#this could go on and on

[writing-whump]

Feverish part 2

Everything was hurting.

The world was a mess, his skin felt fragile and itchy at every touch—even the blanket was too rough, too much.

His brain was sluggish and slow and Hector welcomed the relief and oblivion of sleep.

Until Olive asked about calling Isaiah.

Hector could not imagine a worse thing happening. He also desperately yearned for him since the idea came up.

The fever and the pain and this haze...it reminded him of the time he came back from the appendix operation. Isaiah held him through the rest of the day and the night, tolerated his bity remarks, shushed him and reassured him.

Despite managing to say something terrible at the wrong time back then as well, Hector felt so close to him. All three of them back together, like they could count on each other against the world, like their bond was back to being unconditional and unbreakable.

He didn't want Isaiah there now and the realization pained him just as much as the anxiety. Because Isaiah would come, surely he would. He would pick up an emergency call at night even if he didn't pick up any during the day.

Dutiful, responsible and moral, he would rush over, all obligated concern and softness. Hector could fall apart knowing Isaiah wouldn't bring up anything difficult until he felt better.

Cause that's how it's always been. Isaiah, seething quietly with that ridiculous childhood obligation, this need to suffer for them and at their presence. Created by their father, the impossible circumstances and Hector's incompetence.

Hector couldn't take one more day, hour or even a second of that ever again.

His shadow had been still during the fever, but it was stirring at the turmoil at his chest. His stomach hurt, his chest hurt, his lungs collapsing into themselves. The air was too thick, his skin prickled, his throat was rough and burning.

Hector rolled over to the side, retching over the floor. It was dark, a mess, he couldn't tell up from down. Like drowning in the sea all over again.

He coughed and gagged empty. His shadow rose up like a wave, disturbed by the claustrophobic sensation. Trying to help. Hector needed a second to remember why that was a bad idea.

This wasn't his bed or his room. He was at Olive's. Hector didn't pull up his shadow at Olive's. He had never pulled up his shadow around her at all.

The panic increased, making him woozy and horrified. He stumbled down from the bed, more like rolling onto the ground. There was a hole in his chest, a chasm, consuming him along the heat. His shadow was a giant whirlpool of black around the room.

Hector went by taste, on his knees and hands, into the farthest corner in the room. There was a spot between the bed and the wall he could fit right in, curled into a ball. Clawing at his shadow to step down, to fall back, to not scare the softest person in his life.

The thought of Olive finding him like this—his shadow raging, fever-driven and unhinged—made his stomach flip. Even if it was just a fear in his head, the idea of her being scared of him was unbearable.

Hector gagged, then heaved, whole body rolling with the force. A productive wave of vomit rushed out this time, hot as boiling water against his throat. It covered his front and his jeans in the remnants of his lunch and breakfast. Once he started, he couldn’t stop—more vomit surged up, watery and bitter, burning his throat.

Hector shivered in the corner, curled up into a ball over the stinking mess of his clothes, whimpering softly as his shadow slowly faded back.

...

Whose brilliant idea was it to call Matthew Blackwell to anything involving upset shadows and Hector fucking Wolfson?

That was so Isaiah's job. It was made for him, in fact. Matthew wasn't to be trusted with shadows—or his shadow around shadows, for that matter—nor scared crying girls with huge deer eyes on the phone.

But they were asking for him, as rare as that was. And Matthew had never not answered when called.

Olive was crying her eyes out at the kitchen, when he arrived. "Thank you so much for coming," she managed between sobs, hanging herself on his shirt.

Matthew stepped back in shock at the contact, shadow curling at the back of his head with the touch. He knew her, but not well enough for this closeness.

"He is so sick and he can't stand and I can't lift him up and he is throwing up from the fever-"

"Alright," Matthew said, gently pulling her wrists away from his shirt. "Get the water started. I'll go get him."

Olive nodded, too distracted to notice or too kind to take offense at the gesture and ran off.

Matthew shook himself off into concentration, following the smell of vomit through the short hall to the only other room.

The room was a mess. Hector was curled up in the corner instead of on the bed, which was strange. There was vomit covering his front and lap, but he was basically limp against the wall.

The biggest problem was his swirling shadow. Matt rubbed the back of his head, considering what to do. His shadow liked fights and it liked Hector, but he wasn't sure it would understand the nuance and not attack on sight.

He pushed it further to be sure, slowly stepping closer. Hector's shadow had his carrier's temper—it turned towards him, suspicious, snarling,...protective.

Matt could relate to that. "Hey, Hex. I'm gonna...I'm gonna help you with the fever, okay? The shower is running and I'm going to lift you up and get you cooled off and then you can sleep. Sounds good?"

