#I feel miserable and unwell and ridiculous | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

avocado-writing · 4 months

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Okay, I've had this idea bouncing around in my head, waiting for you to reopen suggestions, haha. How do you think the Origins Companions + Halsin, Rolan, Dammon, and Zevlor would react if they found out that Tav had been hiding a very serious injury from them? The kind of injury where Tav is convinced that they're fine and they don't want to worry anyone with something they can handle on their own, especially the people they care most for, but as they try to ignore the injury it only gets worse until it's potentially life threatening and they can't keep up the facade anymore. I will leave it up to you whether or not Tav and the other individual are in a romantic relationship. I think both ways have potential for wonderful angst 😆

ooohhh noooooo! but also oh yes, LOVE this sort of angst lol. written as if you have had an infection come on from an injury. this is gonna be a long list so let's buckle up...

Astarion

really tries to hide his panic but fails miserably.

can't help but start snapping - how could you keep something like this from him?

you try to give your excuses but he waves them away, angry, but mostly because he's terrified that he might have lost you.

if he has any healing potions he helps you take them, if he doesn't he immediately... sources some from somewhere.

holds you as tight as he dares, worried that he will aggravate the injury otherwise.

as you begin to heal and drift off to sleep he spends the whole night watching you rest, making sure that you're still breathing, still safe. doesn't mind when you cuddle up to him in the night, sleepily.

Gale

curses himself for not noticing your condition. he's a wizard, damn it! he's meant to be bloody perceptive.

wishes for the first time ever that he didn't just know wizard spells. wishes he knew how to heal, too.

makes you as comfortable as he can while he finds a book about what he can do for an infected wound, probably swallowing his pride and going to Shadowheart if it's bad enough.

you manage a weak, "Gale, you don't have to--", and he cuts you off, "if you're going to insist that I don't have to look after you, I'm telling you that I do."

fixes you something to help with the pain and infection, makes sure you drink it all despite the horrid taste, then tucks you into his bedroll to let you rest.

when you go to reach out and cuddle him he slips into your arms, presses his lips to your hair, and whispers as you fall asleep about how much you scared him. about how he'd never be able to lose you.

Lae'zel

only realises how unwell you are when you fall over mid-journey.

"tsk'va! why did you hide the extent of your injuries from me?"

hauls you onto her back and carries you back to camp, muttering about your foolishness the whole time.

makes you comfortable in her tent and uses her knowledge of githyanki medicine to help start healing you.

it isn't comfortable as she works on your infection but for the first time you feel her hands being soft rather than vicious.

"you should not have kept this from me." "I know. I'm sorry." "hm. ridiculous thing. zhak vo'n'fynh duj."

goes and intimidates the camp into being quiet so you can rest. it works. this is the nicest she's ever been to you. you could get used to it.

Shadowheart

obviously this is not a huge problem for her, but she is still worried that it got so far without her noticing.

immediately heals you, pouring far too many spell slots into your body in order to get it up and running again.

it helps, immediately breaking the fever you've been nursing, and the touch of Shadowheart's hand to your face is cooling and reassuring.

"lady shar teaches us to embrace our pain... but not like this. you should have known better. you could have died."

her hand slips down to cup your cheek, you cover it with one of your own. she's telling you off but you can tell it's because she cares.

"I'm sorry that I scared you." "I know. don't do it again."

she smiles and the ache in your heart is lifted, too.

Wyll

panics.

you collapse on day in camp and he immediately calls on the others for help, not so proud as to be unable to admit when something is out of his knowledge. he is not a healer. he needs help.

he manages to catch you in his arms as you tumble, hugging you close to his chest while magic is worked or a healer checks you over.

lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding when you begin to stabilise.

helps you back to your tent to rest, gently chiding you but letting you know that he's glad you're alright.

when your hand weakly comes up to touch him, he indulges you in a kiss to let you know how relieved he is.

constantly watching you on the battlefield from that moment on. if he can help it, you'll never be hurt again.

Karlach

another panicker.

scoops you up in her arms and holds you to her chest, running to the tent of the nearest healer in camp - or, if you're in the city, kicking down the door of a local doctor.

begging the healer to check you over, but is reluctant to let you go. if she stops holding you it's like she's relinquishing control and that scares the life out of her.

you're healed and she feels you start to stir in her arms, peppering you with kisses of relief, choking through her tears that you're never to scare her like that again.

carries you back home, even if you're totally capable of walking. she just wants to make sure you're okay.

Halsin

sternly disappointed that you didn't tell him, but more annoyed that he didn't notice something was wrong himself. how could he not see how out of balance with nature you were?

squirrels you away to his tent to heal you, make you soothing and medicinal teas, his big hands over the source of the infection.

you burrow into his touch, into his chest, and you end up sitting in his lap as he heals you.

he wants to tell you off a little, but is more relieved that you're alright. encourages you to share all your burdens with him.

kisses you on the forehead, then on the mouth when he's sure you're strong enough for it not to knock you flat.

Dammon

my poor boy is just a blacksmith, so though he doesn't exactly panic, he does scoop you up and try to find a healer as soon as he can.

waits quietly and nervously as you are examined, silently cursing himself for being too busy to see how you were hurt. he's meant to be better than this. he's meant to love you, how didn't he notice?

when you come to he can't stop apologising, and it takes several of your kisses to soothe him and tell him it was not his fault but yours.

he makes you promise that you'll always tell him when you're hurt. has you look into his eyes and swear it.

he can't do much on the battlefield but he can protect you where he can.

Rolan

another one cursing that he doesn't know healing spells.

"you aren't meant to die, gods damn it! you're meant to be strong... what good am I if I can't keep you safe..."

rushes you to the best doctor in Baldur's Gate. pays for all the treatment that you could need. holds your hand at your bedside for your entire recovery... until you come back to consciousness, of course, at which point he just starts telling you off for being stupid enough to get into his mess in the first place.

you grab him by the collar and drag him down for a kiss. that finally shuts him up. but he never lets you forget how foolish you were.

Zevlor

practical but still worried about you.

you collapse in the field and he finds a safe place to hide the both of you from dangerous eyes, using his Lay on Hands ability to channel his magic into healing.

you try to apologise but a finger to your lips silences you, and all you can do is watch in quiet wonder as he burns the infection out with his Paladin's light.

when you're better he gently chides you. tells you that you have people relying on your leadership, and that a problem shared means there are more heads working on how to fix it.

when he sees how sorry you are lets you cuddle into him. when you say you'll repay him, he insists your happiness and well-being is enough for an old warrior like him.

does take the kiss you offer, though. he's been wanting to do that for a while...

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horsegirlwarcrimes · 2 months

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I am SO curious about the SQH Burnout Fic 🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️ i beg <333

i have a bad habit of writing a new sickfic to cope every time i feel unwell 😂 this one is SQH gets anxious about the future, overworks himself, and gets pneumonia. excerpt from near the end of the fic, which i wrote first for some reason?

Shang Qinghua isn’t sure what makes him aware of the change in the room. A shift in the air, a sound, maybe just the slightest drop in temperature. He blinks, sleepy and bleary, at the pages of the novel he was failing to read, feeling warm and syrupy from whatever was in the medicine Mu Qingfang was dosing him with. “My king?” Mobei-jun steps from the shadows silently, and comes to sit at the edge of his bed. He’s dressed down, unarmored— just soft silk robes and simple boots, no weapons or jewelry save a pendant around his neck. Shang Qinghua recognizes it as one he gave his king when he was still a disciple, some ridiculous one-of-a-kind protection artifact that he’d known to snatch out of a crumbling temple thanks to special author knowledge, about forty years before it was going to become plot relevant. He hadn’t realizes that Mobei-jun still had it. Had he been wearing it all this time? Mobei-jun’s cold claw-tips brush through his bangs. “Shang Qinghua,” he says, rumbling and familiar. Shang Qinghua blinks up at him. “My king,” he repeats. And, suddenly struck by the memory of exactly what position(s?) the king of the Northern Desert last saw him in, feels his face heat in a way that has nothing to do with any lingering fever. “My king! I’m so—” Mobei-jun halts him with a raised hand. “You are recovering?” “Yes, my king,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m doing much better already.” “Good.” Mobei-jun pulls over the chair that Shen Qingqiu was sitting in earlier. The sight of his hulking form dragging over and delicately maneuvering into the small chair sparks something warmer than amusement in Shang Qinghua’s chest. “This king… must apologize.” Shang Qinghua’s gaze jerks up. “W-what?” “You were sick. Humans are weakened by the cold. I allowed you to stay and work in the North anyways, and missed the signs of your ill health. Qinghua could have died.” “But I didn’t. I wouldn’t have! My king, I was just sick, it wasn’t… as bad as all that. I’m a cultivator, it takes more than some cold weather to take me out.” He gives an awkward laugh. “It does take more than the cold. Qinghua was overworking himself, and was hiding from this king.” “But I overwork myself all the time,” Shang Qinghua says, the words coming out more earnestly than he means them to. He drops the book and wraps his arms around himself, looking away. “I’ve been working like this since I was a disciple. I don’t understand what’s changed. I should have just felt bad for a little bit and then dealt with it and gotten better. It shouldn’t have been such a big deal.” “I am sorry,” Mobei-jun repeats. He runs his fingers through Shang Qinghua’s loose hair again, and Shang Qinghua leans tiredly into the touch. “I… regret. The part I played in not allowing Qinghua to rest. Then, and now.” Shang Qinghua’s face feels hot. He scrubs at his eyes, the feeling only intensifying as Mobei-jun continues to run his cold hands through his hair, his claws pleasantly scraping against his scalp, the touch comforting. “It’s fine, my king,” he says. “It is not. But I will endeavor not to make the same mistake again.” Shang Qinghua leans miserably into Mobei-jun’s cool touch.

#listen.... comfort genre #if im suffering i make my favs suffer #svsss #thank u sm for the ask :))#scum villain #sqh #mbj #moshang #shang qinghua #mobei jun #scum villain's self saving system #svsss fic #burywrites.pdf #buryspeaks.mp3 #my writing #my fics #classic bury writing mbj sadly teleporting into sqh's room moment

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kuromiiyuuu · 2 years

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ੈ✩‧₊˚ Sex isn’t the only form of intimacy.

nanami, gojo, yuuji, megumi, sukuna, toji, suguru, and choso, (f).

genres + warnings. fluff just fluff! | none! |.

notes i. requests are finally open!

nanami. “You look unwell, my love.” He softly exclaims, bringing his hand to gently grab yours, you sat behind him whilst trying to fight the terrible and unwell feeling you felt inside and he can see right through your sweat and eyes, slowly but surely your blonde boyfriend brings his free hand up to your forehead to feel your temperature and you leaned into his warm touch, “You have a fever. Let’s get you some rest, just close your eyes and let me take care of you.”

gojo. “Don’t cry, shh.” He coos gently, he crouches in front of you while you wailed in tears, your sobs couldn’t be controlled as the words some people told you left a very bitter scar right on your heart, Gojo lifts both of his long and soft hands up to cup your cheeks, using his thumbs to wipe the tears that kept falling down from your pretty eyes, “Come on, tell me what’s our problem? We’ll fix it together.”

yuuji. “The rain was crazy baby!” Your pink haired of a boyfriend exclaims with a loud laugh after his sentence whilst in the midst of taking off his shoes to meet with you, you starred only at his damped hair and with that your hand moving in instinct, it brings itself with the towel in your hand up to his head to dry his hair off, and the pink haired stands still to let you do it easily, “Thank you baby, why don’t we shower together? It saves water after all.”

megumi. “Mhm, what happened next?” Megumi ushers you to continue about your story with Yuuji and Nobara while he listened, both of you sitting next to each other under a warm sakura tree in the middle of the winter, you were the one almost doing the talking amongst each other, and Megumi listened, it was better enough for him and when he sees one single strand of hair escaping from the back of your ear, his hand moves to brush it off by tucking it back in it’s place whilst you only continue your talking, “That’s funny, come on love tell me more.”

sukuna. “This is ridiculous, I’m fine you know.” He grumbles, you only rolled your eyes before replying with a witty comeback about how he should stop with his delinquent activities by beating off such people, you continued your actions by placing a bandage to cover up his wound under his left eye after cleaning it with alcohol, you wrapped the session all up by cleaning the cut on the corner of his lip with some ointment, you were about to remove your hand from him but he catches it by gripping gently onto your wrist, “Thank you, just so you know I’m capable of getting wounded up if it means I get to have you this close to me.”

toji. “This is nice.” He comments, relaxing under the closeness you both have with your back resting against his tones chest as you both enjoyed the warm water surrounding both of you, he brings his face to nestle between the connection with your neck and shoulders and you hum in content, if only he could pause time and enjoy this bath with you forever, “This is a nice welcome home don’t you think?”

suguru. “Let’s have dinner after this, yeah?” He asks you, you only replied with a hum before placing your head to his chest, enjoying the soft beat of rhythm of his heartbeat, you both swayed in a slow and soft rhythm, matching the gentle sway of the music playing in the background as you both relaxed in this enchanting moment by dancing slowly together in the middle of the place you both call your home.

choso. “We’re gonna arrive late to that dinner meeting.” He exclaims with a sarcastic sigh as he attempts to fix his tie once more, you watch him do it a couple of times and failing miserably, you placed your brush for your make up down before finally walking up to your significant other to finish his job by fixing his tie the way it’s supposed to, his eyes focusing on you only, “You know what, if it means I could spend those late minutes with you then why not?”

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gabessquishytum · 9 months

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a thought (and i had a dark!dream version of this that seems to have slipped my mind but i can try to remember it if youd like); trans hob, as a (mortal) human, falls in love with morpheus, who is not human (vampire). after they've been together for a while and married and happy, hob is delighted to discover he's pregnant; he loves the idea of expanding their family and is so excited to tell dream the good news. except dream isn't human, and he has to reveal to hob that the pregnancy is not only very rare, but very dangerous, and there is such a small chance hob would make it through that morpheus, the ever miserable bastard, practically spends the entire pregnancy mourning hob even though he is very much so alive.

near the end morpheus is getting more and more anxious and keeps finding excuses to leave hob so that he doesn't have to confront his fears of losing him. he leaves home one night telling hob he'll search for an apothecary and medicines to see if there is anything that could help the situation that they haven't already thought of, but hob goes into labor when dream is gone. morpheus does not react well to coming home to his lovely husband 1. no longer pregnant, and 2. very bloody and very Unwell. of course it takes some shushing from hob, reminding morpheus that death isn't anywhere near enough to separate them, actually, for morpheus to get his act together, but it works! and oh, would you look at that, there's a baby, too. guess they should do something about that

(and if hob asks morpheus to turn him afterwards so that he might actually get a chance at seeing their child grow up past middle age, well. its hardly like he'd say no)

Omg yes please. I feel like we can make a much better version of Twilight with these ideas. I love the kinda comedic potential of this also??

