! I got the dates mixed up, honest mistake.” Angie’s voice squeaked as she neared the end of her sentence. The voices became clearer and clearer as they stepped from behind the wall. “Why did you ask to meet here anyway? We could’ve done this at yours.”

“No we need—” Zayn didn’t get to finish his train of thought. His words cut abruptly like a slice of sponge cake under a steak knife. “—Gen? Is that you?”

Genevieve’s neck snapped up at the mention of her name, her eyes owlish. She was guilty of listening in on their back and forth, but wasn’t sure if their friendship had reached a point where she could freely insert herself into the conversation, so she had kept her head down to her books.

“Gen! I didn’t know you worked here!” Angie exclaimed marching over to the desk, Zayn in tow. Genevieve smiled, a genuine one, not the one she had in her back pocket for the sake of customer service. “Holy shit, this must be a great job!”

“You’ll find me here more than anywhere.” Angie played with the free pens and sticky notepads that advertised the university’s logo. She almost tipped over the brochures about managing mental health with a full course load. “What brings you guys here?”

Zayn hissed in pain. “Don’t ask—” but it was too late.

The back of Angie’s palm hit her forehead.

“A horrendous tragedy,” she moaned with her eyes shut. Faux grief made her lips tremble. Though sadness transformed her face, a bitter scowl soon tugged at the end of her lips. “You know apparently I have a thirty percent assignment due tomorrow? Like a whole thirty percent. And I found out yesterday.”

“Ouch,” Genevieve sympathized.

“It’s your fault for not going to the lectures and sleeping in.”

“Zayn, who’s side are you on?” Angie challenged. He dodged her attempts at giving him a twisting pinch to the ribs. “Anyway, Z here has taken the course before so he’s being a sweetheart and lending his brain. Well, whatever is left of it anyway.”

“Angie, I’m helping you. If you don’t tone down your quips, I might as well put in the wrong answers on purpose and poof! That thirty percent of your grade will amount to a zero.”

Angie narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t try me.”

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” Angie faced Genevieve and motioned a limp hand towards Zayn. She resembled a bored weatherman with a greenscreen behind.

“Ignore her, Gen. Can we get a computer?”

“‘Course,” Genevieve laughed. “Do you need a tutor with you?”

“That would be a dream,” Angie added as she pulled her hair into a ponytail with the band wrapped around her wrist. “The more the merrier, you know! There’s strength in numbers.”

Zayn leaned his weight on the slab of counter in front of them and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s only an assignment, you’re not going off to war.”

“With the amount of torture I am enduring, I might as well.”

Zayn and Angie’s conversation went back and forth like a tennis match. Genevieve’s fingers robotically put in her login and password because the monitor had gone to sleep. Genevieve examined the calendar that popped up on her screen momentarily, her lips puckered in concentration. “You’re good for a computer, but I’m afraid the next tutor isn’t available for four hours.”

“Shit.” Angie rubbed her temple to ease her climbing stress.

It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for a lack of availability between tutors and students. Genevieve scanned the page in front of her once more to find any possible way to squeeze them in. Usually when an appointment was a no show, it was possible. But when the screen showed no cancelations, there was not much to do. “What course is it anyway?”

“It’s an intro course to stats.”

“Oh, I might know a few things about it here and there.” Genevieve clicked the x on her window and met Angie’s pleading gaze. The desperation in her eyes disappeared with her next words. “I’m here to help if you need it!”

“Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I had to take it first year, it was very straightforward.”

“Speak for yourself, I went to one lecture and felt like the prof had taken a baseball bat to my face.”

“I’m guessing you need the computer for the SPSS software?” Genevieve recalled they had one assignment in that course. The tricky software was already installed on campus computers, but cost a fortune if purchased individually. It made sense as to why they didn’t do it on their laptops.

Zayn piped up. “Yeah, there’s like a tonne of raw data to analyze. It’s gonna take a while.”

Genevieve nodded, already clearing her station. “Ah, well, I’m not doing much right now, I can take a look.”

“You’re an absolute angel, godsend!” Angie would’ve jumped over the desk to crush her in a hug if Genevieve hadn’t rolled back her chair to step around the table. She turned a small sign towards the middle of the desk. Ring bell for help.

Genevieve brushed off her thanks. “Oh I’m far from, just doing what I can. It’s no problem, really.”

Genevieve was making sure that her textbooks were shut and put away along with her expensive calculator when Angie started again. “This is what we need in our life! More selflessness! Everyone is so greedy now days, don’t you think? So noble of you. In fact, I’m gonna write your name down for the nobel prize for math!”

“That’s not how it works, Angie, but sure knock yourself out.” Zayn chewed his gum so slowly that his jaw flexed with each bite. “I think it’s not even called that. Right, Gen?”

“It’s called the Field's medal. It’s like the nobel prize, but it’s awarded every four years.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to. Same thing.” Angie shrugged and threw an arm over Genevieve’s shoulder when she was close enough.

Genevieve lead the duo to the assigned computer, their row was thankfully empty. The room was shared with two other students seated further away; with their headphones on, they seemed oblivious to the world. Angie logged into her account and Zayn took it from there. He sandwiched himself between Angie on his left and Genevieve on the right.

The chairs in the lab weren’t as comfy as the one Genevieve was previously seated on. Without a cushion, it was just hard blue plastic which made your behind sore.

Zayn double clicked the software icon. His screen filled with horizontal and vertical cells similar to excel. He split the screen, on one side there was SPSS and on the other there were instructions. He copy pasted the raw data assigned by the professor, numbers in the squares from A1 to G93 rolled in like a lottery machine.

“Okay let's sort this out,” he sighed under his breath. It was the most redundant part of the assignment. The variables needed to correspond correctly or else your analysis would not be fruitful.

Genevieve frowned, confusion pressed her brows together. People had different ways of doing things, and of course, there is no harm in that. But the more she observed Zayn’s cursor, she realized his approach was inefficient and clumsy. “Are you doing it manually?”

“Isn’t this the only way?”

“Nope, I can just plug in a few formulas to set the parameters and the software will pick up how we want it organized.”

“You’re kidding,” Zayn deadpanned. He turned to Genevieve with his mouth parted and eyes popped. “Last time, I hand sifted through pages and pages of data.”

“All 900 points?” Zayn nodded enthusiastically at Genevieve’s raised brow. “That must have taken hours. Here, let me show you.”

It went on like that. Zayn mainly lead the direction; Genevieve added in her two cents and supervised. Angie was busy picking her peeling gel nailpolish. There was a solid fifteen minutes where she put in effort, but her clicks ended up deleting two rows. Then a mutual agreement was reached that Angie fingers would remain far away from the mouse or keyboard. She was free to voice her concerns from a distance.

Genevieve sneaked a few glances at the front desk, but there was no one in dire need of help.

“Fucking hell,” Angie seethed in a hushed whisper. The way she jumped off her seat suggested someone lit a round of firecrackers under her chair. She darted to grab her bag and hold it in front of her face. Behind her disguise, her face twitched with fear and she slouched to make herself smaller. “What on God’s green Earth is she doing here?”

“Who?” Zayn said without peeling his eyes from the screen, used to her dramatics. Angie scampered underneath the empty space of their desk. It was remarkable how quickly she could get her body to fold into a fetal position. From her cramped place on the floor, Angie still had Zayn and Genevieve’s view.

“Don’t look now, but it’s Rebecca by the front.” As if it was a staged cue, their necks snapped towards the red head exiting off the elevator, in sync. She carried a binder with papers and a textbook topped it off. Rebecca had a phone pressed to the side of her ear as she spoke into the receiver. Angie’s advice was lost in thin air which resulted in her face contorting into a snarl. “I said don’t look, great, you’ve both made it painfully obvious now. Wonderful.”

“Who’s Rebecca?” Genevieve whispered as low she could.

“Angie’s ex.” Zayn informed.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Zayn finally noticed Angie’s ridiculous hiding spot and a look of second hand embarrassment flushed his cheeks. “Get out from behind there, Angie, you look like a loon.”

“Is she gone?” Angie inquired.

“No.”

“Then I’m not coming out.”

“Great.” Zayn had learned how to pick and choose his battles with Angie. This was a time to let her be.

Genevieve felt like she had heard the thirty second trailer of the topic. It was difficult to string the beginning, middle, and end of the saga that seemed to be Angie’s relationship. “What happened between you guys?”

“She broke my heart, smashed it and then threw a party like nothing else happened. I caught her in bed with a first year and she said they were cuddling. Cuddling! Can you believe that?” Angie scoffed. She had taken a bite out of a chewy bar that she swiped from her bag. The plastic crinkled loudly in her fist. “I’d rather be left at the altar, it would’ve been less painful. The smugness of the first year didn’t help matters, went around campus gloating. Menace.”

“She fucked Angie over real bad. She had commitment issues and shit.”

“She didn’t fuck me over, Zayn. I’m plenty fine, can’t you see? I’m lovely, I’m—”

“—Hiding pathetically under a desk?”

“—great. Splendid, even. Perfectly intact.”

Zayn eyes were like a bowling ball going full speed down an empty ally. The mouse double clicked under his index finger as his attention diverted back to the task at hand. “Save your breath, you’re sounding more and more like Harry.”

“Why are you comparing me to him, have you gone mad? He was ten times worse than me.”

“I’m saying both of you are like kicked puppies. Moping and basking in your misery every second of the day. So what you lost someone, people come and go! That’s life!”

Angie scoffed again. Her competitive streak was bold and prominent and very visible. “Give me some credit, I’m much better at coping than Harry. He’s a complete mess, makes me look like an angel.”

“What do you mean?” Genevieve prompted, leaning forward. She chewed on the corner of her mouth. The skin was soon to be raw and agitated.

“When we first met Harry, he was a wreck. He doesn’t talk about it much but we assume he went through a nasty breakup of some sorts.”

Genevieve didn’t have experience with what hot flashes felt like, but she was sure this was it. The room was suddenly a couple degrees colder, but her skin was flaming hot. The warmth was most intense over her face, neck and chest. The tips of her fingers felt like she held onto ice cubes for a moment too long.

Genevieve ran her tongue over the dry cracks in her bottom lip. “Oh.”

Angie bit off another piece of her bar, a few crumbs falling from her mouth. If Genevieve was in a decent state of mind, the mind numbing hours of training videos would’ve reminded her to enforce the no food policy in the building. Instead, her tongue sat heavy in her mouth.

“He sulked for at least a year before getting over whoever it was, he won’t give us a name. I tried prying it out of him when he was sloshed, but he’s a stubborn little knob.”

The steady percussion of Genevieve’s heart raised in tempo. A dagger twisted in her gut which explained the sharp pain in her abdomen. The four walls of the room took gradual steps towards her. The space became limited, suffocating, and the oxygen was being slowly sucked away.

“But the difference between you and Harry is that he got over it! Whereas you, on the other hand, can’t get past the first stage of grief.”

“Stop talking, you sound more and more like my therapist. And I’m not paying you, so don’t get any ideas.” Angie narrowed her eyes at Zayn, then peered up at Genevieve with a sorry gaze. “If I got a dime for everytime Zayn psychoanalyzed me, I’d pay off my tuition and get a fancy bungalow in The Bahamas. Maybe even a minifridge. He thinks he’s the next Freud, don’t you?”

Zayn laughed. “Do you see what you’re doing? Deflecting the actual problem.”

“Oh come off it! Less talking and more doing my assignment, chop, chop! It won’t finish itself, you know?”

“While I’m here slaving away, would you like to tack on any more insults, Your Highness?”

“Now that you mention it….”

Gen exhaled in hopes to loosen the winding nerves in her shoulders and chest. Her eyes focused on the digital clock at the bottom right hand corner of the monitor. “You guys good with this? I’m gonna run to the loo then head home since my shift ends in five.”

