#also lesion tells him at some point

[steviesbicrisis]

I

I saw the sweetest thing on Reddit some time ago and I need to share with you! It was a girl telling that her boyfriend got a brain lesion and got into a coma for a week, so when he woke up he had to learn how to speak correctly all over again. The doctor was doing an exercise with him and she was there to know how to make it at home, the doctor says a word and the guy has to give a synonym or a definition of it, so he says "happiness" and the boyfriend points at her and says her name, the doc says "no, that's not right" and the guy was pouting not know why it was incorrect. Can you imagine this with Steddie? Initially I thought this with Eddie being in a coma after the S4 events, but I came to think of Steve in the boyfriend place because of his many head injuries, thinking he got one very hard and was out like light.

This ask really got me 🥺🥺🥺

I think this would make more sense if this happened after an hypothetical final battle! So, Eddie survives S4, gets together with Steve, they defeat Vecna but Steve gets badly injured (shocking) and gets into a coma.

The situation would be very tense, Eddie would blame everyone (for letting Steve taking too many hits in the head in the past) then himself (for not being able to protect him).

Robin and Eddie can only be around each other while they wait for Steve to wake up. They argue over the smallest things, but also laugh just by looking at each other at random times of the day. By the fifth day of being best friends and archenemies back and forth, they mutually agree they’re going crazy.

The worst part is that, in order to stay by Steve’s side, Robin pretends to be his girlfriend and Eddie his cousin, so the doctors tell everything to Robin first - another reason for their arguments. She’s the one who takes care of Steve, Eddie is nothing.

When Steve finally wakes up, things get better. They’re able to see him right away, he seems confused and unable to speak properly, but an exchange of looks is enough for Eddie to understand that Steve remembers him, and that he’s glad they’re both alive.

Once again, the doctors explain to Robin that Steve will need to do speech therapy multiple times a week, and exercises at home once he will get discharged.

“I’ll do it!!” Eddie jumps in immediately.

“That is very nice of you” the doctor says, but he sounds unconvinced “but I’m sure Robin here would be a better fit. We need someone that Steve trusts deeply, this is a delicate situation.”

Eddie knows that the doctor his talking like this just because, in his eyes, Eddie is just a cousin and Robin is the girlfriend, the one Steve loves. Maybe it’s the tiredness, maybe it’s the weird competitive dynamic he has developed with Robin, but he feels useless. In the end, why would Steve need him when he has Robin? When Eddie was supposed to protect him and wasn’t able to.

“Oh no, I think Eddie would be a better fit” Robin replies, getting two pair of surprises eyes on her.

“What? It’s true! I have to work - you know, since Steve won’t be able to for a long time” she adds, to save the appearances “and he trusts Eddie, they’re extremely close.”

When they get out of the hospital that night, Eddie hugs her impossibly tight. They stop fighting after that.

The speech therapy is challenging, Steve gets frustrated easily and Eddie can’t blame him: the doctor is very strict with him, gives him the hardest exercises and, for someone who does it for a job, he has too little patience in his opinion.

“C’mon Steve, last one of the day” the doctor shows him one of his card “happiness. Give me a definition or a synonym.”

Sometimes it takes him a few seconds before he can answer, but this time Steve lights up and points immediately at Eddie, saying his name out loud.

The doctor sighs “no Steve, h-a-p-p-i-n-e-s-s. C’mon, I know you can do it!” He tries with a little encouragement.

Steve huffs, points again and says “Eddie!”

Eddie, after the initial surprise, has to look away to hide his watery eyes from the doctor.

He only turns back when he hears the doctor getting out of the room.

Steve is pouting and looking down at his feet. Eddie melts.

“You did great sweetheart, don’t worry” he dares to come close since they’re alone in the room.

Steve looks unconvinced, still pouting. Eddie can practically hear his self deprecating thoughts, he knows him well enough.

He notices the doctor left his cards on the table. He lifts up the ‘happiness’ one in front of Steve, giving him the time to read it.

Eddie points at him “Steve.”

Steve blinks a couple of times, stunned. Eddie waves the card, points at him once again “Steve,” he repeats, firm.

Now it’s time for Steve to have watery eyes.

[corvidcrybaby]

I must know more about Judah and Rabbi Loew! Please tell me who they're all about. What are their connections to Zemira?

EEEEE TYSM FOR THE ASK I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LATE ASS RESPONSE.......!!! I'm glad someone finds them interesting, they're easily the hardest part of Lesions of a Different Kind to write but I find them so deeply moving and fun to explore. I'm gonna copypaste some info from a fucking essay I wrote a friend regarding Judah.