Dream: this year i lost my dear husband hob

Hob, very much alive, pregnant and annoyed: quit telling everyone i'm dead!!

Dream: sometimes i can still hear his voice...

Obviously Hob is very aware and accepting of Dream’s concerns, and he tries to be as gentle and considerate of his feelings as he can. But. He is still alive, and feeling pretty good actually. The baby doesn't seem to be doing any harm, and he's just trying to enjoy his pregnancy you know???

It's very unfortunate that his labour comes on when Dream is gone. Hob is very resourceful, though, and he does the best he can in the situation. After much pushing and screaming and other unpleasant things, he delivers the baby, cuts the chord and lies down on the floor with the baby cradled at his chest. Dream comes back to what looks like a crime scene, and is genuinely shocked to find his beloved husband alive!

Dream cleans up the blood (mostly with his mouth. he can't help it), carries Hob off to a more comfortable place and makes sure that the baby is safe - they've already had their first feed from Hob and are now content to snooze for a while. Dream is practically weeping over Hob, apologising for leaving him, for being such a ridiculous and terrible husband while Hob was carrying their child! Of course Hob forgives him but he does have a condition: he wants to be turned. The dramatic labour has given him an idea of just how terrible death would be, and he wants to stay with Dream forever.

Dream is relieved. He doesn't want to leave Hob ever again. Or their baby, who is the most perfect little darling, totally unaware of all the drama they caused by being born. Dream also promises that if by chance Hob is able to become pregnant again, he won't be quite so emo about it. Perhaps. He'll try his best, anyway.

(Meanwhile Hob is honestly just trying to process that fact that Dream licked him clean. And he was into it. And now he's wondering what kind of vampire shenanigans they might be able to get up to...)

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw blood #cw pregnancy #cw birth #trans hob

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alteredsilicone · 22 days

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Nightmares

Albrecht looked down at him, his face contorted in a scowl of endless disappointment.

“Loid, I will have to relieve you of your duties.”

Loid’s body felt like lead, he wanted to get up, to run, to prove his worth. He couldn’t, his body was sinking into the abyss.

“Al– Master Entrati, I will make it up to you. I can be of use. I can be a test subject!” desperate, empty pleas.

“Test subjects have utility. You do not.”

—

Warm tears trailed down his cheeks as Loid slowly shifted awake. The knot of anxiety in his stomach loosened as his body adjusted to lucidity. Just a bad dream. He no longer felt afraid, but a little ashamed. Loid adjusted himself and wiped his tears on the silk pillow. Embarrassed, he pushed himself up, turned the pillow around and plopped down on it again. This was the third night in a row he was roused by a nightmare. He felt miserable, his body unrested. Even if he knew what he saw was a dream, a vestige of anxiety still swirled in the pits of his stomach. He should get up and get to his morning routine, but he simply did not want to. Loid allowed himself five more minutes in bed. Hollow comfort.

Fate was gracious and there was no breach in the Sanctum, whatever horrors pestered Loid, they were simply in his head. Bird 3 was excited to see him, greeting Loid with a “Good morning, crew!” he had enthusiastically copied from Virgo. Loid answered by urging the bird to his feeding station. Tagfer was less irate today than he was the previous days, another little blessing. Loid lingered and watched the cervulite ravage a pomegranate, seeds and juice flying everywhere. Good thing the Necramites were here to clean things up.

“Good morning Loid.”

“Good morning, Fibonacci.”

The fish insisted on being treated like a person, that is, he demanded a little bit of conversation before Loid offered him his breakfast. Unlike the other two, Fibonacci lived where he ate, perhaps the norg felt undignified as he chomped on the small crustaceans Loid dropped in his tank. Loid had thought about expanding Fibonacci’s tank, adding new segments to it. An apartment for a fish? Ridiculous, but not the worst of thoughts that managed to worm its way into Loid’s mind as of late. Might as well start building an apartment complex for a talking norg.

“You look a little unwell, I hope you are not sick again,” the fish tried his best at sounding compassionate.

“Don’t worry, I just didn’t sleep too well,” Loid waved him away. “Freshwater or saltwater?”

“I feel a little salty today.”

Loid retrieved a packet of dried crayfish and poured out the contents in Fibonacci’s tank. The norg circled the crustaceans, imitating a hunting maneuver and then quickly devoured them. Loid watched as a solitary claw sunk to the bottom of the tank.

“Missed one,” he pointed at it.

“Why thank you,” the norg used one of his feelers to prod the claw and whip it up in a current, then swallowed it whole.

Fibonacci was entertaining to watch at times, but Loid knew better than to tell that to him. Bird 3 and Tagfer were messy eaters, whereas the norg would gallantly swim around his prey and always made sure to leave no crumbs behind. Maybe that was his way of mimicking human behavior - an idea of a sophisticated, gentlemanly dinner. Despite his persona of genius and sophistication, his actual understanding of human customs was entertainingly naive.

Loid sat down with a cup of tea and toasted bread. He always relied on routine to get his mind off things, but it was obvious that three nights of nightmares had left him weaker, focusing was much harder. He did not want to work, he ate his breakfast so slowly the tea went cold. Time was dragging on. Something clawed at the back of his mind.

“Test subjects have utility. You do not.”

The phantom of Albrecht was watching over him, Loid could feel that. He now knew it was the Indifference, amalgamating a homunculus of his fears and dressing it up in the face of the one whom he would fear hearing those words from the most.

Even at his worst, Albrecht never berated him. Loid reminisced on his time as a fresh recruit in the labs: when there was a particularly troublesome problem, Albrecht would call out the new lab hands one by one and demand an answer. Still, the ordeal never felt like a humiliation ritual, it was more like a frustrated teacher dealing with a bunch of under-studied students. He never singled anyone out, never made an example out of anyone. Albrecht made it clear that if everyone was on the same page and collaborated, work would flow better. It was in his interest that everyone pulled their weight or at least made an honest attempt to do so, all in the name of science.

Loid had seen his fair share of Orokin masters while at Albrecht’s side, screaming at their assistants and labhands and servants, some even raising a long, clawed arm. Loid would usually avert his eyes when that happened, unlike Albrecht, who faced his Orokin contemporaries with stony silence. The screams and pleas for mercy, however, could not escape Loid’s ears.

Despite all he had seen, despite all the scorn and judgment other Orokin had shown to him, it was Albrecht whom Loid feared the most. Why? What made him feel like a small prey animal in the jaws of a predator?

“Loid.”

Albrecht’s voice called out to him, somewhere out there, beyond the Vessels. Yet it was also inside his head, rattling around his skull. Loid ignored it.

“I need your help.”

Loid took a deep breath, he had to pull himself together. He could not afford distractions.Yet the voice kept clinging to him. Let it cling, Loid thought and finally got to work.

The Cavia had long finished their first meal and were antsy to receive today’s agenda. Fortunately for Loid but unfortunately for the adventure-hungry creatures, nothing dire had happened during sleep hours. The murmur had not overloaded any systems, Culverin and Arcocanid numbers were within optimal range and no Necramechs had been summoned. Loid finished checking the systems awfully quickly. Everything seemed alright. That was suspicious. Loid knew that his nightmares and the voice in his head did not come from thin air - it was the Indifference’s influence. Yet the murmur seemed to be more quiet than usual, three days of nightmares for Loid should mean that the void-cursed fragments would be all over the labs, yet, nothing. All systems were green.

“Loid.”

The voice was everywhere now.

Did the Cavia hear it too? No, they would have started complaining long ago. This was just another trick - make it sound like whatever was inside Loid’s head was in fact, everywhere. Everywhere and nowhere. Nowhere and everywhere. Everywhere and nowhere. Nowhere and everywhere. Everywhere and nowhere. Nowhere and everywhere. Everywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeverywhereandnowherenowhereandeverywhereeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

“LOID!”

That was not the phantom’s voice. That was his own voice. Loid blinked.

“Loid?! Do you hear me?!”

Loid was standing at the edge of the Sanctum, the vastness of the Void waiting on him. Unseen beasts bellowing from the deep below.

Loid opened his mouth, but only a stupid sound stumbled out: “Ya..?”

“By the Void, get away from the edge!”

Loid obliged and took an unsteady step back, then another. He turned his head, looking for the voice. The Construct was floating nearby, its lights flickering erratically.

“Loid! I ask again - do you hear me?!”

“Yes. Yes I hear you,” finally, a coherent thought. A heavy fog was slowly lifting from Loid’s mind. He did not remember how he had arrived at the edge of the Sanctum, he didn't even notice the Construct approaching.

“What did I just tell you?”

“You asked if I could hear you.”

“Good. Seven Emperors, what has gotten into you?” The Construct berated him.

“I… I heard a voice, and then…”

“Understood. I am calling the Tenno,” the Construct flew off without even waiting for an answer from Loid. Loid sheepishly followed it, not in the mood to fight back.

Graciously, Eir answered the call and not even an hour passed when he arrived at the Sanctum. The Drifter jumped out of his Xaku and approached the Loids.

“Necraloid told me you almost jumped off the ledge, is that true?” there was concern in Eir’s voice. Loid felt a tinge of shame.

Knowing the Construct, it had probably conjured a situation of life and death, and would have probably told the Tenno that Loid was bleeding out on the cold stone floor if it meant Eir would arrive faster. Eir looked concerned, but not in a hurry, so perhaps the Construct had dignified Loid with a story that was more truth than lies.

“I heard a voice and then the voice was everywhere and then I found myself at the edge of the Sanctum,” Loid recalled the events of the early morning as clearly as he could.

“Heightened Void exposure,” Eir concluded. “How long have you been here alone?”

“A week or so,” Loid said.

“That’s a long time.”

“Why didn’t you call for me sooner?” the Construct chimed in.

“Virgo told me that I was not in danger until I started seeing things. I thought I could simply… will the voice away,” Loid answered the inquisition.

“Clearly the Tenno underestimated your abilities! How can you kee–”

“Necraloid, please calm down,” Eir cut the Construct off. “All that matters is that Loid is safe now.”

The Construct relented. Loid could tell it was still displeased with the situation, but, after whispering something to Eir, it decided that it was far too busy to keep “babysitting Loid” and retreated upstairs.

Eir offered to have a walk around the Sanctum and talk to the Cavia. That’s how Loid discovered that Bird 3 had noticed him wandering off into the sandy landscape and promptly started pestering Tagfer about it, who in turn went to Fibonacci and it was the fish who called the Construct down to the basement. The Construct took it upon itself to check on Loid and found him unresponsive, standing at the edge of the Sanctum, staring off into the distance.

“You said you heard a voice. Only one?” Eir quizzed him. “Who was it?”

“Albrecht.”

Eir nodded and said nothing.

Loid was happy that it was him who answered the impromptu call. Virgo would have already staged an intervention and talked off his ear. Eir was much more reserved, definitely not used to offering comfort to other people, yet in this situation, Loid was grateful for a more introverted approach.

“Did he ask anything of you?”

“He just asked for help.”

“It was just a voice right, he didn’t actually appear? He didn’t lead you to the edge?”

The idea of an apparition of Albrecht appearing in the lab terrified Loid. He knew that the Indifference could wear his skin, and Loid had been warned by the Tenno to call for help immediately if the entity appeared in the labs. Yet, as far as Loid knew, he went to the edge on his own free will, however compromised it may have been.

“No. It was just a voice. In my head, but also not.” Everywhere and nowhere. A strange echo of words. “Sorry, Eir, I think I am not feeling too good after all.”

“I understand, perhaps we should sit down and eat something. If you are hungry, that is,” Eir tried his best to be accommodating. He did not have Virgo’s extensive personnel training or cutesy charisma, but Loid appreciated his efforts all the same.

The two retreated to the lounge area and Loid prepared some tea and pulled out a box of eclairs Virgo had brought him the other day. Usually saved for special occasions, but Loid decided that surviving a near death experience was special enough. He prepared them both some chamomile tea with wildflower honey and the two enjoyed their drinks and snacks in quiet peace. No more voices. After three nights of nightmares and tears, Loid finally remembered what a sliver of peace felt like.

Loid knew the Tenno worked like lightning rods - they could accumulate excess Void energy and redirect it somewhere, presumably their own bodies, and distill it in a way that brought no harm to others around them. Loid’s newfound calmness was all due to Eir’s presence. This is why he and the Tenno had an arrangement - the Tenno would visit Loid every other day to maintain optimal Void density in the labs, as well as to clean up any errant murmur. Virgo had warned Loid that, if he were to start seeing things, he should immediately call an alarm. Alas, things worked out differently this time. Worse - this wasn’t the first time Loid stayed alone for a longer while. He thought he could easily manage a week, he knew how to maintain his emotions, he knew how to manage Void exposure. Perhaps something was shifting, it was the nature of the Void after all. Ever-changing.

Loid took a sip of his tea and let the flavor linger. “I think we'll need to work on long term Void protection. I can't endlessly rely on you three,” he studied the contents of his cup as he mused.

“You're right. I have something in mind. I'm not entirely sure it will work, but it can't make things worse that's for sure,” Eir’s answer didn’t instill confidence in Loid, but he was willing to hear the Tenno out.

“Anything that will keep me from jumping down into the abyss,” Loid said.

Eir put down his cup and took off his gloves. He stretched his fingers and Loid couldn't help but notice that silver, void metal scars covered Eir’s fingers. He made a gesture in the air, whispered something and summoned a shawzin out of thin air. Its design was nothing like Loid had seen before - rounded shapes, green and white and gold colors, with void scarring littered here and there.

“It's been a while since I last played,” Eir picked at the strings. “Good that this thing is never out of tune.”

Loid smiled and answered with a slight nod.

“Close your eyes, please,” Eir settled in his chair so that he could hold the shawzin comfortably.

“Stage fright?”

“Not at all, trust me.”

Loid set down his cup and closed his eyes. Eir started playing.