“Thanks so much for doing this, Gen. Absolute lifesaver,” Angie dropped her teasing in a second. A soft smile spoke of her gratitude with great conviction.

“No worries, text me if you need any more help.” Genevieve stood up from her chair. The sudden movement made her head dizzy. Her legs were as stable as jelly.

“Hope that won’t be necessary, but go ahead and feed your number just in case, you know? Zayn isn’t the brightest bulb at times.”

“I’m not the brightest bulb? Are you listening to yourself? You haven’t touched the keyboard once!” Zayn snapped his eyes over to Genevive as she handed back Angie’s phone. An exasperated rage glossed his features. His hair pointed a million different directions from the countless times he ran his fingers through it. “Gen, get out while you can or else you won’t get another chance.”

“You guys are too much,” Genevieve chuckled shaking her head. “I’ll see you around.”

Genevieve’s bladder wasn’t the reason behind her brisk steps towards the toilets. She needed to splash her face with ice cold water to balance out her temperature. It was overwhelming, to say the least. All the information thrown at her needed time to come down to a simmer, currently, it was bubbling at an all time high and slipping over the edge.

Her fingers pressed to the polymer of the salmon coloured sink. The skin under her nails turned paper white from the pressure of her weight. Her breaths were laboured, so she shut her eyes tightly and steadied all the possibilities her mind was running to.

A flush sounds loudly. The high pitched noise dwindles when the tank is refilling. A lock turned and out comes the click click click of tall heels.

“Genny? Is that you?”

“Hannah?” Migraine Morton wore a tight leather skirt that did wonders for her legs, which of course were covered in fake tan. She waved her manicured hands under the sink, the sensors blinked a blue light and water rushed out of the tap. “How are you?”

“It’s been forever, you’ve changed so much! And look at those cheekbones, you look straight off the runway.” She ripped paper towels from the dispenser. The colour becoming a dark brown as it soaked the water off of her. “It’s the Keto Diet, isn’t it? It’s been working for so many of my girlfriends, but I can’t get even keep five pounds off. Anyway, how’s everything?”

The way she tilted her head assumed that they were lifelong friends who spoke everyday. That wasn’t the case whatsoever. The most Hannah knew about Genevieve was from a boy that once connected them. They probably qualified as acquaintances rather than friends on facebook. But Hannah had a knack for befriending anything with a living pulse—fucking too, if you listened to the gossip on campus.

“Yeah, it’s been going well! Lectures, the diner, bouncing back everywhere.”

“It’s… it’s good to keep yourself busy, you know.” Hannah’s tone transformed into that of a sympathetic one. It probably came from a good place. But when her brows crumpled together, Genevieve wanted the ground to swallow her whole.“I know how hard it must be after...”

“I’m actually doing alright.” Genevieve smiled, an on command customer service grin.

“It’s just when I heard, I thought you would be absolutely devastated! I mean, who wouldn’t be right?” Hannah twirled a stupid blond lock of hair around her pointer finger. “Both of you were always joined at the hip”

“People learn to let go. It’s only natural.”

Hannah’s face morphed into one thought provoking one, as if Genevieve’s words were a part of some philosophical theory.

“You know what? You’re absolutely right!” By her face, you would assume that clouds had parted and a beam of light shone down. This revelation was probably the first and last of the century for her. “Do you remember Amanda Wang? From first year sociology? How we were inseparable? Well she literally disappeared off the Earth and I haven’t heard from her. Just between us though, she was a bit of a pretentious bitch.” Hannah smacked her glossy lips. The shine seemed sticky and too bubblegum. “Of course, there’s no comparison to be made between our situation, you knew him for years.”

“Yeah,” Genevieve answered weakly.

“Shit I’m sorry!” Her eyes widened as she registered what she said, palms coming up in defence. Her brain had a tendency to lag a couple steps behind. It was always a few seconds too late. “I’m not making things any better. That probably sounded really daft.”

“It’s all good.”

Hannah threw away her used paper towel. She hiked her purse in the crook of her elbow. “Keep hanging in there girlie, it gets better!”

“Don’t I know it!”

She reached forward and squeezed her shoulder. “Oh, Genny! You’re still the jokester as ever! I’ve got to run off to my next lecture, but it was nice seeing you! Don’t be a stranger, we should meet up again! Text me!”

“See you, Hannah!” Genevieve grinned, fake and compulsory.

She wiggled her fingers, like a main character of some cheesy 2000’s movie, and clicked off.

Genevieve’s palms held her face as she tried her utmost best to not scream from frustration. There was one thing clear as day, she had to get away from the library. All the Harry talk, all the Hannah talk, was only depleting the count of her brain cells. She needed them to finish her untouched module. There were fifty questions. At one glance, she knew they would suck her soul.

Genevieve grabbed her coat and bag from her desk. The person who was assigned the next shift was signing on the computer to punch in their hours. She waved a quick goodbye and pressed the button to the elevator.

Her car returned from the shop. After a hefty oil change and the addition of four winter tires, it was safe to drive. Her seats were frozen so she turned on her engine and blasted the heat. In turn, the radio automatically switched on to the station set as the number one setting.

Liam: —That was Strangers you just heard by The Bell. I’ve been listening to them quite a bit, they’re bound to play stadiums soon, you can take my word. Now it is time for my personal favourite segment of the show. Usually it’s you guys listening in, but I’d thought we better switch it up! This is Listen Liam! Where you tell me what’s going on in your life and maybe I can offer an ear. You’re on the air.

Caller: Liam! I am in a bit of a pickle.

Liam: I’m all ears, go on!

Caller: I think my friend has a drinking problem. She went so overboard last night that she started chewing her bare foot thinking it was a piece of meat! She’s vegan! How is that even possible?!

Liam: [Laughs] Now, that has got to be the funniest thing I’ve heard all week. We all have a friend that’s like that. I’ve got Niall. Blonde, loud, talks a lot. You heard of him?

Caller: I think he was in one of my lectures.

Liam: Great! As soon as I think something is going iffy with one of my friends I just compare them to Niall. If they’re worse than him, I’m rushing to the closest rehab. If not, all is well!

Caller: That actually puts so much into perspective. Thanks Liam!

Liam: Always here for help! Thank you for your call. Our next song is very fitting, Here is Drunk in Love by the Legend herself.

Genevieve didn’t know she was in the parking lot of Liam’s radio station until she put her gear in park. If she couldn’t get peace in the library, the next resort was the couch generously offered to her on numerous occasions. Liam was only found here at wee hours in the night since he did night radio. Today was one of those odd days his show was on during the day—the same time she needed a place to study. It all seemed destined.

The architecture building was all points and sharp edges. The drop in quality design amplified as soon as she hit the basement. No longer was there fancy glass and shiny mirrors. The tiles on the floors were unevenly aligned and she didn’t want to analyze the yellow mold dripping down the side of one wall. She passed a custodian’s quarters, and in the corner was a door with a makeshift sign announcing the station’s territory.

Liam leaned against the wall beside the shut door. One of his foot was over the other. His phone glued to the side of his face. “Yes, yeah that apartment is no longer available.”

His eyes snapped up at the sound of her shoes against the floor. He grinned. Genevieve gave an excited wave as she walked further down the hallway and his eyes brightened.

“No, unfortunately,” he continued to mumble into the receiver.

When she got close enough, she could hear an angry accent blaring through his phone. Liam rolled his eyes and spoke into the receiver once more. “I’m sorry, there’s not much I can do.”

He pointed towards the door beside him, motioning to go inside. His phone call was probably going to take him a minute to sort out. Hopefully, he had queued up a couple songs to avoid a dead line.

Genevieve walked into the humble space, the door shut gently behind her by Liam.

There were two parts to the room. On the right side was a booth, the cramped size meant it was most likely used as a supply closet. All the equipment was squished in there. A computer sat on an ikea table and a foldable picnic chair did little to compliment it. It was a mess of wires and stray headphones lay lifelessly.

Adjacent to it was the second half of the room. A worn out rug was cut up on the floor to fit the small space. Then there was the infamous pissed on couch. The quality implied it was from the goodwill down the block. It’s ancient floral pattern proved it was previously owned by someone in their 60’s. On one end of the couch, a head of dark chestnut hair rested against the arm.

She should’ve stayed at the library.

She should’ve gone home.

She should’ve gone to a coffee shop.

Now looking at the sight in front of her, the possibilities were endless.

When Genevieve was twelve, she was sure she had lived through the worst day of her life. It was in Mrs. Webster’s afternoon math class. She hadn’t been keeping up with doing her homework. And Mrs. Webster picked on her to answer a simple multiplication question scratched on the board. She blurted out the first number that came to mind— two.

The whole class hollered with laugher and she sunk down in her assigned chair with red cheeks. Sixty-eight multiplied by nine was never, ever, two. If only she had made an educated guess and gave a number that wasn’t a single digit, she wouldn’t have seemed like a complete loser.

That night she went home and reviewed the chart of times table and made sure it was burned in the back of her eyelids.

The multiplication table, the public humiliation, and the sight in front of her was ingrained deeply in a part of her brain she would never voluntarily revisit.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” His eyes did not part from the novel cracked open in front of him. His nose wiggled when he found a particular line amusing. An awkward beat passed and Genevieve was at a loss of words. “Have you become a statue? Do I need to unfreeze you?”

He laid horizontally on the couch. The length of his legs —spread out across the cushions— shrunk the size of the furniture, making it seem smaller than it actually was. He propped his head on a folded arm, a makeshift pillow.

“You’re here.” Their disagreement from before was still a fresh wound. The alcohol aided her bravery last time, but now without its push, Genevieve wondered if he took those words to heart. She didn’t know where they stood. “Yet again.”

“I am.” He closed the book after folding a dog ear at the top right hand corner. His neck craned to look towards where she stood. “Hello to you, too.”

Genevieve clutched the strap of her bag. She noticed there was no resentment in his voice. “How… what are you doing here?”

“Liza’s show just finished up, I’m usually here for it. The million dollar question is, what made you decide to grace us with your presence on this fine Tuesday?”

She blinked quickly as panic flushed up her neck. She had to be tactical about her response. Admitting to needing a study space was the cheese at the end of a mouse trap. She didn’t want to trap herself in a room with Harry for God knows how long. Her day had gone through enough loops and twists and Genevieve wanted to get off the rollercoaster. She had to get out of here. “I came to drop off something for Liam, but I’ll get going.”

Genevieve turned around to grip the doorknob, but before she could twist it, Harry spoke up. “What is it?”

“Hm?” She asked looking over her shoulder. He sat upright, the book of his interest was now face down on his lap. He wore a simple black shirt, a red flannel was unbuttoned over it.

“The thing you were here to drop off.”

“Yeah, oh, I um, already gave it to him.”

“That still doesn’t answer the question.”

“It was a...” she mulled through an imaginary list of objects to fit this scenario.

When she took a minute too long, a knowing smile quirked his lips. “Lying isn’t a good look on you.”

She scoffed. “I’m not lying, Harry.”

“Yes you are and it’s written all over your face.” He pointed it out like a simple observation as if saying the sky is blue, birds fly, and Genevieve lies. “You do that thing when one part of your mouth is higher than the other and you avoid eye contact.”

The swinging door almost knocked her out from the sudden force. She dodged it just in time. It was a hair’s length distance away from breaking her nose. Her eyes widened in shock. Harry mouthed karma.

“Shit, Gen.” Liam stumbled in. “Why are you standing so close to the door? You alright?”

“Was actually leaving.”

Liam’s brows creased. “Rubbish, you just got here. You’re definitely staying for longer. I was thinking of popping to that pretzel shop right beside to get myself something to chew on. Which one do you want?”

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Liam looked over Genevieve’s shoulder. “Harry?”

“Anything, as long as it’s not super sweet.”

