#one of these days i am going to lose the rapidly declining grip on my self control and sanity

[immamapletreekid]

praying to some higher power that the entire stats department save for 1 (one) prof steps on legos everyday for the next 10 years

[remys-lucky-franc]

Kissing Promts Request - Remy x MC (QOT)

#40 - A gentle kiss that quickly descends into passion, with little regard for what’s going on around them.

Written from MC POV

~1300 words

Again, it’s not totally nsfw, but these kissing prompts are lending themselves to somewhat racier writing than I usually post - so, that was your warning if that’s not your fic preference, folks 💕

[MORE] [[MORE]]

The Poppy’s latest heist has just finished: relieving an undeserving London-based oligarch of his extensive art collection. As Nikolai said when we toasted in celebration last night, ‘it’s been a somewhat protracted endeavour, but all really very satisfying and worthwhile’. It’s taken several months to complete and has been a particularly challenging and tiring escapade, so we’ve all decided that some downtime to rest and recharge before the next heist begins would do us some good.

Remy and I decided to head back to France as soon as we could, to the chocolate-box cottage we bought outside the city dubbed by Remy as ‘Château Chevalier’ - our little love nest: where we escape to when we want to spend some time alone - just us - secluded from the world in our perfect domestic bliss. It’s not as large or grand a space as the moniker suggests, but it fits us so wonderfully: a modern open plan kitchen and living area, a beautiful master bedroom and a smaller one where I can paint, a bathroom, and a small private garden lined by hedges that basks in sunshine most of the day. From the first time we set foot inside, I felt at home and could picture us happy here - croissants for breakfast on the terrace, relaxing on the sofa watching movies, tangled together as moonlight spills through the bedroom windows. Our home; our castle.

Remy’s cooking dinner for us, as has become our little routine in our château. He loves to cook and it’s a joy to watch him. Music plays in the background as I perch at the end of the small breakfast bar with an intoxicating glass of red wine that we only ever have here. We chatter and laugh about the heists gone by, his brother’s new romance, our friends and dozens of other topics as they flit through our minds. Remy glides effortlessly around the kitchen and makes even the most complex of tasks look like child’s play. I observe with admiring eyes: everything my husband does, he does it with flair - from the way he rapidly chops ingredients and tosses them into the pan, to how he decants wine directly from the bottle into our food with never a measurement taken. I offer to help and my assistance is swiftly declined,

“Everything is under control, ma cherie”, he assures me, shooting me that bright signature smile that makes my heart skip every time, “Sit. Relax. Enjoy the wine with your Remy.” Normally, I simply nod, sit back and enjoy the show, but tonight I choose to pout and fix my saddest brown eyes on him - the ones I know that he just can’t say ‘no’ to, “Please? Let me help you?”

Remy opens his mouth to object, but quickly closes it again before silently agreeing with a flourish of his hands. He would do anything to make me happy and I love him for that. I bounce down from the bar stool, wine glass still in hand, beaming at him, “Yey! What do you want me to do?” He passes me a knife and asks me to julienne some veg, so I wash my hands and get to work slicing as I sing along the music. Before too long I have a bundle of matchstick vegetables and can feel Remy’s eyes on me. One arm snakes around my waist, a whisk in the other hand. He appraises the quality and quantity of my veg - satisfied, he rewards me with a sweet kiss on my cheek, making me blush before returning to his saucepan.

My first task successfully completed, I lean back against the cabinets, sip my wine and watch as he tosses ingredients into one of the simmering pans on the stove, “What can I do next?”, I ask him. Remy gestures to the pantry and requests some flour for his roux so I place my glass down, steal a kiss and playfully squeeze his behind as I pass him. A sound of feigned offence follows me into the pantry and makes me giggle.

After a little searching I locate the packet of flour on the top shelf and as I stretch overhead to bring it down I realise the bag isn’t tightly closed. A little plume of white powder sprinkles to the floor and I dance to avoid it’s path: I do reasonably well as it only dusts my hands leaving my black clothing unharmed! Biting back a mischievous little chuckle as an idea pops into my head, I head back into the kitchen and hand Remy the flour packet, before booping his button nose with my other flour-covered hand. Taken by surprise, he splutters and tries to wipe it away before pulling me close to him. I try to wriggle out of his grasp, laughing but fearful of a flour-filled revenge - but he grips me firmly and his green eyes are glittering as his lips meet mine. A kiss, like so many of ours, that begins in a grin - joy-filled and gentle.

“I’m sorry-“ I mumble against his mouth, “I couldn’t resist...”

His hands settle on my sides, thumbs skimming over the waistline of my jeans grazing the bare skin of my hip bones. A series of soft kisses nuzzle my lips peppered with the words, “And I. Can’t. Resist you. Cherie.” I smirk, as I run my fingers through his hair, teasing him, “Hmmm. I am pretty irresistible.”

The lighthearted humour between us evaporates and everything slows down as Remy closes the little space remaining between us. My stomach stirs recognising the growing hunger in his eyes as they lock with mine. There’s a tinge of dark, rich Merlot on his warm breath as my lips yield and I melt into his touch. Within seconds our kiss has deepened, tongues tangle and my hands rake over the expanse of his toned back, shoulders and rear - my pulse racing. We gravitate clumsily back toward the cool granite top and I groan as I make contact; the hard lines of Remy’s body crush against mine while deft fingers burn beneath my shirt roaming over my curves. Remy hoists me up to sit on the counter effortlessly and instinctively my limbs wrap around him drawing him ever closer to me - every kiss more frenetic than the last, every subtle shift of his hips electrifying me. Just two thin layers of clothing between me and all that I ache for, with every touch stoking the flame between us and making my head spin.

As addled by lust as my brain is, I’m vaguely aware that the saucepans on the stove bubble away furiously now neglected - and that dinner is probably ruined. If Remy has noticed he is as far past caring as I am. Kisses sear across my collarbone as I feebly mouth, “Remy... The sauce is burning...”

His teeth drag slowly from the hollow of my throat to my ear and he rasps, “So am I, ma rêveuse,” he breaks away from me momentarily to turn off the stove, grinning wickedly, “and only one of us can be saved.” Helping me down from the countertop our lips collide once more and our passion overtakes; discarded clothing, declarations of love and scandalous intentions litter the path to our bedroom. As we sink into the soft mattress together a little voice far in the back of my head briefly considers that we can perhaps try to salvage our dinner later but I know from the look in my Remy’s eyes that very soon I’ll have forgotten my own name, never mind the ability to think about what state our meal is in. I laugh to myself as I decide ‘there’s always pizza’ - and that’s the last thought in my head before my brain short-circuits and I’m losing myself to something infinitely better and more satisfying.

[joonkorre]

what canst thou give?

@drarrymicrofic prompt: caught

yall cant expect me to watch the witch (2015) and not go insane trying to fit a quote into my work. also, this is the first time i ever write something veering into the 15+ category. so. go easy on me lmao

AO3

“Wouldst thou like to live deliciously?”

Draco’s breath catches in his throat.

“But only if you want to, of course. No pressure at all.”

It’s sweet, that tone, as sweet and numbing as the saliva dripping down his nape. If Draco is someone else, an unfortunate bastard even more miserable than he is, he might have believed it.

“I don’t know,” he replies, the unnatural chill on the back of his bare neck too visceral a feeling. Too real. “I think having to choose between that and rotting in a back alley is at least a little bit pressuring.”

“Not too much, though?”

“Oh, no, never.”

“Good,” Edmund whispers. At this point, Draco wouldn’t be surprised if that’s not even his real name, “good.”

Draco stays quiet. With smooth jazz crooning through the walls of bars and eateries to complete the easygoing ambiance of a mid-autumn night in Muggle London, it seems to be the least likely time of the year to find oneself bargaining for their life. But here he is.

“Now,” Draco’s pulse jackrabbits so quickly he can hear it. A delighted chuckle leaks into the night. “Your answer, please.”

When he doesn’t give one, the canines on his exposed shoulder threaten to break the skin. Unexpectedly, they lift off.

“You might want to think it through a little faster, doll,” the large hand pinning Draco’s wrists against the brick wall clenches around them, then drifts down his chest. Lays flat on his quivering stomach, a persistent pressure against Draco’s thrifted bomber jacket. “We have an audience.”

Draco sucks in the stale air with a hiss. He’s pulled his date this far into the alley because he didn’t want curious onlookers as they snog. Bad fucking idea that was. Still, the thought of strangers witnessing this horrid moment fills him with dread. They can’t do anything to help anyway, only to humiliate him even more.

“What—”

“Don’t look,” Edmund nips his ear lobe, “unless you want further mortification. You mortals are ashamed of the strangest things, I can smell it on you.”

Heat rushes through his body. Draco blinks, dizzy with… with something. He doesn’t know whether he wants to rebel, turn his head, and meet the stranger’s gaze head-on, or just rest his forehead against the grimy bricks and find reluctant comfort in Edmund’s instructions.

“What do you,” Draco murmurs, sour notes of alcohol floating back into his nose, “what do you propose I do then? Just stand here and wait for them to get lost?”

“You can make it easy for yourself and say no,” Edmund says.

Those canines are back on the base of his neck. The arm that isn’t wrapped around his middle slithers across his chest, calloused palm an anchor on his shoulder blade. Draco wonders if this looks intimate, possessive—protective, even—to their observer, when he simply feels choked. A mouse gripped within the gentle loops of a snake’s body.

“You’d look like you’re swooning in my arms while I drink from your,” the tip of Edmund’s nose travels up the length of Draco’s neck, ending at where his baby hairs are matted with cold sweat, “gorgeous, delicious essence. And it’d only take a blink of an eye. Our little voyeur would never know.”

“Merlin, can’t I have a single good date?” Draco grits out. “Just fucking say blood.”

“Oh, but you’re no fun,” Edmund says. “Being poetic has its merits, I think. Makes life interesting.”

“Life will be even more interesting when I get to live it, actually.”

The hand on his shoulder takes its time trailing to his face, and when it does, it tilts his jaw to the side. Draco’s eyes automatically slide shut.

“Oh, you will. Once you get used to the ‘undead’ part of it, life will be a joy to live.”

His hands shift against the grimy bricks, one seeking familiarity and warmth as it grips his other wrist, grounding him.

“You must’ve realized by now how anxious I am to have you by me, by us. If I’m not, I’d just pick you up from a club, drink from you, leave you behind that dumpster over there, and you’d wake up feeling hungover with no memory of me,” Edmund goes on, his face close. If Draco tries, he reckons he can swallow down the intoxicating spice of cologne wafting against his cheek. “But I’m not doing that, now, am I?”

Perhaps it’s not even cologne, perhaps it’s all Edmund.

“You see, the blood of mortals is our life force, yes, but few of them ever smell and taste like anything more than diluted shite. Blood like yours, though, that’s rare. Power like yours. That raw, untapped, repressed power hiding under masks and marks. Given enough time, enough resources, it can be brought forth, and you can prosper.

“It’d be a shame if all of what you are made of withers into nothing, don’t you think?”

Draco thinks and thinks. It’s all one can do when they’re held so firmly, quite literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. Edmund kisses it away with false reverence, dotting another kiss behind Draco’s ear. Draco would have jolted if he has any energy left in him.

He realizes it now. Ever since the day Edmund’s gaze lingered a second too long, it was over. There is no one left to remember him, and if he ‘makes it easy’ for himself and says no, nothing will change. Sooner or later, he’d die without a purpose, alone.

What if he eliminates dying from the equation altogether?

He realizes it now. There has never been any choice.

Only one foggy, crooked path forward.

“Yes.”

Draco’s eyes open with a heavy drag, allowing in but a sliver of light. In the misty blurriness, he sees a smirk. One stark-white canine pulls the bottom lip inward, pierces through papyrus skin.

Draco’s vision darkens as red lips touch his. His nose clogs up for a brief moment, overwhelmed by the onslaught of scents and tastes. With every languid swipe of a clever tongue, copper as bitter as Charon’s obol forces its way into his mouth. A sharp needle of pain pricks his bottom lip. Draco flinches, tries to take a step back but the hand on his jaw keeps him close. One long finger sneaks into his mouth, prying it apart.

Swallowing the harsh tang of iron down, a rich, foreign sweetness floods his senses. It’s the nectar of late-June peaches and lingonberry syrup swirled in chamomile, coating his palate with a luscious glaze. A low moan escapes as his muscles relax. If it’s not for the steady hand on his stomach, Draco’s knees would have hit the dirty ground already.

“There we go,” Edmund whispers. His hands guide Draco to lean against him, back to chest, sending intermittent shivers to rack through Draco’s body. It’s cold, so cold, but he can’t pull away, just lets Edmund takes whatever he wants to take. “Good boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” Draco gathers enough of his declining wit to argue. “Sounds like you’re calling a dog.”

“Ah, you’re cute. The Sisters will adore you.”

“Sisters...” Draco says, the furrow of his brow easily smoothened by another leisurely kiss.

“Sisters,” Edmund says. The hand on Draco’s jaw edges to his neck, thick fingers adding a slight squeeze to the vulnerable valley on either side of his Adam’s apple. Draco sighs into Edmund’s mouth. “Surely you don’t think there’s only one of us out there?”

Not very certain of what to say, Draco purses his lips instead. Edmund lets out an amused hum and indulges him, sucking on his bottom lip. It’s good, so good, until it becomes sickening, like raiding the entirety of Fortescue’s stockroom. Being a creature of the night is rapidly losing its novelty.

“Okay, enough, enough, thanks,” he says, tapping the muscular arm around him and turning away. Edmund only continues his little ministration below Draco’s jaw.

He doesn’t know how long his eyes have been closed, so he opens them once more. It’s like… it’s like he’s been floating on thick water and is only recently dragged into shore. Rubbing the creak out of his neck, Draco squints.

Past Edmund’s sturdy form and angular lines, out in the main street, the thin crowd of pedestrians pass by in chattering groups and pairs. Opposite to the alley, however, one lone figure stands just out of reach of the street lamp. The yellowish light merely suggests their existence as they lean against the restaurant Draco and Edmund exited from earlier. The bright tell-tale red of a cigarette butt is visible but other than that, no detail to be discerned. Looks like someone who’s just minding their own business.

“You must think yourself funny,” Draco says, arching his neck to accommodate the kisses peppering his skin, “using my own shame against me. I doubt people even remember there’s an alleyway here.”

“Don’t forget that when a being has lived for as long as I have, has accumulated this much power, nine times out of ten, he knows what he’s saying. I’m powerful enough to catch the scent of every mortal walking by, even know if they’re actually mortals or not. Our little voyeur? He’s still here. He’s watching. He’s waiting for you, doll.”

Edmund pauses, then:

“And whether he’s a mortal? That remains to be seen.”

Draco pushes away as far as Edmund’s firm grasp allows, which is only a few centimeters away. Whatever his blood did with Draco’s own, it snaps him awake with startling clarity just as swiftly as when it’s reduced him to a little more than a rag doll. Everything is so sharp it’s almost disgusting, like his eyeballs are gouged out, scrubbed clean, then shoved back in again. Draco locks his legs, willing himself not to stumble.

“That makes no goddamn sense,” he says.

“You don’t feel them now, but wait until they set in,” Edmund tries to tug him back, shrugging when he doesn’t obey. “Your abilities. We’ll go back to the House of Collective tonight and when you wake up tomorrow, you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

“I,” Draco says. “Please say that again. With actual information.”

“So demanding,” Edmund leans back and looks at Draco like he’s seeing him for the first time, a hint of humor in his serene demeanor. “The House of Collective is where the majority of us in Britain frequent and reside. The newly Turned are brought there to be with their brethren. Trying to deal with these new abilities alone is what makes them go Rogue and lands them on the front page. Think Jeannette McDermott, the poor woman.”

Jeannette McDermott drained and devoured 6 people in a single weekend. The Aurors got to her first before the news outlets. Being a shut-in and hating being perceived in general—Merlin knows how she got bitten in the first place—the only pictures ever taken of her as an adult was of her mangled body, torn by her own claws and twisted into stillness. It was a once-in-a-century scandal that paralyzed Wizarding Europe for 2 months straight.

Draco frowns. “I’ve always wondered. How did she—why wasn’t she brought back to the House, then?”

“That’s what irresponsible Turning looks like. If we want to Turn someone, it must be carefully considered and planned, for there must always be more prey than predators. Such is the law of nature,” Edmund says it like it’s a walk in the park rather than changing people’s entire lives. “Deacon Frangos was careless—amateur little weakling—and wanted something more thrilling than, say, going to clubs for gullible drunks.

“During the official trial at the House, he confessed that he spent days working through her wards and broke in. Never expected that McDermott was a fighter. She couldn’t get to her wand, but she did have a knife. She stabbed him 3 times as he was drinking from her. Their blood mixed, and Frangos ran off to lick his wounds before we found him. That was Friday.”

“Merlin and Morgana,” Draco breathes, “that quick?”

Edmund only looks at him, silent as he waits for Draco to weigh his decisions. Or lack thereof.

“What about, what about my apartment? My things?”

“You’ll only be at the House of Collective until we get you accustomed to your new life, then you can return home. Or,” Edmund tilts his head to the side, “you can stay. It’s akin to a commune, there’s space for all. It’s in the middle of the woods, too, hidden behind extensive wards and Charms, very private. Don’t you love your privacy?”

“What, do you live there?”

“Yes! Just so you know, I built my own dwelling. It’s stunning, if I do say so myself. Marble floors, 5 balconies. Just added a new pool last month. Plenty of space to… christen, unlike your studio apartment.”

Edmund lets a casual grin grace his face, all jokes. Draco curls his lips. It’s a mystery for the ages as to how he’s ever found this man charismatic.

“I’d rather the, um, the studio apartment. It does have its charms. Checkered bathroom tiles, and, hmm, a working oven. I might paint the fireplace next week, who knows?”

“Big plans, big plans,” Edmund nods solemnly. “However, you will need to pay a visit at least twice a month for resources and news within the community. There are tons; we even have a matchmaking service so you wouldn’t have to explain yourself to some bumbling mortal and worry about lifespans. Isn’t that so very neat? But, you already have me.”

Edmund shoots him a wink. If he’s not, well, Edmund, Draco might think it’s attractive.

“I think,” he starts. His neck is aching something fierce the longer he looks back, so he turns to face Edmund directly, “we need to have a talk about ending this entanglement.”

“My,” Edmund adjusts without trouble, interlacing his hands behind Draco’s waist, just above his bum. “Must you hurt me so? After all we’ve been through in the past three dates, you want to cast me aside?”

“Those three dates were nothing more than bouts of insanity. My apologies, I was in a moment of weakness and was somehow fooled by your… Merlin, I don’t even know. Basically, you were a passing fancy that I will rue ever having for the rest of my life.”

Edmund sighs and lowers his head until it’s nestled where Draco’s neck joins his shoulders.

“My 161st love has broken my heart. Oh, how can I recover from this pain?”

He lifts his head up, meeting Draco’s unimpressed gaze with a smirk. “Perhaps one last kiss will be the balm I need. Come on, just one more for closure.”

Draco gnaws his bottom lip and wets the still-throbbing cut on it. Then, he rolls his eyes, sliding them shut. No big deal.

“You’re so generous, Draco,” purrs a deep voice right at the corner of his mouth. Draco parts his lips, breathing in the hushed words. “Can’t say I won’t miss this. Your blood truly is a delicacy.”

“Hurry the fuck up.”

Sweet, sweet wine.

Draco sags against Edmund’s strong chest, head lolled to the side, panting. They have stopped before it got too much this time, yet Draco still teeters over the edge of insanity with every suckle of lips, every caress of tongue. Edmund has been gentle, large hands cupping Draco’s face like he’s a priceless treasure made of opals and emeralds, combing through the slightly wavy hair Draco has grown out. He has fixed Draco’s shirt as he plucked off every scrap of sense remaining in Draco’s head, has stroked the purple marks in bloom, and covered them with the bomber jacket.

As Draco clutched those broad shoulders and wrinkled the expensive fabric adorning them, he had half a mind to demand Edmund to be rougher, to stop trying to savor it. Stop making it something to go breathless over.

Toying with the shiny button on Edmund’s wool suit, he reminds himself that it was smart to end whatever they had between them. Otherwise, he can see himself becoming addicted, and such a problem has no place in his life.

“It’s getting late,” he says. The street outside is still bustling with people, bursting with sound. The person leaning against the wall opposite is lighting up a new cigarette.

“Oh, doll,” Edmund hugs him tight. “Darling. You’re right, it’s getting late. ”

They stand there for a few moments more nonetheless, clutching each other. Then Draco sees it. Sees him.

As if on cue, the person straightens from their position against the wall. They step forward, one foot after the other, slack and loose, into the buzzing light. Draco can’t observe intricate details from this far away—has to wait until tomorrow, apparently—but he still has eyes.

A pair of snickering women stroll by, and the street seems empty for a split second. It’s enough for Draco to see large, black boots (Dragonhide, the part of his brain that never forgets Mother’s fashion books notes) and dark, well-fitted pants stretching over thick thighs. Sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing dark arms with a myriad of pink-white scars. White button-up, wrinkled and stained, tied by leather harnesses crisscrossing at the chest, like the wearer has forgone changing after work and instead hurried off to deal with an urgent task. An unusual outfit for urban London, but somehow, it works.

Left hand tucked in a pants pocket, the other tapping the fine ash from a cig into a puddle on the concrete. It lifts to hover in front of full, waiting lips. One sleepy bloke trudges by, a heavy bag slung over his shoulder. A hazy billow of smoke spills forth lazily as the bloke walks out of view, opaque clouds masking an expressionless face before disintegrating into the night.

“Doll.”

Draco glances back at Edmund, who is staring at his lips. His hands run tiny circles over the small of Draco’s back.

“We decided on one kiss.”

“I know,” Edmund’s thumb swipes over the cut, as soft as a brush dipping into paint. “There’s still blood.”

“Obviously,” Draco says with a slight snort, “you bit it. Like a brute.”

Edmund’s reply comes in the form of his thumb pressing against the cut as if wanting to both stopper the blood and squeeze it out. Draco assists by opening his mouth, slipping the finger into moist warmth. And for some godforsaken reason, his eyes travel back to the street beyond.

This time, both hands are in the pants pockets. The cigarette has stopped its light bouncing, now lying still between pillowy lips. Like before, the voyeur is a statue amidst a sea of movement.

Draco swirls his tongue against the pad of the thumb, tasting himself and gulping it down. It’s bitter and sour without Edmund’s blood to sweeten it up, but he keeps licking until all he can feel is the saltiness of skin, the clenched fistful of his jacket against his hip, and—

And green.

“It’s getting late,” Edmund whispers against his forehead, his lips a touch away from kissing his fringe.

