#what a horrible horrible position to be in

[maaarine]

'We Can Bury Anyone': Inside a Hollywood Smear Machine (Megan Twohey and Mike McIntire and Julie Tate, The New York Times, Dec 21 2024)

"Last summer, as the release of “It Ends With Us” approached, Justin Baldoni, the director and a star of the film, and Jamey Heath, the lead producer, hired a crisis public relations expert.

During shooting, Blake Lively, the co-star, had complained that the men had repeatedly violated physical boundaries and made sexual and other inappropriate comments to her.

Their studio, Wayfarer, agreed to provide a full-time intimacy coordinator, bring in an outside producer and put other safeguards on set.

In a side letter to Ms. Lively’s contract, signed by Mr. Heath, the studio also agreed not to retaliate against the actress.

But by August, the two men, who had positioned themselves as feminist allies in the #MeToo era, expressed fears that her allegations would become public and taint them, according to a legal complaint that she filed Friday.

It claims that their P.R. effort had an explicit goal: to harm Ms. Lively’s reputation instead.

Her filing includes excerpts from thousands of pages of text messages and emails that she obtained through a subpoena.

These and other documents were reviewed by The New York Times. (…)

Mr. Baldoni was best known for the CW satirical romantic dramedy “Jane the Virgin.”

Wayfarer provided the resources for bigger ambitions. It was bankrolled by the billionaire Steve Sarowitz, who is co-chair of the studio with Mr. Baldoni.

They and Mr. Heath, the chief executive, are all deeply involved with the Baha’i religious organization, which promotes unity, peace and gender equality.

Mr. Baldoni has presented himself as an ally to women, writing books, co-hosting a podcast with Mr. Heath and giving talks on toxic masculinity. (…)

She claimed Mr. Baldoni had improvised unwanted kissing and discussed his sex life, including encounters in which he said he may not have received consent.

Mr. Heath had shown her a video of his wife naked, she said, and he had watched Ms. Lively in her trailer when she was topless and having body makeup removed, despite her asking him to look away.

She said that both men repeatedly entered her makeup trailer uninvited while she was undressed, including when she was breastfeeding. (…)

As the film release neared, Ms. Lively and other cast members informed Sony and Wayfarer that they would not do any appearances alongside Mr. Baldoni.

So did Ms. Hoover, the author, who had her own dissatisfactions with him and had become more upset after he told her about Ms. Lively’s allegations, according to text messages from Mr. Baldoni and Mr. Heath.

By the first week of August, Wayfarer and Mr. Baldoni had retained Ms. Nathan, who had worked with high-profile clients including Mr. Depp, whose ex-wife, Amber Heard, accused him of physical abuse. (…)

Three days later, Mr. Baldoni texted Ms. Abel, flagging a social media thread that accused another celebrity of bullying behavior and had generated 19 million views. “This is what we would need,” he wrote.

Ms. Nathan soon floated proposals to hire contractors to dominate social media through “full social account take downs,” by starting “threads of theories” and generally working to “change narrative.”

“All of this will be most importantly untraceable,” she wrote. (…)

When Ms. Abel wrote to her Aug. 4 that “I’m having reckless thoughts of wanting to plant pieces this week of how horrible Blake is to work with. Just to get ahead of it,” Ms. Nathan replied that she had spoken off the record to an editor at The Daily Mail.

“She’s ready when we are,” Ms. Nathan wrote.

A flurry of articles followed the Hollywood Reporter piece. Many made it seem as if the only rift was over creative control.

Some journalists had gotten wind of complaints about Mr. Baldoni’s behavior, but none of the most serious ones were published.

“He doesn’t realise how lucky he is right now,” Ms. Nathan texted Ms. Abel. (…)

It is unclear exactly how Mr. Wallace operated.

There are references in emails to “social manipulation” and “proactive fan posting,” and text messages cite efforts to “boost” and “amplify” online content that was favorable to Mr. Baldoni or critical of Ms. Lively.

“We are crushing it on Reddit,” Mr. Wallace told Ms. Nathan, according to a text she sent Ms. Abel on Aug. 9.

The next day, one of Ms. Nathan’s employees texted, “We’ve started to see shift on social, due largely to Jed and his team’s efforts to shift the narrative.”

Ms. Nathan wrote to Ms. Abel: “And socials are really really ramping up. In his favour, she must be furious. It’s actually sad because it just shows you have people really want to hate on women.” (…)

On Aug. 16, Ms. Nathan shared the Daily Mail article headlined “Is Blake Lively set to be CANCELLED?” with references to ‘hard to watch’ videos and a ‘tone deaf’ promotional Q. and A.

“Wow. You really outdid yourself with this piece,” Ms. Abel responded.

“That’s why you hired me right?” Ms. Nathan replied. “I’m the best.”"

[softspokendove]

"Keep making those noises, baby"

pairings: rafe cameron x shy!reader

summary: you always tended to hide your moans in bed with rafe, until one night it became too much. rafe instantly falling in love with your noises.

warnings: smut, p in v (unprotected), moan kink, doggy and missionary position, Rafe is kinda rough.

You continue to grind down on your bottom lip, the flesh horribly swollen as you try to keep your moans in. You've always felt safe around Rafe in every way, but when it comes to letting out your noises in bed you would blush and scur away from the idea. It wasn't about being uncomfortable, you just didn't know what to do or how to sound. All of those nights you'd stay up late watching those nasty videos only paying attention to the moans and whimpers coming out of the women. They always sounded so confident, so open. That just couldn't be you, you didn't know how.

Rafe was relentless with pounding into you, his hands digging into your waist as he pulls you backwards to meet his thrusts. Every few seconds he would let out some sort of noise, whether it be a groan, grunt, or a whimper. You loved it. Each sound that came out of him rewarded him with your walls tightening around his cock, his head craning back in how good you felt.

There's been times when Rafe has brought up how quiet you are in the bedroom. He'd be careful about it; not trying to embarrass you or make you feel bad. He'd slowly approach the topic and wait for you to add anything you'd want to it. Which usually would end up in you lowering your head trying to avoid eye contact and say that you didn't know how. Of course, Rafe didn't understand what you meant, it should come naturally to you not something you need to learn, but non the less he wouldn't push any further and would instead rub your thigh trying to calmly reassure you.

As Rafe tilts his hips in a certain way and his thrusts continue their abuse on your cunt from behind, your hands reach out to grip the sheets, your knuckles turning white from how hard you're tightening your grip. A weird sensation crawling up your neck and staying in the back of your throat. Your mouth instinctively letting go of your bottom lip and opening agape. The feeling gets stuck in your throat until a certain hard thrust of Rafe's pushes you towards the feeling and you let it out. The moan flowing so softly out of your mouth Rafe thinks he might've imagined it.

Rafe holds back his own noises and hits in that one spot just right again, earning another low moan from you. The moan causing Rafe's breathing to hitch and his dick to twitch. He puts one of his hands on the lower part of your back and pushes down causing you to arch more. The angle making you roll your eyes into the back of your head; the next moan leaving your throat is even louder this time.

God, you sound so good. Rafe could listen to you making that sound all day, it edges him on further. The tip of his cock constantly hitting that spot inside of you at a rough pace, Rafe leaning down and leaving small kisses all over your back. The soft tender kisses mixing deliciously with how hard Rafe is pounding into you. You rest the side of your face on the bed and let out a whimper at the beautiful feeling of the combination.

You whimper making Rafe let out a groan. "Fuck yeah, keep doing that." You're too lost in the pleasure that you're not too sure what exactly he's talking about. You feel your head get reeled back as he pulls your hair, the new sensation making a louder moan come out. "Yess sweetheart, that's it." The new praise making more of that same feeling pile in your throat, just wanting to come out.

You close your eyes and focus on Rafe's hard length sliding slickly in and out of you. The noises starting to escape on their own now. Each time he would bottom out inside your cunt it would end up in another whine or moan coming out and filling the air.

Rafe gets filled with a need to see your face, to see how good you look when those beautiful sounds are coming out of you. His hands land on your hips and force your body to turn over, your cunt and face on full display for him. Your eyes were still closed, but open in confusion when you don't feel his cock still inside of you.

Your eyes then widen when they come in to contact with his, your face becoming a deep shade of red as you recall all those noises you helpless let out. Rafe just smiles at your reaction and shoves his cock right back inside of you still hitting that same spot as before. Your hand reaches out and holds onto his wrist as the overwhelming pleasure hits you all at once. "Keep making those noises, baby. Wanna see how loud you can get." He then pushes down on your lower stomach bringing you closer to your breaking point.

"Rafe!" You try to warn him, to say anything at the quick feeling of your core about to snap. Instead, all that comes out is the sound of your moans getting louder and louder. Your walls wrapping tightly around Rafe's throbbing cock. Your noises bringing him close.

You let out one final loud moan as you cum and spasm all around his cock. Rafe quickly follows your suite and groans as he cums inside of you.

"Fuck baby. You have to do that every time, you sound so good."

[dollsahoy]

So, for those who don't know, the whole point of Dusty and Skye was to show that "being active" was...well, not "more important" than being ~obsessed with appearance~ like Barbie was portrayed (even though Barbie in the early 1970s already had a catalog of dolls based on being active and playing sports), but that you could be both interested in fashion and in being active

(The "exclusive built-in feature" was basically a spring-loaded waist joint, with the head on a pillar from the pelvis area, so when the torso rotated--and then snapped back because of the spring--the head stayed in whatever position it had been posed, so it could "look" at what it was hitting while swinging)

The problem was that...well...that big drawing of Dusty up there? It was pretty accurate. Such a large smile did not translate well to a doll

(also, these doll bodies aged horribly, with the substances used to make the arm and leg plastic soft enough to bend eventually seeping out and melting the hard plastic where the arms and legs connect to the body)

General Mills Fun Group Inc, 1975

[atoriv-art]

what are your thoughts on the hyuga siblings and their relationship

OOF now thats one of my favorite naruto dynamics lmao. i think neji and hinata have a very interesting relationship and i say that as someone who really didn't (and tbh still doesn't) love how that relationship developed in canon

i really like the hyuga fight in the chunin exams because the way it's perceived is sooo interesting to me.. neji comes off as an outright bully and i don't even blame the kids for calling him an asshole after all of that, but from reader's perspective it's really obvious that his animosity only exists because of a larger issue...

neji shouldn't treat hinata the way he does, but he does so because of her unique position as a scorned heir. she still benefits from everything that makes his life awful - her life is still valued more than his - but hiashi hates her enough that he won't care if neji dishes out verbal abuse on her. it's an awful dynamic and definitely contributes to hinata's terrible self-worth, but it's a symptom of the life they have been forced into by the man who the manga is intent on letting escape all of the blame for this situation lmao

(hiashi himself can be a really fascinating case honestly. i think he fully means everything he says, which is what makes him so grating but fun to me LOL. his apology to neji is entirely sincere AND it completely misses the point of all of the issues, but neji is young and deprived of acknowledgement enough that he accepts it wholeheartedly. hiashi thinks he's the best uncle of all time.)

hinata herself has so little belief in her own worth that she just sits there and takes whatever abuse people throw at her... i don't actually think neji's anger towards her was a constant - i think some people interpret it that way - rather i feel like it was something that came up whenever he was pushed too far. in more normal circumstances where he's not being made to fight her directly, he was likely more detached than anything. he wanted nothing to do with her.

in one of the filler mini arcs ive mentioned before (i think. the one that focuses on hanabi and hinata) there's a scene that rang very true to me (and im gonna recount this without rewatching it atm so sorry if i get details wrong,): neji was being made to train with hinata, asked to be allowed to leave because he felt his time was being wasted and correctly noted that it doesn't have to be him here, was told no by hiashi and then he started getting vicious and violent. towards hinata, of course, not hiashi. he then got horribly punished for it LOL i think that's the general dynamic they were living in, neji reaches a limit of disrespect that he can take and explodes on the nearest most acceptable target (we loove a boy with no emotional regulation <3), goes too far and suffers the consequence of it while nothing else changes. to him interacting with hinata at all is just asking for pain, either emotional or straight up physical

But, for hinata, she saw herself and neji as similar (the black sheep of the family i suppose), and would have liked to bond over that fact; theyve known each other since they were very little and she outright refers to him as a brother. it's clear to me she's always cared a lot about neji and imo feels responsible for what happened to his father (something that hiashi doesn't help with. Dad of the year), so she saw their match in the exams as a chance to close the distance between them and get neji to see her as a person, an equal instead of a symbol to lash out on.

but, you know, she was 12 LMAO so she ended up pressing all of his buttons instead and it led to his famous outburst, which led to the famous moment of Every Single Jonin (other than asuma.) coming to stop him and further cementing his belief that her life is seen as special. i think (and this is a mix of Shit I Made up, and Me trying to make sense of the manga's insane mishandling of their plotline) that despite her trying her hardest to reach neji she didn't really grasp the horror of his situation. that's the tragedy of neji's life really LMAO, no one really tries to grapple with the severity of what having that curse mark does to a person. she thought of his fatalism as more of a psychological, metaphorical way of dealing with hurt and not like... "my life literally does not belong to me no matter how much i try to fight it"

this is loooooong take this readmore.

i think hiashi-hizashi were hoping that the cousins could have had a better relationship than they did... letting them hang out often and stuff, introducing them early, hizashi not discouraging neji from being friendly with her, to me it all reads as very "ok well this didn't work for Us, but what if it works out for them... even though literally nothing has changed". they were proper family once and hizashi wanted to die for his brother, not his leader, so that just makes sense to me.

i do nautttt like the naruto vs neji fight so to keep the post positive i will gloss over it <3 but hinata and neji's relationship post-chunin exams to me is peak like. God i wish this was done better because it could have been soooo good

neji realizes that his anger is consuming him and adjusts his behavior accordingly, getting a lot of his kindness back, and he becomes intent on fixing his relationship with hinata... i don't hate that premise at all, it's just the way it's executed that bothers me!

the impression i got (and i could be mistaken im in the process of rewatching the anime + rereading the manga) is that their relationship getting better is done exclusively through like. neji repenting for being mean to her. which, don't get me wrong, he SHOULD apologize (AND THAT WOULDVE BEEN A COOL THING TO SEE ONSCREEN, BTW) but you CANNOT divorce his behavior from the hyuga system in general. from the way they act after the exams you would think their issues were born solely from neji being a bully for no reason, and not, like... him lashing out on her because his uncle is literally the devil.

i don't think hinata has the power to change a lot in her clan on short notice (she did get disowned. did that un-happen offscreen? we will never know. Hiashi gets to be a grandfather to her children btw.) but i certainly would have liked to see her standing up for branch members and in the stuff i draw that's the story i have in mind LMAO. like, her gaining a deeper understanding of neji's situation and trying to work against her father trying to make her cousin's life better? i think that would have been really sweet and even show her gaining more confidence in herself and her beliefs. you can still have neji fussing over her and being protective because he feels bad for how they used to be, i actually really like that because neji IS a very sweet person, i just reject the idea that it's his sole Moral Obligation to put everything aside and make things better by the power of I Will Die For You Now, But This Time, For The Right Reasons

as for hanabi i wish she had more screentime soooo bad because i'm obsessed with how she gives off Haunted Child vibes lmfao. talking abt her requires me to expose myself a little bit and have to admit hiashi is kind of a blorbo to me because of how much he sucks ass, but like. Essentially his insane resentment of hinata was born when hizashi died, it doesnt matter it wasn't really her fault, he needed someone to blame and he would never blame himself, at least not outwardly lol. hiashi did genuinely love his brother, it just didn't stop him from being a monster to him, and he is certainly not gonna grapple with that now that he's dead!