“You got it.” Liam nodded and gave a gleaming smile his way. “And you—” Liam turned to Genevieve with a pointed finger, it didn’t hold much authority “—Better not be gone until I’ve come back or else I’ll be very cross. I mean it, don’t even think about it.”

Genevieve huffed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “What am I even supposed to do here in the meantime? Queue up songs for you? I’ll play the Highschool Musical soundtrack for your listeners and soon there won’t be any left.”

“I’ve already got that taken care of. Don’t you have a mountain worth of coursework? Get a start on that.”

Genevieve felt like she was reaching into a magician's black hat and pulling out a rabbit. But in her case there were no furry animals, only poorly threaded excuses. “I… I don’t have my calculator or any pens or—”

Liam shuffled into the booth. His back curved as he bent over the desk. A cylinder container was situated at the corner beside the workplace lamp. It was sparsely filled with a couple highlighters, paperclips, and a single pen.

He plucked the utensil quickly before handing it to Genevieve. “Here, use this. I think I may have my finance calculator in my bag. It should have the same functions.”

The pace of everything slows down as the cheap plastic rolled between her thumb and forefinger. It was a classic blue BIC pen, the type offices bought in bulk to save money.

There is a reason why Genevieve only used black inked pens. Every time she saw blue on paper, she felt his thumb on her lip. It was too distracting, like a herd of bees buzzing collectively around her in threatening circles. Multiple stingers pierced nostalgia deep into her arms, legs, shoulders, lips. Her skin broke and red painful bumps erupted. Her chest tightened and her throat clamped shut.

“Gen, Gen? You alright?” Liam squeezed her forearm and Genevieve woke from her trance.

“Hm?”

“You became really pale.”

She cleared her throat to delay her response. “Um… I—can’t. I don’t use blue pens. It’s just…” She knew she sounded delirious. Though her left hand was fisted, the slight tremor was not well hidden.

Liam’s inquisitive look wasn’t judgemental or contemptuous and for that she was thankful.

What differentiated Liam from others is that he understood without needing to know the details. He didn’t ask questions because he knew if Genevieve wanted to share, she would at her own time. Most often times, her lips were the zig zag teeth of zippers—tightly fastened—but he remained on the sidelines, patient. With one look he appraised her and knew this stemmed deep.

“I’ve got another,” Harry interrupted, making Genevieve’s neck turn towards him. She forgot for a moment that he was in the room. He waved a pencil in the air. The pink eraser on the end was salmon coloured and the tip was a bit rounded. It wasn’t a pen, but it would have to do.

“That settles it,” Liam concluded with a clap. “You’re staying.” There was no room to rebuttal. He grabbed his wallet and cell phone and pulled the door open. Liam was gone, only leaving a gust of wind in his departure.

Genevieve rubbed her palm over her face.

“I don’t bite, you know?” His tone was steady. “Being in a room with me isn’t as dreadful as you’re making it out to be.”

“Oh, it’s worse,” Genevieve mumbled under her breath, but it was drowned out by Harry’s backpack hitting the floor. The spot on the couch beside him was now vacant.

“We need to set boundaries.” It’s ironic for her to say this as she walked over to empty space he set aside for her.

The only other place left to sit was the floor, she didn’t need to add back problems to her list of already growing concerns. This list had Harry’s name at the very top in red ink; underlined, and multiple exclamation marks surrounded it. If it was anytime to acknowledge it, this was it, when he was an arms length away on the opposite side of the couch.

“What do you mean?”

“Like we need some parameters. Some sort of rules to abide by if you’re just gonna end up popping up everywhere.”

He laughed, eyes screwed shut and head thrown back like Genevieve was on stage behind a microphone at stand up night. It took a minute for his chuckles to dwindle down. Harry’s brows almost met his hairline when Genevieve’s face remained stoic. “Oh wait… you’re serious.”

“I’ll go first.” Genevieve distracted herself by pulling out her notebook and flipping to the last page she worked on. She picked up the pencil he dropped beside his thigh. It was easier to get her thoughts in order when she didn’t make eye contact with him.“We can’t let anyone know about how we know each other. I haven’t… haven’t told Liam, Meena or Niall about any of it and I'd like to keep it that way.”

“It’s not something to hide.”

“For me, it is.” Genevieve breathed out a sigh. Her back hit the cushion and she folded her legs underneath herself. “And from what I’m hearing from Angie and Zayn, they don’t know much either.”

“It just never came up so I didn’t bother.” Harry shrugged cracking the novel open to his marked page. “Alright, I'll give you that, only if you agree not to be so...”

His sentence was a loose piece of thread, floating freely. He purposefully let it dangle between them.

“Go on.” Genevieve tilted her head. “Finish your sentence.”

His face contorted as he tried to find the right word. A tongue poked the inside of his cheek.

“...Tense.”

Genevieve threw the pencil at Harry. The gesture is so natural that it startled her. It bounced off the side of his forehead with a clunk. His fingers rushed to apply pressure on the sore spot. His pink lips pouted.

“Jesus, woman,” he groaned. He pretended as if Genevieve had chucked it at full force, when in reality it was a lousy throw, she had noodle arms. “I gave you that to use, not to assault me with.”

“I’m not tense.” Her jaw hung open in disbelief.

“Then it shouldn’t be a chore to agree to it.” Harry countered.

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “It shouldn’t.”

The radio switched tracks, Liam’s queued up a song sounded softly in the silence. An acoustic guitar strummed in the background as Genevieve started a problem and Harry went back to his book.

He spread out his legs in front of him, his back moulded against the couch in a way that would leave him to complain about an ache in a couple of hours. Genevieve refrained from pointing it out.

Two songs finished and a pre-recorded ad played. The brief thirty seconds advertised the fundraiser a student group put together to raise funds for Angie Wu’s family. The next song started, an upbeat tempo and rhythm.

“Never thought I'd see the day you’d say no to pretzels.”

She didn’t realize she was nodding with the music until she stopped and turned her head towards him. She raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Those were your favourite.”

“Yeah, I’m just not hungry.”

“You were so crazy about them. I took one bag from the pantry and you bit my head off. How was I supposed to know it was yours?”

Genevieve’s eyes flickered down towards the cover in his hand. “Never thought I’d see you read something by Toni Morrison.”

“It was on the list.”

“You still have it? I thought it was lost.”

“I do, the bloody thing never ends. Just when you think you’ve gone through a big chunk, you flip the page and there’s more.” He peered over the top of the book at her. “I’ve went to the library enough times, they know my name without checking my card.”

Genevieve dotted an equal sign and then a row of numbers. She collected like terms and simplified the problem. “I tried looking for it everywhere in the flat. Spent two weeks.”

“Should’ve checked the car.” His voice was low, almost lost in with the music, but she heard it. A sad smile played on the ends of his lips as he flipped the page.

Genevieve noticed his adam’s apple rise and fall. There is a distant look in his eyes that she had never seen before. Harry’s lashes fluttered quickly, to blink away the memories playing in his mind. He cleared his throat before speaking. “Most of them are confusing as shit, don’t make sense. Feels like reading in circles, but so far I’ve liked four of them.”

“Yeah? How many have you gone through?”

Harry’s forehead scrunched in thought as he mentally counts the different titles, using his digits to keep track if needed. His lips—puckered in concentration— were red and bitten, yet appear feather soft.

“Not many, maybe nine?” His ring and middle finger scratched at his hairline, light bounced off the metal bands wrapped around his digits. His posture softened as a blush rose up his neck. “‘I'm a slow reader,” he admitted, his tone timid and bashful.

Genevieve’s eyes rolled involuntarily, a breathy laugh danced through her lips. “Oh, I know.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that you take two years to read a take out menu, always have.”

“It’s called browsing the options and specials.”

“Yet you order the same every time? Do explain.” Playful offence is threaded between them. It was starting to resemble the easy conversations they once shared over a cereal breakfast, lazy Sundays, in passing here and there. The smallest things they had taken for granted became a bitter recollection.

His throat grumbled in defeat. “Be nice.”

There were days where Genevieve wanted to put a halt to whatever distance they had carved from each other. Harry felt oceans away, but it would be cruel to put all the burden on him. Genevieve wasn’t standing there with warm welcoming arms either, she was rather stone cold.

They were dropped beads of a broken necklace, scattered on a tiled floor. The thread that joined them had snapped. There had been occurrences where Genevieve’s thumb hovered over his contact name, the number so old that she wasn’t sure if it still worked. She almost sent him a text, left a voicemail. She missed her friend, that wasn’t in question, but she couldn’t bring herself to go through with it. He was to blame.

But there they were. Harry was still Harry. And Genevieve was Genny. Sure, his shoulders were slightly broader, his hair a bit shorter, and his posture more crooked. It was also okay that they weren’t the same. There was an awkward space that separated them, one that didn’t exist before because Harry would have had his arm thrown over her shoulders and her head would comfortably align with his chest.

“Is it—” Genevieve gulped loudly, hesitant as nerves circled her belly like sharks do the ocean. She twisted her sleeves in her palm before starting once more. She didn’t know if her request was intrusive or disrespectful in any way. She hoped it wasn’t. “Is it okay if I maybe take a look at it?”

Harry had found the list, so it belonged to him. Much like how Genevieve protected some photographs and a lighter with her life. It would be reasonable if his answer wasn’t what she was pulling for. He had ownership and the right to say no.

A pause followed, it made her sure that she was twisting knobs on locked doors. Harry’s face remained impassive. Had she not said it loud enough? Her limbs felt heavy and heat began to crawl up Genevieve’s face as she realized rejection wasn’t a reality far away, but it was rather staring her in the face.

Genevieve deflated when he nodded eagerly.

“‘Course, yeah. I’ll bring it around sometime.”

The door swung open and Liam came in clutching far too much than he could balance. A bag hung from between his chest and chin, there were three more in his hand. The paper wrinkled loudly as he moved. He shut the door behind him with the heel of his foot.

Genevieve shot a confused look at his small buffet.

“They just increased the student discount for these! Can you believe?”

***

November 15, 2019

Genevieve was a match burning at both ends. Sometimes it would be too much of a chore to step in the shower or brush her teeth. The smallest tasks that once would come so naturally now demanded significant energy. Sure, she could blame it to her course load, and juggling jobs at Flo’s and the student help desk. But she knew self care was pushed to the back burner way before any of that started—three years ago precisely.

Today, she opened the shared document on her computer.

A long needle injected into her spine; the pinch was sharp. Stress shot through every nerve ending when the cursor scrolled down the screen.

Group assignments did more harm than good, if only professors understood that. The assignment was to be done between four random people in her course. The groups were preselected and Genevieve didn’t know a single face. The dropbox to hand in the report closed at midnight. Currently, the fifteen page report only came up to three pages.

She tried to get hold of her remaining group members, but the group chat was only a string of messages from her end. The shower she planned to take was now an unaffordable luxury. She cracked her knuckles and began pulling the dead weight of three people.

Her phone buzzed, disrupting the quiet in her flat. She was so caught up in editing the null hypothesis she didn’t check the caller ID and answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Genevieve?”

“Mum, hi,” Genevieve breathed out and the rush of air created static on the line.

“Are you in the middle of something? You sound busy.”

Genevieve skimmed over a research paper she wanted to reference. Her mouse copy pasted the citation. “Just doing an assignment last minute. I could throw up from the stress.”

“Baby, you need to take it easier, that is no way to live, no matter what deadline you’re under,” she scolded with gentle concern. Like always, it went through Genevieve’s ear and came out the other. “Anyway, I called because Sarah—the nice lady down the street—has started a donation drive for Syrian Refugees. I’m giving her your old clothes, is that alright?”

“The ones in boxes up in the attic?”

