#because it's just pain. there's nothing else. I'm just regularly in a little bit of pain.

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

Also. and I mean this seriously. Belle Fox representation for people who do have some kind of chronic illness but don't show it and are extremely energetic and otherwise healthy because whatever's wrong with them doesn't have symptoms like fatigue or weight loss.

#like me! #because it's just pain. there's nothing else. I'm just regularly in a little bit of pain. #it was nice to se #*see #tad #the artful dodger

[captain-mj]

May tumblr endure the pain of all the angst fics on it's sight for eating your askbox.

Well then, I'm really glad you liked the Selkie!Ghost prompt I sent in :D, I loved what you did with it ^^ -X/3NH

(If you want the old prompt just tell me)

Okay new prompt: Ghost is a monster that lives under the bed and in the closets of children. Soap has been the singular person he's haunted, not by choice, just because Soap won't have a single nightmare related to him. In fact, Soap sees him as a friend.

Ghost's kind feeds off nightmares related to them, so he's latched to Soap until he can get a singular nightmare out of him. But Soap is now in 141 and he still hasn't had that nightmare relating to him.

So Ghost now protects Soap because he's grown attached.

(Do what you want w this concept, but I was thinkin Ghost takes a shot for Johnny, but gets that nightmare he wants so bad, it's about him dying in Soap's arms. Ghost's now free, free to choose another contract, but he doesn't want to get anymore nightmares, he wants to be with Soap. (also his family isn't too nice cause "he's the reason SOap doesn't experience nightmares, he's doing it wrong" (No soap is just a massive fan of monsters and doesn't feel scared around them)))

Wow thats a lot, well enjoy ^^

Hello friend! I want to say, I absolutely adore your asks and I'm sorry for always taking so long to answer them! They usually need to be a tad longer than my normal stuff and I want to do them justice! Also, did some very mild experimentation with some formatting/punctuation. Nothing super noticeable but if you notice something looks weird, its on purpose!

Also, Ghost is also a child for the first portion of this. He matures a bit faster but their age gap is only really a year (felt weird writing about an adult monster under some kid's bed)

Ghost had never, ever heard of a kid like Soap. The kid was... well. If changelings were real, Ghost would put money on him being one.

Soap regularly grabbed spiders and played with him. Not the cruel playing of little tyrants that ripped their legs off, but a genuine, loving little thing. He'd pet them and let them crawl over his hands and set them outside when they started to get agitated.

Snakes fascinated him. The first time he managed to see one at school, he came home, sat on the floor and told Ghost all about it. How the scales moved and reminded him of Ghost's arms. Then he asked Ghost if he was a snake which made him lash out and try to yank the kid under the bed.

However, since Soap feared him no more than he feared snakes or spiders or soft kittens, he just went straight through him. It looked more like he tried to pat him than anything else.

Ghost couldn't believe it. Other monsters his age were back home! Bragging! And here he was, taking way too much time.

"I'm going to kill you!"

Soap sighed. "You're always so grumpy. Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?"

"...I guess." Ghost pouted.

Soap smiled at him, radiant. Ghost wondered if he was made out of the sun.

The tea was delicious. He even got biscuits on the side.

"Why do you want me to be scared of you anyway?"

Ghost refused to talk to him about it, worried it would ruin his chances of ever going home. Soap smiled at him.

"Is it like a grade? If you scare me, you get a better grade?"

"Something like that." Ghost agreed. "I need to scare you."

"I will do my best to be scared by you!" Soap smiled at him and finished eating.

On Soap's thirteenth birthday party, far far after when Ghost should be long gone, he asked for some odd things. Horror posters and books about mythology. Ghost knew he was trying to get more information on him, probably to banish him.

Soap never did anything though. He continued to be his friend with so much ease. He also never told anyone else. At some point, Soap realized this was abnormal and instead of panicking like Ghost had hoped or maybe telling someone, he just moved on.

"We're friends. I couldn't endanger you like that." Soap had answered honestly when Ghost asked.

"We are NOT friends."

Soap smiled easily. "I'll get you to admit it one day. I promise." He gently nudged Ghost's shoulder. Ghost hadn't been touched in a while and the fact that Soap could touch him but he couldn't quite touch Soap was... weird. A little scary.

Soap smiled at him gently.

Ghost hated the day that... man put the idea of the military in Soap's head. He inspired Soap apparently. Sent him on this spiral to try to get into the military.

"Fucking hell, Johnny. The military?" Ghost sat on his bed and stretched out. His shadows had shifted from... well shadows into dark clothing. Recently, he had gotten used to adjusting them to look like a leather jacket, leather pants and dark gloves. If this so happened to be exactly like Soap's most recent movie crush, then it was purely coincidental. And if maybe, just maybe, Ghost enjoyed the lingering gazes from Soap, that was also coincidental.

He cropped up in Soap's dreams sometimes, but it was never frightening. The only reason he even knew was because Soap sometimes muttered his name in his sleep.

"It would be great! Going out there, helping people, good innocent people. Going on missions and adventures."

"Your brains being splattered against the ground. Dying. Fucking up and hurting people that don't deserve it." Ghost grinned, ignoring Soap's scrunched up face.

"Stop being such a bawbag. This isn't going to scare me so you're just doing it to be a dick." Soap hit Ghost with a pillow.

Ghost laughed and laid flat on his bed. He went quite when Mrs. MacTavish passed by, asking if either of them needed snacks. "She can't hear me, can she?"

"Course she can. Why couldn't she?" Soap tilted his head.

Ghost frowned. At this rate, he might as well just become human. He already fucking was. "How long?"

"About two years now. She thinks you're super shy." Soap explained, not understanding how terrible this was for Ghost.

Ghost dissolved, slinking under the bed.

"Wait, Ghost!" Soap looked under the bed. "Come on. Are you sad about your family again?"

"LEAVE ME ALONE."

Soap flinched and sighed. "I'll make you tea, okay?" He left Ghost alone for a bit while he did.

Ghost did miss his family. He couldn't go back until he fucking got a stupid nightmare and he was hungry because Soap's dreams were so fucking devoid of any fear. Stupid asshole.

The tea made things a little better.

When Soap finally got everything together to join the military, he was 15. Too young to actually join, but that wasn't going to stop the asshole. He planned to join and Ghost had to go with him.

The problem? While Ghost was roughly 16, he didn't have any papers saying he existed and he couldn't just wait for Soap to come home on his leaves. So he just made some stuff. Fake documents and different things. he was also very, very fleshy. Soap and him had touched hands and his skin felt the same way.

It disgusted him. He really, really hoped that while they were in the military, Soap would learn fear.

But that didn't happen.

Because Ghost was accepted and Soap wasn't.

"You're clearly too young. Try again next year."

Ghost felt his heart drop.

Shit.

This did not occur to him as a possibility.

Soap immediately started in on the man while Ghost sat there, stunned. He tried to smoke away. Dissolve and reappear miles away and back home.

His body refused. Panic flooded him.

No.

Fuck.

Ghost spent... three years? Time was weird. But he bumbled around the military. For the first time... ever, he ate what he was supposed to. Nightmares. None of them were good enough. They weren't Soap. It was better than the nothing he had been experiencing the past 19 years. That's when they reunited again.

Soap flinched when he saw him before hearing him speak and immediately brightening. "Hello... Simon."

"Hello, Johnny."

So Ghost watched out for him. He had to keep him alive and safe. Both because of his job and also because Soap needed to dream of him to set him free.

Soap still dreamed about him. Ghost could hear him speaking his name in the dark of night. Saying it with a tone that Ghost heard other people use in these scenarios. It was different than the playful manner of when they were younger. For some reason, it made Ghost's chest flutter.

Somehow, Ghost became a Lieutenant and Soap became one of his Sergeants. They worked together well and no one ever suspected it was because they were old friends.

Ghost had long since felt human. Any connection he had to being a monster gone. Even if he fed off the fear of his comrades, they weren't exactly Soap. He still had to eat human food and had human problems like cold hands.

Still felt pain.

The bullet went straight through his chest and the blood from his wound splattered all over Soap's face.

Soap's blue eyes widened. He was finally afraid.

It tasted rather bitter.

Ghost collapsed into him and Soap cradled his body. His blood covered them both.

"MEDIC!"

Soap screamed his little head off. So loud and insistent.

Ghost wanted to dissolve. Wanted to sink back into the darkness and hide under Soap's bed again.

"never wanted to join the military."

"Why did you then?"

"wanted to stay close to you." Ghost admitted, panting. His mask felt tight around his face. "it wasn't just a job for me. hadn't been for a while."

"The military?"

"No. Johnny." Ghost leaned up and kissed him through the fabric.

He finally dissolved.

His consciousness floated somewhere. It felt like home. He could still smell the soap Mrs. MacTavish used on the sheets.

Soap dreamed of him. Ghost was rather violently dragged into it, spectating whatever Soap finally put together.

The fear and adrenaline was intoxicating. Finally rid him of the awful feeling of being hungry that had plagued him for so long.

Soap held his body. It looked much worse than it was. The entire world seemed tinged with Ghost's blood.

"Please. Please. Stay with me." Soap begged, rocking his body.

Ah.

Johnny wasn't afraid of Ghost. He was afraid for Ghost.

How endearing.

The bond between them, the hold, snapped. Ghost felt himself start to spiral away from Soap, his body wanting to spin back into smoke.

But he dug his heels in.

"No." Ghost mumbled. "Got this fucking far. Can't ditch now." He had spent the majority of his life with Soap and he was realizing now that he wanted to spent the rest of it with him too.

It continued to drag him and he struggled and thrashed until his eyes flickered open to see Soap staring at him.

"You're awake."

"Fucking hell, don't stare at me like that. And I'm supposed to be the monster here." Ghost sat up, fully healed.

Soap went to stop him before pausing. "Always forget you're not human. You okay?"

Ghost nodded.

"Do you remember what happened?"

He nodded again.

"All of it?" Soap batted those damn eyelashes at him.

"If you're asking for another kiss, you can just lean down."

This kiss didn't have fabric between them.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #soapghost #cod #ghoap

[saltwaterandstars]

I mentioned in a little comments conversation with @bookhobbit that over the last year I've worked really hard on changing my relationship with my body (which had become totally medicalised after I developed long-term health problems). I said I'd write something about how I've gone about this, so here it is - a long post with brief medical details under the cut. This is not a post about what I think anyone else could or should do - I don't know what would be possible or helpful for anyone else. It's just a description of what I've been doing in response to a challenging aspect of my life.

Some background. I have several long-term health conditions, the most problematic being an autoimmune condition that causes muscle damage. If you can't get it into remission then it becomes a progressive disease, causing damage to the muscles that are needed to walk and lift things, and to control swallowing and breathing. So yeah, you want to get it into remission. I'm lucky in that I've responded to the immunosuppressants and the condition stays in remission or near enough as long as I take the meds, so my muscles are not getting massively damaged at the moment. But the meds have wrecked my stomach lining and intermittently do bad things to my liver, and the multiple muscle biopsies I needed to get a diagnosis have done other damage, and because of the meds, even in phases when the autoimmune condition is in remission, I still regularly have unpleasant symptoms. And when I take a break from the meds, the muscle damage starts again.

Relationship to my body. Since all this started a few years ago my life has felt like an endless stream of MRI scans, medications, biopsies, blood tests, injections, and rehab. And my body has come to feel like a collection of broken parts, just a heap of systems that don't work and feel bad and are frightening and exhausting. About a year ago I recognised that my relationship to my body had been completely changed by all this. I had come to see my body, to experience my body, as just a collection of medical problems and nothing more. And of course, that was being reinforced by the regular conversations I have to have with doctors about it all—dispassionate, diagnostic conversations about whatever bits of my body are currently failing to perform normally. I had come to experience my body as a bag of broken medical objects—and that is absolutely not the relationship I want to have with it. So, I decided to do what I could to change that relationship.

How I went about changing my relationship with my body. What I can’t change is the fact that I have long-term health conditions and that means symptoms and treatments to varying degrees for the rest of my life. I can’t change the fact that there are parts of my body, whole systems, that just don’t work well. But what I had to recognise is that my body is not merely that; I am not merely that. And knowing intellectually that I am more than a collection of symptoms was not enough. I needed to retrain my attentional habits to notice more than just medical stuff. And I needed to start treating my body as more than just medical stuff.

I’m lucky that I have some personal resources that I could lean on to do this:

I’m a (non-theist) pagan and I’m used to using ritual to turn towards painful experiences and explore them and set specific intentions about them

I have a decades-long history of mindfulness practice

I am a determined, obstinate creature!

This is what I did.

1. I made a ritual about the issue. I cast a circle and lined the circle with objects and pictures that represented my imaginary gang (Patti Smith, Kate Bush, Natasha Khan, Mary Oliver, and Hilary Mantel, in case you’re wondering!) I sat in the middle of the circle and told the ladies the story of what had happened—of how ill I was and how medicalised my body had become and how sad and lost and frightened I felt about it all. I stated my intention to the gang: to reclaim my physical, animal self—to relearn how to experience my physical self as more than a selection of medical problems; to treat my physical self as more than a medical problem. I listed some of the ways I could view and experience my body that were not about it being a broken medical object. I made a commitment to myself and to the gang to weave this practice into my daily life, and then to show that I was serious about the commitment, I acted on it in the ritual by putting on lots of temporary tattoos and jewellery—treating my body as something to be adorned and celebrated rather than just medicalised. I finished by having a little feast, thanking the gang, and closing the circle.

For me, a ritual like this acts as a clarifying lens and also as a crucible in which to form new behavioural habits. And I use the memory of the ritual as a support when I’m trying to act on my commitment day in, day out, and maybe struggling.

2. I put myself on an attention training programme. By that I mean that following the ritual, every time I noticed that I was focussed/fixated/ruminating on a symptom or some other aspect of my body-as-a-medical-object I would ask myself two questions:

Is there any reason why continuing to focus narrowly on this medical issue/body part right now is going to be helpful? (It was rarely helpful). I would then wish the body part well and would shift to the second question:

In addition to this medical issue/struggling body part, what else is my body right now? I’d make myself broaden out my attention to include the whole of my body (including but not limited to the body part or symptom I’d been fixating on), to be able to respond to this question based on direct, sensory experience: This is a body that’s wearing yellow socks with puffins on them. This is a body that’s feeling the breeze coming in through that open window and enjoying the sensation. This is a body that smells of pears from my favourite shower gel. This is a body that’s tired. This is a body that’s feeling hungry. This is a body that feels restless. This is a body that's listening to Chaka Khan and has an urge to dance.

Over the last year I have intentionally, thousands of times, acknowledged my body’s struggles and symptoms and then I've widened the field of my attention to notice what else my body is, what else it can experience, what else it means to me, what it is as a whole. I have trained myself, one tiny practice at a time, to reconnect with a wider, fatter, richer sense of what my body is, of who I am as an embodied creature. Of course, my attention is still pulled to pain and nausea and symptom-focussed worry etc. but I don’t get caught up in those things for as long as I used to, and I notice the non-medical stuff quicker and more frequently than I did.

3. As per the commitment I made in the ritual, I have begun (again) to treat my body as more than just a collection of medical problems that need treatment. Specifically, I have worked on changing my role/behaviour towards my body from that of merely nurse/physio. For me this has included (at different times) adorning it with temporary tattoos that make me smile, feeding it foods it really likes, wearing perfume, wearing clothes in colours I love, singing round the house, massaging my hands and feet, seeking more cuddles etc. from my husband, dancing when I feel able to, and really importantly to me, starting to have massages every six weeks or so that are utterly non-medical in nature. I still have to give myself injections and book blood tests and make myself have naps etc. but that’s not all I do in relation to my body now.

Given that my health conditions are going to be around for the rest of my life, I think these practices will also need to be around for the rest of my life, or at least for as long as I find them helpful.

This is already very long so I’m going to stop here, but I’m very happy to answer any questions about any of it - if anyone gets to the end and it's of interest :-)

#personal

[doctorstethoscope]

Sink or Swim || June

y'all have been waiting for this one! I hope you like it.

side note: going forward, I will only be adding people to my taglist if they have already interacted with my content. i'm noticing that there are people requesting to be added who have never interacted with my work, and in fairness to the people on the taglist who do interact regularly, I will be asking for that from now on. Thanks for understanding babes <3

masterlist

wordcount: 1.8k

contains: discussion of food, a little bit of angst

It had been the longest month of your life. Your dynamic with Aaron had changed irrevocably. You were no longer partners, as you had been, whether you acknowledged it or not, but you weren’t not friends, either, even if the relationship sometimes felt awkward and cold as you attempted to renegotiate what you meant to each other. You were more than coworkers, you had a long, storied history— and no relationship outside of work to show for it at the moment. You felt out of place around him, not just emotionally, but physically clumsy– more than once, in the past few weeks, He’d grabbed you by the arm to save you from a fall or managed to catch the box of evidence or file you’d dropped before it could hit the ground. Even though you’d changed, he could still read you better than anybody else. You wanted to hate him for it, but you couldn’t. 

You all are loading back onto the jet when he makes an announcement. “Jack has insisted that Alexis wants a half-birthday party,” he smirks. “So I’m hosting this Saturday. Please don’t bring anything— she’s got enough toys to keep her entertained until college,” he jokes. “But we’ll have cake and ice cream, and I know not everyone has had the chance to meet her yet. The kids and I would love to see you there,” he says before settling back into his seat. 