(and, you know, the whole "sorry we sent a guy to kidnap an heir. you do need to die for killing him though" thing is really dumb but if we stop at every single stupid thing in naruto we will be here all day.)

with all that being said i think hiashi tries his best to make hanabi everything hinata isn't, and he has very little interest in having her and hinata have any bond at all. he just left neji and hinata to fester in that god-awful dynamic with no supervising, and took hanabi as the best direction for the clan to head towards. but, you know, father of the year is very demanding and doesn't seem to be very fatherly to her at all from the little we see of them. she's just like. a good soldier, and that's what he needs.

i think hanabi growing to resent her sister for the situation she's been put into (if hinata weren't 'weak' she wouldn't have so much responsibility) is very interesting! by the time we meet her i think she's learned that the best thing to do wrt her sister is to just ignore that she exists. as for neji he barely registers as a presence to her; neji has no reason to interact with her and hiashi has no reason to incentivize it. it's very fun to me!

in general i really like all of their dynamics can be used to explore how hurt and trauma drive people apart, i could talk about them for hourssss LMAO i love the suna family for the same reason!

[thedolsideblog]

You are in the rear courtyard behind the school. Some of the students are running around and playing, as the facilities stay open for a couple of hours.

Blythe is there, sitting on one of the tree stumps. He seems to be thinking about something.

(1) Approach him

You walk towards Blythe and make your presence known. This seems to break him out of his train of thought, but his eyes light up when he realizes it's just you. He pats his thighs as an invitation to sit on his lap.

(1) Sit on his lap | ++ Love | + Lust | + Devotion <<

(2) Sit next to him instead | + Love

You sit down on his lap, making yourself comfortable. Blythe pulls you closer, leaning his head on your shoulder while one of his hands settles on your hips while the other openly gropes your thighs. He seems content like this, but he seems distracted at the same time. You wonder what's he's thinking about.

(1) Ask him

"You had a long look on your face," you say. "What's wrong? you can tell me."

Blythe shifts a little bit, but he doesn't stop his touch. ".......It's nothing serious. It's.....a bit silly, actually. " He turns his head to look at you. "I was wondering, do you want to go to my place?"

You don't see any reason to refuse. "Sure." You say, about to climb off Blythe's lap, but he stops you. "No need. It's not far. I'll....just carry you, if that's okay."

(1) Let him carry you | Promiscuity 2 | +++ Devotion <<

(2) Insist on walking

"If you don't mind- whoa!" You exclaim, as Blythe easily moves you into a bridal carry position. He moves from the rear courtyard to the front with no difficulty, as if you weigh nothing to him. Several students who are still around the school area stare at you, with some wolf whistling while others look with jealousy. It's a bit embarrassing, but there's a small swell of pride that blooms within you knowing that Blythe offered himself to carry you like this. He seems to be quite happy too.

(1) Next

As Blythe walks, he navigates through High Street to Barb Street. He keeps up a brisk pace. You think that Blythe was exaggerating when he said his place isn't far, but you wonder if he feels that way because of how fast he goes when he walks. It's a wonder that he isn't tired of carrying you.

Eventually, the two of you reach a flat building. He walks up the stairs to reach the second floor and finally puts you down to get his keys. He seems apologetic about it, as if it's disappointing that he isn't able to open his flat while carrying you.

He opens the door, and he lets you step inside first. The interior isn't big, but it isn't small either. It's mostly clean, with only the occasional dust or paper strewn about. There's a kitchen with a small countertop, a living room with a sofa, a table, and a small tv. You see two other doors which you assume leads to the bedroom and bathroom. Blythe gets in after you, closing the door and leads you to sit down with him on the sofa.

"It's not much." He says, dusting off the sofa. "But I really wanted you to come here. Seeing you here is....." Blythe trails off, a small blush forming on his face.

"Anyways," He grasps your hand, urging you to open your palm. He gives you a key. "The real reason why I wanted to bring you here is to give you this. It's a spare key to my flat. You're welcome to use this place anytime, even if I'm not here."

"Really? are you sure?" You ask, suddenly feeling the weight of responsibility on your hand. Blythe nods. "Really. I'd be a horrible boyfriend if I don't." He pushes your fingers to make a fist, solidifying the gift. "All that I have...is yours."

You unlocked Blythe's flat! What is his is yours after all. You're free to come at any time.

[lycheeleeches]

( Enter Lanyon ) :0

warning: ⚠️ Slight mention of suicide ⚠️

-forgive my horrible structure and rambling

After Jekyll gets sent away for his mad sciencey, Lanyon has made it his mission to try and one, get Jekyll back and prove his innocence and two, also get the society back.

Lanyon in this AU plays the role of Lucy, so you know what that means: the man goes insane.

Pretty much as he’s trying to fight to get Jekyll released, he gets a letter from the Beadle (still unsure of who I’d want to play this part, if I want to even assign a character this part, because I don’t think anyone fits the role), apologizing for what happens to Jekyll and promising that they and the Judge (also in the same boat as the Beadle) will get it all fixed up for him and they should meet up at their house to talk about the details

Lanyon, desperate, agrees and goes only to find this odd masquerade party going on.

It turns out it was a whole ploy to reveal Lanyon’s past and that while he someone with a good reputation ( who was also still sticking up for the society) shouldn’t be trusted cause he’s been participating in ”gross indecencies”.

Lanyon’s reputation and mental heath only plummet he’s tried to help Jekyll but has only made the situation worse and any chance Jekyll has had of being released and gaining back his position has been effectively destroyed by him. Not only has His past been dragged out but also Jekyll’s past relationship with him.

after returning from the masquerade (drunk) in a brief lapse of judgment he drinks one of Jekyll’s poisons that’s still in his office. It doesn’t end up killing him but it does make him go insane

Lanyon becomes a shell of how he is, and throughout the story he appears here and there.

When he first meets Hyde, he swears that he looks familiar (mind you, before all of this went down, Lanyon has never formally met Hyde and only has heard his name from when Jekyll mentions he’s hired him).

Hyde is too frantic to get this person away from him (fearing that somehow this random stranger figured out his identity) to even allow himself a moment to see if he recognizes the person. His lashing out is more out of fear than anger.

Lanyon, who has been hanging slightly near the society overhears Hyde’s name, and in his jumbled-up fragments of memory, is able to associate blame with this name. He knows he doesn’t like Hyde but can’t remember why.

It doesn’t help that he’s the only one that is able to put together that Hyde’s out here murdering people.

[unfriendlies]

even though the two of them fought, garam still trusted himself in the man's hands. he was positive the other wouldn't do anything to intentionally hurt him, at least physically. "you wouldn't drop me," he replied confidently. when angel retorted on his towel dropping, garam getting to see that something he'd like, his body stiffened, his grip on angel's hand tightening for a moment, but he hadn't let it stop him from pulling the other to his room. "maybe i'd like that," he mumbled even though he knew he shouldn't have said something. garam watched as angel pulled the blankets back for him, his posture relaxing as his head tilted to the side. he knew angel was only being so nice right now because garam was drunk, he was sure there was at least an inkling inside of him that wanted to yell at him or something akin to, but the fact that he could be holding anything negative he felt back made garam feel warm inside. he pushed aside how he was feeling to take care of garam, how was he supposed to still be angry with angel when he took care of him so well. he crawled into the man's bed, only going as far as to tuck his legs under the blanket until angel had left to get dressed, himself. while angel was in the bathroom, garam ended up climbing out of the man's bed so he could take his jeans off. he would have taken his shirt off as well and just slept in his underwear but he was afraid of seeing angel's expression upon seeing the fading bruises on his abdomen. once the other man reappeared, garam pushed himself up onto his elbows, his eyes not leaving angel as he approached. garam sat up and turned so he could look down to angel, his brows pulling together as he let out a soft sigh. even though angel wanted to talk later on, when they were both sober, garam just couldn't stop himself from speaking anyways. he needed to apologize, he couldn't have angel going to bed thinking garam was mad or upset with him. the smaller man pouted a bit exaggeratedly, grumbling in distress as he shook his head. "i'm sorry i yelled at you... and for the things i said. i'm not mad at you, i really don't blame you for anything. you've always had the best of intentions and-and you always look out for me, you take care of me, and i know it's not just because you're into me but because you are a good person and you care about my wellbeing. you saw what i chose to ignore, i probably would have died by his hands if you hadn't made the sacrifice you had." he looked so pathetic, like he was on the verge of crying while he apologized. if he was going to be completely honest, fighting, not being on good terms with angel was tearing him up inside. that's why he drank as much as he did, so he wouldn't have to feel how horrible he did for yelling and saying things he shouldn't have said. "when i'm ready for another relationship, i want it to be you. and when you're ready," his expression had shifted when he paused, showing more of a devious smile now as he moved his hand to angel's stomach, letting his fingers take small steps upward, "i'm going to let you do whatever you want to me." garam spoke slowly as if he were trying to ensure his words were clear, letting his expression now reflect his lack of sobriety; his smile stretching ear to ear, his eyes narrowing and his nose scrunching up as he giggled softly. his intention was to fluster angel just as much as seeing the man's bare and damp body flustered him. it seemed, though, that his effort had the exact opposite effect as he found himself getting flustered at the mere idea of hooking up with angel. his grin disappeared in an instant, the red of his already flushed cheeks deepening. garam let himself fall back down to the bed, though he was quick to pull the blanket up over his head to hide himself from the embarrassment he caused himself, groaning quietly. he wasn't sure if he would come to regret his words when he sobered up, all he knew was that he was too embarrassed to show his face to angel right in that moment.

Was anger even a factor anymore? Angel couldn't decide. Before his best friend walked out the door he felt nothing but hurt and turmoil. Now, when he opened the door and saw Garam standing there looking so damn cute he could barely think straight. Having Axel try to attack him truly put into perspective what Garam was possibly going through behind closed doors. Angel was still dealing with what was said to him. But anger wasn't present. “I can take you to bed like this? Do you hear yourself sometimes” Angel let out a laugh as he followed Garam to his bedroom. “We had a pretty big fight. Did you really want me to carry you?” If the other wasn't drunk he might have given in to his urges. However, he had held on for many years. Priding himself on his self-control. He wasn't about to give up that streek so easily. As he followed the man to his room he kicked himself for not taking down all the random towels and blankets he had scattered around covering the mirrors. He mentally prayed Garam was too inebriated to focus on details. “Don't you want my towel to drop? Maybe see something else you like” Angel teased knowing that would stop the man's giggling. As they entered the room the taller man led him to the bed and pulled back the covers for his best friend. “Get in bed. I'm going to get dressed but I should dry off some.” Angel backed away toward his draws picking through them. He finally settled on his usual shorts and a t-shirt before disappearing into the bathroom. He took his time drying off trying to remember to carry Garam to his bed the other night. Wondering what he was thinking. Knowing he would never do something so bold sober. Chuckling to himself the man finally got dressed and came out of the bathroom. As he laid eyes on his best friend he was grateful the man came home. Before the other’s ex showed up he didn't think he would get sleep not knowing where Garam was. But he wouldn't dare text to ask. His eyes softened as he walked over to the bed and climbed in. For tonight he needed to let go of their argument and enjoy drunk Garam. He was always cute, but when he got drunk like this it was hard to be upset with him. “We can talk in the morning. I'll make breakfast, alright?”

[beansidhebumbling]

So American

'You're so American.'

Nesta said to him, over a cup of coffee in Williamsburg. Words enmeshed between a huff and a laugh, they mixed with the steam emanating from her mug and danced in the morning light.

Cassian smiled reflexively. He was clueless as to why she said it. As to what prompted that observation at this moment. To be quite frank he didn't care.

Because he knew it meant 'I love you'.

-

She said it first in October, drunk and unguarded. An angel in a Manhattan cab.

'Your teeth glow in the dark, you know that?'

Throwing her hand dramatically over eyes, as if to protect them from the ivory glare, she cackled to herself before muttering fondly,

'You're so American.'

And he was half gone on her before he knew her name. So how could he not be in love with her when she teased him, months later, smelling of cheap rum and spiced vanilla?

Leaning a little closer, feeling his seatbelt biting against his chest, he retorted,

'It's not my fault you Europeans have horrible teeth.'

Her hand moved from her eyes to push indignantly at his shoulder.

'My teeth are immaculate I'll have you know.'

She bared them. Straight pearls framed by chapped lips framed by dimples that were quickly becoming an obsession of his. Cassian snorted, forcing a stern expression onto his face and steel into his voice.

'I'll have to inspect them myself I fear, Miss Archeron.'

Her grey eyes darted up to his, fiery and beautiful.

'And how do you intend to do that, Sir?'

Sir.

Sir.

For a moment his pulse stopped, before returning at a canter.

She was dangerous. He watched her track the rising flush across his cheekbones with smug satisfaction and a blooming smirk.

Nesta knew exactly what she did to him.

He grabbed her waist, hoping the warmth of his handprint would be felt all the way to her soul, pulling her from her slouched position until she was almost atop him.

And answered the question thoroughly with his tongue.

-

She had said it a hundred times since that night.

When he cried at the Superbowl. When he painted his face green on St. Patrick's Day. When she discovered his Beretta in the nightstand. When he refused to take sick leave after catching the flu. When he drove to Vermont to get her cherry pie.

The words came in many shades, bemused and angry and fond and frustrated and amused.

He'd fallen out of love with his home a long time ago. Patriotism lay buried in blood-drenched sand.

But through her eyes, with her words, he learned to love himself again.

-

The familiar sight of Cassian in Devocion, with his hair slicked back in a low bun and his hands dwarfing the earthen mug he held made her smile when she entered. He was texting someone, probably her, as she approached.

He was in his element here, waiting with their usual drinks at their usual table, carrying that New York confidence she was doubtful she'd ever acquire.

Comfortable and organic and..

'You're so American.'

Nesta huffed, unwinding his scarf from her neck as she sat, smothering the giddy earnestness that tried to leak through. She was not American after all.

He looked up and grinned, eyes softer than the cardigan she was wrapped in. He studied her, stare tracking from her worn runners up her leggings and long puffer coat to her bare face and slightly greasy hair.

'I'm going to marry you.'

He declared, making her choke on frothed milk.

He was ridiculous, had been since Nesta first met him in that godforsaken nightclub in Bushwick. Ridiculously brilliant and bright. Ridiculously stubborn and protective. Ridiculously charming and lovable.

But this took the biscuit. She was cold and more than a bit hungover. And he was talking about marriage like the weather. So confident with his life-changing statement, a quiet conviction to his words, like any other outcome was impossible.

She couldn't fight the smile he pulled from her heart onto her face.

So bloody dramatic.

So fucking American.

So damned right.

She was going to marry him.

[justsomeantifas]

I think there is value in reading as a whole. Dedicating time to focusing singularly on one thing does help improve your attention span and even works you up to reading more complicated things. Even if what you are reading is straight up sex scenes I’m going to be the person arguing this is a net positive for your attention span and reading stamina.

To argue that people should read *even less* during a period of decline in reading stamina that’s so jarring even Ivy League universities are utilizing excerpts over full books to educate their students is horrible.

If your focus is on decreasing what people read your priorities are so far in the wrong direction you’re not even scratching at the literacy problems. What you are doing is making reading stamina and literacy worse in your righteous glory.

[candy-fae]

Not to rant on a side blog but I just found out in mufasa they retconned scar and mufasa to NOT be brothers and like. That was my first hyperfixation so I am upset about this for a few reasons!!! Incoming rant.

I'm gonna call it the princess Luna effect. Scar is getting princess Luna'd and let me explain how.

Disney would never make a villain kill someone now. Maybe in the background have it be implied. Maybe IMPLY some degree of violence. But they would never put on a production of hamlet in a different font, because killing people is bad, and Disney doesn't WANT parents to be mad and not give them money. We already know this, and yes, it severely limits them giving their villains credible weight, thus struggling to make us engage in a conflict that isn't environmental. But aside from the fact that this is an OBVIOUS crab for cash and their copywrite, they've managed to try and make scar more palatable.

