#she is in DANGER and i'm UNWELL

[nonborderlinary]

never needed to be in a coma more than i do right now

[umbracirrus]

Without even realising it until now, I seem to have adapted a headcanon that on top of Proventus being overly cautious/worrying, it intensifies greatly when it comes to matters such as sickness and disease. To the 'I will be at the other side of the room/elsewhere/not near you until I am certain that I am not at risk' level.

[pretty-little-mind33]

James Potter x slytherin!fem!reader

Summary: When your "friends" play a dangerously stupid prank on you, James is the last person you'd think would help you.

Genre: Fluff, hurt and comfort <3

Warning: swearing, mentions of being drugged/drunk, violence, mentions of blood, protective!James

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

When James sees you walk into the classroom with an unusually cheery smile, he can't look away.

"Sirius," he pauses and leans in closer to his friend, "does she look unwell to you?" James whispers, clearly concerned for you. Sirius lets his chin rest on his palms as he looks over at you nonchalantly.

You almost trip on your shoe-laces as you make your way to your desk and you laugh a little too loudly, but only James seems to notice that particular detail.

"Y/l/n? She seems quite happy to me," Sirius's smirk is heard in his voice but James doesn't look amused. 

"No, something's wrong. She's usually quiet and she," he doesn't finish his sentence when he sees your friends in the corner of the classroom.

Some of them look as concerned as he is while most hide smiles and snickers behind their hands as they look at you. James's eyes bounce back to you and his frown deepens. Something is wrong. Instantly, he's on his feet.

"Prongs!?" Sirius sounds surprised but it's no use trying to stop him because James is already on his way to you.

Just as you raise your arm to run a hand in your – already annoyed – desk partner's hair, James quickly swoops in and catches your wrist. You pause and when you turn your head to look at him, your smile widens. 

"Potter!" you slur.

James can be an idiot sometimes, but he does know you're not drunk. He's never seen you drink. You look dizzy and he comes to the conclusion you must be under the influence of some kind of spell. He looks you over and sees the nasty cut on your knee. Anger bubbles in his stomach as he remembers how your friends somehow found this all incredibly funny. 

You tilt your head at him slightly and say, "You have pretty eyes, did you know that?" you smile a smile James usually loves and was never directed at him before, but by now the entire classroom has their eyes on you and, because he knows you would hate all this unnecessary attention, James helps you stand.

You let out a breathy giggle when his hands find your waist and hold you steady.  

"What are you doing?" a shrill voice asks from behind him and James clenches his jaw. He turns around. It's one of your friends. She's also in Slytherin and as hard as he tries, James can't remember her name.

"Helping your friend," he says blankly, "She seems a little out of it, doesn't she?"

"She's fine," your friend rolls her and tucks her dark hair behind her ear. "Aren't you, Y/n?" she asks you with a faint smirk.

Your body sways and James's arms move from your waist and swoops around you to hold under your armpits. "I'm okay — y-yeah, I'm okay. I feel better than fine," You mutter, eyelids fluttering slightly as you giggle at his touch.

James isn't at all convinced you're okay. 

Your friend's cruel smirk and the mystery of how you've bruised your knee leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"She's bleeding," he states as calmly as he can. 

"She's just clumsy." 

"She's obviously been hexed or something," James narrows his eyes.

Your friend laughs at his accusatory tone. "What? And you think I did it?"

"Yeah, actually, I do."

At this point, it's obvious you aren't paying attention to their argument as you start to play with James's collar. His cheeks flush pink as your hair skims his chin and the smell of your shampoo fills the air.

"Well if you won't tell me what happened to her, then I'll find out myself," he says and his hand moves to hold yours. "Come on," he whispers sweetly and you let him lead you out of the classroom.

James is extremely careful with you. He makes sure you don't trip in the hallway, or run into any doors and walls, and more importantly he stays with you when the nurse comes to make sure you're okay.

He leans over the hospital bed as his hand hover over your knee as he asks, "What's happened to her?" 

"Veritaserum," the nurse says as she presses her palm on your forehead. 

"The truth serum?" James is confused. "Doesn't that make someone tell the truth? Why would it make her act so," he turns his head to look at you and conflicting emotions creates what feels like an empty pit in his stomach. You look so beautiful with your eyes blown wide as you glance around the room. "So ditzy?" he finishes in an endeared whisper.

"It isn't uncommon as everyone can have different reactions," The nurse explains as she gently inspects your knee, "I think whoever made this potion must not be particularly skilled."

James clenches his fist around his cloak and tries to remind himself that you probably wouldn't want him to beat up your so-called-friends.

"What's happening to me?" your voice comes out strained as you try and focus on their conversation as you catch on to their confused faces. 

"Nothing, honey, you're fine. Your friend was worried and he," 

You interrupt her, "James Potter? Oh, he isn't my friend." You look up at James and his smile disappears. He's embarrassed as he searches your face for any indication that you're joking but clearly you aren't because you ask him. "Potter, do you even know my name?" You sound serious.

James hesitates to answer, "Of course I know your name, Y/n," he finally admits.

He doesn't expect your eyes to light up but they do and you turn to the nurse, "He does know my name," you whisper with a smile.

James's heart swells at how happy you seem and he smirks a little. Amused, the nurse lets you continue, "You'know," you lean in closer and mutter just loud enough for James to hear without you knowing, "I really like him."

Surprised, his heart jumps and the nurse panics as he quickly shuts you up. "Alright honey, let's clean up this nasty little wound and then wait for the potion to pass, ok?" you nod and focus on her as she waves her wand across your knee and the cut disappears. 

Once she's done, the nurse turns to James and says, "I know you must be curious, Potter, but I think Y/l/n should be alone while she recovers," the nurse turns to you again and looks at you sympathetically.

"He can stay!" you insist, "I want him to stay."

James looks into your eyes and he wonders how he can even think of disappointing you.

But, when he looks at the nurse again his heart sinks. He can't stay, he knows he can't. It would be unfair. You deserve to keep your secrets — all those feelings you wouldn't share with him normally — hidden away in your pretty little head. 

James knows he can't take those away from you so he nods, stuffs his hands in his pockets, and sends you a lopsided smile. "I'll see you around, mmh?" 

He leaves before he can focus on the way you called his name because if he does, he knows he'd feel compelled to rush back in and stay by your side. On his way back to the classroom, he can't help but smile as he remembers your words. Only, his smile disappears the moment he hears your friends in the hallway. 

James stops in front of them and they do the same. The girl from earlier crosses her arms. "What's your issue, Potter?" she snarls, "Where's Y/n?"

James refuses to answer her question. "You gave her the Veritaserum, didn't you?" he accuses and some of your friend's squirm guiltily. The dark-haired girl just smirks.

"So what if we did? She isn't dying, is she? It was funny," she turns to your other friends with a grin and they nod meekly. "You should have seen her stumbling around, she wasn't even fazed when she fell and scraped her knee on the cobblestones. It was hilarious," she continues.

James's face burns from the points of his ears to his cheeks. "Hilarious?!" he repeats, his voice stern, "What kind of friends find it funny when their friend hurts themselves? She didn't know about the Veritaserum, did she?" 

The girl shakes her head but one of your other friends interrupts. He's a tall, lanky Slytherin with icy blue eyes and vibrant auburn hair.

"Of course she didn't know, Potter. It wouldn't be as fun if she did. I would think you would understand," he admits with a grin.

James's hands shake as he stares at your friend rambling. The boy only chuckles and turns to his friends, amused, as he taunts, "Slipped the potion in her drink myself this morning."

He doesn't finish his sentence as James punches him. He stumbles back into the girls, cupping his hands around his nose, as they shriek in surprise. James shakes his hand out a little and narrows his eyes. "You don't spike someone's drink, asshole. And don't fucking insinuate I would ever do something like that to anyone!"

"What the fuck? Why do you even care?" The boy hisses as one girl holds his shoulder and tends to him. "You're crazy." 

And sure, maybe James was crazy but he won't tolerate someone hurting you. 

Ever. 

* * *

"James, just give the poor girl some space," Remus sighs as he tries to concentrate on his essay. "She's gone through enough these last few days. Haven't you heard the rumors going around? They're brutal."

James resists the scream that bubbles in his throat. "I know. I know. I just want to be there for her," he whines and Sirius wraps his arm around his shoulder.

"You'll just make things worse," Sirius says, "Last rumor I heard is that she faked it all for your attention." 

James clenches his jaw. "How would I make this worse? It's all so fucking cruel, Pads. She's all alone," his heart has been slowly breaking whenever he thinks of you sobbing in your dorm or sitting alone during your classes and meals. 

He shuts his eyes a moment and then sits up abruptly and says, "I know what to do."

Remus looks up and with a worried expression, his eyes widen. "Prongs," he starts but James is already standing. "Sirius! Don't let him leave!" Remus insists but it's too late because their friend is already out the Common Room door. 

When James enters the Great Hall, he pauses and searches for you. He sees you sitting alone and he becomes so angry he can't think normally.

He storms up to the Slytherin table and jumps on top of it. Some cutlery and food falls to the floor and students turn their heads. James just clears his throat, making a show as he stumbles on his feet. 

If everyone wants to gossip about something, they can gossip about this. 

With a grin, he spreads his arms and shouts, "Can I have everyone's attention?" The Great Hall turns silent and James struts down the table until he's much closer to you. You feel your cheeks heat up and you hold your breath.

Remus and Sirius run into the Great Hall, calling James's name but it's too late because James is now standing in front of you as he holds out his hand. "Y/n, will you go out with me?" He asks, his voice loud and calm.

Whispers break out as your heart thumps in your chest. You look into James's eyes, searching them and when you reluctantly take his hand he nods a little and pulls you up onto the table with him. 

Quickly, he pulls you closer and then whispers in your ear, "Say no. Trust me." 

Your frown deepens but the words leave you without thinking, "No?" 

James smirks and just subtle enough for no one to see, he kisses your cheek and pulls you away from him. Dramatically, he stumbles backwards and covers his heart. "Ow, you're killing me here, love. What will I do without you?"

If you didn't know he had just asked you to reject him, you would think he sounds genuinely hurt. As he stumbles, he trips on someone's glass and with a loud crash, he falls to the ground.

Students gasp loudly and so do you as you cover your mouth with your hands and rush to the edge of the table and peer down at him. When you see him sitting on the ground he suddenly blows a kiss up to you, a small paper bird flutters up to you and then turns into rose petals.

Your eyes widen and you can't help but laugh when James continues to make a scene and the petals fall in your hair. "You're breaking my heart, darling. Criminal," James whispers and winks dramatically. 

"James Potter, detention. Now," McGonagall's voice booms and when James sees you hide a smile behind your hand, he smiles too.

A while later, as James sweeps up McGonagall's classroom floor, all he can think of is your happy smile.

"James?" Your voice interrupts his memory and he jumps a little, turning towards the door. You stand in the doorway, a flustered look on your face as you hesitate to come inside. James drops the broom and rushes over to you. 