Loid sunk into his chair, he relaxed his muscles and let the music wash over him. He had never heard anything this beautiful in his life. The music was everywhere, it echoed through the Sanctum, filling the vast space with a gentle dance of notes.

—

The afternoon sun dipped diagonally towards the horizon. Loid sat by the windowsill and looked over Deimos. The family had gathered in the living room after dinner, each lost in their own little world. Kaelli was practicing piano, filling the room with a familiar tune. Kermerros was surrounded by a pile of books, preparing for his next exam. Loid glanced over at Albrecht, who was diligently editing a manuscript, his pen moving with swift determination. Grandmother just as diligently was working on a new embroidery. Euleria and Vilcor had found a cozy spot on the couch and were simply enjoying their daughter’s chamber concerto. Everyone was in their place. Loid was happy.

—

The nightmares stopped. Loid finally slept well. Whatever Eir played on his shawzin not only stopped the voices and the phantoms but left Loid feeling content. Even the Cavia seemed happier than usual. Work improved. The Tenno brought him new materials and the Vessel project moved forward.

Hope.

Loid hoped that soon Virgo would step into the Vessel and go back to 1999.

And then.

He might see him again.

#my writing #viriverse #spoiler: this has a happy ending #methinks #wf eir

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vivalavillain · 7 months

Note

Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don’t like the person?

What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?

What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

For Archer!

WEIRDLY SPECIFIC BUT HELPFUL CHARACTER BUILDING QUESTIONS

Who do they like as a person but hate their work? Vice versa, whose work do they like but don’t like the person?

{For Archer, this would have to be Karen first, but specifically @pkmnsdarkqueen's Karen. As a former Rocket, even if it was an off-shoot of Rocket that he was never part of, and as a person, Archer has a great deal of respect for Karen. She's come through quite a bit and has pulled through all the stronger for it. And, like him, she has an affinity for Dark-types. She's respectful to him, knowing who he really is and keeping it a secret despite being an Elite, and they get on rather well together as people. However, given her Elite status, he cannot abide by the work she does, no matter how much he might trust her otherwise. So long as her loyalty is to the League and Lance's leadership, they will always be at odds with one another in some form or fashion.

{As for the vice versa, the easy answer here is Giovanni, but I feel like that's cheating a little. I think, perhaps, the better answer here is Elaine/Chase. They were the catalyst in the ruination of Rocket in Kanto and he still holds a great deal of anger and hatred for them and their meddling. That being said, they are clearly a strong, capable trainer and he cannot deny their accomplishments. Anyone who can take down Lance and then their strongest rival back to back is someone not to be trifled with and he can give credit where credit is due.}

What common etiquette do they disagree with? Do they still follow it?

{The idea that respecting one's elders is to be expected/demanded of anyone a decade or more younger than the person in question. He doesn't believe that someone is deserving of respect (outside of basic human decency-- although it's arguable whether he would offer even that much to someone if not absolutely necessary) simply because they are older and supposedly 'wiser.' People, regardless of age, are people and people can be backwards, hateful, mistrustful, and dangerous in their beliefs at times. The idea that someone is automatically accorded respect (read: obedience) based solely on age is ridiculous and as someone fighting against the elderly of Johto to get anything accomplished, he's especially uninterested in such archaic beliefs.

{Unfortunately, in order to get anything done, he does have to play a very specific part and while he might detest that bit of it, he does follow said etiquette when necessary.}

What simple activity that most people do / can do scares your character?

{Getting sick. He's positively miserable and pathetic when he's sick and having anyone see him in such a weakened, vulnerable state terrifies him because his reputation is everything as the Interim Boss of Team Rocket. He's more prone to snapping and flying off the handle when in consistent pain or otherwise unwell in some way. He absolutely detests being sick and goes to great lengths to prevent any instances where it happens.}

#vanillahub #So you're fool enough to go against us is that it? || Archer #Thank you for these questions!

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borderlinesatou · 1 year

Text

I'm so sick of her. She's making me hate you. All you do is complain about her and I genuinely don't think you realise it.

Do you know how miserable you've become since you moved in with her? Everything's about her. It's never about you. You won't let yourself be upset because "she has it worse". You're literally pitying her, that's all it is.

She gets upset at the smallest things and you beat yourself up over it like it's your fucking job to make sure she's happy.

I know I got extremely lucky still being with my teen sweetheart. We grew into full functioning adults together after going through a ridiculous amount of shite together thanks to my family. Never once have I ever felt pitied by her but I know for a fact she feels pitied by you. You said it yourself, she got mad at you for being concerned for her wellbeing, because she thinks that you don't trust her judgement. Even though you have every reason not to since she's the way she is.

I'd like to give her the benefit of the doubt and say she's not being malicious purposefully but that doesn't excuse the fact that she is manipulative often.

The fact that you feel guilty about having your own interests and hobbies is such a huge issue I don't understand how you can't see it. It's another reason for the pile of why I think you shouldn't be dating.

You shouldn't have to force her into spaces and activities that are yours alone to enjoy, shes literally going to ruin cons for you for the rest of the time you go, which I feel like will stop eventually when you realise you can't be around your friends since she'll cry if we start talking about cock and balls.

You love talking shite and she turns you mute. It sounds like the most dull, mind numbing conversations to have with anyone ever. Like what is there to even talk about that doesn't involve her, that's solely yours? God forbid you have interests she isn't a part of because that'll upset her 🥺

Its ridiculous. You're such a warm bright colourful person with so much personality and humor and you're just grey with her.

I can never say any of this to you directly because I think it'd finally be the end of our friendship but honestly I don't know how much longer I can see you like this, it's genuinely hurting me.

She didn't know you were suicidal and you've been together over 2 years. Is that not alarming? The lack of knowledge of your mental state bc she never looks outside herself. I know you deny how unwell you are because you never let yourself be the one with issues but if she really knew you she'd know that without being told.

I think you should break up.

I know you're lonely, and I know you want a relationship, but God, you're not meant to be on eggshells at every turn, wondering if you've something wrong or done something wrong to upset her. You're not supposed only care about her feelings and never check on your own.

I really think you should end it.

Obviously you live with her so that's a complication but you know your mam would take you back in a heart beat.

I think you should go. I'm saying this with the most sincerity I can. I am saying this as your oldest and closest friend. Please leave her to better yourself. It'll hurt, obviously. But in the long run you deserve to really be happy. Happiness is not what you have. You wouldn't be this way if it was.

These feelings aren't new or sudden. I've felt this way for well over a year. She made you a completely different person while you're with her, then when you finally get time to see us you complain about her in some sort of way

Of course no relationship is perfect, I've gotten annoyed at 🐰 before, most were due to outside forces (primarily my family) but we've always talked it out. You keep stuff from her, you feel like you can't be honest with her out of fear. None of that is normal or healthy.

You really really should consider breaking up.

I just want you to be happy again.

#satou.txt #❤️#💙

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uwusillygirl · 2 years

Note

Ok feeling v validated at you posting a normal people gif bc it literally hit me when reading for service and devotion the other day (and then subsequently rereading a better taste as part of a "Chrissy's Boss Is A Dick" edit) that this Chrissy and Eddie give me BIG Marianne and Connell vibes with the way Chrissy's subservience could maybe be kinda dangerous (seems like a dramatic word but can't think of a better one) in the hands of someone who exploited it but with Eddie she's able to deal with it in a much more healthy way, and even though it's not something he really wants (although I think Eddie enjoys it considerably more than Connell did) he's happy to explore it for her. When the book first came out I remember having a discussion about whether Marianne and Connell actually make a "good" couple, whether we really want them to be together in the end, and a friend said he felt the relationship was good for Marianne but not for Connell and so ultimately didn't want them to stay together as it was kind of unfair on Connell, even if it was by far the best outcome for Marianne and the negative effect on Marianne from not being with Connell is much greater than the negative effect on Connell from being with her (I don't necessarily agree but I do get his). This series forms a nice little alternative to that in which their relationship genuinely feels like a positive for both Chrissy and Eddie and there's no real need for that debate.

Idk this is rambling and not super exciting but it just felt very nice to see that you are aware of normal people and maybe it was something that might have been playing on your mind subconsciously whilst you were developing this relationship so it wasn't so ridiculous for me to have drawn that parallel myself.

No need to respond, in fact the main thing I came here to say is that I'm really excited to see you on here. I never have anything particularly interesting to say on AO3 except that I love everything you've ever done but I do enjoy reading all the comments and the way the discussions you and others have enrich the characters so much - I'm hoping there will be more of that on here too!

"no need to respond" like i could ever possibly resist an ask as fucking JUICY as this... and i am LITERALLY in the midst of a normal people reread right now like this could not be more perfect.

okay so in terms of first one's free, normal people was absolutely sort of stewing in my brain subconsciously as i wrote it, but only because i'm like always thinking about it lmao. but EVENTUALLY it actually became sort of active when i started reflecting on that one line everyone screams about all the time the "sometimes i think god made you for me" bit and how it's like... is there ever a way for that to be a positive? like how are you not meant to mistreat someone custom made to your preferences? (so in short your parallel guess is like so right! though most everything i reblog on here and intend to reblog i think can be at least tonally tied to my writing lmao)

anyways so i tried to see how that would look like in a slightly less miserable way than normal people and how even if chrissy is like all american dream girl she's also like intense and often unwell enough that it takes effort on the part of eddie to like ... care for her (which connell, i would say, doesn't take with marianne because he's less self assured, so cripplingly afraid of other people's perceptions, and has a sort of irrational fear of catching marianne's "damagedness" like a flu).

it's extremely interesting the way we all sort of have different reads of normal people and who the relationship "works better" for/who would be ultimately happier in it (like it blows my actual mind that someone u know read it as "unfair" on connell more so than marianne like that actually fascinates me).

and it's also interesting that you mention the idea of like a "safe" space to explore inherent subservience, because "safe" means so many different things when it comes to that urge. i always am struck by the way that while they always have that sort of fucked power dynamic that turns her on, marianne's masochism, to me, only ever gets truly fulfilled with connell through their sort of fucked up pattern of him leaving her every once in a while/only wanting her for support and sex. it's like the purest form of masochism to her. and when they're relatively happy and she sort of wants him to handle it through more traditional bdsm routes (which i am so conflicted about the presentation of that in the book, but anyways. and yes eddie def enjoys all that way more lmao.) he sort of blanches and that's like "too much" for him but her groveling for him, claiming she just wants to make him happy, and all that less official but more soul-sucking subservience like really gets him off.

okay WOW so many thoughts, many of them self-indulgent, thank you SO much for reaching out! and thank you for the kind words about my stuff! i'm so happy to be here and chatting with some of u!

#ask #partial first one's free inspiration

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purplesurveys · 6 months

Text

1779

What was the last upsetting thing that happened to you? I got sick, again...that's two very high fevers in the short and sweet span of 1.5 months and I can almost certainly tell you it's because of work. Bright side is it's putting everything in a much clearer perspective and it'll probably be the first thing I'll raise to Trina the next time she has a check-in with me.

What was the last thing you ordered from Starbucks? I think it was their iced brown sugar blahblah espresso (why does it have to be such a mouthful?) and my favorite off their menu, the chicken barbecue sandwich.

Do you trust your doctor? I just have natural trust for all doctors in general because they're supposed to be experts at their field. It's just a matter of whether they're an asshole/condescending or not.

Do you ever question if your mother loves you? Sometimes. Last week she and dad got into an argument but made sure the rest of the household was put through hell in the most childish way you can imagine a 50 year old throwing a fit. I will never understand that about her.

Do you ever feel scared or unsafe around your dad? Not at all.

Do you have a pastor you can trust and talk to whenever you need to? Nope.

Do you have a best friend who always has your back? Yes. Just last Wednesday I had a bit of a scare because my car wouldn't start while I was stranded in the middle of BGC, and the first two people I called were Angela and Hans because I knew they'd have my back in an instant and would know how to help me. :(

What is missing in your life? Career fulfillment. I'm making good money but ugh am I miserable and getting more and more physically unwell. Two fevers in less than two months is ridiculous and I know damn well this has little to do with the flu bug that's been going around.

What color shirt are you wearing? It's white with some pink accents.

Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? The delivery rider assigned to me for a work-related booking.

Who is your least favorite doctor you’ve been to? I'm not even sure if they were a doctor but it was that psychologist(?) or therapist(?) or whatever the hell she was who was doing a mental health check on me as part of my college admissions. She was just very rude and seemed very judgmental from the get-go, so I said nothing about my depression because I knew she was 100% going to make it worse and more embarrassing.

Who is your least favorite nurse? I don't think I've had encounters with bad nurses.

What is your favorite type of Lunchables? Idk what those are. I mean I have a vague idea of them, but I didn't grow up with them.

What gives you migraines? My job, and every itty bitty thing about my job.

What is the worst medication side effect you’ve ever had? Not a medication, but I've always gotten horrible fevers from all my Covid vaccines and boosters.

When was the last time you remember your life being good? My horrible day-to-day at my job notwithstanding, my life is pretty fuckin sweet right now given that CM Punk has returned to WWE. Anyone here know me since 2013/14? HAHAHAHA THAT ROBYN IS BACK AND HOPEFULLY SHE'S HERE TO STAY FOR A WHILE

What makes you forgetful? Stress or trauma, I would say.

Do you block stupid, ignorant people on Facebook? I'll sometimes block actual profiles, but most of the time if I see something I don't like I either just pettily report the thing or have the post hidden from my feed.

What is your favorite magazine to read? I have not read one in yearsss, and the only exception is if a magazine covers BTS or one of the BTS members and does a profile feature on them. Sometimes the stories come out great and sometimes they are ass.

What is your favorite thing to order at Taco Bell? I just get the first burrito I see on the menu. I've never been familiar with their items. I'm not a Taco Bell regular because there's only like 3 of them here and all of them are too far and I'd never go out of the way just for some foreign fast food hahaha.

What was the first color you dyed your hair? Ash brown. I wanted to go all-in off the bat and tried to ask for green, but the salon was super protective of my soon-to-be-bleached virgin hair hahaha and insisted I go a mild shade first, so ash brown it was. I never did get around to dyeing my hair green.

Do you trust your parents completely? No.

Do you have someone you feel completely safe around? Sure.

What church do you go to? My family attends Sunday mass at our local parish.

Have you made a lot of mistakes? Is there anyone who would actually say no to this?