Letting the finger fall from his mouth, Draco whispers back.

“Okay.”

The voyeur never stops looking. Draco knows because neither does he.

“We’re never doing this again.”

Draco’s eyes glide back to Edmund. “I never thought you’d be the one to say that.”

“Me, too. But I’m serious,” the man says, but doesn’t clean his finger. “From now on, we keep our hands to ourselves.”

“And mouths.”

“Yes, those especially.”

Draco huffs out a laugh, “Okay. Very well. I’m glad we’ve reached an agreement.”

Edmund shakes his head, then blinks. He looks up at Draco, mischief in his eyes.

“Alright, Draco, you’ve done enough for the night.”

“Pardon?” Draco says, sliding his arm into the crook of Edmund’s. “You Side-Along us.”

“Of course, and I meant. Merlin, you’ve done quite enough. Oh, goodness, that’s pungent.”

Edmund pats Draco’s hand on his forearm and leans toward his ear.

“Say goodbye to him.”

Draco’s fingers tighten around Edmund’s arm in warning. He doesn’t say ‘goodbye,’ but he does look to the street light opposite the alleyway. Before the Apparition wrenches all the thoughts out of his head, Draco vows not to think about the expression on that face.

[atinytokki]

𝐙𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐎𝐧𝐞

Chapter 2: Mutiny

Summer was bearing down stronger than ever on the ATEEZ. Wooyoung swept his arm across his sweaty forehead every few minutes for hours on end as he toiled under the hot sun cleaning cannons.

Left and right, sailors were shedding articles of clothing to cool off and eventually Wooyoung gave in and dropped his shirt in the pile. 

“Are those ribs I see?” Jongho teased from the forecastle. “We can’t all have your physique, Jongho,” Wooyoung fired back, smirking when their youngest reeled in fake indignation.

“I take offence at that! You certainly could if you joined the morning exercises I invited you to!” Wooyoung was preparing another jab at Jongho when Yunho appeared from the rigging and joined in.

“At least you two have a decent tan! It appears as if my skin hasn’t seen the sun in months.” All the boys laughed at the truth of this statement, but sobered on the arrival of their captain, who was eyeing the pile of shirts. 

“Are you quite comfortable, sir?” Wooyoung joked, not expecting a response.

“If you think I trust any of you enough to take off this jacket and put it in the pile, you’re wrong,” Hongjoong put a protective hand on his lapels before returning to the pile. “Do these need mending or are you just overheating in them?”

“Captain, it’s sweltering out here!” Yunho exclaimed. Hongjoong looked up at his master rigger. “While we’re on the subject of mending, do me a favour will you and fetch the flag. There’s a small tear in it I’d like to patch up.”

Yunho laughed and obliged, flying up the ropes with effortless speed and lowering their special flag. Hongjoong took it back to his quarters with a word of thanks and nothing more.

“Does he always sew everything himself?” Wooyoung turned to the other officers. Jongho tilted his head in thought. “Mostly, yes. He taught Seonghwa to patch sails but everything else, he does on his own.” Wooyoung smiled fondly at the back of the retreating captain. “He’s got such a bold sense of style, so uniquely commanding, but what for?” 

Jongho laughed wholeheartedly at this. “I’ve no idea, hyung! That’s just what captains do.”

There was rum and dancing after supper that night, but Hongjoong felt unwell and retired early, offering a flippant excuse of heat exhaustion.

For him, the night was long and sleepless. A disquieting sensation had settled inside that he was losing strength, each passing hour sucking more out of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was becoming sicker than he’d ever been.

As morning dawned, Hongjoong brought a shaking hand to his forehead and immediately drew it back. His skin was burning at a dangerous temperature and he shifted uncomfortably in his already soaked sheets before giving up and rising to take the morning watch.

The world reeled from the motion of standing and there was a tight pain in his stomach, strong enough that his face was plastered into a grimace. Hongjoong inhaled shakily, trying to clear his mind and return to his work.

He would have to keep it together in front of the crew, construct a façade and hang onto it while he figured out what was going on.

Half a week of clear skies and speedy winds served the crew well and cheered spirits, largely dissolving tensions between sailors new and old. Reassigned to one of Wooyoung’s gun teams, Seunghyun caused no trouble and his unprecedented duel was near forgotten. However, the mistake of one of his lower-rank friends soon became a frigate wide issue.  

“He left the food stores unsecured, and now we have a rat problem,” Mingi explained to a distracted Hongjoong.

“I love the life of a pirate! But I hate rats.” Jongho quipped to Wooyoung, unashamed at having overheard a private conversation. Mingi chattered on, already finished with the damage report before he realised he was completely unheeded. “Captain?”

Hongjoong snapped out of it, wide-eyed but desperately trying to create a semblance of attentiveness. “Yes! Rats?”

Mingi squinted at him, and he knew he had been quiet just a moment too long. The ruse was up. “What’s wrong?” Wooyoung and Jongho perked up again from their corner of the quarterdeck, doing their best to appear indifferent, while Hongjoong tried to convince his second in command that everything was fine.

“Maybe you should lie down?” Mingi’s voice was lowered for privacy’s sake but insistent nonetheless. 

“It’s nothing! Why don’t we work on the rat problem instead?” 

“Come on, Captain, a nap won’t hurt anything!” The words slipped out of Wooyoung’s mouth almost before he was aware. Both captain and quartermaster gaped at him from the helm.

Whoops...

Hongjoong stalked across the deck and drew up just an inch too close to Wooyoung for his liking. “Not a word of this to anyone, do you hear? It’s nothing, but it’ll get blown out of proportion if it reaches the men.” Though tempted to fire back, Wooyoung lowered his head and nodded submissively. 

He watched the bright red jacket of his captain retreat, swaying slightly with each step, and turned with a frown to Jongho. “It’s not nothing, we both know that,” he gritted out. Jongho hummed a yes, eyes fixed on Hongjoong. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do, though. Even San can’t help him if he refuses treatment.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, a plan unfolding in his mind. “He wouldn’t do something as brainless as that, would he?”

It was 2AM a day later and Wooyoung was outside the Captain’s door with a fake story about some frayed nets at the ready as an excuse, when it turned out he didn’t need it. Hongjoong didn’t answer, even after five knocks. Wooyoung fetched San and the two of them crept inside. Sure enough, Hongjoong lay sweating and whining quietly in a mess of blankets. 

“Sir?” Their leader shot up, hand clutching his gun, and for a moment didn’t recognise them. “I’m fi—”  “You’re not,” San cut him off verbally, but physically was still cautious in approaching until the gun was lowered. “It’s alright, we won’t tell. Just let me treat you.” 

Hongjoong collapsed back into bed, in a sitting position that was more like a slump, and gripped his head in his hands. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me... I just woke up like this five days ago and I don’t know what it is—”

“Five days?” San plopped down at the foot of the bed, already holding his lantern up to the Captain’s face and examining it. “You should have told me!” 

“I don’t know what it is, San,” Hongjoong bit out. “I need to be fit for command. We’re too close for something minor like this to get in the way.” “Something minor!” San gawked at him and threw up his free hand.

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“San...”

“Tell me how many fingers!”

“It’s dark! I don’t know, I can’t see any!”

Wooyoung shook his head from his spot near the window and pinched his nose. “Let me tell the other officers.” It was more of a statement than a question, and Hongjoong frowned at him from the bed. “They need to know if you are unfit for command!”

The sickly leader groaned in a mix of protest and nausea. “Let San check me first,” he finally sighed, beginning to succumb to the fatigue blooming in his limbs.

San shook his head as he shone the light in unfocused eyes. “I need to go read up on this before I make a call. But I think we can all agree that it would be most prudent of you to remain in bed and avoid spreading it until the judgement is passed.” He sent a pointed glare to his patient on his way out.

Wooyoung followed and closed the door gently behind him. His exterior was stern but inside a nagging worry began to snowball out of control.

Something was really wrong here.

...

Mingi announced a rat-killing competition, offering double rum rations for the man that brought him the most dead vermin, as a sly way to keep the crew busy and clueless to the absence of their Captain on deck as his health rapidly declined.

Wooyoung was posted as supervision and to keep the hunt from turning into a brawl as the crew got rowdy. He had been doing his best to keep his attention off of San’s studying which was vicious and more frenzied every day.

Occasionally he disappeared into the Captain’s quarters to observe something or ask a question, but the surgeon spent most of his time in his sickbay getting his hands on every relevant material he could find. 

From this fact alone, Wooyoung knew they were dealing with something deadly. He sat with Yunho in the crow’s nest, overlooking a perfectly swabbed deck with nothing else to do but mind the winds and sail on.

Even when silent, the master rigger’s presence was comforting. Every time they sat up there, sometimes loud and sometimes peaceful, Wooyoung always experienced a sense of home. This time, Yunho knew he needed to talk. Wooyoung felt soft eyes on him before a soft voice followed.

“It’s unnerving, isn’t it.” 

Wooyoung nodded. “San running around like a chicken with his head cut off to find out what the sickness is...” he trailed off, not wanting to create a whole affair about it, but Yunho knew what he meant. “Exactly. It’s not encouraging. But I do think he’s getting close, he hasn’t slept at all the past couple of days.”

Yunho watched the men moving around on deck, minuscule as ants from his towering vantage point. “I do wish he’d come to our cabin at least and tell me what he’s finding.” “Maybe if Captain wasn’t so difficult,” Wooyoung knew his tone was more bitter than Yunho was used to from him. 

Yunho wasn’t upset but couldn’t help but shake his head. “You’re not understanding his reasons. Hongjoong-hyung isn’t resisting because he doesn’t care whether the crew is in danger, it’s just part of his struggle with—with being strong for us.” Wooyoung was confused.

“Captain’s always...” Yunho was struggling to put words to emotions. “He’s always been so driven to spend himself on us. To give his time and energy to the commanding of this ship, one that he created with his own two hands, you know. Sure, he’s stubborn, but he knows what’s best ultimately and he’ll surrender when his body forces him to. I only wish that wasn’t the case.”

It was interesting to see Yunho, a tall, intimidating boy with the heart of a child and a truly light personality, so serious about something. He was still easy to talk to, and Wooyoung was still relaxed enough to ask a more personal question. “How exactly did you meet him?”

Yunho smiled sheepishly at the memory. “It was when my brother and I were living on the street. We had escaped the orphanage and to provide for our needs I begged, fought in street fights, and occasionally stole change. It was a wild time! I was picking food out of the rubbish at a tavern one morning when I saw a boy at the bar with a bag of silver hanging at his belt. Hongjoong-hyung, but I didn��t know his reputation then. To me he was just some random kid. He was certainly too young legally to buy rum so as he sweet talked the bartender I snatched the money bag. I made it two steps before a gun was on my back and a sword at my neck. And yet to give me a chance to win the money for myself, he challenged me to a fist fight. That was his mistake! He put up a decent fight but I beat him, and he offered me employment. I didn’t want to leave my brother but... the promise of enough money to buy a comfortable life convinced me. I’ll go back for him one day, when all this is over and the treasure is found.” He told the tale with a soft smile, reminiscence twinkling over his face. 

“Have you ever doubted the existence of the treasure?” Wooyoung’s question was quiet, treading carefully among the stars in Yunho’s eyes.

Yunho’s expression didn’t waver but he turned to Wooyoung expectantly. “Perhaps the question you’re really asking is ‘have you ever doubted your captain’?”

Wooyoung blushed but didn’t deny it.

“And I can assure you I have not. I trust him, and he trusts the way to treasure. He’s never given me reason to doubt.” The answer was satisfactory, and Wooyoung gave a small squeeze of gratitude to the rigger’s shoulder.

“Officers report to the Captain’s quarters!” Seonghwa’s yell reached the crow’s nest and Wooyoung felt a sinking feeling hit his stomach.

When everyone was present and the door was thrice locked, San began explaining his discoveries. 

“The symptoms are those of gaol fever so far. If it is some strain of that disease then you must have contracted it from the dead bodies you touched aboard that ghost ship. Those people must have escaped a prison where it was prevalent.”

Hongjoong sat at his desk, complacent, before asking, “Has anyone else caught it?”

San shook his head. “The period of time that it actively spreads must have passed while you were confined here. My other working theory is that the catalyst of the disease was already near death on the ghost ship and is significantly weakened now, having infected you. Still, I suggest we exercise caution and use good hygiene.”

Here he was lost in his mind for a moment, the stuffy room suffocating his thoughts.

“Will he...recover?” Seonghwa put forward the officers’ collective concern.

“It...I...I can’t promise anything. No one has survived anything like this, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible! It just means there’s not much I can do to heal you.”

Here he stared at Hongjoong with shining and apologetic eyes. But their leader nodded as if he had known all along. “I’ll do what I can,” San recognised guilt forming again and let it go. “But the fight is yours, Captain.”

“There’s a rash now,” Hongjoong admitted, resisting the urge to squirm in his chair.

“A sign of regression...” San almost whispered. “You may inform the crew,” he directed his words to Mingi, who by right had command now. “My official judgement is that he is unfit for command.”

Wooyoung’s heart went a mile a minute, and he couldn’t get over the sensation that he was hearing something unintended for his ears.

“How long?” Hongjoong’s voice was steady. He didn’t need to utter the rest of his question for the others to know what he was asking. “At best... two weeks,” San choked out before turning away.

The room was spinning in Wooyoung’s eyes from shock. He focused on San’s shaking back to reorient himself before running to him and enclosing his tense form in his arms. “I’m so sorry,” the doctor was whispering. “There’s nothing I can do.”

Hongjoong himself had his head in his hands and was refusing eye contact with anyone. He allowed Seonghwa to drag him to bed as silence lingered. The officers stood still, trying to work through what they had just heard.

Finally Seonghwa grabbed Mingi and stepped out for a discussion. The others were useless for the rest of the day, eventually retiring and, in the case of San, poring over books all evening again once released from Wooyoung’s grip. Sleep escaped Wooyoung, and he stared at the boards of the ceiling devoid of even aimless thought. 

...

The fire in the kitchen crackled steadily, glowing in the two pairs of eyes that observed it. 

“It’s your charge as quartermaster. This isn’t a conversation we need to have,” Seonghwa’s voice was almost as distant as his thoughts.

Mingi’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, yet flames danced in them. “I know... and I suppose I took the responsibility on myself when I accepted the position. But you and I both know I’m not the candidate who is cut out for it. You are.”

With a shake of the head and a shuddering breath, Seonghwa tried to make Mingi understand. “You’re saying that because you never wanted it to be your responsibility. It’s only proper that you take...” His brow knit together in remorse. “...take what’s yours by right.”

“Seonghwa-hyung,” Mingi whined. “I’m not trying to put the pressure on you so I can avoid shouldering the burden, but think of the crew’s need for leadership. At the very least, couldn’t we share it?” 

“What would he say to that, I wonder?” Seonghwa looked to the door, half expecting Captain to walk in and tell them himself. “I feel silly even considering it. But we need to agree on our course of action, whatever it is. So maybe... maybe that’s the best option. The two of us delegating duties and making the important decisions together. And we both know our most important task is to find land and someone who can help.”

He followed a floating spark with his eyes until it went out, wishing he could wake up from this egregious dream. “If we have to take command, let it only be brief.”

“Oh thank you, hyung,” Mingi finally released the built up tension in his chest, lowering his head into his hands. “I could never do it alone.”

He sniffed in embarrassment and rubbed tears out of his eyes until Seonghwa appeared by his side, guiding him into a hug. “You’ll never need to,” he reassured him.

Both were weighed down by the gravity of the odds stacked against their leader. “Hey, hey,” he shushed the younger boy. “We’ve come through worse.” Mingi nodded as his weeping quieted, but he didn’t speak what was both on their minds.

We’ve never done it without Hongjoong.

...

“Wouldn’t it make sense that a cure could exist in the east for a disease that only exists in the east?”

San chewed slowly on his bite of breakfast and thought aloud. Yeosang narrowed his eyes at him over his spoon.

It had been established as an unspoken rule that the officers wouldn’t discuss Hongjoong’s condition, even amongst themselves. No one could blame San for continuing to search for answers, however, and they all grunted some noise of agreement before returning to their meals. 

“I mean, there’s no record of any affective treatment for gaol fever, but this isn’t exactly the same thing, so is it possible...?”

Finally Yeosang dropped his spoon into the bowl. “San, are you saying there could be a cure somewhere out here?”

Suddenly aware of the attention on him, San became defensive. “Well, like I said, I don’t know. Really! I don’t! But...”

“It would be worth a try?” Mingi cocked his head to the side, understanding where San was going with this.

“Mingi, of course it would be worth a try! I’ve only been looking at known illnesses and this is something unknown which means of course there’s a chance. But it’s not my call, it’s yours and Seonghwa’s. And I suppose Yeosang’s if he can tell us where the nearest inhabited land is.”

Yeosang sighed at the out of place sarcasm. “Yes, I can tell you once I look at my maps. But do you know what type of cure to look for?” 

San nodded, almost eagerly. “I’ve got it narrowed down between a few different concoctions. Get me to an apothecary and I’ll buy their most useful medicine.” 

For the next day Wooyoung could be found faithfully at the crow’s nest with Yunho, waiting to sight land. The atmosphere was rife with agitation, and when he spotted it, the buzz around him grew. Land was a blueish green tinted shadow on the horizon, but to Wooyoung it held the promise of saving grace.

“Let it not be a wasted trip,” Yeosang mumbled, mostly to himself, but Wooyoung heard and countered with a nervous chuckle, “Optimism only please, Yeosang!” 

Mingi called the crewmen together as they pulled up to the dock and announced “Dismissal for the afternoon. I expect you back at sunset.” He didn’t pay much attention to the practically forgotten Seunghyun and followers, who hung around the ATEEZ instead of exploring the harbour.

Seonghwa was at the helm, surveying the deck below for remaining rats, when he noticed Yeosang hanging around just past his peripherals. He grew in concern watching the younger boy who stared off into space as if his mind was running in circles.

“Everything alright?”

There was a pause and a tilt of the head before Yeosang answered, “Well, we both know it’s not.” His lips were pursed again, white rimmed and dry.

Seonghwa leaned heavier on the wheel, mentally begging Yeosang not to go there.

“I mean, last time I poked my head in he looked hours off from leaving us.” Seonghwa’s heart wrenched into a tight knot inside him. He couldn’t figure out if Yeosang was angry or something else. “He still hasn’t addressed us properly with—with instructions or advice or...or last words,” tears were bubbling to the surface, clouding his vision. 

“We’re running out of time,” he cried and Seonghwa was there in an instant. His own breath was coming out in shaky bursts and finally he had to break down as well. “I don’t know what to say,” Seonghwa admitted, scrubbing his face furiously.

He had been putting everyone else back together as they split at the seams but when it came down to it, he wasn’t sure he could convince himself it would all be fine. “I’m scared too.”

Yeosang nodded at the voicing of his thoughts. Without the guilty eyes of the dying on them, they forgot everything and wept together. 

...

Yunho’s eyes were rimmed with red. San took note and refrained from bringing it up. No need to point out how poorly they were faring in this disaster.

The hunt was soon well underway. The pair had taken off to scope out the new wharf while the others stayed onboard.

“What is this place?” Yunho caught the attention of a woman who passed them on the docks.

“Geobugi- the last pirate haven in the east.”

After jogging through the streets of the small seaside town, San located the apothecary shop on the southern outskirts. For being a remote establishment, it was still fairly busy.

Impatience radiated off of him as he stood in line listening to the string of detailed advice being given about plant care to the patron in front of him. When it was their turn he clasped his hands and opened his mouth before being cut off.

“Let me guess, you need to save a wilting rose too.”

...

Hongjoong had descended into incoherent mumbling and fits of coughs.

Mingi, Wooyoung, and Jongho played a card game in the corner of the Captain’s quarters, unsure of what to do during each episode. Just as Wooyoung was about to win the game a single knock sounded from the door, followed by a crashing sound as it was thrown open.

All three stood in shock at the sight of Seunghyun and his accomplices barging in. Seonghwa and Yeosang were trapped in their arms, two swords precariously balanced at their necks. 

“What is the meaning of this!” Mingi took a step back as Seunghyun’s men tightened their grips on the prisoners. 

“This, silly boy, is a mutiny,” Seunghyun laughed back. He hummed a lazy tune and sauntered over to the bedridden Captain, who at some point had become aware that his room was being invaded.

Hongjoong’s gun was locked, loaded, and aimed but a thin stream of blood winding down Yeosang’s neck lowered the weapon by itself. Seunghyun tutted at the shaking captain, limp hair plastered to his forehead, and held his hand out palm up. “Weapons, please.”

With the last of the officers’ guns the power was officially in the hands of the mutineers. Wooyoung held Yeosang’s fearful gaze and tried to send him a withering smile.

To his surprise, the captors removed the biting metal from their necks and shoved them at the other three, causing a collision and knocking over the card table. “You’re not killing us?” Seonghwa’s question was bold but sensible.

Seunghyun ignored him and drew his own sword, placing the long cold edge against Hongjoong’s throat. “No. I need you to help raise the anchor, or he dies.”

“I’ll tear your flesh off if you touch him,” Jongho wasted no time making threats. “I don’t think you’ll get very far, child,” Seunghyun teased, pressing the blade closer.

“Power was transferred peacefully,” Mingi shouted back. “You have no reason to mutiny!” Again the ringleader laughed. “You’ll figure it out soon enough. Now! Unfurl the sails, we have places to be.”

...

Yunho and San were already running down the hill with their prize when they spotted the ATEEZ. “Why are they leaving?” San was stopped in his tracks. 

Yunho ran a hand through his hair. “There’s no way the crew already reboarded!”

To pick up the pace, he scooped up San and carried him on his back, covering the distance to the dock in long strides. When the surgeon was back on the ground he looked around wildly for their seamen. A dozen or so of their crew came running in behind them from the town all jumping, waving, and yelling in outrage at being left behind.

“Stay here, all of you,” Yunho instructed hastily. “We’ll go figure out what’s happening and come back for you.” With that he turned and dove off the end of the dock. San secured the medicine under his clothes and followed him.

“I see them!” Wooyoung’s sharp eyes were directed out the back of the ship through the tall windows of the captain’s cabin where they were confined. “Someone fetch a rope!”

Luckily, Hongjoong had his canvas bag in the room and there was enough rope to lower it to the two swimmers. Jongho secured the end to his own frame and braced himself on the desk while Yunho and San climbed up and were helped in by the other officers. “A last minute boarding,” Yunho gasped out, shaking water from his head. “Who is at the helm?” San surveyed the room in a panic. 