He talked as if the wolf was conscious, which seemed to be the right move. Something of Hector was aware, was alive, his shadow moving and watching...then slowly retreating. It didn't disappear completely, but it evaded Matthew's feet, when he came closer.

Matt kept his voice quiet and steady, describing everything he was doing. Hector's shoulder over his neck, dragging him up, moving them both towards the shower. It was a shame there was no buthrub in that mini-bathroom, the toilet cramped right next to the shower area.

The two large wolves barely fit in. Olive had to step out to leave them space.

The shower head was running, when Matthew came closer, his clothes sticking to the vomit on Hector's side. The blond was still scarily out of it, though his eyelids moved and he whined here and there. Not completely unconscious then. Small wins.

Matthew contemplated the shower for a couple of seconds before deciding, fuck it, stepping inside with Hector. He put the stream to the max, letting the mild water wash over them both.

When the water touched his skin, Hector jumped up with a yell.

"Okay, hold on, cowboy. You are okay. I'm helping," Matt emphasized so Hector wouldn't reach for his shadow and break the tiles.

Hector jerked in his hold, the water running down his back and shoulder. A sudden heave jolted them both, Hector projectile-vomiting between their feet. The wave was impressive and thick, followed by a burp and another large gush.

"Get it up, man. It's okay," Matthew patted his back awkwardly, stomach-turning queasily at the sight and smell. He had to balance Hector's weight with one arm, while steering him away from choking on the water.

...

Hector was much more awake after the shower experience. He and Matt were both sporting dry clothes and were back at the room. The problem was that Hector refused to get back in the bed, crawling back to his corner like a scared child.

"Keep her out of the room," Hector ordered Matthew. Weak as he was Matt felt the power and assurance behind a command that a pack leader would give. It had an interesting pull.

"No way," Olive said. Her eyes were red and puffy, but her lips were set like a warrior's. "I'm staying right here."

Hector hid his face in his hands. "I'm not in control of my shadow. Stay away from me. Please."

Matt could see the waver in Olive's resolve at the word.

Hector's shadow wasn't on full display like before, but it was certainly active, growling under the bed and covering the edges of the room as if to reinforce the walls.

"Matthew," Hector said meaningfully.

Understanding what he wanted was one thing, but Matthew wasn't about to touch a human girl without her consent. He had been scary and wolf-like enough in his life to go against someone's will.

Olive gave him an angry glare, watching if he would move. Matt was double her size and towering over her very much like Hector was. But he stepped aside, making room for her.

Hector curled even more into himself as if Olive was the scary one, whining at the proximity.

"Hex," Olive said, kneeling down next to him. Slowly. "Look at me. You are not going to hurt me."

"I can't gu-"

"You won't hurt me," she repeated, gaze drilling into his head until he lifted it hesitantly.

His eyes were shiny, his face so open and scared, Matthew suddenly felt very out of place. Like walking in on a prayer whispered in the dark—something too private, too sacred to be seen.

Olive took Hector's face in her hands, not looking away. There was absolute trust in her eyes.

Then Hector winced and crumbled towards her and suddenly she was wrapped around him like a coala, his face buried in her back.

Hector's shadow faded away that second, as if all danger passed.

Matthew watched that scene with wide eyes, heart in his throat. Nobody ever believed in him like that until Isaiah. The older wolf always told him he could do it and how much he trusted him to manage by himself until Matthew did. Was that the trick? Was believing you could solve the issue?

Thinking back about his sisters hiding behind doors from him, Matthew felt his eyes prickle, brushing something moist from his cheek.

...

Around dawn, Matt woke up to Hector putting sleeping Olive into the bed. His movements were wobbly and unsteady and he quickly shuffled back into his corner after.

But he was far more awake than before, amber eyes reflecting the sunrise in the dark room.

"Why are you still here?" The blond wolf growled.

Matthew shook his head, back against the opposite wall, copying Hector's position. "You called for me."

"Tsk. I didn't think you would actually show up. Just wanted her off my back."

"You were dying and had no one to call," Matt countered. He hesitated before continuing. "Why not Isaiah, though?"

Hector pressed his lips together, looking away.

"You know that he would come," Matt said softly.

"Yeah, I know," Hector said bitterly. "All eager to do the noble right thing."

"So what? Just because he feels obligated to do it lessens the work?" He gave Hector a critical side-eye. "This fight is on you. You should make the effort."

There was a thump as Hector slammed his fist against the floor. "What else am I supposed to do?! I stepped down the university territory, didn't I? I pulled back when I could have pushed it. Does that not count for something?"

Matthew took a deep breath as he realized what Hector meant.

"It doesn't work like that."

"What?!"

"Isaiah," Matthew said, pulling his knees closer to prop his chin against them. "He doesn't put those two things together. He is an Executioner outside and Isaiah inside. He can't be both all the time or he would go crazy from the clash of interests."