His knuckles hover over your cheek as he says, "Y/n, are you okay?"

Your eyes widen and you touch his hand. Gently, you pull it down to his side again as you whisper and ask, "What was that all about?"

James searches your face for anger. "I wanted to take the embarrassment off of you. You don't deserve anything that's been happening to you, love. None of it is your fault."

You look at him more seriously. "Yeah, it's been a little hard but I can handle the teasing. You shouldn't have done that," you say and James's heart clenches in his chest. 

"I'm sorry if I upset you, Y/n. I just wanted,"

You interrupt him, "No. I mean you shouldn't have asked me to say no," you pause and look up at him, "unless, you don't actually want to go out with me. But, I know you know how I feel about you and I,"

Your sentence dies and you don't know what else to say. 

James's expression softens. You look up at him, almost pleading with him, "Please don't make me repeat what I said in the Hospital Wing. It's so embarrassing, and I know you heard me. I wasn't exactly quiet."

James smirks. "When you said you like me?" he holds up his finger and pretends to ponder, "No I'm sorry, you really like me," his smile widens as he looks at you. You feel warmth in your cheeks and look away.

"Yeah, that."

"Well, I really like you too."

Your eyes widen and you look up at him. James uses his thumb to lift your chin. You realize how close your body is to his and your breath hitches in your throat. James's hand moves to your cheek, caressing it softly as you whisper, "You do?"

James lets out a breathy chuckle. "Of course I do. You're beautiful, kind, incredibly smart it's annoying," his eyes are full of admiration, "What's there not to like, darlin'?"

You frown, glancing quickly at the emblem stitched onto my robes and then you look at him again. "But, I'm a Slytherin. I didn't even think you ever knew who I was until last week. We've never really talked."

James's smile falters and his thumb moves behind your ear as he holds your cheek. "That's my fault. I should have said something sooner but with my reputation and all," he looks away, his face twisted in shame, "I didn't want to scare you away."

You see the sincerity in his eyes but ask wearily, "So it doesn't bother you?" 

"That you're in Slytherin?" James smiles a little. "No, it doesn't, love. I don't care. I've seen how you are and I think you're absolutely lovely," he catches himself, "I mean, I'm not saying Slytherin's aren't lovely,"

You shut him up with a kiss. It's confident and startling but James doesn't complain. He simply pulls you in closer and lets his mouth explore yours with a passion he didn't know he had. He didn't know how starved he was of your taste until now.

Fuck, he's fucked. 

You pull away, lips wet and stare at him. "Sorry," you mutter.

"Sorry?" James frowns and leans in to kiss you again, "Don't you dare be sorry. Just kiss me," his words leave you a mush in his arms and you're happy for his hand around your back because otherwise you would fall over. 

When he finally disconnects your lips, he leans his forehead on yours and whispers what he'd been thinking, "You'll kill me, love."

You smile and hold his arm. "Thanks for saving me by the way, when I was under the potion," you say. 

James leans away and studies your soft expression with a small smile. "I'd be an asshole not to help you. I didn't want to see you get hurt." 

"Still, if you hadn't seen that something was wrong I don't know what would have happened."

"Nothing would have happened because I was there," James insists and kisses your forehead, "I'll always be there." He adds in a whisper into your hair.

It's only for him to hear. He doesn't want to just tell you he's there for you, instead he wants to show you. Everyday.

[ladysharmaa]

Heat

Jay Halstead x pregnant!reader

Summary: When Chicago is in a heat wave, Y/n feels unwell while pregnant, worrying Jay

It was definitely the hottest day of the year. Chicago was going through a heat wave and Y/n had never felt more miserable. It also didn't help that she was seven months pregnant with her husband's baby, Jay Halstead. She could feel the beads of sweat falling from her forehead and her face heating up so much that she must have looked like a walking tomato.

Jay warned her to stay at home and protect herself from the heat, but when the air conditioning broke, Y/n decided to go out to buy a fan. But she didn't know it would be so difficult to walk and even breathe on this hellish day. It seemed like with every breath she took, the air burned her lungs. She walked slowly, one hand on her stomach protectively, trying to at least get to the store that was a few blocks away.

Y/n knew Jay would be so upset if he knew she left the house in this weather. Since she became pregnant, the man has become even more protective than before. However, she knew he was having a busy day and couldn't leave work just because Y/n was hot — although he would do that if Y/n called him and asked to buy a fan.

But everything got worse when Y/n's vision became blurry and a feeling of nausea appeared. Jay's wife leaned against the wall next to her, trying to get some shade to compose herself. She brought a hand to her mouth, trying to breathe slowly to calm her heart that was beating rapidly against her chest.

"Miss! Miss, are you okay?" a man appeared in front of her, with a worried look. "Do you need me to call an ambulance?"

"No, it's okay." she managed to whisper. "Could you help me get to Fire Station 51? It's just a two-minute walk." the man, already advanced in age, seemed friendly enough for Y/n to trust him. And the truth was that she had no other option, as it seemed like her legs were going to give out at any moment.

"Sure thing, ma'am. Here, lean on my arm." he agreed with a gentle smile, offering her his arm to help her walk. "In this heat, no one should be walking around. It could be dangerous, especially in your condition."

"I know." Y/n sighed, knowing that beyond this lecture, she was going to hear worse from Jay when he found out. "But I wanted to buy a fan. It wasn't even a five-minute walk."

The man patted her hand in understanding. "I don't judge you, dear. My wife has already had three children, and in all of them, she was very stubborn. I understand that you don't want to be dependent on us, poor husbands, but we just want you to be well."

The woman didn't respond, now feeling even more guilty for not calling Jay to ask for this favor. She didn't want to bother him, but the plan didn't go as expected. The rest of the short walk was done in silence, Y/n's cheeks becoming more flushed, and having difficulty breathing in the hot air.

When they finally saw the fire station, Jay's wife couldn't be more relieved. Gabby and Brett, who were getting out of the ambulance, having just arrived from a call, noticed Y/n's tired form and immediately took hurried steps towards her, helping to carry her and him into the shade.

"Y/n? What happened? Are you feeling okay?" Gabby asked worriedly, helping her into the back of the ambulance. Y/n sat down, one hand on her stomach and the other on her back, closing her eyes as she started to feel dizzy.

"I'll call Jay." she managed to hear Brett say, but she was more focused on not throwing up than responding to the paramedics.

Thankfully, the man who helped her took charge of explaining what had happened. Y/n had the strength to open her eyes and thank him deeply for his help, asking if she could do anything to repay him, but he just shook his head and smiled. Then he left, as Y/n was now with people who could help her medically.

"What are your symptoms, Y/n?"

"I don't feel well, Gabby." her voice shook, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall. "I'm sick, dizzy, and a headache is forming."

After leaving the phone call, Brett began taking her vitals, while Gabby applied a cold compress to her forehead. "You're most likely dehydrated, we have to go to the hospital to put you on an IV and check the baby."

"But he's fine, right?" Y/n sobbed scared, clutching her belly as she looked at her friends with a frown.

"Yes, he seems fine. But just to be sure." Gabby comforted, starting to help Y/n lay down on the stretcher.

"What did Jay say?"

"Well, he—" the blonde paramedic started to say, but was interrupted by the sirens of a police car, getting closer and closer. "I guess that's your answer."

"How did he get here so fast?" Y/n thought out loud as he watched the police officer get out of the still moving car. He immediately looked around for his wife. When he saw them, he quickly broke into a run, his eyes wide in panic. Hailey got out of the driver's seat, right behind Jay.

"I'm really sorry."

"What, baby? You don't have to apologize." Jay knelt down next to Y/n, gently cupping her face with his hands so he could assess her condition. Unconsciously, his hand slid down to her round belly, finally managing to take a deep breath when he felt a light kick against his touch. "I shouldn't have left you alone in this weather. You're okay, baby."

When Brett called him to explain the situation, he felt a sense of fear like he had never felt before. Not even when he had been shot at, kidnapped or beaten. The most important people in his life being in danger was his worst nightmare.

Luckily, they were in the neighborhood and managed to get to the fire station in record time thanks to Hailey's driving. Over time, Y/n and the blonde had become very close, often ganging up together against Jay. Not that he minded, since hearing his wife's giggles and knowing she was more relaxed when Jay was working as she trusted his partner to protect him.

"We need to get them to the hospital. Y/n is showing signs of dehydration and the baby needs to be checked." Jay's head turned unusually quickly to Gabby in concern. She hurried to add, "They both seem to be fine, but I want to make sure."

"I'll go back to the police station and let Voight know you won't be working anymore this week." Hailey offered. "I hope you're okay, Y/n. I'll stop at the hospital to check on you."

"Thank you, Hails." Y/n smiled weakly.

"Let's go." The man nodded, kissing Y/n's forehead comfortingly. He climbed into the back of the ambulance with her and held her hand the whole way while Gabby got into the driver's seat and Brett checked some vital signs.

The ride was relatively calm, but Y/n was getting paler and sicker by the minute. Jay mumbled words in an attempt to calm her down, but inside, he felt like he couldn't breathe. They should have called two ambulances because he was close to passing out.

Finally, they arrived at the hospital where Maggie and Will were waiting for them at the entrance. In no time, she was already settled in and several doctors were checking everything they could. Jay stayed by her side the whole time, answering some questions from the doctors when necessary.

The fluorescent lights of the hospital were harsh against Y/n’s already sensitive eyes as she waited for someone to tell her what was going on. Jay never let go of her hand, his grip firm but gentle, his thumb softly brushing against her knuckles in a silent attempt to comfort her. Her heart was pounding, but the cool sheets of the hospital bed and his touch gave her some relief.

Will Halstead, dressed in his white coat and looking every bit the composed doctor he was, entered the room, clipboard in hand. His face softened the moment he saw Y/n and Jay.

"Hey," Will greeted, his tone warm yet professional. "How are we doing here?"

"Not great, Will," Y/n admitted, her voice weak as she tried to give him a small smile. "I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck."

Jay immediately turned to his brother. "What’s going on? Is she okay? Is the baby okay?" His words came out in a rush, and it was clear he was doing everything he could to keep his composure.

Will raised a hand to calm his younger brother. "Take a breath, Jay," he said, flipping through the chart. "We ran some tests and monitored Y/n’s vitals. She’s severely dehydrated, which is why she felt dizzy and nauseous. Her blood pressure dropped, but thankfully, the baby is doing great. The ultrasound shows a strong heartbeat."

Y/n let out a shaky breath of relief, her free hand instinctively moving to her belly. Jay visibly relaxed beside her, the tension in his shoulders easing.

"So, she’s okay? The baby’s okay?" Jay asked again, needing to hear it one more time to truly believe it.

"Yes," Will assured them with a kind smile. "We’re giving her IV fluids to rehydrate her, and she should start feeling better soon. I do want her to stay overnight for observation, just to be safe, but I’m confident she and the baby will be fine."