Hmm. Let's see. I want to be a king. I was born the spare, to my stronger, prouder older brother. I now have to wait for him to die to rule. But I can't fight him. He's too good. Oh! He has a son. GREAT. now I'll never be king. Unless the little hairball dies. Hmm. And he'd do anything for his son. I know! I'm going to kill my son by putting my nephew in danger, then when he's dead, just for SHITS AND GIGGLES- I'm gonna tell him it was his fault. I plan to kill him anyway. But I'm just such a devious asshole and don't wanna get my hands dirty, it would be easier to send him the wrong way, then send my guys on him.

And so he does. And was it jealousy, horrible and churning an corrupting that did it? Absolutely. And is it mufasas fault? Not at all. People hate you because you are loved by others and that a shitty of them. Scar is a murderer, and responsible for one of the greatest betrayals of animation.

What I'm having the issue with is- there's old canon that I'm pretty positive straight up gives them canon parents. They are blood related and surprise!! Siblings look different sometimes. Hamlet was a stage play and animation is like a mask. They drew the fucker like a snake because he is one.

And secondly- I get the feeling they did it so we could empathize with him. But he doesn't need empathizing!!! He has one purpose in the story and that IS to be horrific!! It's FUN to think about "what if the bad guy...... WASN'T the bad guy!!!"

But he is. And attempting to add more depth by retconning and making it so mufasa STOLE the throne in someway- just weakens his original betrayal. We are suppose to be horrified. We are suppose to cry when mufasa dies. I saw some people saying it's to set up love and Kiara but- kovu is stated in the lion King 2 to NOT be scars son. So the only thing I can think here is "oh. They want to make scar palatable. That's stupid."

What do you think?

"You are my blood brother I've known since I was born. But I will kill you and my nephew if it means I get what you have."

Or

"This thing was SUPPOSE to be mine and you STOLE it from me. I'm taking it back!"

Scar is no suppose to be justified. He's just suppose to be cruel. Let your bad guys be bad. I'm so sick of watering down evil. Makes the story much less about overcoming it.

[philistiniphagottini]

Passion Flower and Rice Milk

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read the first chapter and reblogged it with nice tags and/or left nice comments. I really, really appreciate the support you have shown this story. I'm very happy and thrilled to keep posting chapters. Comments and reblogs would be very greatly appreciated if you wanna see more ^-^ Thanks again for reading, hope you enjoy

Summary: It's been two weeks since you've seen Dan Feng. And, you get an unexpected visitor in your garden.

cw. mutual pining, friends to lovers, a/b/o inspired but not an omegaverse, adult themes, female reader, chubby reader, vidyadhara reader, minors DO NOT interact

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

It had been two weeks since you had seen Dan Feng. The last thing you remember was fleeing his garden in such a hurry you almost tripped over your own feet. You felt awful for the way you had abruptly departed, the memories replaying over and over in your head, taunting you into the late hours of the evening. It made you feel sick. You had been on the cusp of telling Dan Feng what was wrong, it was your intention on that day to spill everything. But you got scared. You were terrified to take a risk out of fear of his rejection. And so, for the past two weeks you hid like a coward and hoped to weather this unrelenting storm by yourself. Like you had always done, like the elders of your clan told you to do. It was just simpler to take your medicine, to suppress your natural urges, no matter how much it would cause you to suffer in the end, and not be a burden to others. Act like you were expected to act, the way you were taught and conditioned. And like the dumb, little girl that still craved the love and attention from neglectful parents, you obliged hoping to gain even a shred of approval.

You have been miserable without Dan Feng’s company. You refused to go see him. You were forbidden to leave. You sulked around your quarters and your estate. Your thoughts were a mess. Your emotions weren’t faring any better either. The maids and servants of the estate were ordered to stay out of your way but to remain vigilant and keep an eye on you. Not by your words. Your clan's elders. Every time you thought of them you could taste something horrible and acidic on the back of your tongue. You were moody. Your stomach hurt. Your feet ached. You were uncomfortable in your regular attire, the fabric sticking awkwardly to your skin as your back dotted with beads of sweat. You turned your nose up in the air at the sticky grossness. You tried to tend to the flowers in your garden, hoping the sweet scent of perfume would help clear your head and keep you occupied. It didn’t work. The smell you usually loved made you feel nauseous and burned every time you took a ragged breath. 

It was only midday, but you were about to pack it in for the day. You had been getting terrible sleep at night anyway and you had resorted to napping during the day to make up for it. You couldn’t tell if the rumble in your stomach was because you hadn’t eaten or because the thought of food was too taxing. You stood from your kneeling position next to your flower bed, brushing off the dirt from your robes as your hair softly fluttered in the breeze. The cool wind was a small comfort against your heated, golden scales, your tail swishing elegantly from side to side as the fur fluffed up in the breeze. The soft, silk shawl wrapped around your shoulders slipped when you fussed and you coiled it tighter around your neck so you wouldn't lose it. It was a gift, from Dan Feng. He had presented it to you only a few moons ago, wrapping the fine silk around your shoulders to warm you from the chill, night air. You had graciously accepted, the commodity of receiving a heartfelt gift a rare occasion that brightened your smile. Every time you pinched the fabric between the tips of your fingers and pressed it to your nose, you could still smell him. The scent was soothing and it was the only thing keeping you sane, even though it inevitably reminded you of what happened. 

You shook your head to dispel the thoughts before they could consume you again. A sigh escaped your lips as you gathered your gardening tools and you were intent on putting them away. Until you heard someone saying your name and you almost dropped the bucket you had been carrying.

Your eyes widened in surprise and you whipped your head to the source of the voice, your jaw dropping sharply when you spotted who was waving at you from the fence line. Bright eyes of golden honey peeked up at you from a wild mane of snow-white hair, accompanied by a wide grin and a wave of a hand. 

"Jing Yuan" you said. "What are you-?"

The tone of your voice dropped into a hushed whisper as you quickly looked around, making sure that no one had stumbled upon you yet as the young Jing Yuan clambered over the fence. You pressed your finger to your lips when the sound of his shoes hitting the gravel grated against your ears. He noticed the panicked look on your face and stopped in his tracks, hands raised in the air as a sign of peace. When you were sure the coast was clear, you quickly rushed over to him, a concerned look in your eyes as you examined the boy from head to toe. The fur on your tail bristled from your uninvited guest. The elders didn’t like unexpected visitors to the complex and you didn’t know if they would make an expectation for one of Jingliu's students. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, your tone rushed with a hushed, sharp rasp.

Jing Yuan gave you a beaming smile, his innocence radiating off of his kind face as he looked up at you with big eyes. 

"I came to see you" he replied. "We haven’t played in ages. Are you sick?"

You sighed softly, taking a deep breath to compose yourself. You had to remind yourself that Jing Yuan was still just a kid. A cloud knight cadet but still just a kid. Of course he wouldn’t understand why he hadn’t seen you for the past two weeks. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as he continued to chirp like an excited bird. You could have sworn that he got a little bit taller since the last time you saw him but that may just have been your imagination. You were fond of little Jing Yuan but that didn’t excuse that he was an uninvited visitor. He was breaking the rules by being here and you tried to explain it to him as gently as possible. You stepped towards him, hands coming to rest on his shoulders as he peered up at you beneath the flutter of his pale lashes. No, it wasn’t your imagination. He was a little taller.

"Listen, Jing Yuan, while I appreciate your visit, you’re not supposed to be here" you spoke carefully, your voice soft and full of warmth.

A small pout tugged on Jing Yuan’s lips. "Eh? Why not?"

"The elders do not like it when visitors show up unannounced" you explained, telling a partial truth. 

Jing Yuan’s brow furrowed. "That’s lame. This is your house. You should be able to have over whoever you want."

You couldn’t help but giggle at his response. You wish you could see things through his eyes with such rose-tinted glasses. He was unaware of the complex world adults had to live in and it would be a futile attempt to try and explain why things were this way. Because you anticipated a rebuttal with every statement you made. 

"Are you sick?" Jing Yuan asked again. 

Another long sigh breezed past your lips as your smile fell. You tried to fix it back into place, but it slipped shortly after when you responded to him. 

"Yes and no. It's complicated little Yuan" you replied, again, telling a partial truth.

Jing Yuan’s frown only deepened. You knew that your complexion was sickly, heavy bags under your eyes and the collar of your robes tugged high over your neck that it threatened to creep over your jawline. You looked wrapped up and ready for bed, your tail hanging low and the usual shimmer of your horns dulled under the sunlight. Jing Yuan looked thoughtful for a moment as he reached up and grabbed your hands slowly, carefully gauging your reaction. You blinked owlishly at your intertwined hands, head tilted to the side curiously. A smile lit up his features and he started to tug you in the direction of the back gate. 

"Come on, let’s go for a walk."

Your brow furrowed in confusion, yet you weren’t resisting his pull as you quietly trudged behind him. 

"Why?" you questioned. 

"Because a walk is good for your health!" Jing Yuan exclaimed before you hurriedly shushed him for raising his voice.

He apologised before continuing in a quieter tone. "Master Jingliu always tells me to "walk it off" when I’m not feeling good. So, we should walk it off too. I promise, it’ll make you feel better."

When you had both reached the gate, you finally stopped in your tracks. You paused to think about what you were going to do next. Was this really the right thing to do? Being cooped up in your house wasn’t doing you any favours, but you didn’t want to go against your elder’s words. You teetered on a decision, reminding you of how you flickered between a decision back in Dan Feng’s garden. You could still feel the balmy breeze from that day and the look in his eyes when you told him you were leaving. It tugged at your heart strings. Just as Jing Yuan was tugging at your sleeves now, looking up at you with such a kind face that you couldn’t say no to. Maybe this was your hazy addled brain thinking or perhaps it was finally your breaking point of having other people telling you what to do and planning out your life for you. Whatever it was, this was the second time you would be going against your elder’s wishes and the taste that lingered in your throat as you happily followed along after Jing Yuan tasted sweet. 

Only for it to turn into bitter, rotten fruit when you found out where your destination was. You didn’t pay enough attention as Jing Yuan trotted alongside you, chatting away as you walked side by side. You were too engrossed in all the stories he had to tell you since he last saw you. He talked of the train Jingliu had been putting him through. He talked about what new masterpieces Yingxing had crafted in the forge. He regaled you with tales of the mischief he and Beiheng got into. And lastly, he informed you of Dan Feng and how he seemed like he had more of a stick up his arse than usual. Jing Yuan’s words, not yours. Though you reprimanded him for his use of language, his words made you concerned. But before you could ask for any further clarification, it seemed you had arrived at where Jing Yuan had been leading you. 

A big smile stretched his lips as he waved to the figure standing at the water’s edge, seam foam licking at the edges of his boots as he turned to greet you both. Your stomach dropped so far you thought it was going to shrivel up and die when you realised who it was.

"Dan Feng!" Jing Yuan exclaimed. "I brought her!"

[ilions-end]

🎵 guess who finished the argonautica by apollonius of rhoooodes 🎵

the peter green translation served me well and i enjoyed the sizable commentary section, although it probably influenced my interpretation more than i'd like for a first read (green is VERY opinionated and also hilariously bitchy about scholars he disagrees with. the first time i've read such a sarcastic translator's commentary!)

BUT ANYWAY THE EPIC ITSELF:

iiiii have never felt this much anxiety reading an epic before?? there's an ambiguity and sense of danger in this poem's events that aren't necessarily WORSE than in other epics, but there's a feeling that i can't... actually trust the heroes involved. the argonauts are rowdy and reactive, and jason is NOT able to take charge of them -- he shrinks away and goes silent whenever his leader position is called into question. the mob rules, whoever shouts the loudest (often telamon!) in any given situation gets to decide, no thought of consequences.

or maybe reading about a main character who wants to do great things but suffers from debilitating conflict avoidance is a little too real. agh.

(and it's not like the thebaid! you can't trust the heroes in the thebaid either but their hubris and egos makes them PREDICTABLE. there's something unnervingly ambiguous and potentially unsafe about jason and his argonauts, even though they never get up to anything truly horrible. in this version anyway)

jason is incredibly intriguing -- even at his most unlikeable. it's like he tripped and fell into a story he doesn't belong in, he's so awkwardly miscast as a great greek hero and can't live up to the poem's own hype. he's described as heroic at every turn even when he's not actually being heroic, like in an INCREDIBLE passage as he fights the dragon teeth warriors and he's said to "valiantly hide behind his shield". LOOK AT THAT PHRASE!! HE'S BRAVELY COWERING. incredible writing. apollonius is genuinely a master of subtle sarcasm throughout.

like it says a lot that there are MANY variations of the line "but Jason, eyes fixed on the ground, sat there speechless, unmoving, at a loss in this crisis". and baby there are a lot of crises in an epic...

also maiden-coded jason still makes me vibrate! his frequently downcast gaze, his shy passivity, how delicately his body is described, the way he is a sexual object to pursue instead of the pursuer, how unusually tactile he is... one of the most memorable parts to me is when he finally gets the golden fleece, and what does he do? he doesn't raise it above his head in triumph, he doesn't wrap it around himself like a glorious cape and stride to address his men. he disengages completely and, spellbound, pets it and caresses it and combs his fingers through it in almost erotic delight. just. immediate zoned-out personal gratification, we're hitting masturbation parallels, no other greek hero would DO that!

which also makes it interesting that they use the fleece as bedding for their wedding night. i wonder which one jason enjoys lying with most, medea or the fleece...?

yeah so when medea appeared suddenly allllll my affection for jason evaporated. i'm not one of those "yay medea butchering her children is girl power actually!!" girlies (that's five hundred times too reductive a way to engage with a greek tragedy for me), i was prepared for whatever kind of medea apollonius would give me, but WOW SHE IS SO INCREDIBLY SYMPATHETIC (and intentionally so, see how she isn't even the one to kill her brother in this), she is SO ill-treated here. it's SHE who undoubtedly is the gods' plaything in this, not jason!

like how HORRIBLE her experience of being obsessively in love is! (turns out getting shot by eros' arrow is a psychological and emotional NIGHTMARE!!) how painfully aware she is of her own irrationality, how intense her inner life is. at one point she thinks so much about jason all night that she self-induces a (shockingly realistically described) migraine! she loves him so much she wants to kill herself instead of feeling something so intense and unpleasant and overwhelming. JESUS CHRIST it's so evocative.

she torches her whole life, her own safety, her own family for jason, and all he can do (after a lot of pushing) is murmur vague promises. it's HEARTBREAKING the utter helplessness she accepts to live in for him. there is no safety net for her, no way to regain safety if things go wrong (and you are so painfully aware that things WILL go wrong)

generally the argonautica feels more closely related to the odyssey than any of the other epics i've read. not just all the sailing, but the centrality of magic, and of course visiting a lot of the same places -- including the court of alcinous and arete before they had nausicaa (and arete is already the one in charge!)

more moments i keep thinking about:

that first lovely glimpse of the inherent dysfunction of the expedition as the argonauts have gathered for the first time ready for departure, and jason delivers a speech like "men! now that *I*, jason son of aeson, have arranged MY glorious expedition so that *I* can find the glorious fleece and win MY kingdom back, who do we all figure should be captain? 😉" and all the argonauts immediately start chanting "HE-RA-CLES! HE-RA-CLES! HE-RA-CLES!" it's so funny

heracles' role is generally so amazing, what contrast he offers! because HE IS the old-school hero who can do anything, fight any enemy, who has everyone's ear (if not respect -- he seems to be a LOT to handle, even for the other argonauts), who can LEAD. but they FORGET HIM ON AN ISLAND AND LEAVE HIM BEHIND, and now jason, tripped-and-fell-into-epic-heroism jason!, gotta be fully in charge and timidly face every obstacle himself.