“Yes, if you need them I can—”

“No, give them away. I can’t remember the last time I wore them, it’s better they get some use out of them.” Genevieve selected two lines on the document. The words highlighted a sky blue, then she hit backspace.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking. Plus, it would clear up some space up there anyway.”

“Don’t go too intense with your cleaning, you get a bit kooky.” Genevieve giggled and pressed the phone between her shoulder and cheek. She continued her work on the laptop.

“There’s no harm in having a clean, tidy space!” Label makers and organizing bins got Margaret White more excited than any man. Spring cleaning happened quarterly at their residence. The attic was full of abandoned scrapbooks, VCR cassettes, old furniture, and her broken bicycle that had a neon pink basket. “While I was up there, I did find something.”

Genevieve smiled. “Did you cry to my elementary school pictures? Again?”

“Oh hush!” Genevieve pictured her crossed brows. Waterworks were in ample supply when taking a trip down memory lane with her mother, it was like forgetting to shut the water tap off. Genevieve found it amusing to poke fun at her for. “You still have a box of his stuff. Do you want me to get rid of it?”

The pause was deafening. The clicking of Genevieve’s fingers on the keyboard came to a definite halt. Her laptop screen became muddled as it went out of focus. She felt the back of her eyes sting as she recalled the specific box. She smelled August.

“Gen?”

“No, no, don’t do that.” Genevieve clutched the receiver with a sudden desperation. There was apparent sniffling on her end of the line. Genevieve cleared her throat and tried to disguise it as a cough. “Mum I just...”

“I can post it to you. There are a lot of pictures.”

“Can you, please?” Genevieve choked back a sob.

“Of course.”

Genevieve clamped her eyes shut and breathed deep through her nostrils. She assumed she owed her mother an explanation for the sudden onslaught of emotions. “I’m not crazy, it’s just this course, this assignment, is really putting a stress on me.”

“I know, Darling,” she said, but didn’t sound convinced in the slightest.

Genevieve swallowed sour bile. “It’s not… it’s not because of him, I swear.”

“Didn’t think it was.”

“Really?” Genevieve’s word squeaked.

“Genevieve, baby,” her mother began. Margaret pursed her lips and it built a bustling silence. Words were tricky in sensitive situations like these. If not cherry picked with care and caution, they can ruin relationships—even of blood—with a snap. “He left, he was a great boy, but he left. And a part of me tells me you’re not coping.”

“I am. I promise I am.”

Genevieve covered the mouthpiece on her to muffle any whimpers. She rolled her lips tightly.

Margaret sighed. “I just worry about you, is all.”

“No reason to be, I’m doing much better.”

Blue sky. Birds fly. Genevieve lies.

“Alright.” There was shuffling on the other side of the line. “I’ll ring you another time. Take care of yourself, please.”

“Will do, love you.”

“Love you, too.”

When the call ended, Genevieve bowed her head in shame. Her phone clattered on her wooden desk, then laid dead. The squares aligned in even rows on her keyboard were black. The font of each letter was simple, and the colour of winter. The U,G,S,A,T keys were dotted with small puddles of tears.

***

Beta: @drivingmekiwi @at-least-im-1 @angryniall @pagesuponstpages @feminarrie @fireawaynjh

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Tag List: 

@mellamolayla @teafull @queenalienscherrypie @harryschanclas @wanderlustiing @daydreamsharry @quintessentially-weird @brassharry @kizsyou @thursday-iminlove @at-least-im-1 @la-peonia @stylesfics-xx @blue-eyes-freckles-and-a-smile @guccikingstyles @awomanindeniall @mylifeisatoilet @confusedkiwifan @wonderonrepeat @sydneysuit @sortaanonymous @infinitiae

[riding-alpacas]

Best views ever

El Chalten is a funny little village. Imagine your favourite country-side town. Now imagine there is an event on the weekend, let's say a biker event and the whole place is full of bikers. Let's replace the bikers with hikers who are all wearing their walking boots, convertible Columbia pants & Patagucci jackets and you've got El Chalten!

Totally worth getting up at 4am

It's quite obvious that you come here to do three things only: Sleep, eat and most importantly hike! This place only has buildings where you can sleep in, buildings you can eat in and signs that indicate hiking trails. It's a well-oiled machine and for very good reasons. The hiking is world-class and I totally get why everybody's flocking here. But that also means you need to get a little creative if you are after some solitude.

First things first though. When I arrived here, I actually felt like shit. The cold that I'd been carrying around with me for quite some time turned out to be a bit nasty. So I spent the first three days in bed recovering. Because I was bored (and because the first season of Baby Yoda The Mandalorian was only eight episodes), I decided to visualise my tale of suffering. This is how a typical man flu looks like for me:

A typical man flu

Pretty straight forward. A little headache and a runny nose at the beginning, then gradually transitioning into coughing over a total period of 7 days (with medication I’m usually able to make it a week instead).

But the one I caught here was different:

The nasty Patagonian man flu

As you can see it started off very similar and I didn't think much about it. But then it started to step it up a notch and all of a sudden pretty much every body orifice was affected and it all went crazy and in all sorts of directions. Day 7 was when I left Ushuaia, and on day 8 I took the bus to El Chalten by the way - fun times! This thing clearly tried to imitate a typical Patagonian mountain range, so I decided to name it the "Patagonian man flu". Watch out for it and always wash your hands.

Before we get to the more pleasant sections, I also need to spend a few paragraphs with the place I decided to stay at. I don't know how they did it, but Rancho Grande is clearly one of the most overrated hostels I've ever seen on Hostelworld. It starts by not knowing what it wants to be. It's kind of a restaurant with a hostel attached to it. Or is it a hostel with a restaurant out front? And with everything that tries to be two things at once: It's not good at any of the two.

The dorms were underwhelming as they consisted only of a bed and a locker. The bunk beds were tiny and didn't have any rails, the reading lights were so bright they’d scare away Godzilla in the dark, there were no shelves, the kitchen was a joke and the toilets turned into a steam room in the afternoon due to poor ventilation. I definitely expected a lot more at this price point.

The restaurant unfortunately wasn't much better. The bread was dry and the quality of the dishes very average. The common area of the hostel was above the restaurant with a huge void in the middle. I usually go to the common area to hang out but imagine being in a place with a constant restaurant noise in the background. I couldn't stand this for very long, so I saw myself in my dorm most of the time when I wanted to chill. You check in between people munching their Schnitzel and when you brush your teeth before you go to bed you might stand next to a restaurant guest who had one beer too many because the bathrooms between the two audiences are shared. On top of that a disturbing trend continues: I'm not sure if I'm just unlucky but the majority of the people are just super unsocial. They rather hang out with their mobile phone than with actual people. My room mates were the worst at this place: They didn't even tell me their name when I introduced myself to them and they were all just dead silent all the time. What the actual fuck? Anyway, let's move on to the fun part: The hikes!

The first one I did was the Chorillo del Salto trek. It was a short and easy 4km hike to a cute little waterfall and turned out to be the perfect start after spending the previous three days in bed. I chilled out at the foot of the falls for an hour or so before heading back to town. One thing I will miss the most about Patagonia is the water. It's a nice change compared to Oz being able to just dip your water bottle into the closest body of water and drink from it straight away. I think the last time I drank such tasty water was in the North of Sweden a couple of years ago. Apparently this area has one of the world's largest reserves of fresh water and it makes me wonder why we can lay huge pipelines to transfer dirty oil from A to B but not beautiful drinking water.

I like a good waterfall

The next morning I still didn't feel too great but decided that it's time to give the finger to the cold and just move on. In order to avoid the crowds, I left my hostel at sunrise and tackled the first (easy) day hike: 18km return to Laguna Torre. The first 2km were a bit of an up and down and in between I was welcomed with the following views:

Mount Fitz Roy means "smoking mountain" in the native tongue

Once I got over these initial hills, it was basically just a long walk through a forrest until the Fitz Roy river appeared on the left. One more kilometre and I was standing in front of the lake with a great view of Cerro Torre. There were some little icebergs floating in the lagoon that fell off from the glacier behind it. My plan to avoid the crowds worked out perfectly as I had the whole place to myself for about an hour until the first people dropped in. The fresh air turned out to be perfect medication, too. I felt significantly better when I returned to El Chalten which meant that I felt ready for the next day hike.

Look at all these colours

Acceptable view

I wanted to gradually improve the difficulty of the treks, so the next morning I went off and did the 20km return hike to the foot of Mount Fitz Roy (I still wonder why they named it after a Melbourne suburb): Laguna de los Tres. There are a couple of options how you can do this one. I personally don't like in and out hikes very much and this one had an option to make it sort of a loop. You could take a taxi to a place called El Pilar, then hike to Fitz Roy from the north-east and on the way back take the south-east route to El Chalten. The disadvantage is that you can't really see the mountains on your way in and you'd always turn around on your way back because you missed all the views initially. So I decided to do something else instead. I actually started this hike in the dark. The whole town was still asleep when I left the hostel at 5am in the morning but fortunately there weren't many nocturnal animals to expect (other than the last hike I started at night in Australia where I almost shit myself with that much activity in the bush at that time). The idea was to be at a specific lookout 1.5h later in order to observe the sunrise and see Mount Fitz Roy brightened up in gorgeous shiny orange colours. And as you can see from the first photo above, it worked out and it left me speechless for a minute or two. It was quite a sight and an absolute highlight of my trip so far! I don't think anything will get close to this jaw-dropping moment anytime soon.

Continuing the hike it turned out to be a lot more diverse than the one I did the day before. Having the trails completely to myself, I passed glacial waterfalls, mystic foggy sections and heaps of small creeks with crystal clear waters before getting to a popular campsite very close to the final ascent.

Foggy

The people who slept at the campsite were already on their way down when I tackled the final kilometre of hell. IT. WAS. STEEP. It took me about an hour to get up the last 1000m and I hated every second of it but the reward at the end doesn't need any words:

Does this need a caption?

I ended up staying here for at least 3 hours just taking in the stunning scenery and going up and down and all around the lagoon over and over again. It was absolutely beautiful and I can totally understand why so many people come to this place. Fun fact: If you compare the ridge line with the logo from the Patagonia brand you might discover some similarities.

On the way back I took my time and similar to the day before a crazy amount of people made their way to the top now. I regularly stopped at the river sections, cooled down my feet and also took a little detour to another lagoon that again looked so inviting for a dip. But with water temperatures around 6 degrees it was relatively easy to resist.

Beautiful water everywhere

So clean

The last hike I attempted was the 20km Loma del Pliegue Tumbado. It was supposed to be the hardest hike, but I'd rather put it in the middle between the previous two hikes. Other than the other treks in this area, this one actually went up a hill and didn't lead through a valley. With 1000m of altitude it may sound steep but it was evenly distributed across the whole length, so it didn't feel that bad at all. It isn't a very popular hike and I decided to start it at a decent time in the morning (9am). I actually didn't meet too many other people on the way. It started amid rocky shrubland which reminded me a lot of Australia. If you'd put a wombat right here, it would feel like you're in the middle of Australian bush. After a while, the trail led into a forrest which then turned into this weird rocky landscape that felt like from another planet. Quite fun and entertaining.

I want to be there when this rock loses its balance

What planet is this again?

It ended with an impressive lookout from where you could see the whole mountain range, including Cerro Torre and Mount Fitz Roy. From here I had the option to walk up another very steep hill for another kilometre or so but I couldn't see how the view would change dramatically. Lots of effort, low reward - that math didn't make sense to me, so I decided to stay down, have a picnic and just admire the tranquil scenery for a while. Only to fall asleep and waking up from an asshole fly that made it way into my ear. Yes, similar to Australia the Argentinians use this land partly for cattle and with the cattle come the flies... I didn't expect that I'd have to bring my fly net to this trip!