"Thank you, Will," Y/n said, her voice cracking slightly as tears of relief welled in her eyes.

Will reached out to pat her head. "No need to thank me, Y/n. Just promise me you’ll stay out of this heat, okay?"

She nodded, feeling a mix of guilt and gratitude. "I’ll try," she murmured, glancing at Jay.

Jay turned to Will. "Thanks, man."

"Anything for my sister-and-law and nephew." He winked at her before stepping back. "I’ll check on you in a bit, but for now, just rest."

As Will left, the room fell quiet, except for the soft beep of the monitors and the rhythmic drip of the IV. Jay pulled a chair close to the bed, sinking into it as he brought Y/n’s hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her fingers.

"You scared me today," he said softly, his eyes glistening as they locked onto hers. "Don’t ever do that again, Y/n. Please."

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn’t mean to worry you. I just... I didn’t want to bother you at work."

Jay let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. "Bother me? Y/n, you and this baby are the most important things in my life. I’d drop everything in a heartbeat if you needed me."

Her lips trembled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. "I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. It was just a fan."

He leaned forward, cupping her face with both hands, his thumbs gently wiping away her tears. "Listen to me," he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "Nothing is ‘just’ when it comes to you or our family. You’re my world. Promise me, no more trying to do everything on your own. I’m here for you. Always. Ask me to buy you a fan, food, a house, I don't care, I'll do it in a heartbeat."

She nodded, fresh tears streaming down her face. "I promise," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Jay leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before resting his against hers. For a moment, they stayed like that, their breaths mingling as the world outside the hospital room faded away.

"I love you," she said softly, her hand finding its way to his cheek.

"I love you more," he replied, his voice low and full of sincerity. He placed a hand on her belly, feeling the soft flutter of movement beneath his palm. "And I love you, little one. But you’ve gotta cut your mom some slack, okay? No more giving her a hard time."

Y/n laughed weakly, the sound light and sweet. "Hear that?" she said, looking down at her bump. "You are already giving Daddy white hairs."

As the IV continued to drip and the monitors beeped steadily, the weight of the day began to lift. They were together and okay. That was all that they needed.

[aropride]

in 2020 when vanessa hudgens said "people will die, which is terrible, but like, inevitable," she was rightfully criticized by a ton of people, but now that's how almost everyone approaches covid. in 2022 when the then-director of the cdc rochelle walensky said it was "really encouraging" that mostly "people who were unwell to begin with" were the ones dying and not abled people, she was also widely criticized (though mostly by more left-leaning people and disability justice advocates). both of those statements were considered horrific things to say and devaluing the lives of people who were dying from covid.

but covid didn't stop spreading, it didn't stop mutating, it didn't stop killing and disabling people, the vaccines don't fully prevent it, you can catch it even if you're not uniquely vulnerable- and having had a covid infection before makes you more vulnerable, anyway. regardless of what the cdc or your boss wants you to think it's not safe to unmask just because everyone else is doing it.

i understand that the cdc and politicians have been minimizing covid for years, i understand most people don't know you need a kn95/kf95/n95/etc mask to stop the virus, i understand most people don't know that you can spread covid asymptomatically or presymptomatically, i understand that there's been a complete failure to communicate the dangers of covid to the public, i understand most people don't even know what long covid is or how covid can completely ruin your life without killing you. i understand that a lot of people don't know, but there are also people who do know and they don't care. or who are vaguely aware of the dangers of covid but choose not to pay attention to it because it's scary or inconvenient.

but we're five years into the pandemic and people have, for the most part, given up on caring, and i'm running out of patience and understanding and the ability to be nice about it. bc if you're not masking in your day to day life, that means that you've on some level accepted that "people will die, which is terrible, but like, inevitable," and that you're fine with contributing to that. i feel like one morning i woke up in a world that went from condemning that sentiment to fully embracing it overnight. and that's something i don't think i can ever really understand or sympathize with.

[softantlers]

i've written on it before in past metas but i think i sort of danced around the point in a way that could be communicated more sharply: i think it's super crucial to lottie's character to think of the wilderness as an abuser & to be curious about the ways that dynamic drives her actions and relationships with the other girls.

the wilderness as an abuser meta (with some lottienat side action)

i don't know if i have the energy to explain this as well as i'd like but something that can happen in an abusive relationship is "love bombing" -- there's the pop psychology slant to this which can get super reductive so i'm not trying to go there, but the main thing to understand with love bombing as a real tool of abuse is that it's often meant to isolate you. it's meant to make you feel that the person doing it is the only person who can really give you that degree of affection or attention or fondness & that if you let them go, you'll never ever ever be loved in that way again. (it keeps you in the cycle of abuse by preying on your insecurities and feelings of scarcity.)

the fact that lottie becomes a sort of conduit to the wilderness and therefore has a unique and special relationship to it that's admired by some of the girls who end up following her is deeply troublesome, not least because it plays into lottie's spiral into derealization but also because it's essentially giving someone who entered the wilderness profoundly isolated a sense of being needed for something that's yoked to her being unmedicated and growing progressively unwell.

i've waxed on in past metas about lottie being mixed, how untalkable her diagnosis would have been, the relative absence of her parents-- it all functions to make her an island. she's known but unknown. no one truly sees her, but the wilderness is of her and it can only be communicated to the other girls through her & that's a very dangerous avenue for lottie to gather a sense of self from because it's predicated on not just being unmedicated but on the fervent desire to take care of her team by following the whims of this new belief system.

how that all gets back into abuse-- the combo of the delusions and the feeling of being special, which is rather chaotically denied and affirmed by the girls over their time in the wilderness, is a kind of love bombing. you might argue that lottie doesn't actually feel special or god-like (and i actually think this is true-- she feels like a drowning acolyte trying to keep it altogether) but her baseline perception is that she is special because heavy are her shoulders wearing the crown through s1-s2. it's not the kind of grandiosity that smacks you in the face because it's much more restrained. lottie simply knows she's the one who hears the wilderness. she even knows it hurts and you must sacrifice to hear the wilderness, but it's coming from a place of love. she will give of herself for her girls, and she will partake in this relationship (as much as it torments her) to keep them safe.

lottie doesn't wield her connection to the wilderness like a weapon necessarily. she's not flaunting it. it's a steady knowing inside her. she's chosen.

and in any case, the wilderness is an abuser because what it demands of lottie are things you experience when you're going through abuse:

loss of personhood

as lottie deregulates she begins to lose the sassyness, bite, and sense of humor that we saw pre-crash. we get a bit of her old self right after the plane goes down: her snipes at mari and travis, and we get the briefest flash of it in the bathtub scene with natalie: "you fucking loser."

these moments are lottie to some extent, which we see echoed through to her medicated state in the adult timeline: "asshole" she calls natalie, calling tai out for simone, calling misty out for really killing someone, etc etc. even just smiling and being happy to dance together...

but in the wilderness? lottie is fucking losing the plot. she's so unlike herself, she's tormented, she's wearing the same clothes, she's saying less and less and less, she's pushing boundaries. her whole personhood is turning into acolyte, prophet, etc. her value system is blurred and hard to retrieve.

she's not pre-crash lottie at all.

punishment

this is a huge one. so one aspect of abuse is withholding attention to torment someone when they do something that isn't to your liking. this is so plain in lottie's relationship to the wilderness. for example, when everything goes down with javi and the queen draw (an outcome we know lottie didn't want), she proceeds to crown natalie as leader. the fact of the wilderness becoming silent to lottie around the same time as crowning natalie feels really important, because natalie is not the type of leader who is going to let shit fly that far off the chain again. we totally see the contrast in how nat walks the girls through survivalism in the spring. under nat's leadership, there is no cannibalism. imo, this is one the reasons lottie picked her (alongside the fact that i think she knew nat needed it but sidebar). she saw that nat would lead them through without the kind of horror that killed javi (and she was right)

but also, it seems like the wilderness really didn't fuck with that because it left her.

punishment, punishment, punishment. "you tried to play a game with me, you tried to give it off to someone else, but you can't, you can't, you can't." the wilderness is inside lottie and it has deep and incredibly cruel wants, but it's also the only thing that made her matter... it's the only thing that had her with both feet on the ground. and now it's left her and the absence feels like a hole in her chest. she's going to go fucking crazy if she doesn't get that connection again, that piece of her that actually for once mattered and that actually for once was needed and seen by other people. and this is how the wilderness draws her back to it. "you thought you could be anything without me? you can't." it's why imo, the second she starts to feel it again, she starts making choices at the expense of travis, at the expense of akilah, at the expense of nat, and to some extent at the expense of shauna (enabling her mental break as well).

because when you're living through that kind of abuse and the abuser has made itself your whole world, personhood, and identity, then other people become unreal. you can't really consider their needs because they're barriers to you trying to survive.

on the topic of punishment, i could talk a bit here about the mari warning as well but i already wrote a meta about that, so i'll link:

stockholm syndrome

i mean this one writes itself. lottie can't leave the wilderness because leaving the wilderness would be psychic annihilation. she's found too much personhood and meaning in her connection with the wilderness (and ofc, she's bought in to the idea that staying would be better for everyone: "what home do you have to go back to, nat?") without the wilderness, what is lottie?

i feel like there's a necessary degree of empathy that needs to be adopted when considering lottie's desire to stay behind because it would be easy to call it "selfish," which i mean she is (to our knowledge) an only child of rich elites, so there is that... but i also think purely considering it selfish and self-serving is a bit of a disservice to what it feels like to be abused. first of all, we already know from the cave scene with akilah that lottie doesn't think leaving will actually be leaving. the wilderness is inside now. one of the things that keeps victims of abuse from leaving their circumstances is that they are presently surviving it, regardless of how truly awful it is, & that attempting to leave might provoke enough anger that they'll either actually be killed or others (like their children) will be.

there's a lot of fear with even asking for help because there's often an earned paranoia around surveillance (which really matches the energy of lottie's conception of the wilderness & how she doesn't seem willing to communicate her torment to others) and an associated concern that even discussing trying to leave will trigger some form of violence. personally, i really do think lottie was willing to stay behind on her own and be with the wilderness, as wretched as that existence would have been. the fact of others wanting to stay with her was reassuring because the wilderness is fucking scary. she wouldn't be alone and yes it's awful but can you blame her for not wanting to be alone? lottie's whole life has been oriented around being alone with her own personal torments. maybe we can have a little sympathy for lapping up the offer to be with her team, even though it ends up hurting everyone.

natalie & lottie & abuse

but yeah, so that brings me to lottie and nat. one thing that i think is really fucking interesting about their dynamic in the scene where lottie says that she's staying is that nat is a survivor of abuse. if you take this meta i'm jotting down and put it in contrast to nat, it's pretty jarring. lottie is a lot like nat's mom in this situation, who we know was at least getting thrown around by her gun-violent father and possibly worse. the sort of similar deliriums (likely through drugs and alcohol with vera and ofc schizophrenia with lottie) is heart-breaking, and the concept of nat watching people descend into that both pre- and post-crash is also heartbreaking.

i mean, if you really go down that this path, you can see lottie being beat up by shauna as a super triggering event for nat bc of the way it might bring her mom to mind. i wrote a meta about her physical reactions here:

but yeah bringing that all back to lottie and nat's interaction when lottie says she doesn't want to go-- well shit, it seems like that would be a lot like nat's mom "choosing" to stay with her father despite the fact he's a piece of shit.

i don't know how extensively nat considers all this or relates it back to herself, but we do get an inkling that she acknowledges the wilderness as something bad for her team in the scene of her telling it off in the plane that they're going to leave it behind.

so nat thinks of the wilderness as bad and lottie is here telling her that she's staying and nat is trying to convince her to go and lottie won't fucking go, & then lottie says something (in a bid for connection imo but so badly worded) that shuts nat down and drives her away.

nat's choice to walk away from lottie in that moment is the choice of a child of abuse to walk away from someone who is not ready to end a relationship with their abuser. i think it's helpful to not necessarily read this interaction as antagonistic or abandoning but as nat's natural sort of orientation toward lottie, which has always been to not participate in the abuse whether she really understands it as abuse or not. she's an eternal skeptic and this decision to turn her back just as much as any of her other actions says, "i won't be a part of you hurting yourself."

which tbh to me is the whole tragedy/tension of their dynamic.