Do you take risks often? Eh, not really. I don't have a lot of safety nets in the first place, so it's smarter for me to play it safe for the most part.

Who was the last person you called on the phone? The aforementioned delivery rider.

What color is your favorite whiteboard marker? I don't use markers much.

0 notes

kiranatrix · 3 years

Text

What Comes Out in the Wash

Day 1: Hair @deathnotetober

Characters: Light, L, Watari, & mentions of Sayu // Rating: Gen; platonic (or Lawlight if you squint) // Summary: L wakes up with a huge rat’s nest in his hair and Watari says ‘handle it yourself,’ so Light has to help.

Co-written with @resilicns

——-

Sleep was something that was becoming increasingly rare for L to achieve these days, and when he did, it could hardly be called restful. He’d spend those few measly hours tossing, turning, kicking, and just squirming in general. When he slept on his own, this was hardly an issue, but now that he was sharing a bed with Light, things were getting a bit complicated.

L grunted quietly, pushing his elbow and forearm down into the bed as he lifted his head up off of the pillow, resting on his side. Blinking sleep from his eyes, he gazed around the room drowsily, trying to desperately grasp for awareness, until his gaze landed on a mirror. He lifted his other hand to feel his hair, touching the knotted mess he had noticed in his reflection. His hair was almost comparable to a bird’s nest at this point. Grimacing, he lifted the receiver off of the phone on the end table, pressing the button mapped to dial Watari’s phone in his office. He held it up to his ear and sighed quietly.

“Watari? I need you to come to my room. My hair is in need of brushing this morning,” L muttered, wincing as one of his fingers caught on a tangle and yanked the strand in that brief instant.

“Apolog--” Quillsh had covered the receiver to try and mask his hacking cough but it still came through the line. “Apologies, sir. It seems I’m unwell. I wouldn’t want to infect you with whatever I have. It’s quite dismal.” He held the phone away to sneeze several times into a monogrammed handkerchief. “You’ll have to make do on your own today.”

L paled slightly, holding the receiver away from his face for a second to stare at it as if it had personally offended him. When he held it back up to his ear, he sighed quite loudly. “I suppose we’ll have to inform the task force that they have the day off, today. However,” he frowned, pushing himself up into a sitting position as he clutched the phone. “Who will brush my hair? Who will prepare my meals? Who will select my clothing?” While he knew the latter was not necessary, the panic in his voice made it obvious he wasn’t thinking clearly.

Light opened one eye to see what all the fuss was about, frowning as he glared up at L. He hadn’t even gotten to sleep until after 3 am because L insisted on bringing his laptop to bed, loudly clacking on the keyboard and munching on panda cookies. The clock on the nightstand said it was just 6:30 am. I’m expected to work on a measly 3 hours sleep?!

“Can you keep your voice down, Ryuzaki?,” he huffed while turning over. “I’m not getting up until 7 and that’s that.”

Quillsh replied to L, “Everything will be fine. You know as well as I do that all your clothes are the same, no selection required. There are cakes and fruit in the refrigerator, and instant coffee if you can’t bother with the coffeemaker.”

He sighed tiredly, barely able to muster the energy needed to argue with L. “As for your hair...no time like the present to pick up a brush and try it yourself.” It was really past time for L to do that anyway but it meant time not focused on work, and was thus always deprioritized.

L gritted his teeth, gripping his own hair in his hand as his anxiety spiked just from the thought of trying to brush it himself. “But-..!” He stopped himself, squirming and making the bed bounce slightly. He completely ignored Light, his attention entirely focused on the call. “…alright. My apologies for disturbing you. Please get some rest and take care of yourself,” he murmured, quietly saying his polite goodbyes before hanging up the phone.

He turned to face forward, glancing at Light out of the corner of his eyes. He stared at the younger man for only a few seconds, moving to the end table and pulling out one of his hair brushes. He took a deep, loud breath to try and settle himself in preparation. However, no amount of preparation could prepare him for the instant pain that followed one frantic and barely-effective brush through his hair. He immediately chucked the item away from himself, hugging his knees to his chest in defeat.

Light snickered into his pillow and looked over his shoulder. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to try?” He turned over to face L, yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Don’t tell me that the World’s Greatest Detective has been defeated by an eeeevil tangle,” he teased. He couldn’t help but rub it in a little after all the grief L had put him through lately.

L shot Light a bitter glare, his eyes slightly moist from the shock of pain. “It is painful, and I am choosing to avoid engaging in painful activities. I will just wait until Watari is well enough to brush my hair,” he huffed, averting his gaze. In truth, he knew his hair would only be even more impossibly tangled- potentially unsalvageable by the time the man was no longer ill.

“That is…” Light sat up and leveled L with an unimpressed stare. “...the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. It’s just going to get worse if you put it off, and who even knows if he’ll be better tomorrow.” He leaned closer to examine L’s bedhead and let out a low whistle. Somehow, in the span of just 3 hours of sleep, the back of L’s head had gone from normal looking (for him) to a mess of matted, knotted hair. “Ok, I’ll admit that is pretty bad. I think even your tangles have tangles.”

He looked from the chaotic labyrinth of hair to the discarded brush thrown in the corner. L’s going to be a miserable grouch all day if this doesn’t get fixed. That made even the prospect of having the day off seem unappealing given who he was chained to. Plus, every moment they weren’t working, he was denied the chance to clear his name.

“Let me take a crack at it.” He glanced at L, giving him a little shrug like ‘why not?’ “It’s not like I can make it any worse.”

“You could still hurt me,” L muttered, glowering at Light. His expression was similar to a pout at this point, as if he was on the verge of crossing his arms and huffing.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Light sighed, still half-asleep. “I used to brush Sayu’s hair all the time when she was little.” Under his breath he murmured, “Anyway, you’d just tag on an assault charge onto my long list of ‘crimes’.’”

L hesitated for a moment before climbing off of the bed and retrieving the brush. Thankfully it wasn’t too far that the chain would cause any issues. He set the brush down in front of Light and sat down with his back towards the man. This is a terrible idea. However, if he goes out of his way to harm me, I can hold that against him.

Light picked up the brush tentatively, making a face at how overloaded with wiry black hair it was. “Hold on…it’s not going to do any good like this.” He pulled off the hair and dropped it from pinched fingers in the trash can beside the bed. “Ok, now we’re ready. Just...” He trailed off as he blinked at the back of L’s head-- specifically, the tumor-like protrusion of hair sticking out from the back. How could it have possibly gotten this bad?! Maybe I’m out of my depth here. “Um. Do you brush your hair every day, Ryuzaki?”

“Watari brushes it in the morning when it needs it,” L murmured, shrugging his shoulders indifferently. “He brushes it less now that I’m older.” Or now that he’s older.

Light fingered a few tangled tufts but didn’t pull, just surveying the damage to undo. “Have you...thought of using conditioner?”

L had to fight the urge to tilt his head, instead making a soft humming sound as he considered it. “No, I believe using soap for all of my washing is still the most efficient option. I see no reason that liquid soap is not enough to wash both my hair and my body.”

Light made a noise between a choke and a gasp, finally forcing out, “No...no, it’s...no, not at…” He sighed in exasperation, suddenly understanding why they were here. Closing his eyes, he said calmly, “After I untangle this, I’m washing your hair with shampoo and proper conditioner, got it?” He counted to ten and opened his eyes. Well, nothing to do but get started.

Carefully, he focused first on brushing the parts that weren’t tangled (or not as badly) to get a sense for the thickness of L’s hair and how tender-headed he was. Light knew that probably even a normal tug or the slightest discomfort might end this endeavor; he had to tread carefully. “This would be easier if you sat still and stopped fidgeting.” He placed a hand on L’s shoulder to try and keep him in one place, but quickly pulled back in case he’d overstepped.

L stiffened up slightly, biting his lower lip. However, instead of pulling away, he mumbled a quiet apology and did his best to keep his body still. He continued to fidget with his hands, rapping his fingers on his knees as he sat there, flinching occasionally when Light pulled too hard for his comfort. In truth, none of it was comfortable, but the man’s touch was surprisingly bearable. He wasn’t nearly as harsh as he had expected he would be, and it seemed as if he was adjusting to L’s reactions. “If you insist,” he mumbled, huffing quietly.

As Light got closer to the epicenter of the tangle, he started to sweat a little. Wait, is that--? Finally he had spotted the catalyst for the rat’s nest. A half-eaten lollipop was embedded and wrapped up in L’s hair, with the stick poking out at a jaunty and infuriating angle. “Ryuzaki…” He touched the stick, wiggling it slightly. “Did you happen to be eating lollipops in bed last night?”

A deep shade of red bloomed in L’s cheeks, travelling far enough to peek around his neck. “...no,” he mumbled, his tone incredibly sheepish as he blatantly lied. He couldn’t stop himself from squirming now, staring down at his hands as he shifted on the bed. He knew Light would be able to tell, but some small part of him felt embarrassed enough to try and hide it.

Light leaned to whisper in L’s ear, “Liar.” He gave the stick a little tweak. “The evidence speaks for itself, detective.” He laughed and shifted on the bed, reaching for a bottle of lotion in the nightstand. “This calls for desperate measures. That brush isn’t going to help at all,” he said, tossing it aside. “Not until I get that lollipop out.” With Sayu, he’d once used peanut butter to get some chewing gum out of her hair but really anything oily would do. He settled behind L again and squirted the lotion on his fingers, working it into the knots. “This might hurt a little but you don’t want to walk around with candy in your head do you?”

“It certainly sounds like a convenient carrying solution, freeing both of my hands to do work,” L muttered, his lips twitching faintly in amusement at his own joke. His breath hitched and he hissed quietly in pain as he felt his hair being tugged. “Ow...” He whined, his hand twitching briefly with the urge to reach back and swat at Light’s hand. “Be more gentle..!”

“Sorry,” Light mumbled. “Got a little too focused.” He slowed down his pace and methodically peeled away the hair from the sticky candy, nose wrinkling at the unappetizing gloops of lotion and red sugar coating his fingers. But, it was working! Bit by bit, knot by knot, the lollipop finally came free.

“Got it!,” he said triumphantly, holding up the mangled sucker. It was odd how satisfied he felt. Maybe it was because L only complained half a dozen instead of three dozen times, but he was all smiles as he showed it to L. “The accused stands before you. How do you judge?” He giggled and held it over the trash.

L was shaken and tense by the time Light was finally finished. It wasn’t that the man had hurt him- no, the process was quite painless after the first few tugs. However, he kept expecting pain, anticipating it, even though it never came. Once the man was done, he relaxed, staring at the candy. For once, he didn’t have the urge to shove the sweet into his mouth (although that may have been because of the hairs protruding from it).

“…guilty,” he mumbled, plucking it from Light’s fingers and dropping it into the trash can. He reached back to touch his hair, immediately grimacing at the unpleasant texture of melted candy and lotion mixed with hair. “…I suppose I’ll be needing my hair washed after all,” he muttered.

Light frowned a little that his joke had flopped, but what did he expect? “You’re welcome,” he grumbled as he got up off the bed to the length of the chain. “Come in the bathroom then and I’ll wash it in the sink. Need to wash my hands, too.” You don’t deserve my nice hair products but that’s all we’ve got. He’d be damned if he’d use liquid soap like L usually did. Just the thought made him shudder, rattling the handcuff chain between them.

L followed Light into the bathroom, shedding his shirt in the process to avoid it getting wet. He unclipped his end of the chain to remove the shirt completely, immediately latching the chain back on after. “How should I stand?” He stared at the sink in mild confusion, unsure of how to wash his hair in a non-shower setting.

“Over there,” Light gestured with his chin, “until I clean myself up.” He maneuvered around L and turned the water on with his elbow, scrubbing furiously until all the melted lollipop and lotion swirled down the drain. Why am I bothering to help him? I should have just left it there and taken the day off. I need one.

He dried his hands and grabbed his shampoo and conditioner that his mother had brought him from home, purchased from his favorite salon. The sleek bottles only reminded him of how much he needed a haircut, of how much he’d taken for granted all the little freedoms like that. The reflection looking back at him in the mirror-- bangs hanging in his eyes, wispy strands long enough to tuck behind his ears-- reinforced it. L may be a mess but so was he. The realization didn’t help his mood any.

He gave L a cold glance and pointed to the still-running warm water in the sink. “So...just stick your head under the faucet.”

L glanced back and forth from the sink to Light for a moment, as if unsure of what to do. He then moved closer to the sink, leaning down and hesitantly pushing his head under the water. He immediately jerked back when some ended up in his ear, an uncharacteristic squeak escaping his lips as his face scrunched up. He tilted his head, shaking it as if trying to get the water out. His hands rest on the sink, gripping it tightly to keep himself upright. Once he had calmed down, he took a deep breath and put his head under again, this time keeping it there as he closed his eyes.

Light crossed his arms and shifted his weight to one leg. If L couldn’t even stand the water, a molecule of soap in the man’s eyes would send him through the roof. “Hold on, I’ll get a chair and you can just lean back.” He went to do so but the chain tugged him back sharply. How many times will I forget? I’m anchored. “Um, can you release the chain for a moment? I’ll be right back.”

Much to his own surprise, L reached out without even hesitating, unclipping Light’s end of the chain. “Be quick. I think I can feel it hardening,” he murmured, grimacing as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He wanted to cooperate, he truly did, and he could only hope that was coming through in his actions and words.

Light blinked as the chain thunked to the bathroom floor. He did it? He stared at the coiled chain like it was a dead but still dangerous snake before snapping to attention and heading into the bedroom. It had been over a month since he’d felt 360 degrees of freedom but he couldn’t enjoy it, even though he wheeled L’s office chair into the bathroom slower than necessary. He felt a little shaken that his first instinct had been to run, but why? What did he have to run from? I’m innocent…

“Sit here and lean back so your head’s in the sink.” He rolled up a fluffy towel and placed it on the edge of the counter. “That should make it more comfortable.” He added drily, “Don’t worry, I didn’t stuff any razors inside.” Not that I’m allowed any. A few months ago he’d been the top student at To-Oh and now he was playing hairdresser with a man who wanted to execute him.