He’s at the table with Rossi, and usually you’d be on his left. But for the past two cases, you’ve sat at the back couches with JJ and Emily. They’ve certainly noticed your changed preference although they’ve been kind enough not to say anything about it.

“That’s nice,” JJ remarks. “How long have you guys been planning that?” 

“Oh, that’s all Hotch,” you tell her blasely, putting your nose back in your paperwork. 

“Jack didn’t say anything to you?” Emily asked. “You’re like, his second-favorite person, after the baby.” 

“I haven’t been going by as much lately,” you shrug, trying to make it sound like nothing, like you weren’t crying yourself to sleep at night over it. “Hotch’s got a handle on it, now, so he needs me less.”

Emily looks like she wants to ask more, but JJ cuts her off before she can– you’re grateful, even though you know it’s because she can read the pain in your eyes like a book. 

“That must be nice,” JJ remarks kindly. “To have a bit of your free time, your independence, back.” 

“Yeah,” you smile disingenuously. Independence has never felt so much like a punishment, you think.

*****

When Saturday rolls around, you make your way over to Hotch’s. You decide that your absence would be more conspicuous than your presence, and besides– you agreed to take some space from each other, not to disappear from the kids' lives entirely.  You missed them, and you secretly hoped that they missed you, too. 

You knock on the door, silently praying that you aren’t the first to arrive. 

“Hey,” Hotch says with a smile when he opens the door with Lexie in tow. The house is quiet– too quiet. Damn your punctual nature. 

Lexie is reaching out for you and kicking her legs as soon as her father opens the door. “Hi Ms. Half-Birthday girl!” You coo, reaching for her, and Aaron passes her off to you, taking the tupperware container from your hands. 

“I made a fruit salad,” you explain as you bounce Lexie on your hip, “and some fruit purees for Lexie, because she’s too young—”

“For cake, I know,” he assures you. “We miss you, but we’re not that lost without you,” he teases.

Jack comes barrelling in, then, crashing into your calves with a thud. 

“Careful, buddy,” Aaron warns. 

“I missed you!! Where have you been?” Jack asked, now sitting on your feet with his legs wrapped around your ankles. 

“I missed you too, buddy. How has soccer been?” You ask, pointedly ignoring the question. 

“It’s been sooo good.” He tells you. I’m working on hitting the ball with my head! Do you want to see?” He asks. 

“Why don’t you go outside and practice a little while the adults talk, Jack?” Hotch suggests, and your anxiety spikes. 

Jack grumbles, but goes, and the two of you are alone. “Hotch,” you say, trying to pre-empt whatever discussion he wants to initiate, but he forges on.

“They miss you. We all do,” he says, stepping closer to you. You shift Lexie in front of you, using her as a human shield. You chuckle, because it’s ridiculous, and Aaron smiles. “Missed the sound of your laugh,” he mumbles.

“Aaron, please don’t,” you tell him. “It hurts too much.” 

“Shh,” he whispers. Your faces are so close they’re practically touching, but you won’t look at him. You can’t look at him, because then any crumb of distance you’ve created in the past month from the love you feel for him will be swept away, and you won’t be able to handle it. You’ll have to transfer and move and start a new life. You don’t think you can take it. “I don’t want to hurt you,” Aaron continues. “You have to listen.” 

There’s a knock at the door, and you gasp, taking a quick step back as not to be caught. You finally look Aaron in the eye– he’s torn, confused, upset. 

“Don’t leave, okay? Don’t leave until we can talk. Promise me,” he begs. 

You’re helpless to resist him. “Okay. I promise.” 

The team only stays for a couple of hours, enough time for everyone to snuggle the baby and kick the ball around with Jack and eat a cupcake or two, but with this conversation with Aaron hanging over your head, it feels torturously long. When everyone files out, you seek solace in the kitchen, packaging up leftovers and wiping down counters in the hopes that your sense of duty to cleanliness will absolve you of the promise you made to Hotch. It doesn’t.

“Hey,” he says, meeting you at the counter. “Can we talk?” 

“We can talk,” you tell him. He takes a step closer, attempts to round the corner to be next to you, but you put a hand out to stop him. “No.” You command. “I can’t think when you stand that close to me. Sit on the other side of the counter and we can talk. 

He obeys, never wanting you to be uncomfortable. Settling into one of the barstools, he takes a deep breath before he starts. “Space isn’t working– not for me, not for the kids. We miss you, terribly. You are a part of this family, to us. Is this really working for you? Is this really what you want?”

“No,” you answer honestly.  “Of course it’s not working. But I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do, Aaron!” 

“Come home,” he pleads. “That’s all you have to do. You are a part of this family. Come home.” 

“I don’t think I can,” you admit in a whisper. 

“Don’t say that. Of course you can.” 

“I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I can be in your life as not- your-wife, not-their-mom. I deserve to have those experiences, Aaron, and to have them fully. I deserve to be all in with someone, and I can’t when I’m still playing house with you,” you say, and you know that it’s not right, that you walked into this situation freely, that he never coerced or manipulated you into anything, but you’re angry with him for it. You’re angry with him for allowing you to fall for him. 

“That’s not what we were. You weren’t ever playing house. The way I feel about you is not a game,” he tells you.

“What do you mean?” You ask. 

“I know– I know that Lexie doesn’t know what the word means. But when she babbled mama, it rang out clear as day, and she was right. Hearing you explain to Jack that you weren’t his mom, it felt wrong. Because of course you are— if you want to be,” he tells you.

 “When you explained to Jack that you weren’t his mom, or his step mom or his extra mom or whatever other term his friends parents are using, I couldn’t help you explain it to him because all I could think about was how I could fix it. I knew then, that I loved you– and I know you love my children– our children, maybe. I came over that night to tell you that I love you, to ask if we could stop living in this weird purgatory of feeling so strongly without a word to describe it. You asked for space, and I gave it to you. I’d give you the moon, if you asked for it. All I’m asking now is that you listen to me and think about if you could ever love me too,” he tells you, each word tumbling from his lips as if he had held it back as long as he could until the dam burst. 

“Oh, Aaron…. Aaron,” you say, coming around the counter and putting your hands on either side of his face. “I’m sorry. Why did you let me say all of those stupid things at my apartment?” You laughed. 

“I thought that was what you wanted,” he reminds you, placing one of his hands over yours, wrapping his thumb over the side of your palm. “If you didn’t want me, how could I put all of that– my emotions, not to mention those of the kids– on you? It wouldn’t be fair.”

“It’s not what I wanted, not at all. I wanted you,” you explain to him desperately. 

“Do you still? Want me,” he asks, and it’s almost sheepish. 

He looks so scared, so sad, so unsure, that you can’t help but kiss him. You could answer him with words, but you needed him to know, to feel how deeply you did. Without breaking the kiss, he wraps his arms around your waist, guides you backwards so he can step out of the chair and wrap you up in him completely. When you pull apart for air, he’s dazed, but beaming– looking almost drunk in the revelation of your feelings. 

“Stay tonight, please. We can figure out the rest in the morning. But stay tonight?” He asks. 

You smile back at him, and can’t help but laugh a little. “After the last month, you’ll have a harder time getting me to leave.” 

tagging: @spacecowboyhotch @honeybrowne @angelfxllcm @rousethemouse @infinite-tides @gspenc @anlin2058 @zetasaturno99 @darkenwolfie @realdirectionx @witheldclouds @sbeno22 @el-vs94 @hausofwhores

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader fic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch #hotch fic #hotch x reader fic #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #60

I rested for most of the day today. And mostly for real this time! It was beautiful!

After waking up this morning, I tried to play Pokémon. Unfortunately, I have executive dysfunction (this is part of being AuDHD), which means that sometimes I have a lot of trouble starting tasks even when they're fun ones. It's super annoying like that. So instead of waking up and immediately going to play Pokémon like a sane person, instead I floundered around for an hour or two, doomscrolling (or hopequesting? I've heard it referred to like that) uselessly.

…Truth be told, I keep looking for any news about you. I keep looking for any indication that you'll be safe. I'm worried about you almost all the time, and the fact that there's nothing I can do to help you besides write these silly letters is more painful than I know how to describe.

Oh well. Today I supposed that if I wanna rest properly, I've gotta let my brain flounder around from time to time without putting pressure on it to do something else. And that's kinda hard to do. It feels like I'm wasting time when I get stuck in that kind of mental paralysis. But if I beat myself up over it, that's just gonna make it worse. So I tried to go with the flow without worrying too terribly much about what the "correct" way to spend my time looks like.

I can't help but wonder if you ever struggle with any of what I've described. Hm.

In the end, I was able to play Pokémon for a little bit. And then M woke up and wanted to play Core Keeper together with me, and that was lovely. I built a huge, sprawling garden that waters itself and grows lots of tasty food! It's almost like Terraria, except it's from a top-down perspective instead of a side-scrolling perspective. It's still in early access, but it's still a lot of fun for a game that isn't finished cooking yet! I'm eager to see how this one develops!

Sometime after that, I had company over. The same friend who made me aware that the pumpkin soup needed more umami came over with her lovely son. They've been having a hard time lately, and it came to a head recently with something very serious. So they came to my house for support, advice, and refuge from the stress for a little while. We made sure to feed them good food and provide a space in which they don't have to feel pressured to exist in a particular way. My friend's son showed me his wonderful sketchbook and all of the awesome pictures he took on his phone; it was beautiful! As I'm writing this, my friend's son is at ease playing some video game on our TV, and my friend is out on a walk with J; I hope they're having a wonderful time!

My friend is having a bit of a hard time trying not to beat herself up over the way things turned out, as well as for the fact that neither she nor her situation are perfect. So I decided to give her the bowl I repaired, after explaining to her the context of what it means. I'm hoping that she'll put it in a spot in her house where she can see it regularly, so that she can be reminded that we are at our most beautiful when we do the work to turn our imperfections into strengths, and that beating ourselves up is counterproductive. The bowl will do the most good where it can remind someone of their humanity. I hope she will eat lots of wonderful and tasty soup from this bowl, and from it, remember to be gentle with herself.

I like that my house is a place where the people in my social circle feel is safe to go when they're having trouble. My life before was very weird, turbulent, and unsafe, but… now I have a house that is wholesome and safe. I know that I still have a very long way to go before I'm as "healed" as I'd like to be, but… I like to think it means I'm doing some things right at least some of the time. I feel very privileged to be in a position where I am trusted this much by the people who know me well.

I wish you could visit over here, too. Impossible, I know. But… you would be safe here. You wouldn't have to pretend to be someone you're not while you're in my house. You would not be pressured to interact with anyone if you didn't want to. No one would ogle you. No one would be demanding pictures or autographs. There would be only wholesome food, good tea, comfy places to sleep, and lots of fun and awesome things to do. You can just be you. Because my house is a safe place of rest for those who need it.

Hey, Sephiroth? Please keep yourself safe out there at the Edge of Creation, okay? Make good choices, and take good care of yourself. It might be impossible for you to ever visit my house, but you can build your own house with your own two hands, and you can build it up into something that is wholesome and safe, no matter how weird things have been for you in the past or even in the present, especially if you ask for help from kind, loving, and healthy people to make it happen.

Remember that you are loved. I'll write to you again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

#sephiroth #ThankYouFFVIIDevs #ThankYouFF7Devs #ThankYouSephiroth #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy vii crisis core #final fantasy 7 crisis core #final fantasy crisis core #ffvii crisis core #ff7 crisis core #crisis core #ff7r #final fantasy vii remake #final fantasy 7 remake #ffvii remake #ff7 remake #final fantasy vii rebirth #final fantasy 7 rebirth #ffvii rebirth #ff7 rebirth #final fantasy 7 ever crisis #ffvii ever crisis #ff7 ever crisis #ffvii first soldier #core keeper #my house is a refuge #wholesome

[sneakerdoodle]

it's the New Year soon (one of my favorite things ever!!!!) and that's making me introspective so i'm gonna be Sappy about my personal life and my Love life and like, overshare a lot and hopefully not feel embarrassed about it and just be excited and happy about all the good things in my life, and there is no like big statement here i'm just gonna gush!!!!! yeah!!!!!!

it's been a year and almost 8 months since Fleur and i got engaged, (about a year and a half since we were like, "yep, we're engaged in a Gay way" fgdhjdshdjk) and it's been about 5 years since we became friends, and it was actually on a New Year's eve that i first reached out to them directly and we started talking a couple of months after that, and it was a Weird Weird very hard time in my life! the first half of 2017 was just really heavily loaded with a lot of personal realizations, pain, trauma processing, subtle emotional estrangement from my family as i came to be more acutely aware of my lgbtq+ identity, realizing i was stuck in a VERY bad damaging friendship and dreading any way of getting out of it, all the works; just, a HORRID time all around. and we weren't talking that much yet, but this like... weird cocoon of scared scary isolation was being breached a little bit by this person who i genuinely thought was SO SO COOL choosing to interact with me however casually, and it meant a lot... and then when i got through the scariest most confusing parts of it and created more space for Myself to exist in my own life, i just, got slammed with this HUGE weight of not-yet-fully-processed trauma that felt like it literally shook the very foundations of my life, and Fleur was the first person i talked to about it and their unwavering compassion and acceptance literally meant the WORLD.

i was like. are we friends is this my friend now!!!!! oh my god! and it was absolutely LIFE-CHANGING cause all the factors combining, like the very bad friendship experience and the newly processed personal realizations made connecting with others so WEIRD. there was a time when i was genuinely terrified of the idea of making a new friend because i was so deeply convinced friendship was so supposed to hurt and be absolutely exhausting and heartbreaking, and then i realized some things about the world and myself that still make it both so so so hard to trust other people OR feel like they would genuinely love me if they actually knew me, and i spent the December of 2017 with this acute, persistent, haunting feeling of complete disconnect from the world and other people, like no connection i could make would actually count, like i could not possibly occupy a meaningful place in others' lives, like if i died nothing would have changed for anyone because i was so easily replaceable. because i just came out of a state in which i was treated as completely irreplaceable, treated jealously, held captive by another person's emotional stability and both hailed as their savior and despised for not being enough to make things truly alright; and having to break a bond this intense made everything else feel just so much... flatter, disconnected, like no one who didn't try to make my entire life about themself actually wanted me that much or in any way that mattered. and through that, still, i had Fleur to talk to, and that meant so so MUCH. i had another friend group that i regularly closely interacted, but unfortunately i wasn't very very good at being Friends with them because of everything that made processing Friendship and Connection so hard; to this day, it's hard, i never feel comfortable taking up space, i never feel comfortable sharing my pain, i never feel comfortable asking for things, and it's really really hard to process the idea of someone really Caring about me, and i am still far too afraid of letting people Know things about me and unable to believe they would genuinely like me if they did. and at the time, i would just... not be able to process the fact that i would talk to someone a lot and know personal things about them as us being Friends, however cold that sounds.

but with Fleur there was always just this!! ease... it felt right to message them first and it felt right to talk to them and tell them all the little details of my day and not feel like i was bothering them; it felt right to request comfort from them, and it meant the world that i could trust them with like, Everything in my life. every bit.

a lot a lot a lot a lot of things have happened in our lives since then, and many things happened between us, but through it all our bond was always just so... unparalleled. before the big damaging friendship i moved through my life very faintly aware of myself, and there was little intense emotional honesty i would find anywhere, be it with my family (who mostly just made their big emotions my problem rather than a point of connection and a reason to communicate) or with my childhood friends with whom i couldn't really connect on a personal level because there was so much i didn't understand and so little emotional maturity and relationship experience i possessed. then the big bad friendship came along, and it was a stark contrast to Everything else, because of how intense and open and Bleeding with emotion it was, how it demanded my full presence, my entire heart, how Alive and Awake it made me feel and how aware of the world. but there was still little space in it for myself, and the intensity came at too high a price, and there was little communication and emotional growth happening there, either.

and i don't really like, possess Dating Experience outside of a few months with someone who wasn't a bad person but wasn't a good friend to me. we knew each other long enough before starting to date but there was little like, vulnerability and emotional security in that relationship, they didn't really Know me and these days i am completely dumbfounded at the fact that i didn't feel extremely intimidated by and insecure about maintaining a very involved close relationship with someone i didn't have a direct and tried channel of communication with; it was truly just extremely amatonormative (in the sense that, i was interpreting the meaning of romance from general expectation and formalities of it and celebrating it on those grounds because it was exciting to be liked and flirted with, but i wasn't really inspecting whether there was a good relationship basis to that specific romantic experience and what I wanted from my partner other than, "being my partner" lol). there was no desire to really know me, including through the uncomfortable parts, there was no readiness to pause to talk things through, no honesty and openness and desire to communicate, no intent to hear me out and do the hard things that would keep me safer and happier, like inspecting certain life choices or confronting actions of other people, etc. and i guess now that i know we weren't such close friends to begin with it makes sense that person wouldn't want to do all of that for me! but it's just so Weird that i wanted to date someone who wasn't a close friend of mine or someone who Wanted to be a closer friend of mine and was committed to building a good, strong relationship with me. i feel like the way they saw me was just... very soft and mellow and nice, and i wasn't being used or anything but i wasn't being Known as a person.

all of this is to say: i've never had a good, solid, close relationship before meeting Fleur; everything else was either detached and surface-level and arising from me and the other person generally not minding each other's company, OR was intense to a destructive degree and equated emotional openness with devastating codependency. so like. i'm not actually good at having friends OR being in a relationship and i still really struggle with connecting with people and am generally very very isolated as a person;

but i AM good at being friends with Fleur, and being in a relationship with them... there is a lot a lot a lot a lot that i'm learning; a year and 8 months is a long time, and one would Think we would've settled into a routine by now, but so much keeps changing. my country is changing horribly and drastically every day. our plans keep changing, getting disrupted, delayed, we keep fighting and fighting to get a chance to just, live together, and it keeps getting ripped out of our hands, and it's Hard and rocky and uncertain. i was lucky enough to spend 5 whole months sharing a house with them, and, gosh, it felt so wonderful to settle into a domestic routine with that, but now we have to get used to being apart again, and it's like we're just... wobbling and wobbling and wobbling and waiting for a time we can just, start Living our Life and learning the true shape of it... but i'm just really really grateful for everything i am getting to learn about what living and being together means, and so impatient to start doing that full-time without a timer over our heads...

and it's just!! so weird and special because this relationship we share is the most magical unexplainable Unparalleled experience of my life that doesn't compare to anything else, and at the same time it feels like... the most Normal one. it's emotional and involved and honest and intense but in a way that is like... softer, caring, and has the context of this... good domestic life we share every day. the hard emotional parts require Work and the work isn't always like, dramatically romanticized, sometimes it's just Hard and sometimes scary, but that's just like... normal. in a way that doesn't shy away from the hard things but doesn't let the hard things destroy the love and care we always always hold for each other. and i feel like... that's life? i feel like i was never allowed to live Life, it was either muted and the harsh parts of it overlooked, or it was so oversaturated with defiant abandon that left no room for love and softness and hope, or for my needs and feelings, and both of those are just... such weird, detached representations of it. and now i'm learning what Life is, and gosh, sometimes life is just... really really hard, and at some point you become unable to glorify your way through the very messy parts of it; but that's the life i'm supposed to be living, and it feels... normal. like it has a future, like it has meaning, like it's sustainable and right and gives me time and space to figure out what i want it to look like. i am just so so grateful for having a relationship that can envelop Both of us fully, the soft parts and the silly parts and the hard parts and the sad parts and the mushy gay parts and so on :' ) and at the end there is no one word to describe it cause it's just, Life, and that can be so so weird sometimes but it's never Wrong

Fleur if you're reading this i love you very very much, and i cannot wait to start truly living together in every small physical expression of it, without having to wait and guess and deal with all the uncertainty of it <3

#emotional abuse mention #trauma mention #like i said!! oversharing!!!! but it feels right somehow!!!