“It’s Seunghyun. He and his minions staged a mutiny,” Seonghwa bit out, pulling up and stowing the rope. “He’s locked us in here and stolen Yeosang’s maps,” Mingi continued for him. “We don’t know where we’re going or why but he won’t kill any of us... I think.”

Yunho frowned. “Are there plans to take back the ship?” Jongho was righting the card table and shaking his head, “They far outnumber us now that the entire crew has been left behind. Did you at least find medicine?”

San nodded vigorously, pulling the little vial out safe and sound. He took it straight to Hongjoong’s bedside.

“How are you?” The question was inadequate for the pain San could see swimming in the Captain’s eyes.

“Alive.”

Hearing his voice crack between puffs of air, San shuffled around to pour a glass of water and helped him sip it. “I’ve got something to help you, if it’s not too late,” the surgeon told his patient softly, uncorking the bottle. “It won’t taste great but it may save your life, hyung.”

Trapped in Hongjoong’s room, the officers made do and spread their extra garments on the floor, sleeping in a huddled formation. San opted to pull up a chair next to the captain’s bed and keep an eye on him through the night. It took awhile with Yeosang’s arm flung across him and Jongho’s feet next to his face but eventually Wooyoung drifted off.

...

“Shoot me.”

Wooyoung jolted out of his sleep, the soft-spoken plea waking him abruptly. He sat up to check with San, but the tired doctor was fast asleep in his chair. Wooyoung swallowed and looked to Captain. It had sounded like his voice that had spoken, but no one else of the officers dozing around the room had noticed. Perhaps it had been in his head. 

He settled back, unsure if he could fall back into the peaceful rhythm of sleep now. A groan from the otherwise still body of Hongjoong captured his attention, and he peered over at the patient to discover his eyes wide open and fixed on the ceiling. Wooyoung’s heart jumped in surprise. 

“Shoot me.”

The words were distinctly his, Wooyoung observed, following the movement of his mouth before lips pressed tightly together into a hard line.

“Captain...?” His hesitant venture was lost on Hongjoong’s ears. The captain was delirious.

Nervous now, Wooyoung stood and leant closer, trying to catch the older boy’s attention. He wanted to say more, but his mouth had seemingly gone dry. Hongjoong was completely unaware and muttered another “Shoot me. Please.”

Deeply disturbed by what he was witnessing, the stricken gunner leaned over the bed and grabbed hold of San’s arm, shaking him awake. “What...? Oh!”

The doctor picked up on what was happening much faster than Wooyoung had, and rose to try to bring Hongjoong out of it. “Captain, can you hear me?”

“Please, I just want to go. I just want to be found already... let me leave!” His cries were growing in volume, and soon other officers were stirring from their slumber. Wooyoung looked on with a furrowed brow, trying to make sense of Hongjoong’s increasingly pitiful requests. 

He was becoming agitated, strength enough to twist up his sheets granted to his limbs in the haze of delirium. “Come on,” San was shaking him, nothing else to be done. “Just wake up, it’s not real!”

“Someone end it, I’m-I’m begging...  No! That’s an order, I’m ordering! Someone...someone shoot.” His stuttering trailed off, and Wooyoung turned the words over in his mind. “I just want to be found. Can’t you see?” These words escaped with perfect clarity and Wooyoung latched on to them. 

He wants to be found? He began to think back to what he knew of Hongjoong’s past. “He thinks he’s on the abandoned island again,” Mingi supplied, joining them at the bedside.

“I just want to leave this place...” Hongjoong had grown exhausted again, fighting San along with the demons in his mind. His last entreaty left his lips almost too soft to hear. “Take me home.” 

“You are home,” Seonghwa had joined them. Wooyoung saw wetness on his face and averted his eyes.

Hongjoong went quiet again, and the attention in the room was inadvertently cast on San, who busied his fingers with the bedding and avoided the eyes. “It’s not an improvement,” he finally said. “But it’s not the final stage yet.”

This was no comfort, but it sent the other officers to their beds in resignation. San paused over Hongjoong’s top blanket, clenching it in his hands before smoothing it out and returning to his chair.

Wooyoung could read frustration in the lines of his face. He wanted to say something, but again gazed elsewhere before returning to the floor. He didn’t sleep.

...

Hongjoong slept all the next day. A mutinous goon delivered some food around midday, but apart from that there was nothing to be done but sit around the card table, playing mindlessly.

Yunho volunteered to swap out with San in keeping an eye on his patient, and when San sank into a chair at the table during the whist game, Wooyoung felt his hopes sink with him.

“He’s almost gone,” San whispered unbidden. Jongho sat back in his chair like he had been struck across the face. Wooyoung was distinctly and unexpectedly aware of how young Jongho was to be in this situation.

“The medicine’s not working?” He asked quietly for clarification. San wouldn’t meet his eyes. “He should have shown improvement by now…”

“He’s stopped breathing!” Yunho suddenly screamed from the other side of the room.

Everyone was there instantly. “How long?” San was reaching for a pulse. 

“Just now, I swear,” Yunho stumbled over his words. “I was watching him like you told me but he just—”

“Stand back!” San didn’t have time to hear the full explanation as he turned he motionless body over and began pounding on his back.

“Someone grab me the bellows!” He yelled and it was placed in his hand by Yeosang a moment later. “What are you doing?” The navigator asked, disturbed at how pale Hongjoong was.

San positioned the nozzle in his mouth and began squeezing air in. “Giving him breath.”

It went on for a full minute before San threw the bellows to the side and in desperation gave Hongjoong a strong slap across the face. This final attempt to revive him was successful.

Gasping and fighting for air, Hongjoong’s eyes flew open. There was a collective current of alleviation and San collapsed back into his chair.

Needing to resuscitate himself after the experience, Wooyoung opened the back windows and took deep gulps of the sea air. He realised his legs were shaking and leaned on the windowsill. Captain just died. He died and came back.

Yunho grasped Hongjoong’s hand and held it in between his. “Please don’t leave us again, hyung.”

Seonghwa’s hand was on San’s shoulder. “That was brilliant.”

“Too close. That was entirely too close.”

No one budged for the rest of the evening, terrified that doing so would send their captain back into respiratory arrest.

San noted after the sun went down that his breathing had actually improved significantly, and began to allow a spark of faith that he would survive to grow inside. “The stuff I gave him was made after an epidemic of a disease quite similar to gaol fever,” he told the others to pass the time. “I think it may be kicking in.”

On their third day of imprisoned sailing Hongjoong came to. It was as if he had needed to hit rock bottom before surfacing.

Mingi watched his eyelids twitch and struggle before sliding open, revealing eyes that were finally focused and aware of their surroundings. The officers didn’t need to be called over to see their captain was conscious, having heard the sound of his voice croak a timid, “Mingi?”

“Yessir?” Mingi responded, happy tears streaming down his face. 

“How sweet,” came a sarcastic voice from the doorway. All turned to see Seunghyun, who had been absent since the mutiny. His mouth formed a sneer. “It’s still too late for you, sir. We’ve arrived.”

...

Taglist: @nightynightnyx @theinvisablessed @twolfiehowl

A/N: Haha take a shot every time Wooyoung doesn’t sleep! Feeeeeeel the feeeeeeeeels ppl! Fun fact: The beginning was a reference to Wave mv filming behind the scenes when Hongjoong claimed he wasn’t hot in that jacket xD I’ve had a lovely week sailing, poking around at the beach and basically having a refresher course in the minutæ of sea living and piracy which will be incredibly useful for the accurate production of this series :) and is of course also of great personal interest. Mum bought me a nautical curiosities book to gobble up :P so I’ll go read that now and then hopefully wake up to some notes tomorrow... P.S. if there are questions about the disease feel free to message me because we won’t really go further into that in the series proper, there’s just too much ground to cover!

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[sapphires-and-gold-fics]

Fictober Day 8: “Can you stay?”

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Characters: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth, Selwyn Tarth

Summary: Civil War au where Brienne is there when Jaime kills Aerys - it's a whole thing that literally no one asked for. Very tame in terms of content.

Notes: Yes, Jaime is short for Jameson. That is what I call him when I'm disappointed in him, or worried about him, or concerned that he's been a blundering idiot about something. Oh, Jameson.

Read on AO3

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Jaime was sure he was dying. He hadn’t planned on it when he’d decided to take down the General, but he supposed it was what he deserved for having fought on the wrong side of the war.

Fighting to “preserve their way of living” was what his father and sister expected of him, even if he’d long ago rejected it for himself. But removing to the city from the plantation was hardly an improvement. If he’d gone north like his brother, perhaps his sister’s claws could have been yanked out. If he’d gone north, perhaps he’d have been on the right side when war came. Instead he’d let his sister walk him down to the enlistment office.

He thought of her when he fought. He couldn’t kill enough make penance for her contrite brand of maliciousness, but maybe if he came out of this alive he could live to see her children, if she ever had any, grow up to be better than their elders. The thought kept him moving, gave him hope. He wanted to live.

But then he was commanded to stand by while General Aerys burned escaped slaves who’d been found trying to cross the border, and he couldn’t proffer up a single valid excuse to himself.

Aerys had claimed to have spotted a Union spy in the woods and he wanted first crack at him. Jaime had followed at a comfortable distance, knowing that this could be his one chance to stop the madness Aerys was often seeing phantoms in the woods, and Jaime knew that this time was no different. As the woods grew denser, Jaime got closer, less comfortable. Close enough to thrust his sword through Aery’s back, but not quite close enough to have spotted the flesh and blood Union soldier that Aerys has been tailing. This time it hadn’t been a hallucination. This soldier had lifted his rifle to his shoulder just as Jaime had dealt the killing blow. As a result, the shot meant for Aerys shattered Jaime’s forearm.

He cried out and tried to regain his sword with his left hand, but he fumbled it and it landed on the ground as Jaime pressed his spine against the nearest tree, in agony. The soldier stepped in front of him and kicked the blade away with his heel, and then peered down at him - his glance heated and clear and blue.

“I saw what you did,” she said - she! Jaime was sure he was dying. “He was tracking me and I finally had a clear shot to defend myself but you killed him, why?”

“You’re a woman? Of course this is how I die.”

“You’re not going to die, it’s just your arm.”

“Says the lunatic who shot me.”

“Why did you do it,” she demanded more urgently.

“He was an evil man.”

“You saved my life.”

“I thought you were a figment of his imagination,” Jaime would have shrugged but for the excruciating pain. He slid to the ground, propped up by the tree. “I’m dying.”

“You’re not. You can make it back to your troops. Find yourself a surgeon.”

He caught her eye - that astonishing blue gaze. “Can you stay? Stay with a dying man. It’s said that drowning makes for a peaceful death.”

“You’re wounded, not drowning.”

“Let me drown in your eyes.”

“You’re delirious. You must be losing a lot of blood.”

She removed his coat and he gritted his teeth, breathing through the pain as best he could. After examining the wound, she removed her own coat and fashioned a sling. He groaned seeing her form through her crisp uniform shirt, the slight narrowing of her waist... he felt himself harden absurdly at the thought of what lay beneath. It had just been too long since he’d beheld a woman that his body must be confused, he thought, even if she did have astonishing eyes.

She worked diligently. “There. Go back to your camp like this. They’ll think you were in a shootout with Union forces and took a coat from the dead for your arm.”

“I’d be labeled a hero. But I’m not. I killed my commander.”

“You had your reasons I think, Captain...?”

“Jameson.”

“You saved my life whatever your intentions were, Captain Jameson.”

He chuckled, “Not - it’s Jaime. Jameson Lannister. Just call me Jaime.”

“Lannister... are you...?”

“If you’re asking after the impish southern abolitionist, that would be my brother, Tyrion. The two of us share a belief system, a moral code, but only one of us was brave enough to act on it before this mess began.”

“Is that what you did today? Act on your beliefs?”

“Is there honor in stabbing a man in the back?”

“There is if the man is wicked.”

“My father would disagree.”

“Go back to your men. Tell them - tell them that you and your commander were set upon.”

“It’s my weapon. They’ll know. They won’t ask why, they’ll just string me up.”

She huffed and seemed to deliberate something rapidly in her mind until finally she put out her left hand. “Let me help you up.”

“I told you, I’m dying.”

“You’re not. You’re going to live. You saved my life and now I want to repay the debt. My camp is... not far. I’ll bring you there.”

“A prisoner? I’m sure one such as you would enjoy seeing me in irons, no thank you.”

“No, not a prisoner. I swear it. My father is the commander of the brigade. I shouldn’t have even been out here. I shouldn’t have strayed. But I had smelled your campfires and I thought if I could just get close enough maybe I could better our chances. Then I saw General Aerys and I knew it was my opportunity to upset the balance. My father will be furious when he finds I’ve gone and yes, bringing back a prisoner might assuage that, but I don’t mind his anger. I will bear it. And when I tell him that you saved my life I swear he will protect you.”

“Why are you on the front at all? What sort of father lets his daughter get so close to danger?”

“What sort of father lets any of his children do so? We’re at war, Captain Lannister. And the more people - men and women - who contribute, the quicker it can be over. Now come, before someone comes after you.”

He took her hand and let her drag him deeper into the forest until they came upon a clearing that opened up directly into General Selwyn Tarth’s camp. When he saw him, Jaime nearly ducked and ran off, but his captor held him firm.

“General.”

“Daughter.”

“I was in the woods, I thought—“

“You didn’t think at all. You might have been killed. And now you come back with a rebel who should be in irons?”

“General, this man saved my life. If not for him, I would have been killed.”

“You were foolish, Brienne.”

Her name was Brienne.

“I know it was foolish to go off, I know that. But General Aerys is dead and I am not, all thanks to Captain Lannister. I have promised him safe passage. He saved my life, we owe him that.”

Selwyn peered at him with eyes like his daughters, but dulled with age and perhaps the sight of too many deaths. “You killed Aerys, boy?”

Jaime looked at the taller man as straight on as he could, his arm throbbing. “I did. I would do it again. He was mad.”

Selwyn suddenly let out a hearty laugh, completely inappropriate for the situation. “That he was, boy.” He studied Jaime, and seemed to notice his makeshift sling for the first time.

“Brienne, fetch a surgeon for the captain.”

“I don’t want to lose my arm.”

“They’ll do what they can. Brienne, go, he’ll be in my tent. And after you’ve done, rouse up some more of your clothes for the boy, let’s make him fit in as best we can.”

The surgeon gave Jaime a choice - keep the arm and be in pain the rest of his life, not to mention risk infection, or lose the arm at the elbow and begin healing properly. He was gripping Brienne’s hand with his left when he let them take the other.

After the next skirmish, Selwyn sent his daughter away, and Jaime with her. He believed that the next battle would be severe and he didn’t wish to risk her. And though he had one arm, Jaime would at least lend her some additional protection. This time it was Jaime dragging her away.

They went first to the field hospital to have his arm checked for infection, and from thence they rode the train north to Boston, or in an approximation of “northbound.” Wartime meant the trains were irregular, and the journey indirect and long.

By the time they arrived at Tyion’s door, the war was nearly over. News from the front was that Selwyn had been right. And that battle had been his last. By that time, Jaime and Brienne had slept curled up on each other’s shoulder for almost three weeks, the only comfort on the long road. Tyrion offered them each a guest room in his home but he suspected correctly that one would have sufficed. They didn’t deny themselves for long. And they married days after their arrival.

Months later they finally got word of his family through his father’s sister - the house and farmlands had been destroyed and his father and sister were presumed dead. Jaime offered his aunt a home in the north but she declined, preferring to stay in the south and help her son’s family navigate this new life and build a new home.

Jaime never returned to the south. He was already home.

[ddaeng-181338]

Listen, before I go

The title is Heavily inspired by Billie Eilish’s song; Listen, Before I go , I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to want to write a short story based on this song. It’s raining out today so maybe that’s why lol

Genre: heavy angst

Word count: 1.5k (a short one heh)

Trigger warning: This story talks about hospitals, cancer and death so please if you are sensitive to any of these topics I’m begging you don’t read it. I don’t want to trigger anyone .,.

The tears had dried a few hours ago. The made your face feel stiff and your cheeks puffy. The consistent beeping of the heart monitor being the only thing that was keeping you focused.

2 weeks. That’s all you had left. That’s how much time you had been given to try and make the most of it.

“How am I supposed to tell him.” You pulled at the threads of your blanket. Trying desperately to yank them free to calm your nerves. “How are you even supposed to tell someone this kind of thing?”

Jimin would be here soon, just like he had been every day prior since you got here.

Your health took a sharp decline about 6 months prior, despite being diagnosed with stage 3 ovarian cancer a year and a half before then. It had taken you a while to even come clean to Jimin. He had been on tour when you found out and didn’t want to distract him.

You still remembered the way his face had contorted. The pain evident in his eyes when you explained just how serious the problem was. He was distant for a while, and you had even told him you understood if he wanted to leave you.

And after a few weeks you figured he had just left you without a word. Made it quick and painless for the both of you. Or well...him at least. You had been distraught during those few weeks. Trying to come to terms with the fact that you were sick, and that there was a very good chance you only had a few years left. On top of that you were trying to cope with a broken heart.

But at the end of those few weeks, he was standing outside your door. Crying, with flowers and your favorite food in hand. “I’m so sorry.” Was the first thing he had said. And it both healed and broke you.

Over the next months Jimin Had remained by your side as best he could. His work required him to be in so many places and to be moving all the time. So he didn’t have as much time as he wanted to be with you.

Once you started losing hair due to chemo, he asked for paid leave. To which his company complied, wishing him and you the best of luck. It gave him a peace of mind, but for you it only solidified that you were in fact not just sick.

But that you were dying.

It took a full year for your body to finally give in. You became weak and frail, and struggled to move on your own. Despite all treatments your cancer was still there. And to make matters worse - it was spreading.

And there wasn’t much left to be done.

You know how much of a toll it took on Jimin. The brace face he put on when he was with you was easy to see through once you were alone. If it wasn’t for the boys being there to help him, you’d be terrified of leaving him alone.

That’s what face you a peace of mind. That even once you had lost your battle, the boys would be there to help him. To keep his head up. And to keep him moving. Once you were gone, he would still be in good hands.

You were ripped from your melancholic thoughts as your room door opened. “Good afternoon my love.” Jimin’s voice was like music to your ears. His voice silenced the thoughts swimming through your head.

“Good afternoon to you too my love.” Your voice was slightly hoarse and you cringed. You ran you hand through your hair to try and play it off. It had been about 8 months since they told you chemo wasn’t doing anything. So your hair had about 8 months of growing time since then.

You had a very grown out bob as this point, one that you usually just tied back or didn’t pay any mind to at all. You were glad it was at least a little longer than Jimin’s at this point.

“Are you Okay?” You looked over at him slowly, watching him take his usual seat next to your bed. “As okay as I can be in this place.” You were terrified to tell him. How the hell were you even supposed to tell him?

“Did the doctors tell you something y/n? They looked sad when I passed…” well you were going to have to tell him. You didn’t want too. But fuck it would be selfish if you didn’t.

“Lay with me please.”

You could see him tense, fear filling his eyes and he slipped off is coat and shoes and climbed into the hospital bed with you. You laid back, turning on your side so you faced him. “Hi.” Was all you got out, teaching forward to cup his cheek and kissed him softly.

When will we have our last kiss?

You felt tears prick your eyes and you pulled away from him softly. Tears threatening to spill as you looked at him. “Tell me.” He could read you like a book, he knew when you were hiding something.

“They gave me some bad news this morning Jiminie…” your voice cracked. You weren’t afraid of dying, but you were afraid of what dying would do to him. His grip on your hand tightened.

“What?” You took a shaky breath, terrified for the reaction you knew was coming. Your eyes closed before opening once more, the tears gone as you looked at him.

“The told me I only have...only have about 2 weeks left to live. The cancer is spreading rapidly and as this point there is nothing they...nothing they can do.”

You watched all the emotions flood his eyes, tears welling up and slipping down his cheeks as he looked at you. “There has to be something y/n… you can’t… I can’t..” He broke down in sobs, each one feeling like a stab wound to your heart.

You wrapped your arms around him tightly, pulling him close so that his head rested on your chest. “Listen to that Jiminie, it’s my heart beating. I’m here. I’m not leaving you yet.” His only cried harder.

“You can’t leave.” You couldn’t even speak, your own tears threatening to spill. “We are supposed to be together forever. Get married, Start a family, get a cat…” he only cried harder. He was inconsolable at this point and all you could do is hug him. Tears falling down your cheeks and landing in his hair.

“You can’t leave me, please don’t leave me.” He was rambling at this point. Tears streaming down his cheeks as he finally looked up at you. Bloodshot eyes making you breakdown fully.

“It’s not far my love, I know it’s not fair at all. And I’m so sorry, I want to stay...I want to stay so bad. I want to have a family with you, grow old with you. But I can’t. I’m so...I’m so…” you couldn’t get the words out anymore.

Salty tears slid down your cheeks and lips as you looked at him. A broken man laid next to you, and there was nothing you could do to fix it.

“I want so badly to stay with you my love. I want to stay by your side, and see what you accomplish. But I can’t. At least not physically.”

A fresh wave of tears left him as you pulled him close once more. His ear resting above your heart, the steady beating calming him. “I’ll always be with you my love. Even if you can’t see me.”

Your breathing was shaky but you continued. “I’m going to be with you always, watching you from above. I’ll be there with you when you find someone new. When you start a family, when you grow old. And I’ll be waiting for you once it’s your time okay? I’ll never...I’ll never leave you.”

He sobbing into your chest now, his words muffled as he spoke. “I don’t want anyone else. I want you.” You squeezed your eyes shut, resting your cheek on top of his head as he cried. “I’m so sorry Jimin.”

True to the doctor’s words, you passed 3 weeks later. You were a fighter till the end, outlasting the time the doctors had given you by a whole week.

You died peacefully in your sleep, with him by your side. He had refused to go home once he knew how little time you had left. And those three weeks, despite everything, were some of the best you had experienced.

The hospital had let you go out daily, visiting places you had always wanted to see. Not all of them of course, but enough to make good memories for the both of you.

And once you had passed, he did cry of course. But he felt oddly at ease. The words you had spoken to him a few weeks prior sticking with him through the whole process of your funeral and burial.

You were with him, even if it wasn’t physical. You were with him.

[rogerisakindofmagic]

It’s so easy, all you have to do is (not to) fall in love and play the game Roger Taylor x Famous!Reader

SUMMARY: You are a famous actress that casually meets Queen on a night out, ever since then you are inseparable, especially with the handsome drummer Roger.

WARNINGS: mentions of sex, also a little of Brian x reader but not much.

A/N: This is the first time I post one of these here, I hope you like it and do tell me if you want me to write more! I am open for requests. Thanks for reading!

You’ve met the boys at a bar.

It was their last day London before they went touring in America. You decided to go by yourself because work was stressing you out and you wanted to relax a little.