L didn’t bother grabbing the chain again, wanting to give Light more space as a gesture of appreciation for what he was doing, since he couldn’t really find the words to verbalize that feeling. He nodded and sat down in the chair, leaning back and resting his neck on the towel. His face scrunched up slightly in discomfort as he tilted his head back, suddenly made very aware of how stiff his neck was.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I trust you.” Of course, that’s partly because it would be too big of a risk for him to try anything right now, but I also don’t think he’d want to…

Light arched a brow at that lie and squeezed shampoo into his hands. “Sure.” Trusts me when it’s convenient for him. He avoided looking at the chain, not wanting to remind L in case he forgot. I know he didn’t forget.

L’s face was as unreadable as ever so he just got on with it, lathering L’s hair into fragrant suds and taking care that no soap got into the man’s wide-open eyes. The smell of grapefruit and sandalwood in the bathroom started to make Light relax, the tenseness falling from his face. After a few minutes, he couldn’t feel any more sticky candy embedded in L’s hair and rinsed it clean. “Alright, sit still. Conditioner’s next.”

The feeling of Light’s fingers massaging his scalp was incredibly relaxing for L. He did his best to keep his face impassive, forcing himself to focus on the feeling of wetness on his forehead, but, eventually, even that wasn’t enough. By the time Light was rinsing his hair out, L’s eyelids were heavy and his expression incredibly relaxed. Most of the tension that was normally present in his body was gone. “This…feels nice,” he whispered, blinking slowly as he stayed still for the man.

Light couldn’t help but smile faintly at the praise. It was gratifying that he’d done well, even at this insignificant task, when it was for his harshest critic. His mood lifted considerably-- maybe this day wouldn’t be a wash after all. Wash, pft. He snickered to himself and turned the water off, then smoothed the conditioner in L’s hair to the ends.

Tilting his head, he said, “Your hair’s longer than I thought.” When wet and not fluffed up by frizz, it looked almost twice as long.

L’s body felt almost loose at this point, and part of him wondered if he would slide out of the chair. Even the feeling of Light barely pulling on his hair was soothing by now. A faint smile curved his lips as he closed his eyes. “That makes sense. It’s been a while since Watari last trimmed my hair. I’m not very fond of the sound of scissors so close to my head.”

“Now we wait. Five minutes and then rinse.” Light glanced down at his watch and leaned against the counter. This might be an awkward five minutes.

L shifted his legs, letting one stretch out and dangle off of the chair. “I didn’t expect that this would be so…pleasant. You’re very good at this, Light,” he mused, his relaxed state loosening his lips ever so slightly.

A little heat rose to Light’s cheeks. “Uh...thank you. I guess I have my sister to thank for that. I was her babysitter for years and her hair gets tangled easily, too.”

He smiled when a funny memory sprang to mind. “One time she managed to get a whole package of modeling clay stuck in her hair and I had to scrub for an hour to get it out before my parents got home from dinner. When my Mom noticed it was gone, Sayu told them she ate it.” He laughed to himself, remembering the horrified looks on his parents’ faces. “Of course, we fessed up before they called poison control.”

L’s lips twitched for a moment before he burst into laughter, holding his hand up in a failed attempt at covering his mouth. His laugh shook his entire body, a big grin forming on his face. When was the last time I laughed like this? Have I ever? I can’t recall feeling this good before now. “That- that’s quite impressive,” he managed to say after a few seconds, starting to calm back down and catch his breath. “What was she trying to do with the clay? Style her hair?” He chuckled, opening his eyes to look up at Light.

Seeing L smile was surprising but when the detective laughed, Light was shocked. But that laughter was infectious and only made Light giggle harder. “I think she was trying to make some kind of space helmet? Who knows, she was only five then,” he said between chuckles. I miss her. I wonder how she’s keeping up with her math homework. His laughter faded away.

He looked down at L, a thoughtful look on his face. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you laugh and mean it.”

L’s expression softened, turning thoughtful and slightly sad. “Yes, I suppose it is. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.” He sighed, stretching out his arms for a moment as he averted his gaze. “I guess that’s just something else you’re good at, hm?” He arched a brow, smirking a bit in the subtle, mocking way he usually did. However, there was no malice to his tone. Instead of attacking Light, it seemed like he was attempting some good-natured ribbing, as if between friends.

Light blinked and gave L a puzzled smile, waiting for the barb to come. Unexpectedly, it didn’t, and he wasn’t sure what to say. L being nice was as strange as L laughing.

He glanced down at his watch anxiously. “That’s five minutes.” He turned on the warm water and rinsed the conditioner from L’s noticeably softer hair. Any residual tangles came loose immediately when he combed his fingers through it and he started to get curious about how it would look when dry. “Alright,” he said, turning off the water. “All done. Your tangles are a thing of the past.”

He turned his back to L to dry his hands on a fresh towel. “I guess it seems like a waste of time to use the conditioner but it saves time in the end for brushing. I can give Watari the information if you want me to.”

L shifted in the seat, looking over at Light with a contemplative expression. He sat there in silence for a few seconds, just staring at the other man until he finally spoke. “I suppose you can. That would be nice. But also, while we’re sharing a living space…if you wanted to- ah- do this more frequently…I wouldn’t protest.” He averted his gaze and cleared his throat loudly.

“Wouldn’t protest?” Light turned around sharply, feeling annoyed at L’s assumption. The words ‘I’m not your servant!,’ hovered on his parted lips but died there when, somehow, he saw L clearly. The man was too proud to ask directly for what he wanted. They had managed to connect in a way that wasn’t only detective and suspect, jailer and prisoner. Light had felt it, too, and he craved kindness after his long isolation, this ongoing tense situation.

He watched L for a moment and quietly said, “Alright, but no cuffs when I do it.” He smirked and added, “And no more lollipops in bed.”

“I agree to the cuffs, but I can’t make any promises about the lollipops,” L joked, smiling as he sat up and pulled the towel over his head. He picked up the chain, staring at it for a second or two before clasping it onto Light’s cuff. However, instead of immediately pulling away, his hand lingered on the man’s wrist. “…thank you, Light,” he mumbled, the sound barely a whisper as he lowered his gaze and pulled his hand away, standing up straight.

Light grinned and tossed L a towel since the man was dripping water everywhere. So it didn’t kill you to say it after all.

“You’re welcome.”

#death note #light yagami #l lawliet #my writing #collaboration #resilicns #deathnotetober #lawlight

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imtryingmybeskar · 3 years

Text

Chapter Nine of In Time. I did not think I would be posting this so soon after the last chapter but this is what I do when I work nights it seems. 18+ only. Mild TWs for sickness and mention of spousal death, but nothing like the last chapter. Little bit of angst, little bit of fluff. I hope you enjoy! I guess I should put out there that we are definitely in soft!Pero territory. Word count: 7.6k

Tagging @thisshipwillsail316 @mishasminion360 @cosmicbreathe

The garden was lit only by the orange yellow glow of the sodium streetlights when you emerged back into your own time, the cold brightness of the full moon having been hidden behind the black swirls of clouds that had passed over her face when you and Pero had been here just a few hours ago. It was ridiculous that you already missed him, you knew that. But you did. The thought of your bed waiting cold and empty for you upstairs when he was just a short walk behind you was almost too much to bear. A short walk and a thousand years, you had to keep reminding yourself. And the gulf between you, not just in time, but the pain and sorrow and guilt that he had endured alone for all these years...was there any way back from that? Though he clearly felt affection for you that reached beyond friendship, could he ever truly learn to put the spirits of his wife and child at rest after he had tormented himself with their ghosts for so many years? Could there be any future for you when there was so much past to navigate? There were no answers to be had, particularly when you were getting chillier with every passing moment in your garden, so you reluctantly took yourself to bed, giving into your feelings by sleeping on his side and inhaling his scent from the pillow and telling yourself that everything would be better tomorrow when you could see him again.

It wasn't.

You spent the day in another miserable haze, desperately missing Pero's presence in your house - the way he would ask you questions out of the blue about modern concepts or objects he encountered, his telling of stories from his own life, his dry wit and acerbic humour, just having him nearby to you while you worked or read or cooked. Work seemed all too much again, and you maintained your pretence of a stomach bug, though you may as well have truly been unwell with the way you stuck close to your bed and dozed throughout the day, just waiting for night to fall and the moon to emerge. You did find time to pack a few more bits up for Pero, though. Some chicken breasts, some vegetables, some stock cubes that you debated leaving because of their modern foil wrappings, but which ultimately you decided to bring with you purely based on how happy it would make him. A metal tea pot that had been all but forgotten about at the back of one of your cupboards, a large metal saucepan, and some crockery and cutlery to replace those that had been taken from him completed your gifts. At the last moment you also added one of the larger knives you had in the set your sister had given you as part of a housewarming gift. You had no idea how he skinned the animals he caught, but you assumed stainless steel would probably be a better choice of blade than whatever he was currently using.

After you dressed in your usual layers of faux Medieval garb, you took the arrow and the new sack of gifts and made your way eagerly through the emerging thick velvet blackness at the end of your garden. All was still and quiet at the other end, the forest once again displaying signs of fairly recent snowfall and the bare branches of the trees standing starkly against the beautiful pale blue of the wintery sky. Your steps became faster the closer you got to Pero's cottage, until you were all but running as you crested the incline where you would see his house below. As you made your way toward his cottage, you noticed that he had tided up his vegetable patch once more and that the general area in front looked more kept and lived in again. More than a few days had passed since you were last here, for sure. As you reached the thick material that covered the doorway, you were surprised by yet another change - an actual piece of wood now stood behind the drape, rough hewn and without any form of lock that you could see, but with strong and beautifully crafted metal hinges, and certainly recognisable as an actual door. It was so like Pero, you reflected with an amused shake of your head. To do as much of a task as he could independently, when he had told you outright that he had the money to pay someone to make the whole damn thing for him from scratch.

You knocked, eagerly. "Pero?" you called. "Pero, its me. Are you there?" There was no answer from inside and you knocked once more before pushing the door open. The stench of the interior assaulted your nostrils once again, even smellier and more stifling than before. Presumably because he now had even less ventilation with the addition of his door, you mused. It took a few moments for your eyes to adjust to the dimness of the interior after the dazzling brightness of the sun's reflection on the snow outside but when it did-

"Pero!" you exclaimed, dropping your sack to the floor with a clang and running to where he lay haphazardly on his wooden pallet of a bed. His eyes did not open as you flung yourself down next to him, and you feared the worst until you stroked over his neck and found his pulse thrumming wildly under your fingers. He had allowed the hair on his face and head to grow shaggy and both they and his skin ware slick with sweat, but he was also clammy and cold and his blankets lay in disarray around him. His fire had burnt down to embers once more, and you poked them with a stick to try to encourage them to glow a little more before putting the wood in the fire to burn. He was too heavy for you to move entirely, but you managed to disentangle the blanket from him and before you wrapped him up once again, you anxiously checked his neck and armpits for the telltale lumps and his hands and feet for any signs of discolouration, and breathed a sigh of relief when all seemed to be normal. It was centuries too early for the Black Death, but you imagined that bouts of plague were still not unheard of in this time. His cup lay next to his pallet and there was some water left inside. You raised his head on to your lap and brought it to his lips for him to drink if he could, desperately hoping that he had remembered your stern lectures about boiling all of his water when he returned here. As you worked, your mind was whirring furiously and by the time you had wet his lips and laid his head gently down again, you had made up your mind. "I'll be back, Pero," you murmured, wanting to kiss his head, but at the same time extremely wary of whatever sickness he might be carrying.

As you tore back to the tree, your mind compiled a list of everything you would need. Empty the medicine cabinet. Just take it all, regardless of what was in there. Your big 2 litre reusable water bottle. Pillows and cases. Sheets. Towels. Matches. A torch and a supply of batteries. Surgical masks and gloves. Hand sanitiser (thank goodness for the plague in your own time, you thought cynically). And then...additional clothes for you both. Toothbrushes and toothpaste (that you had felt pathetic about not being quite ready to throw away Pero's toothbrush as soon as he left now turned into a feeling of gratitude that you had not). The bars of soap you had bought for him before he had decided he wanted the raspberry scented shower gel. The power bank for your phone. Because if you were going to get him back to health you would have to settle in to stay with him in his own time for a while, and though a part of your brain was decrying you for a hypocrite for wanting to bring so many incongruous items back with you when you had questioned Pero so intensely over something as simple as the honey jar, you were damned if he was going to die for a lack of basic medical treatment and care. You flung yourself through the passageway and back into your house, grabbing the large rucksack you had used to go travelling with Amy a few years back and stuffing it full of provisions. You were acutely aware that every minute that passed here could translate to hours for Pero and you had to force your mind from panic back to rational calm several times in order to make sure you had everything you needed, potentially for weeks or even months.

When you emerged back into the past, it was completely dark. Not only had you never been in this time after sunset, you had never been alone in the woods after dark full stop. The moon was full in this time too, but black clouds were also present and stunted what little light you did have to see by. The snow on the ground looked oddly purple in the gloom and the darkness seemed almost a living entity, it was that thick and encompassing. The shadows of the trees against the sky played tricks on your eyes and you jumped a foot in the air when you heard the nearby screech of an owl. The throbbing headache that had settled when you had come through the passageway three times in rapid succession wasn't helping anything either. You removed the torch from the bag and hoped that there was no one else foolish enough to be wandering around the woods on this Winter's night to see it's glare. Even though there had been no fresh snowfall, and you could see some evidence of where you had moved through here before, everything still looked very different under the moonlit shadows and you sent a prayer to whomever might be listening that you did not lose your way, else you would die here, just as surely as Pero might. That disquieting thought urged you on ever more quickly and you almost wept with relief as you found the now-familiar incline. You had gone off course a little too much to the left, but it was definitely the right place.

As you re-entered Pero's house it was to find him in exactly the same position that you had left him. Once again you stroked down the coarse hair at his neck and checked his pulse, and once again it beat out against your fingers. Perhaps you had only been gone a few hours after all. The enormity of the tasks before you stretched out and you sighed out a deep breath before beginning your work. After wetting his lips with water again and putting a pillow behind his head, you stoked and built up his fire some more before gathering some clean, untrodden snow into the large pot you had brought and putting it over the fire to boil. You didn't fancy stumbling around in the dark trying to find the closest bit of the stream to Pero's house, and besides you were almost sure that it would be frozen given how cold it was.

