#addition out there while i was thinking about it

[luckiestboy]

too many people are too focused on punishment/revenge on the perpetrator... while we've had studies that show prevention helps way more, and it's always been such a puzzling thing, i've questioned the way people care about CSA, with;

"why do you need a child to be abused before you care?" (you as in general, not you as in op)

fairly related additions under the cut

i think more people who are focused on punishment, need to watch the skip intro video about TCAP, since it seems like an easily available way to absorb information both about CSA abuse statistics, and how "revenge fantasies" don't help in the long run. i say this because many many people will likely be disinterested in reading articles or statistics, as bad as that mindset is, i would like to at least get them to think about the topic to begin with. as much as i hate the fact youtube essays about this include sponsors/patreon plugs, i get why it's done, it's a job that's besides the point though.

to summarize: He outlined how TCAP is more of a "revenge fantasy" and makes content out of reality of many people, majority of which were abused by those they knew (he also mentions that aspect.) instead of a possibly educational show, it was the same as current-day youtube "predator catchers" who were fueled by it, and yes the show ended, though it's impact remains.

the video is technically about how they "kinda killed a guy" which people argue "the guy shot himself, nobody but him pulled the trigger" but i feel like those people are missing the point. the criticism stems from how the "Education" chris hansen did, how he rushed to a swat raid for content, putting other people in danger, considering the man had a gun, what if he shot someone else?

again, i ask them, why do we wait untill a child's been abused and traumatized for life, when we have evidence teaching kids these things, helps them more, and avoids trauma.

or teaching them, if there were no signs, if the perpetrator was a child too, that it's okay to speak out, to seek help, comfort and guidance.

I'm someone who was SA'd by a classmate, a "friend", i have spent a decade repressing the memory, and when it surfaced, i denied it was SA because it wasn't what i considered to be SA, because "well... he didn't grope me, it was just a kiss, i wasnt traumatized", ignoring how i cried recounting it to my psychologist when being interviewed during the process of diagnosing gender dysphoria, as when i was put in a situation to recount memories or experiences, it was one of the few things i remembered, before coming out.

i never even got justice, because another child did that to me, i was never apologized to, even. because nobody ever said to speak up.

if i were taught to speak up when someone did this to me, i wouldn't be met with the horrified look my mother gave me, when i shared the story around the winter holidays, deeming it a "funny" thing from my childhood. and her question.

"why didn't you tell me?"

i was 7, maybe 8, there weren't any signs for my autistic little brain to pick up, and even then i was never taught about signs, only to never go with strangers.

i was told being taunted or teased by a boy meant he liked me, i was supposed to be happy, right? someone liked me, that means what they did was good. it didnt matter i ran from him before i was trapped.

the fact im so fucked up mentally, and hesitant of affection horrifies me, because those who endured worse? what about them? the mistreatment i went through were isolated incidents, and they still left a big impact, those incidents, caused me to subconciously try and present myself in a "tempting" way to one of the few male middle school teachers i had, in hopes of being abused more.

and i think about others who've gone through worse, the mental strain, and how people seem to be so focused on punishing the abuser, instead of helping the abused.

yes an abuser should be punished, but involvement shouldnt end there...

Speaking as a survivor of child sex abuse: the world would be a lot better if yall spent less time talking about the ways in which pedophiles should be punished and more time supporting survivors and preventing abuse

I get it, punishment can feel cathartic. I’ve certainly spent time imagining all the ways in which my own abuser might be punished. But ultimately, him dying, or being jailed, or publicly shamed, isn’t actually going to help me nor will it stop more kids from getting hurt in the future.

I don’t want more prisoners. I want free therapy with trauma informed counselors. I want better sex education for young children that teaches them about consent and body autonomy. And I want a society in which I can openly discuss my trauma, or at least as openly as yall discuss the evils of pedophiles

[centaurianthropology]

What LeeBeeBee does for the Story of ‘Murderbot’

So we’ve finally met Blonde Lady in the series (her name is LeeBeeBee), and I think she’s filling a really interesting and important role plot-wise and worldbuilding-wise, and doing so in unexpected ways that are surprising even book-readers.  She’s wholly original to the show, so no one knows what precisely the writers have planned for her.

But I certainly have thoughts and predictions. 

I figured I’d break my thoughts on her up into two sections.  The first section is for all the folks who are show-only, and I’ll only be examining her role in S1E5, without any additional speculation pulling from book knowledge and what I think the writers are doing with her in the longer term.  The second part will speculate on the upcoming episode, and how I think it could play out.  No idea if I’m right about everything (or anything!), but it’s always fun to speculate!

FUNCTION IN S1E5 (SPOILERS FOR E1-5)

Let’s kick it off by talking about LeeBeeBee in isolation in this episode, what her function in this particular episode was, what she does for the plot, the larger world, and what she does for the storytelling format. 

Let’s start with her plot function, the most obvious part of her role in this episode.  She appears at the beginning as the sole survivor of DeltFall, makeup smeared and uniform dirty.  This immediately sets her apart from the PresAux gang.  She’s apparently the indentured cleaner that DeltFall rented for the hab along with the SecUnits, and this cleaner is wearing makeup despite having a physically laborious job in a field unit on a mostly-uninhabited planet. 

This small bit of visual storytelling sets DeltFall up as a very different society to PresAux.  PresAux deliberately only took one (cheap) SecUnit, which is understandable given their objections to using constructs as slave labor.  None of them wear makeup in the field, and they certainly don’t have a cleaner.

But DeltFall not only had multiple constructs, but also an indentured servant to do housekeeping, and there is either an expectation or a cultural norm that she be made up while she do her indentured job.  They feel, from this introduction, very Corporation Rim. 

LeeBeeBee herself acts as a personification of the Corporation Rim on a level we haven’t been able to dig into with the limited screentime of the Company Tech Bro sales reps.  From her first scene on the hopper, she feels like she’s from a completely different world to the empathetic and sweet Preservationers.  She almost immediately objectifies SecUnit in a way that is openly offputting to both the audience and clearly to the Preservation crew, who likely don’t say anything both out of shock and out of some belief that this woman has to have some sort of brain damage to say something like that.

But this level of objectification, I think, lies at the heart of the Corporation Rim.  It’s not that constructs are objects, but their workers are valued.  LeeBeeBee is an indentured servant.  She has no more free will than SecUnit.  She objectifies it because she sees herself as a step above a construct, and in the CR hierarchy, you’re likely encouraged to objectify anyone beneath you.  And that comes around to something equally uncomfortable when she finds out it’s got a hacked governor module and is a rogue.  She views it as a person now, but what does that mean? 

She objectifies herself for it. 

And doesn’t that make the worst sort of sense on a survival level for a person in her position?  She’s fully adapted to doing what she has to do to survive.  She views sex in an incredibly transactional and exploitative way.  When she thinks SecUnit is an object, she has the power and she immediately speculates about using it as a sex toy.  When she shifts into thinking of it as a person, she also knows how dangerous it is, and reverses their power dynamic, offering sex as a transactional way to protect herself. 

It’s awful, deliberately so.  But I think it’s a great and visceral way to get into the Corporation Rim mindset: constructs aren’t special; everyone who isn’t wealthy or powerful is an object.  You don’t get to be a person with fully autonomous choices until you’re one of the elite.  Until then, sex is just another way of trying to get a slight advantage in an endless rat race.

Having LeeBeeBee represent this deeply uncomfortable aspect of an end-stage capitalist hellscape like the CR also does something on a storytelling level.  This addition of an outsider character fully shifts the POV in the show.  Up until her introduction, the PresAux crew felt like the strange outsiders that MB was judging, but by introducing the worst possible representation of the CR, our alignment completely shifts.  We are not only on Preservation’s side, but we are insiders with them.  They now feel normal and lived in, and she feels like the outsider.  And this reflects the shift going on in Murderbot.  Even before it’s willing to acknowledge it, through the framing of LeeBeeBee we subconsciously know it has realigned itself with the PresAux crew. 

So that’s why I think she was an effective addition in this episode.  If you’re interested in some book spoilers and speculation for the next episode, jump below the cut.

FUNCTION IN S1E6 AND BEYOND (SPECULATION, SPOILERS FOR ‘ALL SYSTEMS RED’)

Are they gone?

Groovy.  Let’s get under the hood and talk about all the ways she’s working on multiple levels, not just embodying all the worst parts of the CR as I previously mentioned, but playing it up as a means of camoflage.  Because LeeBeeBee is almost certainly a GrayCris plant, precisely what SecUnit and Mensah were worried about, and the crew absolutely did take her in despite the danger because they are good people.  And they would do the right thing, even if Murderbot objected.

It’s so nice to get to see exactly how DeltFall might have been infiltrated, which we didn’t get to see in the book.  And so many of her lines read differently when you think of her as a plant.  Did DeltFall call PresAux ‘the Amateurs,’ or was that GrayCris?  Did DeltFall actually have an indentured servant, or is that GrayCris?

I think that a lot of what she’s saying is truthful, or is just a slight twist on the truth.  I do think she’s likely indentured.  I do think she views others and herself as objects to be used and exploited and discarded.  She’s suffering under one of the cruelest practices in the Corporation Rim, but she’s still fully bought into the CR propaganda and mindset.  Rather than defecting and embracing freedom the way Gurathin likely did, she’s almost certainly looking at getting years shaved off her indenture by acting as an infiltrator and assassin

That’s so perfectly horrid.  She would rather still be indentured but get in better with her bosses than accept real freedom.  It’s a cowardice I think we can all see in our world, that she would take the safe misery and be willing to hurt others to do it, rather than take a major risk and step outside the system.

She’s also dialing up her inherent objectification of others to a level that makes her deliberately off-putting, so the PresAux crew want to look away from her rather than examining her too closely.  If they just want to sort of ignore her, then they’re not going to dig too far into her actions.  If she runs off to communicate back to GrayCris regarding a rogue SecUnit they’re not going to follow her, and are going to be glad to get a break from her.

Her distraction tactics work particularly well against Murderbot, who she makes wildly uncomfortable to the point it’s very glad to get away from her, and is likely deliberately trying not to think of her.  If you watch who she’s targeting with this barrage of unpleasantness, she does it first as a blanket with the crew to gauge reaction, then targets it at SecUnit once she realizes that it’s not being controlled by the combat override, and that it’s fully rogue.  There’s no easy way for her to control it (as I suspect she was controlling the DeltFall SecUnits), so she had to improvise, because as far as she’s concerned, this independent SecUnit is the #1 threat to her plan to kill the PresAux crew.  She must have been so relieved when it went with Mensah to trigger the beacon, because she knew the beacon was rigged to explode, and she had a good chance of getting rid of both the biggest threat and the team leader, and she didn’t even have to do anything!

Which, to her mind, only leaves the rest of the PresAux team to deal with.  After SecUnit, she almost certainly considers Gurathin the next biggest threat, because she would certainly underestimate the Preservationers, but he’s ex-corporate, so she would respect the threat he posed.  So after Mensah and SecUnit are gone, she zeroes in on Gurathin.

I think she almost certainly has a dossier or some other large amount of personal and professional information about him from his days in the CR.  What did she do when she first talked to him after Mensah and Murderbot were gone?  She offered him a stimulant.  I’m now convinced that his therapy modules were—in addition to being for generalized trauma (why did you learn to be quiet, Gurathin??)—meant to treat a stimulant addiction he struggled with after using them to work whatever insane hours he was required to work when he was in the CR. 

I think this next episode is going to be Gurathin-heavy.  The writers are setting up deliberate contrasts between the die-hard-to-a-horrific-level Corpo LeeBeeBee and Defector-with-Trauma ex-Corpo Gurathin.  I wonder if he won’t try to sort of reach out to her in the next episode (was he indentured too?), convince her to defect too, only to have her turn it all around on him and use his backstory against him.  If he was indentured, did he break contract to run to Preservation?  Is there a bounty on him?  Is there a bounty on his AUGMENTS, body not needed in return?

I sort of have an image of the next episode playing out like a horror film, where we realize that LeeBeeBee is the exact infiltrator that took out DeltFall, that GrayCris SecUnits are incoming, MB and Mensah may already be dead, and the person who was responsible for the DeltFall massacre is inside the hab right now.

Especially if we don’t know what happened to MB and Mensah for the majority of the episode, instead focusing on the rest of the group.  Without the snarky voiceover, the terror of the situation could really get hammered home.  Again, this is fully speculation of how it might play out next episode, but my guess is that the big cliffhanger next episode is going to be LeeBeeBee attacking Gurathin.  Previews have shown him with a bandage on his leg, and holding a cane, which some people have pointed out looks like a blind walking cane.  That makes me wonder if she manages to not only disable him with a shot to the leg, but damage visual augments he might have, rendering him partially blind.

I think we’ve also been getting a lot of background work with Gurathin being terrified of rejection and abandonment throughout this season.  He and MB parallel one another in not wanting to share Mensah, because they both are afraid the other will manage to take her from them (completely ignoring that Mensah has two fucking hands, and more than enough love in her to love her family, and both of these idiots too).  If LeeBeeBee really wants to twist the knife in him, she’s going to tell him that if the others are going to survive, they have to abandon him.