You were a famous actress, recognized for being pretty much extravagant and weird as the critics would call you, but really talented too, you were a singer her too, but sang mostly in movies and sometimes in musicals. Famous singers like David Bowie would often invite you to their tours and maybe sing with them at their shows.

Freddie found you sitting alone and immediately recognized you, so he quickly made his way towards you.

“Are you by any chance Y/N?” a familiar voice asked you, you turned around only to find the one and only Freddie Mercury standing next to you. you smiled excitedly.

“Yes, that’s me” you answered, the smile never leaving your face “And you must be Freddie Mercury”

“The one and only” he answered with a bow and you smiled, excitement filling your senses.

“I’m a huge fan, really” you started “I’ve followed you since the beginning and you guys are the best” 

“I’m honored to heard that darling! I’ve heard so much about you, I always wanted to chat with you”

“I hope good things, though” you said, your happy mood suddenly changed and Freddie noticed “The media comes up with many lies” you took a sip of your drink and Freddie smiled.

“Yeah, they do, I’m familiarized” he said and you smiled. 

“Why don’t you join me and the others?” he suddenly asked taking you by surprise 

“Really?”

“Of course! The other die to meet you too” you agreed and took your glass, Freddie turned back to the bartender and asked for drinks before taking you towards their table.

Brian and John were laughing at something Roger said and as soon as Freddie came back the three turned to look at you.

“You won’t believe who I found while I asked for drinks” Freddie said

“Is that Y/N?” Brian said, standing up from his seat to greet you properly

“In the flesh” you said and the others stood up as well.

“I am a huge fan” John said, shaking your hand timidly “All your work is truly amazing and honestly your an icon for our era” you smiled.

“Thank you John” 

“Wait a second, you know us?” Brian asked 

“Of course! I am a huge fan” you admitted and the whole band smiled widely

“It is an honor to finally meet you, love” your eyes finally turned to Roger, e/c eyes meeting a beautiful pair of blues. You have seen Roger in pictures before and you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t hot.

“I can say the same about you” as she shacked his hand a warm feeling traveled from his touch towards her, making her cheeks a faint pink. 

Your drinks arrive after the greetings and you all took your seats, you sitting next to Roger

“Y/N is having problems with the media” Freddie said

“Oh really? We haven’t heard” Roger sarcastically said and you laughed 

“Yeah, they are full of shit” you took a sip of your drink.

“Don’t listen to them, you really are an inspiration for a lot of people, pretty badass too” Brian added

“Thank you Brian” you said “But don’t worry, I told them that myself”

Roger chuckled and Freddie smirked amused while John and Brian said “Cheers to that” and drank the rest of their drinks.

You were also famous for not taking everyone’s shit, you were nice and kind and always managed to say what you thought freely in a nice way. And though you had a lot of fans and a lot of countries loved you, some magazines talked shit about you, like how you are so rude to people and also kind of a slut, which you are the complete opposite and everyone knew, but there were still stupid people that believed that.

“The second round is on me” you said and the boys cheered.

Once the drinks were refilled Freddie asked for your attention.

“I propose a toast” he raised his glass “For the upcoming tour and new friendships”

“For the upcoming tour and the friendships!” the rest of you cheered and sipped your drinks. Your gaze meeting Roger’s with a smirk as he placed his hand on your thigh.

•••

You groaned opening your eyes “What the hell?” You said as you looked around the strange room.

“You’re finally up” 

You were fully awake now, rapidly looking at yourself realizing you were pretty much naked.

Roger appeared with two glasses of water and handed you one, you thanked him and the memories from last night came back like a splash of cold water. You remembered the band, you singing, the drinks, the plane, Roger’s lips as he kissed down towards your… Wait a minute THE PLANE!?

You quickly stood up, ignoring the fact that you were completely naked before the ages of an Stranger an looked out the window 

Roger smiled “I didn’t know you liked to be seen” he joked and you’d have laughed if the shock of being on a foreign country wasn’t overtaking your body. Roger thought you were going to faint, and his smile turned into utter shock as he heard you laughing.

“Well, I didn’t expect that reaction”

“Oh my god” you said “I took it really far this time” you continued laughing and Roger joined you.

“You really are a sight right now” He was walking towards you, closing the distance.

You smirked at him “Oh really?” You turned to him crossing your arms across your bare chest “How so?”

He smirked devilishly at you as he grabbed your wrist exposing your chest. “You know…” he started, pulling you closer “Naked with not a care in the world, laughing your ass off in a foreign country not caring about what you left in London”

His hands were starting to caress your skin, his rough hands against your soft skin felt incredibly good and your breath started shaking a little

“That really turns me on” you closed the distance kissing him hungrily He returned the kiss and quickly discarded his boxers, taking you towards the bed.

•••

“Look who decided to show up” Freddie said as you and Roger walked inside the restaurant.

“Had fun last night darling?” Freddie asked you and you smiled 

“Yes I did” you smirked at Roger

You toured around America with them and became really close with them afterwards. 

You occasionally slept with Roger and with Brian too, not really looking for anything serious until you started having feelings for the blonde. You hates to admit it, knowing Roger. But you couldn’t help but feel jealously every time he found someone new at a bar or at a party.

Or every time he’d bring some other girl to the studio. Freddie obviously noticed before everyone else, Brian and John catching your feelings towards Roger after a few death glances you gave to his last hook up.

Freddie, John and even Brian would try to encourage you to tell him but you’d always ignore them.

You’d usually take your frustration out with Brian, though you knew it wasn’t the best, you still did it. 

Roger cheated his last girlfriend with you, and deep down you wanted to feel bad but you didn’t.

Roger was completely aware that you slept with Brian too. He tried to push the anger as far away as he could.

But every time he’d take your blouse off and find dark spots that he was certain he didn’t give you, he’d let the anger take him and fuck you merciless. Sometimes he’d be sweet and slow and other times it’d be hard and sensual.

You obviously noticed his change in behavior and sometimes you’d still think about it as you lay alone on your bed.

It was getting harder each time because he would ask you to do things he normally doesn’t.

Once, he asked you to stay afterwards to cuddle and you declined, saying you had to see Brian. You visibly saw his jaw clench as you mentioned his band mate and your heart raced. You gave him a passionate kiss as a goodbye, one that was obvious he didn’t want to finish but you pulled away and just like that walked out of his apartment.

He was left alone with his blood boiling as he thought of you with Brian. He’d remember you losing yourself beneath him, hands gripping the sheets tightly and chest heaving up and down as you came down from your high. Swallowing the words he meant to say, resisting the desperate need to tell you that Brian would never make you feel like he did, and that he would never love you as he did.

He groaned and decided to call someone else.

•••

“You know, you really have to tell Roger” Brian said as he lit his cigarette

“I can’t” you sighed 

“Why not?”

“Because I’m afraid he’ll break me” you admitted 

“You know Y/N, you are the strongest woman I know” he sat next to you, pulling you into a hug, his bare chest against your bare back.

“Not when it’s about him” you said “I’m sorry Brian, I feel really shitty doing this with you” 

“Don’t feel like that Y/N” he said “You are really amazing” 

You smiled and kissed him lightly

“Let’s sleep” he said and you nodded, letting him hold you as guilt flooded your body.

The next day, you arrived with Brian at the studio and as you greeted everyone you obviously noticed the blonde girl sitting next to Roger, anger going through your veins.

“Oh Hi!” You faked happiness “You must be Vanessa, I’ve heard so much about you” you said, throwing a smirk towards Roger’s way and e looked back at you angrily 

“No, I’m Sophia” the blonde said, anger lacing her words 

“I’m so sorry!” You faked an apology as everyone in the room looked at the scene amused.

“Let’s get to work!” John said, trying to break the tension that had suddenly appeared in the room.

The rest of the day you made it he’ll for Roger and that girl, occasionally calling her other names, knowing exactly that her actual name, and also being clingy towards Brian, noticing Roger’s discomfort.

Freddie and John only laughed. Brian was anxiously waited for Roger to snap and let you continue with your plan.

After a few more hours of this, Roger finally said something “Okay” He abruptly walked towards Sophie “Annie its time for you to go” he said, wincing when he noticed he got her name wrong 

“It’s Sophie” she angrily said and walked out with Roger.

As the pair disappeared you bursted out laughing and the rest of the band did too.

“I see what you are doing darling” Freddie said “I like it” you continued laughing  

“I’ll step out for a bit, I need some fresh air” you walked out of the room and headed outside, only to find Roger at the end of the corridor walking angrily back.

You smirked and acted innocently 

He pushed you against the wall, completely trapping you between his arms “I noticed what you did back there” he said

“Oh really? And what are you going to do?” You sarcastically answered him and he growled, almost capturing your lips with his. But Brian came out and asked Roger to come back inside to continue working.

He growled angrily and you walked away, swaying your hips as he walked behind you.

It was already pretty late and you were starting to feel tired so you decided it was best to say goodbye to everyone and go back to you place. As you said goodbye, Roger was the first to offer you a ride home, and you accepted.

“I guess it’s better if we all go to our homes” John said 

“He’s not coming back” they all agreed and walked out.

•••

The car ride was full with tension, and you hated it.

“Why did you do that?” Roger finally said.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play the innocent card with me, you know exactly what you did” You stopped breathing, panic taking over your body as you thought of what to do.

“Well?” He looked at you for a moment and then back at the road.

“Because I hate when you bring other girls” you started “And I hate the way you make love to me as if you didn’t have hundreds of girls waiting” you started to feel confident

“I hate that you always make me feel like I’m the only one and I hate more that I’m not” tears were starting to fall down from yours ayes and you angrily whipped them away.

“And what I hate more is that I just can’t hate you” you sobbed “I hate that I can’t stop loving you” 

Roger was speechless, looking at you with wide eyes

“I love you asshole” you gasped out, heart racing.

Roger quickly stopped the car, finally arriving at your house.

He grabbed your face and kissed you so slow and sweet that it made you weak. “Thanks for the ride” you said, and the sadness in your voice made Roger wince. You stepped outside and Roger followed you quickly “Y/N wait” he said You turned around, surprised to see him inches away from you.

“I love you too” He managed to let out, the feeling of letting those words out after months making him smile brightly.

You looked at him surprised trying to process everything. The feeling of his lips making you come back to real life and you quickly kissed him back. He opened your door, and as you got inside you quickly made your way towards your bedroom.

As you lay down next to him trying to catch your breath you smiled, looking over at him to make sure this was really happening and as the words “Stay with me” escaped his lips you felt whole and secure, making your way towards his embrace.

He smiled as he felt you relax against him, more relaxed now that he was sure you were his and he was yours.

He fell asleep happily thinking that you’d still be on his arms in the morning.

[vaixation]

Why I've been gone for two weeks – Please note that this post is going to contain some serious content. However, this is a really important personal update from me.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: - Animal death - Suicide ideation - Depression/anxiety/dissociation - (Brief mention of abuse/trauma/C-PTSD)

Post under the Read More. - - -

I'm sure there's a lot of people who didn't even notice I haven't been online anywhere for the past two weeks considering I'm a pretty quiet individual and often keep to myself / disappear off the social radar for months at a time. However, there's a pretty specific reason this time why I haven't been around, and it's important to discuss.

At the time I am writing this, it is currently Friday, May 3, 2019. I'm writing this ahead of time because... I cannot sleep and I need to get some of these thoughts off my mind. This week has been the worst week of my entire life, without exaggeration. I'll start from the beginning.

For those that don't know, a tornado came through my area on April 19th. I would like to state right off the bat that I am fine - it missed my house, but only just barely. We can literally see the path / damage of the tornado from our house. Apparently it actually formed RIGHT THERE - the people who live just like three houses up the road from ours said they actually saw the tornado's funnel come down out of the sky. It's wild to think a tornado could come to life that close to our house. We were very fortunate to be okay.

I can't necessarily say the same for others, however. I don't know if anyone got hurt, but I did hear that one person's house was completely flattened. (Apparently there was actually someone inside, but she went down into the basement and was okay. Also concerning her welfare and loss of property - I heard there was a fundraiser that was helping their family out, and they apparently were on the TV at some point too about it all? That's just what I've heard through the grapevine - it's all second hand information so I don't know how much is accurate and I've no way to double-check right now.) (EDIT: I have double-checked for our area now that I have internet again and I can confirm no-one in our area was actually hurt. All the damage is to buildings and property, thankfully.) There's entire areas of trees that have just been wiped out. And I know there was a bus that literally got thrown up by the wind and is now just sticking out of the ground. Last time I saw it, they still haven't fixed that.

Point being, we lost power for a whole day. They managed to fix the power pretty quickly considering the damage, but the internet? At the time of writing this... I still don't have internet. And that's the primary reason I haven't been around. But it gets so much worse from here on out. For me at least.

So, my week was already really stressful for this reason (not to mention MY JOB requires the internet and I have NOT been able to do any of my work; my bosses know my situation but it's still very stressful.) We called our ISP multiple times trying to get it to work - they've sent out two technicians so far and narrowed it down to the modem router. It wasn't hooked up to a surge protector, and the power going out the way it did seems to have zapped the modem router and it no longer works. So we decided to buy a new one, and I swear we went to at least ten to fifteen different stores looking for a new modem router.

The problem is, all the new modem routers in stock are coaxial cable modem routers. Our ISP is only a VDSL / ADSL modem router (requiring a phone line), and we went through several stores looking for a DSL to coax adapter with no such luck. Apparently, an adapter / converter like that doesn't even exist. The closest thing we could find was an ethernet to coax cable, but that's not what we need obviously. Through some other connections we managed to finally just order a DSL modem router via Ebay; it's supposed to get here on Monday of this week, so... we'll see if it does by then, I guess.

(EDIT: It arrived sooner than expected. We’ve been able to get it up and running, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to post this, obviously.)

But, well. That's not really why this has been the worst week of my life. I mean, it doesn't help, but... I can live without the internet for a week or two, you know? I've gone years without it. Whatever.

The thing is...

My cat died.

And this wasn't just some random cat, okay. His name was Chip - or rather, Slavashado. (It's pronounced "sluh-VAAH-shuh-doe") You see, I modeled his name after T. S. Eliot's poem "The Naming of Cats." Within this poem, it states that a cat must have three names. One is a common, everyday, ordinary name. Chip. One is unique to him. Slavashado. And one, only he himself knows. And he took it to his grave.

Chip's been with me basically almost my entire life. He was 21 years old. I'm 26 right now; I'll be 27 in June. So he's literally been in my life since I was 6 years old. He's always been there for me. Always.

So I cannot possibly put into words how heartbroken I am that he's gone.

I love him with all my heart. And I always will. But he's gone now.

I can't even remotely describe how empty I feel. How utterly alone I am. There's a void in my soul that's so deep it feels like it's going to erode me from the inside out.

You know, I've never lost anyone close to me before. It's not that I'm a stranger to death... far from it. I'll get into that later. But... this is the first time I've ever truly lost someone I really, really, truly cared about. I've always thought grief would be a linear thing. I've seen the Kübler-Ross model of grief more times than I can count. "DABDA" for short - Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

It's not linear. Not for me. I feel all of these things at the same time somehow. It's not like I felt denial first, then moved onto the angry stage. No. I just feel all of them at the same time. And I'm so overwhelmed. And I'll go from one end of this spectrum to the other end and back again. It's far from linear.

The sad thing is, I feel my grip on this world unraveling each day. My world already ended with Chip... He meant everything to me. I love him more than anything else in this whole world. So... I've admittedly been having some very bad, depressive, suicidal thoughts. I'm not actively going to do something to myself, don't worry. But... I've been thinking lately, you know what? If a car runs over me, I don't care. What if the storms knock a tree over on my house and it flattens me? So what. What if I'm in a car wreck and die? I just... feel so apathetic.

It's like that song. "If the silence takes you, then I hope it takes me too."

But... I can't join him. Not yet. I still have to live a full life, you know? I can't come to you yet, sweetheart. I'm so sorry. I want to, but I can't. Not yet. I have to live a life that would make you proud of me, love.

Maybe we'll meet again in another life. Cats have nine lives after all...

But I've also just felt like I've started to really disconnect from reality, too. The other day someone said something - innocent, really - but the angry part of myself wanted to lash out and destroy and hurt. And the scariest thing was, I almost didn't care. Grief's not an excuse to lose your compassion, but I fear that I'm really losing it. It's hard to feel like anything's real, and somehow everything's all too real at the same time.

His health just... declined so rapidly in the last month. He went from being okay and active and about, to suddenly he can't jump anymore. Suddenly he's very lethargic and having a multitude of issues; he wouldn't be able to stand up without falling over. It got to the point where he wouldn't move around much anymore. I had to take care of him on a daily basis; almost 24/7 I'd watch him to make sure he was okay and wasn't having a hard time pooping/peeing and would wash him because he no longer had the strength to take care of himself or move anywhere or do much of anything.

I had to make a certain mixture of foods the vet prescribed to keep his nutrition levels up and to make it so he wouldn't be constipated, and had to monitor that he was eating / drinking enough. Eventually he stopped eating his food, so I ended up mixing it all in water and making it a liquid paste that he could drink instead, which he would gladly do. There were some glands on his throat that were swollen, so I think it was making it hard for him to eat even with the special food we had.

So... it both was and wasn't sudden. On one hand, it happened so fast? His health just plummeted and spiraled downhill within a few weeks. But on the other hand... he was just doing so badly. We took him to the vets multiple times and, there's really only so much that can be done. He was really old, you know? 21 is a long time for a cat to live. It's longer than most cats. I know he lived a long, good life, knowing he was well loved and cared for. And I truly did everything I could for him. I know I can't blame myself for anything, even though I tried to. I did my best, you know? But nothing lasts forever. All things one day die. It's the law of nature. And I'm no stranger to death. I know all too well this reality.

This isn't something I talk about a lot, but one of my parents was really abusive. She was really abusive to animals too. I've seen death. And horrible, traumatizing things too appalling to get into here. I've known from an early age that all things die. It's one reason I'm not... surprised. In a way, I accept that. I understand. I know.

It's why I'm a little obsessed with "morbid" themes, as others have put it. Death. Bones. Rot. Decay. (Plague flight on Flight Rising, anyone?) None of that is new to me. Finding an intrigue in it is a way of coping with it. Did you know that kids who deal with C-PTSD often recreate their trauma through play? Or fixate / obsess on the trauma somehow? That's why I literally relate so heavily to Henry from Fire Emblem: Awakening. He's the same way. He's seen animal death and cruelty. But he's also un-phased by blood and guts and everything. (He denies his trauma, but denial and even amnesia can be a big, big part of trauma. And the way he talks about his past almost sounds like he's dissociated from those feelings. I relate a lot to that too... I honestly find Henry to be very therapeutic to exploring my own feelings at times.) This is the reason I find horror and creepy content fascinating. And more often than not, it's hard to scare me. Fiction is so much less scary than the real thing.

My point is, I'm very aware of death. I'm aware of that finality. I'm aware of its permanence. Nothing I can do will ever bring my cat back. He's gone. So in a way, I accept that. And in a way, I also can't accept that answer. I miss him. I want him here with me.

In a way I'm kind of thankful that our internet wasn't working. It allowed me to attend to him in his last days without any other distractions. I spent so much time with him. And that gives me so small amount of peace, knowing that.

And I think he knew, the day he died. It was April 28th, somewhere in between 9-10 PM. I can't believe it's only been five days. It feels like an eternity without him here. But, that day, he was suddenly a lot more active than he'd been in months. He was up and walking around and came over to me and crawled up behind where I was sitting and snuggled and cuddled with me. I take comfort in the fact we shared a beautiful moment that day. Just sitting there, petting him, breathing in his wonderful scent and burying my face into his soft, warm fur. The deep purring, the soothing vibrations of his noise. I wish that moment could last a lifetime. I'm so thankful for the time I had with him though. It both feels like it was the right time - that it was meant to be - and at the same time I feel like he's left me far too soon. I miss him. I miss him so, so very much.

At least I got to hold him when he passed. I stroked his fur and cried as the last of his spasms died down. I've always feared I would find him one day and he just wouldn't wake up, so seeing him actually pass... it was scary. But it was good for me too. It brings me some small amount of closure that I could be with him in his final moments. He didn't have to die alone. For that I'm so thankful.

You deserve the best of everything, love. You were my faithful friend and companion for basically my whole life. I'll never, ever forget you.

Where are you now? Are you with the stars? Are you in my dreams? Where-ever you are, I hope you're safe. And happy. And at peace. Because I love you so, so much. And I always will. Now until the end of time, when death claims me too one day.

You know, at the start of the year, on New Year's, somehow... I knew. Somehow I knew this was going to be the year. I don't know why I did, but I just... felt it. And I promised myself, no matter what happens, I am going to make this a good year. And I will. But right now, I'm hurting. I'm hurting really bad.

Nothing lasts forever.

Not even pain. I'll be okay. But right now, I'm not.

"Whenever there is a meeting, a parting is sure to follow. However, that parting need not last forever... Whether a parting be forever or merely for a short time... That is up to you." - The Happy Mask Salesman, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask

We buried him amongst some of the trees growing back behind our house. I buried him with some things - that heart pendant I used to slip into my photographs to mark them as "mine," for instance. It was a really important necklace to me. So I thought it was only appropriate that he have it. My heart belongs to him, after all. I buried him with a book that was also really sentimental to me. It's called Consider Love. The last line in the book was "Consider my love for incredible you." I signed it to Chip (Slavashado), from me (my name). I love you, sweetheart. I love you so, so much. Do you know that? I'm sure you did.

And I sang him a song, one last time. I don't know how many of you know this, but... when I was a child, my parents used to sing me a song. It became really sentimental to me because of this - memories of childhood days long past, so I sang it to him too. I modified some of the lyrics though.

"You are my sunshine, My only sunshine, You make me happy When skies are gray... You never know, dear, How much I love you... Please don't take My sunshine away.

The other night, dear, As I lay sleeping, I dreamt I held you In my arms. When I awoke, dear, I was mistaken, So I hung My head and cried.

You told me once, dear, You truly loved me. And nothing else could Come between. But now you've left me, To fly to heaven, You're amongst The stars and dreams."

I wrote him a letter, drew him a little picture, and wrote down those lyrics for him too. He'll always have it with him. We put him on his bed and put all of that in a box and put that into the ground. We're planning on planting some flowers out there.

Digging a hole is so much harder than I thought it'd be. There's so many rocks and roots and the chunks of dirt can be hard to lift out of the ground. To be honest I wasn't much help though. I basically just cried the entire time. I didn't even know my face could make that shape. I've never seen my own face in such agony before, but looking in the mirror I wouldn't even recognize myself for the sorrow in my features. It's just so foreign. Alien. It's weird to me.