i genuinely didn't know hylas getting abducted by the nymphs was from this myth! AND HE'S HERACLES' LOVER, actually the eromenos to heracles' erastes?? and heracles LOSES HIS SHIT TO AN ANIMALISTIC DEGREE at the loss of hylas. this is why none of the other guys brought along their boytoys, dude, this is a disaster.

i REALLY appreciated the introductory rollcall of EVERY argonaut (even if half of them were never mentioned by name again). i always wish we had something like that for odysseus' main crew in the odyssey. it's nice having that overview.

one of the most memorable glimpses into the lives of the gods i've read: eros and ganymede in the garden, playing knucklebones together under the shade of flowering trees and they're both so youthful and so inhumanly beautiful and the scene is so idyllic -- and then aphrodite stomps in and immediately snaps at her son "what are you grinning at, you unspeakable little horror?" she HATES that spoiled teen. it's zeus and ares all over again.

speaking of gods, that one time the argonauts make landfall, and in the distance they see apollo just walking across the land (each footstep thundering) and they're scared stiff and just wait until he's fully passed by... and then can finally get on with their business. no followup, no consequences, just a random incident to freak them out. it reads like an animal encounter, like they saw a huge bear on a hike, i'm obsessed.

i got jumpscared any time the text mentioned "the son of oineus". i'm like WHAT. TYDEUS?? but no, meleager's here, it's fine.

as i mentioned, jason is the one who murders absyrtus (although medea isn't uninvolved) but i'm particularly fascinated by how neutrally we're told about the rituals he performs to not be cursed for it. like there's our wondrous hero, cutting off his murder victim's hands and feet, lapping up the blood and spitting it in the corpse's mouth three times. all done, welp, time we were on our way!

circe can see at first glance that she and medea are related because they both have the sun god's golden eyes, i love that!. and THEN THEY SPEAK TO EACH OTHER IN COLCHIAN, WHICH JASON DOESN'T SPEAK. he's sitting right there and i love that he doesn't understand what these incredibly powerful women are talking about.

obsessed with how jason is described as "walking like the morning star" (bright, promising, bringing good fortune) on lemnos and is then likened to a star of destruction and woe as he's about to meet medea for the first time. aaaaa it's so good.

the argonauts being challenged to a boxing match, and I GUESSED CORRECTLY that they would choose polydeuces as their champion!! i am embarrassingly proud actually. i did not know there was a boxing match (to the DEATH) in the argonautica but i KNEW polydeuces was famous for his boxing.

also i love that when they get to the garden of the hesperides it's a WRECK because heracles was there THE DAY BEFORE!!!! what an incredible sense of time and place, only seeing the IMMEDIATE AFTERMATH of the labours of heracles.

it's so WEIRD when the argonauts get to libya and they're out of supplies so they all just immediately give up and cry and hug and lie down in the sand to die. until the local goddesses come like "JESUS ARE YOU FOR REAL WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU GIVING UP NOW. GET GOING FOR FUCK'S SAKE."

oh ancient texts, i will never get used to your incestuous dreams of good fortune (no it's GOOD that he cried with shame for passionately fucking his daughter in his dream, that's a very lucky dream to have apparently).

and then apollonius just signs off like "yeah i know they're not home yet but i promise nothing interesting happened after this point. THE END." like he's just NOT gonna touch whatever fuckery happens after, you wanted the argonauts well you GOT the argonauts.

[seafoamreadings]

week of december 22nd, 2024

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: there is still some ongoing nodal weirdness for you, showing you what obstacles on your path to clear and how, or perhaps doing it for you. and a new moon late this week (and into early next) helps you to form new goals and intentions around career or your reputation.

taurus: with mercury now safely direct, and opposing jupiter, this can be a good time for investments and sharing resources. just be warned that there is still some time in the so-called shadow period, and things may not go perfectly smoothly. still, the jupiter influence is positive.

gemini: jupiter is in your sign and your ruling planet mercury is in jupiter's home sign. while this is mostly a positive situation you may also encounter some mild misunderstandings this week so try to remain patient.

cancerians: a slightly wistful quality saturates the space around you. it's not exactly sad, but it has a sweet melancholy flavor to it. the moon is waning and especially at the end of the week you might find yourself a little bit obsessive, unable to focus on what really matters in favor of digging around in the past. try to let go. you're not leaving it behind forever, but you're at risk of missing a lot of wonderful things coming up later.

leo: don't save up all your goals to be new year's resolutions. this week is the perfect time to start a new habit, or end one that doesn't do you well. but you're responsible for generating your own glow this week, so even if you don't feel up for vanquishing all hard tasks, at least try not to wallow too much.

virgo: capricorn season suits you. go out of your way to have fun, without going too crazy. it's a dionysian sort of week ahead and it should be enjoyed without leading to regrettable consequences.

libra: strange fated occurrences continue with this week's ongoing nodal activations. this time the themes are centered more on challenging your egoic thoughts. not that you're full of yourself, but the ego in the sense of what your conditioning makes you. a lot of cardinal sign friction gives you some irritation and yet it leads to opportunities to change old patterns if you wish, or solidify them if you like what you have going on already.

scorpio: if you can afford to make an investment of some kind (and be honest with yourself about that, no rash decisions here!) it is a great week to do so. if you find you cannot afford it financially, think about what things are a good investment of your time, energy, or other resources.

sagittarius: this is a good week to start catching up on anything that fell behind in the last month or so. you also have a new moon coming up in your 2nd house, so it is the perfect time to start setting intentions and goals around money and your various resources. however, this should involve other people as little as possible at this time, outside of communications and transactions. no loans, debts, or shared bank accounts or real estate if you can help it.

capricorn: it's now capricorn season and the moon is waning to newness it won't quite perfect until next week. so while it's certainly not a bad idea to think and plan and scheme, hold off on really planting any seeds until at least the weekend.

aquarius: there are two aspects this week of mutual reception and one of them involves venus in your sign squaring your ruling planet uranus. the other is all good news, and this one isn't horrible either, but you may experience some clashes of values especially where your family of origin is concerned.

pisces: mercury retrograde may seem to have lasted longer for you than others, or to have restarted itself some how. it's due to a square with saturn in your sign if so. don't push yourself to think faster than you are naturally doing, and don't force communications that aren't going through. it'll all straighten out soon enough.

watch the transit posts in real time to have the best guide through your week. want a little more? have a look at my patreon or ko-fi.

check out my etsy for a private reading or dm or email me (readings@seafoamreadings.com) to set up a reading through venmo, cashapp, or paypal.

[acti-veg]

please can I ask why you are anti eugenics?

as in, why would altering someone’s genes so they don’t have a disposition to develop cancer be bad?

as someone who is pretty sure their genes are responsible for their horrible mental health, if the genes responsible for my disposition towards ocd and depression could have been removed, I don’t see why that would have been bad

wouldn’t it be good if we could alter people’s genes so no one is violent and everyone has a kind & loving nature

I don’t see how that’s a bad thing

I can see how eugenics could potentially be harmful too but I don’t think any of the above would be bad

(just to be very clear, i am NOT advocating for anything horrible like “euthanising the disabled”)

Eugenics is not just gene editing, it is a set of deeply racist, ableist beliefs about human ‘improvement’ on the basis of so-called ‘desirable racial characteristics.’ Eugenics as a concept is inherently wrapped up in white supremacy, homophobia and ableism. It was extremely popular in the west as an idea, it took the Nazis putting it into practice to show us what eugenics in practice actually looks like.

Gene editing sounds good on the basis of curing or preventing human disease, but that is precisely how all controversial science is framed. It is hard to object to editing genes to prevent cancer, but what happens when we start selecting for other traits we deem to be ‘desirable,’ and who gets to decide? The state? Medical professionals? The industrial military complex? Scientists? All of whom have the same biases we all have from being socialised in a deeply prejudiced society?

You say you don’t support anything horrible, but we don’t all agree on what is horrible - what should be kept and what should be lost. Many hearing people would see deafness as uncomplicatedly a medical issue, and assume all deaf people would want a cure. But Deaf culture is vibrant, and many in the community don’t see themselves as in any way needing to be ‘cured.’ Imagine the possibility that someone could edit the potential for anyone else to be part of your group out of the human genome entirely, that we could potentially see cultural genocide of Deaf, disabled and neurodivergent communities done on a systematic scale.

Take depression as an example. Taking away any genetic disposition towards depression is tempting, but then what is to stop us from expanding this same line of reasoning to genetically select for positive dispositions? Is that actually desirable? Taking away the propensity for a natural range of emotions? What would be the an actual impact of that human society? Could we end up ‘curing’ the symptom of a sick society by just editing out the resulting depression, rather than addressing what is actually causing the mental health crisis, beyond just genetics? Could we end up in the dystopia that Huxley envisioned in a Brave New World, but with gene editing instead of soma?

You mention violence, but violence is an evolved response to stressors that is sometimes necessary. I shouldn’t have to spell out why genetically editing a population to be non-violent and good humoured regardless of what is being done to them is bad, and what you’re essentially saying here isn’t very far away from ‘why can’t we edit everyone to be the perfect, passive citizen and consumer?’ Fight or flight is part of our very being, and aggression when it is called for in defence of our loved ones or our own interests is a part of the human condition. Do we really want to lose that? Do we want to cull the propensity for violent resistance from our DNA?

It doesn’t stop at physical traits and overtly negative dispositions, either. We have been able to genetically engineer voles to be monogomous. That is not a joke. Can you imagine what the implications could be for being able to select for behaviours and desires? The state being able to mandate gene editing to avoid disease, slowly turning into gene editing for ‘super soldiers’, then to select for desirable traits in their citizens? Even if democracies wouldn’t do it, history tells us that if the technology is there, someone will.

Before it even gets to the human stages though, animals will bear the brunt of our curiosity. In the famous case of Alba, we created a glowing rabbit for the sake of an ‘art’ project. We have grown an ear on the back of a mouse. We have already selectively bred farmed animals to the point where they suffer constantly, imagine just how horrific it could get if we can edit their genetic sequence cheaply and at scale? Imagine what we would do to them?

These technologies being developed under capitalism brings up even more issues. The wealthy classes have always argued that they are somehow superior, better ‘breeding,’ more intelligent, less lazy. They’ve always been kidding themselves, but genetic editing available only to those who can afford it would make them right. At least initially this technology would be wildly expensive, and before those prices were bought down we’d likely end up with a society that is biologically hierarchical as well as economically and socially. Capitalists would very likely fight to keep it that way, just as they fight to keep themselves economically superior now.

This isn’t just a class issue either, the chances that this technology would be offered to the global population and not just rich western nations are minimal. Environmental racism and cultural ideals could become genetically baked in. We wouldn’t be improving the human race, we’d be ‘improving’ very narrow sections of it, according to a narrow and context dependent definition of what a ‘good’ human looks like. Wealth and social hierarchy could become biologically embedded, with only rich westerners benefiting from these advances. I mean, people in the global south are still dying of malaria, despite us wiping it out in the west in 1950s.

You may dismiss some of this as alarmism, but I think people who are not at least a little bit concerned at these possibilities haven’t thought about the implications of gene editing very much. We’re essentially in the cusp of creating an entirely new species, without really considering what that means. If history tells us anything, it’s that we’re likely to leap into the technology for commercial reasons long before we’ve given proper consideration to the ethical and social implications. That should worry you.

[spotlightlowlife]

Few hits, a helluva lot of misses this sinsmas

Season one was better. I stand by this. The foreshadowing of characters to come and what to expect from them, showing more than telling and the courage to have likable characters just be horrible seems lost this time around.

So here we will look into what and who had moved forward or back since season one.

Where there was progress

Handing over Stella's revenge to her creep of a brother, as disappointing as it is to have her sidelined here, I appreciate that he had his own objective to replace Stolas, it really leaves the door open to questions of who this family actually are (and typing this out only makes the suggested incestuous stuff even more solid, if this wasn't so safe they could lean into this more).

Still, she wanted revenge and she got it, acheiving more than most, she's now back in Stolas's fancy home a position to live it up again and her husband who humiliated her has now been humiliated 7x for all of hell to see. This worked out better than the hit.

Maybe her relationship with Octavia, whatever it is, will strain or maybe her brother will become and annoyance, both of which could spoil her comfort and how would she react to this? As before, with little screen time and all efforts intended to make her look bad, there's still a helluva lot that can be done with Stella.

moderate progress

We don't see or hear much from Millie but I actually think there have been numberours times she has hinted towards her relationship not being all wholesome and lovey dovey. Though you do have to combined the shorts and season one.

We meet Millie's family towards the start and get to see her hometown and know her upbringing, though she could have been cropped out the episode what we got was Millie not want Moxxie to try to impress her family who clearly didn't think he was good enough and not speaking up in defence of her choice. The next time her family get some time it is during a short when she would spend the day with Sallie and Moxxie would make the considerate move of silently and secretly passing by without interacting, in his own home. This tells us that these two families are separate and she's doing anything to change that. We had forced Sallie angst over Millie leaving which was a sidestep since Millie is now comfortably married to a partner they don't like and she works a job her family don't believe is a real one. In Sallie's few lines she poked fun at Moxxie as her parents made him know he wasn't welcome in their coldness, so as much as Millie episodes have been known to become Moxxie episodes, we could have addressed and maybe wrapped up a plot point in allowing Sallie to question, respect or agree to disagree with her sisters marriage, this too could still have served as Sallie angst rather than the parents being conveniently useless.

A short was the first to tell us that Millie doesn't like the musicals that Moxxie enjoys, this was bought up again in the finale, though one thing she does like is being serenaded, yet she has also shared that she likes attention, which could be a clue as to why she wants to be away from her hometown and in a city where she's different, and in a relationship with very someone different from her. A massive change from what she was used to and what is expected could have been a part of the appeal of her relationship with Moxxie and the best way for her to get the validation she craves?

On the subject of different, when and why did she date Chaz? Still one of the most pointless parts of this show to date was giving Millie and ex, an ex she's furious with and a shared ex with her husband, buy not exploring any part of that while we get a rundown of Chaz x Moxxie. When we finally saw Millie's background, we see that she was living as some rough neck when Blitzø was starting IMP, which was after Chaz and Moxxie ended where Moxxie would meet Blitzø in prison. What would the appeal of Chaz to this Millie?

There were multiple jokes about Moxxie being pegged and his bisexuality, other times he is in over his head and encouraged to toughen up and go battle, he has also proven to be naive and immature which has Millie having to be his keeper. Millie opened up about liking attention as she spoke about feeling unsupported, in the same episode she looked forward to going on a mission with just Moxxie and was ignored when she when she solved a mystery which would have saved a load of time and theatrics had she been heard.

When she had the moodswing and accused Moxxie of not being man enough, it didn't come out if nowhere.

Millie's pregnancy being the reason she gains some signature angst that all empathic characters get is such a waste of time, its formualic and bypasses an excellent reason to shelve her

this could be a great opportunity for more to be done with her besides getting an occasional action scene to give her some content. Any fallout from

work (the workplace she's nonchalant about not being a good source of income, the same work place that her husband works at)

family (who don't respect Moxxie and there's no proof Sallie warmed to him when she visited and they didn't interact, and Millie is just fine with that and why aren't they more worried about Crimson? an actual successful gangster who doesn't care for their marriage, tracked them down and used his estranged adult son as property, dispite setting up a decent villain he was reduced to a throwaway Saturday cartoon villain)

her life (does she have one? we learnt that she's greatful to Blitzø because she believed they were only good for being lackies, so her whole life is her hardly paying job where she met her man? her only friend seems to be her sister even though she managed to get a man before Moxxie and Millie and Sallie's dat out was so generic that we leant nothing about either of their hobbies and interest)

Could easily follow too. The end could have simply been Millie finding out she's pregnant as the cliffhanger minus joining the drama club and it would have made little difference to whatever actual story followed on in season 3. Millie being pregnant was a top topic in the fandom with some seeing suspicious behaviour, i see how people came to this conclusion of adultary seeing as the episode was otherwise dominated by Stolas's life being a mess down to his affair with Blitzø, but I'm willing to bet it's just drama for the sake of drama, which is unnecessary because she has been one of the better characters.