And Pin-Lee, Arada, Bharadwaj, and Ratthi are almost certainly going to refuse.  Much like Mensah refused to abandon MB when it was damaged, they’re going to refuse to leave their friend behind.  Because they can disagree with him, they can think he’s wrong about SecUnit, but they still love him and won’t leave him.

This sets up E7 to be the big turning point between the nadir of act 2 (MB and Mensah may be dead, Gurathin is injured, and the others are in direct danger because they won’t leave him behind), and the start of act 3 (MB and Mensah return and save everyone!  They can all come together, defeat GrayCris and escape alive!). 

And all of this gets facilitated because of the introduction of LeeBeeBee, who acts as a face for GrayCris (and likely a way to give us information about them) and for the whole vicious corporate people-as-objects theme that consumes the Corporation Rim.  It’s so much easier to loath GrayCris when we can see the sorts of people it creates, and she is such a great example of that.

[pomefioredove]

WAH UM

I remembered your fics about a younger Yuu and I’ve been patiently waiting for requests to open up—

May I request a fic of Lilia and younger Yuu having some bonding time? Like, Yuu is helping Lilia dye his hair and asks Lilia to dye theirs too? (Also bonus if Lilia goes “yeah I’m gonna adopt this kid” at the end)

Thank you for your time, get well soon!

*is months late* sure!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ hair dye

summary: with a younger yuu type of post: headcanons characters: lilia additional info: platonic, gender neutral reader, reader is yuu, yuu is like 12-15ish years old, reader knows lilia's age

it couldn't have been a "coincidence", as Lilia claimed, that he just "happened to run into you here"

...in your dorm

but that's what he said, and by the expectant look on his face, you knew he wanted your help

you tried to warn him that you didn't have much (or any) experience doing something like this

"the messier, the better!" he says with a smile, reassuring you that Malleus and Silver had done much worse to his hair over the years

still, it takes a lot of courage to take the brush and the bleach to his roots, trying to make a straight line that would connect with the faded, pale pink below

Lilia goes on about how "convenient and failsafe" modern hair-dyeing methods are, and how one can do them even without magic

"I've been trying to convince Malleus to get a streak or two. He'd look lovely in purple," Lilia sighs. "But he can be terribly stubborn, and won't do it without magic."

you blink, rinsing off the brush in the sink as the pink dye sets

"You can do mine, if you want,"

as if that were his plan all along, Lilia perks up and gets to work while his dye is still setting

he asks your color of preference and when you shrug, he says he knows just the thing and puts a streak in your hair with expert precision, not missing a beat

he refuses to do any more than that, stating he'd like you to get used to it before making such a dramatic change

it's over sooner than you think, and once you've rinsed out the dye you're...

...matching

it looks good, though, and he insists you take a picture together in the living room (Grim is invited, even though he refused to dye his fluff pink with you)

it feels familiar... no, familial, especially with the way Lilia sets up the camera

as if you're taking a cheesy family photo to hang on the wall

[saeamy]

OWL (OUR SON)

itoshi rin x reader

summary ۫ ꣑ৎ you're waiting for rin to return from blue lock, but something is missing from his room content: fluff! probably ooc! rin wc: 997 a/n: this is a draft from like 2 years ago that i kinda tried fixing up as best i could lol. this was like my first time writing so i hope you enjoy ^^ also didn't know what to name this...

giving gifts to rin wasn’t just hard. it was a whole mission.

but for his last birthday, you felt like you really came through with his gift. you had spent hours making sure it was absolutely perfect, no flaws or miscounted rows. a crocheted owl plushie. rin’s birthday embroidered on the bottom of the foot, and you made an additional cute scarf and sun hat for the owl, with both yours and rin’s initials.

when you first gave it to him, he had just stared at it for a few seconds, before letting a small smile make its way to his face. and from then on, the owl was always lying somewhere in his room, whether it be on his desk or on his bed. 

you even noticed how rin would change the owl’s clothes depending on the weather and season, but you’d never tell him, he’d just roll his eyes and deny it. 

but now, you were sat on his bed, scrolling through your phone while you waited for rin to return from blue lock. his mum loved you, and let you in, treating you as if you were a daughter. it’s been around 3 months since you last saw rin properly, only communicating with him on texts and short calls when it was allowed. 

you had seen him play against the japan u20, and the way you had tried your best to comfort him after his face-off with sae. 

you glance at the time, and get up to stretch your legs a bit. he should be here soon. you couldn’t wait to see him properly, talk to him without any distractions. your eyes flit around the room as you pop your back, and you see something out of place. or rather, a lack of something.

everything was as it should be. his shelves full of trophies that he had earned, a picture of sae and him (yes, he put it back up) and a picture of you and rin from your second date. 

but the owl was missing. it wasn’t on the bed when you had sat down, or on his desk. neither was it on the shelves next to his trophies. you didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but your heart clenched a bit. 

maybe he didn’t like it that much, and only kept it around to keep you happy. did he throw it away, was it too childish for him? but you swore rin’s eyes had lit up when you had first presented your little project, all bundled up in a basket alongside some other small gifts! 

but you didn’t have much time to think about it when you heard a familiar voice speaking to ms itoshi in the kitchen. 

footsteps padded towards you, and the door opens to reveal your boyfriend, standing with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“rin! you’re home!” 

you quickly move to wrap your hands around his neck, squeezing him tightly. rin’s hands fall around your waist, his head dropping onto your shoulder, his dark hair tickling your neck. “i’m back,” he mutters gently.

you both pull away, and he sets his bag down, but you promptly reach out to grab it. 

“i’ll unpack it real quick, so you won’t have to do it later!” 

rin just nods, completely forgetting what was in his bag. you start taking out his clothes while he flops down on the bed, thankful for the peace provided away from his teammates at blue lock. “rin?”

rin can already hear the grin in your voice, and he sits back up, raising a suspicious brow. “mhm?” 

he looks at you, and sees your wide smile. while unpacking, you found his owl, bundled between some of his clothes, and rin’s ears quickly flush pink as he realises what you’re getting at. “you took it with you?” 

rin groans, burying his face between his knees, but he hears the smugness and elation in the question you already knew the answer to. rin didn’t get rid of it after all, he had literally taken the owl you made him for the entirety of the 3 months he was at blue lock. 

“you missed me that much?” 

now you were stretching it. he rolls his eyes, trying to keep his cool demeanour up, despite failing miserably. the red flush from his ears was slowly making its way down to his neck. “don’t let it get to your head. i just needed…” 

needed what? something to remind him of you when you couldn’t talk? but he’d never admit that to you. not that rin needed to. you already knew, but you like to tease him and watch him get flustered. “whatever, he probably just accidentally landed in the bag while i was packing.” 

rin raises his head to look at you, and he groans when he notices your wide eyes. “what now?” 

you snicker, not bothering to hold any of your chuckles to yourself. “so he’s a he now? does he have a name too, rinnie? it would be shame to leave our son nameless now would it?”

rin was sure that if you were to touch anywhere on his body, you’d feel the way he burned like he was running a 39.5 degree fever. he just grabs your wrist and yanks you up from where you were kneeling next to his bag. 

“just shut up.” he grumbles like an angry kitten, and shifts your bodies so that you’re both laying down, his face buried in your back so you can’t see the expression on him. you can feel the warmth emanating from his flushed face and you just hum contently. “i’m really glad you liked your gift rin. it makes me really happy.” 

he clicks his tongue. “i’d like anything you give me, stupid.”

and your eyelids flutter closed, happy to be back in your boyfriend’s arms again, even if just temporarily, rin will always carry something from you with him, whatever it may be. 

© saeamy 2025 - do not repost, translate, copy or modify my works on any other platform!

[drdemonprince]

the anti-psych convo is so tough to me because there is no denying the damage that the system does, especially to folks with schizophrenia/psychopathy or who are diagnosed on the personality disorder spectrum (a whole mess in itself), but at the same time i see folks on here suffering horribly with the burdens of depression, anxiety, OCD every day and explicitly saying there’s no hope because they don’t trust any type of therapeutic method and man… those are treatable conditions with solid treatments available in many cases, but they won’t even seek a solution, and it makes me sad because i know what that suffering is like

i would be in such a horrible state at this point in my life if i’d never sought help or been recommended DBT treatment, but i also recognize the privilege and straight up luck I had in receiving help and getting better. idk i was glad to see your nuanced response on it because there are SO MANY anti-psych messages that boil down to cutting people off from resources that could help them, like free DBT workbooks or OCD treatment programs online, but none of that can be considered because it’s “brainwashing yourself into feeling better”. it’s like a fundamental misunderstanding of how our minds work and how much value we should be putting into the destructive thoughts many of us develop due to trauma and poor childhood environments

idk i have no solutions here, i just appreciated the nuance because i usually see nothing but hardline stances on either side. it’s not just one path to healing, and even an imperfect system can bear fruit, but we also can’t discount the horrific amount of power psych practitioners wield to hurt people

Thank you, I appreciate all that you've said here. People are not political abstractions; we need to take the personal steps that will help us to get by in our lives, and that frequently means engaging within an unjust system or paradigm and getting what use we can out of it. A lot of therapy is awful, system-justifying stuff, but it also helps people a lot to have a dedicated, private talk buddy. Psychiatric drugs are used to immobilize and passify people, and they also make a lot of people feel better. Sometimes even a pretty subpar psychological or psychiatric treatment is what a person prefers over having to kill themselves or not be able to hold down a job, and while that's not a situation of unconstrainted choice, it still is their right to make that decision, in my view.

I think a lot of people online can be very politically dogmatic and puritanical, and also that a lot of heavy internet users are traumatize and in hopeless-feeling situations and have become quite compulsive about projecting that hopelessness outward at others and at every potential way to get better, because if there is no point in trying then they get to just rest and allow themselves to feel badly. Sometimes that's where a person is at! Fine. Wallow. It preserves energy. But a lot of people eventually have to develop agency for their own sake, and learn that even a moderate reduction in suffering is actually worth working at, and can eventually snowball in a positive direction. I hate anti-depressants; I think they are dangerous, poorly supported by research and over-recommended, but if someone is suicidal and some anti-depressants keep them kicking around long enough to stay housed, get some additional help, and then make choices that more materially improve their lives, what's the issue with them using them? Hell if someone just happens to like how those meds feel, do I think we should take them away? Absolutely not. I don't think anyone should have the authority to take those things away. And that includes psychiatrists!

[tornadoxp]

Curse Swap AU: Sam

to be perfectly honest this was mostly inspired by @sodiumpentothol's Wrong Side of the Bed AU.

So in this AU Sam gets immediately cursed by being exposed to the light from his window. Luckily, he doesn't get a good look at the visitor so he doesn't immediately get sucked into the sky. unluckily though he has been given the Jeanne special of a drawn-out version of his flawed ritual transformation.

Over the course of 15 days Sam will wake up to some new additions. These changes initially would be small, and he could pass as a normal person but right around day 4 he gets a new pair of arms and the changes there on become exponentially more dramatic.

Gameplay wise this replaces Sam Leveling up making each phase increase his stats and give him new skills. Sam could assess himself at the start of a new day to describe what has changed and give insight to what new skills or challenges he has to deal with.

Specific phases would change what Sam would need to deal with for example.

sorry I'm too lazy to draw more Sam.

at day 12~13ish Sams eyes will start splitting like this giving him blurry vision. During this phase Sam starts every encounter with the blindness debuff so this day could either be used for other non-combative tasks or he could focus mainly on support for his ally's.

The most interesting thing for me is how this would change his interactions with other characters. Sam would be treated differently depending on what phase he's on. In the first phases Sam would be basically treated as he is by default but on later phases be treated with suspicion, fear, or at worse outright hostility.

This would pose the question on whether Sam should risk exploring dangerous areas to meet and build rapport with others while he still can or allow his transformation to progress to be stronger but lose out on potential ally's and traders.

The relationships he does develop with other characters will be tested as the days goes on. With some characters wondering if Sam would still be sane by the end of it. But with a little luck and a lot of trust Sam still has the potential to find companionship in the apocalypse.

In a future post I'll talk about how the Sams final transformation would be affected by factors like his mental state, how many allies he has, his perception of himself, and the rituals progress. But I think I'll save it when I talk about the endings.

[theconstantsidekick]

Avengers: Age of Ultron ft. Static (5) | s.r

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Angsty as hell

Summary: Steve just found out his girlfriend, Y/n Stark, has powers that are powerful enough to swallow the world whole. The Maximoff girl poked the bear, Y/n snapped, and now it’s raining trauma, trust issues, and pink lightning.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, yet to be codenamed—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Violence, Some Actual Violence but not bloody

a/n: was i supposed to be working on the next part of thunderbolts*? yes. was i moved to write this simply because of an edit i saw? also yes. the heart wants what it wants, alright?

Avengers : Age of Ultron ft. Static (4) | Series Masterlist | The Avengers (ft. Static) | Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) | Static Verse Masterlist

“Cap!”

Steve hears someone calling for him, distant but insistent, cutting through the haze of music—his and Peggy’s song.