JUDAH

Judah the Hammer is based directly off of the real historical figure of Judah Maccabee, the inspired guerrilla commander who was the mastermind behind much of the Jewish victories during the Maccabean Revolt. This was a real historical event in the 160's BC which saw a Judean revolt oust the Hellenic Seleucid Empire from its control over Judea, and an end to their Hellenization policies which threatened to erase the lion's share of Jewish traditions and identity at the time. The holiday of Hanukkah commemorates this story and the miracle of the oil.

In my Hellsing fic, Judah is the primary antagonist. Rather than dying in his suicide charge at Elasa, this version of Judah was turned into a vampire, and still walks the Earth. This event thoroughly shattered his worldview and his understanding of his role in it. As the antag, he forms an important foil with Alucard, because Alucard did much the same shit that Judah did - guerrilla warfare waged against a larger, more powerful empire, complete with being remembered as a total brute of a man - with the major difference being that Judah's war was victorious. He just didn't get to live to see it.

When I set out to design the prime antag for Lesions it was a tough call. I knew I wanted it to be an 'ancient world' vampire, and I wanted to keep up the trend of a historical figure being a vampire such as with Alucard and Erzsebet - which, yes, I like Hirano's other project Drifters quite a lot, don't @ me LOL. But then I also decided I wanted it to be personal to Zemira in some way, shape or form in such a way that would challenge her in a meaningful way and also be her worst nightmare incarnate. I was really hesitant to go there with this character for obvious reasons, but then I remembered that part of why I love Hellsing so much is that it isn't afraid to go there and tackle the uncomfortable topics in these big grandiose orgies of violence and philosophizing and grand tragedy. And I got to wondering about the dynamics between a medieval warlord like Vlad III and a warlord from antiquity like Judah Maccabee and how they would differ and relate to and from one another, and decided that that topic and the way people lionize historical figures and re-interpret them to fit the needs of their time. I've always found that topic intriguing as a historian because I first and foremost consider it folly, no matter what argument you're trying to make with them. But on the other hand, these were real people whose actions shaped the world we live in now, and I suppose I wanted to explore with the horrific matrix we call vampirism might do to a man like Judah, and how it would highlight and distort his character traits. I also, of course, wanted to make him a foil that Alucard could face down that would enhance his appreciation for Zemira's traits that are so distinctly hers (her rebellious attitude, her tenacious-to-the-point-of-stupidity tendencies, her disregard for power structures that don't respect her, et cetera) while also giving Zemira a "this you???" kind of antag that will make her question herself and grow into a stronger person.

Judah is an embodiment of Jewish rage. All the trauma, all the anger, all the suffering and all the cruel irony of two thousand years of antisemitism coalesced onto the shoulders of a single man. A man who, to his own community, is controversial and complicated. A cautionary tale to some, an inspiration to others. Sometimes for good reasons, other times for bad - but always drawing from the same core story of who Judah the Hammer was and what he did.

So from the time of his turning, Judah took it upon himself to wander the Earth as a foul-tempered arbiter of retribution for the horrors the Gentile world inflicts onto Jews. For every Jew murdered in a hate crime, he would take the life of a Gentile - with a particular hyperfixation on Europeans, as these were his sworn enemy in life, and that hatred extends particularly to Christianity, who he views as the torchbearers of Hellenic influence and outright calls them cultists; he's definitely disappeared plenty of villages throughout the rest of the world, mind you, definitely destroyed some mosques, but his main tunnelvision is upon Europe. I feel like if he were to put forward an insane Old Man Conspiracy Theory, it would be that Jesus was actually a Hellenized Jew or some shit like that and therefore a Greek and therefore the enemy. He is an ancient vampire and every bit the giga-powerful behemoth you'd expect from a being his age, but he chafes at the body he inhabits and has never fully accepted that he is what he is now (meaning he and Zemira both know what it's like to exist in a body that isn't home to them). He exists in the role of a spirit of temptation, but is in fact ace, and generally hates being touched. Oftentimes he wouldn't even kill for food, and in fact, still despises drinking blood and has never truly acclimated to it, only drinking from people he considered deplorable enough to take into himself and weaponize against their kindred, be it as a thrall or as something to simply sustain his existence. He prefers to carry and eat bones, as he dislikes waste and excess, and considers drinking blood to be a gross indulgence.

Is he grandiose, or pathetic? Tragic hero, or petty opportunist? DId he truly take up this mantle of being a spirit of vengeance out of a belief it was G-d's intention for him, or did he window-shop a hypothesis for an event (his turning) that he had no control over and traumatized him deeper than he could ever hope to recover from? Is he to blame for his callous reduction of peoples' lives to political 'gotchas', or is that a product of his time that anyone on a high horse about their morals would have fallen into as well? Does his vampirism make him a monster, or was he monstrous before an infectious Nosferatu's fangs got anywhere near him?