[wendichester]

hey olivia darling!! absolutely love ur works, was just wondering what you think sam and dean's dynamic would be like with a shy and chubby reader? like what would they be like if they have a crush/have feelings (for the same girl or separately mueheueh)? i just feel like they would appreciate the (literal) softness and the shyness would be something interesting bc theyre very much not shy people lol

hope this isnt weird, its just as a chubby and shy girl myself it was a little sad to only see skinny and bold/outspoken love interests in the show, not that there's anything wrong with those women ofc, i just feel hella unrepresented lolz. would love to hear your thoughts or if you had the time or inspiration, a little drabble perhaps? no worries if not ofc, love lots 🫂❤️

hi baby! first of all, absolutely not weird at all—this is so valid and honestly? something that a lot of us think about but don’t always say out loud. you're not alone, babe. chubby & shy girls deserve epic, bone-melting, emotionally devastating supernatural romance too. period. am i shy? no. sadly i was cursed with a leo sun and moon, thus i'm loud and unsufferable BUT i am chubbs so, i gotcha. let's dive in!!

ᯓ★ sam winchester & shy, chubby reader

sam would be so down bad and it would sneak up on him. like, you walk into a room quietly, kinda head down, sweater sleeves past your wrists, and he’s instantly looking up from his laptop. not even in a “she’s hot” way (yet), but in a gentle intrigue kind of way. he’d notice how your voice gets quieter when you’re nervous. how you tug at your shirt when you think no one’s looking. he’s hyper-observant, always has been, and his brain goes “oh. she’s careful with her space. she’s not used to being looked at.” and suddenly he’s looking at you all the time. and girl, if you’re chubby? sam canonically does not care about conventionally skinny ideals. in fact, i think he’d love the way softness feels—like, deep comfort vibes. he’s been through so much loss and hard edges and trauma, so the way you feel warm and real and huggable would be like some kind of miracle to him. like he can finally breathe. also? he’d be so nervous to make you uncomfortable. he’d get really self-aware about his height and voice, like “am i too loud? did i scare her? should i back off?” total respectful green flag behavior. he’d wait for you to make the first move—except you won’t, because you’re shy, and he’ll spiral about that too 😭 expect lingering glances, asking if you’ve eaten, doing little things like fixing your laptop cord so you don’t trip. oh—and books. he’d 100% lend you books and leave little notes inside the pages like “this part reminded me of you.” he’s a slow burn, but the second you trust him enough to take his hand first? he’s yours. entirely.

ᯓ★ dean winchester & shy, chubby reader

now dean?? oh girl. he would be unwell. he’s not used to quiet girls throwing him off his game. normally he flirts, gets flirted with, rinse and repeat. but you? you look away when he smirks at you. you blush when he compliments your outfit. you can’t even look at him when he walks in shirtless (which he 100% starts doing more often just to see you turn pink). and it kills him in the best way. the chubbiness? he’s obsessed. like in a carnal, old-school, wants-to-worship-you kind of way. stretch marks? tummy squish? full thighs? he’s literally on his knees. not just because it’s hot (which it is), but because it’s yours. and because you’re shy about it, he goes extra soft with the compliments—low voice, barely-there touches, telling you, “you know you drive me crazy, right?” in a way that doesn’t feel like a joke. that makes your breath catch. dean’s the type to find what you hate about yourself and kiss it with reverence, like he’s mad that you don’t see what he sees. he’d call you “sweetheart” so often it becomes dangerous. he’d tease you, but it’d never be mocking. more like... coaxing. “what’s got you so quiet, sweetheart? me?” smirk. cheeky wink. a little too close. he’s a tease through and through, but he checks himself fast if he sees you retreat. he’d never push too far—he knows what fear looks like. but he’s also a touch-starved little mess, so the first time you lean on him, even for a second? done. he’d go all in. call you “his girl” to cas and sam. get jealous when you talk to other hunters. become your personal bodyguard. the minute he knows you're his safe place, he becomes yours, fully.

final thought, from my whole heart: you don’t need to be loud or skinny or “main character energy” to be worthy of romance. you are already worthy. your softness isn’t a flaw—it’s exactly the thing someone like sam or dean would crave after years of war and grief and sharp edges. don’t ever think you’re too quiet or too much. you’re not invisible. you’re the whole damn story, babe ♡

[theogonize]

baby trapper wilson... oh i'm unwell, oh take me to the hospital

you're wilson's pretty young thing. you're the arm candy he carries around, the kind of girl that gets stared at wherever she goes. and he's him, he's the sweetest man ever, the most caring, gentle, kind man you've ever dated. you're young and naive and he's divorced thrice, that's not lost on him. or you. but you like it, you like that he's older. but for how much longer? how much longer will you let him subliminally make all your decisions? even when you think you want something, you scarcely realize that he's the one who put the idea there in the first place. you're so fucking naive, so fucking stupid, he thinks sometimes. and he loves it. you don't talk taxes or bills or medicine or divorces. he likes that. you talk about inconsequential things that you'll grow out of a month or two later. he's always afraid he's one of them. he's so afraid of you growing up or changing or anything because he knows deep down that he's alone at his big age and you've got the whole world wanting you, if only you stopped seeing him, if only you stepped outside to the world he's shielding you from.

it starts that way. it starts with that fear.

that's why he doesn't let you take birth control. he strictly advises against it, purely his medical opinion of course. he'll wear a condom, he doesn't want your hormones to be so imbalanced, that's dangerous. and god forbid your taste in men changes and suddenly you feel stupid for wanting this old man as much as you do. so you shouldn't take pills. and iuds are too scary. he pledges to always wear a rubber, for your sake and his. you don't doubt him once. why would you? james wilson, doctor james wilson, is the most responsible, sensible and well adjusted man you've met. you trust him, always, to be good to you and only want the best for you. so you agree, and he tells you that he loves you. because he does, the guilt is caught like rheum in the back of his throat.

you're all over him, giddy at his touch and so wet and pliable under him and he knows you're ovulating. even if he wasn't tracking your cycle, he saw you were in your best mood. so hungry for him, and he intended to give you exactly what you wanted. but to break the promise he made, the one he never intended to keep, he had to make you cum as many times as possible. till you became a weak puddle of desire and need. till you became incapable of responsibility. he devours you. his tongue and fingers work tirelessly to bring his plan into fruition. he's fucking you like he knows he'll be missing out on nine months of this. and you're begging him to be inside you, fill you up. it's till you're tugging at his hair and pleading inside, please james, inside... me till he thinks you're ready. or he is.

he kisses you, tasting of you, smelling like you. you taste like nothing, just yourself; clean, pure, just the way he likes you. his tip ghosts your entrance and you're quick to buck your hips to meet his. that is, until god knows who reminds you to be responsible. you gesture at the drawer next to the king sized bed. you don't trust yourself to be coherent. wilson sighs, it's the silent kind of sigh he does when he knows his patient is dying or house is going to do something stupid and reckless. for a moment there he really hoped it would've been that easy.

he began rubbing circles on your clit. you looked away teary eyes, overstimulated, overwhelmed. you pleaded, you begged. he shushed you, he shushed you like a crying child. he placed small, soft kisses on your body, almost as if he was afraid. he opened the drawer, took out a condom. he tore the wrapper and watched you exhale, relieved. you spread your legs instinctively at the sound.

wilson enters you, bare. and fast. so you don't dwell on the feeling of his tip for too long. his hands run along your sides to soothe you, as him. his head falls forward at the sensation of your tight, spasming cunt and he sees reason in doing this all over again. his forehead touches yours. it's all so tender, you think, all so sweet and beautiful like james himself. you open your eyes to look at him. his graying hair sticks to his forehead, glued by the sweat. there's a sheen around his mouth from where it once was. he has these fine wrinkles that seem more prominent in the low light. he has those rough, experienced hands that hold you in place, because you need to be held in place. you need to be pinned down where you belong because you're restless and young and hungry for more more more. you touched his hair, his cheeks, his face, his lips. all of it.

"i love you," you told him, your voice small.

and that fear dissipated into the steamy, sex-smelling air. it was his fucked up way of thinking you wanted this. his strokes were deep, hard and punctuated with grunts, just the way you liked. he took things slow, promising to make you feel every inch of him. you clenched around him in that painfully delicious way that made him cum in minutes. he muttered a string of profanities.

he looked down at your messy, glistening cunt and thought, this is what it will look like. this is the sight he'll see in a few seconds when he fills you up and lets it drip out of you. he lets his eyes rake over the rest of you, all changed and plump in due time. and then he'll have you, he'll have baby wilson and all the people in the hospital to brag to. he'll take you wherever he goes, conferences, talks, medical stuff you never had to attended before. he imagines being seen with you and your creation in the hotel lobbies. "doctor james wilson," he'll introduce "and my wife." he'll say with a loving, doting smile. it could all be so perfect and sappy and comforting.

his hand now pressed your thighs into a gruelling mating press. he had to go as deep as he could. he was close, he could feel it. his paced switched from slow caresses to hard smacks. your body pained in this new position for a while, but you liked it so very much. you arched your back, you moaned so loud the walls reverberated them back to you. god, he fucked so good when he wanted to. you wonder why he never pushed you this far before.

"i'm gonna cum. baby, i'm gonna cum." he left inside you unspoken.

you nodded, feeling yourself close for the hundredth time today. his cusses turned into i love you's. he threw his head back, his hot, white seed spurred inside you. comfortably. like that was where it belonged anyway. you came seconds later, on the verge of passing out. he stayed perfectly still inside you. he exhaled, almost like a sigh. he couldn't pull out of you, not until he's sure you're going to get pregnant.

your lips utter a silent thank you, almost like a prayer. wilson shakes his head, telling you there's no need. he kisses you on the cheek before finally pulling out. you fall asleep in seconds. so peaceful, so oblivious.

