#anyway. gets violently sick and ill again

[witswords]

@massensterben sent: send me ✘ for an aesthetic board about our muses.

[captain-huggy-bear]

In Sickness and in Health

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Talks of sickness and the grossness of it

Summary: You've convinced yourself that you're not actually that ill, mostly because setting cover for your lessons is more trouble than its worth. Quinn is having none of it.

Notes: I have a chest infection and convinced myself that I was making it up and it wasn't that bad, apparently it is. So I figured Quinn is the voice of reason that I need in my life.

Thank you for the 400 followers as well! Very much appreciated :D

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

Writing Masterlist

Quinn's watching you like a hawk from the doorway to the living area, you're bundled up on the couch with at least 3 blankets (far too many for how warm the apartment is), tissues piled high in a bin next to you as you wheeze into another. You've opted for your most comfortable clothes in an effort to make yourself feel better as you cough and cough and cough some more. Your cough is harsh and can only be described as hacking, for someone who has never smoked a day in her life you sound like you've smoked 20 packs a day for 50 years. Your chest crackling and rattling, wheezing in a way that sounds unnatural and decidedly unhealthy.

He hates it, hates that every single night for the past few weeks you've been awake in the night, coughing so hard you make yourself throw up violently, head hanging over the toilet bowel, his hands coming to hold your hair out of the way. He hates that you've taken to sleeping on the couch in an effort not to disturb him, worried about his sleep schedule even though he can hear you through the walls and would feel better if you were beside him in the night. He hates that you've been going into school, teaching while struggling to breathe simply because you feel guilty about taking a day off, about the extra work for others and because somehow you've convinced yourself that 'its not that bad'. He hates that he can't snap his fingers and make you better. He hates seeing you sick, worse still seeing you sick and not properly looking after yourself. Worse still feeling powerless to help.

His eyes narrow this time as you cough so hard you bend in two, whimpering as your body tries to expel phlegm from your chest and fails. Only succeeding in causing your chest to hurt even more and for you to taste blood in the back of your throat. You're practically shivering from discomfort and he decides he can't take it anymore. He's fed up of being the nice boyfriend that lets you hurt yourself further because you're feeling guilty and deluded. Because you're being a bit of a brat, a stubborn arse. A stubborn arse he loves, but a stubborn arse anyway.

"That's it. I'm taking you to the doctors." He's already reaching for your coat by the door, and bending down to pick up your shoes. Even as your head turns to him slowly, eyes half-open and fatigued, mouth opening in protest.

"I'm fin-" You're cut off by your own cough, wheezy and rattling, the sort that is definitely not 'fine', "I'm fine, it's just a cough. It's nothing, it'll go soon..." You've been saying this for 2 weeks and it's less reassuring and believable at the near 3 week mark.

"You've been up every night for 2 weeks. I'm taking you to the doctors." It's a Saturday morning and he knows the walk in clinic is open, he also knows he won't get you to agree to go on a school day. This is his best chance and Quinn's decided, as he looks at the pallor of your skin and the limpness of your body, that you're going even if he has to carry you out to his car. Even if he has to drag you kicking and scream like a naughty toddler. Even if he has pictures all over the internet and headlines exclaiming 'Canuck's Captain, Bully of a Boyfriend?'. If it means you'll get better he'll take all the press, all the stares, all the heat.

"I'm not even that sic-" Once again, your cough interrupts you and this time, Quinn cuts in before you can continue. He's crouching in front of you, your shoes placed beside your feet in their snoopy socks.

"Baby, you might have gas lit yourself into believing that, but I know better. I'm taking you to the doctors, we're going to get you some meds. That's final." Quinn treats you like a princess, always has, and sure he usually takes a more dominate and traditional role in the relationship. But, it's rare for him to lay down the law, for him to outright remove your choice. Mostly, because you usually make the wise one anyway...today, you seem determined to put your health at risk and if that means he has to force you to do something you'd rather not? Well, the captain in him will come out to play and nice boyfriend Quinn will go take the bench. Nice isn't going to keep you healthy. Letting you get your way isn't going to make you better.

"Quinn..." Even the way you say his name is wheezy and it hurts, it hurts your chest to breathe, to speak. A sort of dull ache, a discomfort that deep down you know isn't normal...even as you try to push through.

"Shoes on. Now." His voice is sharp, not unkind, but firm. It's an order, not a request. A voice he rarely uses with you. Quinn only uses it under 2 scenarios: 1) You're putting yourself at risk and he's sorting it out or 2) it's an agreed role choice for your bedroom. He'd rather not have to use it for the first reason, but you're not really leaving him any choice.

"Bu-"

"Shoes, baby." He softens the tone, pulling back a little on the captain voice even as he grabs your right foot and forces you to put your first shoe on. You seem to give in, letting him help you into your shoes, tying them so they're supportive and comfortable.

He stands, reaching for your hands to pull you to your feet, holding onto your arms as you sway, lightheaded and dizzy at the upward movement. It takes longer than he would like for you to recover and it settles Quinn's mind even firmer on the course of action he's taking, helping you into your coat before leading you out of the apartment.

It's slow going, you're dizzy and short of breath and each step seems to take you even longer than normal. But, he's just happy to get you to his car, knowing that the next step is the triage walk-in centre 15 minute away.

You practically slump in the passenger seat, curling towards the door, blinking as the streets pass by. You have to admit, even if not audibly, that Quinn's right. This isn't just a cough, you feel like death warmed over and you know there's something not quite right. Even if you're loath to admit it. Even your students had picked up on how ill you were this week, being extra nice for once and not forcing you to yell at them like they knew you physically couldn't raise your voice even if you wanted to (which you didn't). Even the two boys you'd asked to stay behind to talk to about their behaviour had been patient when you'd had a coughing fit, unable to address their poor behaviour for a good minute.

When you finally arrive at the medical centre, he's very tempted to carry you inside, but you just about accept his arm as he helps you to the door and to the front desk. He takes over, describing your symptoms to the receptionist as you wheeze beside him, pressing your face into his arm as you seek some sort of comfort and you don't stop when you sit in the tiny uncomfortable seats waiting for your turn to see a nurse. Seeking his body for comfort, Quinn runs his fingers through the ends of your hair, occasionally rubbing the nape of your neck. He hates the way you whine into him, like everything is wrong with the world. He hates that he can't immediately fix how you're feeling.

It takes longer than Quinn would like for your name to be called, in the time it takes you're so tired from the outing that you're almost falling asleep on him. Your breathing is shallow and laboured as you wheeze in and out. All he can do is offer comfort and support, even as he forces you to stand once again and make the walk to the nurse's examination room.

You struggle through describing your symptoms, Quinn jumping in when he feels you're underplaying them or have missed something out. The nurse takes your blood oxygen levels, tutting as she does, and gets up to listen to your chest.

"I know what I'm going to hear already, but let's have a listen." The stethoscope is cold as she lifts the back of your shirt and slips it against your skin. You try to breathe in and out as normal as she moves from each section of your back, the top down to the bottom, left to right.

"Just as I thought, very crackly in the bottom left of your lungs...you've got a pretty nasty chest infection, lovely." She gestures for you to take a seat and you ignore the look Quinn gives you from the corner of your eye, the sort that screams 'I told you so.'

"Right, I'm going to prescribe you a course steroids and a course of antibiotics. You need to take 8 of the steroids in the morning for 4 days, just take the first dose the moment you get home today. The antibiotics you need to take for 5 days, 2 today and then 1 a day for the remaining 4, okay?"

You nod at her instructions, not feeling much like talking. You know Quinn is mentally cataloguing each instruction so that he can make sure you take your medication right and fully. A relief because you're so tired you're not sure you'd remember right now.

She prints out your prescription and hands it to you, which you promptly hand to Quinn, who holds it tight like he's scared it'll blow away in the windless room.

You both thank her as you leave and Quinn insists on going straight to the pharmacy next door and putting your prescription in. It takes longer than he wants, 20 minutes before you have your meds in hand and he's ushering you back to the car and strapping you in because you look too tired to do it yourself. You hold the little paper bag of medicine on your lap and watch him as he drives, your blinks are slow and tired and he keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, clearly worried. Quinn's hands tighten on the steering wheel.

The moment you're in the apartment, he's helping you from your coat and shoes, ushering you to the coach and helping you sink down into it, your head drooping as your arms dangle between your knees.

"I'm going to get your meds ready, okay? Just sit right here, baby." His hands run over your hair, across your shoulders, comforting strokes as he watches you struggle. He's relieved you have medicine now, even if he's angry that it took so long to convince you to get checked out. The anger isn't directed at you, but at himself and at the schooling system, the guilt its put into your head. The feeling that you can't be sick, can't take a day off. Anger that he'd allowed you to put this off for so long when he should have pushed more.

"Okay...Thanks, Quinny..." Your voice is fragile, delicate and his chest aches at the way you look up at him with tired, red eyes. Tired, hardly sleeping, fatigued from an infection attacking your body and still so thankful for him.

"No trouble at all, baby." Quinn leans down pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering slightly as you sway into him, eyes closed and nearly fall forward when he pulls away. But, Quinn's hands are there to right you, gently leaning you back against the couch pillows.

In the kitchen area he pours you as big glass of water and counts out 2 antibiotics, dark green capsules, and 8 tiny uncoated steroid tablets.

When he reaches you he hands you the glass, watching as you take a big gulp, holding it in your mouth as you gesture for the first pill. One at a time he hands them to you, watching as you swallow each with a healthy mouthful of water to make them go down easier. You shiver at little after each, like your body doesn't want you to take them, but they go down easy enough.

"Baby, I think you should go lay down in bed..."

"Mmm..." You're starting to feel sick, nausea hitting as your body processes the unfamiliar but strong medication. Your head is pounding, you feel like you're going to be sick and it's with nothing short of gentleness that Quinn scoops you up into his arms, your head nuzzling into his neck.

"C'mere..." You're not a light person, adult humans generally aren't, but Quinn has spent years as a pro-athlete training his body and in more recent years making sure he can bench as much weight as possible so carrying you isn't ever an issue. For reasons like this. The need to support you when you're sick or hurt. The idea that you might need him like this and he be unable to provide was simply unacceptable.

He moves carefully, steady so as not to rock you too much or too harshly as he walks you the short distance to your shared bedroom. He's gentle as he deposits you on the bed, helping you pull the blankets up around you as he sits beside you, fingers tracing a path over your forehead and down your cheek.

"How you feeling, baby?"

"Dizzy...nauseous...feel horrible, Quinny..." You almost sound like you might cry a little, a shakiness to your voice that pulls at his heart strings.

"I'll go make you some ginger tea for the nausea..." Quinn goes to get up but you're gripping his hand as hard as you can, eyes blinking up at him blearily, a pout directed his way that you know he can't really say no to. "No. Stay, cuddles please."

"Okay, baby, cuddles."

Quinn wastes very little time getting into bed besides you, letting you curl into him, your leg slung over his hip and your face pressed into his sternum like you could bury yourself in his chest and hide away from how you feel. All he can do he does, wrapping you up tight in his arms, hand rubbing soothing circles across your back.

Your breathing is shallow and shaky, swallowing as the nausea hits in waves. You can feel Quinn pressing kisses to your hair, your temple and it makes you feel better even if it doesn't take the sick feeling from your stomach.

"Thank you for looking after me..." You mumble it against his jaw, pressing a light kiss there, energy to do anything more none existent. Quinn responds with a kiss of his own to your hair, fingers reaching up to run through the ends as you nuzzle closer to him, chest to chest.

"I'm always going to look after you, baby. That's my job..."

"No...you're job is...your job is to play hockey." You sound a little confused and dazed, not really a surprise with the brain fog you've had this entire sickness. You seem to struggle to realise that he's not being literal, but it's cute. It's cute now he knows you're being medicated and not letting yourself get progressively worse and more and more likely to end up with pneumonia.

"Mm, that's my paying job, sure...but you're my real job. I just want to make sure you're okay, baby...especially when you're stubborn." Quinn's fingers rest on the nape of your neck, massaging the tense muscles there as you press further into his neck, little kisses being left like it's the only thing you have the energy for. It's sweet, even as you wheeze and rattle like an old change machine.

"I'm sick, don't be mean to me." Your voice is pouty and playful, and there's a slight relief in it for Quinn. That if you're being playful you're probably feeling a little better, a little more like yourself. He readjusts your leg around his hip, a hand resting there to keep you close.

"Never, baby. I love you too much to be mean to you."

"Liar." There's no animosity in it, just playful back chat that has him leaning back slightly to look at you with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, I see you're already feeling better? Absolute brat." Quinn grins at you for the first time in days, the relief that you're feeling even slightly better, the feeling of accomplishment at having convinced you to go to the doctor's, all combining to make him feel lighter than he has in a while.

"I'm sick, a sweet baby actually." Even you smile slightly as you look up at him, eyes slightly delirious and hazy like you're not all there right now which is probably about right. Your voice is croaky, but no less sweet to listen to.

"Mmm, sure y'are, baby. My sick, sweet girl who's also such a brat."

"Fuck off." You pretend to shove him away but he barely moves, your push weak and completely not serious. Even your voice has absolute no bite, just humour in it, the sort he's missed from you. You've been so down, so tired, so sullen that he's missed the banter, the back and forth, the playfulness that you two have.

"Alright-" Quinn pulls away, starting as if he's going to get up, but you're leg locks over his hip, arms practically crushing him to you as you stop him leaving your cuddle pile, the nest you've made, "No, stay! 'm sorry, Quinny...stay, feeling so much better with you here." You mean it. Maybe you still feel sick, nauseous and achy. Maybe your chest still hurts, your cough still rattling through you. But, being close to him helps, it makes you feel comforted in a way that you need right now and the idea of him going makes you want to cry. Even though rationally you know he's joking and not serious.

"Okay, sweet girl. I'm not going anywhere, okay?" He settles back into space next to you, hand running from your knee to your hip in soothing strokes as his other hand rubs circles over your back.

"Love you so much." You mumble it against his neck, face pressed as tight as you can, inhaling his cologne, the smell of his skin, the distinctly Quinn scent that brings you a sense of safety and comfort.

"Love you too, sweet girl."

Maybe Quinn hates the way you refuse to get help when you're sick, maybe this whole episode had terrified him to his core, made him worried sick, but God, he loves you enough that he'd do this every single year of his life if he had to.

In sickness and in health, right?

[bestruction]

can i req sasuke and reader where she takes care of him when hes ill or the other way!

It started with a sniffle. Just one. But knowing Sasuke, even that was suspicious because like a cat, if he were sick, instead of telling you and letting you help, he'd hide it or ignore it until it's gone because "it doesn't make a difference" in his words.

You noticed it as he returned from a mission, nose slightly pink, eyes narrower than usual, and a stiffness to his shoulders that had nothing to do with battle fatigue. When he sat down with a soft grunt and didn’t immediately pick up his tea, you squinted at him.

“…Are you sick?”

“No,” he replied flatly. His voice was so nasal it was funny.

You crossed your arms, staring at him, and placed a hand under his shirt, to feel the temperature on his belly. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine.” He swayed slightly. “It’s just a scratchy throat.”

Then he sneezed so violently it nearly knocked the teacup off the table.

“That’s it. Bed. Now.”

“I’m not—”

“Sasuke. Bed.”

He tried to glare at you. He really did. But it was hard to be intimidating when he was wrapped in three layers of hoodie, his nose was red, and he looked like a very offended cat who'd been caught in the rain. Begrudgingly, with the reluctance of a man marching to his death, he dragged himself into the futon and collapsed face-first.

You pulled the blankets over him with a sigh, brushing his bangs back. His skin was hot—too hot. You bit your lip, worry pooling in your chest.

"You're lucky I love you," you muttered and padded off to the kitchen.

You returned with a tray balanced carefully: homemade miso soup, water, wet cloth for his forehead, and your best sick-day glare.

He blinked at the spoon you held out. “What is this?”

“Soup.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Eat it, you stubborn brat.”

“I’m not a brat,” he muttered. “You’re a brat.”

You fed him anyway, dodging his sulky expressions like a ninja. At one point, he turned his face stubbornly away, and you pinched his nose until he opened his mouth in protest—and promptly slipped the spoon in. His glare would’ve been more effective if he didn’t immediately let out a pleased hum at the taste.

“I knew it,” you grinned, triumphant. “You do like my soup.”

He muttered something about not giving you the satisfaction but finished the bowl anyway.

Later, when he was drowsy and sweat-slicked, you leaned in to kiss his lips. He flinched.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’ll get sick.”

You snorted. “You’re sick and bossy. I’m not afraid of a little fever.”

“I am,” he deadpanned. “You’re a nightmare when you’re sick.”

"Cuz you are much better, right?"

You ignored him, pressing your lips to his—and when he tried to stop you with a hand to your chest, you grabbed his wrist, leaned in closer, and kissed him deeply. He smirked against your lips and with his free hand, grabbed your waist before flipping you over the futon and kissing you again. Tongue and all.