There aren't a lot of clear answers in the text about this because I mostly use him to pose difficult questions to the cast of Lesions, and how they react to him determines much of who and what they are. He's extremely difficult to write well and I've rewritten his scenes more often than any other characters, but I love him.

Yet even with all this grim characterization, Judah is a character that is just an endless blast to write for and daydream about. Whereas Alucard is all pomp and circumstance, elegance and dramatism, Judah is rugged, foul-mouthed just like Zemi, and with a crotchety old man mean streak a mile wide. When he moves about, his body acts like it's being controlled by a drunken puppeteer - very 'HOW DO I DRIVE THIS THING???' energy, because vampirism in Hellsing is often framed in Christian terms. Therefore, as a Jew, it's really hard for him to acclimate to it, and his fight scenes have major Drunk Monk energy. The text calls him "a boulder of a man" as opposed to Alucard's gracile and lanky build, and is shorter than him at six-foot-even (since people used to be smaller in the ancient world, generally).

He's an angry old man, he's a dude who's sad that his little brother died in front of him, he's your orthodox uncle with a bad attitude who tries to corner you at the family function to tell you how you're off the derech, he's Oscar the Grouch in vampire form, and his fight scenes are shockingly violent. Alucard kills people and makes a spectacle of it, but Judah's kills read like you found a video of a guy bludgeoning a fellow inmate to death with a lead pipe in a high-security prison that got released on Liveleak or something.

Also, my voiceclaim for him is Brok from God of War: Ragnarok.

He's a dick, but it's hard to look away whenever he's talking. And I love him for it. <3

RABBI LOEW

Shifting gears here, Rabbi Loew is, much like Judah, the very same Rabbi Loew as the real person who is fabled to have created the legendary Golem of Prague - in my Hellsing fic, he's done just that, and still resides in what looks to be a decrepit old mansion in Prague, but will reveal itself as a safe haven for Jews who are in a bad spot. He's essentially the Prophet Elijah figure of the story - he appears to people along with his golem in scenarios where they are deeply and truly lost and in need of guidance, giving them a comforting nudge in the direction they need. He's a repository for endless depths of knowledge, and opposed to the rest of the Hellsing cast who are so fond of carrying themselves with over-the-top aesthetic maximalism, Rabbi Loew is very simple, very soft-spoken, and although he can absolutely get angry and does so in the story, he hardly ever raises his voice. He's part of an important web of foils that includes Rabbi Loew & his golem (simply named Guard in the text) versus Integra and Alucard, as well as how he represents a defunct, dead-in-the-water version of the Integra/Alucard boss and servant bond due to his complicated and fraught relationship with Judah.

Rabbi Loew actually contributed some of magical binding seals used to tie Alucard to the Hellsing family, which furthers the golem parallel so core to the story. But the elephant in the room here is that Rabbi Loew does not have Judah bound in a similar manner. Judah comes and goes from the mansion in Prague at random. Usually, he swings by just to rest for a bit, and maybe pick a few obnoxious arguments with Rabbi Loew. There is a great deal of uncertainty in how they interact. On the one hand, Judah is four times Rabbi Loew's age, but the latter actually looks like an old man, where as Judah looks around his mid-to-late-fifties, and is found of calling him "Old Guy." Rabbi Loew is, well, a fucking Rabbi, and therefore commands a certain kind of deference and respect amongst most Jews, especially as a legendary figure - but Judah is a figure even more legendary in Jewish history, and comes from a time in which Rabbinic Judaism was not the standard (Second Temple Judaism, to be specific), thus meaning they are separated by time in more ways than one. I think secretly both persons look to the other for inspiration, but are always saddened and frustrated by what they find. Judah finds Rabbi Loew to be overly passive and toothless, despite their first meeting being Rabbi Loew coming upon the Hammer brutalizing and torturing a Cossack to death in a shockingly violent manner, and saying "Not that I'm opposed to cracking a few skulls when push comes to shove, but don't you think this is a bit much?" And despite Judah's dislike for the old Rabbi's attitude, he often finds himself yielding when Rabbi Loew checks him on his brutality. But when his Rabbi isn't around, Judah continues on his usual sporadic outbursts of vengeful violence on Gentile communities, believing that if he was cursed with vampirism, then he must become like one of the Plagues of Egypt itself. HaShem did terrible things in the name of justice then, and Judah sees himself as one of those further terrible necessities, instead of his own person.

Rabbi Loew hates this.