In a way, actually physically burying him gave me closure. In a way it just made it so much worse. I feel all sides of this grief spectrum at the same time. Acceptance. Denial. Those two things are one and the same now.

It's okay to grieve. It's normal. It's natural. But it just hurts so much.

No amount of reading about grief can really... prepare you for it.

I've cried and cried until my head hurts and my face does too. Every time I open the door to my room, it hits me all over again. There's no one here. There's no one waiting for me at home, no small face peeking at me from the top of the stairs. It's so empty here. It's so lonely. It's so unfathomably quiet. And it's just too much.

I've even gone out to visit his grave, came back inside the house, opened the room to my door, and realized - he's not here. And I was literally just at his grave. It's all the small things, you know? I miss him in so many ways, little things I've gotten used to that tell me of his existence, but that presence - it's gone. And when I'm here in this room, it's so crushingly obvious. His aura no longer flows from his position. Where he should be, there's just nothing. He's not here anymore. He never will be here again. I know that. I do. I know he's gone. But it's just... it's so weird.

He's here one day, and gone the next.

"The years now before us, Fearful and unknown. I never imagined I'd face them on my own. May these thousand winters, Swiftly pass I pray. I love you - I miss you - All these miles away..." - Lullaby for a Princess

I thought I'd have more time. I looked at the can of food I had planned to feed him the next day (and I was really excited for him to try this flavor, too) and just lost it. There's not a tomorrow. He's gone.

I found a trace of his fur on a piece of furniture, and I just started crying all over again.

I leafed through some of the few pictures I've taken of him over the years - far, far too few. And I wanted so badly to reach through the screen onto the other side, where he is. Because he's not here anymore. It's just so hard.

I want him to come back to me.

And at the same time, I don't.

It was meant to be. There's no undoing what's done. He's gone. I know that. But it doesn't change my feelings. I miss him. I love him. And I hurt. I need him. What am I going to do without you, love? You were my constant. You were always there for me, every time I've wanted to end my life. Every time I've wanted to give up. You were there. I need you. I need you so much. You've left me too soon. But I wouldn't undo a single moment. I'll cherish each one of them.

"But time is not eternal. Please make the most of your time." - The Happy Mask Salesman, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask

The fact that it's not eternal is what makes life so precious. Time is what gives each and every moment and second of our lives meaning, because that's time you'll never get back.

It's time like this that I'm also thankful for all the storylines I've grown attached to. Somehow, they're really cathartic to me. And they've all taught me things that have made this easier to deal with than if I didn't have them.

Super Danganronpa 2 with its message that, to give up on life is a blasphemy unto life itself. Don't give up, or you're spitting on the beauty that life is. Even if it's hard. That's all part of what makes life beautiful and worth living.

Or Undertale. That if you could control time, rewind, redo, it'd lose all meaning. Life would be static. Unmoving. And you'd get bored. Very, very bored. You'd lose what makes you... well... you. You lose yourself.

Pandora Hearts, that undoing what's happened - even tragic - would lose the meaning of what's happening. Turning back time doesn't fix things. It destroys what you had. Be thankful for the time you have, however short. Because that's what gives each moment so much meaning.

Majora's Mask, because it teaches me that loss and grief are all a part of life. And you have to learn to move on, and let go. All things come to an end. And that's okay. When one door closes, another opens. Life moves on.

There's... well. A reason why those four storylines are my top favorite storylines. They're therapeutic to me. They help me cope with life in general, and everything I've gone through.

The day before he died, we went out to eat at a Chinese restaurant. The fortune cookie literally told me, "Opportunity is knocking on your door - answer it tomorrow."

"May be a reason why all the doors are closed So you could open one that leads you to the perfect road" - Katy Perry, "Firework"

You know that song, "Wake Me Up When September Ends" by Green Day? If I'm not mistaken, it was written after the passing of the singer's dad. And the sentiment is something I relate to. Wake me up a few months from now. I just don't want to be here right now. I'm so tired, and so very sad. There's a sorrow deep inside my soul too heavy to bear right now. I just want to sleep. I want it to be over. I don't want to deal with all of this right now. It's so much, and I'm overwhelmed.

I don't know if this factors into denial, but I've been trying to get out of the house more. Staying here just reminds me of what I've lost. I've been taking walks outside. Just anything to get my mind off of Chip. All the scents and sounds. The life that's buzzing around right now - the seasons are beginning to change into summer, and there's so many insects and birds about. Life continues on.

Somehow it's comforting to me. And somehow it's not. The more time I spend out of the house, the more I can't tell what's real anymore. The real world feels like a dream. Fake somehow. And my house just feels like a nightmare. I dread going to sleep every night. What nights haven't been restless have been filled with fear. What if I have a nightmare? What if I have a dream where he's alive? It will just break my heart all over again to wake up in the morning and realize he's not. It hits me every morning even without that, when I wake up. The sadness returns tenfold each day. I don't know how much longer I can go on like this. Hope seems like a concept far away.

"I'll see you laugh, I'll see you smile, I'll be with you... Just for a while.

But when the morning comes, And the sun begins to rise...

I will lose you.

Because it's just a dream, When I open up my eyes, I will...

Lose you...

I used to believe in forever. But forever's too good to be true. I've hung a wish On every star It hasn't done much good so far.

I can only dream of you, Wherever you are..." - "Wherever You Are", Winnie the Pooh

I know things are going to be okay. But today is not the day.

What's kept me going is busying myself with as much as I can. Thoughts of what I'm going to do each day. I'm taking it one hour at a time at this point. It's all I can do. Just keep going. Just a little farther. The moment I stop to unwind and take a break is when I start to unravel and remember. My thoughts always drift back to the same place somehow. He's gone. What am I supposed to do now?

Perhaps this won't make any sense. And quite honestly I don't care if it doesn't make sense to anyone else, but. Somehow... I felt like Chip has given me one last hope. He left me with something, a feeling. The day after he died, I just... I felt something. Like he was telling me that things were going to be okay, and directed my thoughts to what I should do, now that he's gone.

I want a new kitten.

I'm not replacing Chip. I can never replace him. He's one of a kind, and always will be. But when one door closes, another one opens. I need something to hold. I need something tangible, that's real, to touch, and hug, and cradle, and care for. I need something that needs ME to anchor me to this world, and give me a reason to stay. I need something that can break me out of this cycle of dissociation and ground me. And caring for another life is therapeutic. It makes me feel needed. Like I have a purpose.

Everyone needs to be loved, and to give love.

You know what's wild? The other members of my household unanimously came to the same decision without me even discussing it with them. Somehow, it feels right. I get this weird feeling Chip actually... sort of pushed our thoughts towards this. I don't know why I think that? By all logic that wouldn't be possible but then again, I truly don't think Chip was an ordinary cat at this point. He was so much more.

Do you ever have a dream, and in that dream you just know something? Without knowing why? But you know it for a fact, in that weird dream-sense? For me, that's what it's like. I just know. Even if no-one else believes me on this, I just know.

I'm not great with people. But I love cats. I've always been really good at reading their body language. And I admittedly do like kids. Whenever I go to my family reunions, I always hang out with the kids, not the adults. Their energy is so fun and invigorating. There's so much life in kids, and it makes me just a little happier to spend time with them, even if I hardcore lack social skills. I might not be great around kids, but I really try. I think my cousin’s children like to spend time with me. Their mother keeps telling me so, at least.

Point is, I love that energy. I know a kitten is going to just be energy incarnate. But I think that's what I need in my life. Something to protect and love and spoil. Something to pour all of my affection and effort into. I often feel really restless. Like the life I'm living right now isn't enough. And I'm sure a kitten would more than keep me on my toes and keep me busy. I expect many sleepless nights. I expect to be woken up like 6-7 times per night, even. But you know what? That's okay. I don't mind at all.

I got to play with some of the cats that my relatives have last time I was there and it just reminded me... how long it's been since I've played with a cat like that. My cat was too old to want to play (and I didn't want to cause him issues, he had a heart murmur and so I also didn't want to get him too excited in his old age because oh dear), so I've missed being able to manipulate toys into being a cat's "prey" and lazer pointers and have cats go nuts after it. I've really missed that. So having a kitten that loves to play? Sign me the heck up.

There's a lot of things I wanted to do with my cat, but he was just too old.

You see, I was only 6 when I got my cat. So I was a kid. And I didn't really get to like... spend money on spoiling my cat because at that age it's not like I had money? Once I turned around 20 or so I started really wanting to buy things for my cat, and show him how much I loved him by getting him nice things and toys and a cat tree and all sorts of other things. But he didn't really... like most of what I got him. And it really made me feel frustrated and sad and disappointed because I really wanted to show him how much he meant to me. But at the same time I was afraid of getting him anything because he wouldn't use most of what I'd spent my precious money on. Money doesn't grow on trees.

I understand, he was old by the time I actually had money to do things for him with. But that's all the more reason why a kitten really excites me. That dang lazer pointer I bought? I bet a kitten would love that! (I mean dang I even... bought one that has a USB stick on the end so you can recharge it because I really wanted it to last. Chip was super apathetic to the lazer pointer for the most part.) I wonder if a kitten would like that catnip treat I bought from Jackson Galaxy's shop? (In case you don't know who Jackson Galaxy is, he's a cat behaviorist and honestly knows so much about cats and their behaviors and he very clearly has a passion and great love for feline friends.)

Also that fun little cat tunnel I got my cat. He hated it. I thought he'd really like it because he liked small spaces (I used to have little boxes set up for him because of this) and also he really liked sitting on crinkly / noise-making things like plastic bags and the inside of this tunnel was super crinkly sounding. So I thought it'd be perfect. But he hecking hated that cat tunnel to the point where I almost threw it away because he would avoid it with a passion.

But I bet a kitten would love it. And that cat tree I bought! And I'm gonna get a nice squishy soft bed for him too when I get him since we buried Chip with his bed. And just. Something colorful! And lots of little toys and things! My head fills with so many ideas and plans and things I've got to prepare for for the arrival of a new kitten. I don't have one yet, but I'll get one soon.

It's the only thing right now that fills my heart with hope, and love. I want to take a new life in with me, and care for this new life to the best of my ability, and love him with all my heart. I'm gonna spoil him in toys and fun things and shower him with as much time and affection as I can. I need this. I need something to love and hold and care for. I have some really strong protective instincts, so nurturing something else - it's really therapeutic to me on so many levels.

We're going to get another black cat, just like Chip. I'm not superstitious really, but. You know what I personally think? That black cats bring you GOOD luck instead of bad luck. You're blessed by their presence when they're in your life. It's when they LEAVE you that the bad luck comes rolling in. That's why crossing a black cat's path supposedly causes you bad luck. Because now they're gone.

Plus, cats actually purr at a frequency that's been proven to heal bones and soothe. That's why cats make a really good companion for people dealing with depression, to be honest. And heck knows I have a broken heart that needs mending.

"Everything's gonna be alright, Everything's gonna be okay. It's gonna be a good, good life." - Bebe Rexha, "I'm A Mess"

[qethnehzul]

Forget Me Not

[Conversations, presumably, are in dovahzul. Words: >4k

Snippets from various conversations across time between Krosis and his patron dragon, Gruthrathlir.

Characters: Nonvul [Krosis], Gruthrathlir

Warnings: None]

The cold winds that covered the temple grounds that signed their esteemed patron’s arrival didn’t feel nearly as frigid as they usually did. Nonvul had been pacing back and forth on the open plaza where his patron was offered sacrifices when the great beast decided to pay him a visit.

Nonvul watched as the magnificent dragon descended down onto his perch, landing with a gentle gust of powder snow that rattled the gold decorations on his robes. He bowed deeply to the beast, awaiting the rattle of Gruthrathlir’s scales to tell him he could rise.

“Nonvul,” Gruthrathlir rumbled, tucking his wings in to his sides.

“Lord Gruthrathlir. Welcome, as always,” Nonvul replied, straightening his back out.

Formalities aside, the dragon lowered his head down to Nonvul’s level. “You pace. Does something plague you?” the dragon questioned, a hint of concern in his booming voice.

Nonvul felt his face flush under the mask, and rapidly he shook his head. “No, no, not at all milord. Nothing plagues me,” he assured the dragon.

His voice told otherwise. Gruthrathlir rumbled, stretching out a wing to climb down onto the ground. He pushed his giant head forward, snout pressing against the metal of Nonvul’s robes. “Lies. What ails you?”

Nonvul swayed with the force of the dragon’s gentle push, taking a step back to right himself. He took a deep breath, reaching up to gently cup the dragon’s lower jaw in his hands. His mind searched for the words in dovahzul while Gruthrathlir waited patiently, frigid air from his nostrils causing the fur on his robes to frost over with each breath. “Oh, i’m a fool Lord Gruthrathlir,” he whispered, hanging his head.

Gruthrathlir lifted his snout up, pushing at Nonvul’s mask for him to remove it. Nonvul obeyed, pulling the slab of bronze off before looking up at the dragon with worried eyes. The dragon pulled back, observing the man in the dim light of the moons. His head tilted to the side, settling down against the stone. “Has my priest made a mistake?”

Nonvul exhaled, lowering his head. He watched as Gruthrathlir’s tail curled around, enclosing him in the dragon’s grip. “I do not know. I know that I have, but I do not feel as though it is a mistake,” he said softly.

It was a mistake. He knew that. He was a priest, a high priest, a priest with a mask - it was forbidden for him to entertain relationships, let alone with another priest, another high priest, another masked priest. Their relationship was punishable by death and worse. If anyone were to find out… Nonvul’s heart twisted. Things would not end well, and he could not bare the thought of bringing such a blow to Miraak.

But in  the same breath, the thought of the other priest… it made his heart quiver. The way Miraak, the glorious, wonderful, great Miraak, had looked at him… Nonvul felt his cheeks fluster. His mind had been fully unable to stop remembering how he’d felt a few days prior, when he’d been pinned over the edge of the hot springs under his beloved mentor and what had been exchanged between them.

“It is not like my priest to hide his thoughts,” Gruthrathlir mused. “It is not like my priest to make mistakes. Is one to worry about such?” He questioned.

Nonvul pursed his lips, before shaking his head again. “No, no,” he said again quickly, reaching up his free hand to the dragon. “No, it… It is nothing to worry about. I promise you. I would do nothing to worry you, milord, or to cause you dishonor or harm.” His voice cracked a bit, and he cursed himself for being unable to lie about it. Gruthrathlir sorted out cold air, and Nonvul shamefully looked to the ground. He knew he shared a close bond with his patron, but he feared what the dragon might do to find he was breaking the rules. He knew what the likely outcome could be, and it scared him. “I beg you for your forgiveness, for I have been weak milord,” Nonvul spoke, dropping to his knees before the dragon.

Gruthrathlir’s spines raised up in curiosity, dipping his head down to follow his priest. “Forgiveness cannot  be given if one does not know what injury you seek forgiveness for.”

Nonvul felt the dragon’s cold breath ruffle his hair. “I know not if you have words for it, but I am… I long for another. I know I am forbidden from doing so, but I cannot help it. I am weak.”

The dragon paused, before letting out a low chuckle. “Mm, you are… as your kind call it, in ‘love’?”

Nonvul tensed. Yes. He was. He was absolutely, head over heels in love. His stupid little harbored crush he never, ever dreamed of being truly a possibility had come true, and his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest to even think about his new lover. Slowly, Nonvul nodded. “Yes,” he said quietly, biting the inside of his cheek as he braced himself for the worst. He was in love, but he would not lie to his patron. “Will you punish me for such?”

Gruthrathlir’s cool gaze lingered on Nonvul for a long moment, before his large head came to settle against Nonvul’s chest. “And make sorrow of my priest? No,” he rumbled. “Tell me, my priest, the one that catches your eye such. They make your heart tremble and they make you pace - surely, they must be great to have my priest’s attention,” Gruthrathlir chuckled, the end of his tail twitching like a cat’s.

Nonvul exhaled in relief, setting his mask down on the ground. He reached out, slowly embracing the dragon’s face as he pressed his forehead against the beast’s scaley snout. “Truely, you are just, Lord Gruthrathlir. I am eternally blessed by your patronage,” he sighed, closing his eyes tightly as he felt the dragon press back into his hold. “It… it is Miraak, milord. I have caught his eye as he has caught mine, and he returns my affections.”

Gruthrathlir’s body rumbled under Nonvul’s hold. “Miraak…? The dragonborn?” The dragon questioned, seeming surprised.

Nonvul nodded again. “Yes, milord. I pray that does not displease you.”

The dragon pulled his snout away, before he carefully nipped at Nonvul’s shoulder. The priest winced, but the dragon’s sharp teeth only lightly grazed him through his thick clothing and armor. “My priest seeks only the greatest of partners, as he should. This dragon would be disappointed if he sought any less,” Gruthrathlir spoke, pulling his head back. “So as long as you do not forget your place here, I have no reason to bring punishment upon you. Other dragons may dislike such, but I care not.”

Nonvul exhaled in relief, looking up at his patron. “Thank you, milord. My place will always be at your feet first. Nothing will ever be more important than you,” he said, bowing deeply again. “And your approval means everything to me.” He felt himself relax a bit as he rightened himself out to gaze up at the dragon again.

Nonvul had always been a bright-faced man - though many dragons hated it, it was one of the things Gruthrathlir liked about his servant. But ever since he’d come forward about his relationship with the dragonborn, his mood seemed to only be brighter. It pleased the dragon to see his most faithful so envigored - he had always been unwaveringly a loyal, devout servant, but he had only become more upbeat and faithful since Miraak had stepped closer into his life. Allegiance guide for certain, the dragon thought with a chuckle. Gruthrathlir wouldn’t have allowed for the relationship to continue if it had caused the quality of his servant’s work to decline, but he was rather pleased to see it had only improved it. He understood the displeasure other dragons had in allowing their priests to show devotion to others, but perhaps that only showed why his priest was superior to theirs.

“Miraak visited again, I see,” the dragon rumbled in amusement as Nonvul strided out onto the plaza.

The priest seemed a bit taken aback, but the smile returned to his face as quickly as always. “He did. I pray that has not displeased you.”

“I am only displeased that he did not pay me a visit,” the dragon rumbled, scales rattling, but Nonvul knew his patron was not truly upset with it.

“I tried. I’m afraid he is… worried about being here at times,” Nonvul admitted, taking his seat on the altar before the dragon’s perch.

The dragon tilted his head to the side. “The priest worries?”

Nonvul’s gaze dropped a bit. “He does not wish to let anyone see us, anything from us. He is afraid of punishment.”

Gruthrathlir rumbled lowly. “Zokgaaftu does not share my sentiment?”

Nonvul’s brow furrowed. “He does not talk to his patron like you and I do. He fears that if even a servant sees us, we may face punishment. He speaks often of High Priest Konahrik’s enforcement of the rules and tradition.”

Gruthrathlir hummed, his tail swaying slowly. “This displeases you.”

Nonvul nodded, looking at the ground. “I understand it. But I wish it did not have to be so.”

The dragon knew that even if he did not care for his priest’s relationship, other dragons might - especially Zokgaaftu. Even if Nonvul might be safe under his wing, it would not prevent backlash of other sorts.

It was strange when Nonvul’s usual chatter of his secret meetings with his lover began to lose their warmth, when his tone grew flatter, his gaze drifted more to the side, the smile on his face seemed less alive. When his conversations became less and less about his secret love, and more and more when the topic seemed to extinguish the light in Nonvul’s eyes that Gruthrathlir didn’t think would ever dwindle. It made his white scales bristle. His priest slowed down, and though his work never faltered the bright man the dragon had come to know as his beloved priest seemed to be replaced with a husk.

“He has hurt you.”

Nonvul did not look up at the dragon. “I have hurt myself,” he whispered back.

The dragon rumbled angrily, spines flaring along his back. “I will devour him. He has hurt my priest.”

Nonvul closed his eyes tightly. “You cannot,” he dared to say, swallowing dryly. “Nobody… they can’t know. We were never supposed to be together in the first place.”

Gruthrathlir’s claws dug into the stone above, sending ice and rock cascading down in his fury. Nonvul was right. To turn on Miraak would only lead to Nonvul’s punishment as well, if not his own at the claws of Zokgaaftu. The dragon exhaled a stream of frost from his nostrils in frustration. Perhaps he should not have let Nonvul pursue the other priest. Perhaps he now truly understood why other dragons forbid such a thing. If he were to punish Miraak, all others would find out what he’d known about and allowed. The dragon let out a sharp bellow, making the priest below him flinch. “Foolish,” the dragon snarled, pulling his head back. “My priest is plenty. He is a fool for harming you.” His talons shifted back and forth on the rock, anxious that he could do nothing to remedy the situation. “Does the priest pursue another?”

Nonvul grimaced. “I do not know. I see High Priest Zahkriisos with him during meetings, and I have heard that he… spends his days now with her, Master Ahzidal, and High Priest Dukaan. They say he does not leave Solstheim often now.”

Gruthrathlir paced back and forth on his perch. “Zahkriisos? The priest of Mahkofus? He is a fool! You best her in every way,” he insisted, rolling his head in frustration. He didn’t know what he was trying to achieve, but he did not like to see Nonvul wither because of Miraak.

Nonvul shook his head. “It… milord, please… do not fret over this. That is his choice. If that is what pleases him now…” Nonvul felt the words turn sour in his mouth, “then… then may he be happy there. I was not enough.”

Gruthrathlir let out another bellow, shaking snow and ice off of the surrounding rocks. “Not enough?” The dragon roared. His tail lashed around, cutting a chunk out of a rock behind him.

Nonvul raised his hands. “Please, milord. I did not… I did not mean to anger you,” he spoke, trying not to choke on his words. He dared to look up at the dragon, and Gruthrathlir could see the pain in his teary eyes. “Please… I will not speak of him, or it, again. I should never have pursued it in the first place. Please forgive me,” Nonvul begged, sliding off of the bench to sink to his knees in the snow. His back bowed as he threw his hands forward, pressing his forehead into the snow as he deepened his bow.

Gruthrathlir fell still. He could hear the soft sob from the priest as he kneeled there, and slowly the dragon moved to descend from his perch. His wings came to shelter the priest, curling his head down to rest it against the man’s body. “He has hurt my priest, I cannot forgive that. Dimmed a burning fire and reduced it to a ember. I cannot forgive that,” Gruthrathlir spoke, moving to nuzzle his face under Nonvul’s body.

The priest reached out and hugged onto his snout tightly, eyes squeezed tight. “I’m sorry Gruthrathlir. I should do better. I’m sorry I have only grown weak from this.”

The dragon nuzzled into his chest slowly, pushing him back against the altar. “Not weak. Never weak. Only wounded. Wounds heal. My priest is not weak.”