When you pulled back, he blinked up at you, dazed. “You’re an idiot.”

“It's part of your treatment"

One week later, he was up and stretching in the garden, a warm scarf around his neck, skin no longer flushed. He looked serene. Healthy.

And you?

You were buried in blankets like a sulky cocoon, sniffling dramatically, hair a mess.

“I told you not to kiss me,” Sasuke said, setting a fresh cup of tea on your hands.

You glared at him with watery eyes. “You’re not even sorry. This is all your fault”

He crouched beside the futon, brushing hair from your forehead. “Not even a little.”

You sniffled pitifully. “Jerk.”

Then he leaned in and kissed your cheek, soft and warm. “But I made you soup.”

“…Does it taste like mine?”

“No. Yours is better.”

A pause.

“…But I’m feeding it to you anyway.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the spoon was already there.

You accepted it with a grumble, secretly loving every second.

[twd-bee3]

Braiding

Summary: You had some kind of stomach virus, and your hair keeps getting in your face. Daryl wants to help you out and braid your hair back for you.

Warnings/Tags: brief description of illness, references to vomiting (not detailed because I have emetophobia), established relationship, female reader (she/her), reader has hair that is long enough to braid, season three, no use of y/n

Word count: 648 words

A/N: I've been violently ill and took three trips to the ER in two weeks, so this oneshot was a great distraction. This is also my apology for my previous post. Here's a sweeter moment with much lower stakes. Don’t let this fool you, though. I will be posting more angst lmao. Also, PLEASE drop some requests and I will write them as soon as I can🙏🏻

A stomach virus was going around the prison for weeks, and it finally reached you. You'd been unable to keep food down for three days, and you were miserable. Seeing his vibrant girl look so defeated hurt Daryl, and he did his best to care for you. He'd always done things on his own, and caring like this felt foreign to him, but he was willing to try for you.

Entering your shared cell, he saw you lying there, and he felt a pang of guilt for not being able to do more. Daryl had always been a fixer when it came to the people he loved. The fact that he couldn't take this illness away from you was beyond frustrating. Approaching the bunk, he crouched down and spoke softly. He didn't want to catch you off guard.

“Hey sweetheart, how're you doin'?”

Despite your obvious exhaustion, your face lit up the second that you heard his voice.

“Been better, but I'm still kickin'.”

“Can I get you anythin'?” As he spoke, Daryl rested a hand on your face and absentmindedly stroked your cheek.

Feeling nauseous again, your face grew pale, and you let out a small sound of discomfort. You shifted on the thin mattress and leaned into his touch.

“I don't think so. I can't really keep anythin' down.”

Daryl could feel your clammy skin beneath his hand, and he gently moved a sweaty piece of hair from your face. He had never seen you look so poorly, and it made his chest ache. It was obvious that you were going to be sick again, and he wanted to make you more comfortable. It took a moment, but he finally came up with something.

“Your hair keeps gettin' in your face, baby. Can I help you with that?”

The mere idea of that brought you some relief, and your expression softened. “Yes, please.”

Sitting on the cot next to you, Daryl carefully helped you sit up and positioned your body in front of him. He double-checked that you could sit up on your own before speaking softly, “I'm gonna braid it, so it ain't gettin' in your way no more. Might make it easier if you puke again.”

“You can braid? Dixon, you've been holdin' out on me.”

He rolled his eyes at your comment and started separating your hair into three sections that were somewhat even. As he started to braid, he felt you relax and smiled a little. His thick fingers wove through your hair with surprising ease.

“I've really only braided leather, so don't start bitchin' if this looks like shit.”

“I'm sure it'll look great, my love. Ain't like I'm gonna be able to see it anyway.”

“Yeah, yeah. At least you think so highly of me.”

Even though Daryl's tone was gruff, he had a small smile on his face, and there was a light flush to his cheeks. His stubborn ass would never admit that he enjoyed your praise.

As he continued to braid, your body grew lax against his, and he could hear your breathing even out. You needed your rest, so he let you sleep while he focused on his work. Your hair was soft, and braiding it was surprisingly easy. Although he would've liked to brush your hair. They just didn't have luxuries like combs at the moment.

Daryl finally worked his way to the end of your hair and finished off the plait. He took the bottom piece and looped it through the middle of the braid. Growing up, he'd seen his mother do this when she didn't have an elastic.

You were still in a light state of sleep, so he laid you back down on the bunk. Your face maintained its pallor, but your expression was at ease. Kissing the top of your head, Daryl pulled the blanket over you and quietly exited the cell.

[no-144444]

could i pls get one with lando or oscar and the reader being in pain or sick and then taking care of her? thxxx

cheeky-l norris

summary: he takes care of you whilst you are ill (emetophobia warning!)

pairing: lando norris x fem! reader

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You didn’t know if you were going to cry, scream, or throw up again. You wanted to be there for Lando, truly, you did. But going anywhere near him right now would be the worst possible idea on planet earth. You were sick, vomiting bug and the flu, and your period had come. Triple homicide. 

 There was a knock on your bedroom door (it was one of their many guest rooms that you had taken the second you’d started getting sick), and you (stupidly) assumed it would just be Cisca, who had been generously taking care of you whilst you were ill, with some food, when in all actuality, Lando walked in the second you opened the door. 

“Hey baby,” he smiled as your face dropped and you started backing away from him. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you gawked, shocked that he would come so close. “I’m violently ill, you know that right?”

He chuckled, putting down the bag of food and supplies in his hands. “I do know that, yes.”

“So why the fuck are you here?” you questioned, holding the blanket around you up past your nose in a make-shift mask. 

He shrugged, unpacking the bag. “Missed you.”

“Lan, you could’ve called me. I would’ve-”

“I get to see you everyday for 3 months out of the year. That’s it,” he stated. “I have a month left until I have to go to Australia, and then I won’t see you until Miami. I have enough time that if I get sick, I can recover. I miss you. I want to be here with you.”

You felt your face soften, hsi words hitting you straight in your heart. I crossed the room and pulled him in for a hug. “You’re too sweet.” 

He shrugged, smiling into your neck. “Or maybe I’m trying to get out of training.”

You pulled back with a frown. “You ruined it.”

He laughed at your unamused face and followed you to your bed. “You love me anyway.”

“Not if you push it any more than that, Norris,” you shook your head. “Cheeky.”

He pressed a kiss to your cheek and smiled.

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navigation for my blog :)

mclaren masterlist

[gamblersdoll]

IT'S THE MATTER OF IT.

summary: after dying of hanahaki disease, youre reincarnated.. but you are the past lover of the king of curses.

WARNING: story contains sexual content, blood, gore, death of reader in first half.

"sukuna-sama." she said, bowing to the tallest man she's ever seen. she wasnt too afraid of him, but she gave him his respect he required.

"Y/N." he said, looking down at her. "are you still sick?" he asked, almost sounding worried.

was he even caring... of course not. he is sukuna after all.

"yeah. im not sure why." she said, shaking her head in a light chuckle. "ill be okay though."

"if you say so, Y/N." he said, turning his focus to uraume. the voices of the person you loved and cared for, and the person you were acquainted with drowned out.

if only you knew.

coughing violently, you covered your mouth and witnessed a petal falling into your hand.

you're fucking with me.. right?

you couldn't allow sukuna to witness that, then he'd either call you pathetic or actually showing true concern and hunting down whoever you were in love with and making them pay. but the first thought was that he truly wouldn't care.

or so you thought when you landed in a bedridden state, the flowers consuming your lungs and making it up to your esophagus and eyes, almost not being able to speak nor see.

"why on earth didn't you say anything? you know how dangerous this is!" uraume screamed, worried that their friend would die– no, you were dying for certain. you couldn't tell sukuna that you loved him. otherwise, he'd laugh.

"its... fine." you whispered, only a whisper is what you could do. or risk you damaging your throat from the thorns. "where is ryo..?" you asked, barely seeing uraume's white and red hair.

"he said he was coming, I don't know y/n..." they said, raking their hands through your locs, the locs that sukuna somewhat admired.

"is it okay if I nap? getting really sleepy." you asked , smiling softly until you again, violently coughed up blood and flower petals.

"... yeah." uraume said, leaving you to yourself. they walked out the room to see sukuna, conversing with him about you. how bad have you gotten? he didn't know.

he doesn't care.

the door opened and closed slowly, revealing a flower consumed you, your eyes have flowered out, but still managing to speak.

"who is it." he asked, glooming over you with worried eyes, but filled with.. rage? you didn't know. you couldn't see him, but you could hear him.

"i..." you trailed off, wondering if it was worth telling him. you decided against better judgment, coughing for a bit until you could feel yourself slipping away from life, deciding it was time.

"you." you had said, "it was you...." until you took your last final breath, the prettiest, bloodiest flower consuming you whole , sprouting out your mouth, and eventually, your heart stopped beating. all your warmth had gone away.

sukuna stood there with a blank expression, his hands did tremble a bit, but only for a few seconds in counting. he thought about pumping your heart, but he knew by his strength and anger, he'd crush your ribs, stabbing through your lungs from the brutal force he'd press onto you.

"ill make you pay for putting me in such a position like this, you damned woman."

—————————————

"y/n, these are your classmates slash partners, nobara , megumi, annndddd... yuuji!" gojo had announced, clapping his hands together in glee. "y/n and yuuji, you'll be great friends!"

"why would we be." you deadpanned, folding your arms and tapping your foot. "why are you so excited anyway? it's nine in the morning."

you felt a pair of eyes on you, it felt... dangerous. like a curse is watching you. you didn't recognize them, but yuuji gave you the friendliest smile and shook your hand, while in sukuna's domain, he peaked through yuuji's cheek.

there is no way you're here, you damned woman.

[hannahssimblr]

The air is burning rubber and grill smoke. Hot, like a damp blanket wrapped around us. Wet, if not from the rains, then the air itself. We bike along the black veins of Bangkok. Loud and fragrant, bright with lanterns glowing through the night. An entire world, a million lives under the awnings, darting across the street in random leaps of courage. Tuk Tuks and cars and bicycles weaving in anarchic sequences. As it rains, wet umbrellas catch the lights. Red, yellow, purple, green.

The bike is hot, purring beneath me, slick tarmac and the splash of dirty water over my shoes, as Jonas, behind, curses in English. He is diligent about using my language around me, including when getting hit by a van. His bike slides and crashes to the ground underneath him. I pull my brakes and wait until he’s up again while the traffic weaves around me. He’s fine, as always, only for another scratch on his leg, bleeding, but hardly. His blood is washed thin, then yellow, then away. We say something to each other about how he should have seen it coming, moved quicker. There are no rules here but one: the biggest will go first. We, and our dinged up hired motorbikes, are far from the biggest, and so, as they say, we must get the fuck out of the way. 

It’s Brandon, the American from the hostel we arrange to meet at a tiny bar at Khao San Road, a circus of neon I wish I could paint. “Mathematics at Oberlin,” he said when he introduced himself, as though defined by the supposed prestige of his degree. He was visibly disappointed, then, when neither of us had heard of Oberlin, and pivoted to defining himself by his Adderall habit. It isn’t a genuine medical need. He just likes it.  

“I’m going to out-drink the Irishman tonight,” he announces to the crowd we’ve gathered amongst. Twelve or more of us, with varying English abilities, huddled under an awning and dodging sheets of rain that spill over the edge. 

“Best of luck,” I say, though he will out-drink me, no doubt. My half-Irishness has done nothing to aid my ability to drink without being violently ill. Like the time I tried a pint of Guinness in the smoking area and promptly regurgitated foam down the front of my sweatshirt. I try anyway, drinking things put in front of me with abandon, like a man who doesn’t fear death.

A few hours of this, then several of us do shots of something mysterious served from an old three litre water bottle that is so incredibly strong it instantly activates my gag reflex. 

“Deep breaths,” Jonas tells me, his hand on my shoulder out the front of the bar as I fist the back of my hair and suck in lungfuls of air that is too humid to be satisfying. 

“I think I’ll probably get sick every single day we’re in Thailand,” I say, quivering with despair over a puddle with my own distorted reflection.

“Maybe you should take a night off, then.”

“I don’t want to.”

He pushes his fringe away from his forehead. It is milk white against his tanned face. “Just because everyone else is doing something doesn’t mean you have to. You’re no less of a man because-”

“I’m not the kind of person that gets peer pressured. I can say no.”

A pause. “Well, yes, I can see that.”

“We’re here to have fun, not to be tucked up in the hostel bunks by ten every night. We’re just-” I fight back a wave of nausea. “-making the most of it.”

“I see. You are enjoying vomiting on the streets every night.”

“Please don’t say that word to me.”

“Okay. You should take a break. Maybe no more drinking tonight.”

I shrug him away, irritated. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”

“Sorry,” he says, and leaves me to gag on my own, though I’m lonely without him there.

I am actually fine after a few minutes, and hours later as the night continues, I find myself with Brandon as he is going on about something, talking at me in a way that is not exactly annoying, yet persistent and unending. I let his words wash over me, that familiar manic cocaine cadence. 

We do bumps with him, Jonas and I, every twenty minutes, trips to the bathroom, and then eventually when the bar is so full, and we are squeezed into our corner by dozens of bodies, we do bumps off the hostel key cards and the tips of our fingers. Then I’m talking at Jonas, and Jonas is talking at me, and Brandon at us both while we all pretend to listen, and enjoy so much the feeling of it, the fleeting flames in our blood, the world better and brighter for the few minutes before it fades, and we start all over again. 

“What’s better, coke or sex?” Says Brandon, and I get what he’s going for, but this is a stupid question. 

“You have an addiction if you’re asking me that.” I remember it is time to call Astrid. I need to tell her something. Slipping my phone from my pocket, I go to outside the bar among the percussive hammer of the rain.

“Hello?” Her voice is sharp and sober. 

“Astrid. I’m just calling because I was thinking of you, and I need to let you know how much I love you. Like, seriously love you and I’m so lucky that your my girlfriend, and that you’ve decided to be with me. I miss you so much when I’m here and I can’t wait to come home and be with you again, and I just-”

“Jude, you phoned me an hour ago to say this.”

I rear back, offended. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did. We had this exact conversation.”

I don’t think Astrid really understands the weight of what I’m trying to tell her. I love her. She’s so special to me, and has to know the way I feel about her right now, or I think I might explode. 

“I miss you.”

“I know you do, but it’s seven in the evening in Germany, okay? This is not a conversation I want to have with you now. I’m on the way to have dinner with Elias. We discussed this earlier, remember? You called me as I was getting dressed and ready to go out.”

I chuckle and lean my weight against the wall. “Oh. So, what are you wearing?”

“A dress and some sandals.”

“Which dress?”

“It’s green.”

“Hm. Do I know that one?”

“I doubt. It’s from my summer wardrobe, and I just unpacked it.”

“You think I’d like it? Can you describe it?”

A sigh then. “I’m about to go into the station, so I can’t really talk like this with you with so many people around.”

“Astrid,” I whine. “I just feel-”

“You feel the way you always do when you are on drugs. You’ll call me tomorrow and we’ll have this conversation again, I’m sure, but now is not the right time.”

“No, I need to tell you now-”

“That you love me. I know. I love you too.”

“You do?”

“Of course. Let me hang up now.”

“Okay, have fun with Elias.”

“I will. Be good.”

“I promise,” I say, but she’s already gone. I rest my head against the wall, then, and think about Astrid and the way she is, and the sort of complex torture it is to be with her. Her, someone so completely unromantic and sharp and blunt and then me, her polar opposite, and how we still actually love each other despite our differences, and even though it was hard at various times at the start of our relationship — a car drives by beeping its horn very loudly which is quite obnoxious, actually, and I wonder was he beeping at me, like, for a joke, or if there was some traffic situation I am not aware of — we overcame it together and actually learned how to make things work, which is probably the most adult thing I have ever done, if I really think about it.

I think I’ve left a pretty grotesque path of destruction in my wake in the past, in terms of girls and relationships especially, but being with Astrid now proves that I’m able to grow and learn and be a better person, and actually a proper man who acts in ways he could genuinely be proud of, and these are things I would be saying into Jonas’ face right now if he was unlucky enough to be standing here. He wouldn’t like it but he’d probably take it, waiting for his turn to say something long and rambling into my face, too, like, about hiking trails or the deep fried scorpions he saw at that market that we didn’t try because I insisted they were too disgusting for humans to ingest, but he regrets not tasting so he’ll probably go back and get one if they’re still there, even though he can’t remember exactly where the market was anymore because Bangkok is so big and everything is unfamiliar and completely at odds with what we are used to.

Someone rolls down the window of a taxi and takes a picture of me on a phone, which is one of the regular happenings I meant to tell Astrid about before I was overcome with my love for her and went off on that deranged tangent about her dress, and as I watch the taxi tearing away, I wonder if I already told her about all the people who take pictures of me during the blank spot that is our phone call an hour ago, and that today this random woman got me to hold her baby at a temple and took a picture of us together, like I was its dad, or uncle or something, and it was so weird that she trusted me to just hold him and, I don’t know, not run away revealing myself to be a kidnapper of babies, not that I would do that, but anyway, once I agreed to take that one shot like a dozen others came up to me and Jonas and forming a queue and asking for pictures, and it was this weird feeling that I was a celebrity against my will, like I got a taste of what that would feel like, and honestly it was torturous and I hated it so much and I genuinely think if I was famous I’d be one of those that killed themselves or went mad and bought a big castle to live in on my own, like Enya.