He doesn’t want to leave. Not yet.

“Wake up!”

Not yet.

“Cap, wake up!”

The moment he opens his eyes, the world slams into him. His ears are ringing. His body feels heavy, sluggish. He squints against the dim, flickering light and flexes his jaw.

A figure hovers over him.

“Sorry,” Barton mutters. He almost sounds like he means it.

Steve brings a hand to his face, fingers brushing his jaw. The pain is dull, but Barton’s got a hell of a right hook.

With a groan, he pushes himself up.

“We gotta move, Cap,” Barton urges, offering a hand. Steve takes it, steadying himself as he stands. “The Hulk’s out.”

Steve exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders, pushing past the lingering fog in his mind. “Where’s Romanoff—?”

Barton cuts him off. “She’s down.” Before Steve can protest—not sure to what—Barton adds, “Tony’s already trying to contain the Hulk—”

“But—”

“We’ve got a bigger problem.” Barton’s voice is grim.

Steve’s stomach tightens. “Bigger than the Hulk?”

Barton hesitates. Opens his mouth. Closes it.

“Spit it out, Barton. While I’m still young.” There’s a joke in there somewhere. He doesn’t think this is the right time to point it out, though. 

And clearly neither does the man in front of him, because then Barton straightens. “Your girlfriend has superpowers none of us knew about.” His expression gives away absolutely nothing. “And whatever the Maximoff girl did—it set her off.”

Steve feels like he’s been hit. Not just punched—wrecked.

Y/n.

His Y/n.

And just like that, everything clicks into place. The moments of hesitation, the way she always seemed to almost tell him something before changing the subject. The way her eyes darkened when certain topics came up. The nights he caught her awake, lost in thought, as if she was carrying a weight too heavy to share.

He knew she was keeping something from him.

But he never thought it would be this.

Not powers. Not something so big.

A sharp pang hits his chest—betrayal, confusion, something deeper, something uglier.

Why didn’t she tell him? Did she think he wouldn’t understand? That he couldn’t handle it?

Or was it worse than that?

Did she choose not to tell him? Did she never plan to?

And then another thought creeps in, colder, heavier: Has anything between us been real?

Barton keeps talking, oblivious to the way Steve’s world is tilting beneath his feet. Or maybe all too aware of it…

“When I woke Thor up, I told Tony I was sending him to help with the Hulk,” Barton says. “Tony said—” He clears his throat, a nervous tic more than anything. “He said our best bet at handling the Y/n situation is our heaviest hitter.”

Steve forces himself to focus, even as his hands curl into fists at his sides.

“What are you saying?”

Finally some emotions bleed through, Barton’s face is tight with something close to guilt. “I’m saying Tony thinks if we don’t stop her now—and I’m quoting him here—she’ll swallow the world whole.”

Steve’s stomach turns. That can’t be right. This would mean that she doesn’t just have powers, no. They are so catastrophically strong that the God of Thunder might be the only solution.

And Tony doesn’t exaggerate when it comes to threats. If he said those words—swallow the world whole—then whatever’s happening, it’s bad.

Steve swallows hard, forcing the mess of emotions down, locking them away like he does everything else. He can’t afford to feel this right now. There’s no time for the pain gnawing at his ribs, the panic clawing at his throat.

If Y/n is out there, if she’s a threat, then he has to stop her.

Even if it kills him.

His grip tightens around his shield. “We have a location?”

“Fifteen clicks west.”

“Civilians?”

“None. It’s a forest.”

Steve nods and turns, already moving.

“Cap.” Barton’s voice stops him mid-step. He doesn’t turn, but he listens. “I think she made a conscious decision to head to the forest.”

Steve exhales. 

That means something. 

He doesn’t know what yet, but it means something.

Without another word, he presses forward.

He’s not entirely sure what he was expecting to see when he got there, but he knows it wasn’t this. He couldn’t have ever imagined this. 

The clearing hums with a strange, unnatural energy.

Steve slows, boots digging into the soft, torn-up earth. Trees sway like they're caught in a silent storm, the air thick with a pressure he can feel in his bones. Every step forward feels heavier.

And then he sees her.

Hovering above the ground, balanced on disks of pink light, the space beneath her feet warped and shivering. Above her, the sky itself has been torn open—a portal stretching wide, pulsing with static and colors not meant for human eyes. The sound it makes isn't quite thunder and isn't quite wind. It's deeper. Older.

And wrong.

Thor is already there, hammer in hand, charging the storm around her with lightning. He tries to push through, to reach her, but the energy shielding Y/n tosses him back like he’s nothing more than a leaf in a gale. Each time he rises again, a little slower.

Steve clenches his jaw.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t react.

Her head is tipped slightly back, her eyes a glowing, vacant pinkish-white, like she’s trapped in some nightmare she can’t wake from.

He should move.

He should call for backup, even if he isn’t sure what good that would do.

He should think like a soldier.

But he just stands there for a beat longer, looking up at her, feeling something crack open in his chest.

He'd seen her fight before—grit, quick reflexes, faster with her mouth than her fists most of the time.

But this—this wasn't fighting.

This was power. Raw, terrifying, uncontainable.

Tony’s words in Barton’s voice echo in his mind: Swallow the world whole.

He believes it now.

He believes it because he can feel it—the way the earth trembles under her, the way the sky itself recoils.

And even knowing all that... he can’t help but think she’s beautiful.

Not soft, not gentle.

Beautiful like a storm is beautiful. Like a wave big enough to drown whole cities.

The part of him that had seen a quiet future once—a dance in a hall with a woman in red lipstick and kind eyes—aches in the back of his mind.

A part of him still reaches for that simplicity, that life he left frozen in time. A part of him reaches for…

No.

No. No. 

There isn’t time for that right now.

Steve tightens his grip around the shield, forces himself to move, even as the storm claws at him.

“Y/n!” he shouts into the howling static.

For a moment—barely a flicker—her head turns.

He sees it.

He knows he sees it.

She's still in there. Somewhere.

That’s all the invitation he needs.

He sets his jaw and pushes forward, straight into the storm.

“Y/n!”

His voice tears through the static, cracking like thunder.

No answer.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. The disks of light beneath her feet pulse once—sharper, harsher—and the storm ripples outward, blowing him back a step.

“Y/N!” he roars, lungs straining, but her eyes remain fixed on something far away, something not of this world.

He stumbles forward, shielding his face from the wind that bites like shrapnel. The pressure is crushing. Like gravity itself is breaking.

Off in the distance, across the clearing—Thor rises.

Steve barely catches the blur of him lifting off the ground, a streak of light and fury as Mjolnir crackles with divine charge. He hurls it straight into the heart of the storm.

It strikes the shield around Y/n with a boom that splits the sky.

The energy buckles—just for a second—then rebounds violently, sending Thor hurtling through the air. He slams into the ground fifty feet away, carving a trench through the earth.

Steve instinctively moves, breaking into a run.

“Thor!”

The god of thunder groans, lifting himself slowly. Steam rises off his shoulders. His cape is torn.

Steve reaches him, helping him to his feet. “You alright?”

Thor nods, slow and shaken, brushing dirt from his armor. “I’ve fought in plenty of wars throughout the galaxy—” his gaze lifts toward the woman floating above the chaos, “—but I have never seen power like this.”

They both look up.

Y/n remains motionless in the eye of the storm. Unreachable. Unshaken. A figure of light and fury, crowned in something ancient and unrelenting.

Steve’s voice drops. “She’s in there.”

Thor says nothing. But his silence isn’t doubt—it’s fear.

“She’s in there,” Steve repeats, as much to convince himself as anyone else.

Bzzzt.

“You’re right, Cap,” Tony’s voice crackles through the comm. No jokes this time. Just a tight, clipped breath. “She is.”

Steve’s jaw tightens. “Stark, what the hell is going on?”

“Hell is the correct word,” Tony answers. “Listen, I’m a little busy keeping the Hulk from giving the skyline a face-lift, so I’m gonna make this quick.”

There’s static, then a breath that sounds like he’s somewhere dark, somewhere wrecked.

“She’s not in control,” Tony says. “Not even close. The teenage mutant emo witch scrambled her head like an egg, and whatever’s spilling out now? It’s not just power—it’s memory, fear, everything she’s spent her life locking up. It’s all coming loose.”

Steve glances up again at the storm above her, the portal yawning open like a second sky.

“She didn’t want this, Steve. Not like this.”

He says it fast. Like if he slows down, he won’t be able to keep talking.

“You’re the only one who might still get through to her.”

“It should be you,” Steve says. Quiet. Stubborn.

“I can’t,” Tony replies. Fast. Final. “Not now. Thor’s the only one strong enough to hold her off. And I’ve got front-row seats to the Hulk’s rampage—only thing standing between him and a civilian bloodbath is me and the suit.”

Another pause. Quieter now. Almost—almost vulnerable.

“She’ll listen to you.”

“You’re not looking at what I’m looking at,” Steve tells him, looking up at the sky.

“Damn it, Rogers! She’ll listen to you because it’s you!”

Well, shit.

When they first got together, Tony kind of hated the whole thing. It was never a secret that Tony kind of hated Steve, and by extension hated the fact that his sister didn’t. 

Steve got it. It was practically tradition—you’re supposed to hate the guy dating your sister. He respected that. Still does.

Over time, Tony mellowed into something resembling acceptance. Not thrilled, not supportive—but he’d tease Y/n, make gagging noises whenever he caught them being soft, throw barbed comments Steve’s way with just enough bite to be brotherly.

Steve never expected more than that.

He ever expected Tony to fully accept it—accept them.

But now it seems, he already had.

Tony’s voice drops to a near-whisper. “You gotta bring her back, Rogers. Before we lose her.”

Damn it.

He steals himself.

He clenches his fists and turns to Thor. “Can you contain the fallout? Make sure she doesn’t get closer to the city?”

“I can try,” Thor states, sounding fairly more sure than his words would signify.

He nods. “Alright, you go do that.”

“And what will you do?” Thor asks.

“Something I was desperately good at before we started dating.” Steve looks off to his left, up high. “I’m gonna try to get her to look at me.”

With tasks divided, both of them head off in the opposite direction. Thor flies up into the sky, meanwhile Steve begins climbing up to a cliff—the closest he can get to her.

All he can think of as he climbs is—

Why didn’t she tell me?

His fingers dig into the rock, half from effort, half from how damn loud the question is inside his head.

Was it him? Did he say something? Do something?

Did she think he couldn’t handle it?

No. No, he’d told her—he’d said she could talk to him. That he wanted her to. He meant it.

Unless she didn’t believe him.

Unless—she never really planned to tell him at all.

That thought hits harder than he expects. His foot slips for half a second, sending a scatter of pebbles down the cliff. He catches himself.

Maybe he should’ve pressed harder. Pushed past the dodges, the jokes, the way she’d always shift the topic when he got close. The way she’d laugh, look at him knowingly over a beer bottle, and say, “Don’t go digging, Rogers. You might not like what you find.”

He hauls himself up another ledge.

The insomnia. The nights she couldn’t sleep, staring at the ceiling like it was screaming at her. The way she flinched—just slightly—when anyone mentioned powers. Or Hydra. Or the word control.

Suddenly, and all at once, he remembers the look on her face—at the hospital after Fury’s assassination. Wide eyes. Ashen skin. Terror, sharp and visible, when someone said Winter Soldier.

He remembers the bridge. The ambush. The way she stood between Bucky and everyone else, not afraid—furious. Vengeful. Familiar.

The lawyer who somehow knew exactly what Hydra did to his best friend.

She always knew too much.

Before he did.

Before anyone did.

But he didn’t want to pry. He told himself people get to keep their secrets. That she'd tell him when she was ready.

He thought that was kindness.

Maybe it was just cowardice.

Because deep down, he knew. He knew. She was holding something back. And he let her.

He let her.

And now here they are.

The world split open like a wound and she’s at the center of it.

His lungs burn. The wind howls. His heart’s somewhere between furious and aching.

And yet—

And yet—

She’d offered. She’d asked him to move in with her. Her exact words—God, it was what Tony 

had guessed: “I happen to have a place. You should move in.” She sounded so timid—he’d never ever seen her timid before.

And he said no.

Because he didn’t want to impose.

Jesus Christ.

He makes it to the top of the ridge. Stands. Wind clawing at his suit. Shield strapped tight.

Up ahead, Y/n is still hovering in the storm. Surrounded by chaos. Held aloft by raw, terrifying light.

You didn’t trust her with your baggage either, he thinks.

You said you liked Brooklyn. You said you didn’t want to impose.

Maybe she heard that loud and clear.

He doesn’t know who he’s mad at. Himself. Her. The world. Ultron. Fate.

All of it.

None of it.

She’s not the Y/n he knows right now—but he’d know her anywhere.

And he has no goddamn idea what to say.

But he knows he has to say something.

“Doll,” he calls out—soft, shaky.

No response.

He steadies himself, plants his feet against the wind. “Doll!”

Her head twitches, barely a flicker of recognition.

And then—

“Steve?” Her voice is small. Timid. A child lost in a storm. Like she’s afraid of what she might find if she looks.

Steve's heart damn near breaks.