[eriexplosion]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹 woe. Words be upon ye

Woe words be upon ye.

Okay so nine lines of WIPs... I know that it's technically supposed to be sentences but almost all of them are more than one sentence because I'm unable to limit myself. I also blurb about most of them a little because! I physically cannot shut up! A mix of Vikings and Bad Batch fic, as usual.

1. Okay so first one is from my extremely WIP Cad Bane/Crosshair fic where Crosshair hooks up with strangers to try and make himself feel less like Garbage all the time and has absolutely abominable taste. To be fair, Bane is making an error in judgment here too because Crosshair should never be brought back to somewhere you are sleeping.

Bane keeps his blaster in easy reach on the side table, so Crosshair doesn't let on that he still has his vibroblade stowed in his boot. Makes them even.

2. I don't know if I will ever add to this second one because really I feel like all the pain in the world is contained in this one (1) paragraph but anyway - I regularly think about 99 and become Emotional.

When 99 died, the kaminoans burned him without ceremony like the rest of the dead. Stripped of everything that could be reused and recycled, recorded by long-form CT number instead of the one he'd taken and made his own. In death they put him the one place he'd always wanted to be. Beside his brothers.

3. An old Vikings WIP! This one is part of the long fic idea I have of Athelstan spending several weeks with Floki trying to get his weight back up, where it's supposed to be and Floki figures out very fast that Athelstan is like one of those dogs that needs to have a Job so he just starts handing things to him.

Before Athelstan could react, Floki pressed something into his hands before darting away again. Nothing he recognized, some sort of tool for boat building he could only assume; it was heavy though, and rough against his hands. He turned it over, brow furrowing as he tried to determine its use.

4. Another Vikings one - this one actually centers on Bjorn's girlfriend Thorunn because... okay so she does get pregnant with his child and she 100% does not have a good time about it, she has the child and then leaves him and her behind and the child ends up dying in a really stupid and preventable way so. I have a vague WIP idea of her getting to just. End the pregnancy like she clearly wanted to, she doesn't want to be a mother so let her not be. Featuring Floki because I ENJOY the bits we get of him being able to treat wounds and I like playing up that healer role. (With the added bonus here that my Floki is always written as trans so he has more connection to the whole experience.)

"No. I didn't ask about Bjorn." He reached his other hand out, gently catching her chin with the tips of his thin fingers and tilting her face up to meet his eyes. Looking at him like this, she could see why some in Kattegat still found him frightening, his stare felt as if it moved through her and she found herself nearly paralyzed. "I asked if you were sure. It is not about him."

5. A bit from a piece exploring the 'Omega is force sensitive' headcanon which I really enjoy. Also I like the idea that Hunter's EM field sensitivity can extend to something like the force - he's low key a kind of artificially created force sensitive in ways with that EM sense.

As much as the Force was treated like some intangible thing, something that sat outside the understanding of those without a strong connection, it had an electromagnetic signature, same as anything else. That put it firmly within Hunter's awareness, constant, buzzing, centered in the Jedi but stretching out to everything and everyone, touching every part of life. It hung over Omega like a cloak, and he still didn't know what to think of that.

6. I have a full outline for this one but only a little bit of scribbled out words - my headcanon for the batch's creation. And no there only being three of them at first is not an error, that comes into play later on in the story.

Omega is four years old when Nala Se brings back the embryos that would one day be her brothers. Three of them, each so small Omega knew she could hold them in her arms if not for the glass and liquid that separated them.

7. This is also a fic about getting Athelstan properly fed because I have...... a focus. And that focus is getting Athelstan fattened up like he deserves.

The priest had been soft when he came to them, soft around the middle and soft in his fragile little bird's heart. The second he still had, somehow, through everything.

8. Another bit from the same fic but earlier on.

Athelstan could use some more heft to him, Ragnar decided, watching his priest throw his entire body into a practice swing that was as likely to throw himself off balance as his opponent.

9. And finishing off with a bit from a 'how Wrecker got his scar' WIP! Pretty straight forward angst here.

Tech looked up then, and saw Crosshair's gaze locked on the tooka doll thrown haphazardly across Hunters bed. Wrecker had slept with their ori'vod last night, and hadn't had a chance to move Lula back to his own bunk before… "He's going to be okay," Tech said after a moment.

#Eri Answers

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

Someone Else (I'm Still Right Here)

also on ao3

minor warning for Geralt coming on to Jask when he doesn't know who he is, but nothing comes from it. 

 They've hardly been in town long enough for anything to go wrong and yet, Jaskier finds his thoughts interrupted by banging on the door of their room. If it was Geralt, he would simply let himself in even if he didn't have his hands free to open the door properly, so it must be important. Jaskier rises from the bed, setting his lute aside with a sigh. He detests being interrupted while he's working for anything less than an emergency - and judging by the fact that the knock hasn't come again, this is hardly an emergency.

He saunters to the door, pulling it open to find the face of the innkeeper's wife staring back at him anxiously.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says, "it's your Witcher, sir. Something's happened and no one is... well, they're all afraid to get too close to him. They called in the healer from the next town, but-"

Jaskier frowns. The contract was for a pair of drowners, not even a nest of the damn things. Geralt could have taken them out in his sleep - so what went so terribly wrong?

Jaskier lets himself be led downstairs, doing his best to mask worry with intrigue, but it isn't working. The innkeeper's wife leads him to the edge of the forest where her husband is waiting, a look of pained concern on his face. Jaskier's stomach drops as the man just points into the trees, and he hurries forward without delay. If the people in town won't help Geralt, he will certainly do his best.

When he finds him, Geralt is in a bad state. His eyes are still dark from the potions - probably why the locals wouldn't come near - and there's blood streaked down the side of his face.

Jaskier stays quiet. It's bad enough that Geralt can hear his pulse racing, he doesn't need to make his fear any more obvious to him. He kneels down on the soft ground, assessing the damage before moving him. He's learned from experience that one wrong move can make a wound worse rather than better.

"Okay," he says once he's satisfied. "I'm just gonna pull this off," he taps on Geralt's left pauldron, "make sure your head is the only thing you banged up." Jaskier frowns as he says it, but Geralt seems, as usual, unconcerned. He's much better behaved than usual though, which strikes Jaskier as being particularly odd.

He ignores it and pushes through, tearing an already ripped piece of Geralt's shirt to wipe away some of the blood. Geralt will be grouchy about it later, but if Jaskier replaces it, he can't be too angry. He does his best to clean Geralt's skin and he finds just the one injury - a hefty blow to the head. Not that it seems to be bothering Geralt any.

But when Jaskier cups his jaw, tipping his head to one side, Geralt hums. It catches him off guard and Jaskier jerks back to look at him.

"Your hands feel nice," Geralt breathes and leans into the touch. Okay. So maybe the head injury is more serious than it appears. The innkeeper's wife said a healer was coming, Jaskier will mention it to them when they arrive. Or maybe it's just the blood loss. Either way, the healer will be better prepared to deal with it than he is.

"What are you doing here?" Geralt asks.

"The innkeeper's wife came to collect me. Figured someone ought to come and collect you."

"No one else would even get near me."

"Yes, well, I'm not everyone else, am I?"

"Hmm. Guess not."

Jaskier comes around to look at him, straddling his thighs and Geralt leans forward, resting his head on his shoulder and nuzzling into his neck.

"Yes yes," Jaskier hums, "I know you're tired, darling, but we have to get you up and back to town."

Geralt is reluctant, but he lets himself be hauled to his feet and doesn't even complain about Jaskier propping him up as they make their way back toward town. He's quiet, which is to be expected, but Jaskier is worried that he's keeping something from him, that he's worse off than he seems because Geralt seems quite happy to let himself be assisted - something he would regularly fight against.

As they make it back to the inn, Jaskier knows everyone is watching them and he scolds a couple of them for not offering to help when a man was injured. He takes Geralt up to their room and ducks out from under his arm, leaving him alone for a moment so he can get the fire lit and ready the bed for him. But before he can do either, he finds himself pressed up against the room door with Geralt's face mere inches from his own.

The dark veins and darker eyes are… sexier than they have any right to be and Jaskier swallows back a groan, pressing a gentle hand to Geralt's chest. The Witcher is still woozy and unsteady on his feet, but he resists being pressed back and Jaskier frowns at him.

"Mm, as much fun as this is, I doubt you'll think so highly of me in the morning, darling." Geralt smiles slyly and, for a split second, Jaskier worries that he's become Geralt's quarry, that the toxins running through Geralt's body are really as bad as he always claims they are and that he is, in fact, in real danger around him. But then Geralt leans in, bumping his nose against Jaskier's and any thoughts of fear dissipate immediately.

Instead, Jaskier ducks down and away, holding both arms out as Geralt follows him.

"Geralt," he asks, "what's gotten into you? Not that I mind, but-" he eyes him carefully and Geralt just grins at him again.

"Don't be coy with me, bard, this is what you brought me here for."

"Um. No? I brought you here to rest, to put you to bed not take you to bed, and find you something to eat. This is our room, Geralt, not my room. They only had one left and I didn't think you'd mind-"

"Our room?" Geralt interrupts and Jaskier nods. Worry creeps in and he looks closely at Geralt. His eyes are black still, though the veins are retreating and he seems brighter than usual, not so gloomy.

"Yes?"

"Why would we be sharing a room," Geralt huffs, "I've only just met you."

Jaskier gawks at him. It's not like Geralt to play games, that's Lambert's area of expertise - and this is stupid and obvious even for Lambert's tastes. But something is off about Geralt tonight. The worry turns to fear and Jaskier suddenly wonders if the man he's brought back is his Witcher at all.

He's never met a doppler, but he's heard Geralt tell stories about them. For the most part, they're harmless, but Jaskier suspects they can be paid or bribed like anyone else and the thought of a stranger here in the room with his things, with Geralt's things-

"I thought you wanted sex," maybe-Gealt says again, slightly confused but not at all dissuaded. Normally Jaskier would take it as a compliment that he was still so enthusiastic about fucking him, but this feels very, very wrong. And yet a part of him still considers it.

If it is a doppler, there's no harm really. He's consenting and Jaskier is more than happy to fuck a man with Geralt's face (he doesn't think too much about how that will affect him after it's fine). Right? But there's still a nagging feeling that this isn't a doppler. He'd know, he thinks, if he brought someone else home with him.

"Can you just-" he says, backing up toward the bed where his bag is sitting on the floor. Maybe-Geralt just watches him with confusion as he crouches down and pulls his dagger from his pack.

It's just a little thing, but it's pure silver, gifted to him by Geralt in case of emergency.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Jaskier says, holding it out, "I just need you to touch this."

Maybe-Geralt gives him a questioning look but reaches out and takes the dagger from him, turning it over in his hand. Nothing happens.

"Hmm," he says, "nice weight, well made. A little decorative maybe-"

"Doesn't hurt?" Jaskier asks and maybe-Geralt, who is seeming more and more like just Geralt laughs.

"Not unless you stab someone with it."

Jaskier valiantly ignores the little smirk and shuts his eyes.

"Okay," he says, "start at the beginning, what do you remember?"

"I… woke up in the forest and then you showed up," he smiles at him and Jaskier is already preparing a refusal.

"Listen, Geralt, I am your friend and you would probably even argue that-"

"How come? You're very handsome and you've been helpful and kind-"

"But it's not like that, Geralt. It never has been. I offered once and you were… less than impressed with me." Geralt says nothing and Jaskier takes the opportunity to reign the conversation in. "Can I clean you up now? Something is obviously wrong and we have to get you to a doctor."

"They said a healer was coming."

"I was thinking of someone a little more professional," Jaskier says and Geralt gives him a look. "We have a mutual friend who may be able to help. But for now, you've got me and I'd like to take a look at that wound."

Geralt relents and Jaskier finally succeeds in getting him sat on the bed without Geralt trying to come on to him again. He pulls Geralt's hair back and ties it out of his face, it'll need to be washed later, but he's not going to try and explain how it's fine for him to wash his hair but not fuck him right now.

The wound itself it's so bad, a bit swollen, a bit bruised, but the actual gash is small and very manageable. He cleans it first with water and then with vodka and applies a good amount of salve. He doesn't know which herbs Geralt combines for a poultice, so he bypasses that for the time being; when he gets him to Shani if the wound isn't healed on its own, she'll be able to tend to it.

He finds linen wrap at the bottom of his bag and presses it to Geralt's forehead, gently wrapping it around and tying it at his temple.

"Should be good for now. I'll go down and have supper brought up. Do you want a bath?"

"No. Thank you."

"Alright. Just… stay here, I'll be back."

As soon as the bedroom door is shut, Jaskier closes his eyes, but he waits until he reaches the main floor to lean against the wall and sigh. He has no idea what he's going to do. He never thought he'd be sad to see the day Geralt tried to get him into bed, but it feels so wrong. He'd rather spend the rest of his life failing to impress Geralt than spend another five minutes with him like this.

He takes his time ordering food, half-hoping that Geralt will be asleep by the time he gets back to the room, but their supper is ready quickly and Jaskier reluctantly takes it back up to their room, setting the tray on the table beside the bed.

Geralt at least spares him conversation while they eat and then Jaskier sets the dishes aside and strips out of his clothes for bed, already dreading having to share a bed. He keeps his shorts on and waits until Geralt is already in bed before climbing in after him.

The fire is burning low already, so he's not worried about it, but he blows out the candle beside the bed and pulls the blankets up over himself. He faces out into the room, preferring not to see Geralt right now. It feels weird to want to avoid him and it makes his chest ache because this is Geralt, but it's not. He just wants his Geralt back.

He shuts his eyes and tries to sleep but Geralt is cuddly like this, shifting closer and pressing up against him. He gets an arm around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut. It's everything he thinks about during the long nights sleeping around a campfire, but he can't let himself give into it. But it feels good because it's Geralt's arm around him, Geralt's chest pressed to his back, Geralt's breath against his neck. He very nearly whines because it's so damn unfair.

But then Geralt's lips press against the back of his neck and a little gasp escapes his lips, unintentionally. He ignores it the first time, but then he does it again and when he shifts closer, Jaskier can feel the length of his cock pressing against his ass. And fuck, that's hard to turn down, but Jaskier wrenches himself out of Geralt's arms.

"I can't," he whispers, unconvincing even to himself.

"You want it, though," Geralt hums, "I can smell it on you."

"Maybe," Jaskier confesses, "but not like this. Not when you don't know who I am. Not when fucking any other person in this place would be the same for you. I can't, Geralt. Go to sleep."

Jaskier hates how disappointed Geralt sounds when he pulls away, but he doesn't try again and Jaskier almost finds himself wishing he would. He tugs the blanket a little tighter around himself and pulls his knees to his chest, trying to force back the fear that he might not get his Geralt back.

In the morning, Geralt wakes first and Jaskier is relieved to find himself alone in bed, although he worries about where Geralt has gotten to. But when he drags himself out of bed, he finds Geralt packed and ready to go with a hearty breakfast waiting for him.

"What's all this?" Jaskier asks, "trying to get away from me all of a sudden?" It comes out more bitter than he intends and he winces at the tone of his own voice.