Some progress

Loona making progress with Blitzø has been nice, but he was and always will be supportive of her.

Loona's interactions with others however have held so many misses dispite us making great strides away back when Loona revealing herself to be friendless in season one, showing us that even though she was nervous and shy in the presence of Vortex, it was more than just a crush. It was interesting to see someone actually want to interact with others as Blitzø's loneliness was entirely comedic until the finale and actual finale and Millie and Moxxie just having eachother was played for cuteness.

Then Loona is casually invited to a casual party by Tex, which just so happens to be thrown by his girlfriend, the sin of gluttony herself, Beelzebub. She didn't have a good experience at the party but gave it more than one chance, she needed Blitzø popularity and charisma to piggy back off.

At Sinsmus, it was possibly a cute moment that Loona wanted to go out on a job with Blitzø, or she was just bored sat in the office and it's only now an issue? She has been a lot more chill as of late which could be down to their recent major trauma, or it could be because she now has friends? When did this happen? The only time we have seen her out socializing was during the actual finale of season one. The previous episode where Blitzø dragged Stolas to Ozzie's let us know that she had taken up the invite from earlier in the season and went to a party, actual finale would have us follow Loona and see for ourselves that this party and its godly host just weren't it. Loona leaves as the designated driver that night having been very publicly threatened by Bee who could have squished her in a moment, and for doing nothing to fit in with the 'good vibes' of the fakes around her, yet at some point between both season finales, she made friends?

There have been two great windows for Loona to stand out to others

When Bee made a scene at the party

When Bee failed to acknowledge her presence during a televised court proceeding where she was facing execution with three imps

Neither make Bee look good and since the public have been so quick to turn of Stolas, these friends, fellow hounds, could easily have been people who saw her and thought she was brave and cool. We could have seen communications with her in messages on the phone she us frequently scrolling through.

If they had bonded with her over these things, then would it not have made a good subplot to have the drinks Loona pulled out not be Bee's line of drinks?

Loona's ties to Bee are so strong, from the orphanage/prison/dog pounds, to the easily accessible parties the lowest of classes are welcome at, to drinking at home, yet efforts have been made to double down on how Loona and Bee mean nothing to eachother (seriously Blitzø stands out on trial and not the one and only hellhound who is muzzled) in a series that hinges on the plight of the abused and traumatised, but then I look to the late actual finale of season one and see that the first half started strong but soon descended into a taster of what was to come in season 2, with the neutering of powerful characters in order for us to just like them and see them as nice...

No progress at all, counter progress even

Royalty. The sins and Stolas.

Again, season one mapped out who was going to be important in the future well. From Verosika the sucubus travelling with an asmodean crystal, being a functioning addict who knows Barbie doing what a lot of addicts do and not straying far from their vice by taking with her Bee's alcohol with her, which wasn't to be consumed by non demons, to Mammon's Loo Loo land being a cheap knock off staffed by Fizzbots made by Ozzie, they played their roles before we ever met them.

Also Stolas was the powerful prince indulging in a fantasy regardless of how uncomfortable Blitzø was, to then look ashamed at being publicly called out and teased by Ozzie. This is how we left things in season one.

As mentioned earlier, the actual finale of season one had Bee start off strong with a catchy song, showcasing her powers and letting us know that she's a shallow love bomber. All this worked until her concern for Blitzø dispite encouraging destructive behaviour and wanting to get her hands on drugs that are another sins territory.

Now we have Loona and her new friends drinking Bee's supply at a party. As common as groups of friends drinking is, it's almost like Bee managed to get in there with consumption of her thing.

Do the not have options to boycott her? Does she supply all alcohol?

What about small business selling alcohol, do they exist and do they feed back to her, are they her jurisdiction?

Are bootleggers (please don't buy bootleg drinks people) and moonshiners commiting a crime by stepping into her territory and are they dealt with?

The last question seems unlikely when we factor in season 2 very disappointing neutering of fun mean guy Ozzie, who now isn't at fault for the Fizz sexbots that season one had no issue with because now he's nice, so blame is bypassed of these so sort after dolls that they managed a series crossover to Hazbin onto Mammon, and for what reason? Not wanting others thirsting over his boy toy yet the example of a creep predated Fizz's mainstream fame? There was no explanation other than wanting Fizz to quite his other job that he worked hard in and was what he had known all his life. We saw that Fizz was showy, his widespread fame complimented that and he looked a great example of a rags to riches success story, but one irrelevant knockback is the perfect opportunity for smothering Ozzie to coerce him into giving up and staying at home. It's sad how his behaviour is universally seen as sweet and not possessive. Sad for numberours reasons

coercive control is a real thing and hard to spot

this is an adult cartoon, this behaviour fits perfectly with lust, this could be a good things story wise with Ozzie being intentional in this behaviour because it's in his nature or not being intentional but realizing that he's being irrational for many the first time

They want to tell is that some sins have 'positive aspects' but at the same time the few deemed 'good' don't have the negative aspects?

Ozzie almost encouraged Stolas in his fling with Blitzø that ruined his royal marriage and divided his family, why is carrying around Fizz and doing whatever in privacy in any way a scandal? They look like like two people indulging in a fetish, which suits him. Ozzie is big on consent too and doesn't believe in love potions, so what is he doing about those who make them since he's do aware?

And another thing

So far IMP have used the asmodean crystal to carry out their work, we leant that the crystal means they're under Ozzie's jurisdiction, but we never leant what that meant even though this crystal would be a big deal because it replaced Stola's book.

In this last episode we watched IMP show up on earth, do nothing and leave. Do they not report anywhere on their reason for travelling? Are they commissioned to do stuff? If earth travel is no big deal than why is this magic so heavily kept under lock and key? What are royalty even doing with their ability to travel to earth?

We missed many opportunities in mastermind to

have the importance of Stolas's grimores be told and how it can't be in the wrong hands

importance of contracts which are a big deal in parent serise Hazbin Hotel

the fact that the book isn't missing from Stolas's possession

IMPs line of work being any form of big deal or not, can they continue? Obviously they did and how exactly are they getting to earth now?

that fact that IMPs are responsible for new sinners which contradicts the plot of the parent series Hazbin Hotel which this time around ran alongside HB

Ozzie is a side character who has got a good share of screen time, there's easily more to him than his relationship, especially when he's responsible for so much, but who had received a massive chunk of screen time and has legit been stripped of his power? Stolas. Who I'm sure the pilot that informed us that he was responsible for global warming, but now we don't know his role in anything, it now doesn't matter and he's only in his mid 30s.

The good guy badge has prevented so many things being allowed to be a thing. Bee, Ozzie and Stolas got off to a great start on introduction, their characters are a shell of what they were and were built up to be and Hazbin has told us that this is just fine. Good news is, when the bar is low, thing can only get better?

Anyway. Happy holidays readers.💗

[softblesses]

Part 2.

When Neal awoke, the sky had fallen dark outside, and he had temporarily forgotten where he was. . . It was warm wherever he was, and there were a lot of soft blankets. Two distinct voices could be heard whispering nearby and as his eyes eventually focused, he sighed quietly. The Burkes’ house. Warm, comfortable, and safe. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, and apparently, he had been making quite the noise of effort, as there were two pairs of concerned eyes trained upon him afterwards. 

“Neal!” Elizabeth’s voice. “How’re you feeling?”

What was meant to be an answer, came out as something that resembled a hoarse squeak. Neal cleared his throat, but that only created the sensation of needing to cough. A glass of water was soon being handed to him, and he reached out with a shaking hand. The drink helped the burning in his throat, but it felt vaguely like swallowing shards of glass, and the ache persisted even when the glass was empty. Next, a hand touched his forehead, and Neal frowned, instinctively flinching away. 

“Can you fetch the thermometer, Hon? He feels warmer than before.” 

The voices sounded distant and out of focus, muffled, somewhat. It took a while for him to properly sit up, and Peter handed him the water again. Some Tylenol tablets were placed into the palm of Neal’s hand, and when he’d taken those, he saw El coming back with a thermometer in her hand. This was a lot of fussing — something Neal wasn’t used to. He was much more used to just “cowboy-ing up,” as Peter would put it. If he got sick, he’d usually wait it out on his own.

Deep down, he hated people seeing him like this, with his guard down, and his vulnerabilities on full display. Normally, he preferred to keep an upper hand in social situations, to present himself as capable and charming. This. . .  wasn’t right. To lose control and render oneself so useless. But, Elizabeth and Peter most likely weren’t letting him leave anytime soon, and he was much too tired to even try and act somewhat well. 

“Can I put this under your tongue, sweetie?” El’s soft tone distracted Neal from his thoughts, and he paused before shaking his head. 

“Neal, please, it’s impor—“

“Hhh—isCHht,” Neal turned away, elbow pressed to his face. 

“Oh. Bless y—“

“Wait, Honey. He’ll do it again.”

“Hhh’eiShoo.”

“Bless you,” Elizabeth finished saying, waiting patiently for Neal to resurface. 

He sniffled, lowering his elbow and frowning over at Peter. “What, you’re studyimg mby sneezi’g patterns now?” the CI grumbled, and it took a lot for Peter not to chuckle at Neal’s horribly congested tone. It was hard to take him seriously, talking like that. 

The thermometer was being moved towards him again, and maybe Neal’s nose was just really against having his temperature taken because he felt himself about to sneeze yet again. Ducking out of the way of El’s hand, “hhe’isHch—chh!” Keeping his face firmly buried into the crook of his arm, Neal continued to sniffle, until El gently nudged his arm and offered him the tissue box. 

“Bless you, and bless you.” El chuckled slightly, still patiently waiting. “You done?”

Neal balled up the tissues in his hand and shrugged at her question. He felt too awful to even grasp at an ounce of false pretence toward how he felt. It was no use to even try and put on an act — his nose was red, his eyes were watering, and the incessant sniffling wasn’t exactly the picture of perfect health either. He let Elizabeth check his temperature and chose to ignore Peter’s questions about his latest sneezes. It just. . . happened like that sometimes, especially when he got sick.  

The beep of the thermometer made him open his eyes again, and Neal watched his caretaker look at the reading. “A low-grade fever,” she announced. “But, I can imagine it might get worse. Are you hungry, Neal, honey? There’s risotto on the table, or I could make you some toast?” She reached out and gave his shoulder a small squeeze. 

“Toast, maybe?” Neal murmured and sniffed thickly. He was still at the stage of almost constant nose running, yet the congestion had settled a lot more than it had done this morning. So, it was the worst of both worlds, really. He got the message when El held out the tissue box again, casting a sympathetic glance his way. It was never very glamorous or graceful, but he supposed blowing his nose would help for a few minutes, until the congestion got worse again. 

He pushed himself to stand after a moment and was a little shocked at how fast Peter suddenly appeared at his side. “What’re you doing?” The man inquired, steadying Neal by wrapping an arm around him. 

“Gotta go to the trash can.” Neal sniffed, holding a ball of used tissues in his hand. 

Peter could only pray for a miracle that he didn’t catch this damn, awful cold. “Sit. I’ll go and get one.” He carefully guided his CI back to the couch and tucked him up under the blanket. Neal soon had a small trash can by the couch for his own convenience, and a plate of toast set upon his lap. Not much of the toast was eaten before the sensation of the food scraping his throat started up a small bout of coughing — which was new because he wasn’t coughing earlier. A mug of tea was soon placed in his hand, and Neal felt. . . Cared for. Too cared for, almost. 

“You don’t have to do all of this,” he had muttered, voice hoarse. 

“I know we don’t,��� Peter remarked simply. “But, we want to.” 

“Why?” Neal found himself asking before he could process that the word was leaving his mouth. “I mean,” he hastily added, “it’s really sweet of you guys. I’m just, uh, kinda surprised you’re going to all these lengths. It’s just a cold, y’know? I’m not exactly on death’s door or anything.” He forced a slight chuckle to further attempt to play off the strange sensations swirling in his heart.

“You want the short answer or the long answer?”

“Short first, I guess?” It was evident in his tone that he wasn’t entirely certain if he really wanted to know.

“You look like shit, Neal.” Well, then. The bluntness earned a look and a nudge in the side from El.

“Gee, thanks, Peter,” Neal monotoned blankly. “Dare I ask about the longer version?”

“Look, you do seem to be kinda knocked on your ass by all of this, but, truthfully? Didn’t really seem like you had much else to go to and El brought up that she thought you hadn’t really ever been…” He trailed off for a moment, fighting the instinct to avoid talking about such emotionally vulnerable things. “Taken care of, I guess.”

“Oh.” Neal exhaled sharply in some in-between of a laugh and a sigh. “Is it too late to go back to the short answer?” he joked, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually did, and warm tears threatened to spill down his fever-flushed cheeks.

“Awh, Neal, sweetie,” El hummed, moving to sit next to him and casually moving his plate of toast aside to the coffee table. “How about I make you some tea, hm?” she offered, heart breaking a little in sympathy.

“Sure, thanks, if you want to,” Neal replied, quickly drying his eyes with his sleeve.

“You want chamomile, peppermint, ginger? I think any of those should be pretty good for your sore throat.”

“Chamomile is always a classic,” he decided, embarrassment only growing as he watched Peter follow Elizabeth into the kitchen, no doubt to leave the awkward tension or to discuss how sad his childhood was. No, perhaps he was just being too paranoid.

“… Should I not have brought up how sad his childhood was?” Peter asked in a hushed tone as soon as they entered the kitchen.

“It’s… a complicated situation, you’re doing your best, honey.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“It’s not a no,” she insisted, “there’s just no perfect way to go about it. It’s sort of a messy situation, one with a lot of history and emotions and—” she hesitated upon hearing a muffled sneeze from the living room. “And tissues. Could you grab him another box while I finish up with his tea?”

“Yeah, I got it,” he agreed, heading out of the kitchen.

“Neal? You want honey and lemon?” El called over.

“Yes, please!” came the somewhat strained response, followed by some coughing. Pursing her lips, Elizabeth added extra honey and lemon to his tea before bringing it out.

Neal had fallen asleep again shortly after finishing his tea, and this time his snores were a lot more congested; he kept jolting himself awake with a cough here and there, or a particularly uncomfortable breath inhaled. He eventually seemed to fall into a deep enough sleep around midnight, but even that didn’t last for long —  tossing, turning, and quiet whimpering began to rouse Peter from the nap he’d fallen into, whilst staying up with Neal, in the armchair close by. Usually, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, but without Elizabeth by his side, he never slept as well. 

“Neal?” Peter’s voice was quiet, and he was quick to rush to the other’s side. . . Despite bumping into the coffee table on the way. His hand gently settled on the CI’s chest, and he really didn’t like how much heat was radiating from underneath the pyjama shirt; nor how his breathing sounded laboured. But, it was no use. No matter how much Peter tried to carefully coax Neal awake, he continued to writhe and mutter incoherently for the next few minutes. It wasn’t until he cried out for Kate, that he was finally torn from the dream that plagued him, and sat upright so fast that he almost collided with Peter’s face. 

“Woah, woah, woah. . . Take it easy. It was just a dream, Neal. Just a bad dream.” He could see the anguish upon his friend’s face, and the tears that had already spilled over against fever-bright cheeks. Peter took Neal by the shoulders, trying to reason with him, but all of the distressed exclamations and strained sobs were quick to send Neal into another bout of coughs; this particular fit sounding a lot more painful than any before it. Peter rubbed his back, not surprised when Elizabeth’s footsteps could he heard hurrying down the stairs behind them, while he tried to calm Neal as best as he could. 