Jonas and I eventually fled the gathering crowds, and they took pictures of us doing that too, which was pretty hilarious, to be honest. I wonder if they will put them up on Facebook like, “and lastly, here are the tall men running from us!” Jonas has come out of the bar now, ready, I’m sure to share more regrets and lament about the deep fried scorpions, but his face is stricken, like, in such a way that I understand the topic is more important, and not about scorpions at all, but I’m so busy thinking that I don’t hear his first sentence when he says it to m-

“What? Sorry.”

“A girl. She wants me to go home with her.”

“Oh. Well, you should go if you like her.”

He lets out a shuddering exhalation, standing there in the middle of the dry patch beneath the awning, the knee length khaki shorts, the scabs on his legs. “I’ve never done that kind of thing before.”

“Had sex?”

“No, of course I have. I mean go home with a girl on a one-night stand kind of thing. None have ever asked me to do that.”

“Well, they usually don’t. She obviously fancies you. What are you out here talking to me for?”

“I thought you might have advice.”

“About one-night stands?”

He nods, and I feel a surge of sympathy toward him, this protective emotion that is likely a chemical affliction. The image of him running away from that poor woman without saying a word to come outside and strategise with me is adorable. The urge comes to hug him, but I resist it.  

“I’m flattered you think I know a lot about one-night stands, but it’s not like I’ve really done that kind of thing either. I’m a long-term relationship kind of person as a general rule.”

“I sense you know what you are doing more than I do. Even if it is many times with the same woman, you know? At least you know in some way how to–” he breaks off, and I nod, because yes, I know how to– but stand there deliberating over how I can explain to him that nothing about the sex I have with Astrid is normal or replicable in ordinary environments. Not the kind you have with a girl you just met in the bar. Imagine that, like, “yeah, nice gaff. Here, just wondering, when we get into it d’you mind if I spit in your mouth?” 

“Ask her what she likes, and do that,” I tell him. “Worst thing you can do is guess.”

Nodding, he says. “Okay.”

“And just be nice. You’re a nice person. Try to, um, project that. Which one is she?”

He directs my attention through the window to the lively scene around the bar, and points out a short brunette in a pair of denim shorts. A non-intimidating presence, a pleasant face. I would probably sleep with her too, not that it indicates something exceedingly wonderful or unique about her, because I would sleep with most women under the right circumstances. 

I miss Astrid. I hope she takes a photograph of her green dress and sends it to me, as she sometimes does. “OOTD” she’ll type. As in, “outfit of the day”, and attach a picture of her in a mirror, or the reflection of the U-Bahn door, standing with her knees turned inward in such a way that makes the gap between her thighs appear large. Allegedly a desirable feature. 

Maybe later, when I’m alone in the hostel and Jonas is off gently making love to this brunette somewhere, I will succumb to my worst and most desperate version and send Astrid about four messages one after another begging for more pictures, minus clothes this time, and she’ll say no, because it’s still too civilised an hour in Berlin to send nudes to her boyfriend, coked up and wired sleepless for the fourth night in a row in a Thai hostel bed. 

Jonas enters the window scene. Under the warm lights, he speaks to her. There is nodding, smiling, shy laughter. She puts her drink onto a table and slings her bag over her shoulder. And I feel like I am watching someone collect a person they barely know at the airport. 

The door swings open and noise from within spills onto the streets as they emerge together. Jonas’ hand hovering near her, unsure of whether he should touch her, and then for one moment we meet eyes, and nod, and then he huddles under her umbrella, disappearing into the night. 

It only strikes me afterwards that I should have asked him where they were going, in case the girl, whose name I didn’t even ask for, turns out to be some sort of deranged killer. Jen would be aghast at my carelessness, but anyway. He’ll come back in some shape or form. Good for him, really.

Pummelled by rain, the walk home is a slog. My hair, far too long now, shaggy well past the collar of my shirt, sticks to my face and sends rivulets down my cheeks. There is so much water I am constantly blinking it away. Somewhere, in the seedy part of town with the boarded up businesses, red light pours from a doorway. A woman calls to me, knowing by the look of me I speak English. 

“Hello, baby, you’re all wet,” she says. “Come inside. I can make you happy.”

I’m happy already, actually. A deeply, sincerely happy man. I round a corner and get sick onto a pile of loose rubbish, watching the semi-digested remnants of my noodle dinner rinse away in a stream of rainwater. 

I am soaked to the skin, my socks wet inside my shoes, my t-shirt stuck to my body and heavy with the bulk of the rain. This is rain, I think madly. Real rain. Back in Ireland, it was never like this. It pissed rain, or you’d get that little misty spit, pretending to be rain but refusing to commit. No, this is catharsis. It’s what the Irish weather wishes it had the stones to be. 

As I check my phone, no messages. The clock has turned over to tomorrow. June the twenty-first. Midsummer’s day. God, I think, sloshing indiscriminately through a wide, ankle deep puddle. This day last year it rained, too. That day on the beach, when the heavens opened and unleashed a mighty torrent over the coast. Pock marks in the sand. It drove in sideways and washed the beach house windows with salty water that left residue for the entire summer. That boy, the Jude lazing on the sofa watching it, in dry socks and those tracksuit shorts his mother loathed, barely feels like me anymore. I wonder what he’d think if he could see the future, exactly one year from then. Here, man. I’m in Asia. I turned out mostly fine. Life is a journey of discovery and I am… discovering myself.

And I think of her, then, too. That inevitable thought. It’s been nearly a year now since we’ve seen each other, and eight months since I stopped emailing. I forget her sometimes, but then alone on nights like this, she floats into my mind, drifting by on the surface of the sea. The blue of the sky, and her light brown hair floating hypnotically beneath the waves as she laughs, silvery and joyful with the seagulls' caw. A yearning grips me, a sort of gasping desperation to return to that place again, to the simplicity of CDs whirring in the stereo, murmuring together in the sunlight, the crunch of gravel beneath bicycle tyres and sand in the lines of our hands. 

That was it. The most romantic time of my life. Nothing complex, only the things I made that way in my head. It was the electricity of my leg touching hers, the intense, whole body sensation of just looking at her, turning to jelly when she looked back. The soft curves of her face in my hands, how just kissing her lit my blood on fire. Then, when kissing meant something to me. In Berlin, I did it just to do it. A thing I did with my lips, a preamble, but it was never a preamble with her. It was the apex. I would have died kissing her.

I shoulder through the hostel door and leave a puddle on the tiles. There is nobody to apologise to, and nothing dry to clean it with, so I leave it there and trudge upwards to the room, where the Nepalese backpackers are snoring in their bunks. They do it so loudly that sleep would be impossible even if I were capable. Luckily, it is not my priority. I strip my clothes off and lie in my bunk. I find my phone and type a message to Astrid. 

Outfit pics? 

A fruitless endeavour. She’s probably cracking into a crème brûlée with Elias and talking about something intelligent. I go back to my messages and scroll, scroll mindlessly, doing at least a decent job of pretending I am. I go back through the months, dozens of chats, friends, arrangements, happy birthday messages. Back to territory I have never revisited for dread of what I might encounter. Stop. 

Evie. 

One tap, and my thumb trembles.

17th August 2010  Yeah, so basically you just get the bus to Clontarf. I live on Vernon Ave so you can either get off near the shops or Seafield road.  Okay, sounds fine. I’ll probably leave soon.   Text me if you have any problems.  See you in a few hours. 

Weird. I thought we might have said something else, showcased more personality, or given more away about our feelings, but I have discovered an uninspiring chat, revealing nothing about us and who we were. Another tap then, on the text box, like adding a chapter to an unfinished novel.

Hey, do you still think about last summer? 

Paragraph. 

Because I do, to be honest. Been thinking about it tonight. How are you?

Tap. I send it, and my nose runs. I wipe it with my finger and it comes away dark, thick. The back of my throat tastes like iron now. I curse under my breath and sit up. Blood drips on the sheets and I quickly block my nostril with my thumb. It’s fine. This happens sometimes. I go to the bathroom and stuff a wad of toilet paper up my nose, pinching the bridge for a while until it slows. My face in the mirror is insane, my hair curly and half-dry, blood crusted around my nostril. I wet the toilet paper and clean it away, then flush it down the toilet, brilliant red, circling, circling, then gone. 

Back in the bunk, my phone glows. A red exclamation mark beside my last text. 

! Not Delivered

I stare at it. I hit the power button. Fuck it. For the best, I think, then roll over and try to sleep.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[captainjonnitkessler]

Hello again.

I just saw a very vaguely worded prison abolitionist post talking about how 'if you just make the system better, then the amount of people in jail would shrink' which A) feels rather reform-y for a post starting off talking about how no reform is possible, the system is a lost cause...and B) it feels that these people don't get that there are just assholes out there?

Because it goes on this long rant at the end talking about all the things in the system that would need to be fixed, like helping the homeless, having healthcare focused on the mentally ill, lifting up impoverished communities. And honestly, you know what, sure I approve of all of that...

But then the phrase "Next we tackle sexual assault" is uttered without any context or ideas of how to handle it. And I was like oh for fucks sake... Everything else in this post was like, here's the magic button on how to fix this but then SA is just dropped at the end.

I don't know why prison abolitionists lock up and get defensive when it comes to the question of "what about rapists?" but it seems as though they never fully take it seriously. And while I cannot speak to the full intricacies of the prison abolitionist movement, I'm only starting to be exposed because of someone on my dash I'm considering unfollowing, I can speak to statistics when it comes to sexual assault and incarceration.

Because the fact of the matter is that the vast majority of perpetrators of sexual assault will not go to jail. And so handwaving the idea of the few who have have in fact been incarcerated feels so incredibly dismissive of the hell that survivors have to go through to even get a perpetrator in court. It devalues the incredibly hard work done by the survivor to make sure that the perpetrator doesn't skip off into the sunset.

I don't know, it just got my hackles up. I know too well of how many pupatrators slip through the cracks and of how incredibly hard it is to even get a conviction in the first place. And yet prison abolitionists dismiss even the small percent as an afterthought not worth nuanced discussions.

Sorry for dumping this all into your askbox, it just seems to help to be able to type everything out so it's not just swirling in my head...

The constant pattern I see from prison abolitionists is that someone asks okay, so what are we going to do with the murderers? "Well, if we improve social conditions there won't be as many murderers!" Okay cool. But what are we doing with the remaining murderers? "You know, most murderers aren't even caught, so most of them aren't in jail anyway!" Okay cool. So what are we doing with the murderers we do catch? "You know, putting people in jail doesn't bring the victim back. Most murderers don't murder again!" Okay cool. So what do we do with repeat offenders? "Oh my god, I'm so sick of people constantly asking that question when I've answered it a million times!"

And I think it's because at some point you have to argue either a) you are a genuine prison abolitionist and don't believe serial murderers and rapists should be incarcerated, which is insanely unpopular and will cause 99% of people to stop listening to you, b) some murderers and rapists SHOULD be incarcerated, at which point you are arguing for prison reform and not prison abolition (and this will make you A Liberal, which is the worst thing a person can be), or c) if we solve all of society's problems, nobody will ever commit a violent crime ever again because humans are Good At Heart and only ever do bad things out of necessity or poor social conditions.

I think c) is a ridiculously naive view of the world, held by people who shape their view of reality based on their ideology instead of vice-versa, but it's the most palatable option for a lot of people. So you have to pretend that there's some fixable underlying condition that causes people to rape, because otherwise c) won't work and you're back to the other two options.

So yeah, I think a lot of abolitionists - at least the ones I've interacted with - can come off as though they don't care about victims of crime, because admitting that there are serial perpetrators that will not stop as long as they have access to victims really kind of undercuts the entire abolition argument.

[xf-cases-solved]

do you guys think. that mb in the months proceeding the leonard betts/never again/memento mori trifecta, there was a time where scully got a nosebleed around mulder and they both thought nothing of it?

do you think scully had written it off as dry air or seasonal allergies and mulder had taken her at her word and just handed her some tissues and made a joke about not getting blood on the files?

do you think that after he learns about her cancer, he thinks back to that nosebleed in their office and wonders "if only i had said something, then maybe she would have gotten her diagnosis sooner," as if he'd have had any reason to ever suspect that a simple nosebleed could be a sign of something so dire and lethal?

do you think that, late at night, when the insomnia is at its worst (mb when scully is rly sick and his mind won't let him fall asleep bc what if she needs him and he misses the call?), he traces back every interaction they've had since she got her chip removed, using his eidetic memory to analyze every moment where she might have shown signs of illness? every moment he might have missed, because he hadn't been paying close enough attention, WHY had he not been paying close enough attention, he's a psychologist, damnit, a behavioral profiler, the best one in the violent crimes unit--if he can write up a profile of a killer he's never met that's right on the money beat-for-beat, then there's no excuse for him missing the subtle changes in the most important person in the world to him

do you think he remembers a random tuesday morning when she came in late because she had woken up with a killer headache and wonders "was that headache because she had done back-to-back autopsies the day before without enough food or water, or was that the tumor starting to grow?"

do you think he remembers stopping by the convenience store in a rural town in kansas to grab her a box of dramamine because she said she was kind of dizzy, and at the time he'd not given it a second thought, because sometimes she got motion sickness on turbulent planes or riding passenger seat in a rental car down winding dirt roads, but now he wonders if that dizziness had been a sign of something more sinister?

do you think he remembers the two of them laughing off a bloody nose and then going back to bickering about this or that like nothing had happened, and wonders that if he had questioned it then, would it have saved her?

do you think that's just another thing he adds to his pile of guilt, because even though she's the last person he ever wants to see harmed, she keeps getting hurt anyway, and he believes it's always, ALWAYS, because of him?

do you think, when he sees her nose bleed now, he blames himself?

anyway

[angelanimedesaray]

Wings in the Dark Chapter 32: No Longer Innocent

AN: And here we are--the very start of this chapter was the last one that I had sitting in my google drives. After the first scene of this chapter, you're getting what I've been writing since I flashbanged you guys with chapter 30 lol.

Please, please, please review and feedback guys, I love you all, the whiplash of going from 30 comments on chapter 30 to 4 comments on chapter 31 was wild, and I would really like the feedback just to make sure I'm back on track with the characters since it's been a while (Again) since I wrote them and I'm kicking off the rust.

Love you aaaalllllllllllllllll <3333333

Characters: Levi, Fem!Vampire!Reader, Emery (OC), Erwin (Mentioned), Various Unnamed Characters

Pairing: Levi x Fem!Vampire!Reader

Warnings: Language, Violence, Blood, Minor Injury, Slight Rioting, Mentions of Starvation, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Illness

Word Count: 13826

<----Previous Chapter Masterlist Next Chapter---->

*Levi’s POV*

Erwin had given the two of them a day to prepare before departing, a day to make sure any tasks that needed them at headquarters could either be finished or handed off to someone else.  Levi spent most of that time making sure the squad was going to put in the work to remain in shape and ready for any potential trouble while he was gone, and closely going over the reports that crossed his desk from Erwin about the developing situation with the refugees.  He didn’t think he was going to be getting a date for the mass execution they were going to have to carry out in the day before they left, but he still looked, still followed every development, every step that brought them closer to the inevitable that was starting to weigh on him more and more.  It hadn’t even been announced or finalized yet, and he could already feel it looming over him like a smog.

Last night had been a much needed and welcome distraction.  Even talking about Emery, having some of the harder discussions about the two of them, had been better than his thoughts lingering on this sickening insanity.

Though, it wasn’t that insane, was it, when he understood perfectly what they were doing, and why, and he and those around him couldn’t think of any other solutions that were a viable alternative to the incoming slaughter.  Either they did something about the situation–with this being the only option anyone could see–or the situation would be solved in an even more bloody and violent way as tensions exploded and people started fighting over resources and inside the walls turned into every man for himself.

Didn’t mean it didn’t make him sick, didn’t mean he didn’t hate every second it was discussed or thought of as the situation developed and plans were being made, he could see some of the moves being made in preparation of what was about to happen…

He’d much rather be thinking about Y/N last night, of their kiss, of the feel of her fingers trailing down his chest, her palm over his heart or pressed against his abdomen, the depth of their kiss that had stolen his breath for the first few long moments, made him dizzy and restless and wanting.  At least, before her position had come dangerously close to one that would have had him driven mad with the proximity, before a stab of anxiety at the thought of stumbling accidentally into more sexual waters when clear-headed he’d already decided he was not ready had made him pull back and speak up.

He had thoughts, that was undeniable.  He’d already…touched himself while having thoughts of how tantalizing he found her how many times, now?  And that hunger that started to burn inside them when they had the time to get particularly close, to be a bit more intimate than brief brushes and kisses, made it clear that he wanted more.