Nonvul took a deep breath, running his hands along the soft scales under Gruthrathlir’s jaw. “No god could be kinder than you to forgive blunders like mine,” he whispered.

“No servant could replace one such as you,” Gruthrathlir replied, unsure of how else to speak his feelings. Nonvul was not like others. Nonvul was his priest, and he could not be replaced. None before him could even come close. And he felt pain to see his priest grieving.

Nonvul snorted weakly. “Surely, any could be better than I at this point. I must be disappointing you deeply.”

The dragon chuckled. “If I was displeased with you, I might have eaten you,” he teased, opening his mouth to gently place his teeth around Nonvul’s shoulder. He did not bite down though, and quickly let go to press his face against the man’s chest again. “This wound is not fatal. You will heal. You will burn bright again,” the dragon assured, before finally pulling his face away.

Nonvul looked up at the dragon, leaning back against the altar. “I pray that I will. If all else fails, I will for you milord.”

The wail that escaped the priest’s throat boiled the rage in the dragon’s chest. Gruthrathlir had hardly landed on the ground before Nonvul’s arms were around his snout, the human’s face pressed against the scales as hot tears cascaded down his face. The man let out another weak cry as the dragon coiled his body around the priest’s.

They had been betrayed. And he had lead the betrayal.

And he was gone now.

Nonvul’s body leaned heavily against Gruthrathlir’s snout as his wings wrapped around him to block out the snow and the sound of the man’s grieving. Gruthrathlir took the silence as a chance to understand himself what had happened.

Miraak had been plotting to betray them. He understood now that, perhaps, that was what had caused him to leave his priest. Nonvul would never have betrayed the dragons, and he was right to have known Nonvul was far more faithful, the dragon bitterly realized. His priest was as righteous and loyal as he had always said, and far more than that so-called allegiance guide. Nonvul remained truthful to his name. Amidst the anger, he felt proud his priest had not succumbed to the traitor’s ranks. But in that, he understood his priest’s pain. Nonvul had believed. Nonvul had so deeply believed in Miraak, in what he was named for, in him. Gruthrathlir begrudgingly admitted to himself that he had too at first.

At least nineteen of his brethren had fallen and been devoured by Miraak at his last stand before he was slain, along with his three treacherous companions. Gruthrathlir could not swallow the loss of so many of his kin. Gone. Dead. Truly gone. It made him tremble with rage. He had not been told of the attack, and he was certain he would have joined if he had known. But as much as he wished to believe he would have been strong enough not to fall to the traitor, he knew full well that may not have been the case. Zokgaaftu had fought against his brethren, enslaved by some power of Miraak’s. Miraak had turned dragons against their own kin. He had severed the land itself.

Nonvul’s grip tightened on Gruthrathlir’s snout.

Nonvul had courted a dangerous beast.

Gruthrathlir did not need to say anything to the man. He simply remained there with his face pressed into the priest’s robes, sheltering him from the storm. What words could encompass either’s pain anyways?

“Krosis.”

This time, it was not an apology. It was not an expression of their pain.

It was his name.

Krosis’s heavy gaze stared at the snow below Gruthrathlir’s perch, before he slowly nodded. “Yes, milord?” His voice was as empty as the winds around them.

Gruthrathlir’s scales bristled. His priest, his beloved priest. Nonvul, the noble, the honorable, with his bronze mask and his brightness, his eager loyalty and servitude.

They had not approached him and asked him, his patron, for permission. They had not asked him to rename his priest. No, they had stripped that from him. They had stripped the dragon of his own honor as they stripped his darling priest of his own, by taking his name and making him an apology.

Gruthrathlir’s anger boiled once more. In the aftermath of their betrayal, while all were still reeling from the pain and loss of brethren and healing from their treachery, the hidden relationship had come to light, and though no punishment would come the dragon and his priest had become laughing stocks of the others.

How could you let your priest mingle with such a traitor? How could you have let him break the rules? Your priest was with the traitors. Perhaps he could be one of them. At least he was foolish enough to be with one. You were foolish enough to allow it.

Accusations. Sneers. Jabs.

Gruthrathlir did not waver. He didn’t care to. The other dragons would be angry at anything they could now. Miraak was dead, and far out of their grasps. Perhaps Gruthrathlir was the closest thing they had left to the snake for them to turn their anger towards. It was misplaced, but Gruthrathlir would weather it.

But his priest…

Gruthrathlir descended to the ground as he always had.

Krosis. The betrayal ripped open a wound that was still healing and tore it deeper. Gruthrathlir wondered if perhaps this time it would be fatal, or if his dear priest would simply bleed out.

He did not press his snout to the priest. He held it at arm’s length, staring down at the man’s mask. Did he blame him for this?

Slowly, Krosis reached a hand out. He did not place it on his patron’s face as he used to, but instead left it to linger just a few inches away. Did his patron hate him?

Gruthrathlir pressed his snout against the man’s hand, pushing it back until his face came to rest against the man again. Slowly, Krosis wrapped his arms around Gruthrathlir, the cold mask pressing against the scales instead of his warm skin.

“I have failed you,” he whispered, voice metallic under the mask.

“You have never failed me,” the dragon replied, his voice much softer than once could imagine from a dragon. “Never.”

Krosis’s heart ached. His patron never gave up on him. Somehow, despite it all, his patron always believed in him. He was never deserving of such a just god. “There is talk of rebellion,” he whispered, tightening his grip on the dragon’s face.

“I know,” Gruthrathlir replied softly. “My brothers laugh of it. They believe no such harm could come of it.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No.”

Wind howled through the stones.

Miraak’s rebellion had sparked something in the hearts of others. Or, perhaps, it had simply shown others their chance. Krosis and Gruthrathlir were not fools. Their time was starting to run short.

“I will remain by your side until the very end, Lord Gruthrathlir,” Krosis ensured, his voice still strained. He was trying to redeem himself. Trying to prove he was not so shameful.

Gruthrathlir did not need it. His priest had never needed redemption. “As I know you will,” the dragon rumbled. “Until the end.”

Through the fighting that broke out in their temple.

Through the long years of marching their people to safety.

Until Krosis’s body fell for the last time in the blood-soaked snow.

Until his beloved priest was taken into the arms of his people to be buried.

Until his sarcophagus had been abandoned at the top of Shearpoint.

Until his beloved priest’s slayers came to slay him as well.

Gruthrathlir promised.

His people were a loss. They had fled at the sight of their pursuers, leaving Krosis’s sarcophagus ajar in the snow where they’d simply dropped it and ran. It had taken the dragon to right it and push the lid back on over his companion before he shoved it to the side of a old word wall.

I will see you again.

Even as the painful jab of a spear broke through his chest and sundered the last breath from him, Gruthrathlir clung to those words. They had lost this fight, but another day…

His white scales glistened with blood in the weak rays of light that pierced through the clouds overhead as he made his last few limps to where the sarcophagus had been hidden under a pile of snow. The great beast collapsed, his head coming to rest a few feet from his companion’s resting place. Men gathered closer towards him, weapons pointed and ready to attack again.

The dragon’s eyes closed. That was fine. He would be there. He had buried his priest under the snow and a layer of ice so that their pursuers might leave it be.

He would see him again. That he was sure of. He would see him again when he awoke again.

The thought brought a smile to the dragon’s lips as he exhaled his last breath.

[story-of-lost-magic]

Chapter 106

 “No! You surely jest? Cross was a professor? Oh please you must tell me more!” Mia’s cup splashed slightly as she waved her hand in mirth before downing the plum wine and quickly filling it back up, but not before she took a moment to top off the glasses of the rest of those seated at the table.

 “Must we?” Cross said, quiet enough to not be heard as he blocked Makina’s outstretched cup with his hand. The Spirit Goddess pouted but Cross did not relent. Having to deal with a sober Makina was a daunting enough task.

  Lexi sipped her wine at a more leisurely pace. “He was quite a good professor, to speak truthfully. His knowledge of magic theory was impressive and I even learned some things I did not know.”

 “So what was the cause in the end?”

 “A succubus,” Lexi explained the situation. How Eliza had used the school as her hunting grounds, slowly siphoning off life force from the students. How Lara had used her own abilities to contact the guild. She faltered however, as she came near the end of the story, her eyes darkening. “She…. caught me by surprise. It was like I was trapped inside of myself. I could feel my body moving, but I had no control over it. Even when I saw Cross I….

 “Lexi was the one who took her down in the end.” Cross took up the tale. “I was pretty much running scared. A few more seconds and she probably would have killed me. If I wasn’t immune to her powers, I wouldn’t have even had that.”

 “Team work. That is why you were able to survive.” Mia reached over and playfully ruffled Cross’s hair. “I’m glad to see you’ve surrounded yourself with people you can trust.”

 Cross moved to push her hand away then relented, allowing himself to be pulled into what amounted to a headlock, carefully using a single finger to keep Mia’s cup from spilling.

 “What else have you done? I have heard many things have been happening on the mainland. Magic seems to be flourishing again. I imagine that has kept you quite busy.”

 “We totally defeated a spider person,” Romeo said nonchalantly, tipping back his glass and draining it in a single gulp. “Wasn’t really hard or anything.”

 “Banksy defeated her,” Makina said. “You were unconscious for a good portion of it, if I remember correctly.”

 “We all worked together,” Banksy mumbled softly into his cup. “I didn’t do that much.”

 “He’s being modest,” Lexi said. “Without Banksy there the mission would have been a complete failure.

 Romeo rolled his eyes “Yeah fine, Banksy did do some stuff I guess, but I was the one who took out the guards. And I was under some kind of spell. Not unconscious, thank you very much. At least not until the end. And at least I was there. Cross got kicked out of the house before the fun even began.”

 “Ho?” Mia’s grip around Cross’s neck tightened. “Maybe you’re not as helpful as I thought.”

 “It worked out for the best anyway. I had a courier request back at the guild.”

 “And how did that go?” Mia asked. She showed no signs of releasing Cross any time soon.

 “It went…” Avril’s face flashed through Cross’s mind. Something somewhere between a grimace and a smile crept onto his face. “I completed the request.”

 “I see.” Mia gave him one final squeeze before letting him go and turning her eyes on Lexi. “I am told you are also known as Midnight, yes?”

 Lexi shifted in her seat slightly. “Yes. I am.”

 “I thought it odd, when Jiana told me. I was under the impression that Midnight was a man.”

 Lexi’s cheeks grew red and she tossed a glance towards Cross, who was suddenly very interested in the wine inside his glass.

 “Yes. The guild felt it would be helpful if my identity was kept… vague. I would not go so far as to call it secret but still…”

 “A wise move. I’m sure Jiana had a hand in it.” Mia nodded. “You are also the most recent winner of the Dance of Blades.”

 “Yes.”

 “Wonderful tournament. I hope to attend again in the future. Tomo actually wished to participate this year, but unfortunately was not able to.”

 “Probably for the best.” Cross spoke the words mostly to himself, but he still drew Mia’s eye.

 “I also heard rumors that a Tenchi user participated this year. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you Cross?”

 Cross choked on his wine. Coughing hastily he shook his head. “Not particularly, no.”

 Makina tilted her head to the side. “But that was you.”

 Banksy and Romeo both fought to contain a snicker as Cross grew pale, his eyes quickly flicking to Mia then returning down to the table.

 “So, Cross,” Mia placed her wine glass down and leaned towards him. “Did you win?”

 Cross did not look up. “Not… Exactly.”

 “Did you lose focus?”

 “I… I wouldn’t say that I lost focus so much that I…”

 “His opponent kissed him, he let her go even though he had a sure win, then she stabbed him.” Makina said plainly as she reached across the table and snagged a sweet bun. “It was very pathetic to watch.” She spoke through a mouthful of food.

 “I see.” Mia stared at Cross for a long time. “Well, was she at least pretty?”

 Cross sighed as Banksy and Romeo broke down into outright laughter.

 xXx

 Misa arrived shortly after dinner concluded. She declined the offered leftovers, apparently having found her own food somewhere along the way. After fielding a small amount of questions from a somewhat inebriated Mia, the party had made their way to a building just outside of the temple.

 “The temple has long hosted guests,” Mia explained as they walked, one of her arms around Cross’s shoulder for support. “This inn is almost as old as the temple itself. We are in the process of finishing up the renovations, but we have opened some of the room. The hot springs are also open for use. I highly recommend them. I actually think I will head their myself.”

 Mia pushed off from Cross and gave them a cheery wave. Cross cleared his throat. “Master.”

 Mia glanced back at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Master?”

 Cross grimaced slightly. “…Auntie.”

 Mia’s smile returned. “Yes?”

  “Our rooms?”

 “Oh yes, yes, yes.” Mia reached into her robes and produced three keys. She pushed them into Cross’s hand. “Three of our best rooms. Balconies overlooking the beach and away from the workers.”

 “Three…” Cross looked down at the keys. He opened his mouth to say something, but Mia was already long gone. Silently he handed the keys over to Lexi.

 Lexi held up the keys. “Alright, we have three rooms. That means someone is going to get a room to themselves.”

 “Why?” Misa asked, her eyes quickly scanning the group. “Myself, Cross, You, Makina, Banksy, and Romeo. Two in each room would be sufficient.”

 “Well, Yes,” Lexi said slowly. “But there are three men and tree women, you see.”

 Misa nodded. “Yes?”

 Lexi Looked at Cross for help but he had suddenly found the sky to be very interesting. “You see, Misa… It’s not proper for men and women to sleep together in the same room…

 Misa’s head tilted. “Human men and women do not share rooms? I was under the impression that they did.”

 “We share more than rooms,” Romeo whispered to Banksy, only to receive a sharp elbow from the thief who was watching the exchange with rapt interested.

 “Well I… They do but… I mean,” Lexi’s cheeks were growing redder by the second. “In our situation it wouldn’t be proper.

  “I do not see the problem. I have slept together with Cross many times,” Misa said.

 Cross’s head snapped towards Misa almost as fast as the rest of the groups snapped towards him. He stared at her for a long time, mouth opening slightly before he cleared his throat and grabbed one of the keys from Lexi’s hand. “Right, then. So uh, me and Banksy will stay in a room together. You three girls can take a room, and we’ll let Romeo have the room to himself.”

 “Hey wait! That’s not fair,” said Banksy. “Why does Romeo get his own room?”

 “Do you really want to be in the room again when Romeo brings someone back?” Cross said, pointedly ignoring both the rapidly dropping temperature and the unsettling flickering of the lights. “Everyone good? Good. Let’s go.”

 Without another word Cross grabbed his bag and quickly made his way off. After a moment of grumbling Banksy followed after him. Lexi’s hand came up to stop him, but in that one distracted moment she felt a strange feeling on her hand. Her eyes snapped down just in time to see the second key suddenly spark before flying towards Romeo. He caught it with a deft hand. With a cheeky grin he ran off before anyone could stop him, the key held high above his head.

 “Everything is turning up Lovejoy!”

 “I really do hate that idiot. More than the other two idiots, I mean. He is probably the biggest idiot of all the idiots in all the world.” Makina sniffed.

 Neither Lexi or Misa was entirely sure which idiot she meant.

 “Well then,” Lexi cleared her throat. “I suppose we will be sharing a room.”

 “I do not mind.” Misa said. “I am fine sleeping with both of you.”

 Lexi opened and closed her mouth, a question on the tip of her tongue, but she wasn’t quite able to vocalize it. Finally she shook her head and slumped her shoulders. “It has been a long day. Perhaps it would simply be best if we were to call it an early night.”

 “Speak for yourself, I am not the least bit tired!” Makina declared through a very compelling yawn. “Furthermore, I still do not see why I did not get a room to myself.”

 Lexi smiled, reaching out and gently rubbing Makina’s head. “Don’t fret, Maki. Sleepovers are fun.”

 Makina let out a huff but nodded never the less.

[all-sortsa-stuff]

Natural, part 3

Pairing: Eventually Klaus Michaelson x Reader

Word Count: 2698

Warning: None

Part 2

“Well isn’t that just lovely.”  Stefan looked over as you climbed into his car.

“Something wrong?”  

“My sister said the lawyers called.  That is never a good thing.”  Slipping on the seatbelt you leaned your head against the headrest.

“Lawyers for what?” He started the car before clicking his own belt.

“My parents’ estate. We have been dealing with them since day one.  All the property stuff and money has been a pain in the ass.  I’m ready for it to be over.  They have us jumping through hoops and I think they just want us to give up and let them take it all.  But I refuse. The houses have been in our families for generations.  I’m not letting anyone take them if I can avoid it.”  The frustration rolled off you as you spoke.  

“I would feel the same if I was in your position.  Fight for your family’s legacy.”  It was nice to have someone to vent to that was not Scarlet.  “You have more than one house in Salem?”

“Oh no.  Just the one in Salem that belonged to my mother’s family. My father grew up between Salem and New Orleans, so his family built a house down there.  We would spend summers there when we were kids.”  He nodded as he drove back towards town.

“New Orleans is quite the town.  Lots of witches I can see why the family stayed.”  The tone of his voice changed as he spoke.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.  New Orleans is just…  There are many dangers there.”  This piqued your interest.

“Like more vampires?” Stefan laughed at your guess.

“You are too smart or too much of a psychic.”  It was your turn to laugh.

“No I think I am just good at reading people, sometimes.”  For the ride home, Stefan steered the conversation away from the phone call you would have to make when you returned to the Brookwood.  When he pulled up to the drive, you sighed.  “I guess this is the end of the good part of the day. Thank you for today.  It has helped more than you will ever know.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. I hope that your phone call is nothing that will ruin the day.  You deserve at least one day of calm and peace.”  Squeezing his hand, you turned to open the door.  “Hey [Y/N]?”

Looking back, you could see he had something weighing on his mind, a conflict of some sort.  “Yeah?”

“My brother is throwing a party tonight at the house…  You should drop by.  I know you aren’t staying in town much longer but… I want to see you before you go.”  It was hard to describe the feelings that warred behind his eyes.  Something between fear and hope.

“You want me to meet the rest of your friends?”  You joked trying to get him to smile.  It worked as a grin broke the seriousness of his face.

“I mean yeah that would probably happen too, and my brother.  But, I do want to see you before you leave.  I’ve… well I have really enjoyed spending time with you.”  Your own smile widened considerably at his confession.

“I would love to. Text me your address and time.  I will be there.”  Climbing out of the car, you waved, watching Stefan take off down the street.  Perhaps today would not be a total disaster.  

 “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?”  

“Ugh I hate that. Just tell me the bad and maybe the good will outshine the bad afterwards.”  Sighing loudly you fell back onto the bed.

“Fine.  We owe $15,000 on the New Orleans property for unpaid taxes. They want $10,000 in the next thirty days and the remaining $5,000 the thirty days from that.  If not the city will set a lien on the house and start the process of foreclosure and seize the property for the unpaid balances.”  That statement sent a dagger through your heart. How were you going to come up with that much money in sixty days?  You felt as though you were going to be sick.

“Do you want to hear the good news?”  After the previous statement, you had forgotten there was good news.  You could only hope that it would be something that could ease the pain.

“Yes please.”  

“This is it; we do not have to deal with the lawyers and the estate issues anymore.  Everything has been dealt with.  The back taxes on the Salem house are paid, as are the lawyers. There isn’t any money left because mom and dad were struggling to pay the two houses and never said a word.  However, I have been left the Salem house and you have been given the New Orleans house.  That way they both won’t be as risk of loss if something happened to one of us.  I was thinking…”

There was no doubt in your mind of what she was going to say next.  “No you are not going to use the house as collateral Scarlet.  There has to be another way.”  The sigh from the other end was one of frustration.

“How else do you think you can come up with fifteen grand, [Y/N]?  Short of selling your body many times over, which I forbid you to do, what else is there?”

“I have some in savings from the business.  I will figure out the rest.  That probably means though I have to head down there to talk to the bank.  Road trip it is.”  Scarlet did not like the idea of emptying your savings leaving your business with nothing.  She really did not like that fact you would be down in Louisiana without her and where she could not keep an eye on you.  But there was nothing that could be done now.  Not if you wanted to save the house and property.  The rest of your conversation centered on what was happening in Salem.  She told you about the coven leader’s declining health.  Emmaline had become frailer over the last few months and would most likely pass soon.  Doctors had been baffled and could not explain why her health failed so rapidly.

When she died, you thought, it would be another devastating blow to the coven, especially after losing both of your parents such a short time ago.  It made you want to drive home but there were more important things you needed to do now.  At some point, you would return to Salem, but your family was the priority now.

Stefan texted you a little while later with the address and to be there by seven.  You did not really have anything to wear as you had only packed for a few days.  There was a thrift shop down the road from the Mystic Grill.  Thankfully, it was cheap since you were now in a whole lot of debt.  An hour later, you had a cute skirt and top that looked pretty good on you.  The drive to the house did not take long but you were shocked at the size of the house.  Well more like mansion.  Of course, Stefan never mentioned that.  

There were cars lined up down the long driveway and loud music blaring as you entered the house. No one would have heard you if you had knocked on the door so you just walked in.  There were people everyone dancing, drinking and having a good time. Stefan saw you from across the room, smiling as he walked over.

“Glad you came.  I hope it wasn’t too hard to find.”  There was nothing you could do but smile at him.

“No it was easy. Though you failed to mention you live in a castle.”  He laughed as he sipped at the drink from the crystal glass in his hand.

“Not a castle, home. Come let me introduce you to everyone and get you a drink.”  Stefan led you over to a group gathered by the French doors.  You recognized a few of them from the Mystic Grill the day before.

“[Y/N], these are my friends Elena, Caroline, you know Bonnie already and my brother Damon. Guys this is [Y/N].”  Everyone exchanged pleasantries and chatted for a little while.  Stefan’s friends were nice and welcoming.  It struck you as odd how the group formed such tight bonds being from so many different places.  Vampires, witches, and whatever the Elena girl was.  Just standing in her presence, you could feel she was not just a human. There was something else to her.  Everyone had his or her own secrets.

Several drinks later, you were dancing with Stefan having a great time.  Probably the best time you had in a long time.  After a while, you were growing tired of dancing and needed a break. He nodded, “let’s go somewhere quieter.”  

It sounded like a bad pick up line but you let him take you by the hand to lead you outside to the large patio area.  There were chairs set in two separate sitting areas.  You sat down next to him one of the long chairs.  The alcohol was swimming in your head as you looked over at him.

“I hope your phone call was better than you thought.”  That brought reality back to the forefront of your mind.

“It was not what I was expecting.  However, it is something I have to deal with.  Which means I will be leaving soon to take care of my business.  Tonight though I just want to be [Y/N] who is a normal human being and having a good time drinking and dancing.”  He laughed as he leaned his head against his hand.