El was quick to take action, bringing over a cold compress and gently pressing it against Neal’s forehead. “Hon, he’s burning… Neal? Neal. Try to take a breath, sweetie — you’ve got yourself all worked up. Satchmo’s worried about you.” She told him as gently as possible, the family pet whining somewhere beside them. 

After what felt like an eternity for the two Burkes, Neal stopped coughing enough to take a few sips of water; and took a few long, deep breaths. He seemed lucid enough to remember his surroundings at that point and began to quietly apologise to them both. Elizabeth dabbed at his face and dried away his tears, offering him some tissues for his nose afterwards. He gripped it in his hand, haphazardly wiping at his nose and almost dropping it as he was hit with a sudden shiver. 

“I’m going to get you some more Tylenol,” El stated, her voice laced with sympathy and concern. “Peter will be right here, okay?”

Neal exhaled a shaky sigh and leaned back against his makeshift bed. “Peter?” He whispered through the darkness, beginning to chatter his teeth together. 

“I’m right here,” the other man answered back, reaching out to pat Neal’s ankle, but he stopped as soon as the CI flinched. “Does it hurt?” He questioned, brow furrowed as he was careful to lift up the blanket. Sure enough, Neal’s ankle, around where the anklet is secured, was all red and scratched up, even bleeding slightly. 

“They. . They tried to take it off. They tried to. . . Peter, Kate was… They got to her, and they want to get to me. I told them — I told them you’d be real mad if they took it away.” Neal’s feverish ramblings spilled from his mouth almost too fast and too raspy for Peter to understand, but he caught the gist of it all. Neal must have had a nightmare involving his anklet almost being removed, and clearly, Kate had been there, too. In his panic, he’d done quite a number on his ankle; and he couldn’t imagine being feverish has helped the redness around it, either. 

Peter gently covered him back over and got up to stand. “I’ll be back in a minute, alright? El’s coming back with the medicine. Try to drink some more water.”

“Okay, Peter.” Came the simple mumble of a reply, followed by a small series of sniffles. It was clearly serious if Neal was agreeing to something without even the slightest hint of an argument or some sort of jokey quip back at him. 

When he returned, Peter had the electronic key to Neal’s anklet in his hand. He was careful to lift the blanket, but when he got close enough to take Neal’s ankle into his hand. . . It wasn’t the best idea. 

“No—!” Neal shouted, almost kicking Peter directly in the face with the force he’d flinched away. “Peter’s gonna be mad! I can’t — I can’t do that!”

The agent took a large step backwards, away from the couch. “Neal, it’s me. Peter. Peter is taking off your anklet.” He said slowly, still staying put for the moment. He watched as El crouched down by the couch, taking Neal’s hand into her own and using her much better bedside manner in trying to calm him down again. Turns out a feverish Neal Caffrey could be quite the patient. 

“Peter’s not mad,” she told him softly, giving his hand a squeeze. “See? He’s trying to help you. Nobody’s making anyone mad.” Elizabeth stayed quiet until Neal looked at her, and she smiled. 

“You’re safe. It’s just me, Peter and Satchmo.” She chuckled slightly, gesturing for her husband to turn on one of the lamps. It lit up the room, and Neal immediately had to shield his eyes from the sudden burst of light, turning away and pulling his hand out of El’s in quick succession. 

‘Hhuu—chh’chhkt!’cchHht.’ 

. . . “Ow.”

“Bless you, bless you, bless you. Wow. You with us, Neal? Can Peter help you out now?” Elizabeth’s voice called out again, with all its warmth and softness, finally getting through to his fevered mind. 

A slow blink, a series of sniffling, and a very slow nod. “Peter’s taking off the anklet?” Neal finally seemed to have understood, and then he searched the room for Peter. “You? Why?” Clearly, his mind wasn’t quite lucid enough to form the usual well-spoken sentences he’s known for. 

“Uhuh. Your ankle is sore. I’ll take off the anklet, and I’ll find something to make it hurt less. I’ll put the anklet back on when you’re feeling better, don’t you worry.” He exhaled in relief, taking a small and tentative step back towards him again. 

“Okaaaay. Will you turn off the light, now?” Neal murmured, rubbing at his reddened eyes and hiding from the light source underneath the blanket. Peter made a mental note to wash that blanket thoroughly when Neal had recovered. Elizabeth smiled, feeling just as relieved as her husband before she stood and granted the request. When the anklet was off, he wriggled his ankle around a little, frowning at the stinging pain it caused. But, that was the least of his issues right now. His throat felt like he’d swallowed glass, and his sinuses didn’t feel much better. Maybe. . . Maybe if he closed his eyes, he’d fall back to sleep, and it would feel better. But, falling back to sleep meant more nightmares, and more nightmares meant more bad memories of Kate. 

Despite the hesitancy to dream again, Neal yawned, and the action caused Peter to do the same. “Hon, go upstairs to bed. . I don’t mind sitting down here for a little while.” El reassured, walking over to her husband and embracing him. “We don’t need you to get sick, too. I’ll wake you if anything gets worse, I promise.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and after a few moments of consideration, Peter hesitantly agreed. 

Once Peter was gone, and El was sure that he was in bed, she turned back to Neal. “Can I check your temperature?” She asked quietly, reaching over to where the thermometer lay against the coffee table. 

“I guess,” Neal replied quietly. 

“Can I turn on the light?”

“I’d rather you didn’t…” he murmured, already closing his eyes in preparation. 

It took Elizabeth a moment, but she smiled. “Okay, I won’t.” She promised, fetching the thermometer and placing it in Neal’s mouth; and this time, there was no hesitation from him. Not that he’d meant to hesitate the first time. She took a step back, observing him for a moment. “Does the light make you sneeze?” She asked, tapping her foot as she waited for the thermometer to beep. 

“Sh’mtim’s—“ Neal mumbled, voice distorted by the thermometer still being in his mouth. When it beeped, and El removed it, he spoke again. “Just when I’mb sick, really. Mbesses up by senses, or something. But, it hurts my head too.” He sniffled, sighing. 

“Well, your fever is still prominent. . .” El spoke, looking up at him again. “How about you get some proper rest? I’ll get you a cold compress, some cream for your ankle, and you can take the guest room — the door will be open, so you can call out if you need anything.”

“Can I have a few more minutes down here, first?” Neal asked quietly, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t… I can’t go back to sleep yet.” He caught his bottom lip in his teeth, trying his extreme hardest not to cry again. But, it was no use. The fever was toying with his emotions and he couldn’t fight it any longer. 

El took a seat beside him, resting a careful hand on his shoulder. “I always cry when I get a fever, too.” She murmured, rubbing his arm. “It’s annoying, isn’t it? Always gives me away.” She chuckled a little, and Neal managed a small smile, despite the tears tumbling down his already flushed cheeks. 

“Oh, Neal.” Elizabeth sighed softly, offering out her arms for a hug. He hesitantly leaned into them, a slightly awkward side hug being initiated. But, it was nice. Nice for someone to be there for him… to want to sit up in the middle of the night. He wasn’t used to this, and it only seemed to toy with his emotions even more. 

“Sorry,” he managed to choke out eventually, having fully given in to the comfort now. Elizabeth’s arms were keeping him safe, grounded. He didn’t want her to let go. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she reassured, rubbing his arm. “Do you wanna watch some old movies? Might take your mind off everything. I’ll make you some ice water.” El hummed, carefully leaning back and using the back of her hand to dry some of the tears on his flushed cheeks. He nodded at her, and after pressing a little kiss to his forehead, El went to gather the drink from the kitchen.  

Soon, Neal was sitting watching a black and white movie that El’s father used to let her watch when she was sick, and he sipped from the straw in his drink as his eyes somewhat focused on the screen. The ice water helped his throat, and having Elizabeth sitting on the floor (she had insisted) with Satchmo, directly below the couch, was even more comforting. He’d started to doze off after a while, and El reached up to take his water before he dropped it, and gently touched his shoulder. 

“Neal? Why don’t we get you upstairs? The bed will be much more comfortable.”

A small murmur came out of his mouth, but not much more. El was right… but, he felt like moving was a lot of effort and he just wanted to stay here and stop feeling awful. 

“I’ll help you,” Elizabeth’s voice interrupted his inner dilemma, and he looked up to see her hand held out. Smiling softly as her offer was taken, she helped the poor man to his feet. He stumbled a bit, prompting her to wrap an arm around him and support his weight more than either of them had initially realized would be necessary. “Oookay,” she breathed out in exertion, “I’ve got you. C’mon.”

Fortunately, by the time they got to the staircase, Neal had woken up a little more and used this newfound sobriety to walk a little faster and more stably, though El still held onto him just in case. Finally, they reached the guest room and Neal crawled groggily into bed with Elizabeth tucking him in.

“Do you want more pillows or blankets or anything, Neal?” she asked.

“Hmmh?” he hummed drowsily. “Mhmm, maybe… ‘nother blanket… please…” He brought one of the two pillows on the bed into his arms to hold onto.

“Yeah, of course! I’ll go get one,” she chirped. 

She returned with two blankets, just in case—some of the softest and warmest she could find, one in navy blue and one a pale cerulean, both not unlike a clear, cloudless sky at different times of day. When she pulled the door open, she was immediately glad she had done so quietly, since her patient had already fallen back asleep, congested snores softly filling the room. With a fond, sympathetic click of her tongue, she spread the darker blanket across the bed and left the lighter one folded at the end of the mattress.

“Awh, sleep well, Neal. Really hope you feel better,” Elizabeth whispered, mostly to herself, before silently closing the door on her way out.

•••

Peter was stirred awake at around 7am, by the sounds of coughing coming from the guest room. El was usually a light sleeper, but she’d been awake helping Neal during the early hours and Peter didn’t have the heart to wake her up again. He quietly closed the bedroom door, and peered into the guest room. “Neal?” Peter called, walking in. The CI was lying in the bed, tangled in the sheets and shaking with each cough. 

“Neal, c’mon. Sit up for me.” He reaches under Neal’s arms, pulling him upright and patting his back until finally, the coughing subsided. “Wake up, Neal.” He murmured, rubbing his back; but Neal only fell back against him. He was burning up again. 

“Tylenol?” El’s voice sounded at the door, and Peter made a mental note to pay her back with the best dinner date when all of this was over. 

They got some Tylenol into Neal, and El pressed a cool cloth to his forehead. Peter got busy with making tea and breakfast, and El sat up with Neal, until his fever slowly reduced down again. He sipped the tea that Peter had brought him, staying quiet as the couple watched him. 

“That’s kinda creepy, you know that, right? Just staring?” Neal rasped, looking back at them. 

“Can you blame us?” Peter replied, as El chuckled softly. “You’re pretty sick, Neal.”

A long pause. “I’m pretty.” Neal mumbled, closing his eyes and drinking more of the tea. He’d resorted to breathing through his mouth now, as even trying to breathe through his nose would be a pointless activity. He reached for a tissue, holding it to his nose with a quiet groan, feeling the tickle in his throat start to bother him yet again. 

“Hey, Hon, why don’t you steam the bathroom and I’ll remake the bed.” 

It took Neal’s exhausted, feverish mind a minute to fully process those words and the sound of footsteps fading away. Ohh. Yikes, even. Perhaps not his brightest idea, because it took a lot of energy — that Neal didn’t exactly have — but he had to shower, before Peter turned the bathroom into a sauna for him. He felt uncomfortable and he looked just as gross as he felt. He had just about managed to dress into a new pair of pyjamas, before needing to sit down. The bathroom floor was as good a place as any. 

“Neal?” Peter called. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, door’s unlocked,” Neal replied from inside, muffling another rumbling cough into his sleeve as the door swung open.

“Ah, you beat me to it,” Peter noted, gesturing towards the hot shower still running and starting to leave the room warm and steamy. He closed the door behind him.

“You know me,” he muttered hoarsely, “not so good at waiting.”

Peter sat down beside Neal, glancing sideways at him. The bathroom was steamy now, and it should help him to breathe better. “You’re feeling really crappy, huh?” The Agent said quietly, still looking at him. 

“I’ve felt better,” Neal mumbled, opening his eyes to look at Peter. “A lot better.”

“Is the steam helping?”

He shrugged slightly. “I think so.”

El was right to suggest the steam, because Neal had stopped coughing, and the uncomfortable wheezing noises he’d been making in bed had subsided. He ended up leaning against Peter’s arm, closing his eyes and lightly dozing for a little while. A little while, however, turned into almost an hour. Elizabeth had come in and turned the shower off, and eventually opened the windows a little — it really was becoming a sauna in there. Neal eventually stirred, as his breath caught in his throat slightly, causing a small bout of coughing to ensue. 

El was sitting on the edge of the bathtub. “Feeling a little better?” She asked Neal, her voice soft. 

It took Neal a minute to come around, and realise that he was tucked under Peter’s arm. He sat up, stretching. Peter makes a good pillow. “I think so,” he eventually answered Elizabeth, and scrunched his nose. 

“How about we meet you downstairs, huh? Give you a few minutes to freshen up and clear up that congestion.” 

Now, Peter was going to leave the room, but when Neal stumbled just from standing up, he was quick to catch him. It was clear that Neal wanted to be alone, but he wasn’t going to get his wish. Peter sighed, stepping back. “Neal, I’m an FBI agent, if I was grossed out by someone blowing their nose I don’t think I’d be cut out for my job.” He muttered, running a hand down his face in frustration. 

Neal muttered something to himself, waiting for Peter to turn away, before doing as he’s asked. “Itd’s nodt worki’g, Peder.” He coughed, still holding the tissues to his nose. 

“Sounded like it was to me.”

“Still cad’t breathe.” The CI huffed, and replaced the tissues to try again. It was clearly no use, and he was only making himself dizzy. Neal flushed the toilet, stumbling slightly. “. . . Uh oh.”

“Uh oh? What’s ‘uh oh’? We don’t like uh — oh.” Peter turned back around, faced with Neal gripping the sink for support with one hand; the other held over his face and dripping crimson. Very ‘uh oh’ warranted. He grabbed more toilet paper, and held it to the other’s nose, after he’d moved his hand. After guiding Neal to the floor again, Peter exhaled heavily. “Lean forwards a little more, take this and pinch your nose.” He stood up, rinsing his hands under the tap. 

“‘M sorry. Your pyjamas…” Neal looked down, to where the assumed spatters of blood were now drying. 

“El can get that out, there’s nothing to be sorry for. The shirt is red, anyway.”

“I guess so…” Neal agreed halfheartedly, still struggling to meet the other’s eyes out of embarrassment. An uncomfortable beat of silence passed.

“Y’know, a few years ago, I had this one case go wrong,” Peter began with that smirk and glint in his eye he always got when telling a story. “Not just a little messy, but real bad. I’ll save you the details, but the guy came away with a few good scrapes and cuffs around his wrists. I came away with a lot worse—turns out the bastard had a knife on him.”

“Oh, shit,” his CI breathed out in concern.

“Nothing too deep, nothing too important got hurt. First responders patched me up nicely and sent me home. El was worried sick, of course, but I said I was fine, that I was honestly more upset about my brand new suit getting torn up and stained.”

“Man after my own heart,” Neal remarked with an amused scoff, having had the same reaction on many an occasion.

“Next day, I wake up, get some coffee, and see my suit is folded on the table, good as new.” Although it had been years since the incident, he still chuckled in astonishment. “I don’t know how she did it, but the point is that El’s worked her magic on much worse than a few drops of blood. And I’m used to my clothes getting stained out in the field. So, unless you’re planning to burn my pyjamas into ash, I think we can handle it.”

“Don’t know if I can promise that, but I’ll try not to,” Neal joked with a grateful smile and that warmth in his eyes returning once more. “But point taken. Thanks.” Peter returned his smile and gave him two reassuring pats on the shoulder. 