Hector tilted his head at that, listening.

"He would have insisted on the territories, whether you were best buddies or not. When he comes home, he never talks about the Executioner's dealings or meetings. He never asks for our opinions, so we never give it. At the events, he doesn't talk to us about private things. If you pay attention, he is like two different people."

Hector huffed in disbelief. "What kind of bullshit is that?"

"It's his way." Matthew shrugged. "You have to admit that he can't be your brother when he is dealing with other packs. Nobody would listen to him if he seemed biased in your favour."

A sharp intake of breath. Then silence.

"I was doing that for Arnie," Hector said after a long while, stirring Matthew out of the beginning slumber. "Didn't he realize?"

"Arnie is in the same building and faculty as the Executioner. Both studying law. If he isn't safe there and that close to him, we might as well let the system collapse and go wild at each other."

Hector curled up his lips, leaning his head back. "I keep ruining things with him. He won't talk to me. He won't let me fight him with shadows. The kid and you are fine, though!" The blond met Matthew's eyes over the room. "You have to admit that isn't normal."

Matt took his time with the answer, weaving together months of observations and guesses. Feelings more than anything he tried to put into words before.

"Isaiah is drawn to people in trouble. Unruly shadows, wolves at the edge of madness, strays, outcasts. That's why he let me in. That's why he is glued to Rip right now. That's why he will never leave Seline—as an unpracticing witch, she will always be a temptation to wolves." If she was to live a free life without pack obligations and magic protections, she needed wolves and Isaiah was willing to be that for her.

Hector was scowling so deeply the lines looked engraved into his face.

Matthew huffed out a laugh. "You should actually be happy. What he does to you is a sign of admiration."

"Admiration?"

"You are strong enough to not need him. He respects your strength and your abilities. And that's why he pushes you away. The more...independent, capable, the more equal to him you become, the more he distances himself." Matthew’s voice lowered, almost as if confessing to himself. "It’s what he’s doing to me right now. And I... I’m not sure how to stop it."

"I don't understand. He is much closer to you than me."

"True. But that's because I started out such a mess. He didn't mind me seeing him up close after that. But once he stops feeling needed, he feels like a burden. Like he should get off before infecting you with his presence. I don't know if this is his Executioner thing or a pattern from your childhood. Did he have any friends growing up?"

"I- yeah sure. Marek who could tell lies apart with his shadow...or Shawn Minz and Roy Stark...but they..."

"Grew apart?" Matthew guessed. "Pushed away? They were too strong, they could see too much into what he was hiding."

"So he is pushing you away, but he let you closer because he...didn't respect you?" Hector scoffed. "That doesn't offend you?"

"I don't think he is doing it on purpose." He smiled at Hector. "You and Arnie don't seem to realize, how broken and wrong he feels. He doesn't think highly of himself, but if he feels needed, he can keep going. But Isaiah can be wrong about things. He gets things wrong, in fact, he does things unintentionally, he messes up."

Matthew pushed his shoulders back, narrowing his eyes at Hector. "That's why you and Arnie storming over, ignoring when he asks for a break or when he feels off because of his heart, doesn't help. He can't be the same as he was before the operation."

Another tense pause. Hector squirmed uncomfortably, dragging his fingers through his hair. He clutched at the roots as if grounding himself. "That doesn’t make any damn sense. You’re saying he respects me, but also pushes me away because of it? What kind of logic is that?"

Matthew met his glare head-on. "It’s not about logic. It’s about how he sees himself. He doesn’t think he deserves to be around people who have their shit together."

"And in that worst time of need, when he had wanted and needed to be with you both the most, he left. To protect you, but still. It had broken him," Matthew realized as he spoke. "That was when his heart issues started when you put the timeline together."

This was why Hector saying Isaiah had done that for his own sake, felt like the worst kind of betrayal. Like blaming a soldier for abandoning his post when he’d been dragged away bleeding.

Hector seemed to have realized it too, cause he snapped his eyes open, looking horrified.

"Isaiah told me once the pain was so bad he couldn't get up from the bed," Matthew continued. "He would just get sick over and over. Wouldn't leave his room for days on end how sick he felt. It lessened a little after a few months, but the attacks kept coming. For six years until the heart attack last spring."

Matthew took a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts. Hector was still sitting in the corner, shoulders hunched, fingers digging into his hair as if the pressure could keep his mind from spiraling.

The room was quiet, except for the faint hum of the early morning outside the window and Olive's breathing.

Matthew watched Hector's pained grimace, eyes pooling with emotion.

You realize it now, you idiot? Do you realize what it means to him, so he doesn't have to tell you next time?

He relaxed against the wall, utterly exhausted. There was nothing more he could do right now.