After setting out the contents of the medicine cabinet that you had swept into the bag, you took stock of what was there. Bandages and sterile wipes. Plasters. VapoRub. The remnants of a course of antibiotics that you hadn't completed but were still in date. Some powdered cold and flu remedies. Paracetamol and ibuprofen. A ginger balm that you occasionally used on your back muscles when you had period pain (at this point you cursed yourself for forgetting pads. Even though your IUD meant fewer and lighter periods, you had no doubt that this was exactly the time that you would be hit with a terrible one). Nail scissors. Tweezers. A strip thermometer. Antihistamines. Not a pharmacy by any means, but all useful in their own way. While you didn't know exactly what was wrong with him, hydration was always a good place to start. You brought out your full bottle and manoeuvred yourself so his head was in your lap again, then tried to encourage him to sip from the straw at the top. At first, he didn't respond at all. Then he moaned softly and weakly tried to push the bottle away from his face.

"You have to drink," you said, your voice low and full of worry and muffled a little behind the mask you were wearing. "You won't get better unless you drink." He muttered something in Spanish, his voice strangely high pitched. "Come on, Pero," you encouraged him. "Please do this for me." He muttered something again, but this time when you brought the straw to his lips he managed to suck a few small mouthfuls of water in. "That's good," you said soothingly. "We will get you up and about soon, don't you worry." His eyes fluttered open, and even with the cloudy incomprehension within them, his sweaty locks sticking to his forehead, and the high colour in his cheeks against the paleness of the rest of his face that wasn't covered with beard, he was so very beautiful to your eyes. "Hi," you whispered, hoping he could see the smile in your eyes. He stared up at you for a few moments before his own eyes closed again and he resumed his deep sleep.

It was a long night. The snow you gathered took a fairly short time to melt but an interminably long time to boil and then for all that effort it seemed to cool much too quickly after you took it off the fire. You put a sheet down as best you could on Pero's thin straw mattress, rolling him gently this way and that to get it underneath him, and then you tucked him back under the blankets you had bought together the last time he had been with you. After recording his temperature at almost 41 degrees Celsius, you frequently passed a cool, damp flannel over his face and tried to get him to drink a few more times. You filled the pot with fresh snow again, but this time when it melted you added it to the heavy black cooking pot and put in the chicken, vegetables and some of the stock cubes you had brought. It was hardly a nourishing bone broth, but it would do as a basic chicken soup for you both for a day or two. Despite your worry for him you found yourself becoming sleepy in the hot, close air of the room and had to go out a few times to gulp down lungfuls of cold, crisp air to wake up again, but after your head jerked up from an impromptu nap for the third time, you decided to make up your own bed. Not wanting to sleep on the frozen, bare earthen floor if possible, you cleared his table and sat on it to see if it would hold your weight. It was sturdy and didn't even creak in protest that much at your test. After setting up your own pillow and the sleeping bag you had brought, you turned on to your side to face Pero. He seemed to be resting a little easier to your eyes and you hoped against hope that he would wake up the next day.

Your own sleep was dreadful, not only because of the heat and the hard and unforgiving surface underneath you, nor even because of your worry for Pero, but also because you would invariably jerk awake at every little unfamiliar noise that surrounded the cottage. And there were a lot of them in the forest. By the time you got up from the table, groaning at your aches and pains and trying to stretch them out of your muscles and bones, you had half convinced yourself that an entire pack of wolves had tried to gain entry overnight. As the needs of your bladder made themselves known and you reluctantly moved away from the house into a small thicket of bushes, you found yourself hoping that Pero had some form of chamber pot that you could use. Baring your arse to the forest in the middle of winter was really not much fun and you didn't even want to think about what you would have to do when you really needed to go. Did he have his own cess pit built somewhere? And how the hell did those things work anyway? Did you go in there directly or what? You sighed as you stood, and began to truly appreciate Pero's wonderment at your toilet. You washed your hands as best you could with one of the bars of soap and more fallen snow, your fingers tingling and painfully red with the cold. When you got back inside, you again put your mask on and lifted Pero's head into your lap to get him to drink. After he gulped down a few more pitiful mouthfuls, he resumed his sleep and you changed his sweat-stained pillow case before you gently rested his head on it once more. In between hauling seemingly infinite amounts of snow to boil, you bundled Pero up and aired the house as best you could without it losing all the heat within. He moaned softly again when he felt the icy wind against his damp curls and you began to second guess yourself as to the best thing to do. Thus far you had been doing the very basics for him, but without knowing the true nature of his illness you could not address it in a more focused and better way. What you really needed was for him to tell you what had happened and how he felt, and for that he needed to get better enough to wake up and be lucid. It was a horrible chicken and egg kind of predicament, but you put it from your mind as best you could and washed the pillow case with the bar of soap and some leftover tepid water and hung it over the back of one of his chairs to dry.

Eventually, the third time you pressed him to take some water, his eyes opened and you could see the shadow of himself in them, though they were still hazy with feverish confusion. He shied away from you at first, his face filled with fear and scrabbling feebly at the sheets. "It's okay Pero, its me," you reassured him.

"C-Coneja?" he husked, beautiful hope blooming across his face. "You are come?"

"Yes," you smiled. "I'm here to take care of you. You're sick. I don't know what with. So I'm wearing this when I am near you to try to make sure I don't get sick too. How do you feel, Pero?"

"Weak," he breathed. "In pain. I am too hot and too cold. My head and my throat-" He dissolved into dry, wracking coughs and took some more water once they had died down.

"Were you sick? I mean like being sick? Vomiting?" He nodded weakly. "Sounds like a bad flu to me," you guessed. "You need a lot of water and a lot of rest. Food if you can stomach it. We'll get you through it, don't worry."

"I have...known others who have had this...sickness," he said breathlessly. "Some of them, they died-"

"You're not going to die, Pero. I'll take care of you. First of all, I need you to drink this. It is a thing that helps with flu in my time and I put some honey in it to help your throat. And to take the taste away. It's pretty gross." You helped him to a sitting position and he took the proffered mug with shaky hands and drank the warm liquid down in one go, making a face as he did so. "Can I lift your shirt? I have a balm that might help your pain." He was unable to lift his arms very high without wincing, so you took the ginger balm on the tips of your fingers and slid them under his shirt instead, gently massaging it into his back. He grunted and went suddenly boneless under your touch.

"F-feels so good. So warm. So-" He dissolved into a hacking cough again.

"Don't talk too much," you instructed him. "Just relax. Here, lie back down." You took the half empty jar of VapoRub and passed it gently under his nose. "Can you smell that, Pero?"

"Si. A...little," he wheezed.

"Good, that's good," you soothed. "This will feel strange on your chest. It will feel very cold and then warm. It should help you breathe more easily." Pero nodded and allowed you to reach under his shirt at the front as well. On occasion when you had been spooning him, you had awoken to find your hand resting on his bare stomach, and had loved the feeling of the trail of hair at his navel under your fingers. But you had never touched his naked skin any higher than that, and at this moment you were trying very hard to focus on the fact that he was sick and you were trying to help. Because the feeling of his soft, fever-touched skin on yours, the dips and hollows of his clavicle and when you accidentally brushed your wrist against his nipple and he shivered under you with something that wasn't cold - all of it came together to make your own skin feel like it was ablaze and thoughts of making him feel better were quickly supplanted by other thoughts of how else you might take care of him. Even through the haze of his illness, you thought that he might have some idea of what was on your mind, and you tried your best to maintain an air of professionalism as you cleared your throat and removed your hands from him. "Rest, Pero," you urged, and he hummed sleepily as his eyes closed again at your instruction.

As the day progressed you began to truly understand why he had said your time had felt like a dream to him. You really hadn't done much at all - making sure the fire kept blazing, checking on the soup, fetching clean snow for water, making sure Pero was as comfortable as could be and trying to make him drink whenever he stirred. But despite the warm room, the iron cold seeped into your bones and cramped your tense muscles whenever you left the house and you could feel the effort your body made to restore warmth to you each time. Your back began to hurt from collecting the snow, lugging the metal saucepan around, tending to the fire and bending over the cooking pot. You weren't worried too much about food at the present time, but the need to provide Pero with more meat at some point in the future and just how you were to do that when you had never hunted in your life was an annoyingly itchy thought that wouldn't be dislodged from the back of your mind. All of this was compounded by the lack of proper rest you had had since you came back here and you regarded your uncomfortable makeshift bed with distaste, even as you could see no real way of making it any better.

When Pero woke up a second time, he was still very unwell, but the thermometer told you his fever was slightly less. He pushed weakly at the blankets that enveloped him and you tried to stop him until he managed to wheeze out that he needed to piss, at which point a (thankfully empty) vessel that he used as a chamber pot was finally revealed to have been lurking in a dark shadow of the room. You helped him to stand and then to make his way to it, where you left him stood propped against the wall and made your way outside for a few chilly moments. Part of you recognised that clinging to your own notions of privacy in a one room house occupied by two people was foolish, but you weren't quite ready to breach that particular divide just yet. When you came back in he was shuffling slowly back to bed, one hand on the wall and one clutching at the chair as he passed it. You helped him back into his cot, and sanitised his hands for him even as he was already drifting back to sleep. And so the day progressed. Pero half woke, then rested, then half woke again. You fed him the chicken broth and another flu remedy and he kept it all down, which you took to be a good sign. As he slept, you found yourself fighting a losing battle against the heat of the house, which once more had your eyes feeling like they wanted to close on quite a few occasions during the course of the day.

You awoke with a start to the sound of Pero crying out in Spanish. He was jabbering madly in the midst of whatever fever dream he was experiencing, and the only words you could pick out with any certainty were "Dios" and "perdoname". You swiftly came to him, so worried at this new turn of events that you forgot to don any kind of mask before you brought him more water and wiped his face with the damp cloth again. When he felt your attentions, his eyes shot open and you could have sworn he was entirely lucid for a few brief moments until he called you "Maria" and once again begged for your forgiveness. You soothed him, made him drink and tried to settle him again, stroking his sweat-damp curls from his face and shushing him gently as you would a child. Before he fell back into his deep sleep, his too-bright eyes met yours once again and he tried to reach for your face as he whispered something which you understood quite well and which threatened to spill the tears that had already begun to prick at your eyes. "Mi amor…mi amor."

"Si, Pero," you whispered. "I am here." But he was already unconscious once again. You only wished you could have spoken to him entirely in Spanish so that his illusion could have been complete.

Time jumped ahead in bizarre pockets. Without much natural light outside and with the inside of the house permanently lit by the flames of the fire and the candles around, it became difficult to have a sense of time passing properly. While you had your phone, without the satellites that provided all the information to it you could not be certain that it was making an accurate account of the time and therefore your only real markers were the needs of your own body and the unmistakeable progress that Pero was making in getting better. The previous night he had slept through without incident and when you had woken that morning (on what you believed to be the fourth day since you had been here) you had checked his temperature to find his fever had broken. Now that you weren't quite so worried that he might die in his sleep, you realised that you hadn't bathed beyond a basic strip wash since you had been here. You had gotten used to the smell of the house pretty quickly now that you were also occupying it, but your own smell was now starting to creep unpleasantly into your nostrils and you decided that it was time to remedy it.

When you stepped outside snow was falling again in a softly dreamy kind of way, making the surrounding forest grey and pearlescent through the bare black trees. Upon investigation of the immediate area outside his house the first day you had arrived, you had discovered a few gardening tools, some additional firewood that you had brought inside to dry out...and a giant wooden tub that would absolutely serve as a bath (and probably did). By the time you had dragged it inside, filled the kettle, pan and some of the bath with snow and stoked the fire so that the roaring flames would heat the water as quickly as possible, you were drenched in sweat, and had rarely cherished the thought of anything more than sinking down into hot water and relaxing. Even though Pero was still mostly sleeping during the day you didn't want to take any chances, and so rigged a makeshift curtain by placing the two chairs on top of the table at opposite ends and draping two of the sheets you had brought over them. While the water was warming, you changed his bedclothes once again, and he merely groaned without waking as you manhandled him gently this way and that to coax the sweat-stained linen from under his body. You had brought some of his more modern clothes with you, and you wrestled him out of one t shirt and into a clean one too, the idea being that you would wash the clothes in your bathwater. It wasn't ideal, but given how long it took to haul snow and heat the water, you were inclined not to care too much, and would have been amused at how quickly your modern notions of cleanliness were supplanted if you weren't so damn weary. Washing Pero had been strictly limited to brief, above the waist sponge baths but once he was up and about you had every intention of providing him with a proper hot bath too. You had brought along the apple shampoo that he had been so fond of and looked forward to his delight in using it again.

After the first load of boiling water was ready, you hauled snow for a second and a third, and by the time the bath was moderately full it wasn't hot so much as acceptably warm, but you were too eager and too tired to care. Stripping off, you added your soiled clothes to the pile to be washed and as you sank into the water, you made a noise comparable to Pero had when he had first tasted ice cream. Your head lolled back against the uncomfortable wood of the tub. It was rounded, so you couldn't stretch out your legs fully and when you submerged yourself as fully as you could, your breasts still bobbed above the waterline. It felt like absolute heaven, and you lay like that for an indeterminate amount of time.

Just as you were debating adding the water you had boiled for tea to the bath in order to sit there a little longer, you heard the voice from the shadows. "Who is there?" the hoarse whisper came from Pero's bed and you inwardly gave a sad sigh. Pero's fever meant that he didn't seem to be able to retain the knowledge that you were here with him. Either he didn't seem to recognise you when he awoke, or he would forget and it would be a surprise all over again when you spoke to him. Or he thought you were his dead wife, but thankfully that hadn't happened more than once.

"It's me, Pero," you reminded him. "I'm here with you."

"Little rabbit?" he croaked in surprise and you heard the scrabbling of blankets as he moved around.

"Yes. You have been sick. I've been taking care of you." The swill of water from your bottle and the sound of him sipping from its straw came before you heard the creak of his pallet as he moved around.

"It must be you," he muttered, so low as to be almost to himself. "Who else would have a container for water such as this?" Then more loudly, "What are these sheets? Why do you hide, coneja?"

"I'm...in the bath." You were slightly embarrassed. Not at your nudity or his proximity to it, but at the feeling that you had been caught napping, even though you had been diligent in your care of him.

He chuckled, and the sound was delightful music to your ears. "A bath? Here?! You must have wanted very badly to wash. But why did you not simply wait until you were in your own time when things are far easier?"

"Pero, I-" You paused, not really knowing how to break the news to him. "You have been sick for a while. I think I have been here for four days."

A sharp intake of breath. "But the door in the tree..."