After another minute of a now comfortable silence, Neal’s nosebleed stopped, and they headed back downstairs. Peter stayed behind Neal as he descended down the stairs, waiting to catch him if he were to stumble and fall. He watched as the CI shivered once on solid ground, and smiled as Elizabeth was quick to assess the situation; she really was the most caring person Peter had ever had the pleasure to know. She gently pressed the back of her hand to Neal’s forehead, and this time he didn’t flinch away. 

“No fever. Are you cold?” Elizabeth asked quietly, frowning up at him. “Your hair’s still damp. We’ll fix that — go take a seat, sweetie.”

“Hon, can you wash this? We had a code red — bloodied nose.” Peter holds out the bundled up shirt in his hand, casting a glance over to where Neal’s curled up on the couch. He had an idea, but Neal wasn’t going to like it. 

After the stained pyjama shirt had been dealt with, Elizabeth returned with her hairdryer, and brought it over to where Neal was sitting. “No matter how sick you feel, it’s nice to still take care of yourself. I can imagine Neal Caffrey would like to keep his appearances up.” Elizabeth hummed, plugging the device into outlet and picking up one of her hair products; rubbing some into Neal’s damp curls. 

It was comforting, and the warm air from the hair dryer was warming him up nicely. In fact, it was so comforting, that Neal started to drift off where he sat. When Peter came out of the kitchen with his coffee, he smiled at the picture before him. He walked towards his wife, putting his coffee down, and kissing her on the cheek. “You know he’s asleep, right?” He told her quietly, and chuckled as she checked. 

“Aw,” El whispered, turning off the hair dryer. “Well, leadt I know if event planning doesn’t work out, I’ve got a potential career as a hair stylist.”  

There was a pause after that, where El wrapped her arms around Peter and sighed. “I think he should see a doctor soon.” She murmured, looking up at her husband. “Have you ever seen him sick?”

Peter considered this for a moment, holding her in his arms, chin rested atop of her head. “Once,” he recalls. “A week or so after he’d first gotten the anklet. But, we didn’t exactly have the best relationship back then. He holed up in his apartment after I’d found him out, but when he got back he still wasn’t quite right. Don’t think he was as sick as this, though.” He mused, looking over to where Neal was snoring, his cheeks starting to flush again already. 

“Will he even let you take him to a doctor?”

“Probably not… but, I think I know how to bring one to us.” He replied. “I have a plan, Hon.”

As if on cue, Neal startled in his sleep, his breath catching in his throat; triggering him to cough. El was quick to crouch down by his side, help him sit up and rub his back. She looked across at Peter as their house guest struggled to breathe, still half asleep as he seemed unable to stop coughing. 

“How quickly can you put your plan into motion?” She turned to her husband, still patting Neal on the back. 

. . . 2 hours later. 

Peter was correct in assuming that Neal would not want to go to an urgent care clinic, and it wasn’t like the situation was ER level just yet. His compromise was pretty smart, if he did say so himself, and he was now answering the door to put his very smart plan into place. Christie and Diana walked into the living room, greeted with a half asleep Neal… who did not look pleased. 

“You said no Doctors,” Neal muttered, glaring at Peter. 

“Technically I said no taking you to a Doctor. I’ve brought one to you.”

“And Diana.”

“Because Diana wanted to know you were okay,” Christie smiled, her voice warm. She took a seat opposite Neal, placing her bag on the floor for a moment. “She won’t admit that, but it’s true.”

“Hey, what happened to that doctor-patient confidentiality, babe?” Diana teased dryly, folding her arms despite mirroring Christie’s smile—it was more contagious than whatever plague Neal had managed to catch.

“You’re not my patient right now, Di,” Christie countered with a bounce of her eyebrows before turning back to Neal. “Preeetty sure it’s this one over here. Speaking of which… how are you feeling, Neal?”

Sparkling blue eyes stared back at her for a moment, unblinking and fever bright. A shrug came next, and he simply sunk further back into the couch he was lying on. 

“Thought as much,” Christie hummed, reaching down to pick something out of her bag. A thermometer was soon being pushed towards him, and into his ear. Being poked and prodded was not Neal’s favourite pastime… well, not in this way. 

“Hmm… 103.8°F. Quite the fever you’re running there, Mr. Caffrey.”

“Thanks, I made it myself,” Neal joked.

He buried his face into the crook of his elbow a second later, muffling a quiet but hoarse sounding; ‘hnn’eisHuUu, hei’tsxXcHoo.’ Sniffling thickly, cheeks a little red with embarrassment (and fever) as he came back up for air. 

“… ‘scuse mbe.” He cleared his throat, aware of how awful he sounded. 

A chorus of ‘bless you’s echoed around after that, and Neal felt like he wanted to disappear in that very moment. Maybe he could hide under the blanket and everyone would go away, and he could lament in his suffering in peace. Peace, and sneezes. But, no. Everyone was there, and staring at him, and Christie was asking him to say ‘ahhhh’ and his voice was breaking unceremoniously and nobody was laughing at him, but it felt like the world was. He was tired, and achy, and words were being said to him at a pace that he couldn’t quite keep up with. 

He somewhat registered the phrases ‘throat infection. . .’ And ‘pharmacy,’ but that was about it. Neal closed his eyes, because focusing hurt and it seemed like someone else could take on the act of listening for him. Neal heard Peter’s voice chime in next, and Elizabeth’s; then somebody was gently tucking the blankets closer to his chin, and Diana’s voice sounded closest. His eyes didn’t open, despite the twitching of his nose and tickle in his throat. He coughed a few times, trying to shift and get more comfortable, despite the pain it caused in his joints with each movement. 

The next thing he knew, Diana was handing him a box of tissues, and Christie was behind her, ready for round two of medical pokes and prods. She listened to his chest, looked in his ears and took his blood pressure readings and oxygen levels.

“Okay,” Christie began with a slight sigh, standing up straight. “I’m done taking a look over things. Thank you for being patient with me, Neal.”

“Hey, thanks for coming over here in the first place,” Neal countered with a small laugh. “Give it to me straight, Doc.”

“Well, I can’t do that exactly, I’m a lesbian,” Christie joked.

“Can confirm,” Diana deadpanned with a smirk.

“Yeah, I sure hope so by now, honey,” Christie replied with a chuckle. Then, she cleared her throat and refocused onto the situation at hand. “Anyways, um… you most likely have a bad viral infection that’s particularly settled in your throat and sinuses. I’m going to write down the names of a few over-the-counter medications I’d recommend you take. If you don’t start improving and feeling at least a little better in 2-3 days, I would strongly suggest going to an urgent care clinic, okay?”

Despite the twist of hesitation and dread in his stomach at the prospect of having to go to a clinic, Neal nodded and agreed. “Got it.”

As Christie listed the options for medicine that seemed best suited to his situation, his eyes grew heavier and he began zoning in and out of the conversation. The discussion put him at ease, hearing how attentive and caring everyone was for his well-being. Feeling comfortable and protected—that his health was safe in their hands—he finally drifted off to sleep. 

•••

What Safe Feels Like.

This fic has been a long time in the making! I have partnered with the talented bean, @rosieknows to create a lovely W/hite Co/llar, N/eal C/affrey centric fic for the winter season <3. The events that take place consist of our favourite conman getting lots of tender care at the B/urke's residence.

Part 1.

Word Count: Just under 5k.

CW: illness, snz (duh), contagion, a little later on in the fic. A tiny bit of mess, medical talk/topics.

Don't reblog to non-kink blogs. 18+ only, thank you! <33

Earlier in the week, Peter Burke had told Neal Caffrey to start wearing a coat outdoors — “weather’s changing,” he’d said, “you’ll catch a cold!” And, obviously, Neal had informed him that fact was merely a myth. Besides, the autumn sun was still shining two days ago and he was only walking a short way to the coffee shop and back. How bad could it really be…?

Perhaps the universe picked favourites that day, and, for once, Neal’s charm couldn’t save him. It could have been much worse, certainly, but as much as Neal tried to focus his mind on that belief, he couldn’t quite get himself to fully deny that it was very, very bad. 

It was as if the second he’d gotten far enough away from the bureau, the heavens had opened above him and soaked him from head to toe before he’d even arrived at the coffee shop door. Which, by the way, was closed for the first time ever. And, so, Neal had to hurry across the street to another. The icing on top of the cake, though, was the taxi that drove through a puddle and splashed him when he finally reached the other side. 

To say Peter got amusement out of all of this later on would’ve been an understatement. 

Neal had been forced to wear some ancient-looking FBI training clothes for the rest of the day, and the scowl on his face didn’t falter for quite some time. He had eventually dried off and warmed up — Peter even started to feel a little bad, and gave him his suit jacket as a blanket at one point. When the day ended, the sun was shining and Neal felt right as rain again. Although, the same couldn’t be said for the morning two days later.

The first sensation that struck him was how utterly cold he felt, even wrapped up in his own bed and blankets, which he sleepily pulled tighter around himself. Perhaps the fickle autumn weather had turned for the worse during the night as it was so prone to do. The next feeling he was able to process was pure weariness like gravity had decided to be particularly insistent that his limbs stay firmly on the bed and lashed out in punishment when they did attempt to move. Perhaps he hadn’t slept well or had worked himself harder the previous day than he realized.

The third — or, well, the third, fourth, fifth, and so on for quite a few — sensations Neal felt were the nail in the proverbial coffin. An urgent, almost burning tickle budded in his upper sinuses, causing him to blink in irritation. Soon enough, the itch found its way to spread through the entire reaches of his nose. His eyebrows knitted together in slants, his breath caught in his throat, and his soft lips fell open before —

“Hihh! Hehhdtschh’uh! Hahh… hiht-ktschhh—tschhh!… Ugh, god,” he sneezed, ducking forward sleepily into his blanket since he had neither the time nor alertness to cover with anything else. Sighing in a mixture of relief and dread, he came to the conclusion that he was likely getting sick. Maybe if he was tired enough, felt cold enough, and pouted long enough, the cold would just take pity on him and leave. Unfortunately, to no one’s surprise, he still felt sick, which meant it was time for Plan B: work through it because it was a busy week and hope it didn’t get any worse. And, most importantly, hide it from Peter. 

The warm shower seemed to help a little, but it didn’t take long for the aches to start creeping back in and for his sinuses to grow irritated again. Once he was dressed, with his hair styled and shoes tied. . . Neal was ready. Ready as he’d ever be, at least. Besides, he felt fine, for the most part. Downing some water should help his throat, and a couple of Tylenol should stave off the headache that he could feel brewing behind his eyes. Peter should be here any minute to pick him up, and Neal placed his hat — one of his favourites, both for comfort and in the hopes that looking well-dressed or put together enough would dissuade any suspicion — upon his head with a sigh. He can do this. 

“Morning, Neal,” Peter greeted in his usual tone, toying with the heating in the car. “‘S cold out. I told you the seasons were changing!”

“Morning,” Neal muttered, climbing into the car and buckling up. “Y’know, you really missed your true calling as a weather boy.”

“That’s funny,” Peter remarked back, beginning to drive now. “But, I think my assets are best settled within the FBI. Criminals are more predictable than the weather if you know what you’re doing.” He chuckled to himself. 

Neal stared out of the window at the passing cars and orange and yellow leaves on the trees that rolled by. He was still tired and quieter than usual, Peter noted mentally, watching him unbeknownst to the criminal consultant himself, who was still focused on their outdoor surroundings. He gave a slow blink, directing his attention to the heating that was uncomfortably too warm all of a sudden. Pushing the vent closed, he glanced sideways. 

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just quiet, that’s all. Quiet usually means up to something.”

“I can be quiet. It’s early. I thought you liked quiet, anyway,” Neal retorted, shifting slightly in his seat. He couldn’t get comfortable despite moving, crossing and uncrossing his legs. 

The rest of the journey was left without questions, and they made it to the parking garage without any more issues. Neal got out of the car, rubbing at his nose whilst Peter couldn’t see him. He paused. This really wasn’t the time, but he’d have to play it off somehow because this discomfort wasn’t going to let up. Reaching down for the leg of his trousers, Neal stifled a well-silenced sneeze.

“Are you coming?” Peter called out, and as Neal raised his head again, he sniffled. 

“Patience is a virtue, Peter! My anklet was stuck in my trouser leg. Appearance matters, you know.” 

“Everyone here knows you’ve got the ankle jewellery, Caffrey. I’m sure you wouldn’t cause mass hysteria with a flash of your leg.”

“You’d be surprised,” Neal grinned mischievously, keeping up with Peter as they made their way toward the elevator. 

The agent only rolled his eyes in response and pressed the button for the elevator, still none the wiser. For now. Neal had let Peter step in first, scrunching up his nose behind him, and then —  somehow and with great difficulty — he managed to resist the urge to sniffle the entire way up to their floor. When the elevator dinged to a stop and Neal exited it, he was immediately hit by everything all at once: the brightness of the lighting, the overlap of voices, and the general sounds of the morning bustle. Usually, it was like white noise to him, but today it hurt his head, and the lighting did nothing to relieve the itch in his sinuses.

He pressed his wrist against his nose, haphazardly managing to prevent another sneeze before he followed quickly behind Peter. “I’ll be right there! Just grabbing something from my desk,” Neal called across the bullpen, ducking down behind his desk as if he were looking for something. 

But, instead. . . “Hh—ushcht!” He buried his face into the crook of his elbow, frozen for a moment longer. “Hheh—htchht!”  Followed by a series of long sniffles.

“Lost something, Caffrey?” Diana’s voice interrupted his small recovery period, and Neal flinched so hard in surprise that he bumped his head underneath his desk with a small thud. Damn it. He paused for just a second before swiping a pen from his pocket. Then, he stood up straight again, flashing the pen in her general direction, with a scowl crossing his features. 

“Dropped my pen. Not a crime, last time I checked,” he muttered, placing it safely back into his pocket. After straightening his hat, Neal moved past her to get to the conference room. 

Peter looked up at the sound of footsteps and silently wondered what Diana had said to the CI to make him look so disgruntled. “Nice of you to finally join us,” he dared to jest, waiting for Neal and Diana to sit before starting his talk for the day; they had to find a new case, as well as complete the paperwork from their last one. Of course, Neal wasn’t exactly amused by the briefing topic. Yet, he didn’t seem to audibly complain for nearly as long as he usually did. Huh. 

Neal simply took the selection of case files that Peter slid towards him across the tabletop and found the one that he had to finish up. He opened the file slowly, tapping his pen against his forehead. He stared at the page for so long that he barely noticed Peter watching him from across the room. 

“Neal. . . You good?” His voice snapped the CI from his daze, who was quick to shake himself out of it and flash a signature smile the agent’s way. 

“Always. You know how much I love paperwork!” Neal responded, sarcasm evident in his tone. 

“Wonderful, you’ll have plenty to enjoy,” Peter retorted with a dry smirk, placing another file in front of his partner. “Focus up; we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“How do you sound so happy when you say that?” the younger man groaned, leaning back in his chair with folded arms.

Still, focusing was easier said than done in this situation. Despite his best attempt at listening attentively, his mind felt fuzzy. Additionally, his nose still itched, causing him to scrunch it up slightly. He rubbed at it with the back of his hand in what he hoped was a casual gesture. Unfortunately, the touch seemed to be ineffective at best and intensifying at worst. Either way, he quickly tipped past the point of no return and crumbled forward into his fist with a sneeze, stifled into near silence as usual.

“Hihh—kKTtsh!” After a few blinks, he dared to peek at his coworkers’ reactions, hoping that the others had been as distracted as he was himself. For a moment, he thought he was lucky enough.

“Bless you, Caffrey,” rang a deep, feminine voice. Damn it. Diana was perceptive even in the most hectic of times, so it was only natural that she would notice a disturbance — slight as it was — during a particularly slow and dull meeting.