"You were so sad, last night," Geralt says quietly. "I don't know how to fix this, how to remember you, but I thought you'd want to get started early. I had breakfast brought up." He offers a soft smile, gesturing to the food and Jaskier's heart flip-flops.

"Oh. Thank you."

"I've eaten. Take your time and we can leave when you're finished."

"Right."

Geralt just sits on the bed while Jaskier eats his breakfast and contemplates the fact that this is still his Geralt, as much as it doesn't seem like it. His own things are still ready to go and he has no idea who to go to to collect the reward for the drowners, but it couldn't have been much anyway, so he's not worried about it. Geralt won't be pleased about it when he remembers himself, but there's only so much Jaskier knows how to handle and he wants to get Geralt to Shani as quickly as possible.

They head out mid-morning, and Geralt insists on letting Jaskier ride, which is… nice, in a concerning way. Roach is equally confused and concerned, but Jaskier does his best to comfort her. Thankfully, they aren't far from Oxenfurt or Jaskier isn't sure how he would cope.

Geralt walks alongside him, happy enough apparently to let Jaskier ride. He hums as they travel, a low wonderful sound that had Jaskier's heart fluttering, but it tears him in two because the song is his which means Geralt does remember something, but he's also so sad to see him this calm and relaxed knowing his goal is to take that away from him.

For now, he won't say anything, will just let Geralt enjoy the journey. When and if they find a way to get his memory back, he'll explain everything and give Geralt the chance to decline if he wishes. The selfish part of him hopes he doesn't.

They carry on in much the same way, but even when Geralt talks, Jaskier struggles to find it in himself to be too enthusiastic about anything. He's already in a difficult spot and he just wants to get through this, whatever the outcome. But it's obvious Geralt notices and that he's trying to distract him from it.

Jaskier tries to cheer up a little, if only for him, but he finds it difficult because he knows Geralt can tell how he's really feeling. But Jaskier appreciates the effort, either way.

"Remind me where we're going?" Geralt asks and Jaskier realizes he hasn't told him, Geralt just trusted him not to be leading him towards certain death.

"To Oxenfurt," he says, trying to sound cheerful, "it's one of my favourite places on the continent. I have a friend who practices medicine, she should be able to help."

"You don't have to pretend for me. I know you're sad, I know you miss him. Me. I wish I could give you your friend back."

Jaskier's heart clenches and he takes a steadying breath. "I'm fine," he says, "and I can't miss him, he's you and you're right here." He feels odd, like he's talking to a child, but Geralt just smiles at him, softly but like he doesn't believe him. Jaskier wouldn't either, he's never been good at lying to Geralt.

There's a heavy silence that falls after that and for some time they continue forward unspeaking. Jaskier twitches to feel the silence, to sing or talk to something just to keep from thinking that Geralt is upset with him. Then, abruptly, Geralt speaks.

"What kind of man am I?" Jaskier doesn't even have to think to answer that.

"You're kind," he says, "more than anyone gives you credit for. You always try to take the less violent route, even though your job is to kill monsters. You're generous and loving and you care so deeply for your friends and family."

He pauses for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat. Because he's not included in that group. He knows Geralt must care for him, but not in the way he loves Eskel or Lambert, or even in the way his friendship with Shani or Zoltan comes so easily to him. Next to him, Geralt is silent for a moment and then.

"Jaskier are you-" Jaskier shuts his eyes, dreading whatever is coming next. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I do," he says, forcing cheeriness into his voice, "You're my best friend."

"But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"Geralt-"

"I know I don't really know you, but I… think I love you, too."

"Geralt, don't say that," Jaskier shuts his eyes tightly, "you can't know that."

"I feel it."

Jaskier wants to scream. It's so unfair to hear those words from Geralt's mouth and know they’re not true. He pushes Roach a little quicker forward, but Geralt stops him.

Roach comes to a full stop and Jaskier grows frowns at Geralt as he comes to stand next to him. Geralt raised a hand up, cupping his jaw and guiding him downward.

"I feel like you won't hear it from me again, so I love you." He's soft, almost breathless, and when he stretches up to kiss him, Jaskier doesn't stop him.

It's just soft, no urgency, no want for something more than just a kiss and Jaskier can't help but lean into it just a little. Because those are Geralt's hands on him, Geralt's mouth against his own, soft and slow.

But Geralt moans softly against him and Jaskier remembers himself with a start. He pulls back from the Witcher, almost unseating himself, but Geralt steadies him.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, "I can't, it's not fair-"

"To me?" Geralt asks and there's sadness behind the humour in his voice.

"Yes."

After that, they spend the rest of the day in silence and Jaskier feels bad for Geralt - he can't imagine losing his memory and not knowing who he is - but he can't stand the fruitless hope. Because Geralt doesn't love him, he's made it known that they're not friends and how could Jaskier hope for more when he can't even attain friendship?

Then again, the man walking next to him now still is Geralt. He doesn't feel like Geralt and he doesn't act like Geralt, but he is. Jaskier isn't sure how people usually react when they lose their memories, so he doesn't have a basis to judge by, but it is still Geralt.

When they stop for the night, Geralt sleeps close enough to keep him warm but doesn't cuddle up like he did the night before and Jaskier hates himself for it. Maybe Geralt has a chance here at a new life, one where he can be happy and not weighed down by the memory of his childhood. And if he does, if he wants it, who is Jaskier to deny him that?

He's not sure he could be a part of it, though. Even thinking about him now, wishing Geralt would come a little closer, curl an arm around his middle, he feels like he's betraying his friend, betraying the old Geralt as the case may be.

Either way, he'll get Geralt to Oxenfurt so they can speak to Shani and see if there's anything that can be done. If there's not, he doesn't have to worry about making the decision to leave or stay, but if there is- If there is a chance Geralt can regain his memories, Jaskier has to let him make that choice alone and then make his own depending on what Geralt wants.

They reach Oxenfurt a few days later after what feels like a month-long journey and Jaskier is just glad to be somewhere warm where he can have his own room and not have to worry about wanting to be close. He leads them immediately to the inn and rents two separate rooms. It's fairly costly and he's reminded of the reason they needed to take the last contract, but he could be in Oxenfurt for a while depending on how this goes and he'll be able to pick up work easily enough.

Jaskier heads up to his room and makes sure Geralt gets settled, then he heads down and orders food and a bath up to Geralt's room before heading out to find Shani.

The first place he looks is the hospital, but the nurse working informs him that Shani has her own clinic now and she's located near the centre of town. Jaskier thanks her and doubles back, following the directions she'd given. Shani's clinic is tucked between two other buildings and Jaskier knocks before entering. There's no one inside but it's only a moment before Shani emerges from a back room, the neutral look on her face quickly growing into a smile. When Jaskier doesn't return the gesture she frowns.

"I take it this isn't a personal visit," she says and Jaskier can feel something inside him slip. He shakes his head.

"No, I'm sorry. I- we need your help."

"Geralt?" she asks and the last bit of his self-control gives way and he chokes on a sob. "Hey," she says, "come sit down."

Shani guides him to a back room and sits him down on a plush soft, surprisingly nice for a medical clinic. She shuts and locks the door behind them and sits next to him.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Geralt," he chokes, "hes'-" he takes a deep breath, swallowing back another sob. "Shani, he doesn't know who he is. He doesn't know who I am."

"Oh. What happened?"

"I wasn't there. I just- they came to get me because no one else would get near him. It was just supposed to be a drowner contract but he got hit in the head or something. I don't know what to do."

"Where is he now?"

"Back at the inn."

"Here?" she asks. Jaskier nods. "Why don't you take me to him, I'll take a look."

"I- I don't know if he'll want to be fixed? He came with me but Shani, he seems happy."

"Why don't we go and see him first. We'll figure out what's wrong before worrying too much, hm?" Jaskier agrees and Shani packs a bag and they head for the inn.

They find Geralt in his room, having eaten and bathed and he looks good. He's got his hair down around his shoulders and he's shirtless and Jaskier has to avert his eyes. He takes a seat in the corner and lets Shani introduce herself and asks to look him over. Jaskier stays quiet and watches cautiously as Geralt easily lets Shani look him over. Once she's finished with his body, she examines his head.

"Well," she says at last, "you obviously took a pretty hefty blow to your head, but the good news is it should be simple to reverse the memory loss."

"Good," Geralt says quickly. He spares a glance for Jaskier before turning back to Shani. "What do we have to do?"

"It's simple really, just a shock to your system should do it. I have a friend who can help."

As Shani goes into the details, Jaskier tunes out. He hears something about neurons, but he's more concerned about getting Geralt alone for a couple of minutes before he makes a decision. He loves Geralt, wants nothing more than for him to be happy, so he wants him to go into this knowing everything Jaskier can tell him.

"Can we have a moment Shani?" he asks and Geralt looks at him as Shani nods and ducks out of the room.

"You want to do it?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're happier like this," Jaskier whispers, "Geralt, I've never seen you this relaxed. In twenty years, you've always been miserable. I just- I want you to make an informed decision."

"You say you want me to be happy," Geralt says, "but since I told you I didn't know who you were you've been so sad. How is it fair for me to be happy like you say when you're still suffering." He tips Jaskier's chin up with two fingers and looks into his eyes. "What I said before, I wasn't lying. I don't know where all these feelings are coming from but I know you are so important to me."

He pulls up a smile and Jaskier knows how this is going to end. And he'll be happy to have his Geralt back, but know him like this? To know this Geralt wants him, even in some weird, imaginary way? He doesn't know how he'll be able to continue.

"Okay," Jaskier relents. "I just… wanted you to know what you were getting into."

"I'm sure it can't be all bad. I have you."

Jaskier's heart clenches, but he doesn't get another chance to speak because Shani enters the room. Thankfully, Geralt has stopped touching him, but he's still close and she gives Jaskier a look.

"I put out a call to my friend," she says, holding up a box that looks vaguely familiar. "Xenovox," she explains, "Marilla is a mage. She should be here in the morning."

It's late afternoon now, so that means spending another night at the inn and Jaskier is torn. On the one hand, he wants Geralt to be back to normal, but on the other- he's selfish and he wants Geralt like this. He wants so badly to have anything and- no. No, he can't.

Shani leaves them shortly after assuring Jaskier that it will be alright, that Geralt will be fine. He wishes these were better circumstances, that they had come to visit Shani instead of asking for her help, but she waves him off with a smile.

"Come and visit when things are back to normal," she says, "I'll see you in the morning."

Jaskier sees her off and then returns to the room to find Geralt sitting on the edge of the bed, contemplating. He's still shirtless and Jaskier finds it hard to look at him directly. He sits in the bed next to him, hands folded in his lap.

"Well," Geralt says, "we have the night. Things will be different after I get my memory back, right?" He turns, reaching out to cup Jaskier's cheek. "Be with me tonight," he breathes, "just for tonight, let me take care of you while I have the chance."

Jaskier huffs a humourless laugh. "That's the problem, you always have the chance, but you never want to take it."

"Then let me now," he hums and his hand falls to Jaskier's thigh.

And it's so tempting. Because Geralt is right here offering everything he's ever wanted, if only for a night. But this is not the Geralt he fell in love with. This is not truly his Geralt's consent. When Jaskier looks up, it's obvious that Geralt knows his answer before he even speaks.

"I'm an idiot," he says softly, "to not jump at the chance to be with you. If I don't remember tomorrow, I want you to know you're important to me." Jaskier nods weakly, but he can't find the words. "Maybe we should turn in early? We have a long day tomorrow, I think."

Jaskier nods and he lets Geralt pull him down to the bed and tonight, he lets himself be held, curls into Geralt's hold and presses his nose into his neck. He doesn't let himself think, just buries himself in Geralt's scent, so warm and familiar and shuts off his mind.

Jaskier awakes to a knock on the door and realizes he's still in his clothes from yesterday. Geralt answers the door to Shani and Marilla, and Jaskier is only just climbing out of bed when they come into the room. He gets a look from Shani, but if she's feeling any particular kind of way about finding him in Geralt's bed, she doesn't say anything.

The actual process doesn't take any time at all. Marilla comes in and does something to Geralt, what she does is unclear but he falls unconscious and Jaskier panics at first, but Shani holds him back.

"Sorry," she says, "I should have warned you."

Jaskier does his best to make Geralt comfortable in the bed and he leaves with the two women to let him sleep. He thanks Marilla desperately and asks her to stay until he wakes, but she tells him she has other business to attend to and after dipping down to kiss Shani briefly, she disappears down the stairs.

"Friend, huh?" Jaskier asks and Shani smiles at him.

"Don't try to change the subject."

"Actually, can I ask you about something?"

"Of course. Why don't we get a drink, he could be out for a couple of hours."

They head down to the common area and Shani orders them a pair of drinks while Jaskier finds a table out of the way. He's never understood why Geralt likes corner tables, but right now he gets it. He doesn't want anyone to talk to him and he just wants to be able to sit and drink with Shani.

When she returns, she slides his drink across to him and slips into her seat.

"What did you want to ask about?"

"Uh," Jaskier starts, turning his mug in his hands, "when I first took Geralt back to our room, just after he was hurt. He tried to kiss me. He… thought I was bringing him back there to fuck him."

"Oh."

"You don't sound surprised."

"I'm not, really. I'm surprised he acted on it, but-"

"What does that mean?"

"Geralt doesn't have any brain damage," Shani explains, "something just… got knocked loose, so to speak. He was still him, Jaskier. His thoughts, his feelings? That was all him, Jask."

"You're telling me-" abruptly, the memory of Geralt telling him he loved him comes back to him and his mouth goes dry. "You're telling me that was just him?"

"Mmhm. Without all the baggage and self-loathing."

"I don't- he can't- if he wanted me that way, I would know."

"Would you?" Shani asks, "because I think you would be the last person to know. Wait till he wakes up, talk to him."

"Yeah, I know. Thanks, Shani, for this and for everything."

"Happy to help."

They finish their drinks and Shani heads home. Jaskier thanks her again and promises to visit when things are better and waits until she's gone before heading back up to Geralt's room.

The first thing Geralt knows when he wakes up, is a pain in his head. He blinks awake to find himself in a bed in a nondescript inn. A better look around finds Jaskier asleep in a chair next to him, but he stirs as Geralt sits up and then he's scrambling to pass Geralt a mug of water.

He feels woozy, but Jaskier's presence soothes him; he knows from experience that Jaskier would never let anything happen to him and is willing to risk his own health and safety to assure it. There's no one else he'd rather see upon waking. But he doesn't remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembers is taking a hit and stumbling away from the scene.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks gently. He looks up and the first thing he notices when he looks at Jaskier is how sad he is. The emotion wafts off of him, but Geralt doesn't need his heightened sense of smell to be able to tell.

"What's wrong?" he mumbles, his voice thick.

"Tell me what you remember. From the start."

Geralt thinks back, going through the events of the hunt, none of which are very interesting until he was thrown into a tree. Water hag, he remembers, chucked mud and blinded him. Then he's stumbling away, all three monsters dead and then- fuck.

His gaze snaps up to Jaskier's face, looking for any sign of recognition, but he remains eerily calm, even as Geralt recollects kissing him, pressing him up against a wall and- fuck, what was he thinking? The more he thinks about it, the more comes back to him, but in bits and pieces.

Kissing him, touching him, pressing up against him in bed. The memories are all foggy, scattered, but they feel too real to have been a dream. But Jaskier shows no signs of being assaulted by him.

"I'm-" he starts, but sorry doesn't feel like it's enough. Jaskier is open with his affections, but he wouldn't be okay with that.

Geralt tries to push himself up, to get out of bed and away from Jaskier because he can't stand the thought of doing something like that. He can't remember why he did, but the more he thinks about it, the more real it feels.

"Geralt," Jaskier says firmly, "I'm not mad. But I think we need to talk if you're up for it."

He doesn't want to talk to Jaskier. He would rather find out from someone else, he can't bear to hear the words from Jaskier. And he knows Shani was there. Shani and another woman who he didn't recognize.

"Where's Shani?" he asks.

"She's gone home, darling. Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?"

Geralt looks up at him and he feels hopeless. Jaskier is exhausted, he can see the bags under his eyes, the dark circles. And he doesn't seem any less sad than he did initially. It doesn't take much to realize what happened.

"I'm sorry," Geralt mumbles, "about what I did- when I kissed you, I-"

Jaskier stops, already halfway toward the door and sighs deeply, stopping in his tracks before turning around.

"Okay," he says, "we're talking about this now, then." He comes back and seats himself on the end of the bed, facing him. "Tell me exactly what you remember, Geralt."

"I remember taking the contract, fighting off the drowners - and a water hag - got mud in my eyes, stumbled and something hit me, threw me into a tree. Probably one of the drowners pushed me. I took them out, started back toward town but I must have passed out, the next thing I remember is-"

"Me."

"Yeah. You took me back to our room, I thought you were- I thought you wanted sex."

"I know, you were fairly adamant about that."

"Fuck. Jaskier I'm sorry-"

"You didn't know who I was. If a handsome stranger took me back to his room, I'd think the same. When you didn't know who I was I was… terrified. I didn't know if I'd get you back." They're both silent for a moment and then Jaskier prompts him to continue.

"I remember that. I remember talking to you," he lowers his eyes, "I told you I loved you, I don't know why." Immediately Jaskier's sadness intensifies and he catches it in the twitch of his lip, the way he glances away.

"You asked if I was in love with you," Jaskier explains, "and told me you loved me. What else do you remember?"