But thinking about actually doing it?  Hell, he didn’t think he’d even pictured her in his mind’s eye unclothed–not yet, anyway.  He wasn’t quite there yet, and it stressed him out too much when he started to think about the potential of them having sex–

He wasn’t ready.  It felt good to know she wasn’t, either, that he wasn’t holding her back or making her wait or anything like that.  He wanted to be closer to her when they had the time and privacy to do so, but the thought of being that close was still…too much, right now.

And besides, they had far too much to be doing right now to be worrying or stressing out over sex.  There were much more important things to worry over.

First Emery, and anything that may pop up into the mix with that mess they were attempting to clean up, then the refugees, and then, most likely, when they returned they were going to be faced with the ‘solution’ to the food crisis.

The extra day to prepare ended up passing quickly enough Levi found it unnerving in how uneventful it turned out to be.  Y/N didn’t come to visit him after dinner this time, mostly because they planned on leaving just before dawn and both needed their rest before then.  Well, mostly Y/N needed her rest–Levi slept just about as terribly as he normally did.  Which also meant that he was up and ready for the day far sooner than she was.  There was barely daylight starting to lighten the sky in the distance when Levi grabbed the bare necessities he’d packed for the trip and headed out to the stables to start readying the horses for their departure.

It had been a while since the last expedition–far longer than normal, by now–and the horses were getting more restless.  They even rivaled their owners in how impatient they seemed to be to leave the cramped walls of their enclosures and venture back into open spaces.

Except the next time that they went beyond the walls, it would just be into the old territory, still within the walls, unable to reach that vast unknown space beyond that they had ventured into before.

As such, once Levi had both his horse and Zephyr saddled and ready–taking the time to make sure all the straps were secure and the gear in the proper place–he took them by the reins and started them on slow laps walking around the pasture to kill the time it would take for Y/N to arrive.

For the most part, they behaved–Zephyr kept wanting to quicken her pace and move ahead of Levi and his horse, but he was able to keep her under control and in pace with himself and the black stallion walking just a step behind.  His horse was mostly well behaved, though occasionally the stallion seemed to lean over to Zephyr and nibble at her mane when Levi wasn’t looking.  Even when Levi gave a small tug on the reins to correct the behavior, the stallion simply waited a little while before he did it again, earning a scowl from Levi and a grumble about Zephyr continuing to be a bad influence on him.

Just as the sky was brightening to the point Levi knew that the sun would be appearing soon, Levi finally spotted Y/N waiting by the fence for him to finish the current lap, rubbing at her eyes tiredly and muffling a yawn, leaning heavily on the post in front of her.  Levi gave a small tug on the reins, encouraging both horses to change directions and start heading towards her.

By the time Levi reached her, she was standing straight again, attempting to look alert after he'd caught her looking half-dead this early in the morning.

“You've been up for a while,” she remarked, voice still lower and rougher than normal, which gave away just how fresh out of bed she was.

“And you clearly just fell out of bed,” Levi responded, tossing Zephyr's reins to her.  At least she caught them.  “We've got a ways to go, and Erwin didn't give us a lot of time to get things done.  The sooner we leave, the better.”

“I know,” she murmured, attempting to muffle and hide a yawn as she came closer to Zephyr to start making sure everything was in place.  Levi watched, reaching out at one point to tug on one of the saddle straps to make sure it was secure and in place and eyeing the straps of her ODM harness suspiciously.  Considering she was half asleep, he wasn't entirely sure it was as tight as it should be, one of the straps seemed to be at something of an angle…

Before she got around to mounting her horse, and while she was still close to him, Levi reached out to adjust the one sitting at an odd angle.  His fingers ran under the straps while he had the opportunity to see how loose they were, before tightening them when necessary with a scowl.

“Are you always this careless with the straps?”

“No.  Guess I didn't pull hard enough.”

“You're not allowed to do your gear half asleep, if the result’s this shit.”

“Are you going to come in and do it for me every time it's an early start and I didnt sleep with them on?” She asked, the teasing obvious in her voice.

“Fuck no,” Levi grumbled, giving a last tug on the last strap.  She was an adult that had already gone through training–and normally he didn't see the straps in this kind of state to prompt this kind of thing.  “If this becomes a problem, you'll be drilling putting on the straps until you can do it in your sleep.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips before Levi turned to mount his horse.  “It already feels like I can.”

“The state of those straps suggests otherwise.”

The only response he got was a soft laugh as she mounted Zephyr, bringing the mare around to stand astride Levi.  She knew where the cave Emery was in, and how to find the entrance, but Levi was still taking the lead for the majority of the trip there, at least while they were on horseback and then later when they were dealing with the refugees, considering the technically superior/subordinate in public dynamic.

He'd have to do some digging to see if there was anything they could finagle to fix that so that they were equals, or as close to it as possible, in public and not just behind closed doors.

That, however, was a thought for another time.  Right now, they had a journey to make and a young vampire to go give an ultimatum to, which hopefully would result in one of the positive outcomes, for the sake of everyone involved.

Here was hoping the kid would not only listen, but act accordingly after this.

The ride was a long one, and included at least two breaks for the horses.  They technically only needed the one, considering their breeding and training for long distances in titan territory, but both of them had decided that within the walls, there wasn’t the need to push them in such a manner.  Their timeframe for their trip could afford a few breaks for the horses to rest and drink, maybe even do a bit of grazing while Levi and Y/N took the opportunity to speak.  Neither of them were trying to hold a conversation over the pounding of their horses’ hooves during the travel itself, so any necessary conversation before they reached their destination was done in the brief time they had giving the horses some time to rest.

She was nervous, Levi didn’t even need to try to glean that from her demeanor.  She was going back to being more comfortably affectionate, too, which was part of the reason why it was so easy for him to tell.  Her hands sought out his own, whether it was just to brush her fingers against the back of his hand or to hold it long enough to give it a small squeeze, which also allowed him to feel the nervous twitching of her fingers, the slightly cooler than normal temperature of her skin.  She wasn’t very still, either, shifting to stand closer to him but maintaining a gap between them, still, because she wouldn’t hold the position.  She’d shift to stand beside him, loom over his shoulder, shuffle to stand a bit more in front of him, shuffle away to fidget with something on Zephyr’s saddle.

It wasn’t that bad at the first rest stop, but the second was more noticeable and blatant.  He didn’t ask, though, because he already knew.  She was worried–worried for Emery, worried about what Levi’s approach would be, about risks to Levi if Emery lost control, worried about what choice Emery would make.  She had a fairly long list of things to worry and fret over, but they’d both already discussed it, were already aware of it, and didn’t see the point in bringing it up again when they would just be saying the same things all over again.  Besides, there was no point in fretting over it anymore when they were about to finally carry it out and would have answers by the end of the day, whether they liked the results or not.

Levi also noticed, as they were traveling, that there was more of a Garrison presence on the road than there normally was.  It wasn’t so heavy that there was always a soldier in sight, even from a distance, but it was often enough to make it clear that the roads were being patrolled, monitored, and a military presence was certainly being kept amongst the people.

It could be preparing for potential trouble in the time it took to get the fucked up ‘plan’ for the food shortage executed, and it could also be in part because of the search for Emery.  A presence this heavy on the roads would have made it hard for a normal criminal to get anywhere without someone noticing, and this level of a presence also meant there were plenty of soldiers in the area to react if unrest started boiling over without the numbers of the soldiers being blatantly obvious.

One glance over in Y/N’s direction told Levi that she’d noticed, too, and had come to some very similar conclusions.

The sun was starting its descent into the western sky when the mountain they were headed for started to loom in the distance.  Levi’s head arched back to gauge the hours that they had left to reach that mountain at the speed they were maintaining, doing some mental math to make sure that there would be enough sunlight for them to properly utilize it for his protection while talking to Emery as had been their initial plan.

If not, they would have simply gone to the refugees, first, and seen Emery tomorrow before leaving.  But, he felt rather confident they could get there with plenty of time to do the riskier part of this discussion with the sun.

Once the mountain was in closer range, Y/N took up the lead instead, guiding them off the more well traveled paths and into a more direct path that would lead them into the woods beside the mountains, and then into the mountain’s slopes.  They slowed their pace so they wouldn’t draw attention as two soldiers racing along off the beaten path, and also to more safely navigate the terrain that was giving way from plains and fields to sparse forests, thickening as they grew closer to the mountain itself.  The silence continued between them–comfortable, thankfully, even though the way Y/N was holding her reins bunched up in her hands in a tight grip that would probably destroy the leather if she didn’t restrain herself gave away her continued nerves.

They found a fairly well hidden glade in the middle of a thick patch of trees where the mountain started to slope upwards, and dismounted there, choosing it as the spot they would hitch their horses until they finished the meeting with Emery.  Y/N wasted no time in making sure Zephyr was secured and that she had everything she needed, looking up at the mountain they were about to traverse on foot as Levi dismounted and hitched his horse nearby.  Everything he needed was on him, not his horse, so he didn’t bother with the check she’d made.  Instead, he came right over to her side, noting her continued distraction with her own thoughts and reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder, which caused her to jump slightly as she came back to the present with him.

“Out of your head.  There’s no point worrying over it, it’ll be over within the hour or so.”

At best.  It may take longer than that, but he was sticking with the general estimate for now, if it didn’t take them too long to get to the cave itself.

“Sorry…I don’t have much of a part to play in this besides making sure he doesn’t attack you, so I guess there’s just more nerves than normal over how it’s going to go down.”

Levi sighed at the admission.  It was understandable, of course, that she was so worried about the ultimatum discussion being so out of her control, but again, it wasn’t anything she could do much about right now.  She needed to get out of her own head while they headed to the cave.

In a few strides, Levi was at her side, shoulder brushing hers as he craned his neck to look up through the trees at the slope of the mountain rising above them.  “Come on–we don’t have time to linger,” he remarked, and a second later he felt her hand slip into his.  By now, the gesture was natural, right, and a part of him relaxed to feel it, giving her hand a small squeeze before he tugged her forwards.

Levi only led for the first few steps–once they were out of the glade, Y/N took up the lead since she knew where this cave was, navigating the slopes to find a path that both of them could make with relative ease without having to rely on her vampire abilities to jump an extraordinary high distance or leap over a gap no human could jump without ODM gear.  They had their gear, but they didn’t want to have to use it unless absolutely necessary, since their cover mission didn’t really require its use.

The climb didn’t take as long as Levi thought it might have–the sun hadn’t moved too much lower in the sky by the time she pointed out the cave’s entrance.  At best, they’d only been at it for forty-five minutes, at worst a little over an hour.  Once she pointed it out and Levi knew that they were close enough that Emery would be able to hear them soon, Levi tugged her to a brief stop so they could talk one more time before heading in.

“Before we go in--can you keep your head and let me do this my way?” Levi asked, gaze fixed on her and watching closely for her reaction.

She shifted in place, the smallest frown flickering across her face.  She was still uneasy about what that might entail, then.  Levi wasn't going to expand on it any further.  If Emery needed a more forceful hand to get things through his head, Levi was prepared to be that forceful hand.  But if the kid saw sense quickly and he didn’t need to use force, then there wasn’t any point in dragging it up beforehand.

After a few moments, she gave him a tentative nod, eyes flickering in the direction of the cave.  “Even if I end up not liking something about it, this is your show right now.  I’m pretty much just here to make sure he doesn’t try to eat you and to see what the outcome will be.”

Good enough, he supposed.  As long as she wasn’t going to undermine what he was trying to do, that was the important part.

Levi gave a nod in the direction she’d been glancing in, signaling her to lead on as he fell into step just behind her.

They didn’t travel so terribly far up the mountain that the trees disappeared, but they did get high enough that the terrain became more rock than grass and dirt, and the incline was starting to turn steep.  As for the cave itself, there was an isolated cliff face hidden from the treetops and rising up above them that required a brief use of the ODM gear for Levi to reach, and a simple inhuman jump for Y/N to top before Levi.  She went first so that Emery wasn’t startled by a stranger’s arrival–the situation was tense enough as it was without adding Emery accidentally attacking Levi at the start thinking he was an intruder.

“Emery?  We’re here,” she called softly as she temporarily disappeared from Levi’s view as the cables pulled him up to the lip of the cliff.

As Levi pulled himself up to solid ground and started to get to his feet, she walked straight into the shadows of the six foot tall cave entrance in front of them.  Deeper in, he could see movement, a roughly familiar shape taking form as the vampire, for the first time since the few moments of passing on Wall Rose during the Fall, came close enough for Levi to start noting distinguishing features.  His mind listed the important things quickly–height, weight, youthful appearance, freckles, deep green eyes, dirty blond but unruly hair tucked behind sticking out ears–

Within seconds, Levi had a good enough look at him to be able to effortlessly pick him out of a crowd if need be.  He could also see what she had meant about Emery still being a kid–Levi could tell just looking at him that he'd been turned in the middle of his growing years, some features more defined than others that still had their softer, youthful edges.

Y/N was still between Levi and Emery, with Emery quite a ways back in the cave and not, at the moment, coming a single step closer to the entrance.  Despite the distance, the two of them were much closer than they had been on the wall.  As for Y/N, Levi could see the tension building inside her as they all waited to see how Emery would react to the close proximity to Levi, her shoulders held higher with how tightly strung she seemed, coiled and ready to have to intercept a blind lunge.

Emery leaned just slightly to the side to peer around Y/N, faint recognition sparking in his widening green eyes and slowly growing stronger the longer he studied him.

“Wait, I know you–on the wall that night, and–aren't you–?”

Levi rested a hand on his hip–close to his gear and blades–readying a short response to shut down a slew of off-topic questions about Levi before he saw something shift in Emery's demeanor, the young man's posture going from timid and hesitant to still and taut, the now-familiar red glint spark in the young man's eyes as he stopped mid sentence.

Y/N was already shifting closer, a hand gripping Emery’s shoulder in an abrupt and hopefully steely grasp, trying to pull the kid's attention away from Levi.  Those eyes were turning more red than green, and unlike with Y/N, Levi felt a chill of warning down his spine, his instincts rearing their head to tell him to fight or run–he was far more inclined to fight, but there was still the underlying urge to escape the predator in front of him that she was now trying to talk down. 

“Emery, through the mouth, deep breaths, like we talked about,” she said, voice steady and clear, trying to cut through the blood haze that was taking control.

Emery grabbed onto her arm, turning his head away from Levi as the red continued to consume the green of his eyes, the exhale he let out coming out strangled and guttural, fingers digging in hard enough into her upper arm Levi could see her wince and suck in a sharp breath to bite back any noise of pain.

“Levi, back up a bit–if you can,” she warned.

Levi complied, but it wasn’t much–he was already standing close to the edge, and he wanted to give himself the space to maneuver if he had to redirect Emery away from himself.  He had barely shifted his weight when the wind shifted behind him, blowing in the direction of the two vampires in the cave.  He instinctively switched to a more at the ready position the same moment that Y/N stiffened–

As Y/N had worried over and apparently unintentionally predicted, a shift in the breeze was all it took for the young vampire’s finite control to rupture.  Y/N’s grip on Emery’s upper arm wasn’t strong enough to restrain, as she’d been focused on catching his attention and trying to ground him, so it was no surprise when he was able to pull free with the wild lunge in Levi’s direction, the hand that had been trying to hold to her for stabilizing support now knocking that arm aside to try and get her out of the way of his mad dash.

The movement was rapid, everything happening faster than he could finish drawing a breath.  Emery was lunging for him, crimson eyes having burned away the forest green that had been there moments prior, all four fangs on full display and ready to rip through flesh, a face that had been youthful and dare he say innocent a few moments ago suddenly twisted with animalistic savagery.  Levi barely had time to raise his hands, to get ready to shove Emery back into the cave when he inevitably burned himself in the sunlight, ready to take the hit and redirect the young man back into the shadows when Y/N rammed into Emery from the side.

They both careened into the darkness, Y/N staying on top in a takedown that was more raw force than technique, pinning Emery to the ground with her arm on his throat and a knee in his gut to keep the young man down.  Levi caught a glimmer of red in her own eyes–just a glint–as Emery thrashed against her, trying to claw, bite, and shove her off him with raw strength alone, his fingers gouging into her arms in the process and drawing blood.

Her expression, however, did not hold a hint of the wildness Emery now showed.  Hers was distraught, but focused.  Disappointed, but unsurprised.

Controlled.  Something Levi saw not a trace of in Emery’s feral expression and movements.  Even when Y/N had attacked him in the warehouse out of desperation, or when she’d defended him from the other vampire in the Underground, she’d been nothing like this.  The closest to this he could think of was in the Underground, and even then, while she’d shown some of the more vicious traits lurking under the surface–the flash of her fangs, the hissing and snarling, the red eyes–it had no resemblance to this.

Even the other vampire that had attacked him that night, that had been motivated by raw desire to feed off Levi’s blood, hadn’t been this wild.  They had both still been in control of themselves, of their bloodlust–the focus of most of Y/N’s efforts of growth, always about control of herself and her bloodlust.