“A normal human being, huh? Well I think we can work on that. For tonight at least.”  The two of you talked for hours.  The alcohol in both your systems only fueled the conversation further.  Some hours later the conversation started to slow as you had both leaned closer to the other.  Before you knew it, his lips were pressed lightly against yours.  You smiled before pulling him closer.  It felt good… He felt good.  

The kiss deepened and lingered over the next few minutes.  Stefan’s lips moved down to your neck causing a warmth to build inside of you.  If this continued, you would happily pull him upstairs to wherever his room was for more privacy.  One of your hands gripped his shirt ensuring he would not pull away.  As his lips returned to yours an image appeared in your mind of the girl with long dark hair, Elena.  Stefan was laying with Elena in his arms looking up at the stars. They were happy and laughing. Another image followed of them declaring their love to one another.

It confused you for a moment not understanding as you had seen Damon and Elena together, looking very much in love.  A last image appeared of a very ugly fight between them.  All the pieces fell into place.  Stefan had loved and lost Elena to his brother.  What you were seeing were his thoughts at this moment as he tried to move on from her.  Pulling back, you searched over his face.  His heart was not over her, as much as he was trying with you.  That hurt for a few reasons.  The most important was that this wonderful man had hurt so much and had to watch every day while his brother openly loved the girl that had once been his.

The other was that you could feel something that could grow deeply between you and Stefan.  But it could not be until his heart was free. He looked curiously at you, unaware of your thoughts and knowledge of his.  “I hope that was not too forward.  Though I think you liked it too, [Y/N].  Or was it just me?”

The warm smile he gave you brought your own out.  Resting a hand on his cheek, you could see the want he had for you but the image appeared of him watching Damon and Elena just before you arrived at the party, was the nail that sealed that coffin.  For the moment at least.  “No I liked it a lot, Stefan.  I like you…”

“I hear a ‘but’ coming.” You sighed as you nodded slowly.

“I like you a lot Stefan. It’s been a long time since I have liked someone.”

“If it’s because I am a vampire…” This time shaking your head.

“It has nothing to do with being a vampire, Stefan.  Though, perhaps me being a witch can cause an issue.  I can occasionally see what people are thinking.”  Narrowing his eyes in confusion, he shook his head.

“I don’t understand.”

“I saw what you were thinking when we were kissing.  I saw Elena.” Running a hand through his hair, Stefan sighed loudly sitting back against the chair.

“[Y/N], I…  Look it wasn’t anything against you.  I have history…”  Holding a hand up, you stopped him from continuing.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me that you don’t want to, Stefan.  They are your thoughts and I’m sorry I inadvertently intruded on them. But I don’t want to be the person you kiss and her the person you think of.”  The sad smile he gave you cause another ache in your chest.

“You’re right, you deserve better.  I am having a hard time… letting go.  You made me want to let go though.  It’s only been a few days, but they have been a great few days.  Maybe someday…”

“Maybe someday we can see what this is.  When you are ready to put everything in the past.”  Stefan leaned over to pull you into his arm, hugging you tightly.

“Can I call you when I’m ready?”  You laughed, whispering quietly in his ear.

“You can call me anytime Stefan.  We are friends too you know.”  He was the one that pulled away this time.  

“Yes we are and I am grateful for that.  You ready to head back to the party?”  You both danced with his friends for a while though you did not drink anymore. Blaming the drive back to the Brookwood and the early morning that you would have to get up and leave for New Orleans.  It was almost three in the morning by the time you made it back to the bed and breakfast. A few hours sleep and a good breakfast later you walked out to your Jeep to start the next step of your journey.

Stefan was parked behind you, waiting for you to come out.  You smiled wide as you saw him climbing out of his car.  “Shouldn’t you still be sleeping off all that booze from last night?”

“Lots of strong black coffee.  I couldn’t let you leave without saying a proper goodbye.”

“I’m glad you did.” Throwing your bag into the backseat, you walked towards him before leaning against the Jeep.  “I’ve had a great time Stefan thank you.  I needed this more than I can explain.”

“I know you did.  I could see it that first day.  But, I needed it too.  Makes me realize there are things I can’t change and many things I need to.  Promise me something before you go?”  That had you intrigued.

“What’s that?”

“Promise me you will be careful.  New Orleans is dangerous for so much more than the drinking and partying.  There is a darkness there that…  You may not come back from.”  The sober look on his face forced you to realize the seriousness of it all.

“I promise I will be careful.  I’m not going there to cause trouble.  I just want to save my family’s history.”  He hugged you close once more.

“You’re a witch.  I have a feeling trouble is drawn to you. If you need help, you know where to find me.  I will be there as soon as I can.  Got it?”  Nodding you squeezed one more time before pulling away.

“I got it.  Thank you, Stefan.”  Walking to the opposite side of the Jeep, you climbed up.  There was no need to say ‘goodbye’.  You both knew you would see each other again, one way or another.

 Part 4

tags: @feelmyroarrrr  @bolontiku  @aquabrie   @malindacath  @almondbuttercup  @hellkat2  @dustycelt  @sassymcgonagal1651  @a-series-of-reasonable-events   @hannah795 @somethingweird168  @cozyjaws @dearestniklaus 

[mymelodyheart]

Forget Me Not Chapter 11 ~Uncertainty and Mortality~

Claire could barely see through tears rapidly welling up in her eyes. She prayed they wouldn't fall, afraid to show the world she was affected by some measly string of words contrived to deliberately hurt her. 

If I had a face like yours, my parents would die of shock too.

With trembling hands, she folded the offensive note that was left on top of her schoolbooks and slipped it in her skirt pocket. This was not the first time it happened, and she knew it wouldn't be the last. Hell would have to freeze a thousand times over before she showed them how upset she was. Straightening her spine and swallowing a golf ball-sized lump in her throat, she sat down and focused on the class that was about to commence. Her herculean effort to hold back the tears was tested further when she overheard a sniggering group taunting her in whispers. They jeered in hurtful undertones, with words that were so wounding that often times she wished she had died with her parents.

Stubbornness prevented her from crying though, afraid Jamie would notice and come swooping in to save the day. That's what he always did. He was a fixer and a caretaker, and she couldn't let him muscle in and assert himself as her repairman.  No, I can't have that.  Of course, he would still clock something was up, but without the evidence of tears, the subject was easier dropped.

I don't need fixing. If other people have a problem with me, it was my cross to bear. The Frasers have done more than enough, and I don't need them fighting my battles.

..........

She should be used to this by now. They're only words, and words can't hurt her unless she allowed it.  You aren't those words. You aren't the shouts and names. You aren't the awful things spat at you like flavourless gum. Get a grip, Beauchamp!

Leaning back on her chair as she stared into the laptop screen, Claire let out a massive sigh of relief. There had been no nasty messages waiting for her in the Facebook inbox neither was there any hints of disapproval in the comments' box when Jamie announced on Social Media that they were together. The picture he posted of them spoke volumes of his possessiveness - they were locked in an embrace, while she looked straight to the camera, with his forehead pressed against her jawline, face slightly turned, revealing only an eye and an upturned mouth that said,  My Girl.  Although he posted their relationship status a few days ago, the congratulatory comments kept coming, and Claire had been holding her breath waiting for some smart ass remark. But there were none, much to her surprise.

Respite from the vile messages she received almost regularly, didn't detract her from feeling slightly apprehensive at the thought of Jamie bringing Annalise to Lallybroch. Even when pangs of jealousy sliced through her insides mercilessly, her conscience couldn't bear the idea of his ex-girlfriend being left alone in her condition. Compared to Annalise, she had been fortunate to have been raised by a loving family, and she couldn't deny her wish to not be alone when she was given the death sentence, cancer. It was a big ask, but Claire thought it was a plea of a dying, desperate woman.

Jamie had wanted her say in the matter, but they both knew the answer already. Brian and Ellen had raised them to always do the right thing and to never shirk from responsibility, and that had been drummed into their upbringing so incessantly that sometimes little sacrifices were made. 

Her thoughts drifted back once again to Annalise. Although they had the same tragic start to childhood, the similarities didn't end there. According to Jamie, Annalise had always felt she was an outsider and never really fitted in. The fact that she had no one around her at her lowest point in life substantiated that story.  Maybe Jamie is drawn to women he thinks need saving and protecting? I'm in a good place in life now, and perhaps I would lose that appeal once he realised I don't need safeguarding.  Shaking herself, she pushed those thoughts away, reprimanding herself for being melodramatic, a trait that seemed to be trending in her emotions lately.

Claire had just finished going through the menu plans for the grand re-opening of  The Fraser Manor Inn  when Willie's car screeched to a stop outside the house on the gravelled driveway. He had agreed to take her to Lallybroch after running errands. Declining to go with him earlier to the airport to pick up Jamie and Annalise, she had opted to see them in Lallybroch instead later in the day.  I need to go through the food stock and beverage inventory for the restaurant.  The excuse had sounded lame to her ears, but deep down, she knew she was delaying the inevitable - meeting Jamie's ex-girlfriend.  What am I anxious about? Jamie is a solid guy...as solid as solid go and how often had he said he loves me? Yeah, a round of applause Beauchamp, for daring to exercise rational thinking.

Annoyed with herself, she stuffed her laptop and phone in her satchel, before taking a quick glance over of her reflection in the hallway mirror. She was wearing a creamy sweater over a white shirt, tight black jeans and weathered heavy Wellington boots - ideal for the cold and blustery day. A few times, prior, she had considered changing her outfit, perhaps with an afterthought of making an effort for Jamie or show-offing to Annalise. But in the end, practicality won the day when the weather proved to be too cold for a dress.

Once outside, she ran to Willie's waiting car and flung the door open. Clumsily she threw her satchel in before plopping into the passenger seat. "Hey, you...God, it's bloody freezing! Thank you for giving me a lift." Shivering, she rubbed her hands together for warmth before offering them to Willie to rub in his bigger ones and blow his breath into, an old habit they have shared from the past. 

Instead of taking her hands, Willie started the car and pulled out of the driveaway. "Place them under yer thighs. They'll warm up quicker there," he grunted as he turned the heater up a notch, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

"Oh," she shrugged, arching an eyebrow. "Grumpy much?" She wanted so much to know what he thought of Annalise but instead settled back on her seat and waited. Willie had not been himself lately, and she had put it down to the build-up of the re-opening of the hotel.

Letting out a huge sigh, he reached out to squeeze her hand. "I haven't had much sleep."

"I hope it's just lack of sleep, Willie. You've been acting really weird on me these past few days, and I don't like it. One minute you want to talk to me and the next minute you're avoiding me." Claire had been noticing recently, how he flinches a lot every time she was near and wondered what she had done wrong. "I hope it has nothing to do with my new deodorant." She slapped her knee and laughed as she realised she had spoken her thoughts out loud.

Willie didn't laugh. "Would it bother ye?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"Would it bother me what?" she asked, confusion swarming her brain.

"If I avoided ye," he replied, hitting the blinker before he turned right on the road.

"Of course, it would bother me, you silly goose," she said as she rummaged into her satchel, to take out a granola bar.

"Why?"

"Because I love you." She took a bite and offered her snack to Willie with an outstretched hand.

He shook his head at the offering, sparing her only a quick glance. "Ditto."

"Ditto, what the fuck is that?" she asked in a muffled voice, chewing vigorously and glaring at him. Claire knew what the word meant, but this weird Willie vibe thing was beginning to annoy her. He usually would have said  I love you  back.

Willie ignored the question. "Any unpleasant messages lately?"

"None of your business," she snapped, shoving her bag at her feet.

"I guess I deserved that." This time he laughed, probably an effort to lighten the heavy mood he created. "Now who's grumpy?"

"I'm not grumpy, I'm just annoyed at you. You know what...you really ought to get a life. Maybe it would improve your morose mood...like go on a date, meet a girl....that sort of thing." Claire sat back thoughtfully, processing her internal RAM before continuing. "God, I can't remember a time when you had a girlfriend. I know you did because I can remember a girl vaguely, but that must have been ages ago." She glanced at his profile and saw his throat bob up and down. 

"That's hospitality industry for ye...nae time for romance." He slowed down the car as he approached a smaller road leading to Lallybroch.

"Utter shite and you know that! How about Geillis?" Claire said without missing a beat, her eyes lighting up. "She's single, available and she'll understand the long hours working in a hotel,"

"Nah, she's a nice lass but too brash for my taste." He pressed the inside of his cheek with his tongue in an attempt to suppress a burst of laughter.

Claire snorted out loud. She had to agree with Willie on this one that her friend is too cocksure for her own good. "You do know we have some new staff employed in the hotel. Surely, there's bound to be one that meets your discerning taste. But either way, go out there and find your special someone. You deserve that."

He didn't answer, and Claire left it at that, driving in silence for a while. She had been quite sure there was an attraction between Geillis and Willie from the moment they met, but today she wasn't in the mood to play matchmaker nor pry more into Willie's love life. Not for now, at least. There were other pressing matters such as Annalise and her own new relationship with Jamie.

As they pulled up at Lallybroch's driveway, Willie gave her a wink as he glanced at her. "Hey, I'll probably take yer advice and go out on a date, if that makes ye happy and me less dour."

"Good for you, you owe it to yourself. But...umm..." She went silent for a moment thinking Willie hadn't mentioned Jamie nor Annalise. "Willie...what do you think of Annalise? I don't mean to sound like a jealous nag, but I want to know from a man's perspective...do you find her pretty?"

Willie drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, contemplating his answer earnestly. "Honestly...what did you call it again? Aye, my discerning taste. My discerning taste thinks ye are prettier."

"Of course, you'll say that. Why did I even bother asking?" She pulled the satchel from her feet and hitched it over on her shoulder. "You coming in?"

"Aye, but I need to make a few phone calls. Ye go ahead and save a scone for me." Before she could get out of the car, he stopped her. "Claire?"

"Yeah?"

"I love ye."

Claire smiled. "Ditto."

Walking up to the house, she couldn't help but think how much Willie, looked like Jamie when he said I love you.

..........

She was about to open the entrance door when it was unceremoniously flung opened, and Jamie grabbed her wrist. She let out a squeak as he dragged her inside, slinging his forearm against her arse to draw her up onto her toes. Smiling and without saying a word, he walked her back towards the wall of the hallway, his beautiful soul-sucking blue looking intently into her eyes. Tangling a hand in Claire's hair, he tongued her lips open, laughing softly when she gasped, before sinking them both to a kiss. Slowly, Jamie moulded their bodies together against the wall, his lips travelling along her jawline before nuzzling her ear. "Hmm, I was expecting my girlfriend to meet me at the airport this morning. I wonder what kept her away?" He pulled back an inch to tuck her hair behind her ear. "So what's happening inside that pretty head of yers?"

Whatever doubts and worries she had, they had all dissipated. "Oh, this and that," she breathed, as she did a mental replay of their Facetime boogie from the other night, sending a kerfuffle of hormones ricochetting in her belly. "Sorry I couldn't be there to see you. I have been busy with work, you know... menus and stuff, and sourcing new vendors for some of the new dishes. Did you know there's a convention booked already a week after the re-opening?" she whispered, running her palms on his abdomen. It wasn't a lie; nevertheless, it was a good excuse, giving her enough time to sort out her thoughts before meeting Annalise. 

 "I guess I have loads of catching up to do, aye?" he laughed, but the laughter quickly faded away as he searched her face. As if reading her thoughts, which was eerily most of the time, he lifted her chin with his index finger to look into her eyes. "Sassenach, ye have nothing to worry about Annalise, I hope ye know that." He ran his fingers along the seams of her mouth before brushing his lips against hers. "Christ, all I could think about is ye while I was in Paris to a point I was incapable of doing what I was supposed to do. I ken she was my girlfriend, and I can't change that...I can't change the past. I have to believe that sometimes things happen for a reason and that maybe, she was put into our paths so that we can help her. I'm not going to lie...I did care for her, but I didn't love her like the way I do ye. Ye have to trust that."

Claire gave a sharp exhale. There was no more avoiding the subject. "I know, Jamie and that's what I love most about you...you're kind and compassionate that way. See...this relationship thing...I'm already sucking at it. I didn't even know that meeting you at the airport is a boyfriend-girlfriend thing."

Unable to subdue his grin, Jamie caught her full lower lip between his teeth and tugged. "Let's see...ye can make it up for me later, perhaps? In our house? I ken your place is more comfortable, but I don't think I want Geillis hearing all the sounds that you make when I make love to ye."

Her heart started to sprint. "Oh! Our house is it? And you know, you do talk a lot of rubbish...I hardly make any sounds," she giggled.

"Aye, it's our house, and aye, ye do make a lot of sounds. Plenty of adorable sounds, like this..." With a wink, he gave her a look of debauchery, sliding one arm beneath her arse to boost her up and one free hand palming her breast. He chuckled under his breath when she let out a moan. "...and I haven't even started yet."

Her gulp was audible as crimson climbed up her throat, and not really wanting to, she gently pushed him away. "Jamie put me down now. Ma and da can walk in on us any minute." She could hear voices in the kitchen and teacups clacking on saucers. "Let's go meet your other bird, huh?"  Best get it over and done with.

Smiling, he allowed his head to collapse on the crook of her neck, heavily breathing in her scent. "Aye...can't be helped. Missed ye so bad, Sassenach," he murmured huskily, lightly fisting his hand on the wall above Claire's head. Pressing his lips against her forehead, he half-heartedly stood upright, not quite ready to let her go yet. "Right, are we good?"

She nodded and took his hand as Jamie guided her towards the staircase. "So what did ma and da say? Have they met Annalise?"

"Aye, they've met over breakfast. Ye ken what they're like, the house is open to anybody and everybody. I haven't really spoken to them yet as I was too preoccupied looking out the window waiting for ye to arrive," he said in an amused tone.

"Why are we heading upstairs? I thought she was in the kitchen," she asked, looking towards the kitchen they passed.

"She was exhausted earlier and needed to lie down. She must be awake now, but I dinna ken which room she took. Ma did say to take her pick of the empty rooms."

"She's probably in Geillis' room," Claire mumbled, pulling her hand away from Jamie's to smooth back her hair.

 "Hey..." Halfway up the stairs, he turned to face her, reaching out to gently rubbed the pad of his thumb on her cheeks. "...just saying, ok? If there's anything troubling ye, anything at all, ye ken ye can talk to me, aye? We're together now, and ye best get used to it, really fast." He leaned forward to rub his nose against hers. "It's a boyfriend-girlfriend thing, ye ken... in case ye didn't get the memo." He winked, before taking her hand once again in his and pulling her up the stairs.

"Yeah, got it!" she replied but stopped on her tracks when they reached the landing. Further down the hallway, she saw her books neatly stacked outside her old room, and on top of the pile was her dreamcatcher which use to hang above her bed. It was a gift from her uncle Lamb's friend. "Oh, I guess she's not taking the guest room."

Jamie squeezed her shoulders, obviously surprised as her. "Och, sorry Sassenach, I didnae realised. Dinna fash, I'll tell her to use the other room, and I'll put back the books on your shelves..."

Claire grabbed his arm. "No, Jamie, it's alright. I have a place of my own now, and really, it's silly to keep a room here when I don't really need it. She can have it."

"Are ye sure? It shouldn't take a few minutes and.."

"Positive," she reaffirmed, making her way to her old room. At the doorway, she squared her shoulder and gently knocked on the door, almost forgetting Jamie was stood behind her.

"Come in," a light, melodic voice with French accent answered.

Nudging the door, she let herself in to come face to face with Jamie's ex, sat on her old dressing table. Grudgingly Claire had to admit to herself, Annalise was breathtakingly beautiful, and the lack of hair didn't diminish that beauty. In fact, it enhanced her big cornflower blue eyes and delicately shaped eyebrows. With the sunlight streaming from the window behind her, she looked like an angel, dressed in her... what?  Claire's eyes widened when she realised, Annalise was wearing her green wrap-around dress. "Oh, hi...I'm Claire," she said warmly as she stepped forward to shake her hand.

Instead of taking her hand, Annalise stood up and gave her a tight hug and Claire couldn't help but notice, Jamie's ex was wearing the same perfume as her. "So lovely to finally meet you, Claire. I have been so much looking forward to this," she gushed, her voice so soft, it reminded her of a child's. Returning to her chair, she gestured towards the bed. "Please, take a seat." Pausing, she smiled sweetly. "I only realised recently that you and Jamie are together. I would have never guessed as he spoke so fondly and so much of you that he gave me an impression you were siblings. Well, congratulations are in order...both of you make a perfect couple."

Jamie coughed a  thank you , and Claire, instead of sitting down, glanced around her old room, noticing some visible changes had taken place already. Her poster of the world map was taken down for one. "Thank you. I see you've made yourself at home, and that dress looks lovely on you."

"Oh..." Annalise looked down, her expression changing into mortification. "I'm so sorry, Claire. I was making room in the wardrobe, and I saw this hanging. It's so pretty that I had to try it on. I'll take it off now..."

"No, it's alright, really. Keep it, it's yours. The dress becomes you, and I haven't worn it in ages. I will take the rest of my things now, so you have more room. The sooner you're settled, the better." Claire knew she was rambling, but she felt she needed to move.

"There's no rush, Claire but if you must I can help you..." Annalise's voice trailed off as Claire dismissed her suggestion with a wave of a hand, picking up the rest of the things to place in an empty box that was already there. Shrugging her delicate shoulders, Annalise turned her attention to Jamie. "Jamie, is it tomorrow you're taking me to see the doctor?"

"Och aye...we need to sort out yer papers at the NHS and register ye as a resident," Jamie started, one hand massaging the back of his neck. 

Claire suddenly felt sorry for him being in such an awkward situation that she mentally admonished herself for pointing out the dress Annalise was wearing.

"I'll take her." It was Willie standing at the door, both his hands resting on the doorjamb. They haven't heard him walking on the creaky floorboards that they were all surprised to see him stood there. "Jamie, ye're needed in the kitchen to sort out your department in the Pattiserrie, and Murtagh needs to go over the dessert menu for a la carte with ye."

"Weel, I can do all those things tomorrow and take Annalise..."

"I'm going to drop off some papers to Ned Gowan tomorrow, and it's on the way to the Doctor's," Willie explained as a matter of factly. Turning his attention to Annalise, he smiled. "Prepare yer documents, passport and doctors' diagnosis for tomorrow. We'll need every scrap of those papers to register ye here." With that, Willie didn't wait for a reply and simply offered a perfunctory nod and turned on his heels and left.

"What the hell...hang on a minute. Ye can't just..." Jamie was already out the door following his older brother, leaving the two women to stare at each other in bewilderment.

"What just happened?" Annalise whispered, her one hand on her mouth.