“Doll, you gotta stop this,” he pleads, stepping closer, even though the cliff edge ends and there’s nothing beneath him but air and chaos. “You—you gotta stop, please, baby. Please.”

“I—” She looks around suddenly, like she’s seeing everything for the first time. Or maybe nothing at all. “Steve—I—” Her eyes are wide, wild, wrong. Like she’s stuck between two realities, slipping in and out of something he can’t see. Her breath catches. “I… I can’t,” she finally chokes out.

“You can’t what, doll?” he asks gently, carefully, like she’s a spark about to go off.

“If I—if I stop—if I stop—they’ll find me,” she breathes. “I can’t let them take me again, Steve. I can’t go back!”

“Doll,” he says, firmer now. Grounding himself like she’s the only thing keeping him from flying apart. “Baby, listen to me—”

He steps toward her again. No ledge. No plan. Just her.

She’s hovering, suspended in light and terror and something ancient clawing at the seams of reality—but she’s an arm’s reach away, and if it’s her, you best believe he’s gonna try.

“Listen to me, alright?” he says. “No one’s taking you anywhere.”

“No!” she screams, and the sound fractures the air like a bomb going off.

Lightning arcs out from her fingers. The portal behind her pulses—uglier now, twitching like a raw nerve. The trees behind him shatter. Her body jerks like she’s trying to contain something inside and failing, miserably. “I won’t go back. I’m never going back!”

“Y/n…” he says again—quieter, like he’s scared his voice might break her more.

And just like that—her rage collapses.

It folds in on itself and slips into something horrifyingly fragile.

Tears spring to her eyes, and when she speaks again, her voice doesn’t belong to a god.

It belongs to a girl.

“You don’t understand, Steve,” she whispers. “I can’t go back. I won’t—I barely made it out the last time. And if they find me again—if I go back—I don’t think I���ll survive this time.”

Her hands are shaking.

Not glowing.

Not clenched into fists.

Just shaking.

She’s trying to shrink herself smaller. As if that might save her from whatever her mind is showing her.

And Steve—Steve has never seen her afraid before.

Never.

She’s been furious. Ruthless. Sarcastic, reckless, impossible.

But never scared.

Not even when they were surrounded by aliens on the streets of New York. Not even when they were on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D. which was secretly infiltrated by Hydra. Not even when he asked her once, stupidly, if she was okay and she shot back, “Do I look like I need saving, Cap?”

But this—

This is fear.

Raw. Childlike. Crippling.

And it wrecks him.

He still doesn’t know what she’s seeing. What the hell Wanda’s spell has done to her mind. Who she thinks is coming for her.

But he knows this.

He knows how to hold the line.

And he knows what it means to stay when someone’s falling apart.

“Hey,” he says, voice shaking. “Y/n, look at me.” She does. Barely. “I need you to hear me, alright doll?” The wind hisses low around them, a breath held by the world. “As long as I’m here—no one’s gonna touch you. No one’s gonna find you. No one’s ever gonna hurt you again.” She shudders. Her lip trembles. “I swear to you,” he continues, “on my life—on the shield, on Brooklyn, on everything I’ve got left—I will keep you safe.”

Y/n shakes her head slowly, tears streaking down her cheeks, catching faint glints of light from the storm above.

“You don’t know that,” she whispers. “You can’t promise that. You can’t protect me—not from them. I—” Her voice breaks. “No one can.”

The wind picks up again, as if her fear fuels it.

And Steve, God help him, just smiles.

Soft. Steady. Like he’s been handed a suicide mission and decided it sounds like a good afternoon.

“Come on, doll,” he says gently. “When have you known me to turn down a challenge?”

She stares at him.

Still afraid. Still not fully here. Like she’s standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if what’s waiting below is safety—or another trap.

But for the first time since this nightmare began—

She’s looking at him.

And in her eyes, something wavers. Something flickers.

Not power.

Not rage.

Recognition.

Steve takes a step closer—slow, deliberate, like approaching a wounded animal, or something holy. He lifts his hand—not reaching, not yet. Just holding it out.

“Come on, doll,” he says softly. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Her lower lip trembles. Her eyes fill all over again.

But she nods.

Small. Barely there. But real.

Steve breathes. Not relief—not yet. Just enough to keep going.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, voice quiet, fierce, and impossibly tender. “I promise, baby.”

The portal groans above them like the sky itself is exhaling.

Y/n floats, barely stable now—like her body’s starting to remember gravity. Like the nightmare is splintering at the edges. She looks down at him, eyes shimmering with a pain so old, it feels fossilized.

“Why are you even here?” she whispers. Not accusing. Just… tired. Broken. Small. “Why are you still here?”

And that’s it.

That’s the question.

The answer he’s been holding in his chest since before the tower, before Sokovia, maybe even before he knew he’d fallen for her at all.

Steve steps closer, hand still outstretched. His shield long forgotten at his back. Just a man now. A man in love.

“Because I love you,” he says.

No hesitation. No heroics. No shield between them.

“I love you, Y/n. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’ll always be here.”

Her breath catches. A choked, fragile sound.

And he says it again—like a vow, like a lifeline, like it’s all that’s keeping the sky from falling: “You’re safe with me.” He extends his hand, palm up, steady in the howling wind. “I promise.”

Y/n looks at it.

Then at him.

Slowly—instantly—the power radiating off of her begins to fade.

The shield of pink static peels back, dissolving like fog at sunrise. The air clears. The storm silences. Even the sky seems to be holding its breath.

Her eyes meet his.

She reaches.

So does he.

Fingertips outstretched.

Inches away.

“Barton? You have the shot?” Tony’s voice crackles over the comms.

Steve’s body goes cold. “What?”

“I do,” Barton answers, steady as steel.

Y/n flinches mid-air, still reaching.

“Take it,” Tony orders.

“No!” Steve bellows—but he’s too late.

The arrow hits with a dull, sickening thunk, embedding itself in her neck.

She gasps.

Her hand jerks mid-motion—never quite reaching his.

Her face contorts in pure disbelief. Then heartbreak.

“You… promised…” she whispers, not even trying to hide how shattered she is.

The pink disks beneath her feet sputter out.

And then—

She falls.

“Y/n!!” Steve’s shout is raw, broken. He dives without hesitation.

He catches her in midair, arms wrapping around her as they plummet. His shield snaps beneath them just in time—he twists their bodies so she lands on him, not the earth. The impact roars like thunder.

They hit the ground. Hard.

Dust and wind rise around them in a choking spiral of silence.

She’s not moving.

He’s still holding her.

That’s the last thing he remembers until he jolts awake in the Quinjet.

“Run and hide?” Tony’s voice filters in through the haze.

“Until we find Ultron, I don't have a lot else to offer,” Maria Hill replies over the comm.

“Yeah. Neither do we,” Tony mutters, and ends the call.

Steve blinks hard. Then the memory slams back into him.

“Y/n!” He sits up fast—too fast. Pain screams across his back and ribs, but he doesn’t care. “Y/n? Doll?”

“She’s fine, Cap. Jesus,” Tony snaps from behind the cockpit, where Barton is flying the jet. “Calm the hell down before you open up something you just broke.”

Steve’s already scanning the jet.

Banner’s a few feet away on the floor, pale and shaking, wrapped in a thermal blanket. Natasha sits close beside him, silent but watchful. Thor stands off to the side, arms crossed tight over his chest. His armor is streaked with dirt, one knuckle bleeding. He doesn’t speak.

But he’s watching something.

Someone.

There’s a quiet intensity in his gaze—concern etched into the hard lines of his face. Worry he’s not bothering to hide.

Steve follows his line of sight.

And that’s when he sees her.

Y/n.

Lying still in the makeshift med bay at the rear of the jet. She’s got an IV in one arm, a sensor clipped to her finger, and a faint red mark blooming near her neck where the tranq hit. Someone’s tucked a blanket around her legs. Natasha, if he were made to guess.

She looks… small.

It’s in such high contrast to the force of nature he’s used to, such a far sigh off from the woman radiating power that had Thor shaken, and for a second, Steve forgets how to breathe.

He is on his feet in a heartbeat. “Calm—Are you fucking kidding me!?” he explodes, rounding on Tony. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking we needed to contain her,” Tony shoots back, voice clipped and sharp. He doesn’t even turn around—just stays seated, facing forward.

“I had it under control!” Steve insists. “She was listening. She was coming down.”

Tony finally turns, slow and deliberate. The smirk on his face is hollow and sharp. “And what if she changed her mind? What if the next surge brought that forest down? You have absolutely no clue the kind of blast radius she’s capable of encompassing.”

That shouldn’t upset him, but Steve’s hurt all the same. “You said I was the only one who could help her!”

“And you did!” Tony claps once, mocking, bitter. “Mission accomplished, Cap. What do you want—a medal?”

“What I want,” Steve is fucking enraged, “is an explanation as to why you didn’t fucking tell me about your goddamn contingency plan of shooting at my girlfriend?”

“Your gir—” Tony’s enraged too now. Steve can see it. He knows they aren’t related to each other by blood but in this moment their resemblance is uncanny. “It was a fucking tranquiliser, Rogers. I didn’t tell Barton to put a bullet in her head.” Steve’s blood runs cold. He thinks he might just have to fight her girlfriend’s brother. But then Tony adds, “Which is what she would have wanted.”

Motherfucker.

“How can you say that—?”

“He can say that, because he knows me,” comes a frail voice from the corner of the quinjet. His eyes turn to Y/n instantly. He rushes over before he can even register her words. But then she turns to Tony and continues, “And it’s what he should have done.”

“Fuck off,” Tony dismisses, strong and forceful.

“That was the contingency plan we agreed on,” Y/n accuses with what Steve presumes is all the venom she can muster in her weakened state.

“I didn’t agree to jack shit! It was your contingency plan, not mine! And it was fucking stupid contingency plan!” Tony bites back, matching her beat to beat.

“Tony, you know it’s the safest way out! I could have—”

He cuts her off, finally pissed enough to get to his feet. He stares her down, “You could have burnt the whole world to the ground, Y/f/n and I still would not take the goddamn shot. I am not going to put you down like a rabid dog, ever.” 

And that’s when Steve sees it—he sees Tony break. He’s loud, he’s practically yelling. But his eyes… Tony’s eyes reflect the same emotion hers did when they were out on that field—it’s fear. Crippling, debilitating, paralysing fear.

This wasn’t Tony choosing strategy. It wasn’t control. It wasn’t ego.

It was the only thing he could do to keep her alive.

Even if it broke every bone in his body to make the call.

If nothing else, Steve gets at least this much.

Apparently, so does she it seems. Because she sighs then. Her stance changes, so noticeably, so drastically that it throws Steve off. 

“Alright,” she says easily, still feeble. “Alright.” She nods at him, just once. An unspoken invitation. But Tony hears it loud and clear. He walks over to her slowly. She pulls him into a hug—protective, firm. She wraps her arms around him like she’s anchoring him in place. Tony hesitates. His hand hovers behind her back like he’s still not sure this is real—like he might crush her if he holds on too tight.

She ruffles his hair gently.

That’s all it takes.

He holds on like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“You did good, Tones,” she says to him softly, kissing him on the temple. “You did good,” she reassures him. “It’s over now. Okay? It’s over now, peanut.”

And then her eyes lift, meeting Steve’s over Tony’s shoulder.

No words.

But everything’s said anyway.

That nothing will ever be the same between them again.

Find the Static Verse Masterlist here. Read The Avengers (ft. Static) here.

[clairewritesfanfics]

word travels fast as fuck in the alternate universe variations of mark community and almost every single mark comes up to try to explain consent to viltrum before the day is over

the one who explained actually ended up being prison mark (he was in earshot of no goggles little display and showed up to watch towards the end of it) he took viltrumark aside after he finished laughing at them and told him before he could do anything with his partner he had to get their consent for it first (he impressed enthusiastic consent on viltrumark very very hard, i think out of the marks hes one of a few who feel particularly strongly about it)

and then as the day goes by more of the other marks are stopping him in the halls to try and give him a talk about it. fullmask heard about no goggles getting into a fight with mohawk while trying to explain sex positions to him and rushed over immediately to make sure he knew what consent was. maskless pulls him aside shortly after. like six more variants try to talk to him in succession and it starts getting annoying

mohawk shows up to give him a talk like "okay i was little distracted at the time but before you-" an gets cut off by viltrum being like i KNOW. and then no goggles rocks up after like flaxan mark gave him a talking to about that like "ok so i got a little ahead of myself back there and flaxan mark told me to tell-" and viltrumark just starts screaming because this is the 18th time someone has come to tell him the exact same thing hes already learned today

Trigger Warnings: discussion of slavery and SA

Oh Anon, stop being an anon already 🫶😩

I agree that Prisoner would be the most concerned with consent. Considering how the Empire functions, I have a feeling that in addition to torture and hard labor, they forced him to reproduce with other prisoners/slaves.

Also, Viltrumite Mark's probably so tired with the lectures that he might ask us to delay the sex.