All together now

I'm such an artist

All in all I had a fantastic time in El Chalten with some of the best hiking I ever did in my life. In terms of food I tried the famous Locro which was surprisingly minty but a perfect hearty dish after a long day out. I also found a place that served a great traditional Goulash and one place where I had Guanaco Goulash. After seeing my first cuddly Guanacos on my way here, I now simply had to taste them.

Locro

Tomorrow I will cross the border to Chile to go on an adventure that I was looking forward to for quite some time now: I will walk the O circuit in Torres del Paine and will completely disconnect for about 8 days.

Last Mount Fitz Roy picture, I promise

[sickdaysofficial]

The Meeting

Sickdays Aug 17th: Public Illness

Written by @hurt-care

Tags: headache, illness, sick fic, cold, sneezing, chronic illness, pain, aches

Characters: Remus Lupin (Harry Potter)

—————————————————

Why Dumbledore always seemed to schedule things immediately after the full moon was beyond Remus’ comprehension. He was certain it was mostly shit luck on his part rather than ill-intent on Dumbledore’s, but it didn’t make it less irritating. So when another meeting of the Order was called at Headquarters for the late afternoon following a full moon, Remus knew he’d have to rally and get there if he could.

The moon had been as normal as it could be. While their quartet rarely could all make it anymore thanks to Order assignments and their jobs, at least one of the Marauders usually came to keep him company. On this particular night, it was James and Peter who joined him for a romp in the forest before escorting him back to his tiny bachelor flat to sleep it off.

“Need anything else?” James asked as he put a glass of ice water and a cup of tea on Remus’ bedside table.

Remus shook his head wearily, eyes closed against a pounding headache. They’d dosed him with the usual pain potions and tucked him into bed in a pair of his softest pyjamas.

“Right then,” James said. “Well, we’ll fill you in on tonight’s meeting when you’re back on your feet. Send word if you need anything.”

Remus made a small grunt of agreement and rolled over, cradling his aching back against a spare pillow. He heard the click of his flat door and the muffled popping sounds of his friends disapperating outside.

Forcing his eyes open, he reached for his wand and gave it a practiced flick towards his alarm clock. He’d easily sleep through the meeting if he didn’t set it. With the alarm properly set, he closed his eyes and quickly dozed off.

–

It was some time around three in the afternoon when he woke feeling desperate for a drink. His sleep-addled fingers fumbled with the glass of water on the nightstand, sending some of it splashing onto the bedsheets. He half-raised himself and gulped greedily from the cup until it was empty.

Squinting, he looked at his clock. There was only five minutes before his alarm was set to go off. Lowering himself back down on the mattress, he closed his eyes and scanned his body, taking stock of the usual aches and pains.

There was his back and neck which always ached from the strain of the transformation. His skin felt hot still from fever and it was hyper-sensitive to everything. Even the waistband on his pyjama bottoms felt painful against the pale expanse of freckled skin that had been fur only hours ago.

His head ached too, though not with the normal sharp pains he usually experienced. Today it was more of a dull thud in the front of his forehead that extended down to under his eyes. He pressed two slim fingers against his sinuses and confirmed with a sniffle that he was indeed stuffed up. Wonderful.

Rolling over, he forced himself to sit up and swing his legs out of bed. He turned off the alarm charm on his clock and stood up. A shiver traveled down his limbs in response to the increased surge of pain as he limped slowly on swollen legs towards the bathroom.

From the medicine chest he took out a vial of Blood Replenishing potion and another of Instant Energy Increaser and swallowed both quickly, fighting the urge to retch. He managed to keep them both down with a few minutes of careful slow breathing while leaning against his sink. The Energy potion sent a warm surge of strength through him and dulled some of the more mundane of his aches.

He washed his face and smoothed down his bedraggled hair, pausing to assess his appearance in the mirror. Dark circles were smudged under his red-rimmed eyes and his lips were chapped and peeling at the corners. His cheeks and nose were both flushed pink from fever and who knew what else. He sniffled, pawing at his nostrils and wiping away a thin trail of moisture.

At least he could make a convincing excuse for his appearance by claiming to have a cold. Simply showing up to a meeting looking like death when several of the Order members weren’t aware of his condition wasn’t the best idea.

He went back to his wardrobe with a fistful of toilet tissue for his stuffy nose and paused to give a few gurgling blows before he began the search for his most comfortable jumper and trousers. Dressing was a slow process as he carefully pulled of his pyjamas, knees creaking and ankles wobbling as he moved. By the time he had his clothing on, his sensitive skin was prickling angrily and he ran his fingers along the collar of his jumper, pulling the wool off his neck.

His unmade bed in the corner was looking extremely appealing but he knew now that he was up, he just needed to power through and get to Headquarters. With a last wipe of his nose and a fresh handkerchief folded into his trouser pocket, he headed out of the flat and summoned up the strength to Disapperate.

Order Headquarters was located in a large cottage owned by Hestia Jones’ uncle. Remus reappeared in the side garden, stumbling and falling to the grass with a groan. He was, thankfully, alone in the yard except for a finch that chirped irritably at him from a nearby tree. Pushing himself up, he stumbled towards the house.

Inside, most of the Order members were already gathered in the large central room, congregating in small clusters of armchairs and chatting side-by-side on massive leather sofas. As he shut the door with an unexpectedly loud bang, all eyes turned towards him.

Suddenly, Remus felt the hot rush of embarrassment sliding up his neck and across his cheeks. He lowered his head, raising a hand in a brief hello to the group, and limped towards a chair.

Almost instantly, a hand was on his back, guiding him into the cushy paisley-print wingback.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing here?” Lily asked in a whisper, sounding as if she were speaking through gritted teeth.

“Couldn’t miss another one,” he muttered, feeling as if he really should have just taken the bruised pride and stayed in bed. He could feel several eyes still watching him curiously. 

Lily frowned and shook her head. From across the room, Remus could see Sirius and James excusing themselves from a conversation with Frank Longbottom.

“Are you insane?” James asked loudly as he reached Lily’s side. She elbowed her husband in the ribs and scowled at him.

“Sorry!” James hissed, grabbing at the spot where he’d been hit. “What the hell, Moony.”

“I’m fine,” Remus insisted, wanting to shrink back further into the chair and allow it to swallow him up completely. “I missed the last meeting. I didn’t want to miss another.”

Sirius was uncharacteristically quiet, watching Remus with a strange expression on his face.

“Some tea, then?” he asked after a moment. “Kettle’s on in the kitchen.”

“That’s a good idea,” Lily agreed. 

Remus shrugged a little and nodded.

Sirius disappeared towards the kitchen as Lily and James stayed standing at Remus’ side.

“Where’s Pete?” Remus asked, trying to steer the subject away from his appearance.

“He’ll be late. Had something for work,” James explained. “Why didn’t you just say something this morning? I could’ve fetched you some stronger potions.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Remus replied. “I’m not going to have the luxury to lie in bed all day every month if I want to keep a job. Might as well get used to it.”

Lily was still frowning at him.

“I don’t think it’s a luxury when you need it,” she said quietly.

Sirius returned with a large mug of steaming tea and passed it over.

Just as he was starting to speak, the cottage door swung open and Dumbledore entered dressed in dark purple robes and carrying a large roll of several pieces of parchment. As he crossed the room to his usual place in front of the hearth, his eyes darted briefly to Remus.

“Let’s get started, all,” he said, setting down the parchment rolls on a table. “We have much to cover.”

Dumbledore began with a briefing on some recent missions and a recap of upcoming assignments for several of the more senior members of the Order. Remus sipped his tea slowly, trying to pay attention, but the hot drink and the quiet drone of voices were both making his eyelids feel very heavy…

He drained the last bit of tea in his mug and set it on the floor, shifting uncomfortably in the chair and feeling his hips creak and crack in protest. 

“Anything to report on your research into mapping vampire colonies, Remus?” Dumbledore’s voice was saying, cutting through the fog in Remus’ head like a loud whip crack. He jumped and looked towards the front of the room. 

“Err…” he said, his voice hoarse and weary. “A bit. I’ve collected my findings so far into a map that I can pass along when I’ve completed a few more tracking spells.”

“Very good,” Dumbledore said, looking at him with a gentle expression. “And the centaurs in the south?”

“Less so, there,” he said. “I think we might need to do some scouting. I–”

He broke off, his voice catching in his throat. He started to cough, chest straining with each crackling spasm. Ever the quick thinker, Lily grabbed his mug and tapped it with her wand, sending a stream of water from the tip into the cup. She passed it over and he took a sip, managing to settle the coughing fit enough to sputter out an apology.

“I think it’s clear you’ve been unwell, so I think we’ll leave it at that and allow you to pass along your findings to the appropriate parties when you’ve completed the maps,” Dumbledore said. “Sirius? The Gringotts observation posts. Your report on the findings?”

Sirius began to speak and Remus slumped back in the armchair, hoping he hadn’t made too much of a scene. He fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief and wiped his runny nose. He felt Lily’s hand give his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.

Hehhh-TSGHH!

Suddenly he pitched forward, sneezing harshly into his cupped hands. Sirius paused his speaking for a brief second and several Order members offered cries of ‘gesundheit!’ and 'blessings!’. Remus flushed hot in the face and covered his nose with the handkerchief once more.

A few moments later, the welcome distraction of Peter arriving late interrupted the meeting once more. While more and more people shared reports of missions and other business, Remus remained nestled in the squashy chair, drifting in and out of listening as he dozed off repeatedly only to awake again seconds later.

Before he knew it, someone was shaking his shoulder gently.

“You see why this was a bad idea?” James asked. Remus blinked and looked around the room. Everyone had gone back to milling around and chatting. The official meeting was over.

His heart racing, Remus peered around and saw that Dumbledore was still present. Their eyes met from a moment and Dumbledore waved his hand in a beckoning motion.

“Be right back,” he rasped, struggling to his feet. Sirius hauled him up with a tug and steadied him for a moment before letting Remus limp off to meet with Dumbledore.

“A word in the study?” Dumbledore said, opening a nearby door and gesturing inside. Remus went in and sat on a hard wooden side chair that did nothing to relieve his aching body.

“I wanted to apologize, Remus,” Dumbledore said after shutting the door. “I do realize that the last two meetings were following full moons. This was not my intent, but simply the only times I could arrange it. And while I appreciate you being here, you’re clearly unwell.”

“It’s a cold,” Remus mumbled, but he knew that he wasn’t convincing Dumbledore of anything.

“That may be, but even without that, you know that you need proper rest after the moon. I think Madam Pomfrey would heartily agree with me. We can’t risk anyone not taking proper care. We’re already outnumbered as it stands with everyone healthy.”

Remus nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“I think your friends are prepared to get you safely home,” Dumbledore said. “I suggest you accept their offer.”

With that, he went back into the living room, leaving the study door open. A moment later, his friends appeared with their cloaks and other belongings at hand.

“Let’s get you back to bed, Moony,” Sirius said. “I can side-along you home.”

“And I’ll come by in a little while with some dinner for you and some Pepper-Up for your cold,” Lily added.

“Thanks,” Remus muttered, embarrassed by their fussing.

When he was safely back in his bed, back in his comfortable pyjamas, and with a bowl of soup on his nightstand and steam drifting from his ears, he closed his eyes and let out a sigh. Bedridden once again. But maybe, as he’d learned, it was best just to stay safely there when he could instead of pushing it. At least in bed, no one was watching him suffer.

[iphoenixrising]

Tiny!Tim and the Fever

Another one I found. Ah, my soulmate @satire-please was sick a while ago and asked for a young Timmy all sick and the Bats find him in Drake Manor. It’s Nightwing in from the Haven with a little Jason!Robin :D

**

When the only people out in Gotham after nightfall are the vigilantes, you know it’s time to go. N and Robin had hit mid-town before their legs were completely numb to all sensation and the clench of his stomach, the almost oops with his zip line was countered by Nightwing’s uncanny sixth sense.