"I remember asking you to- suggesting we- I propositioned you. And I remember being in bed- Jaskier, did we-?" He can't imagine anything worse than sleeping with Jaskier while he's not himself, than having the chance to be with him and not truly being present in the moment.

Because he certainly won't have another chance, especially not now that he's gone and muddled things up.

"No," Jaskier confirms and for the first time a small smile tugs at his lips, "not that you didn't try. But It didn't feel right. I knew when you had your memories back, you'd hate me for it and I couldn't-"

"I could never hate you," Geralt interrupts, "if anything I'd hate myself for pushing you into it."

"No," Jaskier says, shaking his head, "Geralt you don't understand. I wanted to. I wanted so badly to just say yes last night when you asked me. I tried to work it around in some way that you wouldn't hate me for taking advantage, but every time I just feel terrible to even think about it. The reason I didn't sleep with you is because I couldn't bear the thought of fucking you when it wasn't really you. Because I didn't want him, even if he was you. I wanted- I want this you."

"You do," Geralt snorts, "someone who throws himself at his friend because he doesn't remember, someone who tells him he loves him unprompted-"

"Do you think," Jaskier suggests, and it's clear by the look on his face that he's considering his words very carefully. "That maybe what you said to me and what you did- what you offered," he corrects quickly, "was because you do have feelings for me?" His voice shakes just faintly and Geralt can smell the anxiousness coming off of him.

It's cloying, overwhelming and it mingles with the scent of sadness and fear and just the faintest hint of something hopeful.

"It's just that Shani said there was nothing wrong with your mind, it was still you in there when you asked, when you said that." Jaskier looks up at him and Geralt feels years of emotion welling up inside him and he doesn't know how to hold it back any longer, not what Jaskier is asking him outright.

"Jaskier, I-" he takes a deep breath, focuses on a mark on the blanket between them. "I don't remember everything. But I did mean what I said. I do… I love you," he whispers, "I didn't want you to think less of me or," he glances up and Jaskier's eyes are shiny like he's trying not to cry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for you to find out like this."

"I'm not sad," Jaskier says, "Geralt, I have been following you around for half my life, caring for you, singing about you and you didn't think for maybe a moment that I could love you back?"

"You-" Geralt stumbles over his words as Jaskier's confession sinks in. "You sleep with everyone. Everyone but-"

"You don't even call me friend, Geralt. Why would I try and take you to bed with me thinking you don't care enough to call me your friend?"

"Oh."

"Oh? You didn't consider that?"

"You're not my friend," Geralt says, by way of explanation, "but you're not a lover, either. You're not a brother. Not a comrade. I don't know what you are."

"Oh."

"But you could be… a lover?" the word feels strangely heavy in his mouth and he nearly regrets saying it at all until he sees the way Jaskier's eyes light up. A smile tugs at Geralt's lips and he leans forward, reaching out to take Jaskier's hand, tentatively turning it over.

"Jaskier," he whispers, "can I kiss you?" A wide grin spreads across his face and Jaskier tips forward toward him.

"Darling, I thought you'd never ask."

#geraskier #memory loss #200 fic celebration #no.1 #the witcher #rex writes

[wizkiddx]

work with me

this is for @worldoftom 'lolbrosgetsicktoo' challenge event thing - go check it out bcos lots of much better writers have got involved too✨! I'm v new to these things but I tried :) the prompt was: 'would you quit whining and just get in the bath' . (also look at me acc posting sort of regularly, who'd of thought?!?!)

warnings: sickness / fever (more dramatic than it needs to be) / LOTS of medical inaccuracies

summary: when tom doesn't take advice and ends up very ill, very far from home, there's one person whose stuck dealing with it

“Please Tom… I need you to work with me!”

It wasn’t his fault he was being a complete nightmare, though your patience was wearing off somewhat.

For context, you were in Morocco, where he had been filming part of his next film, which only made trying to take care of him that bit harder.

Everyone got ill sometimes. It wasn’t his fault.

That was the mantra ringing through your head, even if you had a more challenging time believing it. Tom wasn’t stupid, as much as he liked to joke about it. HOWEVER, what he was less good at was heeding warnings. He was a white boy in Morrocco; the health and safety briefing had literally been aimed at him. Had he taken the advice not to eat any dodgy looking meats at the market?

Of course not; that’d be boring.

Everyone else was fine. You’d all sampled Morroccos culture without giving yourselves the worst case of food poisoning you’d ever witnessed. But not Tom - possibly one of the only ‘indispensable’ people on the set. If you, or one of the minor characters, or even the director, had got ill - the show could continue.

When you’d been rudely awoken by your phone going off, you’d known instantly. It was as if you’d told him not to take a bite out of the weird burger once you were away from the eager view of the street vendor. Sure enough, with bleary eyes, you hissed at the brightness of the phone screen before seeing ‘Tom H’ on the screen.

“Y/n?” His voice was croaky, but just from the single call of your name, it was clear he was feeling sorry for himself.

“Are you okay? It’s late T.”

“Um I… can you come over? You…you might need the key I’m - um- in the bathroom.”

As his stylist, it technically wasn’t part of your job description to also be mother when he was sick, but (unfortunately for you) after the 3 years working side by side with him - you were also friends.

Which you were almost regretting by the second time rinsing the toilet bowl clean after he’d evacuated what seemed to be the majority of his vital organs into it. Honestly, it was impressive how he managed to keep going.

That had been at around 4 in the morning- the doctor had been called at 8, coinciding beautifully with his 5th toilet extravaganza. Once the doctor had confirmed your original, if completely unqualified, diagnosis of food poisoning - you hadn’t been able to bite your tongue. Perhaps an ‘i told you so’ might’ve slipped past your lips, but Tom was a bit too out of it to argue back.

You’d been given firm advice from the doctor - he said little sips of water, rest and control his temperature. It all had seen pretty simple - though the action? Not so much.

It wasn’t his fault, yet Tom was not super compliant. You and Harry had both been taking turns in practically forcing him to take sips of water, having to turn off ‘modern family’ till he did. The blackmail had put you both in his bad book.

Honestly, thank the lord Harry was here too. You’d woken him up at seven, begging for help and since then, you’d tagged teamed. While one was looking after Tom, the other was phoning the director, the doctor, and the crew to inform them of the current situation.

Again, of all people. Why’d it have to be Tom?

Mainly because you knew how mortifying he found this. He didn’t like people fussing over him, never had. He liked to work hard, liked to make people happy - definitely didn’t like to feel a burden. Perhaps what made him feel ten times worse was that he knew he was inconveniencing the whole production team massively.

And yes, as you’d unhelpfully reminded him, it was ‘his fault’.

The lavish hotel room, big bathroom and pretty efficient AC still didn’t manage to mask the pungent in-the-back-of-your-throat smell from the bathroom. At the doctor’s advice, who had been a little concerned at Toms fever, Harry had cranked the AC on high. It had forced you to steal one of Tom’s big hoodies and a pair of joggers- you hadn’t left his room since he first called you, still wearing your tiny pyjama shorts and an old tee.

“Please turn the air con off.” His little voice whined from where he was lying, huddled up under the covers. Perched on the other side of the double bed, but over the covers with your laptop on his lap, you could actually feel him shivering with the chills. It felt like you were torturing the poor boy.

“T you know I can’t. It’ll make your fever worse.” The way he looked up at you, like a little Labrador that you were refusing to pet, actually pained your heart.

Okay, so yes it was his fault, but you weren’t mad, you just felt so awful for him.

“Please I’ll- I’ll pay you more.” His voice was hoarse; though he denied a sore throat, it sounded like the constant sickness was burning his windpipe.

“Tommm” you pouted, sticking your bottom lip out “I don’t want your money, want you to get better.”

Apparently giving up, brown eyes shot you the filthiest look in disappointment, rolling to face away from you. You thought he was giving you the silent treatment in a huff, but instead, he was praying on the weaker one.

“Harry, I’ll buy you that set of golf clubs-“

“NO!” You had to interrupt before Harry would say yes - because from the way his younger brother shot up from the arm chair, he was about to. Scowling eyes slowly focused back on you in annoyance, making you huff - shutting the laptop and kneeling on the bed to face him. After pressing the back of your palm to his forehead, which was scorching hot, you sighed. “I know you feel shitty and I’m so so sorry but I’m trying to make you better. So shut up, drink this and go to sleep!”

Like a child scorned, you received another death glare however, then he complied, taking a sip of the water you offered before lying back - huddling even tighter.

And it had been relatively peaceful for a few hours; Tom seemed to be getting some sleep - even if he was tossing and turning. Eventually, a prescription that the doctor had requested worked its way through the system, Harry getting a text to say he could go pick it up. The nearest pharmacy was probably a 30 minute drive from the hotel, so he left as soon as.

This left you alone with Tom, where the situation only descended into more chaos.

Almost as soon as Harry had left, Tom had stirred with a grunt. All it took was one look at his face for you to know. Both of you leapt up and flew into the toilet, Tom once again getting very familiar with the Moroccan toilet bowl.

This time though, when he had leant backwards, he’d sort of lost control and flopped most the way - you catching him before he could hit his head on the tiled floor.

“Woah, easy there!” It wasn’t like he’d passed out, but the look in his eye as he slumped into your lap… he wasn’t all there either. “Hey Tom… you with me? Tom?”

Lazily he blinked up at you, not really replying except for groans of half-formed words.

Deciding this had all got a bit direr, you almost sprinted back into the room, grabbing your phone and returning. He was still on the floor, his thumb and first finger pressing into each eye - groaning again.

“Hey Tom? I’m gonna call the doctor you need anything?” He whined in response, stopping only when you stroked his sweaty hair back, most of your attention on dialling the correct number.

The solution he’d given wasn’t pretty: Tom’s fever was too high hence why he was all woozy and groany. Until the doctor could get over with the stronger medications, you needed to lower his temperature in other ways or take him to hospital. He’d absolutely hate hospital, but the other choice? Boy, was he not going to like it either.

Ignoring Tom’s croaked question of what you were doing, you busied yourself switching on the bath taps. You let the water run until it was the right (very mild) temperate, then turned back to Tom, who’d managed to work himself up to sit against the sink unit.

“The doctor says you need it.” His brain was foggy, his mind was slow but your tone told him enough to know something was wrong with the bath. “Just take your clothes off and then I’ll help you-“

“Absolutely fucking not.” Good. He was still with it enough to argue.

“I am just as uncomfortable as you are Tom, but we both know you can’t stand up without fainting, so you are going to need my help.”

“Y/n!”

“Keep your boxers on and it’s just like a fitting! I’ve seen you have those before!”

It was clear as day just how emasculated he felt, especially because he knew you were right. Sitting up at this current moment was a push; there was no way he was getting in the bath without some help. Defeatedly he nodded, but gave you a piercing look to turn around before he started wiggling himself out of the flannel pyjama trousers and light cotton t-shirt. Most confusingly, he still felt freezing cold, yet he had long since learned not to argue with you - especially when your justification came from the advice of a doctor.

Your cue to turn around came in the form of an extra angry-sounding grunt- the look you got when you did wasn’t much better either. It was a weird contrast, though, having someone who physically appeared so indestructible (a superhero for crying out loud); to have been absolutely beaten to a pulp by a few mouth fulls of weird meat. You had seen his bare torso before, although it still wasn’t something easy to get used to - making you clench your teeth together just slightly. A very welcome view.

Perhaps you looked just a little too long at the man who was technically your boss, hunched angrily on the floor in nothing but his calvins - another grunt shaking you out of it. By now, the bath was almost full and you hurried to shut off the water, feeling your cheeks heat up as you cursed silently to yourself.

“Okay come on, gimme your arm.” Begrudgingly Tom followed your request, slinging his arm heavily over your shoulder as you crouched beside him. As strong as he looked, you knew right now he felt powerlessly weak - all that muscle was just going to be almost dead weight.

Now it was your turn to grunt and groan as you pulled Tom up to stand, him focusing on blinking away the headrush he got.

“Come on T work with me here.” Getting him to the side of the bath wasn’t too difficult, the issue came when he stepped with one foot into the bath and yelped, instantly withdrawing as if it was a literal ice bath.

The sudden movement had you both losing balance, ending with Tom sitting on the edge of the bath and you leaning over him, in between his legs, and slapping your hand on the wall opposite purely so you both didn’t end up in the bath.

“Tom!”

“It’s like ice water!”

“Its lukewarm like the doctor said!”

“It is not its from the fucking arctic!”

“Oh for god sake!” Exasperated, you paced up and down the bathroom shaking your head at his ridiculousness. This was ALL. HIS. FAULT.

You came back to him with an ultimatum.

“It’s this or the doctor said I had to drag your ass to hospital.”

“Nooooooo.” The 25 year old seemed to convert into a whiny three year old again.

“Those are the two options. So will you PLEASE quit complaining and get in the bath.”

Keeping up the toddler persona, Tom huffed but reluctantly nodded in agreement - you had come up trumps. It didn’t stop him yelping when you helped to lower him in. His breath was shaky, as a response to the ‘cold’, but he was firming it. At least when you felt his forehead after a couple of minutes, it certainly seemed as though the fever was starting to ease off .

“You can go if you want.” His voice was murmured and as you looked up at him, he did his very best to avoid your gaze.

“Not a chance, if you drown on my watch, Nikki will never forgive me.” At the very least he seemed to appreciate your joke, scoffing a little with a small nod. “If you don’t want me here I get it. As soon as Harry’s back, I’ll swap with him.”

“No! It’s not that its… I’m just an ass when I’m ill.”

“A self aware ass, though.” Again he chuckled a little, as you folded your arms on the edge of the porcelain tub, resting your head lying to one side. “You had me pretty scared there for a moment, you know?”

He nodded a little, creating a wave of ripples in the water which you watched to avoid his gaze - which you knew was tracing all your features inquisitively.

“Hey it’s in the job description, always a bit dramatic... I’m sorry though I should never of called you- don’t know why I didn’t just get Harry.” In response you tutted, taking a moment to lean up and push his sweaty curls back a bit.

Just because you could, it was allowed in this moment.

“’m glad you did.”

“Yeh me too” He sighed, eyes fluttering shut in the easy silence of the bathroom. You kept a vigilant eye on him for the next 20 minutes, checking the temperature of his forehead using the back of your hand, whilst he seemed to finally get a bit of proper restbite, appearing like the worst had passed. You had no idea what was taking Harry so long; in fact it was the doctor that arrived first- who you ran to let in (not wanting to leave Tom asleep in the bath one bit).

Whilst the doctor did all his checks, taking his temperature properly this time, satisfied that it was much more manageable. He still wanted to set him up with some oral rehydration rescue packs to get his hydration status a bit better and give some anti-sickness tablets and antipyretics.

Having actually been getting some rest before all the prodding and poking, Tom was back to being a grumbling dick - now not wanting to leave the bath (the irony was real - making you roll your eyes). Once again, he appeared embarrassed to have you see him like this, so you left the doctor to help him get out and changed- instead going down to reception to get a fresh set of sheets, as he’d done a pretty impressive job of sweating through the old ones.

Even if tired and grumpy, when Tom exited the bathroom, he looked much better - he was walking himself without the doctor’s help. Which honestly was such a relief because when he had passed out on you, you genuinely were terrified. Thankfully the doctor stayed for the next 20 or so minutes, which was just when Harry returned with a bag of medications - which were now wholly redundant, given the doctor had already supplied everything.

“What happened?” Harry asked you in a hushed voice, whilst Tom was distracted with getting his medications. Recounting the story of Tom pretty much passing out, Harry grimaced for you, then launching over to give you a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” That was a novel idea, you hadn’t really thought about yourself at all - but honestly, you were a bit shaken, having been running on adrenalin for most of the night.

“I-uhm… yeh I think so… just-just was a bit scared, I guess? Felt bad too because he didn’t want me there but-“

“I can promise you Y/n, he did want you there. Just probably embarrassed he wasn’t all manly and that…” With a nod, you smiled softly at the frizzy-haired boy.

Whilst working with Tom, it also meant getting pretty close to his younger brother. The two Hollands were almost attached at the hip, which you were very much okay with.

It was weird though... your relationships were completely different. Harry was just your brother, through and through. He wound you up like a sibling but also knew you as if he had your whole life. With Tom… it wasn’t that. Arguably, you were closer to Tom, but on a different level. It was more exciting, more nerve-wracking and heartwarming all at the same time. Honestly, you couldn’t get your head around it properly.

“Hey, you’re probably shattered. Why don’t you go back to your room and get some sleep? I got it in here.” You knew Hary was trying to offer something nice, and now all the excitement had worn off, you were unbelievably shattered. But you didn’t like the idea of not being there, as a just in case.

“Uhm, I think I might just stay, you know?” And he did, with a deliberate, knowing smile, he nodded.

He knew you were worried. He knew Tom had really really scared you. He also knew how much you cared about his brother.

Just like how Harry knew Tom wanted you there, even if he felt embarrassed. Well, anyone would- when you are passing out half-naked in front of the one person that really matters.

It was just at this point that the doctor was done, giving Harry instructions about the rest of the day, when you made a beeline for the bed. Tom was propped up against the headboard, still with a pale sullen look and tired eyes, but a bit less clammy and more human. He cracked a smile as you crawled up onto the other side of the bed, kneeling next to him.

“How’re you doin’?”

“All drugged up, just feel fucking exhausted.” Instinctively you reached up to feel his forehead, really appreciating the fact it felt almost normal.