[forsaken-headcanons]

very long yap about my builderman hcs

(my interest with Roblox in general leaks into my Forsaken hcs so here is a link to a very old blog post so that you have context for the whole Lua thing: https://blog.haydz6.com/2007/02/encyclopedia-robloxica | Luatongue is a hc name I have for it but it basically means the same thing dw about it)

also, "^" means that a hc is related to the one(s) above it in some way

okay that's out of the way! come on everypony let's get started!!! /silly

------

-Has a southern accent. It's not thick but it is noticeable. 

-Decently muscular.

-His physical body looks like a middle-aged dude, but Builder has existed for an insane amount of time. The Admins are not gods, but they aren't regular mortals either. 

-Was the first Admin. He actually created the admins as a group, along with Roblox HQ to keep some semblance of peace in Robloxia. Before the admins, Robloxia was an incredibly chaotic and dangerous place, with hackers, exploiters, mythical creatures, aliens, demons, angels, deities, gods, and a million other things running around doing whatever they wanted. The admins and Roblox HQ are like the SCP foundation but to a lesser extent. They don't go out of their way to deal with the supernatural, as they also function as the law/government, but they do try to keep the insane reality breaking dudes away from the general populace. 

-Builderman is really, REALLY good at Luatongue. This in addition to his creative thinking made him extremely powerful pre-Forsakening. He may have looked like a normal Robloxian, but he was an admin mainly because he was born with what was essentially divine knowledge that translated to god-like powers. However, when The Spectre took him to its realm, it made him forget nearly all of the Lua he knew, causing him to lose a nearly all of his power. 

-^Despite his extreme natural proficiency with Lua, Builderman is not the prophet, as he isn't able to effectively share what it means with others. Lua is less of a "language" and more of a way that the beings within Robloxia can manipulate the very fabric of Robloxia itself. For anyone who isn't the prophet, telling someone who doesn't have a natural connection to Luatongue how to use it is nearly impossible. It's not even known how the prophet is supposed to share Lua with Robloxia, only that they will have some special ability to do so. 

-^Has notes that he works on periodically of what he can remember about Luatongue. Usually, "working" on these notes entails him sitting somewhere racking his brain for any scraps of it he can remember, jotting it down, and then pondering over the notes to try and gain back more memories of it. 

-^Builderman's knowledge of Lua was among one of the few things that The Spectre couldn't directly prevent the forsaken robloxians from using. The Spectre may be an extremely powerful entity, but it is, by a long shot, not powerful enough to override the code that is the very foundation of the universe. It had actually written off getting a hold of Builderman completely before it got the idea to make him forget Luatongue, and even that was extremely difficult for it, especially since he fought back against being taken by The Spectre, which it wasn't used to it's victims being strong enough to do so. The only reason it managed to pull it off was because Builderman was so focused on his fight with The Spectre and simultaneously resisting it's attempts to transport him to it's realm, that he didn't realize that Spectre was altering his mind as well until it was too late.

-Builderman cannot directly destroy things with Lua; he is only able to create. It's easy for him to work around this because he can just. create something destructive. But Builderman can't straight up use Luatongue to destroy. 

-When he was younger, he created a "focus" item of sorts. It was a trowel, and while it looked normal, it had a certain energy to it. Builderman created the trowel because while he had an unheard of ability to use Lua, he didn't have fine control over his powers. Without the trowel, he can make a wall. With his trowel, he can make a castle-sized wall, or a wall fit for a dollhouse, or even a regular wall the size of what would be in a house, of any color imaginable, and made out of whatever he'd like. 

-^ a secondary thing the trowel does: anyone holding it will be able to walk in the air at will. When he made the trowel, Builderman gave it this property so that he'd be able to get better views on whatever it was he was making at the moment. After he started taking on the role of the regulator of Robloxia, it turned out that being able to basically fly was really useful. 

-^sometimes when he was younger and just messing around, he'd stand like. Fully horizontally in the air just for the laughs. #1 at the lying down game /j 

-^obviously, he doesn't have his trowel with him in The Spectre's realm. Builderman had a deep emotional attachment to it, and misses it sometimes. 

-Even without the use of his weird god-language-powers, Builderman is really good with tech and engineering-type stuff. 

-He naturally has the general vibe of a leader, and this combined with his role pre-Forsakening means that the survivors will nearly always listen to him and do what he says. The other admins also have some authority, but he's got the most. 

BUILDERMAN HEADCANONS WOOHOOOO!!!! he 100% has a slight southern accent. He feels like the type of guy to have one.

[soclearlytosee]

a primary early s5 threat is likely a s1-style lone Demogorgon hunting kids...

...and that Demogorgon is probably being directed by Vecna.

at this point others have definitely also come to this conclusion, but I just wanted to lay this out somewhere more clearly/concisely.

first, the evidence from leaks/BTS/footage:

an early s5 filming rumor was that Frank Darabont directed a Home Alone-style sequence with a Demogorgon, which came from the same source as a bunch of other things that have been proven true. plus we clearly have a big sequence in a mansion in a Darabont-directed episode (5.03, The Turnbow Trap) reminiscent of the iconic house in that movie.

the lights are flickering in quite a few scenes that we've seen footage of from eps 1-4, and specifically the ones the feature the child characters (Holly's room and the upstairs bathroom at the Wheeler House in ep 1, at the Turnbow mansion in ep 3, and now at the farm in ep 4)

the strangerwriters twitter account saying "Season 5 is like if season 1 and 4 had a baby. And then that baby was injected with steroids."

the rhythmic banging from the date announcement voice memo/teaser feels like a fairly straightforward callback to the s1 Demogorgon's recurring ominous offscreen footsteps (that then escalates, s1 on steroids etc).

There's obviously something going on with Holly and her classmates, and a not quite yet parseable feedback loop between Vecna and the military's interest in them (considering the pap photos of Henry, Holly, and the other kids in the Creel House Mindscape, and the kids at the military base which we've now seen in the teaser footage)

but more importantly, what would that do for us, character- and plot-wise?

Bring up big feelings for our characters who experienced Will and Barb's disappearances in s1

especially since, according to the season logline, a certain anniversary is coming up...

Tee up a reveal about what it looks like when Vecna is directing a Demogorgon remotely

according to the season logline, Vecna is currently laying low: "[Vecna] has vanished — his whereabouts and plans unknown." similarly, it's pretty clear he's been part of the picture this whole time but if that's the case he had to have been acting from a significant remove in s1 too.

while we are also revisiting Will's time in the Upside Down in 1983 in flashback form, showing us a version of Vecna's s1 strategy in the present would be an additional opportunity to surface some answers after years of the "Was Will taken intentionally or just a bystander? Did Will see Vecna or the Demogorgon on Mirkwood?" discourse.

Serve as a device to travel into the Upside Down

if they bring back the s1 Demogorgon's ability to create smaller, temporary gates, our cast should be more prepared to take advantage of that opportunity to travel to/from the Upside Down this time around. (though the time limit on the lil Demogorgon gates makes that risky...and might lead to something like perhaps a certain character whose early season activities are still a big question mark being stuck in the same clothes for three-quarters of the season)

please don't ask me to square that with Vecna's s3/s4 needing to steal El's powers in order to open his own gates via elaborate teen murder ritual I'm not a writer on this show. let's say it's probably a question of magnitude/temporality for now

so yes, I have come around to feeling like this is probably one of the big drivers of the early s5 plot (after really walking the long way around to get here even though in retrospect like anything it seems like the most obvious choice for them to make, and I think a smart one). other supernatural forces should also be at work - I'm at least feeling some mysterious medical stuff going around, and maybe disappearances via an additional mechanic. plus the Demogorgon situation would start more at a 1.03/1.04 level and escalate quickly, building to a new monster/s reveal around the end of 5.04 with whatever is knocking at the downtown military base's door in the teaser.

and still more to suss out on Vecna's motivations here, what's going on with his Creel House Mindscape set up with the kids (maybe playing both sides by siccing a scary monster on them and then getting to swoop in as a benevolent helper?), how the military's interest in the kids factors in, and then Max's role in all this.

[la-principessa-nuova]

kind of a rambly addition, but i don’t have time to edit it down or reorganize it atm:

especially that part about not really experiencing anything like what guys do growing up. like think about the concept of “male socialization” and what it’s used to imply, that we grew up getting all the same ideas and habits and things instilled in us that men do, that we are in some way now forever more like men than women in some way because we were held to the expectations that men were.

But even for those of us who didn’t transition until adulthood, those expectations affect us *very* differently than they did boys, and not all of the “socialization” we received was more like what they did. I learned the expectations for girls and for boys and I felt like I had to live up to both. Yes, I had some behaviors instilled in me that were expected of boys, like making fart jokes or whatever, but the disgusting views of women that some of my classmates learned, i never was even remotely comfortable with, because they always felt like they were about me. I know there were a few jokes i made at times that I made to fit in that felt bad to say, but no more than my cis sister (in fact much less).

For instance, my experience of being in a boy’s locker room was pretty much exactly how I would imagine most girls’ experience would be being in there, not just in hearing what they said and being horrified but also like the feelings of being in a room full of rowdy bows and having to undress and feeling scared (except not fully realizing why). And as a fat trans girl, that even extended to knowing they’d start making comments about my boobs if i took my shirt off while anyone could see (i learned pretty quickly how to change my shirt without taking it off). And the comments they made were technically the same, so even though i knew they were teasing logically, i couldn’t help *feeling* the things i would feel if they weren’t teasing (the same way i couldn’t help but feel worried that certain male acquaintances — like people I was friendly with but didn’t know enough to fully trust — I was alone with would try to make a move on me even though it made no sense bc they were straight).

And I think there’s this assumption that on some level being held to male standards made me do male behaviors and the positive reinforcement for it caused me to internalize some of this and become more like that, and like maybe there are some very minor, surface-level ways that happened, like leading me to explore my interest in video games but not learning anything about makeup until I started transitioning, and like I learned some skills that I was expected to have, but only really where my innate interests overlapped with things that are acceptable for boys. Honestly all the examples I can think of are things I have in common with my cis sister, lol.

But for the deeper things, there was a balancing force of dysphoria that not only canceled it out but pushed me *far* away from those things. Because being told to do something that I like might get me to explore it more, but being told to do something that makes me feel bad (in an at-the-time-inexplicable way) makes me specifically hate that and want to avoid it at all costs. The times I tried to conform are the darkest moments of my life that made me hate myself and feel like I would never be able to progress in life socially or romantically.

Basically in my experience, all the things in my life that could be called “male socialization” were just things where I wasn’t held to one of the misogynist standards (e.g. one I didn’t internalize and apply to myself) and so I gravitated more towards that direction, and all the things that TERFs primarily mean when they say “male socialization” are things where I experienced something between the “female socialization” version and psychological torture.

So yeah, I play video games and use power tools and I don’t always cross my legs, but I still grew up tormented by misogyny and fearing being left alone with men. I still felt pressure to conform to what the other girls in my classes were doing and was always surprised when i met my friends’ sisters and kinda wished i was friends with them instead.

My “socialization” didn’t lead me to be in some way inherently masculine, it lead me to apply Occam’s Razor and realize that so many things that had never made sense actually made perfect sense if I was a woman.

Plus, it’s based around the philosophical idea of “Tabula Rasa” (Latin for “blank slate”), that the human mind is a blank slate and everything about who we are is determined through experience in life, known as socialization. If this theory were correct, it would mean that people are a product of their socialization and two people subjected to the same situation would behave the same way. But it’s not true, and evidence-based psychology does not support it at all. Obviously we are all the effect of some combination of our biology and our upbringing.

cc @psychicbirdstarlight (since i reblogged down the chain)

going to start using this for every dipshit post i see on here

[cripplecharacters]

I’m currently writing a story where one character has a (currently undecided, still doing research) condition that affects their joints & overall physical strength, with one of his legs being significantly more affected due to an accident where he got permanently injured in addition to his pre existing disability.

His other leg is still relatively functional, just somewhat unstable, and I was wondering what mobility aids would make the most sense for him to use? (This is set in modern day btw, it is an urban fantasy story, but I rlly didn’t want to use the ‘magic automatically fixes all’ excuse especially bc of the way magic works in this world)

I currently have him using elbow crutches for the first bit of the story and potentially later a cane when he gets separated from his crutches. Do u think these would be suitable aids? Any tips would be very helpful :)

Hi asker,

These do sound like suitable aids for joint issues!

Crutches are meant to support up to ~90% of body weight, while canes do about ~30% and are often used when you either need help with balance or have one leg that's much more affected than the other. Crutches also put less strain on the wrist than a cane would, but you do need pretty good upper body strength to use them, more than you would need while using a cane. While they're designed to lessen the impact they have on your upper body, you are still using your upper body in a different way than usual, so if you use them you've got to be able to handle it.

You could also look at walkers/rollators as a mobility aid, depending on what his condition is. (Rollators are walkers with wheels.) They can be steadier than crutches, but they might not work if your character struggles to put weight on one or both legs since you do need to be walking to use one. But if his upper body is affected, this might be a useful tool so he's not putting strain on it (even if it's sometimes).

Also, depending on how much he depends on his crutches, though, a cane might not be useful for him at all, but some people do use crutches as canes and/or canes as an alternative aid to crutches, temporarily or long-term.