The second time his predecessor caught him by the back of his cape before an epic fail on the roof of the Wallstone (even through the gloves he can’t feel his hands well enough to hold the zip line), they agree wholeheartedly it’s time to call it a night.  Like he’s reading their minds (or he just knows his boys), B already sent the big car down to an alleyway for their pick-up. The heater is blasting when they duck inside, limbs tingling back to life before N revs the engine and they take off into the night.

**

The next afternoon, Alfred Pennyworth hangs-up the Manor telephone and returns to the kitchen, his back a little stiffer than normal.

Looking up from the incredibly stupid “Arctic Academy” assignments for snow days, Jay’s eyebrow cocks up while Dick manages to stir from huddled around his bowl of cereal. Reading the paper and drinking his coffee, B lets the butler go through his own particular set of motions before deciding to intervene. He still taps his cane a little on his walking cast, just so Alfred knows.

The offended muttering while the butler moves around the kitchen, putting sundries away, removing his apron, going for his coat, hat, and scarf.

“It seems,” the butler finally speaks loud enough to be to them, “young Timothy has been left to his own devices and has not answered any phone calls from his parents.” Sliding on his driving gloves, the calm, cool, and collected is just the tiniest bit askew, “they have requested I go check on the boy, just to be certain he hasn’t run against any difficulties.”

Timothy?

Timothy.

“Timmy from down the road?” Jason’s brows furrow, “he’s only a fucking kid. You ain’t telling me they left him alone, right?”

The silence answers that.

B’s already ninja folded the newspaper in perfect lines, standing to retrieve his own coat from the mudroom, hobbling quickly for someone with a broken leg.  “It’s literally six outside, Alfred. I’ll go. Do me a favor and check the scans running in the Cave on the last file Question sent. I’d like to know what he’s gotten into now.”

“I shall, Sir,” Alfred hums back, watching Master Bruce turn into concerned parent while he bundles up against the frigid cold.

B only has to say one word.

“Boys?”

Dick is downing his milk with more wake-up than five minutes ago. He’s due back in the Haven by tomorrow night to start his next round of Officer Grayson Solves Them All, so that gives him plenty of time to check on Timmy before heading back.

Jason scribbles a few more notes, rising from his chair to bend over for the last few lines of the book review.

The heat works double-time, all three frozen to the bone without ever leaving the garage.

Even more disturbing is the complete serenity of Drake Manor when they start to fight through the snow to get up the drive.

(Damn. Should have brought the big car.)

The scene is unmarked, pristine, just a little tell on how long it had been since someone had been in...or out.

Leaving the car running warm, Bruce is out and taking the foot-deep drifts like he takes on criminals as Batman– without a pause.

Dick and Jason are hot on his heels, eyes taking in the surroundings, the contingencies, the environment they might be following him into–

(Robin’s instinct)

The porch is finally somewhat free of snow’s terrible grip where B knocks with a gloved hand, ready to shout in case the young boy was upstairs.

The front door, however, pops softly, heavily, open under his knuckles.

All three of them stop, step back, and prep.

The motion is subtle, a flick of two fingers with the hand not holding on to his cane, and Jason is vaulting off the porch like he’s not a bit freezin’ his nuts off, rounding the house to look for any clues there might be a–

Jackpot.

One window is cracked open upstairs, and he’s already wrapped a hand around the drain pipe to scurry up.

Dick is going around the other side, still seeing no other tracks, no broken anything. Nothing through the windows except a pristine sitting room, an elaborate formal dining room, and the kitchen as he rounds to the back of the house.

The light makes his stop immediately to peer in, already trying to jimmie the window open. On the floor, wrapped up in a blanket, is a tiny bundle of a boy, every muscle drooping, face buried in his upraised arms.

From this vantage, Dick can’t tell if he’s even breathing.

“Get inside!” He yells out, knocking on the glass to see if the kid moves.

(He doesn’t.)

And the window is finally shoved up once he can get his fingers into the right places to trip the locks, and Dick Grayson is through the window fast, just in time for B to come through the kitchen door, and Jay to drop down from a vent overhead.

“Tim? Tim!”

The converge around the bundled boy, just a messy mop of dark hair peeping through the canary yellow fuzzy blanket.

It’s not until B automatically reaches out that the head flops to the side and dull blue eyes blink up at them hazily.

“Mister...Mister Wayne?” Nasilly and hoarse, Tim Drake is pale in the face with only dark rose to his cheeks, tip of his runny nose, and forehead. “What are...what are you doing here?”

“How long have you been by yourself?!” Dick demands gently, pulling a glove off to put a hand on the kid’s forehead, his pounding heart finally easing down slightly now that Tim has actually moved.

“Mrs. Mac couldn’t get through the weather,” the young boy yawns, letting his head drop forward a little into Dick’s cool palm. “S’ okay. I’ve got plenty of stuff to eat and–”

A hard cough rattles his chest a little, and he ducks his head out from under Dick’s hand to bury his face in his blanket.

Jay goes around to close the window Dick left open, noting the thermostat is set at 61 degrees, and nudges B’s shoulder just slightly.

The exchanged look is the very same nope, not okay while Dick just gives in to his instinct and eases the coughing boy into his lap to cuddle.

Tim was too sick, too tired, too everything to really notice the cool outer material of Dick’s coat was against his cheek, and the hand moving in soothing circles on his back felt nice, so nice.

“What’s the plan, Boss?”

B is already pulling out his phone, making a quick call. Jay gives a brusk nod and affectionately ruffles Tim’s messy hair. The big, watery eyes look back up at him blearily around Dick’s coat, and Tim smiles gently.

“Hi Jay. Did you come to play video games with me?”

At the hopeful note in the kid’s tone, Jay completely pretends his heart isn’t breaking open wide. Instead, he crouches down (just like he’s Robin) and tries to make himself smirk so he don’t let Timmy know how ungodly pissed off he is.

“Can’t stay, Baby Bird, but howz ‘bout ya come back ta the Manor with me n’ B n’ Dickie, yeah? We’ll play some games there n’ get some good eats, you feel me?”

That seem to perk Tim up a little, enough to get the boy to at least sit up in Dick’s lap on his own, “can I? I mean, I can? I mean, is that okay?”

His eyes go to B, who is moving smoothly instead of limping heavily when the other line finally picks up. Tim buries himself a little deeper in Dick’s coat when Mister Wayne crosses the room to talk in a very low, deep tone.

Almost a growl.

“It’s totally fine, Timmers,” Jay tries to grin, laugh it off a little so the kid doesn’t think anything is wrong (even though it is, all of this fuckery is), “Alfred was gonna come getcha ta hang out since it’s a snow day.”

“Mister...Mister Pennyworth is so...nice,” Tim replies with another puppy yawn that completely entrances Dick since it’s just too adorable for words.

“Yes, he is, Timmy. And he very, very much would like it if you would come to stay with us for a few days, okay? Jay will go upstairs and pack you some clothes, we’ll wrap a few more blankets around you, and we’ll go have some nice soup and watch some awesome movies between video game rounds.”

“I would love that, thank-you, Dick.” He tries to be enthusiastic, tries to be happy, but he’s so achy and sore and tired. His throat is scratchy and his belly rumbling with hunger under the blanket. “But...but could I get up and get my soup out of the microwave? I’m not sure how long it’s been in there, and I should put it in the fridge for next time.”

And, well, no Timmy, you’re probably not going to escape that hold.

Ever.

Jay grins wider when he sees Dick reflexively tighten down for the long haul.

“Don’t gotta worry ‘bout it, Timmers. Just let Dickie getcha ready ta go outside. ‘S cold as a motherfucking bitch, lemme tell ya, and we don’t wanna letcha get any sicker, you feel me?”

“Little Wing! Language!”

“Aw, hell with it, Dickie. He’s a smartie, didn’t cha know?”

“It’s...I’m not, I mean, I’m okay, really. I can take care of myself.” The boy looks a slightly panicky, his small hands peeping through his blanket burrito to tighten down on the edges. “You don’t have to do anything at all! I promise. I won’t be any trouble–”

“You are never trouble,” B interrupts darkly, finally finishing his conversation, and has returned to the trio without a sound. “And we’re glad to have you stay with us.”

Those eyes get more moist, his nose nudges down into the blanket, his forehead turning into Dick’s jacket.

“After you’re feeling better, I’m going to give you the phone number to the Manor to keep in your room at all times.” B crouches down strangely with the cast, trading places with Jason, who is already moving out of the kitchen and strafing up the massive staircase to start packing their sick Baby Bird a bag.

“O-...Okay,” the boy finally looks up at B’s dark eyes.

“If you’re ever here alone and you need someone for any reason, you need to call me. From now on, Tim, do you understand?”

“Yes, Mister Wayne.”

“Bruce.”

“Yes, Bruce.”

“That’s a good boy,” and the ruffle to his hair is absurdly gentle, making Tim ease down on his death-grip and raise his head up enough to smile.

And later, once he’s in the sitting room of the Manor with old X-Men cartoon reruns on the television, snuggled down in Dick’s lap with fresh pjs, a belly full of Mister Alfred’s soup, and already riding the train to sleep with fever-reducers and a thick blanket to keep him warm, his eyes go from Dick’s easy smile and affectionate eyes, to the absent hand Jay has on his ankle while he works through more of the problems on his Artic Academy paperwork, to B working quietly on a tablet while he sips at his coffee and occasionally looks up to make sure his boy are all right, Tim thinks how nice it would be…

To be part of their family.

[wildlyzealousstudentposts]

One where Graves spends all his time trying to escape Grindlewald after he’s captured to the point that Grindlewald is completely distracted at work, agonizing over the thought that the Real Percival Graves could burst into MACUSA at literally any minute. I mean like, one day Grindlewald took his lunch and found Graves in the alley next to MACUSA literally seconds from entering the building. It’s to the point that people are asking Grindlewald As Graves if he’s ok, if his mother is sick, etc.

Grindlewald is seriously anxious about leaving Graves alone every day. He’s had Graves for like 2 months and there’s only been 10 days of that where he was sure Graves couldn’t escape. He’s stressed the fuck out and can’t deal with this anymore. So he decides he needs to make Graves harmless. Tries transfiguring him into household objects, a dog, a bird, making him tiny, etc. but Graves is so pissed that nothing holds for longer than a few hours.

Grindlewald is getting desperate at this point he’s considering just giving up tbh and then there’s a case where kidnappers are turning adults into children to make them easier to deal with. Potion only lasts like 5 days and has to be readministered but it works. Grindlewald gets the recipe and ingredients and gives Graves the potion that night.

Only now he’s got a new problem because Graves is like 11 and absolutely tiny, all knees and elbows, and heavy eyebrows set in a sweet little face. His bangs fall into his eyes and he curls up around himself into a tiny ball and now Grindlewald feels terrible bc this is a sweet little boy and he’s scaring him.

Graves doesn’t know who Grindlewald is, he’s got his memories up to age 11 (his other memories will return when he reverts) but his Papa is Important and his brother Lance got kidnapped just last year and Papa was So Mad and “just you wait and see, mister. Papa will get you and you’ll be sorry!”

But Grindlewald feels much better about leaving the little guy like this. He chains him to the kitchen island, which is bolted to the floor, so he can get food when he wants and even puts a comfy arm chair in there for him. The little guy is angry but mostly scared, and most importantly doesn’t know anything other than basic spells and can’t do wandless magic. He’s as harmless as can be in there and can’t do anything but elaborately threaten Grindlewald, and he’s even running out of steam for that. The most recent one was “you’re being really mean and not even apologizing...and, and you CAN’T apologize because this is Too Bad so you’ll just be bad forever because I Can’t Forgive You!” Which is just adorable bc the kid clearly doesn’t know that holding a kid against his will and not keeping him comfortable isn’t the worst thing he’s done.