"I haven't been able to leave you to check, but I don't think its open right now. I brought some things back with me to make life a little more comfortable because I assumed I would be here for a little while." You heard the creak of the pallet again and also of the table, and then his voice came from higher up than before.

"You stayed? For me?"

"Of course. I came to see you the day after you left. Well...it was the day after for me. When I got here you were passed out on your bed, very feverish but also with chills. You have been in and out of consciousness. Do you remember anything at all? And how long has it been for you since we last saw each other?" As you spoke, you began to wash with the bar of soap, now wanting to see Pero properly more than you wanted to sit in rapidly cooling water.

"It has been a little over a month for me," he said quietly before you heard him take another sip of water. "Christmas had been and gone before I returned here. By your calendar I think we are in February. Spring shall arrive soon, we can hope. As for what I remember...it is very unclear. I think I remember you being here and feeding me soup, but I thought it a dream at the time. I thought I saw a monster once. It had your eyes but not the rest of your face. And I think I remember..." He faltered and seemed to change what he had been about to say. "Did...did you put something on me? On my back?"

"Yes," you affirmed, now rubbing shampoo into your hair. "And other stuff on your chest. I hope they helped."

"I think all has helped," he said, a little gruffly. "This sickness passes everywhere over the land every Winter. And every Winter many die from it. I am fortunate that you found me." You heard him shuffle a little more. "My muscles ache still, but from lack of use and lying in bed, not from the sickness." A thought seemed to strike him. "Where have you been sleeping?"

"On your table," you confessed, embarrassed again for no reason that you could discern. "I brought pillows for us both and I have a sleeping bag."

"Sleeping ba-Oh this thing I suppose?" The distinct rustle came to your ears just before you dipped your head under the water to rinse your hair out. He waited until you had stopped sloshing before he asked "Were you not very uncomfortable?"

"Yes, but where else could I have slept? The ground is too cold and I was scared to sleep too close to the fire in case I rolled over into it, stupid as that sounds."

"Well," Pero cleared his throat, "Now I can offer you a space in my bed just as you offered me a space in yours. It is not as comfortable, nor as big. But I think it is better than the table."

Finally finished with your bath you stood, the water cascading down your form and you tried not to think too much about the silhouette against the sheets that Pero was probably seeing at this moment. "Thank you," you replied as you grabbed the towel from where you had hung it. "But I think you need your space to get better for a few more days. Then we'll renegotiate."

"Oh how I missed you and your strange words, coneja," he said with amusement. You dressed hurriedly in some fleece-lined leggings and a long sleeved thermal top, and with your hair twisted up in a small towel you felt distinctly unsexy as you rounded your makeshift privacy barrier. But the smile Pero gave when he saw you banished all other thoughts from your mind except about how much you had missed him too and you threw yourself at his chest and hugged him close. He gave a little exhalation of surprise at the fierceness of your embrace and the hand that wasn't supporting him against the table came around to hold your back. "You...missed me as well?" he enquired, a cheeky edge to his words.

"Very much," you confessed. "Now, lets work on getting you fully better."

Pero sat at the table to eat the porridge that you had prepared earlier in the day. You also provided him with a little of the dried fruit to make it interesting and some hot tea to drink as well as another sachet of cold and flu medicine mixed with honey. While he ate and drank, you began the washing and chattered away to him as you did. In a brief lull in the conversation you looked up to find him regarding you with a small smile on his face. "Apart from your clothes, you look like you belong here in this time," he remarked.

"Well I certainly don't feel like it," you grinned. "I am NEVER taking my washing machine and shower for granted again!"

"You look forward to going home already?" Pero enquired. His voice was light but you could hear the leaden meaning behind them.

"Home, yes. Leaving you, no," you replied honestly, your eyes back on the work in front of you. "But you might have to put up with me for a few weeks yet!"

Pero began to regain his strength swiftly (through sheer bloody mindedness more than anything, you suspected) and three days later he insisted on accompanying you to the yew tree to check it. As soon as you arrived, you could tell there was no passageway. You could see into the hole of the tree clearly, and see the back of it. Nonetheless you groped into it just in case, disturbing a spider's web and causing Pero to chuckle at your consternation. The weather was becoming better, you supposed. The snow was replaced with occasional heavy rain showers and the cold grew less fierce. The stream was finally accessible, and water was more plentiful than it had been before. He began to teach you how to forage, and your daily walks through the forest together in search of food and to check for the passageway back to your time increased his strength and recovery even more. He allowed you to help him cut his hair and beard, and once he had shaved you could see how much weight he had lost from his illness, and presumably from the less than easy access to sweet treats he now had.

Once he felt better, he would not hear of you sleeping on the table or the floor any longer, and insisted again that you share his bed. But you prevaricated and begged just a few more days to make absolutely sure that he was entirely better. The only thing that convinced him to give you a little more time was when you brought up the prospect of you potentially getting sick if you shared his space too soon. In truth, the memory of him thinking you were his wife and the way he had called her "my love"...well, it still felt a little too raw for you to be as intimate with him as you had been in your home. Being back in this time made her death seem entirely more real to you - the distance between two decades and a millennium never more starkly felt by a person, except for Pero himself of course. In your time, what had happened was a horrible tragedy. But it was still a story, a tale told of a thousand years ago. Here...here she probably still had blood relatives still alive, people who mourned her, her body only just decomposed and her bones still in the ground. Whenever your thoughts spun this way, you would wrench your mind away and try to focus on whatever was in front of you at the time. Which right now was Pero once again trying to talk you into not sleeping on the table. You could see that he was getting frustrated with what he perceived to be your stubbornness, and his voice became a little more harsh and imbued with anger as he spoke.

If you do not wish to sleep this close to me, then I sleep on the floor. I have slept in far worse places when I was a soldier."

"I'm not taking your bed away from you when you're sick-"

"I am not sick. Not any more. I am hale once again and I will not see you be in pain when you wake any longer!" As you tried to think of a new and better excuse, he cocked his head at your silence. "You do not wish to be near to me." It was a statement of fact.

"No, it's...its not that. I-I-"

"Come, coneja. How you would say? Spew it up?"

You gave a small giggle, despite yourself. "Spit it out, Pero."

"Yes, that. Do you feel you cannot tell me things?" He stepped a little closer to you, the morning sun streaming through the open doorway lighting his eyes with the beautiful amber hues you loved so much. "We can talk about anything, we two," he reassured you in a more gentle tone.

"Its about your wife," you blurted out, and from his expression you could tell that he had been prepared for an answer along those lines. He took your hands in his much larger ones.

"Coneja-" he began, in a placating tone.

"No, Pero. Its me. I mean, its her. I mean...you thought I was her. When you were sick. I think. You called me "Maria". And I think being here has made me understand what you must have gone through a little more. You told me how hard life was here, but you can't understand that properly until you live it. It is somehow more real here, even though this isn't my reality. When you were very sick, I was so scared that you would die. I've never had to think that way before. But you had to live through that and...and I understand more now why you can't let go of her-"

"No. You have it wrong for once," he interrupted gently, a melancholy smile ghosting over his lips. "I did dream of her, it is true. Even before you came to visit this time. Standing bright and shining with a smiling child in her arms. I said my goodbyes to her. Finally, I put them to peace in my heart. You told it true when you said that I would always have love for them. But you also made me see that my life does not have to be over. She would not want it so. She who was so full of the joy of living. She loved me, as so few have in this life, and she would wish for my happiness on this earth." His hand came to stroke your cheek and he looked deep into your eyes as he continued to speak softly. "I do not ask you to share my bed in that way right now. I only wish for you to have what little comfort I can offer you in this time and place. Things cannot change quite so quickly. But they are changing for me, and I tell you again that I feel for you that which is almost unknown to my heart." He bent and placed a tender kiss on your forehead. "You are so kind," he murmured. "I am lucky to know you, coneja. And if it be that you no longer find me pleasing in that way, I hope you will still be my good friend who will visit a grumpy old soldier and bring joy to his life. And that you will accept my offer of not sleeping on the hard table any more. If you do not wish to be near me in that way, we can take turns-"

"No, Pero. I-I still find you pleasing," you confessed. "But..." You hesitated once again. Pero waited, his eyes searching yours and his face open and kindly. You swallowed hard and forced yourself to continue. "After you called me her name, you called her "my love". I don't want to tell you how you feel, but perhaps you aren't so ready to let her go?"

Pero smiled down at you, and though you had seen him be happy before, it was nothing compared to this. The sun of his joy broke through the clouds of his so often-frowning features and it was as if you were the only thing he could see or wanted to see in the entire world. "No, little rabbit," he whispered huskily. "In that moment I saw you and I knew you. I reached for you because I was frightened and you are the one who keeps the darknesses at bay.You are mi amor."

Next Chapter

#pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x ofc #pero tovar fanfiction #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar #the great wall fanfiction

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blitheringmcgonagall · 3 years

Text

20 questions Writer’s Edition

@of-stars-and-moon and @velvethopewrites thanks for the tag!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

508,562

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Harry Potter Marauders Era and a crossover with LOTR

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

We Can Be Heroes

(Canon Jily & Wolfstar - from The Prank to Halloween 1981)

Sirius Black seemed to have broken the Marauders after revealing Remus Lupin's secret to Snape, James Potter was failing miserably in what his friends called Prongs Pursuing Evans, and Lily Evans was realising she may have misjudged certain people. Voldemort and his followers were beginning to show an interest in the Marauders. All was not well...

Maybe I waited too long

(Medical marauders - Jily & Wolfstar)

Dr. James Potter and Dr. Sirius Black had gotten their lives and careers back on track after the nightmare that followed the collapse of Slytherin Pharmaceuticals, and moved abroad to work in Dublin to get away from painful memories. But they find themselves confronted by their past, their lost loves and arch enemies.

Birthday Blues

(Happy canon Wolfstar)

Sirius is turning sixty and he is appalled...

Nah, He Didn’t

(BlackEvans broTP)

“So then as he’s so clearly not interested in me, if he ever really was-“

The dog dropped his head onto the grass and whined loudly.

“I decided the only way to address this was by us both dating other people. Excellent idea, I thought,” she said.

The dog looked at her as though she had grown two heads.

The New Boyfriend

(Medical marauders au - Wolfstar)

Sirius hears about Remus' new boyfriend

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do, all the time, because I’m so happy when I read a beautiful comment I have to thank you! Also some comments are hilarious and need a banter-filled reply, right??

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Halloween 1981 - Canon Marauders Ending

It’s awful, in the way “canon” is awful: first of all from Lily and James’ PoV, then from Sirius’ PoV and finally from Remus’ PoV 🥺🥺🥺🥺

7. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Well, We Can Be Heroes ends with a much better ending than canon which is now my canon! Otherwise maybe Have Yourself A Merry Little Wolfnoote has very cute James and Harry moments at the end which I shamelessly love!

8. Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I’ve only ever written one, for @therealrjlupin : a lord of the rings / marauders crossover called Ithildin and Silmë !!

9. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yeah not much, only relating to We Can Be Heroes I think? Once a weirdo big rant on ff.net saying I was going to hell… pretty sure because it had Wolfstar in it. I felt a bit sorry for the person, they may have been unwell, it was a really huge long thing. I got it deleted.

Then the odd “I hate the way you write Snape” which is A MASSIVE COMPLIMENT SO THANK YOU! And the odd “I don’t like the way your Lily is such a strong woman, she’s making James look weak” which is hilarious and James Potter would be snorting at your ridiculousness and making heart eyes at Lily.

10. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Nope, because I think in my job I wouldn’t feel comfortable if it ever got out 😂!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No thankfully.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes I had The Graham Norton Christmas Special - Snily vs Risky translated into Chinese!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yeah a Wolfstar fic with a few great writers called All’s Well That Ends Well but then removed my name from it due to the work thing as above, lol!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Jily (Wolfstar is either joint favourite or a close second)

15. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

None!

16. What are your writing strengths?

Ugh I hate this question - Maybe understanding a character’s childhood/ psychological background and how that impacts on their personality and behaviours, why we do what we do? (I feel it helps me write characters)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Again, very hard to know as I’m not objective! I think writing chapters that are too long!

18. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’ve written Italian!James saying a few sentences in Italian in A Little Risk (the murder mystery 1930s anti fascist fic) and Sirius speaking in French and Lily speaking (and cursing) in Irish in We Can Be Heroes but not a huge chunk of dialogue!

19. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter Marauders (Jily)

20. What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

We Can Be Heroes is my baby and my favourite, closely followed by the medical marauders AU because medical Jily & Wolfstar is such fun to write, plus like WCBH, it has some real life inserts 😉!

Tagging @mollymarymarie @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world @tumbledfreckles @stonecoldhedwig @nymphadoratonqs @corinnesamuels @chierafied @sisforsammi @letthebookbegin @missgryffin @fromtiime @moonzelle @alittlebitofeverything23 @isahorcrux @justfinishthis @booksarelife-stuff @lorrainebow @itsvioletttt @jilyesplz @oyprongs @cesays and anyone else who wants to!

#tag games #loveliest tumblr friends #writers asks #marauders #Jily and Wolfstar #wolfstar & jily

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janekfan · 4 years

Text

Chronic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27802141

Thank you @taylortut for helping me!!!

Jon looked at the clock.

537.

The glowing numbers burned themselves into his retinas. How had it been less than an hour since last he’d checked? No use for it. Better to get himself up and ready for work. But he’d closed his eyes against the headache blaring like a klaxon and he’d have to open them again at some point.

Taking advantage of his lonely flat, Jon allowed himself to indulge the noise pushing its way through grit teeth as he maneuvered his sore legs from under the quilt. He sat a moment, pressing the bare soles of his feet on the cold floor and levering his heavy body upright with a shaking arm.

Exhausted.

And it’s only--a quick glance.

544.

The hell was wrong with him?

Since just before accepting the position as Head Archivist, and rightly pissing off both Sasha and Tim on her behalf, Jon felt like he’d been constantly coming down with something. Dizzy and nauseous and unable to eat, he was chronically exhausted and while he’d never slept well at the best of times, it was evading him more than ever.

And there were his mornings. Struggling to motivate himself out of bed, brushing his teeth with his eyes closed and leaning against the wall. Deciding he could forgo a shower just once more and choosing instead to make breakfast. Forcing himself to eat a piece of dry toast with his heart hammering away in his throat and half laying on the table, panting through his tea. Mentally, Jon prepared himself for the walk to the train, automatically going for his cane because lord knew he needed the support.