Either way, since you aren't 100% sure on your character's disability, I put all those out there so you can consider them along with your decision.

Hope this helps,

mod sparrow

[anyacad0]

sometimes i think Danheng has a subconscious habit of overcompensating or taking up more work in the AE just to pacify the negative voice in him that tells him he is a nobody that doesn’t belong

it’s mainly the way he insists on being the AE guard as a reciprocative reason to continue staying with them and how he jumps into action while asserting himself as a Nameless

i think he constantly carries a sentiment of having to “earn” acceptance by proving his value, and if he doesn’t live up to his value, he may be discarded or seen as a burden. which increases his obligation to repay others’ kindness

except there is no such cost-benefit exchange in the AE bc AE fam sees him as one of their own. objectively Danheng seems to be doing better in recent developments but i just wonder how much his mind bothers him anyway, especially after missing out Penacony bc he was resting up after the Xianzhou drama (“i took medical leave. oh no i am going to miss work and they’re going to see me as a burden” kinda thoughts)

(sorry if i mischaracterised anywhere aaa)

I think a lot about how Himeko told him they needed a guard and archivist because she knew he wouldn’t stay unless he felt useful. She could tell even when she’s only just met him. It’s almost certainly an instinct from his past where he wasn’t supposed to want or have anything for himself; his entire existence was dedicated to protecting and serving others.

there is definitely also an aspect of needing to feel worthy in addition to that instinct though. Even if Dan Heng does feel well and truly accepted by the Express Crew (though I doubt he does even now, it will probably take a little longer) I think he’ll continue to do as much as he can for them simply to prove that he cares.

[mrcaffeinatedisopod]

@foxtrixcore asked for a Donatello who got some kind of facial disfiguration after some fight and made himself a mask to wear, and what that mask design might look like

So here's my idea of what a partial mask cover Donnie would wear, I took some inspiration from mutant apocalypse Donnie

And bonus art

My poor baby :(

Additional thoughts:

I really like drawing/writing about Donnie getting really hurt physically. While I believe all of the 2012 turtles and Splinter know basic first aid — and Splinter for some reason knows healing magic ( or "mantras" )— I still believe that Donatello is the only one who has extensive medical knowledge and can perform surgery and treat their mutant physiology, soooo it just really scratches my brain to imagine what might happen to Donnie if he got too hurt to treat himself, since his brothers surely wouldn't be able to treat him themselves.

That also makes me think about Mutant Apocalypse Donbot in the series, is the only reason why his mind was transferred to Metalhead 2 because Raph wasn't able to treat him after his amnesia? Donbot says his original body was destroyed, which could either mean Donatello immediately died after the mutant bomb explosion, or he held on for a little longer.

While if Donnie did die immediately after the bomb there was nothing anybody could do, what if there was something that could be done? Let's say, a possible cracked shell?

Cracked shells can be lethal, but they are not always a death sentence to a turtle depending on the severity, but if they aren't treated, a turtle will bleed out or die of infection. That's to say what if after the explosion, Donnie was severely injured but could have been treated, but Raph was in almost as bad shape, and couldn't treat his brother, which is what led to Donnie's death? The angst is just so good

While Donbot doesn't seem to have any issues with the fact that the original Donatello is dead does he ever wonder what could have been if the original Donatello was treated?

Did he even try to treat the original Donatello? He seems to imply that he was already cybernetically linked when Donatello died, rather than consciously uploading his consciousness because he knew he would die, so is it fair to assume that maybe he tried to save himself— sort of like in the comics— but there was nothing that could be done? And if that wasn't possible, would he ever resent Raph? Maybe not forever, but right away? I mean imagine being the only decent doctor in your family, you save their shells for years, but when you really need it, and not a dislocated shoulder, or a sprained wrist, but really need medical help, there's no one there for you?

Anyway I loved this idea :)

[travelingmaster-inspirations]

When my next door neighbor helped me move in, I found him charming enough, but since I liked girls a LOT more than boys, I didn't see him as a potential mate. I thought he was cool and friendly so when we were done, I invited him over for a 'thank you drink'. Honestly, I figured he would have his drink, we would chat a bit and he would leave. 

But surprisingly enough, his conversation was very engaging and the more I learned about him, the more I wanted to know. Especially when he said that he used to be a stage hypnotist! That peeked my fancy and we got to talking about how fake most shows were while he kept telling me that his shows were all very genuine. I didn't know anything about hypnosis so l dared him to try and hypnotize me so he could prove how good he was. 

I honestly thought he wouldn’t be able to put me under, but to my utter shock, his induction felt like magic and before I knew it, I was drifting off into trance without really realizing what was happening to me. It just felt so relaxing... So good... I REALLY loved it so l asked him if he'd be willing to show me more. He was more than willing to do so, but since it was late, we agree to meet up a few days later. However, if I was so eager to experience his relaxing voice again, he said he was willing to transfert me a few audio files he was creating for an ASMR channel he was thinking of starting. 

He admitted it wasn't hypnosis per say, but he assured me that the feeling of drifting off would be almost identical. I was intrigued so I agreed and no later than that very night, I slipped on some headphones and listened to his soft voice as I drifted off... 

He was right, the feeling was very similar, but as a fun bonus, the background tones he used made the inside of my skull tingle in the most pleasurable way. Needless to say, I slept like a baby and decided to do it again the next day. And the day after that...

In fact, I did it every single night until we were able to meet again. His soft voice lulled me to sleep so expertly that it was no wonder that his induction seemed to work twice as fast! In fact, it felt to me like he barely started to guide me down before I sank into blissful oblivion. 

He showcased a lot more triggers from his past shows that night, mostly things I've either seen or heard about, but to me, it felt so new and exciting! Each trick he pulled on my hypnotized mind made me want to experience more. Even when he was able to make me forget our names or when he managed to convince me that I was naked, I was thrilled by what my own mind could do! 

Sure, the fact that our 'fake names' were Master and slave WAS a little strange, but then again, he was so masterful with his hypnosis that it somehow felt RIGHT and I didn't care to bring it up. Besides, I was his padawan when it came to hypnosis so it made perfect sense that he was my Master. And it naturally follows that a Master has a slave… Right?

Regardless, I didn’t really think about all that much and instead, just enjoyed the wonders he was showing me. When he left, he gave me new files to test out and told me they would 'train' me to be an even better subject, which would in turn allow me to experience even more profound triggers. I was so excited to try them out. 

The files were much more of a proper induction, but they also combined the AMSR tones from the previous ones. The tingles were a VERY welcome addition to the experience and just like the previous one, I listened to it every night before bed. His voice was so soothing… Yet powerful in a way that made me feel incredibly happy whenever I heard it take on that special tone of voice. 

I didn't realize it at the time, but after a few nights of listening to that new track, I stopped seeing him as my neighbor and unconsciously began to see him as my Master. Which meant that I didn't even bat an eye when he came over for dinner before our hypnosis session and walked in already acting like my Dominant. I mean... I wasn't even in trance, yet I felt completely mesmerized as I listened to him talk through our dinner as if I was a slave that served him his due meal. 

I was enthralled... Pure and simple. 

Our dynamic felt so blissfully pleasurable to me that I couldn't bring myself to care what he was hypnotically pushing me to do. Even when his post hypnotic suggestions compelled me to take off my clothes, I embraced it as any other trigger and even forgot I was naked when he froze and started to pose my helpless body. I felt utterly controlled and the part of me that worried it was all too much was easily drowned out by the immense pleasure I felt. 

It was just too amazing and too erotic for me to resist and before the evening was done, my body no longer felt like my own anymore as he made me cum again and again while also bringing me in and out of trance with just a few words. The whole experience was mind blowing to say the least and even as my exhaustion settled in, I found myself wanting ever more.

I was so blissfully aroused and erotically euphoric that I didn't care one bit when his cock was the one to wake me from the latest trance. I was so mindless and deep within my slave role that all I could think about was that he had given me so much pleasure that it only felt proper to allow him to take his own from my dazed body. Besides, I was so exhausted that all I could really do was to enjoy the ride. 

I almost blacked out from the sheer pleasure overload when he came, but somehow managed to stay conscious long enough to hear him tell me that all I had to do to feel this again was to submit to him. I felt like I already had a 100 times over so it was an easy decision to accept without a second thought. 

He smiled and tranced me again as he placed headphones over my ears. I don't really remember the file, but I remember how strong it felt because it seemed to me like it sent me even deeper than I had ever gone…

I woke up the next morning next to my Master and the moment my eyes took in his sleeping form, I knew something inside my brain had changed. I like girls… WAY more that I liked guys and yet, my nipples hardened as I calmly remembered that we had fucked. I could have assumed it was just because the experience turned out to feel a lot better than it had in the past when I fucked guys, but I knew it was more than that…

Somehow… I knew it had felt that way only because he was my Master and I was offering the pleasure he deserved in exchange for giving me such profound hypnotic experiences. After all, he was my Master and I was his slave… It was only proper to obey his desires… 

Obey…

The thought seemed to echo in my mind, sending erotic thrills down my nerves as I remembered that he had fucked me because I obeyed. I was so helpless… So controlled… A puppet he could manipulate to satisfy his sexual desires… 

The concept both scared and aroused me as I realized how deep his control had sunk into my eager little brain. Without knowing it, I had given him full control of my mind and part of me worried what that would mean going forward. But then again, letting go felt so… Liberating… Intoxicatingly so… 

Looking at my Master's sleeping form, I couldn’t help but smile because knowing I was in his tender care gave me a whole range of erotic butterflies and that’s something I hadn’t felt in years. Right then and there, I decided that whatever my Master wanted from me, it would be worth it in exchange for his hypnotic guidance. 

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

The Way You Care for Me (M, illness)

I'm shifting out of my comfort zone, aka writing the guys outside of the restaurant!!! A huge thank you and props to @ghostlychill who came up with this amazing prompt, on which this fic is based, and also gave me additional scene ideas. they're the real MVP of this fic.

In this, Greyson and Elijah are both sick and Elijah helps Greyson get to the doctor. It takes place before Greyson gets with Reed, but after Matt and Mark are together, just to place y'all in the timeline correctly. It's REAL whumpy for me, to the point where it's much more of a traditional sickfic or hurt/comfort fic than a snzfic. But I'll be honest, it's maybe my favorite fic I've written. I think I might try writing more outside the restaurant soon.

I'd love to hear any feedback, good, bad, or otherwise :) and if you have anything you'd like to see from these guys, as always feel free to send it. My inbox is always open.

CW: Male illness/snz, coughing, high fevers, contagion, passing out. 5.5K words under the cut

The Way You Care for Me

“Well, that escalated quickly.”

From across the prep table, Greyson shot his boss a dirty look before pulling a handful of tissues out of the box beside him. “I don’t wandt to talk about iiih – hhIGTZCH-ue!” He pitched forward into his hands, a soft groan escaping his throat. “’Least we’re closed the ndext two,” he muttered, tossing the tissues. Elijah pressed his lips together.

“Yeah, lucky you, sick as a dog for the only two days off in a row you’ve had since high school,” he said, prompting a stuffy laugh from the chef. “I thought you said it just felt like a cold yesterday?”

Greyson shrugged. “It did,” he said, shivering despite the kitchen heat and the sweatshirt – was that Elijah’s sweatshirt? – he had on over his chef’s coat. “I’mb sure it’s ndothing, Lij, just mby stupid body rebelling at the thought of time off.” He held his hands up as if to say, What can you do? “I’ll mbake it,” he finished, coughing.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay tonight?” Elijah asked, tapping his fingers nervously on the butcher block on the prep station. “I mean, there’s no Matt.”

No Matt or Mark, Elijah thought to himself, grim and foreboding. The two junior managers were celebrating their one-year anniversary this week, and as a surprise for the two of them, Greyson and Elijah had agreed to work double time for two days and close the restaurant for the other two to give Matt and Mark a full four-day-weekend together. Of course, as soon as Matt and Mark had waved their bosses goodbye from Elijah’s car – letting them borrow it to drive to the Jersey shore was the other half of the younger men’s gift – Greyson started coming down with whatever this shit was. Yesterday had been annoying, but fine; Greyson sneezed his way through his prep, hoarsely expoed throughout service, and promised he’d be fine for the next night. Now, though?

A sudden “HNGTSCHH-ue!” escaped Greyson’s lips before he could answer, a sneeze so harsh it made Elijah take two steps back.

“Dude,” he said, wincing while Greyson grabbed more tissues to clean himself up. As he watched Greyson blow his nose, he couldn’t help but press two fingers to the base of his own throat. The tiny pang he’d felt when he woke up this morning had not gone away with water, as he’d hoped, but had blossomed into a full sore throat. It burned brighter the longer Elijah watched Greyson cough, as though upon seeing how ill the chef was, his body had been given permission to start its own downward spiral. Finally, Greyson tossed the tissues, cleared his throat as well as he could.

“I’ll be finde,” Greyson growled. “Let’s just get through this fuckigg ndi- HRRTSHH-uhh!”

***

There was absolutely no way in hell Greyson was going to make it back to Brooklyn tonight.