And then Graves gets sick. And suddenly Grindlewald is anxious again and leaving work early bc if Graves dies his disguise is gone. It’s been almost 2 weeks and he’s had to buy cold medicine for the kid. People are getting suspicious but he’s so distracted he doesn’t even notice. And when Tina whispers to Newt that the aurors can’t move against Graves, but Newt can, Grindlewald barely notices the whispered “revelio” And is captured before the end of the day.

Picquery declares Graves dead and is shouted down by a whole team of Aurors. Grindlewald has already revealed where Graves is bc he’s that worried about the little guy (he gets his cold medicine twice a day and he’s past due for it) even tho he can’t use him anymore.

They go to his house expecting an adult Graves in terrible shape or even dead and instead find a little boy with big sad eyes curled up in an arm chair in the kitchen. Gallagher undoes the lock around his little ankle with a simple Alohamora and gathers the little guy, blanket and all, up in his arms.

“There, lad, it’s alright,” he whispers in his Irish lilt, and the boy blinks up at him and curls his little fist in the lapels of his suit.

“Papa?” He asks, and Gallagher is fully ready to adopt him now, he doesn’t care who this kid is or where his parents are, he is now in Papa Bear mode and fiercely protective. Gallagher carries him outside and sits down on the step, the boy curled in his lap coughing a bit. Tina gives him her thermos and he sips that while he munched a few crumbled cookies Gallagher keeps for his own children, pulled from the pockets of his coat.

The search turns up nothing but the boy and by the time Picquery finally arrives to oversee operations Gallagher is ready to say “fuck it” and just take the little lad home and get a good meal in him. No one has thought to ask him his name, but to be fair he’s coughing a lot and most of the ones who WOULD ask are too concerned about his illness.

Picquery notices the boy right away and comes over, sitting down next to Gallagher on the step. Gallagher, frankly, is shocked. He is pretty sure Picquery doesn’t like children and she never speaks to witnesses. That’s what she had Graves for.

Picquery peeks over at the boy, then holds out her hand, which he shakes. “Percival-“ she says, but is interrupted by the collective gasp of every Auror present.

“Jesus Christ,” Gallagher thinks, “I’ve had Boss sitting on my lap, snacking on my wife’s cookies for over an hour! What a fuckin day!”

Picquery looks around, her displeasure evident. “It’s obviously Percival, he’s the only one who was in the house. And besides that, look at his eyebrows! Are you Aurors or imbeciles? There’s even pictures of him AT THIS AGE hanging up in his house. I mean, really. He’ll be very disappointed in you all when I tell him.”

She stands up, “Gallagher, with me.” And Gallagher has no choice but to follow, Little Boss cradled in his arms while the lad coughs over his shoulder. The two apparate to MACUSA where Darrow, an Auror interrogator, greets them and explains about the potion Grindlewald administered.

“If that’s all, Darrow, and it’ll wear off in two days, we really don’t need to worry. Gallagher, take Percival home with you. You have children his age, yes?”

“Uh, yes, but Madam-“

“Excellent, then he’s best off with you”

So Graves spends two days terribly ill with Gallagher, his wife, and his two youngest children before finally reverting back to his adult form. One second Little Boss was eating his soup at the table wrapped in a blanket, then he sneezed into his bowl and it shattered in Boss’ much stronger hands, while his child-size clothes burst at the seams and the blanket suddenly didn’t overwhelm him.

“Gallagher,” he breathes through his runny nose and red eyes, “what ave ya done to ma?”

In the end it takes Graves another two months to recover from his illness. Turns out he was allergic to something in the potion Grindlewald was using. Picquery teases him mercilessly about his “second childhood” and Graves’ allergy to corn pollen while Gallagher is terrified he’s going to face Graves’ wrath too when he sees Graves storm out of Picquery’s newly hexed office while she scrambles to protect her papers from the sudden rain storm.

Instead, Gallagher finds a little bag of cookies on his desk without a note. Graves nods at him the next time Gallagher goes by his office.

[summerstainedandtemporary]

I decided to overthink my fear. Sue me, I’m a Scorpio.

“What is your biggest fear?”              

“Blood.”  

Growing up, I had been a sickly child who didn’t get to go to my nursery classes because I was confined at home, watching Looney Tunes over the smoke and noise of a nebulizer to treat my frequent asthma attacks. When I mean “sickly”, it’s when I was confined both at home and at the hospital majority of my childhood. Dengue fever, UTI, Asthma. Most of my childhood memories were made up of trips to the albularyo because of fevers or coughs that would never go away. I’d also remember the bitterness of medications I drank that took an hour of persuading, coercing, and pleading from my parents for me to drink. I took too many medications back then that I developed black teeth when I was a kid.

Most of all, I had too many encounters with blood-related sicknesses or accidents. The most distinct one was that there was a point in my childhood where I’d wake up every night with a nosebleed. I used to sleep in between my parents back then. Imagine the horror of waking up to your child with blood dripping down their nose like some kind of an exorcism film. I would hear the panic and worry in Mama’s voice as she would wake up Papa. I rarely hear that kind of voice from her, so in turn, I would also panic. Was I dying?

It went on for weeks but we never really went to the doctor to know the cause or treat it. But I heard from them that I might be probably just suffering the consequences of the abrupt changes in temperature and weather. My parents just got used to the routine of sleepily tilting my head up in the middle of the night until the bleeding stops. But not me, I never got used to it. I was still on high alert long after the bleeding stopped with the lingering taste of copper at the back of my throat. There were nights that I’ve mistaken the nosebleed for a runny nose and the next morning, I would wake up to the sight of bloody shirt and hands like I just murdered somebody in my sleep.

I like to think that this was where I started to develop my fear of blood.

One would say that the experience could have made me used to the sight of blood. But, it didn’t. The gamble of opening my eyes to blood or not traumatized me. Up until now, when I’d be having a runny nose at night, I would almost always turn on my phone’s flashlight to check if it is blood. I’m not grossed out by the dark thick liquid, no. It’s the implication that something serious might have happened.  

Like that one time in grade school where I wondered what would it feel like to run with my eyes closed. The feeling was liberating, with the wind against my body. It was like that scene from The Sound of Music where Julie Andrews was singing on a grass field with her hands held up. But it didn’t felt so freeing when I smacked my head into a concrete post. I bounced back and fell on my behind, eyes still closed. There was that horrifying moment again. The uncertainty of what liquid was dripping from my nose. Was it blood? It was. I saw it coating my hands again. Like those many nights. There was blood. Something terrible happened.  

I didn’t know why everything was hazy and I felt so sleepy. My aunt, who was taking care of us that time, had found me and wiped all the blood from my face that I couldn’t bear to do. The parents and yayas waiting for their children along with Aunty Upeng were alarmed once they saw my state. The clinic was closed during that hour as it was exams week, so the parents fussed over me while I drowsily leaned over my aunt. They bought an ice candy from the canteen and put it to my forehead which apparently had a bump. I also remembered throwing up a lot. In the bathroom. In the pavement. Even in the tricycle we rode on the way to the hospital. Aunty Upeng apologized to the driver, but I still felt bad. I didn’t say anything though. I just wanted to sleep back then. But I was continuously woken up by my aunt who was dragging me to the hospital where my mother was waiting.

I had a concussion that afternoon. And apparently, I also broke my nose. Fortunately, I wasn’t confined which relieved me so much from my worries. However, when I discovered we were going to the hospital, I panicked. Hospitals are for emergencies, accidents, deaths. It’s the place I’ve been confined in too much in my life with lingering scents of rubbing alcohol, squeaky wheels from metal carts containing rattling needles and syringes that have been injected on my arms too much too count. The main problem I had that time was if I were to be confined and injected with an IV drip. Not my concussion or broken nose. It was the IV drip and how they would puncture my skin. The act of opening my flesh with a sharp object.

My fear of blood came hand in hand with hospitals. When I see blood, I think of being in the hospital. I hate how stark white hospitals are. White bed sheets and pillowcases. White walls and floors. White uniforms. White cottons, tissues, and bandages. I hate it so much because dark red blood looks so glaringly daunting on white objects or surfaces. Somehow, it amplifies its presence in a room. And it is inevitable to encounter blood while in a hospital because of my frequent nosebleeds and injections. I’ve learned the skill of not moving my left arm for hours because of the fear that blood would appear on the tube connecting my hand and the IV drip.  

This reminds me of how I had always been longing to donate blood in a blood drive despite this fear of mine. But I’ve always made up excuses whenever there’s a blood drive in the university. I’d say, “I’m busy with school work that day” or “I slept late last night, it’s not allowed”. The truth is I’m really just avoiding this confrontation with blood and needles. Will I faint? My friend told me once how her blood stopped flowing out because she was nervous. Would I experience the same thing? It would be like an IV drip all over again. Only this time, it won’t be clear liquid flowing from the tube. It would be what I was avoiding: dark red warm blood.

Mama convinces me to this day to take up Medicine and be a doctor. This is the very reason why I didn’t and would not. I still panic even when the blood does not come from me.

Like that one night when my family and I were on the road to eat somewhere after the Sunday mass. There was no traffic because Papa was driving smoothly. I was at the back leaning in between the driver’s seat and passenger seat in front and we were all happily talking over each other; each with our own different stories to tell. I remembered someone was singing – it could have been me – and was abruptly cut off. I was thrown forward the same time Papa hit the brakes and something crashed into the front of the car. Thankfully, I had taken a hold of the car seats so my face was still intact. No noses broken.

               I remembered Papa being calm, despite having a known personality of being too sensitive and caring for the condition of our car. He exits the vehicle along with Mama, then, there was a blur of commotion outside. My brothers and I were asked to be seated at the back of the vehicle and the car’s sliding door was opened and a man was laid on the floor of the car. The door wasn’t closed the whole ride to the hospital as his feet dangled over. We were discouraged to ask questions or look over the man. But I had seen his foot. I was overtaken with the feeling that I should not move or else something will happen. The seats covered the rest of his body, but I saw his foot. His were wounded; blood and dirt covered his foot to his ankles. It was unmoving. And it looked pretty pale. To this day, I never knew if he survived. All I knew was that he was the one who hit our car with his motorcycle because he had been drinking. I wasn’t the one bleeding that night, but the image still haunts me to this day.  

“But what about your period?”

I’d scoff. Maybe if they’re an acquaintance or someone I just met, I would politely smile. This question really comes off as patronizing for me when one asks this in a teasing manner. It’s like assuming someone with glasses cannot see the number of fingers you’re holding up. They can see it, only a lot less clearly. People seem to exaggerate the irrationality of these situations and try to know to the extent of these irrationalities mockingly. Like maybe they’d expect me to faint then die while sitting on a toilet upon seeing my bloody underwear. Or maybe they’d expect that I’d avoid going to the toilet and handling the bloody mess. Yes, blood makes me anxious but I have no choice but to get used to the sight of it. Actually, period blood does not alarm me for the most part. But sometimes, I’d be horrified by the amount of blood leaving my body. Or flushing the toilet becomes dreadful because I have to take in the sight of a bloody toilet. It’s similar to saying “Oh you don’t like blood? But it’s inside you….” then comes their how-is-this-possible­-I-need-to-know-more gaze with a little bit – just a little bit – of judgement in their eyes. This tiny glimpse of judgement would rile up something in me, a need to justify my fear, despite knowing that I don’t need to defend myself. I’d explain anyway.