“Thanks,” Neal muttered softly, if a bit shyly. He saw Peter’s gaze flick to Diana and back at him. Clearing his throat, he examined the documents in front of him intently to prompt the continuation of the meeting.

Peter continued to talk about the writing they had to do, but Neal stopped listening some time ago and was mostly focused on trying not to sneeze again. He glanced at his handler every now and then to keep up the facade that he was listening, and turned a few pages of the file in front of him. As soon as Peter had finished talking and a small hubbub started up, Neal saw his chance, standing up and using the file as a shield to hide his face. 

‘HnnKxt. . Heh’ngxt.’  Well, at least he’d gotten away with that one. 

He even almost made it to the door without anyone saying anything about it until Peter spoke up from behind him. “You going somewhere?” He questioned, and Neal stopped. So close. 

“To my desk…?” Neal replied, thankful for the fact that his voice barely sounded congested for the moment. “You can’t deny that I’ll get distracted in here.”

Peter frowned slightly before nodding. “Alright, but don’t try and get out of this.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Neal murmured, hurrying to his desk; his nose was beginning to run, and he didn’t exactly want anyone to witness that. He pressed his silk handkerchief to his nose after sitting down, keeping his head held low and sniffling quietly. He went to the men’s room a minute later, waiting until it was empty so that he could blow his nose and splash some cold water on his face. This was going to be a damn long day. 

He kept a low profile for as long as possible, dismissing Peter’s questions when he’d come over to see how he was doing and sneaking off to the men’s room whenever he could; by lunchtime, the congestion was worsening, and he had to keep sniffling to stop his nose from running too much. He barely even noticed Diana wandering over. 

“Caffrey?” Her voice made him flinch slightly in surprise, but he managed to pull it off as a stretching motion. 

Neal glanced up, blinking a few times. “Hm?”

“You’ve usually begged Peter five times to go on a coffee run by now… it’s already lunchtime.” Her eyebrows raised. “What gives?”

The CI shrugged, turning back to his papers and picking up his pen. He’d barely done anything yet, but he needed to keep up appearances. 

“So, are you gonna go get some?”

“Huh?” Neal just really wanted her to go away because he wasn’t really listening, and his head was starting to ache. 

“The coffee — Neal, are you okay?”

He plastered on a signature smile, hopping up to his feet. “I’m just messing with you, Diana. The usual drinks?” Neal asked, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair. 

He made his way to the doors, turning when Diana called his name again. “Caffrey, do you want a sandwich? From that place down the block? Jones is buying!” 

“No, thanks! I’ll get something at the coffee place.” Neal called back, only somewhat lying. He was getting something, and that something was coffee. Or maybe tea, actually. 

•••

He was gone for slightly longer than usual, but nobody was going to question it. Neal ensured it didn’t take too long, however, or Peter would start to get antsy and probably call or text him a few times. He got everyone’s drinks and opted for green tea for himself — he could feel the buzzing in his sinuses worsening, not to mention the congestion was starting to properly settle in and clog up his nose now. Going outside hadn't exactly made it any better, either, and he was sniffling in the elevator the entire way up. 

He carried the drinks into the conference room, setting them down on the table and exhaling slowly through his mouth as he stepped away.  Nobody seemed to pay much attention to him — they were all busy eating their food, and Neal had to stop himself from audibly gagging. Did he really feel that bad all of a sudden? His hand reached forward to grab his cup whilst everyone else began helping themselves to their drinks. It wasn’t until he took a sip that he realised he hadn’t taken his own cup at all, and from Peter’s confused expression, he’d gotten the tea. 

“Neal…” his voice started, and the CI wasn’t quite sure what would come next, so he butted in with a quick, haphazard excuse. 

“Hey! You said it yourself, the weather’s changing. Tea will do you good.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed slightly, but the little white lie seemed to satisfy him for now, and everyone got back to what they were doing. To keep up appearances, he sipped the coffee for a while, trying to ignore the way it made his stomach turn. After around five minutes, he snuck out of the door and headed back to sit at his desk; if anyone were to question it, he’d make up the same excuse about needing to concentrate. The coffee was thrown into the trash the second he sat down, and a heavy sigh came afterwards. 

•••

“God damn it,” Peter grumbled under his breath as he looked around the office. “Diana, Jones, have you seen Caffrey anywhere? It doesn’t look like he’s even so much as glanced at any of his work today.”

“Not in a while, no,” Jones answered, looking behind him to verify the absence, though if the CI had simply been standing in the middle of that open hallway, he probably would have been noticed by now. “He seemed kind of tired, though. Maybe he went home early?”

“Maybe, but I doubt it. Something feels off. I don’t think he’s just slacking off again,” Peter dismissed, forehead wrinkled in those signature frown lines and lips pressed firmly together in a mixture of concern and disapproval.

“Peter, your blood pressure’s high enough as it is,” Diana deadpanned, earning an offended head tilt from the man in question. “Go back to what you were doing; I’ll find your missing dog,” she reassured, already standing up without waiting for a response.

“I… all right. Thanks, let me know if you find him,” Peter relented.

“You gonna put up fliers?” Jones joked with an entertained smirk as he watched Diana beginning to leave.

“Nah, not yet. If I don’t see him, I think I’ll start with treats to draw him out. Maybe a nice Bordeaux,” she quipped in turn with a thoughtful expression. The clicks of her heels against the firm carpet seemed to echo more than usual as if the room felt emptier and quieter somehow. Though she tried to play it off, she had to admit to herself that she was worried; she’d felt that sour twist in her gut far too many times in her work and personal life to ignore it. She hoped he was all right, particularly since he wasn’t responding to texts or calls, and that she’d be able to find him soon if not.

It took less than 15 minutes, not due to any detective skills as an FBI agent either. While the office was large, it didn’t really take long to traverse, especially if you were familiar with it enough to avoid getting lost. Besides, the floor plan was quite open, and the majority of rooms had large glass panel windows, so they were easy to check. It was an older conference room, though, one without any indoor-facing windows or glass doors, where she found him.

“You good, Caffrey?” Diana asked, the light from the open door illuminating the scene before her just enough to see the CI in question asleep, lying on his back in the centre of the long, rectangular table. Seemingly, to cushion the otherwise flat, hard surface, he had rolled his suit jacket into a makeshift pillow to rest his head on. “Caffrey,” she called again.

“Hmmn?” Neal hummed groggily, stirring at the sudden noise. “‘M sorry… ‘s still on…” he mumbled almost entirely incoherently, fumbling around to pull his left pant leg up enough to reveal his anklet.

“Neal, you’re dreaming,” she offered in a gentler tone, heart twisting in concern. Fortunately, that seemed to bring him past the threshold into the waking world.

“Oh, hey, Diana,” he muttered, rubbing at his bleary eyes and blinking them open.

“We were looking for you,” she began, finally flicking on the ceiling lights of the room. “Are you—”

The sudden influx of light directly above him sparked a buzzing sensation deep in his sinuses that caused him to immediately crumple forward into his elbow. “Ehdt-ktschhh! H-huhh… ihdtsch! Heh’tischhh—dtschhh! Ugh…” Sniffling pitifully, he sat up properly and got off the table.

“Jesus. Bless you?” Diana said, scanning him over with her eyes.

“Thangks. Sorry, it’s, uh, the lights,” he replied sheepishly with another wet sniffle.

After a moment, she pulled out a travel pack of tissues from her pocket and handed them over to her coworker with a soft “here.” He flashed her a grateful smile and blew his nose quietly. “You, uh… get too tired to head home?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You could say that, I guess,” he muttered in embarrassment before the next words caught in his throat, sending him coughing into the tissues in his hand.

“You know you could just go home sick, right?” Diana prompted with folded arms.

“Yeah, sure, if I was sick, but I’m not, and we have work to do. Just needed to rest my head for a minute,” he insisted with his usual winning smile, though it didn’t quite seem to reach his eyes as much as it typically did.

“World’s greatest conman’s off his game, huh?” Diana prompted, folding her arms. “Do you really think that sounds believable?”

His lips opened with a lie about his health on his tongue, but he sighed in defeat instead. “It wasn’t that bad earlier, but it kinda just hit me all at once… sorry for disappearing out of nowhere.”

Diana hummed in acknowledgement before asking, “You have a fever?”

“Uh… probably a mild one? I’m not 100% sure,” he replied, touching his hand to his forehead and neck despite knowing it would be a fruitless examination.

“All right, c’mere,” she beckoned, though she closed most of the gap herself and began to feel his forehead for fever with the front and back of her palm. 

“Heh-hh…” Neal’s breath caught softly, blinking before pressing his knuckles up against his nose.

“If you sneeze on me, I swear to god,” she warned.

“Hh-huhhh… hh!!” The pressure was quite clearly not enough to suppress the reflex any longer, so he turned as far away from her as he could—her taking a step back was likely still a wonderful decision—and ducked into the crook of his arm. “Hihhtschh! Huhhhhkdtsch! Ugh…”

“Bless you.”

“Thangks,” he replied, swiping a tissue under his running nose again and discarding it in a nearby trash can. “So, what’s my prognosis, Doc?”

“You feel warm.”

“If your career in the FBI doesn’t work out, you should really think about going into the medical field.” Neal sniffled, scrunching his nose in a poor attempt to stop it from running. 

“Watch it, Caffrey. One doctor in the house is enough already—not that it would take years of medical training to know you need to go home and rest.” Diana pointed a finger at him, spending a moment assessing the situation. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” With that, she simply turned around and left.

“Okay? I-I thought we both wanted me to go home right now? Diana?” The confused, half-hearted reply was not granted the slightest form of acknowledgement, except for the door closing behind his coworker.

Neal blinked slowly, unsure of what to do for a moment, before hopping down from the table and, noting how horrible standing up felt, taking refuge in one of the spinny chairs. She said to wait, so… something in him took the instruction to heart. Still, he was impatient to the very end and soon curled up in the chair for comfort, eyes blinking slowly and heavily, and maybe just having them shut for a moment would be nice—

“Did you fall back asleep again?” 

The rhetorical question was from Diana, he was pretty sure, but he only really registered the presence of the words, not processing much else. Regardless, it quickly roused him from his short-lived respite of slumber, prompting him to sit up straight and rub at his drowsy eyes.

“Hmmn?” Neal mumbled with a small yawn, “Um, I might have dozed off a little?” He took another second to think about it. “Probably, yeah.”

“No shit,” Diana monotoned.

“Sleeping on the job, eh, Caffrey?” Peter teased.

“I doubt he’s been getting much work done with whatever plague he picked up from cold and flu season,” Diana shot back.

“Hey, I’m right here, you know?” Neal pouted. “It’s just a little cold, I’m fine.”

“If this is just something little, then I’d hate to see you with a full-blown flu,” Diana muttered, looking from Neal and then to Peter. “Peter’s taking you home.” She added, watching as her Boss’ expression turned to one of confusion. 

“I am?” A pause. A ‘look’ from Diana. “I. . . Am.” He looked at Neal, properly looked this time. He did look pretty awful, and it was doubtful even the best of con men could manage to hide whatever it was he’d managed to hide up until now; his nose was red, he looked exhausted, and his cheeks were starting to flush. Not to mention how uncharacteristically unkempt he was looking. 

“C’mon, Neal.” Peter stepped forward, holding out his hand.

It took them both a lot longer than usual to get downstairs and into the parking garage because a feverish Neal had decided to press multiple elevator buttons at once… and then tried to get into the wrong car once they finally did arrive, but they were eventually buckled in and ready to go. 

“Never a dull day with Neal Caffrey around, huh?” Peter muttered, mostly to himself, as he started up the car engine. 

“Never a dull… day with P’ter Burke… and his car..” Neal mumbled, sniffling and leaning to toy with the radio. 

“Hey, no touching. Sit back and don’t meddle.” He began to drive towards the exit, ensuring to press the child lock button. Just in case. 

No sooner than they were out of the building and driving into the sunshine, Neal shielded his eyes with his wrist and groaned. 

‘Nnn’gxChht… xXchhht—oo.’ He sneezed into the wrist previously used to try and hide his eyes and sniffled thickly. 

“Gesundheit,” Peter muttered, already stopping in a slight queue of traffic. 

Neal didn’t answer, leaning his head against the window with a heavy sigh. Now that he was caught, he couldn’t pretend he was fine, and he hated the sense of looking… weak. Especially to Peter, which was a whole thing to analyse in itself. He just wanted to be alone, but he couldn’t now, and Elizabeth certainly wasn’t going to let him. Of course, he was grateful to have people in his life who cared about him like that, but it was new and it was different, and Neal Caffrey liked it when things went his way. 

“You know you’re allowed to call in sick, right?” Peter spoke up again as the traffic started to move. 

“You’re allowed to call in sick.” Neal sniffled, still leaning his head against the window. 

There was a pause whilst Peter thought about Neal’s behaviour throughout the day. He was pretty good at hiding things. But… 

“Did you even eat anything today?”

“Mhm.”

“And, I’m guessing the tea you brought me was not for me…?”

“Wow, real FBI agent over here,” Neal grumbled, lifting his head slightly to glance at Peter, only to be once again blindsided by the sun. 

His handler sighed as they stopped at another red light. “There’s sunglasses in the dash,” Peter said after a moment, “they’re El’s. Blue eyes are more sensitive, right?” He questioned, watching Neal shrug out of the corner of his eye. The CI placed them on, seemingly relaxing a little more. 

“Thanks,” Neal mumbled, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. 

As Peter started driving again, he knew he wasn’t going to take Neal back to June’s. He’d only hide himself away and pretend everything was fine — while making himself worse in the process. Nope. Neal Caffrey was about to experience Elizabeth Burke’s expert bedside manner and Peter’s on-point tea-making skills. 

•••

“Honey, is that you?” Elizabeth’s voice rang out from the kitchen, “You’re home early; it’s only three o’clock! Is everything—” The footsteps came to an abrupt halt as she joined the pair in the living room. “— oh.” The moment she laid eyes on Neal, she immediately understood why her husband had come home so soon. 

Peter gave a sort of glance towards her that clearly said, “Help me,” and El chuckled softly. She pointed at Peter before leaning in to kiss his cheek. “You, kitchen. And you,” she paused to tap Neal’s chest with her index finger. “Upstairs. Let’s get you something comfortable to wear.”

He just sort of looked at her, crystal blue eyes a little glazed over. “Hi, Elizabeth. Peter’s supposed to take me home, but he took a wrong turn,” Neal mumbled, watching his handler walk away. 

“I think he took a very well-planned turn. Come on, honey, upstairs.” She ushered him towards the staircase, following behind. “You go to the bathroom to blow your nose, and I’ll get you some clothes. Neal, don’t give me that look. You sound terrible, and you can’t pretend you don’t.” Elizabeth sighed, reaching to help him with his suit jacket. “All that sniffling will give you a headache,” she chided gently. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

She fetched some of Peter’s pyjamas, a blue plaid set he only tended to wear during particularly cold weather, and placed them outside the bathroom door. “I’m going to get you some blankets for the couch, okay? I’ll be downstairs; the clothes are right here. Neal?” Elizabeth frowned, reaching to tap against the bathroom door, awaiting an answer. 

“Mhm,” came the stuffy, sleepy reply. 

It wasn’t long before the CI was curled up on the Burkes’ couch, wrapped in blankets and resting his head against a pillow. He looked exhausted and much more dishevelled than Neal Caffrey would ever dream of looking in front of someone else. Both El and Peter stood by, watching as their house guest snored and exhaled congested breaths; he’d fallen asleep just minutes after resting his head down. Turns out that masking your symptoms all day was pretty tiring work. 

“You can’t deny that he looks adorable like that,” El whispered, resting her head against her husband’s arm. 

“Looks can be deceiving,” Peter muttered back quietly, wrapping an arm around her waist. He sighed.