The shift had gone about as well as Elijah expected; Greyson lost his voice halfway through the night, couldn’t stop sneezing long enough to garnish the plates, and eventually had to retire to the office to put his head between his knees to quell the dizzy spell he’d coughed himself into. Eventually, Elijah put Riley, his head server, in charge of watching the floor and went to the kitchen to expo while Greyson snored on the floor of the office.

Meanwhile, Elijah spent the evening well-and-truly coming down with Greyson’s disgusting illness. His head ached, his throat felt sticky and painful, and possibly most annoying, his breath kept hitching around a sneeze that – “Hh-! Hhh… hnnghh” – never quite came.

It had been, to put it mildly, a true fucking nightmare.

Now, at nearly one in the morning, Greyson was burning up with fever and high on cough medicine, glassy-eyed and chatty, spinning the office chair round and round like a kid. Beside him, Elijah was rapidly deteriorating.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lij, of course I’mb goigg hombe,” Greyson rasped, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “I’mb fine, it’s a cold, it’s ndot a big deal.”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, rubbing an eye with the heel of his hand, “you are not fine. Did you somehow forget the last seven hours?” He grabbed Greyson’s chair then, stopping it in its tracks. “And stop fucking spinning you’re going to pahh – hh… pass… huh… passoutNGTSZH-oo! Huh-! HGTZCH-ue! Fuck, finally,” Elijah sighed into the sleeve of his shirt. From over his glasses, Elijah could see Greyson fold his arms.

“Bless you,” he said, accusatory. “You feeling okay?” Elijah rolled his eyes, painfully.

“Yes, Mama Greyson,” he said, sucking in through his nose and sitting up. “How do you plan on getting home, anyway? Isn’t an uber out there like a million dollars on a Saturday night?”

Greyson raised a confused eyebrow. “I’mb… what am I, Warren Buffett? Ndo I’mb ndot ubering, Elijah, I’mb taking the train.” Again, despite the worrying amount of cough syrup he’d ingested, Greyson dissolved into a painful-sounding coughing fit. Elijah bit his cheek to keep from snapping.

“Grey,” he said, massaging his throat. “You’re not taking the train an hour home when you have a fucking fever. Just – fuck – GTSCHH-uhh! NGTSZCH-ue! Snrf.” Elijah snatched a tissue from the box Greyson thunked next to him, wiping his nose before finishing. “Just stay with mbe,” he said, congestion finally seeping into his voice. At this, Greyson visibly perked up.

“Stay… you mbean stay at your apartment?” he asked. “Like sleep at your apartment?”

The look on Elijah’s face betrayed his every feeling. “I – yes, you fucking freak, like sleep at my apartment, why are you being weird?”

“You ndever let anyone stay over at your apartment,” Greyson said, pushing out of his chair and putting his winter coat over what was definitely Elijah’s sweatshirt. “Like, it’s a whole thigg Matt and Mark and I joke about, that ndo one is allowed at your place past seven p.m because you have sombe sort of weird bedtime ritual ndo one can see. Mby theory was you’re one of those people who sleeps in those who-goes-there-ass old-timey pajamas. The ones with a hat.”

Elijah blinked. “People stay at my apartment,” he said. Throwing the GM’s coat into his lap, Greyson scoffed.

“Yeah?” Greyson asked as Elijah slowly pushed up from his chair. “Whend?”

“I mean, it’s been awhile,” Elijah mused. Now that he thought about it – when was the last time he had someone stay at his place? Greyson had never asked or needed to stay with him; if he was gallivanting through the city after work, he was staying with whoever took him to bed. Mark lived practically next door to the restaurant, so he and Matt had never asked to stay even if all of them were out drinking. And the last time he’d had a date come to the house… well, if he was being honest, he couldn’t remember ever having a date stay the night at his apartment.

“That’s what I thought,” Greyson said, grabbing onto the back of Elijah’s chair to keep from falling over. “Oh – jesus, shit, hold on.” The chef closed his eyes, took as deep of a breath as his spasming lungs could handle. Slowly, he let the breath out, unfurled his fingers from the chair, and opened one eye. “Okay,” Greyson said, “mbaybe the train would be out of the question.”

Elijah bleated out a laugh. “You think?” he said, clapping Greyson on the shoulder. “C’mon, patient zero. Let’s get you to bed.”

***

As the winter night sky parted and made way for the blue-black light of morning, Elijah let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding for hours. Okay, he said to himself, time to get him to fucking urgent care.

Despite his goofing-off, his quipping, his inability to be serious for five fucking seconds, the moment Greyson’s body collapsed into Elijah’s bed, he crashed harder than Elijah had ever seen anyone crash. The shivers he’d had at the restaurant turned to shaking that rattled the headboard against the wall so loudly, Elijah assumed his neighbors would come and bang on the door. His teeth chattered in his head hard enough to crack the enamel, and his eyes, in the brief moments they were open, were bloodshot to hell. Greyson’s fever – however high it was, Elijah could only guess since he wasn’t exactly the type of guy who kept a thermometer lying around – just would not budge.

Elijah tried everything he knew to help get his friend’s fever down. At first, he tried to get Greyson to feel comfortable, to feel warm – piling blankets on top of him, forcing wool socks and a coat on him in bed, the whole nine. When that didn’t seem to do anything except make his skin burn hotter, Elijah tried moving on to old reliable: medicine.

The issue here was Greyson was barely conscious, and even getting water into him was proving difficult. “Greyson,” Elijah whispered after an hour of trying and failing to get the other man to swallow some ibuprofen. “Please, man, just take it, I promise you’ll feel better.”

Greyson’s eyes flitted open for a few moments, and Elijah pressed the pills into his hand. “Please,” he repeated. The chef attempted a nod, put the pills in his mouth, and immediately coughed them onto the bed; he shook his head, grabbing at his throat as the coughing continued. Unfortunately, Elijah related deeply to what his friend was implying: his throat was too swollen to swallow pills. Elijah swallowed around the knives in his own throat. Nodded.

“Okay,” he said, handing Greyson a cup filled with water instead. “Okay, fair enough.” God, why didn’t he keep any fucking Nyquil on hand?

After that episode, Elijah came to his senses and pulled out his phone to google how to get a fever down. One of the websites – one that looked to be for mothers of small children, but whatever, he’d try anything at this point – mentioned a lukewarm or cool bath, which didn’t sound like a terrible idea, but ultimately Greyson was seemingly unable to move and with the five inches and thirty pounds he had on Elijah, no shot was he getting carried to the bath.

Ultimately, Elijah ended up pressing a cool washcloth to Greyson’s forehead from three a.m. onward, the night spreading endlessly around him. The sleepless, worrying hours of trying to care for Greyson were only made worse by the fact that Elijah felt like absolute fucking dog shit; his lungs constricted with angry, bubbling coughs every few moments, and breathing out his nose was, as of about five in the morning, an absolute no-go. Worse still, as Greyson sweat through his sheets, Elijah could feel the stifling heat of his own fever spreading itself behind his eyes. Whatever it was that Greyson had managed to pick up, it certainly didn’t fuck around.

At seven a.m., when the alarm Elijah had set on his phone notified him that the closest urgent care would be open in thirty minutes, Greyson, who’d finally settled into a true sleep about an hour before, gasped himself awake.

“’S timbe for work?” he slurred, attempting to sit up. Elijah coughed out a hoarse laugh.

“Ndot exactly, bud,” he said, clearing his throat. “C’mond, let mbe help you uhh – uh… up-NGTSZCHH-ue!” Elijah wrenched to the side to avoid sneezing directly in Greyson’s face as he pulled the chef to a sitting position. Greyson pressed his eyebrows together, reached out to place a hand on Elijah’s forehead.

“You have a fever,” he mused, as Elijah pulled a few tissues from the near-depleted box on the end table. “I thought you said you weren’t sick?”

“I lied,” Elijah said plainly, shoving the tissues into the pocket of his hoodie. “Let’s go, up and at ’em, we’re getting you to urgent care.”

“Wh -? Urgent care, what do you mbean? I’mb fine.” Greyson said as Elijah slowly helped him to his feet. Elijah laughed again, this time doubling over into his elbow to cough.

“Please don’t mbake mbe laugh,” Elijah said, helping Greyson into one of the winter coats he had hanging in his closet – Greyson’s coat had been sweat through multiple times over, and Elijah wasn’t about to brave the doctor’s office with the smell of fever sweat coating the two of them. It seemed, frankly, a little too on the nose.

“Ndot trying to be funny,” Greyson mumbled as he shakily put on the coat. “’S just a cold, Lij.” As he said it, Elijah could see his eyes starting to roll back in his head, felt his fever-warm body go limp – fuck.

“Grey!” Elijah yelled, jerking the chef back to a standing position. Greyson came back to quickly, collapsing into a barking fit of coughing that wouldn’t subside until Elijah sat him back on the bed. This is going to be harder than I thought. “Are you okay?” Elijah asked, Greyson’s arm still gripped in his hand. Shakily, Greyson nodded; clearly the near-fall was enough to scare him.

“Fuck,” Greyson moaned, pulling a hand down his face. “I haven’t felt this shitty in…. I don’t even kndow how long. Hh-! HRRSHHT! Fuckigg ow.” Greyson pressed the heel of his hand into his eye, his headache palpable even to Elijah. The GM sighed, rubbed his friend’s back.

“That’s why we’re goigg to urgent care,” he said. “This is clearly beyond mby scope of ability. I almbost took you to the ER last ndight.”

Greyson looked at Elijah as if he were completely deranged. “I appreciate you ndot bankrupting mbe over a fuckigg fever,” he said, some levity breathed back into the room. Elijah croaked out a chuckle. “But… I mbean yeah, okay, I guess it couldn’t hurt to go.”

At this, Elijah pat Greyson once on the back. “Good mban,” he said, once again helping the chef to his feet. Greyson squeezed his eyes shut as he stood, an attempt to not lose consciousness again.

“Ndot sure I’mb gonna mbake it down the elevator, you mbay have to carry mbe to the car,” he joked, an attempt to keep Elijah calm. At the word car, Elijah’s heart sunk.

“Oh, fuck,” he said, pressing a palm to his face. “The boys have the fuckigg car.” Greyson pressed his lips together, remembering. Matt and Mark were hundreds of miles away at the Jersey shore. With Elijah’s only mode of transportation. With Greyson sick as a fucking dog, and Elijah well on his way to being down just a bad. The fucking boys have the fucking car.

“Where’s the clinic,” Greyson said, his voice thin. Elijah looked down at his phone.

“Three miles away,” he said. “It’s… oh, fuck mbe I forgot about the fuckigg mbarathon this weekend.” He pressed a few buttons on his phone, shaking his head in disbelief. “Ubers are like a hundred and fifty bucks,” he murmured. Greyson groaned.

“Don’t tell mbe we have to take the fuckigg subway,” he said, eyes still closed. Elijah bit his cheek; their options were more than limited. Without a car, and with the possibility of an uber even picking the two of them up looking the way they did near-zero, their choices were basically train… or walk. A glance in Greyson’s direction proved that walking was simply not an option.

“Let’s try to get sombe ibuprofen in you,” he said, guiding Greyson towards the kitchen. “It’s gonnda be a long train ride.”

***

The fact that they made it to this god-forsaken clinic was nothing short of a complete fucking miracle.

Getting to the train was bad enough; after pumping Greyson with enough ibuprofen to kill an elephant, topped off with four shots of espresso to keep him awake enough to get to the subway, the two of them set out on their jaunt. Still, it took nearly thirty minutes for the two of them to walk three blocks to the subway station.

“Greyson,” Elijah said for what felt like the thousandth time, “we gotta pick up the pace, kid, you’re killigg mbe here.”

“I – HGTSCHHH-uhh! Snrk. I’mb goigg as fast as I possibly cand,” Greyson mumbled, wiping his running nose on the coat Elijah had lent him. If this nursing-home shuffle was as fast as he could go, Elijah mused, they’d be lucky to get there next fucking year. Pursing his lips, Elijah looped his arm through Greyson’s and started dragging. “Stop pulling,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his own forehead. “’M gonnda pass out if we go any faster.”

“Then pass out,” Elijah said, continuing to pull. “It’d take the same ambount of timbe for me to drag your lifeless corpse through the street. We ndeed to get theehh – holdon-NGTZCHH-ue! Hh-! Hhh…” Elijah held an elbow up to his face, trying to use the very few exposed rays of sunlight to coax out the second sneeze. It was in vain; Elijah let out a shaky breath, annoyed.

Beside him, Greyson regarded Elijah with bloodshot, half-lidded eyes. “Bless you,” he said, sniffling. Elijah returned his watery gaze with a venomous scowl.

“I should, like, sue you for givigg mbe this,” he said, arm still locked in his friend’s. “This is a fucked-up illndess to give to someone.”

Elijah couldn’t tell if Greyson was nodding, or if he momentarily lost consciousness, causing his head to bob. Either way, when he lifted his gaze to look Elijah in the eyes again, he was finally smiling. “Yeah,” he said, coughing away from his friend. “Yeah, I mbean, when you’re right, you’re right.”