What people typically assume is that blood scares me because it’s blood; it’s gross. What they don’t know is that bleeding gives me an overwhelming feeling of anxiety and panic because the feeling is so much like the idea that something is leaking from you. And it’s oozing in the colour of a hauntingly dark red, something-terrible-happened red, dangerous glaring red. Might it be from a cut or wound, a part of you has been forcefully opened and that scares me more than anything. The body should be intact in the assurance that you’re okay. Blood is supposed to be INSIDE the body. The intact body. And when it’s not, it automatically turns on a panic alarm in my head with the bold words of SOMETHING HAPPENED flashing on and off in my mind because blood’s not inside me where it should be. It has made its way outside through an opening I don’t know where. I’m open somewhere. Vulnerable. The very thing that sustains my life is flowing out. And the idea that it’s already outside my body leaves me a feeling of not being in control. I don’t just simply cover up a wound with a band aid and call it a day. I still have to sit for a while and convince myself I’m not dying.

When I say blood, I also mean pain. Of flesh being sliced opened. People would tell me stories about how they were cut or wounded by an accident and I’d imagine the whole thing. Mama once told me a story of how she cut her arm up because she draw her arm back while a jewelry box closed on her, so the clasp tore her skin open. My mind would close in on the description of her flesh being torn and imagine it in every detail. The smooth flesh being run over with a sharp metal. At first, nothing will happen, or at most, the affected, marked skin would slowly turn pale like a chalked sketch of the outline of the cut. A few seconds in, little droplets of blood will seep through, slowly peeking out from the cut as if asking for a permission to come out. You move the injured arm and blood will flow out of it like dark red wine slowly dripping from a bottle. You move it more, and then you can see the skin opening, forming a mouth. Through the blood, you can see bits of pink flesh, the texture and appearance so similar to tocino ­– not the ones you order in carinderias where the pork is still a vibrant light pink; it’s the colour of the tocino you cook at home where you overcook it somehow because it tastes sweeter when burnt. The colour bordering between pink and red. I could immediately visualize it happening to my own skin. And then, a phantom of the pain would follow. The intensity of the phantom pain dependent on what my phobia tells me how painful it must be. That’s the routine. As a joke, my friends would share images of their fingers cut up or hold them up to my face when we’re together. As a habit, I’d clench my fists, my nails forming red little moon marks on my palms. I’d look away, of course. But my mind has already conjured up a visualization of how it came to be. It gets easier once the phantom pain pass.

When I say blood, I also mean death. I do not mean that bleeding automatically leads to death. It is the possibility of death that haunts me. That when I see blood, I am filled with the overwhelming panic to not die. So, maybe I fear blood because it implies a painful death. Maybe what I really fear is the thought that the last thing I’d feel when I’m alive is excruciating pain from mutilation, from my own flesh being torn open. But then again, I also fear the uncertainty of death. Death. How peaceful I envision it to be, but also how disruptive it is to a life I like to control. Dying means confronting the fact that I didn’t get to live my life the way I wanted it to be. Seeing blood haunts me with the concept of life flashing before my eyes. I wouldn’t say that mine would be boring to watch because I’m sure the flashes would contain several experiences of mine that I enjoyed. Flashes of me in the middle of a laugh while on a road trip with my family because Mama was teasing Papa’s funny English pronunciations. Flashes of me waking up on our terrace to the view of a pink sunrise; my friends still asleep on the mess of pillows and blankets I snatched from my room and laptops still open after a night of editing a film. Flashes of me floating peacefully on my back in Pasacao; my body being rocked by the constant waves of the sea and my ears drowned out by the sound of shallow waters, as I stare up the night sky and try to find a Scorpio constellation I once memorized from ninth grade. Seeing blood taunts me with the possibility that these could stop existing in an instant.

However, these flashes are not only limited to the good parts. I expect a re-run of several of my breakdowns; those caused by little petty things, like not getting to watch Jojo Circus peacefully because of a noisy construction happening in our living room, to those breakdowns caused by serious things like my parents constantly comparing me to my neighbour who could sing flawlessly to the high notes of Aegis songs or to my classmate who have been the top of my class since kindergarten. Maybe the flashes could surprise me and show me memories I’ve repressed and pushed too much to the back of my brain in hopes of completely erasing it from my memory because of how painful it had been. Flashes of a dark, cold room; my bed a witness to many of my sleepless nights asking God the million dollar question “what is the point anymore?” Or maybe a glimpse of Mama having a panic attack, mumbling “ayoko na, beh. ayoko na” while I have to hold her and calmly tell her to breathe with me as I desperately tried to keep my lips from trembling or my voice from cracking. God forbid the flashes show me a hunched figure of myself on the floor of our dorm’s cr, staring blankly at the white tiles, a razor in hand. Pathetic. Vulnerable. Not in control.

And then, death starts to look like a good idea. I never even willingly made the choice to be in this merciless rollercoaster ride we call “life” in the first place. So is it really scary to stop existing? Death seems so quiet and still. A possibility of nothingness. And in my life, there have been too many instances where I am desperate for that stillness, that nothingness. Buried underneath all the sunshine and rainbows we constantly try to project in our lives, I have been yearning to stop feeling altogether. I am reminded that maybe, just maybe, a part of me actually craves death. If it takes pain to stop existing, to stop feeling, then a painful death looks a lot less threatening and more inviting.

Then and only then, it gets a little easier seeing blood.              

[mystic-messenger-writing]

RFA+V MC that's allergic to cats but still has a pet cat and loves cats? (I'm allergic to cats and they cause me to get dark circles under my eyes and sneeze sometimes but I love cats so I ignore the allergy)

I seriously feel you on this one anonny, I like cats too but their fur always make my allergies act up. But I really like this idea and it was a lot of fun writing this one up! Thank you for the request and I hope that you enjoy! ^^

Yoosung

Yoosung was excited for you to finally move into his apartment with him and little Lisa

You mentioned that you have your own cat, making Yoosung happy that Lisa would have a friend whenever the two of you would go out

The first thing he notices when you enter his apartment is how red your nose is and how glassy your eyes look

When asked if you were okay, you shrugged and held your kitten close to your chest as you responded

“I’m alright. My allergies are just really acting up since I’ve been cuddling my little kitten all day. I know I shouldn’t because I’m allergic but how can I say no to this face!”

You show Yoosung your kitten’s tiny face as Yoosung scolds you

“MC are you seriously allergic to cats but yet you own one?! What am I going to do about Lisa? And everyday I come home from the clinic I’m covered in cat fur? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I don’t care about my allergy, I love cats even if they make my nose runny and eyes itchy Yoosung!”

He sighed and admitted defeat as he watched you cuddle your kitten and Lisa on your lap

Yoosung would try to be more aware of cleaning up his veterinarian coat and bag but gave up after he realized his attempts were futile because you wouldn’t stop cuddling the cats

Zen

When Zen found out that you were allergic to cats like him, he felt like your connection together deepen

But then it immediately shattered when you told him that even though you were allergic to cats, you still loved them and owned a cat yourself

Zen was apprehensive to let you bring your cat into his apartment but he was willing to try if it made you happy

The second you stepped through the door with you cat, both you and Zen sneezed at the same time

“What the heck MC, I can tell how severely allergic you are to cats but you still own one?”

“Screw allergies, just look at how cute his little face is! How can you not be in love with cats, Zenny?” - It took every ounce of strength that Zen had not to throw your cat out the window but he somehow managed

After going through three boxes of tissues between the two of you, Zen had to admit you cat was a bit cute, although he was pretty sure it was just his allergies clouding his judgement

Seeing Zen try so hard to be kind to your cat made you love him even more, you promised to bring your cat over less and spend more time doting on Zen

Zen saw this as a far compromise and slowly, very very slowly, but surely he started to warm up to the idea of having a pet cat, until he used up four more boxes of tissues when he said that cats weren’t his thing

Jaehee

Jaehee always tried to think logically when it came to just about anything but after a while she thought that you were a lost cause

She was excited to visit your home for the first time but the entire time all you did was cough and sneeze

When Jaehee asked if you were okay, you smiled and assured her that you were fine

Although, every time your cat would pass by you would cough or blow your nose more

“MC, it’s pretty obvious that you’re allergic to your cat. Perhaps you should consider giving you cat to a friend for a little bit while you get some medication.”

“But I’m fine, Jaehee! I don’t care how sick I get, how can I say no to a cute little face like a cat’s?”

“… Sometimes I’m genuinely curious as to what goes on inside that head of yours MC.”

Jaehee gave up after you started to rub your cheek against your cats, making you violently cough afterwards

While she didn’t like cats, Jaehee never wanted to see you in pain so she told you that she could watch your cat while you went to the doctors and get allergy medicine

After profusely thanking her, Jaehee was reminded once again why she dislikes cats when she woke up the next day with c-fur all over her clothing and furniture

Jaehee made a mental note to make you buy her some new, expensive coffee beans for all of her cat-sitting

Jumin

Jumin could not have been more excited when you told him that you had you own pet cat

The two of you would dote over your cat and Elizabeth together, annoying all of the RFA members

Because he was so excited, Jumin set up a cat play date for your cat and Elizabeth and this boy went all out

Jumin rented out a huge banquet hall to create a cat’s paradise filled with cat toys, cat treats, and all kinds of climbing posts

You and your cat looked around in awe at Jumin’s impressive car decorating abilities

Everything was going well with the cat play date until Jumin noticed you sneezing every couple of minutes along with your teary eyes

When asked if you were alright, you told Jumin that you were fine, although your cat allergy was acting up more than usual today

Jumin placed one hand over yours and one over his heart, talking with so much sincerity that you couldn’t believe it

“You are the true hero here MC. Adopting a cat for your pet even though you’re allergic, that’s something only a true cat lover would do. You are an inspiration to cat lovers everywhere.”

“And you Jumin, for setting up this haven for cats, you’re a true cat hero in my eyes. I’m honored to be in the presence of another cat lover like you Jumin!”

“We shall carve the path for cat lovers everywhere, making a place for cats to live long and happy lives, MC.”

Jumin helped develop a medication for your cat allergy and the two of you developed cat paradises for cats and cat lovers all around the world

Seven

When Seven scrolled through your social media sites when doing his background check on you, he gasped when he saw pictures of your kitten

Once the two of you dated for a while, he was excited to finally meet your kitten

You knew from Jumin’s warnings that you should keep your kitten away from Seven but you always thought that he just exaggerated

Before you even entered his home, Seven took you and kitten down with huge hug then quickly grabbed your kitten

He cuddled your kitten into his chest as you coughed and started sneezing

But Seven didn’t even pay attention to you and started twirling your kitten around the room

Once you regained your composure, you snatched your kitten from Seven and scolded him for not helping you

Seven kindly asked if you were okay and you told him that you were allergic to cats but you love cats too much not to adopt one

“Wait MC, this means that I can take care of your kitten while you’re sick! I can play and cuddle with them all day long!”

“Give me my kitten back you cat abuser! You better take care of me when I feel sick Seven. And get me some medication while you’re at it.”

“I’ll get you your medicine if you let me cuddle your kitten. Deal my dear?”

You and Seven did compromise when it came to your kitten but you gave Seven his own kitten for his birthday which he almost passed out from excitement

V

V was excited to hear about your kitten when you told him about it

He loves animals and is completely up for you bringing your kitten in to live with him whenever you move in with him

When you brought your kitten to V’s home, he immediately fell in love with your kitten

He loved petting your kitten’s soft fur and hold them close to his chest

But V becomes concerned when he hears you violently cough and sneeze, asking if you are okay

“Oh yeah, I’m just allergic to my kitten, V. Well, I’m allergic to cats in general but I just love cats so much so I had to adopt one!“

"Wait MC… you’re allergic to your own kitten? I understand your reasoning, you kitten is very cute and lovable. But please, allow me to take care of you when your allergies act up.”

“And this is exactly why I love you V!”

So when your allergies were acting up, V would make you rest up in bed and took care of your kitten

Sometimes, you would walk by V to see him snuggling and softly singing to your kitten, making your heart absolutely melt

V became the best caretaker to you and the best pet sitter to your kitten, basically making him the greatest boyfriend ever