He had not seen a vampire without control before, until now, seeing one too new to have any, seeing Emery lose all sense of control and be overcome by raw instinctual need to feast on human blood.

His blood.  Too tempting for someone so new to resist, even unspilled when he was this close.

Suddenly, Levi felt a new appreciation for just how much control Y/N had around him, especially in the early days and when he’d bled in front of her and she’d had to resist so many times before, before she’d grown accustomed to being around him so often.

Maybe he hadn’t fully realized just how enticing his blood was when she’d explained it back then.  Not until now.

Emery’s clawing at her arms gouged new lines into her arms to replace the ones that were rapidly healing–courtesy of the blood still running strong in her system from Levi–dark crimson running down both arms to pool on the stone floor and stain Emery’s shirt, and prompting Levi’s gaze to harden and focus.  The young man didn’t look like he was anywhere close to coming back to his senses, continuing to wildly thrash and claw and snap in a desperate attempt to lunge at Levi.

They weren’t going to get anywhere with Emery like this.  They needed him at least capable of listening.

“Let him go.”  Her head snapped up so she could look at him like he was insane, so Levi gave her a bit more than the command.  “He might burn some sense back into himself.  If he wants to charge headfirst at me into the sun, let him.”

That was clearly something she didn’t agree with, a scowl sprawling across her features as she looked back at Emery, still struggling against her and drawing blood, fixated on Levi and completely ignoring the vampire atop him except in the struggle to throw her off so he could try to get to Levi.

“Fine, but I don’t like it,” she muttered, focused entirely on Emery as she held her position, giving Levi enough time to brace himself before she abruptly let go and backed up, cradling her blood-slick arms to herself while they healed and allowing Emery to make his feral charge towards Levi, unrestrained.

Predictably, Emery charged full speed towards Levi and right into the path of the sun, staggering to a halt a step or two from Levi with arms suddenly crossed in front of himself to try and block the sun as his skin began to steam, skin turning splotchy with read patches of skin peeling away and burning.  His snarling turned into a sharp cry of pain as he staggered backwards towards the shadows on instinct, overwhelmed and confused by the jarring switch from wild full instinctual charge to the shock of agony bringing him roughly back to the present. 

Levi followed the young man as he staggered backwards towards the darkness, only two steps away despite the fairly good look he’d just received of how tempting his blood was for the poor kid.  Just before Emery could reenter the shadows, as Y/N was starting to tense in the background in concern that Emery wasn’t going to make it back out of the sun before he burned up, Levi took the young vampire’s distraction with the pain from the sunlight and temporary confusion from being so painfully shocked back to reality to have an easy upperhand in restraining him.

Grasping onto the young vampire’s forearms in a grip much firmer than the one Y/N had on the kid’s upper arm, Levi pulled Emery’s arms away from the shielded position covering his face, which caused him to recoil and hiss at the pain suddenly burning the more sensitive skin of his face.  Not wanting to risk the young vampire turning into a pile of ash just at the mouth of the cave–something that was getting uncomfortably close to happening judging by the antsy way Y/N was shifting from foot to foot just inside the cave–Levi was quick to spin the kid around to face the shadows of the cave, twisting Emery’s arms behind the kid’s back in the process and pushing him back into the shadows of the cave.

Once Emery was safely within the shadows and no longer actively burning, Levi swept his legs out from under him, causing the young man to fall forwards, the wind temporarily knocked out of him, landing right next to the beams of sunlight stretching into the cave’s entrance, perfectly within range if the young man started trying to attack again.  Levi used one hand to press one of Emery’s arms up into his back–without breaking it, though in a good position to do so if necessary–Emery’s other arm ending up trapped beneath his body while Levi’s other hand preemptively got a good grip on the back of the kid’s head by the hair so, if he started trying to bite him again, Levi could control it with ease and keep from getting attacked.

Behind him, Y/N shifted closer, but she didn’t try to intervene.  He could hear her shifting anxiously behind him, though, staying nearby if something happened, her gaze boring into the back of Levi’s head–

He ignored it for the moment.

For the moment, Emery’s head was turned so that his cheek was pressed into the ground of the cave, but he could look up with one eye at Levi so Levi would be able to watch his expressions and track his mood shifts and make sure he was actually paying attention to what Levi was going to be telling him.  At the moment, there was still more red than green in his eyes, and Levi could feel Emery trying to squirm and buck free beneath him, but Levi kept him pinned to the ground with his position…and with his raw strength.

Interesting…so a new inexperienced vampire couldn’t match his strength.  That was good to know.  Not something to let get to his head, though–he’d already experienced a vampire that matched his strength and a vampire that had strength greater than his own.  However…it was still a point of interest he filed away for later.

Emery tried to lift his head, arm trying to pull free of the grip Levi had him in, but Levi shoved his head back down and tightened his grip on the young man’s arm, gaze sharp and for the moment indifferent to his struggling.

“Breathe through your mouth like she told you, and get your shit back under control, or that won’t be the only time you get some sun today,” Levi said, tone even and calm despite the silence of the cave making his voice sound louder.  Emery tried to rear again, and Levi pushed him back down into the ground again.  “Don’t–you’re going to stay like this until we’re done for everyone’s safety.”

Emery had already lunged at Levi with the instinct to kill and gouged the hell out of Y/N’s arms over and over until her blood stained Emery’s clothes and the floor, Levi wasn’t going to let him do any more damage today.

“Are you listening to me?”

There was far too much red in Emery’s eyes for Levi to be convinced that Emery would really hear what Levi was telling him if he started speaking now, so he had to check, first, watching for a reaction that would show him he could continue and his words would actually process with the kid.  Emery snarled at him, a little more red creeping into his eyes, and Levi put a bit more pressure on the arm that he had twisted behind the young vampire’s back, causing that snarl to cut off with a cry of pain and more red to vanish as his face twisted up in pain.  The eyes staring back at Levi had more green to them, now.

“Are you listening?” Levi repeated, eyes never waving from Emery’s.

“...Yes,” he finally answered, voice gruff and strained around heavy breaths passing his lips, red still gleaming in his eyes, but enough senses having returned to the young man for him to actually listen to what Levi had to say.

Good, Levi thought, the shitstorm this kid had stirred up and was threatening to bring down on all of them roiling to the front of his mind now that the kid was properly under control and wasn’t going to be breaking free any time soon, forced to listen to every word Levi was about to say.

“I hear you want her to do all the shit work and take all the risks while you reap the rewards,” Levi remarked, voice low and hard.  Emery squirmed beneath him, red stained green eyes flickering away from Levi’s unrelenting stare.

“That’s…not how I’d put it…”

“Oh?  Then how would you put it?”

Levi’s voice had turned deceptively calm and quiet, but his grip in the kid’s hair tightened as he pressed his head down into the ground with enough force for Emery to wince and shift his gaze back towards him, eyes widening in sudden fear of the man that had him pinned to the ground so effortlessly with the calm but terrifying tone directed at him. 

“Because you promised you’d put in the effort to learn to survive, but when it was time to do your part, you had her do it instead.  And it sounds like that’s how you want it to be from now on.”

“I…I just can’t hurt anyone–” Emery started to rebuke, but his voice was frail and cracking, lacking conviction in the face of how afraid he was at the moment.

Levi cut him off before that delusion could linger in the air. “You’ve already killed people, so don’t act like your hands are clean.  This pretend bullshit that you can stay innocent if you don’t make any of the hard decisions is just making the shitstorm you created worse–one that’ll get more people killed and take her with you if you don’t start taking responsibility.”

Despite the distress that filled the half of his expression that Levi could see, he could see the red draining from his watering eyes little at a time despite the conversation topic–at least he was getting his bloodlust under control.

“But those were all accidents!  Killing more people–on purpose–can’t be right!” Emery railed desperately.  He wasn’t physically struggling against Levi anymore, seeming to accept finally that this was the best position, uncomfortable as it was, for the time being.  He did, however, start to shudder beneath Levi at the thought of having to kill more people, having to purposely take a life, and tears were now disappearing under his lower eyelid and over the bridge of his nose.

“I never said it was right,” Levi corrected, his voice momentarily distant and pausing to let the reality of what they were discussing be properly absorbed, that he wasn’t trying to simplify and justify something this complicated, before his voice hardened again as he went back on the offense for Y/N.  

“But it is how you’re going to survive and stop having accidental massacres.  Do you think she wanted to?  That it was easy?  She’s had to claw and fight to get where she’s now, a fight you haven’t even started.  She’s giving you the way she knows will eventually mean less or no death, but you’re going to have to fight to get there.”

“I-I just, I just don't think I can do it!”  Emery’s breath hitched around sobs he was trying to choke down, struggling to get the words out around his catching breaths.

“She might have been kind enough to give you a chance, but don’t assume I’m going to let your refusal to survive destroy everything she’s fought for.”  That was the closest to a lethal threatening tone Levi had let his voice get so far.  He’d kept his tone steady and deadly calm this whole time, but when it came to the crux of the issue he took with Emery, the threat Emery was posing to Y/N and everything she’d worked to gain, that was where his anger leaked through.  

“The military is turning this place inside out looking for you, vampire hunters are after you, and that’s just the topside shit that you’re dragging her into.  It’s more than her life at stake if something happens to her, humanity needs her more than ever, and one indecisive brat is not more important than her safety.”

No need for Emery to know this was more personal for Levi than that.  Y/N knew, but Emery didn’t need to, so he went back to the old, ‘She’s important to the Scouts and Humanity’ excuse that he’d hide his ‘She’s important to me’ inside.

Emery’s tumultuous emotions started to clash in his eyes, guilt drawing his brows together and making his gaze turn away, breath catching and holding around another shudder, this time of fear–fear of the threats closing in and the thought of being abandoned now when he’d come so close to not having to go through this alone, if Levi had to guess.

Now was the best time to present him with the choice in front of him, and press for an answer.

Levi’s grip tightened in Emery’s hair, pulling his head back to look at Levi more head on, and even though Emery’s eyes turned a bit more red as a result, Levi got a bit closer to further drive his point home.  “Either you do what she says, fight to survive, or you can stay here and wait to die.  You’re deciding, right now, so she knows if she needs to cut you loose, or can stay.”

The silence in the cave had a weight to it as Levi and Y/N waited to hear what Emery would say, the young man’s gaze searching Levi’s frantically and fearfully, red ebbing and flowing in his eyes like cresting and receding waves as he struggled with his decision, between his fear of abandonment and dying or his fear of taking life to survive.

Something gave way inside him, and a tear fell down his cheek.  Levi knew what his answer was before the kid even said it.

“...Okay…okay, I'll do it,” Emery whispered, voice rough and breaking.

Levi held his gaze, searching it intensely to make sure he really meant it.  “If you don't follow through this time, there won't be a second discussion.”

Emery nodded as much as he could with the grip Levi still had on his hair/head.  “I know.”

That was the best they were going to get for now.  They’d know if he really committed the next time she tried to teach him how to hunt, but for now…this would do.

He relented his grip on the young vampire’s hair, hand still hovering just above his head in case he needed to grab on again.  “Are you going to try and attack me again if I let you up?” Levi asked, ready to get up and move but wanting to make sure Emery wasn’t going to start lunging at him again if he did considering there was still red in Emery’s eyes, red that told them the bloodlust wasn’t entirely gone.

“I…I don’t think so…” Emery said, uncertain.  It wasn’t a great answer, but it was an honest one.  And if Emery couldn’t control himself on his own, Levi would just head back to the mouth of the cave in the sunlight.  He’d done okay restrained like this, though, had this whole conversation to adjust and get ahold of himself, to make sure he didn’t inhale through his nose and get overwhelmed by the scent of his blood.

That had been…enlightening, seeing how Emery reacted instinctively at the mere scent of his unspilled blood.

How the hell did he survive over twenty years in the Underground without becoming some vampire’s snack, again?

…or had he been, and he’d just been compelled to forget?

That wasn’t a thought he wanted to entertain, and certainly not right now.

Carefully, Levi started to ease off of Emery, letting go of the kid’s arm so it could fall back to Emery’s side while Levi shifted up and away, taking a few steps back to where Y/N had been standing and watching the whole conversation, keeping her promise to let him do his thing whether she liked it or not.

Between the now unrestrained vampire that had already tried to attack him in front of him and his concern that if he looked at her he’d see she was upset with how he’d treated Emery, he kept his gaze fixed forwards on Emery instead of looking at her for the time being.

Emery got back to his feet, one hand rubbing at the side of his face that Levi had pressed into the ground as he backed up several more steps, making sure there was a safe distance between the two of them.  Even in the shadows of the cave, Levi could still see that red glint in his eyes, but it was slight, much less than it had been when Levi first approached.

It also didn’t escape Levi’s attention that when Emery backed up, he stayed close to the light streaming into the cave’s entrance from the sun still, that he was close enough to stick his hand outside and burn himself to snap himself back to his senses if the bloodlust got too strong.

The kid was a quick learner, when he wanted to be.  Levi couldn’t fault him for not wanting to take life–the kid had a good heart.  The problem was…it was going to do more harm than good in their current situation.

Y/N would figure something out, once the kid got more control of himself.  She wasn’t going to leave this kid to collect the same high body count she’d collected during her forty-ish year struggle through figuring out her vampirism on her own.  She’d find him a way to hurt as few people as possible, to take as little life as possible.  It was just going to be messy, and take some time, and unfortunately, some people were still going to die in the meantime.

But he would trust her judgement when it came to that.  Now they just needed to see if Emery really would take responsibility for his own survival instead of trying to shove all the ugly parts of it onto Y/N.

Once Emery was steady on his feet again, taking slow and deep breaths to help keep himself under control–Levi did catch him leaning his arm into the sun once or twice when the red got a bit stronger in his eyes–Levi spoke up one more time, gesturing to Y/N standing beside him.

“Listen to her, and if you do your best not to put her in harm’s way, you and I won’t have a problem.”

Emery’s gaze slid to Y/N standing beside him, looking properly remorseful as he moved to take a step in her direction, then thought better of it given it would bring him closer to where Levi was standing, and it was pretty clear now that distance was the safest bet.

“I’m sorry…that you had to kill someone the other night for me,” Emery started, voice soft but sincere, shoulders hunched and head bowed.  “And I’m sorry that I’ve put you in danger.  I promise I’ll try harder from now on–follow the lessons you give me, and…and take responsibility for my own actions and survival.”

That was enough for Levi, he was certain it would be more than enough for her.

Y/N left Levi’s side, approaching Emery and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder, causing the kid’s gaze to turn back to her.

“We’ll get you through this, okay?  The first couple years are always the hardest,” she told him, her voice and words much more soothing and gentle than Levi’s had been.  “But if you listen, you don’t have to go through them alone.”

She left the, ‘and you might survive them,’ part unspoken.

Emery gave a small sigh of relief, nodding in silent answer to her encouragement and earning a small pat on his shoulder in response.  Levi crossed his arms over his chest, backing up another few steps so he could lean back against the wall of the cave.

“We need to talk about what to do about everyone after him,” Levi remarked, aiming his words more towards Y/N but including Emery in the conversation. 

Y/N turned to look at him, curiosity in her gaze considering he hadn’t actually warned her there might be more to discuss before they left–or brought this up to her at any point beforehand.  “I have a plan.  It's unpleasant, but it would get the military off him, at least. It won’t work on hunters, though.”

Y/N’s hand dropped away from Emery’s shoulder as she turned all the way around to face him, brows furrowing together and a slight frown tugging at the corners of her lips.  “What do you have in mind?”

“Let the MPs kill him.”

There were perhaps two beats of silence after his statement where the color drained from Emery’s face as the kid stared at him in shock.  Y/N…he could tell was contemplating it, but her expression was anything but pleased at the suggestion.

“...What?” Emery asked in a hoarse voice.

Unsure if Y/N had the discussion about ‘temporary deaths’ with Emery yet, he decided to expound a touch on what he meant before Emery could spiral into a full panic attack.

“Not permanently, obviously.  But if you die in a way that would kill a normal human at their hands, they’ll consider you taken care of and stop looking.  We can recover your body and bring you somewhere safe before you wake up.”  Levi tilted his head towards Y/N to indicate he was addressing her, specifically, again.  “Any hunters on his trail won’t buy it, though, if they’re already certain he’s a vampire.”

Y/N was worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, Levi keeping his steady gaze on her as he watched her wrestle with the plan he’d proposed before she sharply turned to an ill-looking Emery, eyes apologetic.

“He has a point.”

“But–!”

“The faster the military stops looking for you, the sooner they’ll forget about you, and the sooner you can blend back into society once you get in control of yourself.  And it would take care of half our problem.  No, it doesn’t solve the hunter issue, but…but it’ll mean no more of these patrols out looking for you everywhere.  It would take a bit more time and planning, we don’t have time to do everything we need to in order to pull that off properly right now, and I won’t lie, depending on how it goes, the temporary dying itself could be…unpleasant, but you’d be basically unconscious for nearly all of it, we’re the ones who would have to get you somewhere safe while you’re out, but do it in a way that no one catches onto anything suspicious–”

“Y/N,” Levi cut her off, prompting her to slightly turn to look back at him.  “You’re rambling.  That’s all shit for us to deal with later.”