“Join the club mate, I had a 5am wake up call too.” You almost whispered, intending to make Tom laugh, but instead only getting a pout.

“I am sorry, a-are you going to go back to your room?”

“Nah” Tom’s eyes didn’t light up, except the fact that they very much did. “Can’t trust you not to get into trouble while I’m gone Holland.”

“Thanks.” He laughed weakly before shimmying down on the bed, so he was much more comfortable. “And thankyou, I-I’m sorry I’m a dickhead and made your life-“

“Shut up Tom!” Laughing, you lightly slapped his arm, also leaning down on the bed, so you were lying facing him. “You’re all feverish; go to sleep before you say something stupid.”

There was a long pause, Tom just gazing deep into your eyes, because he was pretty sure what he was thinking was nothing to do with the dodgy unidentified meat he’d had the evening before.

“What... like asking you out?”

…..

“Maybe that wouldn’t be so stupid.”

~~~~im really not sure how I feel about this one, let me know what you thought ;) ~~~~

tagging: @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter@hollandfanficlove

#tomholland #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland x y/n #hurt comfort #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #harry holland

[fetchisnotawordgretchen]

Headcanons about Ikemen Vampire Guys React To An Mc Who Has A Big Sweet Tooth!!

Hello!!! I often eat quite alot of sweets to the point where I need to cut myself off. So I thought of this! Hope you enjoy~

Warnings⚠️: NONE! Only pure fluff!!

Suitors: Theo, Vincent, Arthur, and Le Comte

Otome Game: Ikemen Vampire

Summary: What four vampire men would react to their Mc having a major sweet tooth.

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Theo:

Theo already has a big sweet tooth, unlike his brother Theo would devor an entire bottle of syrup. When he finds out that you have a terrible obsession with sugar his mood immediately improves.

You're almost as bad as him, not that he's complaining of course. It's nice having someone to eat sweets with while talking about everything and nothing.

All though he does try to get you to eat other things once in awhile. Eating sweets 24/7 can't really hurt him, but it could potentially harm you.

Vincent has definitely scolded both of you for eating small cakes before dinner or in the dead of night. Theo just laughs while you quickly eat his desert when he's distracted.

Theo would tease you non stop about you sugar habits. All you have to do is tease him back a bit harder, and he'll stop because he'll get a little flustered. Key word: Little.

As much as Theo loves his sweets he'll give you some of his just telling you he wants something else other than the plate of pure sugar he gave you.

He definitely makes sure you never have any cavities. He'll limit you on how much sugar you should have in a day and always makes sure to brush your teeth. Yes I know hygiene wasn't really a thing back then but just imagine it was

"Hondje, I know you love sugar but you can't eat it for every meal. Yes I know that I eat sugar a lot but that's just because it doesn't effect me. Awe but how can I say no to your cute puppy eyes?"

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Vincent:

Now Vincent is the complete opposite of his brother. He particularly doesn't care for desserts or sugar unlike Theo who lives off of them, so when you come along he'll definitely try to limit you on sugar.

Vincent loves you and cares about your health so don't take it to heart when he hides your food or gives it to Theo. Theo just gives it right back to you though.

He does love when your eyes sparkle once you spot a delicious looking sweet that caught your eye. Vincent lives to see you happy, so who is he to take away your food?

Even though Vincent isn't a fan of sweets he loves baking them with you! The soft blonde has definitely started a small food fight with you using flour and other small ingredients.

One of Vincent's favorite things to do is paint you in a Sunflower field while you eat a small dessert. He always says "it's to capture your beauty." But we all know it's because he wants to spend time with you.

Vincent always lightly scolds you when he finds you munching down on sugar. He always asks if you eat actual food before and afterwards. The blonde just wants to make sure you take care of yourself!

"My flower, how about we make a cake together! All though you'll have to share with Theo. I don't want you to eat all of that sugar alone, you could get sick!"

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Arthur:

Arthur doesn't really care if you decide to ear sugar a lot. Infact he might even go out into town just to get something especially for you!

If Vincent or someone else starts to scold you then he'll chime in and say someone along the lines of "Relax it's just food, besides someone so sweet should eat sweet things too!~"

Though the doctor side of Arthur comes out when he realizes how much sugar you've been eating. He'll make you eat at least two to three full fruits per day, after all an apple a day keeps the doctor away!

Arthur will always give you company when you decide to eat in the dinning room. He may tease you about how full your cheeks get when you chew but, he just thinks it's adorable!

The British man would definitely tease you but, his heart is always in the right place when he does it. The way you always offer him a piece of your food but never give it too him is just too undeniably cute to him.

"Woah woah slow down sweetheart! I don't want you to choke on your dessert. Hm? Sebastian scolded you again? Well don't mind him, as long as you're with me you can eat as much sugar as you please!"

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Le Comte:

Comte would spoil you rotten, always! He'll even buy you a whole bakery if you really wanted to, he just can't resist your adorable face!

The aristocrat would simply laugh whenever Vincent or Sebastian would tell you to stop eating so much sugar.

One of Comte's favorite things to do with you is sit in front of the fireplace while sharing a piece of cake with you. Sometimes he might even read cheesy romantic poetry for you.

All though he always makes sure you do eat balanced meals and brush your teeth regularly so you don't get any cavities! The man just hates to see you in pain, so he'll always try his best to take care if you.

If you ask nicely, or not he'll give it to you either way. Comte would always give you his sweet that he was eating, he loves watching your face light up as soon as he gives you the little plate.

"Ah ma chérie I'm too full to finish my dessert, do you want to rest of it? Just make sure to brush your teeth later, okay ma douce?"

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This one was a bit rushed because I'm working on something else, but trust me you will love it! Thank you for all of the love and support you give me, take care of yourself! <3

#ikemen vampire #cybird ikemen #ikemen series #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen games #ikemen headcanons #ikemen le comte #ikemen arthur #ikemen vincent #ikemen theodorus van gogh #ikemen theo #vincent van gogh #le comte de saint germain #otome romance #cybird otome #otome fandom #ikevamp arthur #arthur doyle #ikemen vampire headcanons #headcanons #desserts #ikememe #ikemen leonardo #fictional love #so tired

[themountainsays]

My brain just suddenly asked the question, “What would Mirabel’s quince look like?” and now I need answers. Do you have any ideas on what chaos may happen?

oof oh ok so I uh I have a few headcanons about the granddaughters' quinces. Isabela's was huge and extravagant, meant to show off Madrigal wealth and prosperity, introduce her to the community as a woman (which includes looking for suitors), showing her off, you know it was a very big and expensive performance. Lots of music. Easily the biggest Quince. She was also the only granddaughters who had a "good" Quince - Dolores did NOT want such a painfully noisy party after surviving Isabela's. She asked for a more quiet celebration with a few friends and her family. Abuela, however, was worried about what the community would think, and completely dismissed her request and forced her into a situation that was physically painful to her. I actually explored Isabela and Dolores' Quinces a little bit in my last fic!

Then we got Luisa, who was straight up not offered a Quince lmao. Big exception for Madrigal ladies. 15 y.o Luisa would have actually LOVED to wear a pretty dress and play princess for the night while people brought her gifts and food, and she was really looking forward to her party, but someone (probably Abuela) said something along the lines of "oh, Luisa, you don't want a big Quince do you?" And Luisa felt too embarrassed to say she'd been planning hers since age 8. So she got a normal birthday party. They simply didn't see her having a Quince as necessary for the family. She already provided so much. And they didn't need to show her off - she's not there to show off, like Isabela, and with such an odd Gift, I think Dolores might've had to somehow "prove herself" (as I mention in my fic, she would have to prove that "there's nothing weird or wrong with her" when she cowers away from loud noises, add there the human panopticon headcanon and you got several reasons for Alma to try and present Dolores as good and endearing to the community). If anything, Luisa having a Quince may have been a demostration of tenderness and femininity no one really expected of her. I'm sure they would have given her one if she asked, but they simply assumed she didn't want one, and she never corrected them, so.

So for those three ladies I got everything figured out, but Mirabel is a bit more tricky for me.

I certainly want there to be some angst. I see people saying they wouldn't have offered Mirabel a Quince or that they would have straight up forgotten about it entirely, which I don't think would have been the case. Affording a big Quince is pretty much a status symbol. I went to private school when I was 14-15 and you can see how wealthy girls will try to one-up each other to see who could afford the most luxury. It's pretty frustrating ngl. as for me, i went on a trip to a country that shall not be mentioned for privacy reasons, because lmao no one choses that country for Quince trips and anyone who knows me irl would know it's me but yeah it was part of an exchange study program so I spent all month eating sandwiches on the streets, attending to class and hanging out with other students. Did i mention I hate quinces? I hate quinces. Quincest exist to antagonize me specifically. why would you go to a party when you can play Skyrim instead? ridiculous. Anyway, I actually think Mirabel may choose not to have a Quince and pick instead a trip somewhere else. Probably something very simple, like visiting Bogotá or Cartagena. Depends on whether or not people regularly leave the Encanto. And a big part of the charm is that no one comes in or out of the Encanto, yes, but I like the idea of Mirabel choosing to travel because it would make her different from her sisters and cousin in a distinctly specific way. She's not just vaguely frustrated: she knows very clearly what she wants and, most importantly, she's not intimidated by Alma and continues to insist over and over again that she's not interested in a party. She doesn't do it to be rebellious, she just genuinely doesn't think she'd enjoy it. Maybe she would in a different timeline? But living under Isabela's shadow makes her believe her sister would end up overshadowing her under her own Quince. I can imagine her saying something like "okay, I'd like a party, but Isabela isn't invited" which triggers a fight. There would be a lot of fights, actually. Mirabel REALLY doesn't want to fight but she doesn't see anything wrong with her position and she's not the kind to submissively lower her head and accept Alma's word without questioning - again, not out of rebelliousness, but out of an innocent desire to have a good Quince experience.

But I think that, after some time, she'll end up saying that it's fine. She's ok without a Quince trip. She still doesn't want a party. She tells her mother why, and her mother understands. She knows her baby always felt like no one appreciates her as much as her sisters, and a Quince is all about being seen. Which is why, in one hand, I kinda think Mirabel may want a Quince, because it's her one chance to shamelessly make everything about herself and be appreciated, but it's too easy, isn't it? Mirabel wants a big Quince, Alma wants her to have a big Quince to show off - this is also her one chance of making something good out of her lest favorite grandchild. Her Gift ceremony was a failure but at least she can have a Quince - but yeah, nah, I feel like there would be an underlying wrongness ruining things. Maybe Mirabel wants a Quince initially but changes her mind when she realizes it won't give her what she wants? Maybe she realizes it will be made "about the miracle" and she'll end up shoved to the side anyway? I would love to see how Mirabel's birthdays are usually celebrated. That could give us a nice insight into how this could go, because if she receives alllllll of the love and validation during regular birthdays, then her Quince would be just the same and there would be no reason for conflict and maybe there WOULDN'T be, maybe she'd have a perfectly good Quince, but that seems almost too good for Mirabel's luck. I think she'd end up with no Quince party or trip. Everyone would get so mad that Alma would snap and say "If you don't want a party, fine." And they celebrate her birthday as usual. And if she IS indeed sidelined even on her own birthday, in favor of the rest of her family, the Miracle, the Encanto, or even her own fucking sister, then yeah it'd be disappointing and pretty bad.

But I also can't help but wonder if they would have given her the Luisa treatment and assumed she was simply too unimportant to show off. That sounds like the kind of aggressively, ridiculously cruel behavior Alma offers Mirabel lmao. POV your sister is crying over losing her gift after talking to you once (1) and your grandma she's all MIRABEL DIDYA PUT YA NAME IN DA GOBLET OF FIRE out of nowhere anyway I thought about it a little and I think this would have been a perfectly realistic alternative. And Mirabel, in this case, would have asked to have one, because she wants her big moment, you know? She couldn't get a gift, but at least she could get pretty dresses, right? 👉👈 I kinda want to stick to the idea of Mirabel not wanting a Quince, because that's usually what's seen as unusual and "rebellious" in some families. It is said that a Quince isn't for you, but for the family (and, in older times, to "introduce you to the community as a woman"). Some girls are chastised and called selfish, ungrateful and egocentrical for refusing a Quince. Depends on the family. But Alma is just straigthforward and aggresive enough to chastise Mirabel for wanting a Quince. I feel divided now, actually.

I'm not very sure of what Mirabel would want for her Quince but I'm fairly certain that:

she'd be at odds with Alma

whatever she asks for will be seen as controversial

It will thematically reflect her being "inadequate" her for the family.

she won't get happy results in the end. she probably won't get either a Quince party or a trip.

yay! :D

#encanto spoilers #encanto headcanons #i admit i erased most quince memories from my brain #plus each country has different traditions and i don't know nearly enough #about colombian quinces to have a lot of ideas TT_TT #in my country they're mostly about ehhhh dancing and eating?? and you see a bunch of baby pictures #and old videos of the quinceañera to like celebrate her life or something idk #like i said i was too busy eating sandwiches in the street #not to be an NLOG but y'know i don't have a lot of firsthand experience #experience that i remember at least #i have bad memory ok ;-;

[a-mended-pact]

Period Pains & Cuddles

Hey! So this is a one shot for @fortheloveofcriminalminds and I 's series Sticks and Stones! That being said this is one that can stand alone if you chose to read it. I for some reason keep dreaming of more things for our story that just aren't needed for the main story line. Enjoy!

⚠️ warning: mentions of Menstruation, Past abuse and malnutrition. ⚠️ (if there are more inform me please)

✒Word Count: 2,398

🛑 If you do not want any spoilers at all for Sticks & Stones do not read.

I Have been living next door to Spencer for a little over a month now. My apartment had slowly become more and more homey as the days went on. He was constantly dropping things off at my door or I'd buy little things from the shop I'm working at and bring them home.  

My apartment finally looked like I had a personality and I wasn't this bland shell of a marionette doll being pushed and pulled the way someone wanted me to be. It was refreshing but more nerve-wracking than a breath of fresh air for me.

It was nearing day break  and I knew I needed to get up and start cleaning my place. I had a routine that I did everyday. I'd wake up early and clean the whole place. Spotless to the point you could eat off the floor if you wanted to. I'd even scrub all the nooks and crannies with a toothbrush.  This was an everyday thing. Changing my schedule wasn't an option. Once the apartment was clean I had to get ready myself and by the time 9 came around I was ready to start my day fully. 

Having been given the time to adjust to eating again whenever I wanted was interesting.  I had no idea what I liked anymore but because of the month of freedom I had started to gain a little weight. God I hoped Spencer didn't notice. I hope he didn't get upset with me the way I knew Brett would. 

Spencer had told me once that I was looking healthier and that he was happy for me. He also spewed facts about how now because I am getting the nutrients that my body needs I could start experiencing things my body wasn't used to anymore. 

I didn't really understand what he meant then but I think I'm starting to.

I forced myself to get up only to notice a stain on my sheets caused by me. Seriously? I forgot that periods were a thing. I pulled my hand up counting on my fingers. Each year is remembered by an unpleasant memory. I stopped having it right after a very brutal night with Brett. I bled for nearly a month after that night. Glancing at my hands I only held up 6 fingers.  

I hadn't had my period in 6 years. If anything joyous came from being with Brett it was the fact I didn't have to deal with this. 

I groaned in annoyance and in panic. I needed to clean this up. I had to because this couldn't be left on my sheets for too long or else it would stain permanently.  Even when I had my periods with Brett he was never supposed to see any signs of a period, none.  I used to use pads and tampons but I quickly had to learn how to use a cup. 

It caused less mess. No waste to be seen in the bin and nothing put under the cabinets that Brett could see. 

I quickly threw my sheets and comforter into the hamper while I rushed to throw away my now wasted pajama bottoms, sealing off the bag I put them in and putting it next to the door. Yes I was in fact running around my home in the nude. Just for a couple of moments though. 

I stumbled into the shower knocking over my body wash and shampoo. The moment the warm water hit my face I felt my body relax. I was in a lot of pain. When I did have my periods regularly they were always heavy and painful. My muscles in my back would always be incredibly tight to the point I couldn't even bend over. 

Now that the adrenaline is gone from the sheer shock of the situation. I'm sure this one would be exactly the same. All I wanted to do is curl up and cry. I couldn't though it was embedded in me that I had to clean the house. 

When I got out of the shower and went to get dressed, that's when I realized the biggest problem I was going to have today. With a loud scream of frustration I slammed my sink cabinet.  I didn't have any female hygiene products for this. I mean it had been 6 years. 

I wracked my brain about what I could possibly do. The thought of ordering things to my door sounded lovely. However, anyone knowing that I am going through this is just embarrassing to me. I made a very quick and brash decision of crumbling up toilet paper to make a temporary pad until I got to the store. 

I dressed in black. I didn't want to risk another disaster.  

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By the time I made it home all I wanted to do was go back to bed. I got myself and my new things situated and stored away. I immediately started to clean afterwards doing everything the way I always did.  Like I was supposed to do. I glanced at the clock on the stove only to realize it was noon now. 

A huff escaped me. I was finally done. Now I could start winding down and relaxing. I was getting extremely dizzy while cleaning anyway. I made my way to the couch to curl up.  I never wanted to leave this spot.

It was just curved enough to relax my lower back and to cradle me in all the right places.  I started to drift off, giving myself some time to recuperate from my chaotic morning.

------------