[kaleidoscopicbee]

i rewatched pirates of the caribbean - as one does - and i'm unwell over Jack's love for Elizabeth

Jack, who first meets Elizabeth while saving her life, both literally and metaphorically

Jack who, when left to his doom, only smiles and calls Elizabeth a pirate - arguably the biggest compliment he can give

Jack, who only believes he's being rescued from the locker when Elizabeth talks to him

Jack, who is the only one that dares to tell Elizabeth her father is dead

Jack, who looks at Beckett with disgust when he asks about Elizabeth because there was never a doubt in his mind that she was coming with him

Jack, who looks at every single pirate lord and decides the only one deserving of leading them is Elizabeth

Jack, who gives up the chance to sail the seas for eternity the second he sees Elizabeth crying over Will's body

Jack who, when faced with danger, always makes sure to take Elizabeth to safety with him

Jack, who constantly makes it known he's hers if she wants him

Jack, whose biggest love is the sea, but who makes it clear that Elizabeth is a close second

[captain-huggy-bear]

Ain't That a Kick in the Head

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Nudity but in a totally non-sexual way (you share a bath)

Summary: You watch Clayton take a puck to the face, suffice to say you are very much worried for your boyfriend at the end of the game.

Notes: Y'know someone needs to psychoanalyse why I thought it was so hot that he took a puck to the face, got 12 stitches, came out, played and still scored? Someone want to explain that one to me?

I've not written Clayton before but @wannabehockeygf has me hooked so...I hope this is okay?

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

"...that one up high caught Keller, let's hope Clayton is okay...he took that one right up in the face and he's headed to the room for some stitches I would imagine..."

"Keller's girlfriend has stood straight up from her seat, clearly not happy with what she's seen."

"Can you blame her? Keller's just taken a puck straight to the face and I imagine he's going to have more than a couple of stitches to fix that..."

It's an instinctive reaction really, to jump out of your seat at the way the puck soars into Clayton's face, the way he spins and falls to the ice. The blood that you can see pooling underneath his hand as he holds it tight to his eye and brow.

You've seen him get hurt before, seen him take hits to the boards, hits from other players, pucks to the ribs, sticks to the legs, but this...fuck, this was dangerous, this was scary. You're thankful for your seat overlooking the tunnel, thankful that you can reach a hand down as he makes his way off the ice, that even as he clutches a towel to his face to mop up the blood and try to stem the bleeding, he sees you, and reaches out briefly to touch your fingers, an attempt to reassure you that he's okay. That he'll be fine because fuck he knows you're probably freaking out about it.

Then all you can do is sit back down in your seat and wait. Waiting for him to come back out made you feel sick, stomach tied in knots, leg bouncing up and down in anxious impatience. Was he concussed? Was he in need of hospital? Or would it just be a few stitches to stop the bleeding? Had it done any serious damage to his skull? Was he actually okay? Was it just a flesh wound or something deeper?

It was taking too long, far too long, your eyes not even on the game, but on the tunnel waiting for him to reappear, watching people come and go back and forth, each one not Clayton. Still you waited for that reappearance.

And reappear he did. Brow coated in blood, 12 stitches holding his face together, swollen, bruising planning it's spots as he stops at your section, looking up at you from the tunnel as you look down.

Your hand reaches out again and this time he holds it properly, fingers intertwining with yours to give your palm a tight squeeze, his ring digging into your skin slightly from how firmly he grips you. Like he needs to reassure you he's still strong, still good even as a blood drip starts to slide from the fresh stitches towards his eye.

"I'm okay, sweet girl," His voice is rough from overuse on the ice and he doesn't linger long, but it's enough to reassure you that he's at least fine, even if his face looks like he's been through the wars.

It's enough for you in that moment, enough for you to let his hand go, to watch him make his way to the bench even as that sick feeling still permeates your gut.

You spend the entirety of the second period watching him like a hawk, assessing to see if he should actually be out on the ice or not, relieved to see him skating well, stable, sturdy. Despite the physical wound he doesn't seem unwell and that is enough to settle you down a little, enough for you to start to enjoy the third period.

An enjoyment that is made 10 times better by Clay's empty net goal firmly confirming Utah's victory over the Winnipeg Jets. The moment the period is over and the players have left the ice you don't waste much time before making your way down to the locker rooms, leaning against the wall and waiting for Clayton to clean up and change.

He's out last, Kess stops to tell you he's just getting some of his stitches redone, and while you appreciate the heads up from the taller man it actually only serves to make you more anxious to see your boyfriend.

When he walks out he looks like he's been through the wars or been mugged badly or had a bad boxing match. New stitches means no quick shower, no water on them for at least a day and he still looks bloody, sweaty and definitely not okay. You can't imagine how uncomfortable he was putting his suit back on when he couldn't even have a proper wash, sweat causing his clothes to stick to his skin. Clayton's always been a stickler for cleanliness and you know he probably feels disgusting, probably hates it almost as much as the injury itself.

"Shit, Clay..." You gasp at seeing his face up close, his eye is bruising into a proper shiner, closing a little from all the swelling that's happening. The skin around starting to go a deep purple. There's an array of angry stitches holding his skin together, 12 to be exact, lined up neatly but clearly the only thing stopping more blood from falling down his face. They've clearly tried to clean as much of the old blood up as possible, but there's still enough left over that he looks rough around the edges.

"Right in the money maker, huh? It's okay if you think I'm ugly now, baby.." He's joking around as he steps into your space, trying to take that god awful look off your face. You look like you've seen a ghost, like you might be sick.

"Clay..." You reach for him as he leans over you, one arm leaning against the wall by your head, while your own hands cup his cheeks tilting his head so you can get a better look at his stitches.

"Sorry, sorry, just tryin' to get my girl to smile s'all..."

"I know..." He lets you get your fill, moving his head in whatever direction you tilt it while his free hand grips your hip. He wants you to believe he's fine but he knows you won't believe him, and in truth it fucking hurts taking a puck to the face. He's surprised he doesn't have a concussion. He feels a little sick, very gross and his face aches like nothing else.

"Clay...What do you need?" You, he thinks, just this. Just the soft way your thumbs brush his cheeks and tenderness with which you cradle his face, like he's not 170lbs of hockey player. He's not delicate and he knows that, you know that, but sometimes you treat him that way and it's nice sometimes. Nice to feel cared for.

He doesn't say any of that though, instead lets out a big sigh, "I need to go home, wash at least my body because I actually feel fucking gross..." He's still sweaty and he knows he needs help washing his hair without getting water on his stitches.

"Okay, I'm driving." You're reaching for his keys in pocket as quick as a whip, but he's quicker. Clayton's hand wrapping entirely around your wrist and stopping it from delving further into his pocket.

"You're not driving my car, baby. No." There's no amount of injury that could bring him to let you drive when that's his job and the grin he gives you is the sort you give a child who thinks they know better. It makes your eyes narrow.

"Clay, you took a puck going like 80 miles per hour to the face..."

"And I can still drive, and you are still and forever my passenger princess." It's not that he doesn't trust you to drive. You're a pretty decent driver, but that's not the dynamic you have. He drives you around. Always. If he can't then you drive yourself, but if both of you are in a car together? He's driving and you get to sit, relax and look pretty.

"You're impossible." You roll your eyes but concede defeat, pulling your hand from his pocket even as he continues to grip your wrist like now that he's got it the thought of letting go is preposterous.

"Impossibly handsome." Clay's hand moves from your wrist to slip into your own, fingers twisting together as he pulls away from the wall with you. His other hand tossing his car keys about with a jingling sound.

"Impossible hard headed."

"Ouch, that hurts, sweet girl." He finally gets a smile from you at that and that's all he wants as the two of you walk hand in hand to his car. If he's got to deal with stitches, bruising, swelling, then at least he gets to see you smile.

"Did it hurt more than the puck you took to the face tonight?"

"You're determined to not let me forget this aren't you?" He asks as he opens the passenger side door, watching you slip into the pristine seats because he'd be damned if he ever let his car fall into disarray.

You're quiet for a few moments as he leans over you to pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it into place. It's the proximity of him to you that's probably the only reason he actually hears your next whispered words as you look at your hands in your lap.

"...I was really worried, Clay..."

Clayton sighs heavily, large hand cupping your cheek until you look at him. You grip his wrist, fingers playing with the array of bracelets he always has there.

"I know, baby, but I'm okay. I promise. Got some stitches, no concussion, I'll be a little ugly for a bit but..." All Clay ever wants is for you to be happy, the worst part about getting hurt is that he knows you're stressing about. He's fine, but he knows he looks like he's gone 10 rounds with Mike Tyson and he'll probably look like that for awhile. He also knows you worry, and you'll worry over him until he looks completely back to normal.

"You could never be ugly," He smiles at the way you frown at him, like it's the worst thing he could do right now to insult himself, "You're just fishing for compliments." Your eyes soften under his smile and the frown loses some of its bite.

"You're the one biting, sweet girl."

"Shut up and drive us home."

"As you wish." Clayton presses a quick kiss to your lips, pulling out of the passenger side and closing the door on you. He's quick to make his way round to the driver's side and even quicker to get the car started so he can start driving back to the house.

You watch him the whole time, eyes fliting from the stitches in his eyebrow to the way his left eye is swelling to the point you don't know if he'll be able to see out of it in a minute if you don't get ice on it. Clayton chooses to ignore the staring, hand reaching out to rest on your thigh, rubbing warm strokes across it as he drives, like always.

When you pull up you wait, like always, in your seat because Clay complains if he can't open the door for you and unbuckle your seatbelt. So you wait and let him do it, just as you let him wrap an arm around your shoulders and lead you inside as if you're the one that needs the TLC and not him.

You only briefly watch him struggle out of the suit he'd worn to the game before stepping in to help. The medical team not letting him wash had meant his shirt and trousers stuck to him from all the sweat left on his skin, and the extra pair of hands was helpful as he shrugged off the button up he'd been wearing.

He lets you lead him into the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet seat and watching as you fuss around the bath tub. You're running him a bath even though you know he prefers showers because there's no way those stitches are staying dry in the shower, not with his ridiculous need for the most intense waterfall shower on earth.

Still, Clayton watches as you try to make the bath more enticing. Copious amounts of bubble bath, the sort that's designed for sore muscles, being thrown in, water running warm, but not too hot because he doesn't like his bath water to be as hot as the fires of hell. Unlike you. But, he draws the line at you helping him into water, it's his face that hurts not his legs, shrugging your hands away with an eyeroll when you go to reach to help him.

"I can get in on my own, baby."