Levi’s gaze turned back to Emery, who looked like he was going to faint.  “You can think on it.  She’ll come and give you an actual plan when we have one.  But we need to know if you’re willing to do it.”

Emery was frozen in place under Levi’s unwavering stare, possibly unnerved by how Levi phrased that last part considering the talk they’d just had about following what Y/N told him to survive.  “You…you’re asking me to, to die?” Emery asked haltingly, voice weak.

“Briefly,” Y/N corrected quickly.  “You’d wake up, ideally after we got you somewhere safe, and completely unharmed.  The hardest part will be making the ‘chance’ encounter look like chance…and that the dying itself could be…unpleasant, however brief it may be.  But you wouldn’t have nearly as much danger hanging over you anymore.”

Emery was shaking, understandably terrified if he hadn’t died again since he’d been turned.  “If…if you’re certain I’ll be okay, that I’ll wake up…and they won’t hunt me anymore…”

Y/N leaned into his line of vision, giving him a small, reassuring smile.  “Don’t think about it for now.  Just focus on what we’ve been working on, and let us figure out the details in the meantime, okay?”

“O-Okay.”

Once Emery consented to the tentative plan–or rather, the general idea of what they were aiming for–Levi pushed off the wall, heading for the mouth of the cave.

“Where’s he–?” Emery started to ask.

“That’s all he needed from you,” Y/N assured Emery before calling out to Levi.  “I’ll catch up in a moment.”

He didn’t answer–he didn’t need to.  He simply started to work his way back down the cliffs of the mountain and down to the forest floor.  She’d probably catch up to him before he even reached the bottom of the mountain, anyway.

*Reader’s POV*

You didn’t linger too long with Emery, knowing that you and Levi were actually on a fairly tight schedule with how soon Erwin wanted the two of you back.  Levi had said as you’d been approaching that the two of you would be finished within the hour, which had let you know he did not intend on being here with Emery long at all, and you didn’t want to slow the two of you down.

Still, you stayed long enough to make sure that Emery was okay despite how shaken he was, despite everything that had just been dumped on him at once and the…rough first meeting with Levi he’d just had.

He was far from okay, though he was trying desperately to put on his bravest face.  Understandably.  In the same conversation he’d been threatened with abandonment and a strong suggestion of inevitable death, had to accept he was going to have to kill people to survive and that it would start the next time he needed to feed, and been asked to die–temporarily–to solve only part of the problem of people hunting him.

Plus, he still seemed shaken by his complete loss of control at the start where he’d tried to attack Levi and had harmed you.  Your arms were all healed up by now, but the blood was still on his clothes and the cave floor as a testament of just how much damage he’d done in his brief blood haze.  At least it wasn’t the only change of clothes he’d had–you’d bought him multiple changes of clothes a while back in anticipation of him getting blood all over himself when you brought him hunting.

You’d tried to prepare him for this meeting, and it still hadn’t been enough once he was hit with the scent of Levi’s blood up close and personal, and he was still scared of himself in those moments, waiting until Levi had left in order to confide in you about the feelings that had taken over, the need to rip and tear and feast, and even a concerning desire to feel prey struggling beneath him.

The poor kid was terrified of what he felt inside him, and terrified of the thought of giving into it the next time he needed to feed–terrified of what he could become.

You were more worried about what he could become if you weren’t here to help him tame the monstrous side of himself before he went full blown ripper.

After many wiped tears and soothing words, the promise that he would be okay and that he needed to rest for now and you would talk more in depth about all of this when you came to see him next and Levi wasn’t around and waiting on you, after more apologies from Emery for failing you and harming you and trying to hurt Levi and assurances that as long as he tried next time then it was already forgiven, you took your leave.

You made quick work of the mountain cliffs, nimbly landing on one ledge after another with greater speed since you were descending on your own.  The breeze carried the scent of mint, soap, and tea towards you, letting you know that Levi wasn’t too terribly far ahead of you–he probably hadn’t even made it back to the glade, yet.

Good–maybe the two of you could talk a bit before you had to head for the town barracks.  You weren’t going to get special treatment there, and you weren’t going to have privacy if they stuck you in bunk rooms.

Considering Levi was an officer, even if the Scouts were looked down on…hopefully not.  You hadn’t needed to bunk with anyone in a while, and you’d rather not have to bunk in a room with soldiers from other branches that weren’t so friendly to the Scouts.

In the next few moments, you caught sight of Levi up ahead through the trees, able to easily catch back up to him, especially since he slowed down slightly once he heard you coming.  Neither of you said anything at first, simply walking in silence through the woods, the shadows of the trees lengthening as the sun started setting and the sky turned from blue to a burning palette of colors.

Oh, if you were good with paints, the drawing you could capture in full color with this kind of scenery…

Levi continued to not say anything, which wasn’t entirely out of the normal for him, but he also seemed a bit more…withdrawn, than normal, and he wasn’t looking at you, either–like he hadn’t looked at you all throughout him talking to Emery while he had him pinned, and hadn’t looked at you when he’d initially backed off, either.  He didn’t reach out to try and touch your hand, though he wasn’t putting distance between the two of you and was allowing you to walk close enough to his side it would have been easy to simply brush against your shoulder.

He wasn’t mad at you–he had no reason to be, and that was a different kind of withdrawn, as you were unfortunately familiar with now.  You knew he’d been concerned about this talk in a different way than you had been, though.  He’d kept asking that you let him handle it his way, that you not intervene, that you let it play out, and the slightly more closed off attitude now, not wanting to look at you…

Was he worried that you might be mad at him for how he treated Emery?  It wasn’t pleasant watching him be rough with the kid while Emery was still in such a volatile and fragile emotional state, and admittedly, you’d wanted to tell him to ease up a few times, but…

You knew he could have done much, much worse.  He was still pretty gentle with Emery, all things considered, aware when something was out of Emery’s control–like the bloodlust–and not insensitive to the fact that they were still talking about taking human life, and that wasn’t a simple, cut and dry thing.  But the situation was complicated, and with the options you had right now, Emery needed to take life to survive if you were going to help him, otherwise…

You let out a sigh, soft and slow through your nose, head tilted back to look up at the canopy of golden setting sunlight filtering through the trees.  This was all stuff you’d already discussed with Levi.  You were on the same page about Emery’s feeding situation and what he needed to be doing if you were going to help him.  If Levi was worried, he wasn’t worried about what you’d already talked about.  He would be worried about how you felt about his methods.

You tilted your head to the side so you could glance back at Levi out of the corner of your eyes, leaning slightly closer so your shoulders and hands brushed together, pinky and ring finger curling loosely around his pointer and middle finger, admittedly relieved when you felt his fingers twitch instinctively to curl around yours in response, though there was a bit more hesitance there than normal.

“Levi…?” you asked him gently, slowing down in your walking pace and forcing him to slow down with you.  He finally turned to look at you when you’d nearly come to a full stop, and after hearing that there was no anger or frustration in your voice.

You took a step closer once he was facing you, twining your hand more fully into his own and leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.  His fingers laced tighter into yours, and you heard the softest exhale that sounded like relief before you even pulled away to speak.

“Thank you,” you told him sincerely, waiting until you met his gaze again to speak.  You could see the tension in his shoulders relax slightly at the statement, and knew you’d been right in assuming he’d been worried you might be mad.  You still wanted to be honest, but you were going to make sure he understood you weren’t mad at him, either.

“I might not have liked…seeing you be rough with him, but he needed the push, and I’m still grateful that you got him to agree to try–whether he follows through or not,” you told him softly.  You gave his hand another small squeeze.  “Thank you.”

Levi’s eyes–a steelier blue in the setting sunlight–were studying you, as if making sure that you really weren’t angry with him, or that it wasn’t going to come back and bite him in the ass later in some way if you were just shoving down your anger.  You didn’t look away, letting him reassure himself and see for himself that you weren’t mad at him.  Apparently satisfied and relieved by what he saw, Levi looked away, a soft, short sigh escaping him as his hand tugged you forwards with him to get you to keep walking with him towards the glade where you’d left your horses.

“I know how important him getting better is to you.  But you being where you are now is important, too.”

The little smile that played across your lips was just for you, head ducked low for a moment as warmth seeped through your chest at his words, the unspoken extra meaning you read between the lines as the two of you walked in now comfortable silence back to the glade.

Staying right here with you is important to me, too.

Considering the two of you weren’t Garrison soldiers, you were given a small two bed room in the Garrison barracks to stay in when you reached Kempton fairly late into the night.  No one had wanted to deal with the two Scouts arriving long after the sun had set for the day, so there wasn’t much fuss–they’d simply been shown to the room and left to their own devices.  The two of you lost another hour or so with the cleaning to get the small room in a more habitable state for both of you, and you’d both agreed to leave the window open to let the room breathe more.  After that, neither of you stripped out of your uniforms, but after a whole day of travel and the cleaning and not being familiar with this barrack’s layout–or willing to discover what state the communal washroom would be in–you both collapsed into your respective spots to try and catch a couple hours of sleep, at least.

Well, you collapsed into the standard issue not very comfortable bed, after shrugging off your jacket, pulling off your boots, and freeing yourself from the harness straps, setting everything but the boots as neatly as you could on the desk with your ODM gear.  Once it was all out of the way and neatly set aside so you were certain Levi wouldn’t scold you for being messy, then you flopped onto the bed, arms tucked under the pillow and head turned to the side so you could still breathe, burrowing into the bed without crawling under the sheets.

Levi kept even his ODM gear on, turning the desk chair out to face the room as a whole, more specifically the door, and promptly positioned himself in the chair with an ankle propped up on his knee and arms crossed over his chest.

You didn’t hear or see anything else about what Levi was doing–beside’s a soft ‘Tch’ after you flopped onto the bed–mostly because it didn’t take you long at all to fall asleep, thankfully…

“Oi…oi.  No sleeping in–we’ve got shit to do today, and not long to do it.  Get up.”

Despite the more abrasive words, the touch that went alongside them was gentle, and helped your rousing to consciousness happen a bit smoother.  His hand was on your head, warm and heavy, fingers threading through your hair and gently moving your head around to ‘shake’ you awake, thankfully not pulling your hair in the process.  When you started to wake, his hand pulled away, hair slipping free of his fingers and falling into your face as you raised your head to squint blearily at him getting back to his feet beside your bed, already set to go, and with the usual shadows under his eyes suggesting he either slept very little last night or not at all.

“You’ve still got to get your shit back on, so hurry up.  I’ll find out where we’re going and meet you out front,” Levi informed you as you pushed up onto your elbows, rubbing at your eyes to try and wipe the sleepy blur away.

“Mm-kay…” you murmured.  Levi only lingered long enough to make sure that you were actually going to get up before he took his leave to go figure out where the two of you were headed, exactly.

You couldn’t blame him for the brevity–he may have been awake all night for all you knew, and again, Erwin wanted you back as soon as possible.  There was still the return journey to factor in as well.

He was right.  You needed to get up and moving, and this day needed to start so you could get back to headquarters for whatever it was that had Erwin trying to play it safe and keep you and Levi close at hand.

When considering the state of the refugees you were about to see, it hadn’t crossed your mind that perhaps, farther away from the southern territories, farther away from the territories that had feared being hit next, refugees would be receiving far worse treatment.  If anything, you had mistakenly thought that perhaps farther from the southern areas that most of the refugees had congregated after the wall fell, there might be less struggle over resources and less harsh conditions, a bit more to go around than there was in southern Rose.

You had been woefully mistaken to assume such a thing.

Levi, being the officer between the two of you, was getting official updates from the military leaders in the area, hearing their viewpoints on the situation, and getting briefed on incidents they’d had–including, you had briefly heard, a vague update about the thorough sweep they were doing for Emery.  For the most part, these discussions kept him out of the packed throngs, out of the thick of the worst of what the two of you were there to bear witness to, though even though he was occupied with the Garrison leadership for this area, you could feel his eyes keeping track of you, noticed that no matter how far you moved, Levi moved his conversations naturally as well so he could always be within a decent range of where you were, you could always hear him, always knew where he was.

You, on the other hand–you went to walk among the packed refugees, trying to see if there was anything you could do to help, anything you could hand out, anyone you could get help for.  And in the process you saw some…rather awful sights.

Since the two of you had arrived at this particular refugee housing in the morning, a good swath of the able bodied were out working the fields in the morning shift.  Those that were still in the now-depleted and used for housing storehouse you were now picking your way through were either those who could not work the fields, or those that would work the afternoon, evening shift.

People here were starving, their sunken eyes tracking you with envy that tended to turn seething when they saw the crest on your uniform marking you as a Scout, enough anger in their gazes to make you uncomfortable even knowing you were perfectly capable of defending yourself.  Some were in a far worse state than others, and it didn’t take long to notice the pattern and figure out that the ones that seemed like they weren’t withering away as quickly were the ones that were still able to work–those that could still earn their rations.  Those that couldn’t…

You wish it had only been once, but there had been a couple times you’d found someone lying still and withered away in a corner or just entirely overlooked in the masses you were trying to walk around, realizing there were no heartbeats, no breaths, and that some of the people who couldn’t work had wasted away and died with either nobody noticing or nobody caring.  More than once, you had to get the attention of some Garrison soldiers to help you remove a body for proper burial so they didn’t continue to rot away amongst the still living and cause disease to run rampant in the already cramped spaces.

It feels like I’m back in the Underground.

As much as you wanted to help, as much as you wished you had something to give, you didn’t have the one thing they needed the most–food.  You didn’t have any on you, there clearly wasn’t enough to go around out here, so all you could do was look at the envious or angry faces and pick out the bodies that needed removal before people started getting sick on top of everything else.

This can’t keep going like this.  People are wasting away to nothing and there’s just…not enough to help everyone.  Places are already neglecting those that can’t work, starting to let those that just aren’t able bodied die rather than use up rations on them.  And even then, the workers are still barely getting enough to scrape by, I doubt the rations they’re getting are sustainable…

Across the courtyard you were standing in, raised voices abruptly cut through the miserable hum of all the people crammed together in the small space–a space that would have twice as many people shoved into it come nighttime.  Your attention was drawn to the noise noting that it seemed the morning shift was starting to come back and the afternoon shift was about to head out, people starting to shuffle in and out of the entrances.  The disturbance itself had broken out between two men that the crowd was trying to give a wide berth to avoid being caught in the conflict, most of the masses trying to move around them so that they could get to earning their rations or come back to rest after a shift that had likely started before dawn.

There was a lot of conversation happening around you, a lot of noise, and you had been half listening to the conversation Levi was having about how they’d been trying to move some of the refugees to different parts of Rose to try and lighten their burden here, but had been unable to find a place that could afford to take them.  As such, the argument wasn’t entirely clear with how far away you were, but you were able to at least figure out that the fight was over an afternoon shift worker that had tried to take the spot of a morning shift worker while they were out in the field.  Something petty, especially since the afternoon worker was supposed to be getting ready to leave now, but it was getting loud and rowdy, and it seemed like it was about to escalate to blows.  So, you did your best to move with the current of the crowd to get over to the two brawlers and try to help break it up before it escalated into a much bigger conflict with far more pissed off people that would be beyond the ability of the Garrison to control.

You got shoulder checked a few times by angry refugees as you maneuvered your way through the crowd to the two that were arguing, but you ignored it, taking the aggression in stride and staying focused on the more important matter at hand.  By the time you reached the pair, it had escalated to blows, and two other Garrison soldiers were also arriving on the scene from different points in the crowd.  The mousy brunette threw a punch at the blonde that sent the blonde reeling into the crowd, earning a shout of anger as the blonde was pushed back towards the brunette.  You lunged inside the tiny space that had been cleared in the effort of the crowd to try and avoid the fight, grabbing the blonde and hauling them up with your strength before they could reconnect with the brunette’s fist, while the two Garrison soldiers grabbed onto either arm of the brunette to help in pulling the two away from each other.

The one you’d grabbed, however–you didn’t know who was who in the conflict, who was the morning worker and who was the afternoon worker, but to you, it didn’t quite matter, you just needed the fight broken up–apparently decided he was going to take a much bigger issue with you than the brunette he’d just been sent reeling by, or even the member of the general crowd that had shoved him.  At first, he just struggled because he was being kept from fighting the brunette–he didn’t have anywhere near the strength to break free from your grip, even if he had been properly fed.  However, when in the midst of his shouting and twisting to let him go he spotted the crest on your uniform, the situation changed to something else entirely, and it was a much deeper anger that simmered in his eyes once he realized you were a Scout.

“You!” he seethed, enough venom emanating from him that you were momentarily taken aback by it, even if you’d been enduring the angry envious stares the whole time you’d been here.  “One of those fucking waste of rations?  We’re over here busting our asses for scraps, what the fuck are you doing to eat so well?  Nothing!”