I awoke to a gentle hand on my face caressing me. I flinched at their close proximity which caused me to tense up a small groan left my lips as I curled up more and rolled away from them.

'Dahlia, sweetheart, you didn't hear me banging on your door or calling you? It's 7pm. We had a date. Did you forget?' His voice was laced with concern and I couldn't help but feel awful because I did forget. 

'I hope you don't mind. I let myself in. You know you shouldn't leave your door unlocked,Statistically in the United States alone 22,796 women are likely to be burglarized when they live alone.' 

Spencer helped me roll over when he saw me struggling to do so.  ‘I’m, I’m sorry I’ll go get dressed for our date now.’ I rushed to go get up when a dizzy spell hit me. He stood up quickly and caught me by my waist. ‘Hey, what’s wrong, you seem disoriented?’ I tried to tell him that I was fine but I didn’t feel fine. Perhaps I was just being over dramatic. I logically knew women go through this sort of thing all the time but all I wanted to do was cry.

 I was overflowing with so much emotion. I was aggravated with the fact that this was happening to me again to start with. I was upset with myself for being like this. I was even more distraught by the fact I had forgotten my date with Spencer. How could I just forget? I was looking forward to it since last week when he got called away for work while we were planning the whole thing. 

We had agreed to go out to see one of his forgein movies. He was gonna translate it the whole way through whispering it in my ear. At first I had declined saying it was going to ruin the movie for him. He assured me that it was fine he had already seen it once with his mother when he was younger. He just believed it was a movie I was going to enjoy. 

We had also discussed having dinner after. We never ended up picking a restaurant before he got called away. ‘It’s nothing Spencer, I'm fine, really. I just forgot our date is all. I’m really sorry’ I moved myself out of his hold and made my way to my bedroom to get dressed. 

‘You know we don’t have to even go out tonight. I am more than happy to just stay in and spend time with you!’  I could hear him shout from my living room. I was getting frustrated because all my clothes seemed unbelievably tight on me right now. I could feel the tears brimming at the corners of my eyes. This was ridiculous. Why was I being so emotional? How do I tell Spencer that I didn’t want to do anything at all? I didn’t even want to be out of bed or better yet off the couch. As long as I was laying down and I wasn’t moving it didn’t feel like my hips were being compressed and my back finally wasn’t in pain. 

I barely even wanted to be pleasant towards him and all he has ever been to me was a gentleman. I walked out in the same clothes I went in with this time wrapped in a throw blanket I bought from the shops. He looked at me with concern and smiled softly as he pulled me with him to the couch. He pulled me close and held me, playing with my hair and moving it off my face. I laughed slightly at how gentle he was being with me. 

‘Do you remember when you told me now that I was getting healthier that my body would start doing things it’s supposed to.’ I whispered and leaned my head against the back of the couch. His warmth on my back felt magical. His chest vibrated as he chuckled. ‘Yes, I remember. Pretty girl, is that what's wrong.’ He pulled me closer to him, his hand lightly touching my stomach. I never noticed how tight my tummy muscles were until the natural warmth he carried slipped to me through the palm of his hand. 

I looked down embarrassed. This was always such a sensitive topic when Brett was around. He didn’t want to hear about it nor did he care to. ‘For the first time in 6 years. I - um started my period.’ I said it as quietly as I could in hopes he wouldn’t be put off by this new information. I went to pull away only for him to pull me closer to him. Him basically wrapping himself around me and holding me close as he kissed my temple. 

‘That’s really good news sweetheart. I know it may not seem like a good thing right now but it is. It means that your hormones and everything are finally going back to normal after years of being not right.’ He grabbed both of my hands in his when I tried to curl in on myself again. I could feel his breath on my neck every time he exhaled. It made me want to slip deeper into him. 

‘I think we should order in and watch one of your favorite movies. How's that for tonight?’ I bit my lip still questioning whether or not I wanted him to go home or not. Him seeing me like this was already upsetting enough. It wasn’t like I wasn’t dressed and didn’t have makeup on. Maybe it was just the fact that I didn't feel great that made me think I also didn’t look it. 

I nodded but otherwise didn’t speak. Spencer has known me long enough to know that I'm a little in my head at times like these. So he knows that as long as I agree he can do whatever he likes unless I say otherwise. 

He ordered food and began looking around on my shelves lining the wall to realize I didn’t own any movies.  I watched him and couldn’t help but smile. It was hard to believe he could be a dominant when he was struggling so hard to take charge of the situation right now. He held up his finger and made an ah ha noise when he ran out of my apartment to what i assume was into his. He came back clutching a bundle of movies in his large hands along with some junk food from his place. 

‘I know enough from Stell that you can’t go wrong with junk food when a lady is on her period.’ His voice was laced with confidence yet somehow his stance said shy as if he were overstepping. I couldn’t help but smile at him. He was so sweet I managed to move myself into a more proper position when there was a knock at my door. ‘Ah that must be the food.’ He placed all the things he brought onto the table and quickly grabbed the take out.

At this point my mouth was watering. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled the food. 

‘Thank you. For just being you Spencer. I didn’t realize I could be cared for the way you’ve cared for me since I’ve gotten the pleasure of knowing you.’ I smiled widely as he sat down beside me. The movie started and the food was passed out between us both. He smiled a smile that stole my heart out of my chest and yet made it beat so rapidly I thought for certain he could hear it. ‘There’s no need to thank me Dahlia. I don’t mind taking care of you. You aren’t a hard person to take care of. I just enjoy spending time with you. Regardless of what we are doing.’ A blush formed on his features. If it wasn’t for the glow of the projector I would have missed it. ‘Thank you, I’m not sure I could be anyone else even if I tried.’ his voice was small and filled with adoration at what I had said.

Some time after we were done eating I gravitated towards him seeking his warmth. He had moved himself, his leg now resting on my couch as he leaned against the arm rest. I was between his legs, my body tangled in his as my head rested on his chest. If every time I got my period meant that I had the pleasure of getting to use Doctor Spencer Reid as a giant teddy bear. I’d be more than happy to have them 

His hand cradled my face as the tips of his fingers played in my hair. His other arm draped over me holding me protectively as I drifted off into my sea of unconsciousness.

‘My precious Dahlia what have you done to me?’ 

#criminal minds fanfiction #collab fanfiction #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #sticks and stones #sas #SAS #s&s #S&S #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer reid #spencer sister wives 🖤 #Yuki's babbles

[beckydoesthings]

annual writing self eval

it's uh... 2021. still?

anyways, thanks to @larrysballetslippers and @parmahamlarrie for tagging me in this! it's been a crazy year, but hopefully just the beginning of my writing journey.

1. Number of stories posted to AO3: 2

2. Word count posted for the year: 65325

3. Fandoms I wrote for: One Direction

4. Pairings: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, side Zayn Malik/Liam Payne

5. Story with the most kudos, bookmarks, comments: same for all three, take my hand (my whole life too)

6. Work I'm most proud of (and why): probably my first fic (take my hand), because i had the idea and was determined to get it all down on paper, which i did within almost a month. i think it's some of my best writing yet based on one of my favorite movies

7. Work I'm least proud of (and why): nothing i've published, but i have one that i'm working on now that i wish i had more time to finish because the plot line could be far more fleshed out, but alas.

8. Share or describe a favorite review you received: i remember i received a comment that said they had stayed up until 3/4 am reading this fic and i definitely felt that on another level XD. made me happy to see that people felt so drawn to my writing that they'd stay up to read it.

9. A time when writing was really, really hard: honestly, now. i'm struggling with burnout i think and trying to manage my time in uni. hopefully i can push through and finish up some more fics for next year.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: my star wars AU has several scenes that keep running away from me and drawing out more emotion that i had thought was possible. here's a small example:

He crumples back into his chair, tears already spilling over as he slaps one hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds of his cries. The Harry-sized hole in his chest throbs painfully, constricting his ability to breathe normally, and Louis thinks, gods I deserve this.

He deserves this for being a Mandalorian, deserves this for being so stubborn, deserves this for falling so in love with a Jedi - someone who’s not even allowed attachments - that his whole being is trembling at the loss. Louis had thought that the night they kissed was the most painful experience he would go through this year.

He was wrong.

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: hm... i think i've become more aware of the words and phrases that i like to use all the time and filtering those out. i also came to terms with the fact that i don't really enjoy writing smut too much and that i don't need to force it into my works! if i feel like it fits, i'll write it, but i'm not going to put it in for the sake of trying to draw more people in.

13. How do you hope to grow next year: write more! no, but really, i want to try and develop more of a writing schedule so i can put out works a little more regularly.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer: everyone from the @1d-library has been suuuper lovely and supportive! i'm thrilled to have sprinted with everyone on the server!

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: my first fic (which remains unfinished as of rn) was based on a lot of my real life experiences, but i think that work is a little bit like catharsis to me. the rest of my writings have been escapes from reality, which i enjoy equally, but they're quite different.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: write for yourself! write things you'd like to read and then go and reread them when they're done! i love reading my own works and it's just as enjoyable as reading someone else's writing.

17. Any projects you're looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: my star wars AU is long overdue and now that i've got a beta and an artist attached to it, i definitely have to finish it now haha! it will get done, and i think it'll be the best thing i write for a while.

18. Tag some writers whose answers you'd like to read

i think almost everyone has done this but... @stylesthebrave @princelyharry @beelou @justalarryblog @maggieisalarrie if you guys haven't already!

#what do i tag this lol #uh #me #writing tings

[entities-of-posts]

Statement of Samantha J. Hawkings, 2/27/16. Statement begins:

I have always felt their Eyes. I would be walking around, business as usual, and I could feel their gaze on me. There was always a distinct sensation with this feeling, like daggers glared into my back, but it wasn't painful. I'd hold my head down in public, in fear of Looking back.

Perhaps people stare because I mumble to myself sometimes, or because the clickity-clack of the keyboard in my office is a bit too loud. Maybe it's because my suit is on too tight, or I forgot to brush my hair, or my shoes are untied(I can be forgetful or clumsy at times). Or, and this is the most convincing theory, they enjoy tormenting me.

I don't know. I'm good at paying taxes and fixing computers, but I can't read strangers to save my life.

One morning, I drove over to work. It was a bit foggier than usual, but I managed. I came to work, filed some papers, made a few calls, and it was rather boring. The interesting part is that, when it was time to go home, the fog had returned. It was thicker this time, and I swore I was going to choke on it. I couldn't see a thing, but the sensation...was actually pretty cathartic. I felt like I was just a figment of my own imagination; that I didn't exist, and neither did anyone else. The Eyes were looking at me for most of the day(when weren't they?) but I could feel that their oculars had moved elsewhere. The burden of being observed had been, for once in my life, lifted. I felt free, but oh, so Lonely. I savored every second of that moment.

It took a few minutes to snap out of my daze, and then I drove back to my house. Life continued on, but the longer I was away from the mist, the more I desired it. My life was very busy, and the fog was like a welcome retreat.

Over the days, the fog lessened, except for in that one spot. And each day, I would linger there more and more, soaking it in like medicine. I began to wander there, in front of my work building, in my free time. I would bring my phone and play games or listen to music there. I wouldn't dare do that kind of stuff in public before, but I felt much safer in the fog. It came to a point where, even when I found a better-paying job, I would still visit at least 3 times a day. That spot became my own special hangout. I would keep snacks there, tune my guitar there, act out Shakespearan plays there, and no one would ever notice.

Though I would eventually feel the pangs of Loneliness creep in, it was much more tolerable than being Observed. I would rather die than go back to the life I had before. And soon, I didn't have to go to one specific part of town. The fog would come to me whenever I felt insecure or paranoid. I found that I could wield it, ever so gently, like a weapon. I stopped caring about mortal affairs, even minute things such as eating or sleeping regularly. I had my peace, and my quiet place, and I was happy.

I was 19 then. I'm 30 now, and nothing has changed. I am well aware of my service to the Lonely, and I work for it eagerly. I am a rather new avatar, but a promising one, don't you think?

Statement ends. Fog collects around the paper it was written on, and you feel a slight sense of obsfucation when you are done reading it.

Funny, how often one Fear pushes us little mortals into the waiting arms of another… how many less servants would they all have, without their siblings’ help? I’m tempted to say it’s nearly intentional, at times…

It’s an ecosystem, really. Everything is a delicate balance. Therein lies the inevitable foolishness of most large-scale Rituals, if you ask me.

#statements

[ihopethisendswell]

The part where you get basic info on my Pokémon oc's so you don't get confused when I post about them.

This is gonna be a long post. I have like 8 total. 16 if your counting the secondary protags (my version of May and Lucas for example,which I won't be going over in detail cause I'm not insane). Might want to check my timeline 9 it's pinned or just check bulbapedia if your confused about the ages. If you have any questions feel free to ask. I hope you enjoy :)

Name :Jin Amachi

Gender: " I am nonbinary. I they/ them pronouns, but I'm alright with he/ him as well.

Age:

12( when started journey in Hoenn( Emerald)

22 by SM/USUSM

26 by SWSH

Basic info: With all things said and done, Jin is grateful for their journey. They learned a lot, even if they had to stop two extreme environmentalist along the way. They know the two meant well, but it's just too bizarre for it to happen. Though the two seem to be in a better place now. They're happy for them. They're father and them talk more now. It's still awkward, but better. They know he's trying his best, and they will do the same. It's much better than back then. But no need to worry about the past.

If anything, they're more worried about the others.

Kenji Elm

Gender: " I'm getting sudden dejavu. But I'm a boy! The best boy! Don't call me a girl, I will cry. And because I'm not one! So don't. Anyway have you heard of-" * starts to ramble*

Age:

10 when journey started in Johto( HGSS)

17 by SM

21 by SWSH

Basic Info: Kenji Elm is not the biological son of Professor Elm. He was adopted at a young age, and he doesn't know who is birth parents. Not that he cares. He's more than happy with the family he got( though he wonders when they'll throw him away like his parents did). Energetic and always willing for an adventure, Kenji is generally on the move!( He's so sorry if he's being annoying please don't leave please)

He has a vast amount of interests, but his two favorites are painting and battling. Battling is obvious, he's the champion of the Indigo League, but he always had an artistic eye. But his favorite pastime is hanging out with his friends! When he gets the time of course. He's sometimes wonder how he was able to hold the title of champion for so long though haha ( his win was a fluke he knows it he knows it) .But yeah! That's Kenji! Always there with a smile! Our little golden boy! 😁

Name: Danica Yamamoto

Gender: "I'm a girl. She/her pronouns. They/ them is cool too. Don't mind Kenji, he talks a lot." *Offended Kenji noises in the background*

Age:

11 when journey started in Sinnoh( Platinum)

18 by SM)

22 by SWSH

Basic Info: Giratina and Arcues are quite alike, the more she thinks about it. Though, the rest if Sinnoh, quite possibly the whole world would disagree with her. Giratina is " the lord of darkness". It's followers have a history of not being....the best. Giratina resides alone in the Distortion World, paying for it's past sins. Clearly, Giratina and Arcues are nothing alike.

Hm? Oh. Right. Pardon.

Danica grew up in Twinleaf town, with her best friend Barry. Those two are almost polar opposites. Barry is always moving, going fast, and doesn't wait for no one( except Danica and Emmet). Danica can go fast, possibly faster than Barry, but likes to take things slow. Both can be quite chaotic.Barry has a bit of a temper, Danica's chill. Both are cases where you should run when they are angry. Like. Very angry. The two bounces of each other well,and hang out regularly with Emmet, even with their busy professions ( Danica as champion, Barry as Frontier Brain and Emmet as a professor). Danica loves baking, and would often be making poffins and other baked treats for her, her pokemon and others ! She's also a bit of a nerd, so you'll also find her in a library or two. Her pokemon are her babies, and she hopes to have plenty of battles with them in the future!

.....

But really. They are quite alike. Both are beings of great power. Both have a following, even if one is less seen. Both are feared. They are feared greatly. Do they fear each other? Did Arcues banish Giratina in fear of the world or in fear of losing control? Did Giratina learn it's lesson after eons of being in the Distortion World? She could never tell. It doesn't really open up much, only going back to said Distortion World on its own Accord( it felt wrong to be it's "owner"). Though it do comes back, surprisingly. Maybe because she asked it to. To make sure Cyrus doesn't die in there. He still won't come out. She doesn't understand why. It's been years. Has he learned his lesson? Giratina seems to be fond of him. Affectionate. Cyrus never objects to this. So he must right? Right?

Ah, getting off topic. They're quite alike, being feared by the masses. Even if Arcues is mostly beloved. It's a god. It has such power. They're both feared. They themselves must fear as well . It must get lonely....... She thinks she gets Cyrus now.

Name: Alexis " Alex" Jones

Gender: " Um, hi? I'm just a dude. Use he/ him pronouns.....yeah"

Age:

14 when journey started in Unova( BW)

18 by SM

22 by SWSH

Basic info: It's so funny, the more he thinks about. He was so excited, despite his worries. He was going on a journey. A gym challenge. Pathway to champion. He was going to do that! With his sister and his friends! On his birthday! It was perfect! It should have been perfect! But everything just went wrong.