He doesn't let the fussing annoying him because he knows you fuss out of concern and that any amount of fussing is still your attention on him. Fussing means you love him and if you took a puck to the face he knows he'd be fussing over you too.

You watch as Clayton eases himself into the water, a sigh rippling out from him as he slides into the warmth. His chains hitting the water because he'd never wear anything that wasn't solid enough not to tarnish over time, expensive taste as always. You watch the way he closes his eyes and just relaxes for a minute, skin turning slightly flush under the warmth of the water, neck pulled taut as his head tips back.

"You want me to help wash your hair?"

"Please, baby." It's sighed out, eyes still closed and you kneel next to the tub without a second thought, urging him to move forward and lean back until his hair touches the water.

You're careful about it, slowly wetting his hair, trying to avoid getting water on his stitches and while he might not want to be fussed over, this though? This Clayton can't help but love. The way your fingers thread through his brunet strands, how you stop occasionally to scratch at his scalp, the feeling of sweat and grime falling away? This is pretty much heaven.

You huff a laugh when Clayton groans a little while you massage shampoo into his roots. The pressure you apply making him sigh and groan like you're relieving knots in his back and it's sweet, how he can relax into this, into you, when he's normally the one giving and doesn't necessarily prefer to receive the care.

"You good, Clay?"

"Mmmm...." He hums and you smile down at him, the way he leans back into your hands, how his eyes remain closed, the content little smile on his face that just slightly shows his teeth.

You take extra care as you rinse the shampoo from his hair thoroughly, avoiding his stitches and his eyes as you do so, before getting him to sit up a little so you can place some conditioner on the ends.

"Get in with me..." His eyes are heavy lidded, like he doesn't quite have the energy to open them the entire way, a wet hand reaching out to grip your fingers, tugging lightly.

"Clay, there's barely any room left." His legs take up half the tub, you're a little concerned that you plus water displacement will result in water all over the floor of the bathroom. Another injury waiting to happen when one of you inevitably slips on wet tile.

"Please, just want to hold you for a bit, no funny business, sweet girl, promise." His cheeky little smirk that shows the dimples on one side of his mouth doesn't exactly fill you with confidence in his words, but the water is still warm and there's something always enticing about Clay, he has a way of convincing you to do something even if you shouldn't.

"Mmm, sounds likely..."

"Seriously, just want to hold you...I'm an injured man..." He pulls the guilt trip card, biting on his bottom lip. Something which would have looked sexier if half his face wasn't swollen up like a balloon. Still, you've never been good at saying no to Clayton even if you probably should from time to time.

"Fine..." You sigh, pretending to be reluctant even as you strip your clothes off, ignoring the way his eyes light up like a kid in a candy store, and step into the bath water with him.

It's a little tight, the water rising to levels that are mildly concerning before the overflow drain does the job of removing the excess water. Your legs twine with Clayton's and his arms slide around your waist until he can pull you comfortably back to lay against him, your back to his chest. It's funny, how you can be completely naked and feel completely comfortable like this with someone, every little touch is comforting rather than sexual, every kiss to your shoulder an attempt to be connect to you rather than start something intimate.

"Clay?" You wince out, the sensation of metal digging into your back causing you to squirm slightly in his lap, water sloshing nearer to the sides of the tub.

"Mmm...?"

"Can...can you move your chains? They're digging into my shoulder."

"Shit, sorry, baby." He's quick to do so, the chains being thrown over his shoulder and out of the way until settling against him is more comfortable, the rise and fall of his chest meeting your back in a rhythm that helps any residual anxiety from the events of the day melt away.

"You comfy, sweet girl?" He presses a kiss to your temple and you smile into it, humming as you lean as much of your weight back into him as you can.

"Yeah, you?"

"Mmm, might have to stay here..." He's tracing circles on you tummy, a series of circles that meet in a variety of patterns that remind you of crop circles from all those conspiracy theory and unsolved mystery shows Clay likes to watch when he can't sleep. Every few seconds a kiss lands somewhere else, whether your temple, your cheek, your neck or your shoulder. Each is quick and soft, but no less delightful. It's all so soft, the world feels like its humming a little.

"The water'll get cold."

"Good thing I run warm..." He tries to argue with you, like always, a sassy little remark to entice you to stay in the moment even if neither of you can.

"Clay, we're not staying in here all night, we'll die of pneumonia or something."

"Would be worth it." He grins into your shoulder, eyes relaxing when you reach a hand back to scratch his scalp and play with his hair. He's tired, so fucking tired and his face still aches like a bitch but this is nice, this so nice.

"We should really get some ice on your face, try and take some of the swelling down."

"Do we have to?" The idea of putting ice on his face right now is anything but appealing, but he knows you're right. His face is already pretty swollen and bruised and it's only going to get worse if he doesn't look after it.

"Do you want to be able to see from your left eye in the morning?"

"Good point, just...5 more minutes, baby?"

"5 more minutes." You let him have his 5 more minutes and then some, using the time to get clean yourself and rinse conditioner from his hair before the two of you stand from the bath after the water has cooled significantly.

He's sat crossed legged on the bed in a cosy hoodie and boxers by the time you've put together a makeshift icepack, ice piled up into a ratty old tea towel you got when you first moved out.

The look he gives the icepack is nothing short of disdainful, a glare that's combined with a pout of his top lip like the icepack has personally offended him already when it hasn't even touched him. If anyone should glare it's you because your hands are getting cold.

"The only way that is touching my face is if you're sat in my lap, sweet girl." He pats his thighs like its a given, like you'll just go over and plonk yourself down without question.

"You already agreed to ice your face, Clayton John Keller." Your hands find your hips, a stance Clayton calls your mom stance and it's extra apt when you're using his full name like that. Not that that deters him from his goal of having you wrapped up on his lap because that's the only thing that might make ice to the face semi-bearable.

"Only if you sit in my lap."

"That is not the original agreement."

"Yeah, well, trade talks, deals get renegotiated all the time." He shrugs with a smirk, pulling out the dimples because he knows you struggle to be stubborn when he does that and as much as you hate it...he's fucking charming and it works. You're sighing and stomping over like you're not totally endeared by him, letting him pull you up and onto his lap without any real protest until your legs are wrapped around his waist, your butt sat perfectly in the hollow created by him sitting crisscrossed.

"You are incredibly difficult to care for, Mr Keller." You grumble as you cup his face with one hand and raise the makeshift icepack to his eye with the other.

"Can you really deny an injured man small comforts like his girlfriend in his lap?" His smirk only widens until it doesn't, a hiss leaving his lips at the way it pulls on his stitches as his eyebrow moves.

"Mmm, you're ridiculous." You're smiling when you say it and that alone lets Clayton know that you're enjoying this as much as him.

He hisses again when the cold finally touches his skin, almost jerking back but your hand on his cheek stops him from going very far. The icepack is cold, so fucking cold, and he knows you're going to force it to stay there until you're satisfied that some of the swelling has gone down. You're cruel like that.

Clayton's hands fall to your hips, fingers clenching and gripping onto you, not painfully, but firmly enough that you know he hates this, hates the sensation of ice on his skin even if there's a tea towel in between.

You try to make it as bearable as possible, pressing kisses to the right side of his face even as the left faces the terrible ordeal of icing. The kisses have Clayton humming, hands stroking from your hips to your waist and back down again in a rhythmic motion that brings back memories of every make out session you've ever had with the man, and that you wouldn't be having until you were certain his face wasn't swollen and bruised.

When you finally pull the icepack away his face is less swollen, eye still partially closed, but no less bruised, you know the purple is going to eventually fade to a horrible yellow. You throw the damp tea towel into the laundry basket from where you're sat, excellent aim that has you letting out a little cheer that gets Clayton smiling up at you.

"Thank you, sweet girl, always taking care of me..." He presses a kiss to your lips, short and sweet, only because you refuse to let him stay there too long, determined to let the man rest.

"Yeah, well, you're always taking care of me too."

[ssahotchnerr]

So the mom friend!reader fic?? What if she’s sick and trying to hide it from the others, especially Aaron, while at work and also still trying being the mom friend 😭🖤

hidden efforts

AWW cw; fem!reader, being sick descriptions, established relationship (aaron and reader are married), fluff <333 continued from simultaneously

despite hand sanitizer and vitamin c, whatever cold spencer had managed to overtake your immune system next. brutally.

you woke up feeling unwell, but it was just a distant pang. nothing major, nothing worth staying home over. but as the day moved forward you began to regret your decision; you barely had the strength to lift a pen. and through the course of the morning, the trash bin hidden underneath your desk had grown dangerously full of tissues.

while you loved taking care of others, you didn't favor being the one being coddled. unless it was by someone with the first name aaron, last name hotchner. but even then, would you be reluctant to admit it.

"hey, do you know what-"

"2:30." you foolishly pushed your voice, attempting to hide the hoarseness within it - to sound as normal as you possibly could.

derek crossed his arms, amused sass in his voice, "i didn't even finish my question."

"but i answered it, didn't i?" you tried your hardest to return a teasing smile, but it was half your best. instead, you fought back a sneeze, prompting your eyes to water and nose to burn.

he nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly in suspicion. but he dropped it quickly, moving on.

and for the meantime, you turned back to the waiting work in front of you, forcing yourself to get something done.

"hey."

aaron's voice and sudden hands on the back of your chair caused you to jump in your seat. he quickly squeezed your shoulders, silently apologizing for startling you.

"you ready...?" his voice trailed off as his eyes scanned the contents of your desk, littered with cough drop wrappers and a few scrunched up tissues.

you did your best to block the scraps from his view - leaning forward, discreetly swiping them off side towards the container holding your pens - almost letting a cough escape as you opened your mouth. "y-yeah-"

"what are those?"

"the action reports for-"

"no, not that." aaron reached forward and plucked a wrapper off your desk, holding it up between his finger pads. his lips formed into a pout, "sweetheart, are you not feeling well?"

"i'm feeling perfectly fine."

due to the wheels on your chair, aaron was easily able to maneuver you back, exposing your tissue-filled bin. "then what's this?"

"allergies?" you offered, in a hopeful tone - maybe he'd buy that?

but naturally, your husband knew better, "why didn't you tell me you felt sick?"

"i'm not sick, jus' a cold." you swiveled your chair around, peering up at him.

the back of aaron's hand found your forehead, the scowl on his face deepening at his findings. "i don't think so. you're running a temperature, and now that i have a better look at you, you're rather flushed as well."

"flushed or not, we have a meeting-"

"no, we have a meeting." aaron responded, referring to himself and the others, "you're going right up to my office and laying down."

you gazed at him exasperatedly, playing up that look in your eyes, the one that was nearly impossible for him to say no to. "aaron-"

"nope, i’m not falling for it this time," he helped you to your feet, his hand supporting the far side of your hip as you wobbled vaguely. his eyes darted to the right, taking quick notice of someone walking by, "anderson, would you mind grabbing a water bottle and bringing it to my office?"