You were also unprepared when halfway through his rant he suddenly bucked backwards, purposely trying to do some kind of damage to you now instead of the brunette.  Your reflexes were fast enough to keep him from nailing you in the nose, but with the fact you were also restraining him from behind, he still got you in the mouth with the back of his head.  You felt your lip split and blood suddenly well up in your mouth, sucking your lip in to try and hide the injury so no one would notice when it rapidly healed.  Still, the man continued his tirade, now trying to swing and hit and do some kind of damage since he’d caught you off guard and connected in one of his hits, and you couldn’t exactly let him go when you were trying to restrain him.

“What the fuck are the Scouts doing for humanity besides getting themselves eaten and wasting food that could go to people that actually earn it!  Why do you get to eat so fucking well while the rest of us are fucking starving?”

Around you, you could hear the sentiment being echoed by the crowd, could feel the anger that had been bubbling around you starting to rise to a boiling point, hear more people getting louder about their anger about the soldiers they saw as freeloaders and wastes of resources in times like this.  

Suddenly, you felt like you were in the middle of a pot you’d known was being heated up to a boil but hadn’t gotten out fast enough and was now sitting in water that was going to boil over and drown you in it if you didn’t find a way out of the pot.  You were suddenly painfully aware that you were the lone scout in a crowd of starving, desperate refugees being whipped into a fury, and the Garrison did not have enough love for the Scouts to put their necks on the line to help you, especially if they’re own people were suffering from the food shortage, not just the refugees.  And you didn’t have the tools or words to diffuse the situation.

What were you going to do, tell him you didn’t eat?  That your rations went to double up someone else’s meals?  Of course not.  You also couldn’t tell them that you were working, that you all weren’t just sitting around doing nothing, that you were trying to do something, wanted to do something, and in your case there had been a lot going on behind the scenes that no one else could ever know about.  You wanted to defend yourself, to prove him wrong–especially considering you’d come to the Scouts so that people weren’t sustaining you with their lives for you to just survive and do nothing with your life and abilities.

But you also knew that these people were desperate, starving, watching people dying around them, crammed into too tight of spaces that weren’t supposed to be lived inside of in the first place, falling ill, not getting enough food to properly survive on even when they worked for it, and to the public, especially because you hadn’t been able to be set loose yet, the Scouts really did seem like a waste of resources, especially in times like this, when the Scouts were on hold and weren’t being allowed to go outside yet so all they could do was wait–

These people didn’t care about politics, or if you wanted to make a difference, or if you didn’t believe the Scouts were worthless and thought they could do the greatest good for humanity if given the right tools.

They wanted to eat, to survive, and find a way to crawl out of this hell they’d found themselves trapped in and somewhere better and at the moment they just couldn’t do it and they were caged and desperate and dying.

Something you understood perfectly.

So you had no argument to give.  All you could do was hold onto the man that was still trying to do as much damage as possible, trying to ram his head into your face again, trying to stomp on your feet or elbow you in the ribs, anything.

The Garrison soldiers that had grabbed his brunette opponent had already hauled him out of the small cleared space, leaving you alone in the now much smaller clearing that was closing back up with the throng.

Out, I need to get out now!

You had seen a crowd in panic when Maria fell, while you were evacuating towns.  You had seen small crowds turn into mobs when people were angry enough, both Underground and in smaller scales during the evacuation and in smaller clusters amongst the southern located refugees.  This situation was about to turn sour, and even though you knew it wouldn’t kill you, you couldn’t exactly explain away a very public death trampled or suffocated or bludgeoned in an angry mob, and your instincts were telling you that you needed to get out of this situation right now.

Trying to get a good enough grip on your struggling captive turned assailant, you tried to decide the best course to ditch the man that had turned his hostility onto you and to move through the crowd that was also turning hostile on you with the least damage, both arms occupied and head moving back and to the side to avoid another backwards headbutt when someone from the crowd through something metal, hollow, small–you weren’t sure what it was, but it was sharp enough you felt it cut into the back of your head, felt blood quickly making your hair turn damp as pain lanced through the back of your head where you’d been hit.

All it took was one.  You needed to bolt.  Now.

No longer caring about strategy so much as survival, you twisted and threw your weight into a shove that sent the blonde you’d been restraining towards the throng in one direction as you ducked your head barely in enough time to avoid another thrown object that nailed a different citizen in the face, causing more shouts to break out, shoving, more throwing–

You were ducked low, trying to disappear into the throng and get to the exit as fast as possible, one hand covering the spot at the back of your head you’d been hit, trying to ignore how tight and cramped the space felt, the difficulty breathing, how similar it felt to the cramped dark suffocating space you’d been trapped in forty years ago–

You didn’t know how far into the crowd you’d gotten, how close to the exit you may have been, but suddenly a hand wrapped around your wrist, seeming to reach out through the crowd and trying to pull you through it all. 

You almost fought back, thinking someone had noticed the Scout trying to slip away in the confusion that you could hear turning into a full on bloody brawl in the space you’d left behind, but you recognized those slender fingers, the calluses from years of gripping knives and then hard ODM gear use, the strong and reassuring way they wrapped familiarly around your wrist and were now trying to guide you safely through the throng, to make sure now that there was a grip on you, that the two of you weren’t going to get separated.

Now knowing that you weren’t about to get attacked and that it was Levi trying to help guide you both out of the crowd and to safety, between his guided tugging and your following through the mess of people, you were both able to quickly get to the edges of the crowd.  You could hear shouting and yelling picking up, the crowd having turned from going to work or coming back to work to now turning inward on itself as a massive fight broke out, Garrison soldiers shouting and trying to get the mob back under control, most likely in vain.

“We’ve seen enough.  We’re heading back.  Now,” Levi said, your sharper hearing able to distinguish his firm voice despite all the noise and the fact that he didn’t raise it to be heard.

You didn’t argue, didn’t question if the two of you should stay and try and help contain the mob.  You’d just seen firsthand that the people were at their breaking point and the Scouts were one of the easiest targets for their rage.  The two of you staying to try and get the situation under control would likely just make things worse and inflame a situation that was already trying to turn explosive.

You already knew the tone of the report Erwin was going to be getting from the two of you about this side mission to check on the refugees.  It wasn’t even really about public opinion of the Scouts right now.

The people were reaching their breaking point, and something needed to be done to fix the situation, or it was going to turn into something much larger that was going to blow up in everyone’s faces if it was left to spiral any further.

Next Chapter---->

(Strikethroughs couldn't be tagged)

Everything Tags:   @antistellxr 

Levi Tags:  @clary-quinn @ayatosmlktea @whalerus @sunny-flo @thirstyforsometea @hauntedhousecat @peaches-and-clouds @imaginationmess @wubbawubwub04 @lollobos @pasteldays @itsmeaudriee @macaronnv @tokyo-banana @apuci-kis-szornye @momowantscats @yellowminb @ashikothedog @notgoodforlife @spnwinchestersd @xxdarkdarlingxx @joy-the-reader

Wings in the Dark Tags: @regalillegal @animeluver23 @theshylittleelfgirl @queenthorin1 @dilucs-thighs @lady-ragnvindr @subtlepjiminie @queenondeezmatatas​​ @linxiajei17 @levisbebe @toni-jones @pinkberrymilktea @ascybous @emmaandemmel @wolfie3616 @aot-fanatic @jencyib @zombiukas @notgoodforlife​ @syviis @captainyanag1

[salternateunreality2]

The Boys with a Stomach Bug (AGSZC)

We saw them with their SO/roommate/friend, now we see how they would act if they were the sick ones!

Angeal:

Mournfully turns into a sad depression rock and hides. He would keep working, but he's responsible enough to know that he's contagious. He tries to take home a huge stack of work, but he can't finish it because he's too miserable.

Passively tries to hint that he wants someone to take care of him, but won't say it outright.

"No, no, it's alright, I wouldn't want you to get sick too..." *Sad cough, despite not being sick with a cough*

He will accept glasses of water delivered to his door, but only if you press him, and he will refuse to let you in.

He will struggle through alone with vaporub on his elbows, powdered Gatorade in a gallon-sized jug, a raw piece of ginger root on his nightstand, and potato peels in his socks.

Genesis:

Canonically, he will make it everyone else's problem too.

Hugging the toilet, asking the goddess why she hath forsaken him. Hugging a bucket, sitting on the SOLDIER common room sofa, asking why no one cares if he dies. Hugging a pillow, asking why Angeal is in the kitchen instead of here with him.

He will try to stay at work, only to dramatically run out of his office to the closest executive bathroom and loudly get sick every hour until he's forcibly sent home.

He will complain about every little annoyance and text regular updates and beg Momgeal to bring him something else.

He will get half the SOLDIERs sick and cause massive staffing shortages.

Sephiroth:

Never gets sick and everyone hates him for that.

HOWEVER, if he gets experimented on or recklessly eats gas station sushi, he turns into the saddest, loneliest, wettest kitten and quietly shuts himself away, wishing for his mother.

If he's expected at work, he attends and just looks miserable the whole time until Lazard sends him home.

He's quieter than Angeal, and doesn't solicit or refuse help, because he doesn't think he deserves it, and is too confused to refuse when it shows up.

He also doesn't help himself. He stays hydrated and minimizes mess, meaning he spends a lot of time lying on the bathroom floor and drinking from the tap until he's operational again.

Where is momther?

Zack:

Gets suddenly and violently ill in the middle of practice.

He doesn't ask for people to show up and take care of him, but they can't help themselves and show up anyway.

As soon as they're in his apartment, he's excited to have friends, but it's pathetic to see, because instead of squatting, he tries a wobbly, tearful grin.

He's not demanding, but he asks for a lot and prefers not to be alone. He likes to sit on the couch, and will ask for popsicles please and soup and water and juice if you don't mind, and then he'll throw up because he tried it too soon.

He recovers quickly and thoroughly, and is jokingly hated for it because what was a 24 hour bug for him has the rest of SOLDIER (who he infected) needing a week off at a time.

He's forgiven, because he's really sweet and helpful to everyone else.

Cloud:

Can't afford time off, so throws up into random bushes and keeps stumbling forward.

He's given 12 hours of leave after he passes out from dehydration and sickness mid-patrol, which means he returns still sick and passes out again.

This time they drop him off in the infirmary to suffer alone until he's cleared for duty.

He's miserable and just sleeps as much as he can and survives out of spite.

He mostly wants to be left alone to perish in peace and is agonizing over how this is going to disqualify him from SOLDIER somehow, until Zack calls.

He doesn't tell Zack what happened until Zack weasels it out of him. Then Zack shows up with Kunsel and a massive cauldron of Angeal's soup.

Cloud pretends to hate it, but secretly soaks up the attention like a sponge until he gets embarrassed and pretends to fall asleep while Zack sings to him.

[wandasaura]

Wanda and Nat are both such sweet and gentle souls with R, so I'm wondering how a fight would go down. All 3 of them during an argument and the aftermath of it all

˚⋆。°౨ৎ wandanat and dove don’t fight often, they’re usually really good with communication and patience, but they do get into it like any other couple. most times it’s dove that's stuck in the middle as the two avengers go toe to toe, but sometimes, she finds herself in the center of the problem. their spats are usually resolved pretty quickly though, they’re too soft to stay mad for long. ౨ৎ °。⋆˚

warning(s) — alludes to elements of ageplay/discussion of headspace although brief and non-descriptive, mentions of pietros death and canon events, primarily fluff tbh (i got carried away)

The air was thick as you stood red-faced in the doorway of Wanda’s office, flustered and overwhelmed as she trailed behind you, arms crossed over her chest, not willing to drop the topic despite your pleas. Poor Natasha was caught in the crossfire of your argument, looking between the both of you with a pitied understanding. Tension had been rising for days, all three of you had felt it, but the coil had finally snapped when Wanda made a passive aggressive comment about your recent comings and goings.

“Wanda!” You pulled at your hair, eyes brimming with tears that were both angry and hurt. You’d seen her like this a few times, but her anger had never been directed toward you. Now, her venomous words sunk into your skin as she seethed and ranted on and on about your absence and ill-mood. You couldn’t help the long hours you spent held up in the library. You couldn’t help that when you finally did return home, you were drained and too exhausted to maintain a proper conversation, just wanting to sleep. Your dissertation was due in only a matter of weeks, and you’d spent months slacking off in favor of spending time with her and Natasha. That wasn’t their fault, you’d never blame them for the choices you made, but there wasn’t any more time for games as your deadline approached, but she hadn’t seen it that way. “I’m here now!” You nearly stamped your foot, words caught in your throat as you tried to disarm your loaded girlfriend. Your limbs felt like jelly at your sides, nerves filled with static energy as you attempted to break through to her.

“Wands,” Natasha tried to interject for the second time, worry etched across her features as she watched you spiral further down into yourself as the argument dragged on, only a shell of the woman she loved. Confrontation was not your thing, both of them knew that, but Wanda had become so blinded by her own trauma, she didn’t realize what she was saying, or who she was saying it too. All she felt was that same twinge of abandonment she’d experienced on Sokovia when Pietro drew his last breath. All she recognized was that once again, somebody she loved was pulling away.

“Don’t.” Wanda flinched away from Natasha’s touch, her eyes slitted into daggers. She wasn’t seeing you, not really anyways. She was seeing red, and when she got to this point, so caught up in her head that all she saw was tendrils of chaos magic and flashes of red, it was best to just let her calm down on her own terms. “Don’t touch me.” She put distance between herself and Natasha’s soft body with a raised palm, shuddering violently as her emotions worked on her patience and outer reserve. You never liked seeing her like this, but you especially didn’t like being the cause.

On the few occasions that you’d witnessed this side of her, it was usually some moron at work that wound her up to this point, but now it was you, and you felt sick to your stomach watching her break. Standing in the doorframe of her office, your laptop still open on her desk and illuminating the otherwise dark room, you watched helplessly as she walked away, muttering beneath her breath that she was going to bed. Your heart sank to your feet as you watched the guest bedroom door swing close, flinching into yourself when the harsh slam ricocheted off the walls and bounced off of your skin.

“I just-” You looked at Natasha helplessly, not knowing what words to say to get her to understand. You didn’t have to say anything though, Natasha knew. Sadly, she closed the space between your lonely bodies, letting you fall into her chest when she was in arms distance. Your sobs broke her heart, but there was only so much she could do to ease the pain you were feeling. It was Wanda that you needed, Wanda that you wanted, but the other half of your heart was locked away and isolated all because you failed to better prioritize your work.

“I know, milaya devushka.” One hand held your waist while the other cradled the back of your head as she let you weep into her shoulder and dampen her tank top. “She just needs some time.”

A crestfallen wail rattles your chest, pleading eyes searching Natasha’s face for any indication that this isn’t real. You’ve never fought like this before, and you didn’t like the way it felt in your belly as you thought about the empty space that would take up your bed tonight. “She’s mad at me.”

“She’s not mad.” Natasha shook her head, letting go of your head so that she could grasp your chin in her calloused hand, keeping your eyes locked on hers instead of letting you hide away again. “She’s scared. You’ve spent the last few months attached to her hip, dorogoy. I know that you’ve been putting off your assignment, she knows that you’ve been putting off your assignments, but right now, I think she’s confusing your absence with abandonment. She’s not used to you being gone, just like you weren’t used to her having to work long hours in the office. She just needs to adjust, she’ll realize eventually.”

“She was mean.” You admit, tears soaking your cheeks as you rest against Natasha’s palm. She hates seeing you so beat up over this, hates knowing your delicate heart has been through the ringer at the expense of someone you love the most, but all she can do is be there for you and hope that everything falls back into place. Couples fight, especially ones in your situation, but she also knows that Wanda’s more than just a girlfriend at the end of the day. She’s the one you confide in first, the one you seek out when you want someone to understand you without having to explain anything, she’s your Mommy, and the balance of your relationship will never be as simple as just romantic lovers with a history of traumatic events.

“I know she was mean, baby. You just have to give her some grace right now.” You nod weakly, letting Natasha led you into the dark bedroom that lacks Wanda’s presence, sinking into the mattress with limbs as heavy as your heart, hoping that tomorrow is a better day.

˚₊‧‎ ౨ৎ ‧₊˚

Morning came before your body was willing to accept the kiss of sunlight against exposed skin, but truthfully it wasn’t the approaching dawn that woke you, it was the sensation of a body sinking into bed. With your head on Natasha’s chest, you knew it wasn’t the assassin that slipped in next to you, so it must’ve been Wanda. Her side of the bed had been left untouched, cold and empty as you occupied as little space as was physically possible. Her absence weighed on your heart even in your dreams, but the warmth of an additional arm slinking over your waist lightened that pain the slightest bit.

“I know you’re awake.” She whispered, her voice hoarse and gravely like it was every morning. Despite the hurt that gnawed at your belly for hours until sleep eventually took over, you sank into her embrace without hesitance, twisting around beneath the heavy blankets until your head was resting on the satin pillowcase and your eyes were locked with hers. She tried to smile, but all she managed was a weak grimace that broke your heart. She hadn’t slept a wink, bloodshot eyes and sunken in features all the evidence you needed to make that conclusion. “I’m sorry.” She admitted into the quiet of your bedroom, sniffling when the onset of tears made it difficult to keep her words even.