The bodies, the blood, the pressure to " be a hero"( intentional or not), it was all too much. Too much. Then- then he was a coward. He fled it all. Even after saving the day. It was stupid. So stupid. And the people in his life had a right to be angry. Why wouldn't they? He deserved it, really. But now things are better(?). He has a daycare to co-run, he's gradually learning his way as a pokemon medic, and he still has his pokemon( the ones that were lucky enough to survive). He's so grateful for them. He doesn't battle, though. No, he's never doing that ever again. He's caused enough harm( he hates how he stares at trainers battling). He's no good anyway( he hates how bored his team looks half the time) . He doesn't understand why people insist that he is( he hates that he has this itch, this desire). He doesn't understand why they look so disappointed when he says he doesn't battle anymore( he hates that he misses the rush, the strategy, the freedom of it all). He's fine with what he got. He's no hero.

.....Why is his aunt calling him?

Name: Evangeline " Eva" Ortiz

Gender: " Hiya! I'm a lovely lady! I use she/her pronouns, please and thank you!"

Age:

14 when journey started ( B2W2)

16 by SM

20 by SwSh

Basic Info: Eva! Eva my Beloved. Eva's fun, y'know? Always moving, helping, laughing, smiling. Life of the party! She rivals Kenji with that winning smile. Not to mention that she's a great battler! It's almost like she was born for this. Maybe she is! Who knows. But what she do know is that she's Unova's Champ and she gotta defend her title! And protect her region! Though she probably would have done that without the title anyway haha! Hmm what else? Oh! She loves technology! For some reason that surprises a lot of people that don't really know her, but she does! She's a bit of a tinkerer if she do say so herself. She likes it when people compliment on her skills it makes her more confident in them. Even Col-

No.

....

Ahem.

Anyway she's pretty talented. But that comes from a lot of hard work! And luck. But lots of hard work.( And also luck). Aaaah, that should that's it? Well, she does tend to be distant, b-but she's busy, yeah? Don't worry about it. Oh! One more thing. It's not really a big deal, just a random fact.

She hates the cold.

Name Jude Bellrose

Gender: "...... Why do you care ?" ( E: Jude don't be rude! Al: No no, she has a point.) *Ooc: Jude is genderfluid. Right now, in this post, she's using she/ her pronouns, but she also uses he/him and they/them*

Age:

18 when journey started in Kalos( XY)

20 by SM

24 by SwSh

Basic info: Death has a way of teaching you things. Jude learned a lot from it. She learns to not take it for granted, both death itself and the one that is dead.She learns to be humble. She learns to be kind.

Jude was, and still is, prickly. She's not rude my any means, unless she is, but she's just hard to become friends with. She used to have this philosophy of trainer and pokemon; they should be no emotional bonds. They're not here for that. They're here to win. And she did. Until she didn't. Her first pokemon died. It devastated her. Her pokemon, surprisingly, comforted her. And then another one died, and her pokemon comforted her again. Star, her Staraptor, was strong. So strong, and yet it died, and she cried and get pokemon cried with her. She never felt so loved. Not saying that her mother doesn't love her, the opposite really, it's just things have been....complicated. Couple that with strangers turn( begrudgingly) friends, and Jude's heart turned all warm inside. Not that she'll ever admit that outloud.

Jude is a kind person, despite her prickly nature. She loves the world around her, loves her friends, loves her pokemon. She respects death, despite the pain she causes her. The world itself of beautiful as it is, which it's such a shame that a capitalist fool a certain someone couldn't see that way( poor Sycamore).

Jude is a good trainer, despite her loss. She knows this. She'll prove it too the moon and back. If only a certain someone thought the same for himself.

Aster Mahina

Gender: "...." "Mizzz Aster is a girl! She uses she/her pronouns! Zzt."

Age:

11 in SM, where her journey started

15 by SwSh

Basic Bio: Aster doesn't hate Kanto. She doesn't. She was born there and lived there for 11 years. She just doesn't want to back. But she has to, cause she's " the first champion of Alola and as champion" yada yada yada. Like. She gets it. Being Alola's first and currently only champion, you gotta make an impression. She gets that. She still doesn't want to go. Even when she's been there, like, 4 times now. There are some good things in Kanto though. Lillie is there. And seeing Lillie physically is always a plus. She also gets to see Uncle Red, Uncle Green, and Aunt Blue. Kenji, while not living in Kanto, is champion of the Indigo League, and it's always fun with Kenji( she loves his art). But. Like. She still doesn't want to go.

But she also likes being Champion. That means she's strong. And since she's strong she can protect her mom. But she can't protect her mom when she's all the way in Kanto! What if he comes back? What if goes to Alola when she's away? She knows that her mom is strong, she knows that but still!

No. No it's okay. Her mom is strong. Lillie is strong. Gladion is strong . Hau is strong. Guzma is strong. They're all strong. She's strong.

She is strong.

Name: Naomi Einar

Gender: "I-I'm a girl! She/her pronouns please!"

Age:

15 in SWSH, which is the start of her gym challenge in Galar!

Basic Info: Hop is pretty convincing, she realizes. Or maybe she's very weak willed. " Let's do the gym challenge together!" He said. He had that look in his eye. She couldn't say no. Or she could, but that would make him upset, and that's the last thing she wants.

If she's being honest with herself, she's scared. She doesn't like big crowds, the attention. They'll be so many eyes on her. So many. A-and then there's Lee and her cousin, Alexis. Hop has made her sit down and watch almost every single match Leon has had. He's an amazing trainer. A-and her mum would tell her stories about Alexis. He was a hero! He stopped an evil team and everything! She can't live up to that! She never even battled before, why would Hop-

No. It's okay. It's okay. She- she'll just quite after failing the first gym. She can handle the embarrassment. And then she'll cheer Hop on when he wins against his brother. Yep. She'll do just that. Okay. Okay.

.....

Everyday, Slumbering Weald seem to intrigue her more and more. It's almost like it's calling her. Da?

No. It- it'sprobably nothing.

#pokemon oc #long post #just the basic info :) #the title is totally not misleading in anyway shape or form #:) #trust me!

[crqstalite]

From the prompt list? I'm sending in something simple with will, hopefully, just go in any direction you want. And that's "Always." For whichever pairing you wish :)

posting this before i chicken out, because i’ve been at this for like eight hours already lol. trying my hand at a little shakarian [petrakarian, in this case], and there’s a sprinkle of happiness if you squint ;)

edit: i’ve also never written garrus before honestly. definitely tried my best but i’m sure there are mistakes in there somewhere. regardless, happy to provide.

pairing: brione petrakis/garrus vakarian. word count: 2,611

-

She's putting it off. Leaving, as it was.

Honestly, she doesn't know why. Her bags are all packed, her dress blues are pressed and folded on the cot next to her. Her datapad has been prepped to send all of her reports straight to Alliance Command. Yet she's left her comb in her duffel, hair decidedly unbrushed around her shoulders, still sitting in her fatigues and they're only an hour out from the Citadel. She could be in the crew quarters, going over any possible assignments they could give her. She could be trying to get another couple of winks in. Anything other than being here, and desperately hanging on to what felt like the last thing she had in the galaxy.

It would've been so much easier not to be here right now, but nothing in the last year had been easy. It's harder to force herself out, hell she's been sleeping in here for the last week or so.

The lights flicker just above her, the battery still stuttering in a way that frustrated Garrus to no end. Not that they had much need for it these days, but she'd offered to take a look at it. He'd been content to let her sit nearby. Talking about trivial things during the first few days after the suicide mission with some of her senses glossed over by pain meds, maybe more than a little wine in their systems. Then it waned into painful silence as they grew closer to the station, wine bottle empty and all sentiments aired. All the things she knows she can't say, all the things she wants to.

She rolls another bandage around her hand, pulling taut. It'd been her good hand too, a lucky shot taken by a Collector that had left her unable to snipe properly during the last leg of the base assault. Still bruised and trying it's hardest to bleed through. Mordin hadn't been there to do it properly, so it had been her, hearing gunshots against the barrier they'd set up, blood gushing from her hand with Garrus asking her if she was alright. Medi-gel spilling from her shaking hands, only being able to offer suppressing fire with her Carnifex before Shepard told them to retreat. Her wrist whined from the motion, and she barely catches a blue eye darting between her and the UI when she groans.

"Still bothering you?" His voice is softer than usual when she catches him in the act, hands stilling over the keyboard, "Chakwas should really take a look at that."

"She can once we're back in Alliance space," Brione haphazardly cuts off the end of it, tucking it under one of the other wraps. She tests a smile with the nearly healed scar on her lip, "Besides, you're the one who was apparently up and fighting with Shepard not even two days after you nearly died, Garrus."

Another beat of silence before he starts again, mandibles flaring as he sighs. Exasperated with her, maybe. He'd been bothering her about it for days now, usually asking how it was and if she needed anything, "We Turians are a bit hardier than our human counterparts," He gestures to the scarred side of his head, bandage recently removed. "Brione-"

"Don't." She lays the gauze down next to her, unable to meet his eyes. She doesn't want to think about the fact these are their last days together, the fact this could very well be the last time she hears him say her name. There wasn't much guaranteed after their non-human crewmembers stepped off the ship, nothing saying he had to stay with her, even over light years separating them, "I'll see Chakwas once, once everyone is gone. Shepard will have my head if I lose a hand before we get there anyway."

"You can't hide in here forever, Brione," Is all he says, giving her a concerned look but finishing his diagnostics on the console first, "No reason in putting it off."

This talk has been a week coming. He hesitates, unsure of himself while she tries to will the tears away, turning away from him. What was she, six? She could handle a suicide mission (which they'd all nearly died on), so why was saying goodbye, saying see you later, saying that she'd see him again soon so hard? She was a captain of the Alliance military, not a babbling schoolgirl with a crush.

Except, that's what it felt like, navigating a relationship with him. She'd downright giggled at something he'd told her.

Does he know just how much he means to her?

It wasn't as if extranet access would be blocked for her when she got back to Earth. By every law that Shepard had learned (and in turn exploited) surprisingly quickly, most of the human operatives aboard the SR-2 wouldn't be arrested under the same duress she would be. Brione could still send messages to Palaven, could still say hello every once and a while.

Hello wasn't the same as being able to sit in a comfortable silence with one at the console, the other completing her daily reports with her legs folded under her, hair tied up in a messy bun at the base of neck. Hello wasn't the same as finding leftovers from the dinner prepared earlier and pulling all-nighters just to spend some time together.

Brione wasn't sure when this had turned into more, when she had started to want more. When she couldn't think of a tomorrow without him. At first, she'd just entertained it as little more than a fling, if she was going to die at the end of the year, then she could cross a few things off her bucket list. And, he was a friend. They'd met a few years before the SR-1, a one off meeting during her shore leave. Then they'd been squadmates, fighting their way through waves and waves of Geth, two snipers snipping at each other for their aim. It boggled the mind that it'd been so quick after Alchera, that she started to discover little things about him when she had little else to do. The small visits about the battery that turned into hour long conversations once she'd rejoined the Normandy. One or the other venting about a minor problem or a large one they'd held onto for so long they'd made a joke of it.

He'd patiently listened when she recounted the dressing down she'd been given after Torfan and the therapy sessions she'd attended afterwards. That, she'd never told anyone about in detail. Hated reliving the day, but it slipped from her mouth so easily while she'd been sitting on the crates. Then she'd sipped on some sort of tea Shepard had picked up on the Citadel, listening to him about Sidonis, about his time on Omega in general. That by the time they were within range of the relay, she'd simply decided she didn't want to let go. That there wasn't anyone like him, that there was so much left that she still wanted. They'd spent the night on the cot he'd dragged in here sometime ago, and she'd never felt so alive.

Then they'd survived. And then there was a whole new life expanding before her, with the Reapers looming over them. But she'd lived, they'd lived, and now she wasn't sure what they were. It wasn't a fling anymore, but she didn't know where he fit into her life.

Whether he wanted to fit in her life. She's sure he could have just about anyone, and he hadn't seemed too upset, giving her the way out of asking whether she wanted something closer to home.

How did he become her home? It could've been anywhere else, on Earth, in London, on the Citadel. But instead, it was a certain Garrus Vakarian.

"This isn't -- it isn't the end, Brione, not if you don't want it to be," He holds a hand out to her, "If I know Shepard, and I'd assume I do, she'll get us back into the thick of it within a couple months. If that."

"That might be a little optimistic," She responds, toying with her hair for a moment before grasping his hand, pulling herself up off the cot to look at him properly. She gently holds a hand against the scarred side of his head, brushing the rough plates with her thumb, "I would've been rather stupid to think this would last forever, running into the sunset. I'm just glad we had what we did, Garrus."

He leans into her touch, his other arm snaking around her waist. Why did it have to be him that she'd become attached to? The first person that'd make her feel more like a living being than a cold blooded killer that remained a few seconds from death every time she stepped off the ship?

Why is he all she can think about these days?

"I," He pauses again, "I'll always just be a comm away. If that's what you want, of course."

"Always, hm?" She asks, "Don't know how timezones work from Earth to Palaven, but if you haven't noticed, I'm not much of sleeping person. You could lose a lot of it, talking to me. But you've never minded it before now, I guess."

"It'd be better than nothing." He responds, when she drops her hand and instead pulls him closer to her. Maybe it's not the most comfortable with him in armor, and her still regularly needing their dwindling supply of pain meds, but she just wants to feel something, anything. She can't go back to the way things were, alone, and cold in an alliance apartment with nothing but her next meal going for her.

"I don't want to leave you, Garrus," She admits, her voice cracking. Brione won't cry, she wills herself not to, even as the dam strains against them, "You, damn you, you're...everything."

"You're...lovely yourself, Brione. Not like I'm itching to leave either, not when everything's already going right for once," He responds, the words thrumming through what she thinks are Turian subvocals. If Turians even can whisper, she's pretty sure he is while gently running his hands through her hair, then trailing down her back, "But I'm not sure I look all that good in...what was it Shepard called it? 'Jumpsuit orange'? Not sure how friendly the Alliance would be to me either."

"Probably not very," She tries to laugh, tries to force anything out at all, but instead all she gets is a choking sound that she could compare to a varren. A rogue tear slips out anyway, and all she hopes for is that Garrus can't see it. Why is she falling apart? Why now? She has a million and three battles under her belt, and this is what shatters her? Not a shotgun, not a scion, but this.

She'd said goodbye to so many people before. To her various adoptive parents over the years, her old COs, even Alenko more recently. None of them destroyed her like this was.

Relationships. They're impossible. They're weaknesses and vulnerabilities that your enemies are just waiting to take advantage of. Even more if your's is a cross-species liaison, one that shouldn't have become everything that it was now.

Brione doesn't want to live without him.

She can't bring herself to say it out loud, so she doesn't. He holds her a little while longer, they don't say anything but reassuring the other all would be well. Or at least they try, and it dissolves until silence when there isn't anything to say but repeat themselves ten times over. They sit for a while after that, time whittling down all the while. Her hands fit a bit oddly in his, but she can't find herself wanting to let go all the while.

Shepard's voice comes over the comm with a timer on their arrival, and she has to pick up her things, fastening the last button on her jacket and throwing her duffel bag over her shoulder. Garrus offers her one last lingering forehead touch when they reach the airlock, and she kisses him softly, knowing if she stays any longer, she won't be able to leave.

But she does. She has to be able to.

She sees him off, the glint of his blue armor the last thing she sees. She thinks she's the perfect picture of someone who was trying (and inwardly failing) to stay afloat with a forced grin and a wave as he walks off. Brione doesn't care, as much as the crew teases her about calibrations in more than one capacity. A few get a smile out of her, but she feels numb the rest of the way to Earth.

Cold. It settles in like an all too familiar blanket. The chill of not really seeing the faces of the people around her, nor acknowledging what they had to say.

She slips back into her normal routines, after the hearing. Doesn't even realize it at first, but without her usual visits to someone who wasn't dolled up in Alliance blue, there's nothing to it. She's shuttled back to the Citadel after a month, sent to work with Udina. A liaison to Alliance and from the Council, is effectively her job description. It's like clockwork, sleep, work, find something to eat if she was feeling physically up to it, work until she couldn't, then reluctantly sleep again. Fix up her sniper rifle on the weekends, take it to a range to keep herself sharp.

There's no Turian on her six though. No one there to bother her that her shot is off just a few inches so that clips the outside of the target.

She sees his face in every single one that walks by until they all blur together. She hears his voice in every C-SEC officer that speaks to Udina, to her.

It isn't until two months later that she receives a mail on her comm. Right in the middle of another one of Udina's tirades about the lack of Council support and funding, she opens it like any other email she'd received before. Calculating, tired, she reads over the sender, the subject line and is halfway through scrolling through it when the glaze over her eyes recedes and she realizes just who it is. Her breath catches in her throat, taking her leave for the afternoon.

She finally gets a call after work that day. And just as suspected, it keeps her up all night. There's so much to say, so much that she hadn't known. Her new job, his new task force. And yet, he still seems so indescribably happy to see her. That her eyes are barely being held open to focus on him, but that he's here, as much as he can be.

"Sure you don't want to take back that offer of always being on the other end of the comm? Now that we've done it, I might get a taste for it," She says, yawning as she absentmindedly rubs an eye. Udina will give her shit for being there late in the morning (in a couple hours really), but she doesn't care.

"As long as you want me to be," He nods, "Well, hopefully you don't start calling me at the oddest hours of the night or in the middle of meetings, but always, yes."

"Hm. I'll file it under consideration," She perches her head on her palm, taking in every detail the vid would let her, "Always?"

"Always. Now get some sleep, Brione," His voice softens, mandibles flaring into a smile as her vision blurs, "Good night."

Five months after that, communication to Palaven goes dark. The Reapers attack, and she watches wide-eyed as they touch down in Earth.

And her always becomes an empty promise with every refugee she watches come in during the days afterwards.

Garrus is not among them.

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