He’d get to the Institute hours early.

At least that made him look good?

Taking advantage of being a cane user, Jon opted for a reserved seat, the guilt at truly needing one eating away at his insides. But there were black spots at the corners of his vision and he had to sit down before he fell down and the guilt is a far sight better than causing a scene. The trip was too short. His chest ached from the constant pounding and he pressed the hand not holding his cane for dear life against his breastbone. It didn’t help but the pressure and touch grounded him enough to stand up. To head to the cross street. To wait for the lights to change. To stagger down the stairs and into his office, to drop into his desk chair and focus on every breath of air moving into his body and back out of it.

Jon put his head down. There was no one here. Wouldn’t be for a couple hours yet and he was exhausted, shaking from it. Nauseated. There wasn’t a fever. He’d gone as far as to purchase a thermometer to be certain when the strange symptoms refused to abate no matter how often he let himself rest, no matter the meals he tried his damndest to eat, the water he drank down. He was trying. Jon couldn’t remember ever taking such good care of himself and of course it refused to pay off. In Uni, he’d driven himself into the ground with little consequence. He’d maintained those habits until a few months ago and now--

Muffled voices drifted through his door, the rise and fall of easy conversation. The kind he’d once been allowed to partake in. Laughter filled the air and while Jon wished to join them he knew he wasn’t welcome.

Why had he done it?

Why hadn’t he refused Elias?

Because you’re selfish. You’ve always been selfish. Needy. Greedy, grasping, always striving to know answers and never satisfied with what you're given. You take what you don’t deserve.

Reluctantly, Jon stood, slowly, because doing anything quickly these days has him ducking his head between his legs or waking up on the floor without any recollection of how he came to be there. He could at least collect their research in person, greet them. Try to be the boss they deserved.

Sasha was the boss they deserved.

“Ah, g’good morning.”

“Jon!” Martin, smiling shyly. “You’re here so early!” He began to stammer and Jon’s legs began to ache. This wasn’t a good day. They seldom were anymore. “I m’mean, of course y’you are, you work very hard!” Martin was saved by Tim swinging an arm around his shoulders.

“You’ve broken ‘im, boss.” A flush rose in Jon’s cheeks. He could feel it. “No worries, Marto. He’s always been an early riser.” While it was said in jest, the tone settled heavy in Jon’s chest, directly beside the pain blossoming like a thorny rose. Luckily, he was rescued by Rosie, standing halfway down the stairs and informing him that Elias requested him in his office. Jon didn’t relish the climb, no matter how grateful he was to escape out from underneath Sash’s heavy gaze. She had every right and he would bear his punishment in silence until she chose, if she ever did, to forgive him.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Jon limped out of Elias’ office without any recollection of what they’d spoken about or if he’d even spoken at all. Thumping pain and panic and he knew he was rude to ignore Rosie at her desk but he wasn’t in any shape to hold a conversation, fairly certain that he wasn’t able to currently speak, far too focused on trying to hide how ill he was. But every sound was magnified tenfold in his ears and he could barely remember where the door to the archives was with the way his head reeled and spun. Jon wanted to sink to the ground once he had the door between himself and the lobby but he’d never make it to his feet again after that. Push through, he told himself. Get to your desk. He allowed himself a moment, two, just to put his head to rights, to try and breathe through the battering of his pulse.

And oh god he wasn’t going to make it and he wondered if somehow Elias knew. It was as though he’d kept him standing there talking about nothing until Jon hit his limit, knowing he wouldn’t have the strength to get back to his office.

But he had to try and he’d almost gotten down the ridiculously narrow stairwell before he forgot nearly entirely why he was there in the first place. Was he going up? Down? Meeting with someone? Just arriving? He could barely breathe and the panic welling in his throat was choking and the black was crawling over his eyes and the dizziness only increased and he needed...needed…

For a moment, Jon didn’t recognize where he was, the migraine, the fuzziness, conspiring against memory and reason. But he knew this color, the hideous lick of paint some contractor had splashed over the walls a lifetime ago.

Breakroom?

Wha--

“Jon!” He winced, his own name like broken glass shredding every sense to ribbons. “Christ, are you alright?” Martin, the sounds he made were shrill, grating, and if he’d been able to tell him to be silent, he would have. “We heard the noise--you’d, you fainted! On the stairs! Luckily it was only the last few.” Jon blinked, dull and dumb, forcing himself up, up, up, and through heavy mist and fog in his search for words. Weary to the marrow of his aching bones, Jon slumped on the cushions and tried to think of a way to stop Martin’s incessant chattering. Tim and Sasha, alerted most likely by all the commotion, stood over him and he craned his neck up to look at them. Tim especially looked furious.

“You could have been seriously hurt!”

“S’sorry…” And he was, between his rabbiting heartbeat, throbbing migraine, and difficulty drawing breath into his exhausted lungs, he wanted to cry with how sorry he was.

“This is ridiculous. You need to take better care of yourself.” Jon wasn’t sure why the sting from Tim’s accusation cut so deep and he hung his head, biting trembling lips to prevent the tears threatening to spring free.

It wasn’t fair.

By all accounts he was taking care of himself. More than ever!

“Did you even eat today? Drink anything?” He nodded, miserable, unwell, and equipped with no better answers than the truth.

“Tim. He’s just come to.” The understanding was the final straw, and Jon’s sight blurred with salt damp. “I’ll make sure he eats something before going back to work.”

“Alright, Martin. If he gives you any trouble, call.” At Jon, he pointed. “And you, no trouble.” And he nodded miserably.

“Okay, they’ve gone.” The familiar sounds of the kettle heating filled the room, the clink of a pair of ceramic mugs, the rustling of the tea bags, Martin’s distracted murmuring, all combined to calm him. “How long have you been feeling this way?” Jon looked up, surprised, and shrugged one shoulder, accepting the small plate of biscuits and nibbling slowly and when he finished those, Martin offered up the tea. Sitting with him in companionable quiet, he sipped on his own cup. Nothing more was exchanged and when Jon finished he thanked Martin for the company and locked himself away.

Jon was at wit’s end. Nothing he tried seemed to improve anything and the few times he did speak with a doctor, he was sent away with the same, useless advice, or worse, told he was imagining things, making it up, having panic attacks even though he was familiar with those and this was not that.

Work was a nightmare made even more miserable with the overwhelming amount of paperwork, statements, boxes, misfiled folders and envelopes and items and Jon missed the easy camaraderie and understanding he’d had with Sasha and Tim. Maybe he should resign, try and salvage what little of the relationship they still had, or, or invite them out for dinner, his treat, but Elias would never let him quit and the very idea of entertaining exhausted him. A cuppa appeared at his elbow filled with something new, something floral and slightly sweet, accompanied, as always, by a few biscuits.

“That’s a lot of work, Jon.” He sipped, grateful, lifting an eyebrow in response.

“I knew it would be when I accepted this position.” Undeterred, Martin stumbled forward.

“Y’yeah, I mean, you would have. Of course. I just--” A breath. “I’ve finished with my other assignments, ready for round, uh. Well, another round!”

“Ah. Alright, I’ll bring something over when I pick up your translations.” Martin took back the cup, nodding enthusiastically, and Jon appreciated that it was business as usual, selecting a few he’d been putting off and making his way toward his assistants ignoring inquiring looks in favor of taking the chair Martin offered up to go over his expectations. Short, succinct. A few notes on one translation, advice to remember for next time, and Jon felt reasonably confident Martin could handle himself. It wasn’t until he’d gotten back to his office that Jon realized that was the first time he’d been offered a chair. It was becoming apparent that Martin was good at noticing the little things about them. A blush heated his cheeks and he tried to rub it away, feeling ridiculous that such a small act of kindness made him feel so seen.

Jon pushed forward, ignoring the warnings his body was trying to give him in favor of plowing through his work like he’d always done, and by the time he made it home, was on the verge of collapse. Hot tears of frustration stung at the corners of his eyes, spilling over when Jon allowed himself to feel it. More than anything, he was used to having control over himself, working when he wanted, burying himself in the research, devouring knowledge. Now he was at the whim of his physical form. Paying more attention to it than ever before and never knowing if he was going to wake up and have a good day or a bad day and it was maddening. Managing whatever it was without knowing what it was, was impossible with no rhyme or reason he could discern.

So in the absence of both, Jon kept shoving his way through how difficult it was because if he could just be normal through pretending everything was normal, then it would be.

Jon knew Tim was cross with him and managed to avoid him for most of the day, taking breaks here and there like he’d promised Martin he would do. But his luck, while it had been holding steady, had just run out and he found himself cornered in the breakroom.

“What do you think you’re on about?” Frustration had long since turned to outrage, boiling over.

“Tim, I. I’m not sure what you mean--”

“Damn it, Jon! You’ve already taken on a job you aren’t fit for! You can’t keep heaping your work onto Martin and then swanning off!”

“That’s.” He balled his hands into fists, nails biting crescent moons into his palms. How could he explain when even the doctors thought he was making it all up? Heat rushed through him, top to toe, flushing his face and he wavered, legs threatening to buckle, vision threatening to go dark. He was going to pass out a second time today if he didn’t sit down. But that would mean walking away from Tim, and he didn’t think the man would let him. At least not until he was done telling him off. Better to be silent. Try not to pay attention to how erratic the persistent beating caged behind fragile ribs had become.

“Why didn’t you say no?” Because he wanted to be useful. Because Elias made him feel like he was capable even if he wasn’t. “Why didn’t you just let Sasha have this?” Because he was an awful, selfish person. “God, Jon. Why did you drag us all down here with you?”

Because he was lonely.

Because they’d been friends. Once.

Rather than remind Tim that he was free to go at any time, that he and Sash hadn’t been forced or coerced into accepting positions here in the archives, Jon pressed his lips into a thin line.

“Well?!” Sharp, strident, Tim’s shout echoed around in the space between his own hurting, agonal breaths in his ears.

“I. I, I need to si’down…” wanted to lay down. Wanted to sleep, trembling with exhaustion, about to go down.

“What?” Lashes fluttering as he gripped the thread of consciousness with both hands, he barely registered Tim’s hands around his shoulders, guiding him into a chair and pushing his head down between his knees. “Jon?”

“M’okay…”

“You are clearly not.” A wide palm settled on his back, keeping him folded over. It was helping.

“S’mm...been. S’fine.” The floor came back into focus, all the little cracks and imperfections and Jon counted the streaks in the pattern in an attempt to ground himself but kept losing track of the number. Neither moved until Jon attempted to sit up, slowly, accepting Tim’s help.

“Jon?” He looked spooked, pale. “Please, what’s going on?” His hand settled in the crux of shoulder and neck, thumb ghosting along his clammy skin, and Jon allowed himself to find a morsel of comfort in the familiar gesture, the threat of tears closer than ever. So he reached for him.

“I don’t know.” And Tim pulled away as if burned, the frustration and anger rising in his face again, and Jon was bereft. “T’truly! I--”

“Why won’t you be honest with me? Don’t you trust me?” Standing, he took a step backwards, away from him, the hurt in him a palpable thing. “We’re supposed to be friends!”

Yes. They were friends. It was most likely why for the first time in a long while, the pain in his chest wasn’t a physical ache.

“Tim, I.” Fingers folded to fists to rest on his knees. But he was already gone.

“Jon!” Tentative, Martin lifted his chin. “Oh, oh.” Having been crying, Jon figured his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy and he didn’t bother attempting to hide the evidence. “Alright.” Martin went about making tea, chamomile, herbal and calming, placing it before him on the table with a chocolate digestive. “Drink this down and then go home. It’s half six.”

“Mm.”

“Sleep will help.”

“Mm.”

“I could speak to them for you. If--”

“No!” All but shouted. “No. That won’t be necessary, Martin.” Carefully he stood, paused. “Thank you.” And left.

Jon called off.

Called off again.

Again.

Apologized to Elias in a curt email requesting leave and was granted it.

He ignored his phone. His texts. The knock at the door and Martin’s voice behind it. He slept when he was tired and he was tired often and it was easier besides, to finally listen to the screaming of his body. It was after hours on his fifth day gone when Tim let himself in with the spare key to Jon’s flat.

“Hey.” Sheepish, he held up his hands in surrender, a bag of takeaway from Jon’s favorite place dangling from one. “Martin said you wouldn’t let him in.” Dressed in the most comfortable clothes he had, which were also the shabbiest, Jon glared at him from where he laid on the couch. “I was an arse.” Slowly, he sat up, making Tim wait on purpose, a powerful frown still aimed in his direction.

“You were.” He was aware he looked a mess, greasy hair pulled back in a sloppy bun, but he felt a sight better for the rest he’d gotten.

“Would you accept an apology?” Folding his arms, Jon leaned back into the cushions and fixed his stare at whatever rubbish was on the telly.

“Might do.” Silently, Tim scurried into the tiny kitchen and Jon listened to the familiar sounds of him rooting around for cutlery. It smelled delicious and comforting, a reminder of nights spent together laughing at nothing on this same couch and despite himself, Jon began to relax.

“I’m sorry.”

“Alright.” Tim’s face split in a wide, relieved grin, and he flopped down next to him, planting a loud kiss to his temple before urging him to eat. “Martin sent you here.”

“An angry Marto is not to be trifled with.” Through a mouthful of noodles, Tim chuffed in laughter. “Wouldn’t tell me anything, other than to stop being a prick.”

“He did not.”

“He did not. But it was more than implied!” He put his bowl on the low table in front of them, sitting forward with his hands dangling between his knees. “And he was right. I didn’t give you a fair shake and accused you of awful things. And I know you’re doing your best at this job.”

“Gertrude isn’t making it easy.”

“Neither is your health, I take it.” Jon set his own meal aside, curling into the padded arm.

“No. It isn’t.”

“And you don’t know what’s causing it?��

“I know some things that help. M’Martin has been invaluable.”

“Has he, now?”

“Leave off!”

“Okay, okay.” But he continued giggling as Jon felt his face go hot, muttering.

“He really has.” This time Tim pulled him gently into an embrace.

“Then Sash and I will just have to catch up.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jon sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #sasha james #cane user jon sims #archivist with a cane #chronic illness #undiagnosed #pots #fainting #exhaustion #anxiety #hurt/comfort #internalized ableism

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