“I know I’ve been gone a lot recently, and I know I haven’t prioritized a lot of time for us to Wanda and Y/N, but I didn’t realize it would hurt you this much.” You whispered back, not giving her the chance to dwell on the mistakes of last night. Nothing could change what had happened, but you were willing to move on from it if she was. You missed her, you had missed her before she chose to sleep alone, but now that longing had been amplified.

“You’ve been fighting your headspace. I didn’t realize how much I would miss those little moments until you took them away, and I let myself think the worst. I’m so proud of your work, moya lyubov, I just miss us.” She leaned in to kiss your nose, laying her forehead against yours as your legs tangled together beneath the thick comforter, weeks of separation finally coming to an end.

“I miss us too.” You sighed, more than content with this simple moment, even if it lacked Natasha’s sarcastic wit. The widow was awake, both you and Wanda knew that, but you were thankful she chose to keep her mouth shut as you finally confronted each other with feelings you’d been pushing away. “Promise we’ll never do that again? I hated it.”

“Never again.” Wanda promised, “That was the worst nights sleep of my life.”

A groan interrupted your sweet moment, the redhead on your otherside finally having enough of her chosen silence. “You guys are cute, but some of us are trying to sleep.”

A giggle tumbled past your lips when Wanda rolled her eyes, red tendrils of chaos magic ambushing Natasha square in the face like the sensation of a fluffy pillow. Your laughter only amplified when the fit redhead twisted her body on top of yours, slim fingers digging into your ribcage as you wriggled and squirmed beneath her.

milaya devushka — sweet girl / moya lyubov — my love

[lostcatinthedark]

ARMYs trying to defend people reading fan fics over addressing the fact that JM is getting death threats from their own breed is crazy.

“It’s part of the culture.”

“Everyone has done it at some point.”

“Stop ruining other’s people fun.”

These are some tweets in verbatim. Don’t they see how shipping culture made the fandom so toxic that two members of the same group cannot interact with each other without getting violent reactions? It’s pretty obvious that most big ARMY accounts are shippers, based on how silent they are whenever JM gets hate or threats from TKKRs. I mean, who would want to call out their own breed?

I just hate how ARMYs act so holier-than-thou and superior over solos, when in the same breath would absolutely drop another member for their ship. Are you really here for the music and artistry or for the visuals and projecting yourself in these fan fictions?

At what point will someone else’s fun become someone’s demise? Especially when we’ve seen time and time again how ARMYs are unable to separate a character from the actual person, when they flooded JM’s twitter post over some lame twitter AU. What happens when someone becomes overly deluded with their beliefs and does something that could lead to violence?

How can they tolerate that fact that the person they claim to love and swore to protect is getting death threats for the sake of reading fics about two other members banging on the low?

This is bordering mental illness.

It's crazy... sometimes I even wonder if they are fans of the music at all? There's a big portion of the fandom who are shippers, and I really don't know but it seems like most of them are taekook shippers. Either way, shipping people in real life is weird, reading fanfictions about people in real life is weird. Because these aren't just silly au stories where Jimin is an astronaut! or whatever, a lot of these are highly graphic and almost pornographic stories about members being a couple, where on top of that Jimin gets dehumanized in so many ways. Same with the shipper artists. It's weird, it's actually quite sick if you think about it. It can get dangerous even with fictional characters, I'm an anime fan and when I tell you several mangakas have been harassed for not adding a ship as endgame IN THEIR OWN STORIES, now imagine doing it with real human beings. Truly mental illness.

However I just don't know what could be done about this, because look at larries in the 1D fandom still somehow believing that Louis' son was a fake prop to hide his closeted relationship with his bandmate. I don't know if this has and end, especially because it's kpop and this entire industry profits from ships so...

Anyways I want Jimin to have a fandom that appreciates him for his artistry, for his personality, for his values. I've genuinely lost hope with most armys, so what's left for us is to be loud and make sure our space it's curated with what's important. Let's make our own community so whoever wants to join doesn't get indoctrinated in that shipper mentality. And also Jimin and his family are aware of these things, I know it's worrying but if there is something that needs to be done for his and his loved ones' security, I'm sure he will take care of it and if he hasn't yet, this might push him to.

[sosheblabbed]

sick pt. one

being sick has always been such a strange thing for me; isn't it weird not to hear someone immediately say they hate being sick?

anyways, for me, i am sick more than i am not and it has been that way since i was a little girl. and, according to every doctor i ever saw from age 10 under called it that, "you are sick," in a temporary tense. of course, everyone around me, including my mother, grandmother, friends, and their adults thought it so strange that a child could even get sick that often. a lot of people did not believe me whenever i told them i was sick. doctors, teachers, friends. nobody really believed me until i had to have surgery at 9 to get out my tonsils, but even then, they believed it was temporary; same as me.

so devastating to finally understand, as a 23 year old, that every time someone said that i was sick, they were telling me i was exaggerating and that there was nothing seriously wrong with me. to know that adults do not hear children, at least the way they hear other adults, EVER. that subjective statements are not possible for children. that nobody heard what i was saying whenever i said i was in pain, but not dying of pain. nobody heard me say it was getting worse, or that there were more symptoms. as a child, i was just sick. and it was always going to be, that, and my weight; never would be until i was older or skinny.

it wasn't strange to them at all that out of nowhere, at puberty, i gained nearly a hundred pounds overnight; this was far earlier than when most people begin to develop sexually, or have breasts, or shape. this was at six and a half. i did not eat more than any other kid my age, but i ate the same things all the time. it was enough for every doctor for the rest of my life, to this day, to dismiss half of the things i say and assume that i overeat and that my weight gain is my own fault. was this ever true? of course it was; i was sick. in more ways than one, and in more ways than anyone, including me knew. but has this always been true? is this true now? was this true when the children's physician on the stool in front of seven year old me told me that i eat too much, and if i don't stop, i will get diabetes? no. it wasn't and isn't today. i have never had diabetes. i still don't. i have hypoglycemia if anything at all related to my blood sugar, and i get violently ill frequently because of this. seven year old me, who had been mercilessly bullied, could not believe that a doctor, at a hospital, had just repeated what the bullies were saying every day of my life. i never looked at myself the same way. i still can't, and i don't think i ever will be able to.

that appointment changed the rest of my life and i remember it so clearly that i have a nightmare that i am seven again sometimes. i hate the number seven and seventh grade was my worst year, if you ask the experts, doctors, and me, since, i lived it. i have grown to hate the letter s even, because sick was a label.

everyone insisted, albeit a label, that it would be temporary, however the new official label i have come to identify with is chronically ill; a term that implies in the words its made by that it will never not be true. terminal, incurable, chronic, never has an end. i will be sick until the day i die.

[invisibleraven]

and this is begging to be reggiefied: “you must love me a lot.” “obviously, you idiot.” “so now you’re insulting a sick person?”

You would think after nearly dying from tainted street dogs, Reggie would learn his lesson. But he was sure that that kind of thing only happened once, and expiration dates were really more of suggestion anyways right?

This of course, came back to bite him in the butt-quite literally as he found himself becoming violently ill no less than an hour later. And every fifteen minutes after that for the next few hours.

Reggie honestly never wants to look at a can of tuna ever again.

"Stupid fish," he muttered as he heaved for breath while lying next to the bathtub. "What did I ever do to you?"

"Ate it for one."

Reggie looked up and there was Alex, kneeling next to him and placing a blessedly cool cloth on his forehead. "Fair."

"You're a mess," Alex commented dryly. "Think you could sit through a bath?"

Reggie shook his head, which meant he was well and truly sick, baths were one of his favourite things, and half the reason he got this apartment was the rather large tub. "Don't trust myself not to puke or worse, and that would ruin the bath."

"Sponge bath then," Alex offered. "Because no offence man, but you reek."

"I am aware," Reggie said, letting Alex help him into the tub. "I can barely stand myself."

"Well maybe now you'll have learned your lesson about keeping food for years after they expire," Alex commented, wetting a cloth and washing off his sweaty and disgusting face.

"Works for hoarders and preppers," Reggie said, ducking his head at Alex's glare. "Alright, I'll go through the pantry and do a purge."

"What do you think I've been doing while you've been re-enacting the Exorcist in here?"

Reggie chuckled, but then clutched his stomach as the movement made it clench. "Oh, don't make me laugh."

Alex mimed zipping his lips as he washed over Reggie's arms and torso. Shielding his eyes as he drenched his hair, softly working shampoo through the greasy strands.

Reggie hummed at the feeling, it had been a day or two since he had gotten to wash, so this felt luxurious. He peered at Alex who was never one for dealing with bodily fluids or sick people, but here he was, cleaning Reggie up after the worst bout of food poisoning known to man. "You must love me a lot."

Alex snorted. "Obviously, you idiot."

"So now you're insulting a sick person?"

"When said sick person self inflicted themselves? Yes," Alex replied, still washing Reggie the whole time.

"Thanks," Reggie said quietly.

"You'd do the same for me," Alex shrugged.

"Still, I appreciate it," Reggie said, feeling much better as Alex lifted him from the tub, towelling him gently. "I will get you the best thank you present. You want a new drum set? it's yours."

"I'm good," Alex chuckled. "Just...don't do this again, you really scared me. Thought I'd have to call paramedics there for a hot second."

Reggie shuddered-none of them were fan of the hospitals after the street dogs, and he really didn't want to deal with the surely judgemental nursing staff who would lecture him worse than anything that Alex could come up with. "I promise no more dodgy fish."

At this his stomach made a weird noise, causing him to groan. Alex looked at him. "Doubt you're eating much of anything for the next little bit, seafood or not. Now, do you think you can be okay on the couch for a bit while I sanitize the fuck out of this bathroom?"

"I can try?" Reggie replied, working his way into an oversized pair of sweats that surely belonged to Alex and a shirt that might just be his own, but their wardrobe was too mixed up for him to tell any more.

Alex situated him in front of the TV with cartoons playing on low, a bucket in case he needed to yak, and a sleeve of saltines, in case he wanted to nibble on them, as well as a glass of ginger ale. Then he went off to make the bathroom lemony fresh.

Reggie let himself sink into the cushions, his stomach still gurgling, but settled for now, and hummed along to the music Alex was playing as he wiped, sprayed, and scrubbed.

His body might hate him right now, and Reggie knew it should. But his heart? It was well and truly full, and that made up for everything else.

But he was still never eating tuna again.

[edosianorchids901]

Full of Dark Hours

@sherlocktember2024 prompt - "seven percent"

Watson had only just changed into his nightshirt and laid down when he heard footsteps in the hall. They echoed strangely in this unfamiliar house, but he knew their tread anyway. He paused in the middle of pulling his covers up, and just waited.

The footsteps hesitated just outside his room, and then the door pushed open with an anxious creak. “Watson?”

“I’m here, old man.” Rubbing his eyes, Watson sat back up. “What is it? Are you all right?”

Holmes slipped inside the bedroom and closed the door. He was pale even in the warm candlelight, and had not changed his clothes. He remained dressed in formal white tie, with his favorite blanket wrapped tightly around him. “Might I trouble you for some company?”

“You never trouble me,” Watson said, and meant it even though he’d spent the better part of the night gently herding an extremely giddy, drugged Holmes around the great old house. “Please, come in.”

Moving much more slowly now, and certainly not laughing, Holmes crossed the room and slid into bed beside Watson. He sat cross-legged, leaning against the headboard, and wrapped his blanket even more tightly around himself. “All my apologies, Watson. I fear my little seven percent solution has worn off.”

“Yes, I suspected as much. You don’t look well.” As Holmes’ wrists were firmly hidden under the blanket, Watson gently pressed two fingers to his neck. Holmes’ pulse was racing, his skin clammy. He was also shivering. “How do you feel?”

“As if I am about to be entirely consumed by darkness.” Holmes’ voice cracked, and he dropped his gaze to the bed. “Perhaps I should not be here. I have no wish to take you with me. I could go down to the stables.”

“Ordinarily, I’d say that the stables would do you a world of good, but not right now. It’s too cold, and you are already ill.” The use of cocaine tonight had certainly not helped with Holmes’ current bout of sickness. “Please stay with me. I am not afraid of darkness, Holmes.”

Holmes twitched a tiny, failed smile at him. “No, you are most steadfast even in the face of such shadows. I simply… I cannot…”

A low sob broke from him, followed by a few wrenching coughs, and he hunched his shoulders. His teeth chattered, and his shivering worsened.

“Easy, old man.” Watson snatched an additional blanket, which Holmes had left here earlier, and wrapped it around him. He settled his arm around Holmes’ shoulders next, rubbing his upper arm. “It’s all right. I’m right here.”

“My mind is tearing itself to pieces, Watson.” Holmes coughed again, and loose strands of hair fell across his brow. “I have nothing to occupy it with. There is nothing. I have nothing.”

“You have me. And your blanket.” Worried, Watson moved closer, drawing Holmes against his side. “It’ll be all right. The holiday will do you good, and I’m sure you’ll get a case as soon as we return to London.”

“I am less certain. There has not been an interesting case in weeks. I am so relieved to be back with you, and yet I do not know if I can survive.” His ragged breaths edged towards hyperventilation, and his trembling became even more violent. Not just trembling, but waves of harsh, wracking tremors. “Watson, I was on the run for so very long. For three years, I was hunted, in constant peril. How can I return to a life full of cases of mild fraud and petty larceny?”

Another sob burst out, and then another. Watson’s stomach wrenched, compassion bringing immediate tears to his own eyes. Holmes’ extremes of mood had been even worse since his return from those horrible years away. Cases delighted him, as they always had. But when he did not have a case…

“I’m sorry, old man.” Watson held him, steadied him. There was little else that he could, especially in the face of these severe reactions that struck when the stimulant left Holmes’ system. “Breathe for me. Keep breathing.”

Holmes tried for a deep breath, which turned into another sob. All at once, the rigidity went out of him, and he essentially collapsed against Watson’s side. “Watson, this boredom will kill me. It is painful, physically painful. I cannot bear it.”

“I know. I know.” Gently, Watson smoothed back Holmes’ hair, then cradled him close and rocked him. Holmes had closed his eyes, and tears trickled down his cheeks. “But I’m here. I will do all that I can for you.”

“You always do.” Another low sob. “I do not know how you have not given up on me. I would not blame you.”

“Never. I would never give up on you.” Losing control over his own tears, Watson hugged Holmes closer. “And I will not permit you to give up on yourself, either. I know you are suffering, but it will pass. There will be things of interest again.”

Holmes did not even answer him this time. Instead, he merely wept, sliding one hand from under the blanket to clutch Watson’s nightshirt. He curled up, knees pulled up to his stomach.

Reassurances would likely do very little good when Holmes had plunged this deep into despair, but Watson could not help murmuring them. His voice might help a little, at least, and his presence certainly would.

The bout of crying turned into a bout of coughing, and Watson steadied him through that, too. Thankfully, he himself rarely got sick. Holmes was a different story, especially after long periods of self-neglect.

Three years. For three years, he had been on his own. And while yes, he had been in terrible danger from the remains of Moriarty’s organization, he must have been in danger from himself as well. His health had seriously declined in that time, leaving him with recurring severe headaches and worse lethargy than before.

“You’re home now,” Watson murmured, and then felt very stupid. “Well. Not home now, exactly. On holiday. But at least we’re together.”

Holmes snorted, then sniffled and drew back. He looked even worse than before, pale and drawn, but some of the tension and anguish had gone out of his face. “I fear I am ruining your holiday by our being together while I am in this mood, Watson.”

“You most certainly are not.” Trembling, Watson cradled Holmes’ cheek, stroking away tears with his thumb. “Being together again has brought me nothing but joy. I cannot express how much simply being with you floods me with relief, no matter your mood. I want to be with you always.”

The words had come out quiet, but full of passion, and each of them were entirely true. He worried for Holmes during these bouts of melancholy, especially when Holmes reached for a syringe, but absolutely nothing could make him wish for time apart.

“Good old Watson.” Holmes tried again to smile, and this time nearly managed it. “In that case, I presume you will not mind my staying the night? I should be glad of your company, as always. And this house truly is freezing.”

“It is,” Watson said ruefully. He was not sensitive to cold, but it was chilly even to him. For Holmes, who could never regulate his temperature at all unless he was distracted enough by a case not to care, it must be miserable. “I shall be very happy to have you stay, Holmes. There is certainly plenty of room in the bed.”

“Mm.”

Holmes did not, however, take advantage of the large bed. He laid down as close to Watson as he could possibly get, still shivering, and hid his face in the shoulder of the nightshirt.

Smiling a little, Watson drew the covers up across them both, and snuggled even closer. Holmes was not ordinarily fond of touch, but at the moment he seemed to crave both the warmth and the comfort. Watson was more than happy to provide both.