By the time they reached the train, Elijah was completely spent. Greyson had been so dizzy for the last half of the walk that he’d pulled the hood of his coat over his eyes and pressed his face into Elijah’s shoulder while they trudged forward, adding what felt like a billion pounds to Elijah’s already-weighed-down-by-fever body. They had made it, though, down the stairs and into the train and – blessedly – into two seats that faced the outside. Finally, when the tinny voice canned in from above asked them to stand clear of the closing doors, please, Elijah dropped his head between his legs and let out a brutal fit of coughs.

“Y’okay?” Greyson asked from behind the hood with both hands shielding his eyes like a visor. When he finally caught his breath, Elijah slowly turned slowly towards the chef and gave an exhausted nod.

“Great,” he rasped. “Ndever better.”

Urgent care was five stops away – five of the longest fucking stops Elijah had ever endured. Each time the train jerked forward or ground to a halt, Greyson made a tiny, terrible whimper in discomfort, a noise that broke Elijah’s heart each time it escaped his lips. “You’re okay, kid,” Elijah muttered, rubbing his friend’s arm while he silently cursed himself for not just paying the two hundred dollars for a stupid uber. “Almbost there.”

After what felt like an eon, the train finally pulled into their station, and Elijah summoned all the strength he had left to hoist Greyson to his feet and pull him out the door. By the grace of whatever-the-fuck entity was watching this scene unfold, the clinic was the first thing he saw when they made their way up the stairs. Small mercies, he thought, dragging Greyson across the street and in through the double doors. Small fucking mercies.

***

“I take it you’re Mr. Abbott?”

As the nurse practitioner breezed through the door she smiled at Elijah, who was sitting in the chair immediately to her right. The GM swung his head around to look her in the eye – fuck, she was pretty. Figures, he thought, wiping under his nose.

“Uh, ndo, I’mb Mr. Morrison – uh, I’m Elijah. That’s the patient,” Elijah said, pointing at Greyson swinging his feet loopily on the exam table. The NP hummed, taking her seat on the stool next to the computer.

“My apologies,” she said, adjusting her mask so it was more secure over her nose and mouth – can’t blame her there, Elijah thought. “Mr. Abbott, I’m Emily. I’ll be helping you out today.”

“Ohh, you cand call mbe Greyson, Doctor Embily,” Greyson said, smiling sloppily. From his chair, Elijah’s face burned red – only Greyson would be able to flirt with a hundred-and-three-degree fever. The NP smiled.

“Just Emily is fine,” she said, her voice kind and cheerful. “Can you tell me a little bit about what’s going on with you?”

Greyson, still with a half-drunk smile pasted on his face, just shrugged. “I’mb good,” he said, before turning suddenly to cough into the collar of his jacket, long enough for Emily to wince and bring him a cup of water from the machine right outside the door of the exam room they were in. “Thangks,” Greyson rasped, sipping the water with his eyes closed. “D’you mbind if I, uh, lay down for a mbinute?”

The NP nodded, then stood in time with Elijah to help him lay Greyson on the crumpled paper. While Greyson fought back the dizziness, Emily the NP turned towards Elijah. “Maybe you could help us with the details?” she asked, smiling.

Elijah nodded, cleared his throat. Fought back a shiver – why the fuck do they keep these offices so fucking cold? “Yeah,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “Sure thiihh – hh..scusembe-NGTXCH-uhh!” Elijah attempted to stifle the sneeze into the sleeve of his sweatshirt, to no avail. Before he could even look around for one, Emily placed a tissue box on the chair next to Elijah, giving him a sympathetic look.

“Bless,” she said, simply. Elijah nodded, taking a tissue and wiping his nose to keep from seeming any grosser that he already was.

“Thangks, sorry,” he said, swallowing painfully. “Uh, yeah, I mbean he’s had a fever since… Friday, I thingk? Thursday ndight, mbaybe? And a cough, which has definitely gotten, uh, worse…” Again, Elijah held up a finger as though to say give me a minute, before turning away in hopes of a sneeze. This time, he wasn’t so lucky – it evaded him, and left in its place a crunchy, painful cough. On the exam bed, Greyson coughed in time with his boss. The NP raised her eyebrows.

“And… is there a reason you aren’t up on that exam table with him?” she asked, her voice light. Greyson croaked out a laugh, not opening his eyes. Ignoring the chef, Elijah attempted a smile.

“I’mb okay,” he promised, clearing his throat. “Anyway, last ndight the fever just got really intense, he was shakigg and couldn’t get mbedicine down and uh… yeah.” Elijah blinked, trying to clear his head. “Is that… does that help?”

Emily nodded, standing. “It does,” she said. “Let’s take a look and see what we can do.” She approached Greyson then, placing a hand on the bed. “Mr. Abbott? Is it okay if your husband and I help you up?”

At this, Greyson’s eyes flew open. “Mby what?” he asked, coughing out another laugh. A look of panic passed over Emily’s eyes, and she looked back at Elijah as if for confirmation. Elijah just rubbed his face with one hand, a modicum of embarrassment on his face.

“We’re, uh… he’s ndot mby husband,” he said, standing to help the NP lift Greyson to a seated position. “We’re busindess partners. Friends, y’kndow, and… business partners.”

“I keep askigg and askigg, and he keeps sayigg ‘ndo’,” Greyson said, a hand kept over one eye to keep from falling down or passing out as he sat up. He smiled at Emily, a charmer to the end, even when he was half-dead. “You’d thingk I’d kndow how to deal with the heartbreak by ndow, but it just ndever gets easier,” he said, turning once again to cough away from the other two. Emily flashed Elijah a confused look.

“He’s kidding,” Elijah promised, sniffling. “I’d say it’s the fever, but really this is just… how he is.”

Emily nodded slowly. “My apologies, I shouldn’t have assumed anything,” she said, putting the earbuds of her stethoscope in her ears and placing the cold bell on Greyson’s chest. Coughing into his sleeve, Elijah lowered himself back into his seat.

“All good,” he said, voice mangled. “You wouldn’t be the first person to assumbe it.”

The NP worked quietly then, asking Greyson to breathe as she listened to his lungs, checking his throat and ears, swabbing his nose for a flu test and his tonsils for strep. By the time she was finished and the rapid tests were back, Greyson looked ready to pass out again.

“Alright, Mr. Abbott,” Emily said, breezing into the exam room with a clipboard in hand. “Good news and bad news; the good news is, you tested negative for strep. Bad news is you tested positive for Flu A, and based on how your lungs sound, I’d say you also have bronchitis. And most likely, a sinus infection.”

From his laid-out position on the bed, Greyson attempted a smile. “Yay?” he said, coughing into his hand. Emily laughed a little behind her mask.

“I’m going to prescribe you an antibiotic for the sinus infection; unfortunately, there’s not much I can do about the flu or the bronchitis, unless you’d like a steroid shot. Obviously get rest and lots of fluids, over the counter medicine is fine, too, you can take it with the antibiotic. Do you need a doctor’s note for work?”

Greyson smiled at Elijah from the bed. “Mmm, ndo pretty sure mby boss believes that I’mb sick,” he said. Elijah rolled his eyes, then pressed his hand deep into one of their sockets when pain spread behind them. Emily also turned to look at Elijah.

“Ah, yeah, I forgot. Business partners,” she said, swiveling the seat of her chair to face Elijah and scooting herself towards his seat. The GM’s heart thumped in time with his head as she approached. “As for you, Mr…?”

“Elijah is finde,” Elijah said, suppressing a cough by swallowing hard.

“Elijah,” Emily repeated. “Is it alright if I touch you?”

When was the last time a woman asked you that? Elijah thought to himself, nodding. Emily gently brought her hands to his face and pressed under his eyes and holy fucking shit, fucking ouch.

“Jesus,” Elijah said, reeling back before turning away from her to suddenly – “HRRTSH-ue! NGTSCHHH-uhh!” The NP’s eyes betrayed the smile behind her mask.

“Bless you,” she said, backing up to her computer. “That’s what I figured; listen, I don’t normally do two-for-one type stuff, but it’s pretty clear that you have what he has, so I’m going to go ahead and prescribe a round of antibiotics for you as well. Keep you from having to come back in a couple days.”

Elijah’s face flamed as he grabbed another tissue and quietly blew his nose. This woman was the first person he’d felt those adolescent butterflies for in – he didn’t even know how long, honestly – and of course he was laid out, barely able to talk and sneezing in her face. The universe has it out for me, I swear to god.

“Uh, okay,” Elijah said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thangk you.”

“Don’t mention it,” she said, typing into her computer. When she finished and turned back to the two ill men, she smiled with her eyes. “Is there anything else I can do for the two of you?”

“You could hit mbe with a blow dart and wake mbe up when this shit is gone,” Greyson said, coughing again. Elijah bit the inside of his cheek while the NP laughed.

“Outside my jurisdiction,” she said, standing. “My apologies. Well, if that’s all then I’ll let you two get home. Take care of yourselves, if things get worse don’t be afraid to come back in.” Emily opened the door, pulled her mask down to smile at the two of them. Fuck, this woman is gorgeous. “Feel better,” she said, and closed the door behind her.

***

“So, do you thingk you’re goigg to go by Mr. Doctor Embily?” Greyson asked, propping himself up on an elbow. “Or is that, like, too on-the-ndose?”

From under the warm washcloth he’d placed over his aching sinuses, Elijah snorted and threw his friend a playful middle finger. “You’re an asshole,” he muttered, pulling the blanket Greyson had moved when he shifted positions back over his torso. “That womban wouldn’t touch mbe with a ten-foot pole after the fuckigg performance we put on in there.”

“Mmmb, I don’t kndow about that,” Greyson mused plucking the washcloth off of Elijah’s face and placing it over his own. “Seemed like she thought you were cute.”

This time, Elijah was the one who sat up. “Yeah,” he said grabbing both his and Greyson’s cups of TheraFlu off the side table and pressing the chef’s cup into his hand. “Ndothing cuter than sombe guy nearly sneezing into your open eyes. Dringk your damn mbedicine.”

Greyson did as he was told, sifting through the arsenal of Doordashed medications the two men had laid out on the bed as he sipped. After they’d stumbled out of the urgent care Elijah, who’d held it together as well as was humanly possible the past thirty hours, hit a wall so hard he nearly dropped to his knees. Without saying anything, Greyson had pulled out his phone and ordered an eye-wateringly expensive uber to cart them the few miles back to Elijah’s apartment; in return, Elijah had sent for an equally expensive courier to pick them up a pharmacy’s worth of medication and the best soup that the upper west side had to offer. While they waited for everything to be delivered, the two shivering, coughing men curled into Elijah’s sweat-soaked bed, listening to the labored sounds of one another’s breathing until they both passed out.

Now, an hour later and finally medicated, Greyson seemed wont to talk, while Elijah felt himself slipping into a deeper rung of illness. His whole body ached; he could think of nothing but sleep. Still, Greyson continued to prod.

“I’mb being serious,” Greyson said, unwrapping a cough drop and popping it in his mouth. “Mbaybe you should go back and ask for her ndumber.”

Elijah, eyes laden with bags from a sleepless night, flushed and sweating and breathing through his mouth, looked at Greyson, deadpan. “Look mbe in the eye and tell mbe that’s a goooo – hh… snrf. A good ideahh – hhGTSCHHH-oo! HRRTSCH-uh!” He wrenched to the side just in time, groaning at the pain. Out of the corner of his eye, Elijah saw Greyson wince.

“Well, obviously wait a few days,” he said, prompting Elijah to throw a pillow at him. The chef laughed, a soupy cough punctuating it.

“God, this is fuckigg mbiserable,” Elijah muttered, laying down again. “I can’t believe you worked yesterday feeling like this.”

Shrugging, Greyson placed his cup back on the side table and laid down as well. “I’mb mbade of different stuff, what can I say,” he joked. Elijah made a sound between a laugh and a snort before closing his eyes, the soft tendrils of sleep curling their fingers around his fevered mind. Moments before he dropped off, Elijah heard Greyson speak up again. “Hey, Lij?”

“Mmm?” Elijah muttered, sleep still right on the horizon. When Greyson didn’t immediately speak up, he opened one eye just a crack. Greyson, face pale and lips cracked, was looking right at him, clearly thinking of how to put whatever it was he wanted to say. Finally, he spoke up again.

“Thangk you,” Greyson said. “For takigg care of mbe.”

For a moment, Elijah just stared back, the sincerity of the sentiment setting him off-balance in a way he wasn’t expecting. Elijah rubbed his face to wake up enough to speak, nodded without letting his head leave the pillow. “’Course, Grey,” he said, attempting a weak smile. “That’s what friends are for.” He shrugged then, nonchalant, and closed his eyes once again. “I kndow you’d do the sambe for mbe.”

“Yeah,” Greyson said, voice soft. “I would.”

Right on the edge of sleep, Elijah allowed himself the last word. “Grey?”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever get mbe this sigck again, I will shoot you with a gun.”

For the first time in days, Greyson laughed in earnest. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said. “Ndight, Lij.”

“G’night,” Elijah mumbled before finally, blessedly, drifting into sleep.