"so much for vitamin c, huh?" derek chimed in from his desk, his playful smile also on the sympathetic side.

you rolled your eyes, but allowed aaron to guide you up the few stairs into his office, gratefully.

he insisted you lay down on the couch (and not get up for the life of you), he insisted you keep the lights off, he insisted you use his suit jacket as a makeshift blanket.

"we'll head home once this concludes. if you need anything, give me a call, or send a text. i'll be here." aaron brushed your hair away from your forehead, placing a gentle kiss on it afterwards. "and, choice of soup is yours tonight."

[gothhabiba]

Nosferatu (2024)

I'll tell you right now that I'm going to call everyone by their Dracula names because I'm sorry but I don't know the proper ones

The camera angle when the first Germany part of the movie opens! you're so in the streets, so in the crowds. idk if that's the cinematography or just that I haven't seen a film on such a large screen in a long time?

The scenes with Count Orlac in the castle and how civil he is in his speech (demanding to be addressed by his proper title; forbidding Jonathan to leave but saying "you will stay as I advise," not e.g. "as I command"), and how thin but impenetrable that veneer of civility is. For "civility" read here all of its implications of "civilisation"

The first scene of the ship being in perfect profile, sailing on a sunny sea with picturesque clouds in the background, just like a painting!! like an Age of Sail painting, and all the things about aesthetics, colonialism, depiction-as-claiming-of-ownership, that that implies.

And then the next time you see the ship, it's storming, the camera pans in from over the stern and forward, the ship is rocking, it's much more down in it, the sunny idealism of imperialist fortune-making brought down to its gritty reality

The East As Contagion (free square)

Major missed opportunity to make the ship more explicitly imperialism-flavoured

Female Sexuality As Dangerous And Inviting Contagion (free square)

Lucy and Arthur already being married and having children, specifically her being pregnant again, Lucy and Arthur as "heterofuture" (after @metamatar), reproductive futurity, him being a shipman, their money being conspicuous and being from shipping--

then Mina having one of her episodes just as they're about to kiss, in the water, dress pulled up, legs open to the water (to the Contagion From The East), convulsing--! Inappropriate female sexuality (inadequately contained, inadequately future-oriented, the West as future, heterosexuality as future, female sequestration in the home to raise children who are also appropriately heterosexual as futurity) and how inappropriate female sexuality interrupts the heterofuture that Lucy & Arthur's almost-kiss represents.

Lucy being very light in colouring and lit so as to emphasise that fact, obsessively dressed in white and placed in all-white rooms, versus Mina being dark in colouring (I mean of hair & eyes) and dress, reproductive futurity as whiteness

The Insane Asylum piquing itself as morally upright, scientific, humane, modern, future-oriented institution; the doctor's "don't lock him [Renfield] up, we don't do that here"--and then of course he stays locked up and restrained, and more so than he was before the doctor spoke to him (so gently and kindly and civilly)

Renfield caressing a bird Dracula had given him and saying "master likes the pretty ones," Mina as bird, birds in cages as metaphor for Victorian womanhood and sequestration within the home, Jonathan saying immediately when the men plan to go hunt Dracula down that Mina isn't going

Something about the drunk (?) man gently banging his head against a wall whom they have to pass to get to Van Helsing's, and this coming on the heels of the scene in the asylum

Mina becoming poorly specifically when Jonathan leaves, her saying that she's unwell because he's gone, Lucy saying "and Jonathan leaving caused your..." and Mina finishing "melancholy." When, like, obviously what's being elided here is the idea that Mina is unwell because she's sexually unfulfilled, the Victorian idea that once a woman has sex she has to continue to or she'll become physically and mentally unwell--a series of ideas you may be most familiar with under the heading of "hysteria."

Mina talking about her "epilepsies," insert everything about Victorian medical science versus popular culture and how ambivalently epilepsy was treated as effectively demonic and uncontrollable on the one hand, or subjected to modernising theories of disease (including and especially mental illness) on the other hand--

which, obviously, the "science versus popular superstition" is a significant part of what animates this. I think they brought this out very well & maybe even a little too explicitly

The fact that it is Germany's (England's) "modern" and "scientific" ideas that allowed this to happen, when Nosferatu had grown weak in Transylvania because of the superstitions of the local populace and especially the "g*psies"--I have to think about it more but there's a countercurrent in there somewhere--expressing anxiety not necessarily on behalf of, but about, "Western" modernity and heterofuturity

That Mina x Jonathan sex scene was so good even & especially because of the demonic possession / doing-it-to-prove-a-point thing. they're so endlessly devoted to one another and I love them so much

Needed an intermission. really really needed an intermission

Just the sexiest Dracula adaptation ever. horniest by far, by far. yes, even including that other one, which really wasn't sexy or horny at all imo.

Whoever was involved in making this movie is very, very familiar with Victorian anxieties and motivations and rhetoric and very, very psychosexually disturbed. perfection

My girlfriend complained that all the sex was missionary-style but I think that worked perfectly. For one thing, think of "missionary" and all the colonial implications there. The implications of heterosexual reproduction specifically within marriage that it carries. Also the implications of domination that come with being physically on top of someone, and the fact that the way Nosferatu feeds on Jonathan bears close resemblance to the way he feeds on & has sex with Mina--

then Nosferatu apparently telling Mina that Jonathan was "pathetic" and "weak" and "womanish"--!!!!!!! And the image of spread legs (recall Mina's scene in the water, also Lucy after her death) as surrender. If all the sex and quasi-sex scenes weren't so formulaically heterosexual in this particular way, these parallels wouldn't work as well.

And speaking of Jonathan, it's also interesting that his seduction-by-three-brides-of-Dracula thing is cut out to emphasise instead Mina's seduction by Dracula. We don't get any of that reference to his "indiscretion" (with Mina holding his hand sympathetically, forgiving, perfect angelic Victorian wife) that we get in 1992.

Stupid ending. there is never a good or poetic or touching reason to kill the woman at the ending of a movie. it's always stupid. like I get that she sacrificed herself to save everyone and took agency by reversing things so that inside, within the home, within the bed was where the war was fought, and outside, with the men was just a diversion and I get that this is an intentional subversion of the Angel-in-the-Home bird-in-a-cage situation. I still think it's stupid.

When Jonathan kisses Mina's hand as she's naked, covered in blood, legs spread, covered by the body of Nosferatu, and he pulls away, and he's so covered in tears and snot and saliva and all those liquids make so many stringy trails in the backlit space between her hand and his face as he pulls away. so so so good.

the sound design was incredible

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 4 part 7

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

THIS IS THE LAST EPISODE 4 ENTRY I SWEAR

agatha: why yes I'm listening politely because I'm being sociable, not because this story concerns me in any way shape or form

she did NOT want TO DO IT AGATHA. HE WAS HER SON TOO AGATHA. did you ever give her a chance to SAY any of THAT. damn rio is (metaphorically) fighting for her life here. waiting centuries to catch her wife with her guard down next to a random fire, and then reworking her LONG PLANNED SPEECH into bite sized easily digestible bits so that her emotionally stunted soulmate doesn't run away screaming

I was doing MY DAMN FUCKING JOB agatha

agatha looks away like whooops! wasn't listening! wasn't looking at you! no sir, not me!

that's right. acknowledge her feelings. show her that you understand but that you're hurting too. be mature. you're doing great. god the way she swallows and stares right ahead, so determined. this is such a crucial moment for her.

agatha: i'm stone cold. I'm a wall. this is not affecting me in the slightest. I'm bored, really.

lilia not missing a word of what rio's saying

lmao the neutral pronoun lasted two seconds. she's not even trying to pretend like she isn't talking about agatha. and the way she nods to herself like yes, I did the best I could with this. so, there.

"she is my scar" is going to the sapphic annals, isn't it?

LMAOOOO the unblinking cat stare. rio is like I WAS TALKING TO YOU DUM-DUM. I KNOW IT, YOU KNOW IT, EVERYONE AROUND THIS GODDAMN FIRE KNOWS IT. CAN YOU PLEASE PLEASE FUCKING TALK TO ME PLEASE DEAR GOD

and agatha doing a teeny tiny side glance and going whoooooooops not looking! I'm NOT looking! I'm not even here! and scrunching her face more and more trying to keep it blank

AND she's gone. she's so predictable lmaooo. every dang time.

awkwaaaaaard

rio with her soft smile again! with the little amused eye roll! never getting mad at agatha's antics. she's like FINE I'll come after you, you BIG BABY. the patience this woman has

lilia is so scared of rio because somehow, through her exceptional Seer abilities, she knew instinctively that this is her mortal foe. but something funny has just happened: here in front of her there's just a regular little guy, a bit odd maybe, doing her little thing, trying to talk to her ex. might it be... might it be that death isn't a monster, that it's just a thing, a strange but natural thing that happens to everybody? lilia cannot accept that quite yet. so she grabs rio and says no, no. I've seen what you are. you're scary, you're evil, you're dangerous. this is lilia's survival instincts kicking in. we are simply wired to fear death, that's just how humans are. it takes an exceptional mind and soul to see past that.

oh god, here we go, here we go. deep breaths (I'm telling this to myself tbh. i need the pep talk)

stroking her hair so gently. soft, tentative.

hey, subtitle people??? what the fuck??

rio just stands and stares. lets agatha decide what comes next, goes at her pace always

the haiR CARESSING

the HUG. the BIG SIGH. this bitch was running away screaming from rio just yesterday. and here she is. her love. her partner. she finally acknowledges rio's pain and all that they lost and all that they were (and still are tbh) to each other. THIS is what rio was looking for. she's not flirting to manipulate and deflect now, she's not being somebody else. this is agatha cracked open and bleeding love and sorrow

and they melt into each other, and they're rocking each other back and forth, with all their pain and tenderness and longing

agatha with her face buried in rio's shoulder. I'm unwell

and then agatha gently pushes rio back and strokes her hair and cradles her face like she did so many times before and leans in and here I am giving you a play-by-play and running a commentary like a totally normal and sane person would

you know what makes for a perfect onscreen kiss imo? no it's not tongue, although these two will give us plenty of that too. it's the TREMBLING. THE HESITATION. THE YEARNING.

rio and her superhuman willpower. couldn't be me.

and and and and and agatha looks at her puzzled for a second and doesn't register what's happening and dives for a kiss again she's so far gone. the feral animal noises I'm making you have no idea

THE ICY SHOWER

THE STEP BACK. THE MOST PAINED SMILE

THE REGRET

I think one big reason why agatha is always so calculated is because she's afraid her instincts will take over. she does something big and spectacular and stupid and then calls it a 'calculated risk' when it was actually a rush of fear, desire, sorrow, anger that she couldn't control. tonight rio has managed to poke a little hole into a carefully constructed dam, and now all the water is rushing out and tearing down the walls. agatha has rio in her arms and her shape, her scent, her skin are so nostalgic and familiar. her brain goes on autopilot, she's been lonely for so long, she is FAMISHED for love and connection and sex and acceptance. rio wanted her to open up, but agatha doesn't do half-measures. rio wanted her to give for a change, but agatha can only ever take.

rio HAS to put a stop to it. she puts logic before heart, one of them has to and you know agatha isn't gonna. more than anything rio wants to take this one perfect moment and run away with it, but instead she tears herself away and asks, what happens next? what happens if I have to take billy away from you? that reanimated corpse, that freak of nature who walked into your life only yesterday and took over?

billy is now part of the equation and rio cannot ignore it. she has been so gentle and careful with agatha, easing her into a reconciliation that is now in jeopardy because here comes billy maximoff like a sword of damocles! what happens if agatha takes her back only for rio to break her heart all over again? there would be no coming back from that. rio cannot help being the grim reaper just as much as agatha cannot help being a succubus, and she is almost at her breaking point here. because she is hurting too! she is sick of having to be the mature one! she's sick of always coming in second after all of agatha's issues! turns out there's a limit even to the heartbreak an impossibly old and wise being can take.