"Brothers...that's what happened," Claire replied, shrugging her shoulders as she resumed gathering the last of her knick-knacks strewn in her old room. "Both stubborn as a bull, ye ken..." she explained in her best Scottish mimick.

[timclymer]

Pull-Ups Wearing A Weight Vest (in the Form of a Baby) Are Hard Work!

Pull-ups. It took me a long time to master them and now I’m nearly back at square one! You see the thing is this, early on in my pregnancy I watched a YouTube video of an incredibly fit pregnant woman performing unassisted pull-ups at 9 months of pregnancy. The lady in the clip was pretty amazing: 9 months pregnant and still easily performing 24 kipping pull-ups! So, when I saw this I thought to myself – excellent, at least my pull-ups will still stay strong throughout my pregnancy. Sure, I may not be doing 24 of them at my 9 months mark – but hey, I’ll be happy with a straight 10 in a row.

Rule number one: never compare your ability to another’s! (At least not whilst you’re pregnant). Whilst this super-fit mamma flies through her pull-ups no problem, I have noticed that gradually as each month ticks on for me I am struggling more and more with my pull-ups. And that’s okay! Well, frustrating yes, but a temporary frustration that makes both Crossfit and pregnancy combined, a humbling experience for me. This week we did a WOD that involved a lot of pull-ups, and having gone from doing pull-ups with no band to a yellow band (at around the 12-week mark), I strapped up my yellow band the bar as per usual. I proceeded to fly through my pull-ups no problem until I literally bounced off the band at pull-up number 5. It just wasn’t happening. I felt heavy, I was out of breath, I felt like my tummy was being stretched too much – altogether it just felt wrong. I grabbed a band of a higher resistance level (the band I first used over a year ago to learn how to do kipping pull-ups), and immediately felt comfortable again. 5 pull-ups became 10, and so on …

Later that day I posted my frustration at my rapidly-declining pull-up strength, on Facebook. A friend commented, saying I shouldn’t forget I’m technically doing pull-ups with an added weight vest on now (currently an extra 6 kgs). I really liked that analogy and it got me thinking: perhaps going back to basics with my pull-ups at this gradually-increasing body weight, will actually make me stronger when I return to my pre-pregnancy pull-up form ?! Probably not, probably a skewed logic on my part however, it’s a nice little thought that I’ve been toying with this week; a thought that seems to make me feel a little more heartened when I get frustrated at my efforts!

Toes to bar is another tricky exercise, although a movement I haven’t encountered much struggle with to this point. Currently, because my tummy isn’t too pronounced, I have no difficulty in getting my toes to touch the bar. I can definitely feel the extra weight and the extra effort required to get them up there yet it’s not causing me any discomfort at this stage. I can do about six toes to bar in a row (half the amount I could do pre-pregnancy), and feel that in two weeks time I’ll probably switch over to knees to elbow. The most important things to keep in mind when doing any movement on the bars during pregnancy, are safety, balance and keeping your movements controlled. Depending on the distance of your gym’s bars to the floor, you may want to use a box to step onto to help you reach the bars instead of jumping from the ground. The last thing you want is to jump for the bars, lose your grip and fall to the ground! Keeping a controlled kip is also important as so many joints and muscles are loosened during pregnancy due to the release of many different hormones, and it can be very easy to pull a muscle. When on the bars I personally try and stay focused on engaging both my core and scapula (shoulder blade) so that I don’t lose form and pull a muscle in my abs or neck. Whilst the scapula may seem like it doesn’t have a very significant role, it in fact helps coordinate all the surrounding muscles (about 18 of them) to keep the shoulder moving correctly, as well as helping to stablise the neck when the shoulder has to move. So, respect that scapula!

There aren’t a lot of instructional videos out there on adjusting toes to bar when pregnant (best bet is to seek advice / tips from your gym’s coaches), however I found this one pretty useful: https://www.youtube.com / watch? v = tKUALmNmDOY

Has anyone had to scale back their pull-ups / toes to bar due to either an injury or pregnancy? And how hard did you find it building your strength back up again?

Source by Jessica F Brueckner

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/pull-ups-wearing-a-weight-vest-in-the-form-of-a-baby-are-hard-work/ via Home Solutions on WordPress from Home Solutions FOREV https://homesolutionsforev.tumblr.com/post/189098825035 via Tim Clymer on Wordpress

[homesolutionsforev]

Pull-Ups Wearing A Weight Vest (in the Form of a Baby) Are Hard Work!

Pull-ups. It took me a long time to master them and now I'm nearly back at square one! You see the thing is this, early on in my pregnancy I watched a YouTube video of an incredibly fit pregnant woman performing unassisted pull-ups at 9 months of pregnancy. The lady in the clip was pretty amazing: 9 months pregnant and still easily performing 24 kipping pull-ups! So, when I saw this I thought to myself – excellent, at least my pull-ups will still stay strong throughout my pregnancy. Sure, I may not be doing 24 of them at my 9 months mark – but hey, I'll be happy with a straight 10 in a row.

Rule number one: never compare your ability to another's! (At least not whilst you're pregnant). Whilst this super-fit mamma flies through her pull-ups no problem, I have noticed that gradually as each month ticks on for me I am struggling more and more with my pull-ups. And that's okay! Well, frustrating yes, but a temporary frustration that makes both Crossfit and pregnancy combined, a humbling experience for me. This week we did a WOD that involved a lot of pull-ups, and having gone from doing pull-ups with no band to a yellow band (at around the 12-week mark), I strapped up my yellow band the bar as per usual. I proceeded to fly through my pull-ups no problem until I literally bounced off the band at pull-up number 5. It just wasn't happening. I felt heavy, I was out of breath, I felt like my tummy was being stretched too much – altogether it just felt wrong. I grabbed a band of a higher resistance level (the band I first used over a year ago to learn how to do kipping pull-ups), and immediately felt comfortable again. 5 pull-ups became 10, and so on …

Later that day I posted my frustration at my rapidly-declining pull-up strength, on Facebook. A friend commented, saying I shouldn't forget I'm technically doing pull-ups with an added weight vest on now (currently an extra 6 kgs). I really liked that analogy and it got me thinking: perhaps going back to basics with my pull-ups at this gradually-increasing body weight, will actually make me stronger when I return to my pre-pregnancy pull-up form ?! Probably not, probably a skewed logic on my part however, it's a nice little thought that I've been toying with this week; a thought that seems to make me feel a little more heartened when I get frustrated at my efforts!

Toes to bar is another tricky exercise, although a movement I haven't encountered much struggle with to this point. Currently, because my tummy isn't too pronounced, I have no difficulty in getting my toes to touch the bar. I can definitely feel the extra weight and the extra effort required to get them up there yet it's not causing me any discomfort at this stage. I can do about six toes to bar in a row (half the amount I could do pre-pregnancy), and feel that in two weeks time I'll probably switch over to knees to elbow. The most important things to keep in mind when doing any movement on the bars during pregnancy, are safety, balance and keeping your movements controlled. Depending on the distance of your gym's bars to the floor, you may want to use a box to step onto to help you reach the bars instead of jumping from the ground. The last thing you want is to jump for the bars, lose your grip and fall to the ground! Keeping a controlled kip is also important as so many joints and muscles are loosened during pregnancy due to the release of many different hormones, and it can be very easy to pull a muscle. When on the bars I personally try and stay focused on engaging both my core and scapula (shoulder blade) so that I don't lose form and pull a muscle in my abs or neck. Whilst the scapula may seem like it doesn't have a very significant role, it in fact helps coordinate all the surrounding muscles (about 18 of them) to keep the shoulder moving correctly, as well as helping to stablise the neck when the shoulder has to move. So, respect that scapula!

There aren't a lot of instructional videos out there on adjusting toes to bar when pregnant (best bet is to seek advice / tips from your gym's coaches), however I found this one pretty useful: https://www.youtube.com / watch? v = tKUALmNmDOY

Has anyone had to scale back their pull-ups / toes to bar due to either an injury or pregnancy? And how hard did you find it building your strength back up again?

Source by Jessica F Brueckner

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/pull-ups-wearing-a-weight-vest-in-the-form-of-a-baby-are-hard-work/ via Home Solutions on WordPress

[zorayda-art]

Halved

A little snippet of Jasttor’s story under the cut. For those of you who don’t know of my D&D obsession, Jasttor Bloodmaw is a prevalent NPC in the game I run with some friends of mine.

"You have a responsibility, son. I know it is hard to hear, but you must let her go." His father's hand lays on his shoulder, large and imposing. Zurattar Varshoth-Bloodmaw always had always been that way--large, intimidating. Unyielding.

The young bronze snarls and pulls away. "It seems so simple for you to say," he snarls. Zurattar frowns.

"Jasttor... Bright Eyes." He frowns at the use of the name he's about to outgrow. "Please, it is not easy for any of us," his mother interjects. "She is our daughter, of course we do not want this," she says softly, her eyes flicking over to where the Elders usually held their council. In a caravan, portable. Simple to take along as they ran all over the continent away from their perpetual threat.

Jasttor doesn't meet her eyes, but he doesn't say anything in response, either. Jazitah takes it as a sign to continue.

"We cannot lose both of you. You mean so much to them--to us. We all need you--"

"I need her, Mother!" Jasttor snaps. His mother recoils, but Zurattar crosses his arms disapprovingly. "We can save her, still! I know it is dangerous, I know," he interrupts as Jazitah opens her mouth to argue. She reaches up subconsciously to touch a well-worn brooch pinned to her blouse. "Listen, please, you have said so yourself, we are twins, we are supposed to be--to be a symbol, we bring hope together, right?!"

"The council has spoken, son. We must respect their decision."

"Damn the council!" Jasttor roars, fists clenched at his sides. His body is trembling as he stares up at his father and he can't get a hold on his breathing. "Damn them condemning my sister to this! She is suffering, dying slowly because they refuse to help her. How can you let them do this to Lily?" Jasttor can't see and he realizes it's because there are tears clouding his vision, but he doesn't care. "She is my best friend, and they can go throw themselves on the swords of the Venomclaw, for all I--"

He's suddenly crushed between the very hard wall and around three hundred pounds of bristling, snarling dragonborn as his father pins him, fingers gripping his collar. Jazitah gasps from somewhere nearby; Jasttor looks over to see her eyes wide, hand at her chest. "Never, ever wish death upon the clan Elders. I do not care how angry you are," Zurattar growls, his voice deep and threatening. "Are you foolish enough to think I do not want our daughter to live? Do you think we have not spoken to the council and tried to come up with every possible way to save Lilothibra that would not involve endangering our people?" he hisses. Jasttor is silenced, but he stares back unflinchingly; the static electricity between father and son is visibly rippling over their scales. Zurattar’s expression and voice are hard, but Jasttor can see the grief hidden there, tucked away carefully. "We cannot save her. There is no way back without losing too many of our people."

"Then let me go! It would only be risking one of us," Jasttor says, trying not to let desperation enter his voice and failing. His father hears it and narrows his eyes, letting him go as if to show he's won the argument already. In the back of his mind, Jasttor knows he has.

"The answer is 'no', Jasttor. We will move on. You will move on. Life will move on, with or without Lily."

The tears finally flow over and Jasttor is gulping in air. "Perhaps y-you can abandon her, but I will n-never be able to move on w-without Lily," he gasps out, trying to shout but not able to breathe properly. Before his parents can say anything more, he turns and storms out, making his way over to where Lily rested, in a smaller caravan with comfortable bedding.

The clan had stopped here for a short time to rest, but soon the sun would rise and they would keep going. The way it had been ever since Jasttor and Lily had been born.

Before he goes inside, Jasttor finds a spot just outside of it where he can be unseen and unheard, and forces himself to calm down. It would do no good for anybody to see him like this--especially Lily. She's already dying, she didn't need to see him fall apart in front of her. Even if she couldn't comprehend much anymore.

It takes until they're moving again for his breathing to even out and to feel close to calm enough to go inside. Jasttor takes a deep breath, letting go of some of the stress, and steps inside as the Bloodmaw clan gets moving, traveling away, always away.

The scent of her is all wrong--like chlorine and something sickly sweet mingled with her sweat and natural scent. It has been wrong for the last few days as she rapidly declined into delirium and illness. Her body has already dropped enough weight to see it, her scales off-color and dull, and the gash at her side won't stop bleeding, even covered as it is with bandages and salve.

Lily looks drawn, tired, but instead of being asleep or staring, black-eyed at the ceiling of the caravan, she's looking right at him.

"Hey, Jas," she says hoarsely, giving him what looks like a grimace when she was going for a smile. His heart rises and beats rapidly in his chest, like a caged, fluttering bird.

"Lily?! You are awake! You--are you--how do you feel?!" Jasttor asks in a rapid-fire manner, a huge, hopeful smile coming to his face as he rushes to her side. Her hands are still cold as he holds them between his own, but she's gripping back this time. It feels like eons since he's seen her eyes clear like this, even though it's only been a few days. He didn't think it possible to feel so much joy over such a simple thing.

"Terrible," she sighs, closing her eyes and laying her head down on its side. "Jas. I..." she hesitates, and the heavy way she speaks punctures a small hole in the balloon of hope he has in his chest.

"Wh-what is it? Are you--are you all right? I have been trying to get them to find some way to help you, but they keep telling me it is too dangerous, a-and you were--" He swallows, trying to calm himself again as the lump forms in his throat. "But you are awake now! Look, you are going to get better, you will be--"

"Brother." Her voice is quiet, but the power behind it makes him shut his jaws immediately with a soft click. "I am going to die."

Jasttor feels like the quiet that settles upon them after that statement will crush him to death. "No! No, look at you, it... you..." His voice breaks, and the tears he'd been trying so hard to keep back are falling again; he presses her chilly palm to his face.

She snorts at him softly. "You always were the emotional twin," she teases, and he lets out a choked laugh.

Lily doesn't say anything for a few moments, but pulls her hand back and reaches for the amulet around his neck, catching it with the sway of the caravan and fiddling at the little dragon head with her thumb. "Hey, remember when I gave you this?" she asks him. He nods, trying, in vain, to stop crying again. "Well, you remember what I said when I did, all right?

Jasttor nods and sniffs, a crease forming between his brows as he looks at her. Lily looks him in the eyes, and speaks to him in a soft voice that reminds him of when they were just children.

"Come sleep next to me?" she asks. The lump that forms in Jasttor's throat won't go away enough for him to talk, so he just nods and immediately scoots in next to her. She faces him automatically, both of them curling in towards each other in a need for the touch of the other. "Love you, Jas."

"I love you too, Lily," he answers thickly. "Sleep well."

She gives him a tired smile. "Yeah. You too." They doze off, Jasttor soothed to sleep by her breathing, one last time.

[mindmmxvii]

Nein

Hello Blog, how’s your blogosphere? Is it chilly like our atmosphere? Do you even have seasons or weather over there? Well if you don’t you aren’t missing much right now, though I have to admit I’m partial to the warm. Funny how I was considering moving to a place known as the windy city then. Anyway, on to things of more substance.

See the doc

Help Sis make goal list (much like mine)

I woke up at 9 today, considering I went to bed after 1. Did a quick 7 min workout, showered and took Al back to my Dad’s house. Work went pretty smoothly. Monday’s are typically a slower catch up day and today was no exception. I went by my favorite client for our 10 AM Monday onsite visit and was greeted by cookies and oatmeal (weeee). I had lunch at home and made a few pit stops for work before showing up for my doctor appointment. I was strangely calm all things considering. I filled out the patient forms and waited for my NextDoor recommended doctor. When the doc came, I told him everything. Well everything that pertained to me medically.

I explained that for the past... 7 years? I have been slowly having more and more heart issues. I explained about the one weekend where I woke at 4 am due to my heart beating so rapidly... Up until the sleeplessness and chest pain recently. I explained how it has been a slow decline in my heart’s “stamina”, that doesn't usually affect me during the daytime but has plagued me during times of relaxation or sleep. I went over how I sometimes feel spasms in my muscles at times, how I would wake up with no pulse in one extremity and after moving around slowly geting it back, about how I would have pain in one leg in sync with my pulse that would slowly fade away, or the terrified race my heart would have during the day at the early stages. God thinking back I must have sounded like a mad man or a hypochondriac. Maybe I am? Honestly I’ve never written down all the “symptoms” I have had, I’m sure I could have gone on longer if I prepared.

He was exceedingly nice and went to great lengths to make me feel comfortable while I was talking. He even brought me tea. He then proceeded to take my pulse, blood pressure, then sent me down for an ECG and a Holter monitor. Now an electrocardiogram (ECG) is basically where they hook little probes up to your chest and monitor the electricity of your heart for a little bit. It gives you a quick snapshot of how your heart is pumping. The test was painless, just hooking cold gel things up to my chest and laying down. A Holter monitor is basically a longer version of an ECG. As I type this I have little probes attached to my chest that are recording every beat my heart makes. I’ll keep it on for 24 hours then give it back so they can go through the data. Oh last thing is blood work, which I will do tomorrow, provided they have openings for me. The ECG readings and other minor checks, are available right away, so walking back to his office had me... hopeful? I have had physicals and blood work in the past years but I never told anyone of my problems, so they never dug too deep. I wanted these results to come back quick and for him to say “Oh look, you have some heart disease!”. I just wanted to know the problem so I could fix it. Haha see I want to fix my hard problems now, instead of ignoring them.

I didn’t get that. My blood pressure was 110/60, heart was at 55 bps, and the ECG all looked normal. He said the ECG and heart beat was a little on the low side but that was normal for very healthy people. Honestly I’m not too surprised as I am feeling great today and plus why would one visit to the doctor magically find my problem? I needed to show them my problem when it was happening. Sleeping would do that. Playing video games will also do it. I’m not even going to touch that statement right now.. So much to examine with my priorities and where they were at... Ugg. Anyway, looking at me, you would think “oh he is a physically fit skinny person, there is nothing wrong with him!”. I’m sure that’s what the doc thought, as he then proceeded to prescribe me sleeping meds. He had mentioned them before when we were talking, maybe he thinks I am just trying to scam him for some pills? I was throwing symptoms around like a monkey who just found some poo. mrahh I’m a mess.

I left shortly after and I figured my only hope at this point is to try my best to have the most restless sleep of my life so they catch some weird shit tonight. Ha, first night in a long time I hope I don’t have a full nights rest. I decided that I deserve a little treat so I stopped by Penn Station on the way home. First time eating out, by myself, this year actually. I get a 12″ veggie, a small fry, and a cookie (don’t tell them but I always steal an extra cookie, I’m such a kleptomaniac). I stuff my face as soon as I get back to my basement and watch the newest It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia episode. Humm I’m content. So I suppose people are right when they say happiness is a full belly, because today is the first day I went over my calorie count! I did so fantastically, like almost 900 calories over (not counting my activity for the day). Fast food, and cookies, strike again.

I dive into my guitar and play for a couple hours. I’m feeling better at this point so I grab my sister and we talk major shop. We decided to make a list exactly like mine and slowly work toward some agreed upon goals. We got her signed up for GPG (Gateway Pet Guardians) and had some pretty exhausting conversations about her aspirations and where she sees herself in a year or two. It’s a slow thing but I think I am reeling her out of her fantasies. They are a great place but we can’t stay there for any meaningful amount of time without causing damage. Sometimes irreparable damage.

Now I’m sitting in bed after my normal bedtime activities wondering about what this means for me. I mean, I told someone about my issues, something well I never thought would happen. I told him and I’ve told you blog. Well I really havn’t actually. I haven’t told you, Blog, the reasons that brought me here. How when it first was happening, when I would pace for hours till I thought my heart would calm down the entire time wide eyed and freaked. How I told my Dad and he said it was nothing to worry, just to deal with it, that we didn't want the ER visit expenses. At the time I was not insured for health care. I haven’t explained how 6 months later I finally found a job and had money to afford health care, then about 3 months later I mustered up the courage to see some one and admit my problem. I saw a doctor my family has been to who ran some tests (ECG I think and something else that x-rayed my heart) and gave me a pep talk about how I was most likely going to die. Honestly the entire talk seems like a fever dream at this point. I don’t remember a lot of the finer details but he made my situation seem like it would lead to a short lifespan. That doctor died a short time after that and I haven’t told anyone else of our conversations. I haven’t thought about that day in a long time. I dwelled on it so much at the time, and as time went on I just wanted to ignore it. 

I was more of a carefree person but I changed to a more focused and analytical person after that. I honestly had faced the prospect of death before that day, on the numerous occasions I had thought I may be dieing when I would have one of my episodes. I was slowly but surely coming to grips with my own death. I didn’t want to die, just if it happened, it happened. I wasn’t going to sit around worrying about it when I most likely didn't have time to spare anyway. As I was saying, things became more clear. If they didn’t help me in the short term, then why was I doing them? College? Not worth it. Investments? Nah. Marriage? Irrelevant. I wasn’t a psychopath or uncaring though. I found I really couldn’t be completely selfish. I ended up taking out two life insurance policies, why burden my family financially when I’m gone? Marriage wasn’t for me but I still got the most out of longer relationships, so I had two 3+ year relationships since that time. Both were still ruined by me and choices that favored the short term.

We are all still animals and subject to the bodys wants. I have sexual urges and I figured with my new outlook on life, I should act on them as much as I wanted. I could end up hurting people but in the end I could just move on, it’s not like I could have built something to last even if I wanted to. I worked on things that mattered to me and ignored many of the problems in my life for a long as I could. I was a wholly good person, but I sometimes did things because I wanted to get the most out of my experiences. If I ever got the urge to do something that may upset someone, I put myself first and acted.

Man blog, I feel like I am rambling now. Glad you could listen to me drone on forever. Well things came to a climax recently and I fucked up so majorly, it flipped my switch. I mean I think I actually want to live. It’s like typing those words gave them new meaning, like they aren’t fragile anymore, they won’t just float away. I figured I’d be dead by now back when I first made my decisions, but here I am typing away, apparently a very healthy person according to my doc. 

I’m not afraid anymore. To care and cherish, to embrace my feelings I cut off so long ago, to explore what the rest of my life could hold, to just plan for more than what I can get right now. It breaks me to say these things though because I may have health issues. I’m not sure what I would do if I was told all over again that my long term plans would most likely be fruitless, that these big questions didn’t need answering, that love isn’t for me. I’m sitting here crying I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose her. maybe I need support but I’ve made sure I’m doing this alone. Why does this hurt so bad?

Ha I didn’t mean to offend you blog, you andI are in this togther. Typing things out to you is... it’s collecting my thoughts and giving me time to process them. You are invaluable to me now blog and I would hate to lose you. Well look at me. It’s past 1 AM again. Ah I thin I’ve split enough of my guts, I need sleep. Horrible horrible restless sleep. My bed is so empty now I can spread out and never touch another soul.

to cheers -mind