[yardsards]

but i stay silly! *←said in the most world-weary voice you ever did hear*

[inbabylontheywept]

so once me and my wife were watching a documentary where a snake ate like a million eggs. that snake just went to fucking town on eggs. and the snake made the eggs look so good that i kept thinking about it, and thinking about it, and thinking about it, and eventually it was 11pm and i ran out of willpower and decided to eat one (1) singular raw egg just to prove to myself that the snake was surely a liar.

the snake was not a liar. texture is like, super important to me and raw eggs are very Texture so i had another one, and then another one, and then another one, and eventually i ran out of eggs.

i had like, fifteen raw eggs.

i didnt really know how to explain this momentary madness to my wife, so my Plan was to put all the eggshells into a grocey bag, and then throw that grocery bag in the dumpster, and if she never noticed that would be Excellent and if she noticed immediately i could lie and say that the eggs went bad.

except i cant lie very good, and of course with murphys law being such, i got salmonella.

so i threw up a lot and my wife asked me what poisoned me so and i tried very hard to dodge the question but i was oozing shame like oil from a room temperature cheese and eventaully i gave in and told her everything and to her enormous credit she was more flabbergasted than actually upset. she did make me promise to not eat any more raw eggs, which i have stuck to, and she gives me weird looks during nature documentaries now as if desire was the only thing keeping me from eating thousands of pounds of krill anyway i made a joke earlier about being able to eat my age in eggs and my sister in law in law made a drawing to comemorate the moment and also because it was my birthday. she's excellent. thank you 10000000% @cintailed. you should all visit her page and admire her work.

[bookwyrminspiration]

god I would be UNSTOPPABLE if I was capable of consistently initiating tasks. just you wait. you'll be waiting a while but just you wait

[seraphtrevs]

STOP no more live-action remakes. We're going the other way now. Animated Casablanca. Animated The Godfather. Animated Oppenheimer. Animated Fight Club.

[icewindandboringhorror]

(also feel free in the tags to clarify Why you made the choice you made!! :0c)

[theblob1958]

people are saying do it scared, but you also gotta do it alone. you'll miss out on so much you want to do if you wait til someone will do it with you. do it scared and do it alone.

[samuelroukin]

so many ways a character can be dog-coded. stray following someone home and begging for scraps. old and needs to be put out of its misery. attack dog. guard dog. lap dog. puppy that pees on the carpet from excitement. shelter dog just happy to finally have feet to curl up on. unsocialized that bites anyone trying to show kindness. silly goofy puddle monster. obedient until the leash comes off

[frenchublog]

kosovo miku

[sapphicathenas]

anyone else thinking about effie spending 24 years watching haymitch completely fall apart. effie, who met haymitch by accident, who knows exactly what kind of person he is, who sees him every year on his birthday for 24 years and each year he’s drunker, each year he’s angrier, each year he’s faster to give up. and then they get katniss and peeta. peeta, who is kind and open and understanding, who refuses to give up on haymitch. and katniss, who is so much like haymitch at 16 that it hurts. and over the few days they’re together, effie watches haymitch come back to life. watches him try. watches him have hope. and then they get to keep not one but both of those kids. they get to come home. and then, less then a year later, effie pulls haymitch’s name at the reaping.

[cowboysmp3]

there’s something sooo sickening about how dunmeshis whole energy is like sometimes something terrible and awful happens to you and it changes you forever and nothing can make you the person you were before but there’s still love and there’s still sharing a meal together and there’s still living

[s-lycopersicum]

[starredforlife]

hello for those planning on voting for kamala harris. could y’all start emailing or calling her specifically to pressure her to stop the genocide. even if you’re a decided voter, mention you are undecided and that this is the issue you would flip on. here I’ll leave a link where you can email

[janederscore]

so, just for the record, staff's blatantly discriminatory rules enforcement practices are only half the story. like, if you ever find yourself wondering why trans women are always getting termed right after their posts about transmisogyny start getting numbers (and mysteriously start getting mature content flagged for seemingly no reason), its bc there are a couple of specific circles of people who mass report tgirls who talk about that sort of thing too loudly (or, y'know, they're just generally annoyed by). there's at least one discord server more or less dedicated to the practice to my knowledge and i wouldn't be surprised if there were more.

staff, of course, can perform the tied hands routine bc of this - they're just responding to reports! and now that the first ban is served, any subsequent attempts to rebuild one's social life are read as Ban Evasion. girls are left with the non-choice of permanent exile or starting over from scratch, trying to be quieter this time so they don't get found. this is the point, and its being done with purpose by people who, funnily enough, spend most of their time talking about the importance of Community. lol and lmao

[whumpster-dumpster]

"My poor baby. My poor sweet little boy," I lament out loud over a whole grown adult man who is not mine but is in fact a fictional character with fictional hurts. What matters is my feelings are real