(and now I need a smoke and a future episode that is just 30 minutes of hot but soft cuddles and kisses and sweet nothings. please.)

once again a big shoutout and thank you to all the people reaching out and leaving comments, it's incredible to hear from you all @crybabyheathen @onceuponalegendbg @idkbroletssee @psychicsolanum @73chn1c0l0rr3v3l @a-tad-bit-obsessed @a-rusty-bucket-of-woes @miacheezytoon @isagrimorie @april-december @aquaaquila and I'm probably forgetting someone but I see you all and I appreciate you so much!

and now for something extra

[pseudowho]

if uou have lotsn of followers (which you clearly do) you should be more sensitive to spreading misinformation or showing you don't understand physiology. it might sound over reactive but your higu 'fever' piece made me jawdrop cos if you think you can ride a fever out of someone, your wrong 🤦‍♀️ fevers can kill

So let's preface this by highlighting a few important points:

You are utterly correct that those with generous followings should use them responsibly, and take care to not spread misinformation. It's ethically necessary, an absolute duty to do so, in my opinion.

Let's go on to raise some even more pertinent points:

I'm an ex senior midwife, who specialised in providing critical point of access care to Maternity patients who were unwell; many of whom severely. I am highly trained in critical/intensive care of patients with Sepsis, and as such, I'm trained to determine a simple fever, from Sepsis, an emergency and life-threatening condition which is often mistaken for 'a fever', as I suspect you have mistaken it.

I was, in fact, the Head of this emergency Triage department.

The reader doesn't try to heal Higuruma's fever with her magical healing pussy. She tries to help him sleep through a routine fever which isn't of any great danger to him. While some fevers are severe enough that the high temperature itself causes the damage, this is very rare.

I don't usually flash my credentials, but jiminy cricket, how old are you? One of those people who knows a little and assumes they know a lot, by the looks of it.

What's your profession? Should I try to teach it to you? I mean, I wouldn't, because I have insight and decorum.

Do you?

🙄🤦‍♀️ right back atcha, kiddo,

-- Haitch xxx

[basicinstinctmacher]

Dark!Protective Ethan x Sunshine!Reader (my favorite trope)

i kind of want to start writing more dark!protective ethan x sunshine!reader, so look out for that! send in requests if you have any pleasee and i hope you enjoy!

You were not a fearless person. But you were Ethan's.

Ethan, who would quite literally burn down the world for you, he was a fearless person. Fearless in every sense of the word.

Before you met Ethan, one could compare you to a little kid with how easily scared you got in situations that didn't even seem inherently dangerous. Whether it be a creaky floorboard, the tap of a tree branch, there was even a time you got so spooked, you had even convinced Chad that there was actually an evil spirt haunting Sam and Taras apartment. It was just the AC going out.

So one would imagine you to be shaking in your fucking boots when the rest of your friends are scared shitless. But you weren't.

The night had started with what seemed like never ending laughter and chaos. Popcorn, pizza, and a variety of other drinks and snacks littered the coffee table. You all decided to get away for the weekend, rent a cabin in the woods and watch a bunch of horror movies. You know the usual relaxation methods of mentally unwell adults.

"Classic sleepover trope." Mindy started, before Sam cut in. "I swear to god- Please don't jinx us Mindy."

Mindy rolled her eyes as she threw a blanket over herself and Tara. "I'm just saying. We're a group of hot twenty-something year old people, no cell service, middle of nowhere. We're basically begging to d-" Whatever she was going to say next, was long gone.

Because the power cut out.

"Okay, jokes over. Which one of you idiots is trying to be funny right now?" Tara asks with a hint of terror in her voice, as she clings to her phones flashlight like it's a suit of armor. "I don't think that was any of us T." Chad says, trying to keep his voice as steady and even as possible. "I was mid-cheeto crunch when everything went black."

"Maybe the breaker just flipped? Someone go check." Mindy tries coming up with a reasonable explanation. "No way are we splitting up! That's how you die." Sam shuts the idea down quickly. "Aren't you supposed to be the horror movie expert?"

You were standing quietly by the window, your back pressed to Ethan's chest. One arm wrapped firmly around your waist, while the knuckles of his other hand rubbed soothingly up and down your arm. You felt completely grounded. Ethan hadn't said a word since the lights went out.

Then there was a thumping noise. From outside.

Then again, this time the noise was closer.

No one moved. "No. Nope, this is real. This is actively happening. We're going to die in matching pjs." Tara's voice is pitched high in panic as she shuffles closer to Mindy. "Dude, if the way I go out is in matching pajamas with you morons, then I deserve whatever is about to bust through that door and kill us." Ever the sarcastic one Mindy is, even in the face of death.

You watch Chad grab a poker from the fireplace. "I'll defend us with my life."

Ethan still hasn't moved from his spot or said a word. His grip on your waist only got tighter.

And you? You felt completely fine. Your heart didn't even pick up speed. Not once.

Because Ethan wasn't afraid. And if Ethan wasn't afraid, neither were you.

Finally, about twenty minutes and one very tense search later, you all discovered the cause.

It was just a local kid pranking you and your friends. The breaker tampered with and a plastic mask left on the porch as a "joke."

Your friends were shook. Mindy was pacing, Chad was sweating, and Tara looked like she was two seconds away from calling Sidney Prescott to avenge your deaths.

But you? You and Ethan had made yourselves comfortable on the couch. Your legs draped over his lap and cheek squished on to his shoulder, while sipping the hot chocolate he had made for you a few minutes ago.

Sam squints at you questionably, "You're being weirdly calm. Are you not freaked out right now?" You purse your lips and shrug, "Not really. No." She looks at you again this time with furrowed brows. "We all thought we were going to die. Literally die. Like, even I was panicking. And you're just...totally fine?"

"Yeah, I wasn't really that scared." You reply and continue playing with the strings of Ethan's pajama bottoms. "HOW?!?" The core fours voices chorus together in shock.

You smile and nuzzle your cheek against your boyfriend's shoulders, "Because I knew Ethan would never let anything happen to me." They were all quiet for a moment. But Ethan looked down at you with an undeniable look of love in his eyes, before grabbing your hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Mindy was the first one to speak, "Damn, okay then. That was somehow romantic and terrifying at the same time."

"She's not wrong." Ethans voice was soft, but lower than it usually was. He tilted his head, eyes dark and unreadable. "If anyone tried to hurt her-" He paused, like he was thinking of the most appropriate way he could say what he wanted. "Well that would be the last thing they'd ever try."

Everyone fell into a stunned silence at that. Not just in what he said, but the way he said it.

You just smiled up at him, placed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, and continued sipping on your hot chocolate.

Because you were not fearless by any means. But you belonged to him. And when you belonged in the arms of him...fear didn't stand a fucking chance.

[littlelovelunette]

im not sure how this works, its my first time requesting 😭, but could you maybe do like anemic reader that faints a lot, and vi meets them and they start to like each other, and on their first date, reader gets unwell and passes out, and vi panics because she doesn’t know what to do, and from then on she’s always on watch, and always worried reader might faint again? just really really fluffy

so like... I can't sleep again...

Nurture

contains mentions of trauma, anemia

you were anemic which was no surprise given that you were raised pretty malnutritioned, you didn't have the best circumstances growing up and you didn't blame anyone for it. you knew your parents tried their best to provide everything for you but sometimes things can't help themselves

you were diagnosed with anemia when you were fifteen years of age— while it didn't bother your day to day routine a lot, it still got you dizzy if you stood up too quickly, or pushed yourself a bit too much during the day running errands, or going to class whichever it was, you'd faint

living in zaun? you were always on the run because it was pretty much never safe anywhere to be at, either this inconvenience or that inconvenience or simply too dangerous

vi and you knew each other and had a couple run-ins before but never really took the time to talk with one another but once you guys started having small talk, then both of you realised that you guys had a lot of things in common. mostly the trauma of losing family but... something was better than nothing right?

vi had finally mastered enough courage to ask you out one afternoon, and you happily agreed even if you felt a little dizzy during the whole day that day because of how busy you had been

it was nothing too expensive or cliché just a little stargazing date and you loved the stars so you agreed to it anyway, it would be nice stargazing in zaun instead of running for your life and fighting goons off for a change

you knew vi would definitely keep you safe

you had ran all the way up to the little hill where vi had asked you to come during the night time, and you could see her familiar figure waiting, facing her back to you with the hood on.

you were panting for air and a little dizzy from the running, well, 'a little' would be an understatement because right after you reached her, your head felt like it did a one-eighty and you fell to the ground unconscious which wasn't quite the unknown to you but to vi?

well the woman was scared you had died from some unknown, undiagnosed disease and whatnot as she cradled your figure in her strong arms trying to rouse you back awake but your head simply lolled to the side limply

"h-hey, wake up wake up! What's wrong what happened are you hurting? any pains? hey?!"

vi was freaking out by now violently shaking your shoulders though she knew she shouldn't do that she kept chanting your name under her breath as if expecting some sort of magic to happen and you to wake up immediately but you didn't.

fear was grabbing ahold of vi's heart and she was afraid she'd lose you like she'd already lost so many people to the hands of cruel fate, although she was never sure if you both would work out perfectly or not she knew she loved you somewhere deep inside her scarred heart.

"please not you as well..." she mumbled tears appearing at the corners of her eyes but she tried to blink them away, "not you too...." she repeated slowly pressing her forehead against yours.

you stirred, eyes opening as you slowly cupped the side of her face "vi I'm okay..." you said your voice a little murmur barely above a whisper calming the storm starting to rise in vi's heart at an instant.

"I thought you..." vi trailed off.

"im just anemic," you smiled a little and vi let out a sigh of relief she wasnt exactly happy you were dealing with an illness that she couldn't make disappear but she was glad you were alive and still there with her

"please don't let that happen again," vi hugged you tightly and you were shocked for a little bit before you let yourself melt in her arms and buried your face in the crook of her neck

"I'll try."