Rabbi Loew looks at Judah and thinks of how much good a person like him could do with the mind-blowing powers of vampirism at his disposal. The lives he could save, the atrocities he could prevent, the connections he could build and foster, if he so chose to do so. But Judah doesn't do that. Judah is resigned to being the Hammer of Israel, the Lion of Judea, the Beast of the Levant. He is so deep in a haze of dissociation that he sometimes believes everything around him is the nightmarish hallucination of a dying man (as though he's on an acid trip that never ended) that he doesn't at all consider that maybe he could make this extended lifespan of his mean something. He doesn't consider that wandering the Earth and murdering Gentiles to "keep the score even" isn't actually helpful. He thinks it's beyond his purview. And Rabbi Loew can't help but keep trying to Uncle Iroh this touchy motherfucker into a healthier headspace, but I think both men know that the old Rabbi doesn't have what it takes to truly get through to Judah. And so, detente. They share space and company and do care for one another, but it's a doomed friendship that can't go much deeper than that.

Because at the end of the day, just like any real Rabbi, Rabbi Loew is just a man. There are bells and whistles that call it into question (such as his unnatural long life, which I won't address here due to spoilers), but he's just an old fellow, doing his best to make the world a slightly less cruel place.

He gets the least engagement, but I love him too.

[dangermousie]

Farscape rewatch - Sons and Lovers, 3x02

“Sons and Lovers” is one of my favorites, in some ways. For Farscape it is a light, happy ep, much needed before the sorrow of the coming two parter, then the bleakness of Different Destinations and all the queasiness starting with Eat Me. Of course, by standards of most other shows, this would be a heavy, serious ep: Zhaan is still dying, D’Argo finds out his son and his gf cheated with each other etc. But it is not like that at all, and not just because of razor sharp writing (some of the best, sharpest dialogue of the season is in this ep.) Zhaan is dying but not gone, and there is hope she will find a proper planet and heal. No one is dead or driven insane. No one is even hunting Moyans this time, and you can’t even say they are merely at the wrong place at the wrong time because they end up saving the situation so it’s good for people at the station they ended up there. No one important dies, and the death toll is super low even for the extras. It is, in Moya terms, a good day. In a way, this whole episode is about three romantic relationships, all in a state of flux. There are John and Aeryn, just beginning, in their giddily hopeful-tentative dance (soon to get complicated with Eat Me enormously, of course). There are Zhaan and Stark, a relationship ending, through outside forces: through Zhaan’s impending death. And there are Chi/D’Argo, exploding in a messy, neuron bomb kind of way. It is also an episode drenched in sex. Not just, on a most obvious level, Chiana and Jothee, both acting out through their betrayal of D’Argo, but also the sex that John and Aeryn are not having, and the self-gratification Rygel indulges in (I never got it before, but when he is watching Chi/Jothee on the holovid, he is stroking his eyebrows which is his equivalent of you know what.)   You know, my favorite scene in this ep is actually…well, actually it’s two scenes. One is Zhaan and Stark in the bar, with Zhaan telling Stark to stop fussing because ‘I am dying, Stark, I am not an invalid’ (OMG Zhaan love - so very tough, always.) 

And also his seeing the lesions on her head and realizing that her disease progressed much faster than they thought and the helpless distraughtness and his insistence despite it all that they will find a place for her to heal (is he, like John, holding on so unimaginably tightly to his OTP because she is the one thing he has left?) 

And then that quote, when she tells him about helping her to pass on is the one thing he can do, and he is an expert (btw, seriously, I bet he was fucked up even before the Aurora Chair, that sounds like a gift no one would want to have). And his reply ‘I am an expert on dying, I am just not an expert on you dying.’ 

Well…soon you will become an expert on this, Stark. Ok, must think happy thoughts, happy thoughts. This is a happy ep, if I say it enough it will be true. But honestly, Stark breaks my heart in this ep and not just because Paul Goddard is gorgeous. (I am finding a man with no hair and half his head in a metal mask hot, Good Lord.) But neat points to the writers for little touches of character consistency, as when Stark tips those servitors some enormous tip and is all communist about ‘servants are never paid enough.’ I think his dislike of exploitation is pretty personal: guy is a former slave after all. The other favorite scene is in the conduits, John and Aeryn discussing the sex they are not having. This is the first time we see them after the mutual love confession and the crazy, incredible kiss. And their chemistry is as thick as ever, but what I am noticing is the sheer amount of physical contact, of joyfully matter-of-fact invasion of each other’s personal space that is in this ep, from their hands nearly touching when she shows off her new ammunition, to her sitting by him, as she comes in (and of course, when there is the storm, Aeryn is the one John yells for, first, to make sure she is OK, just like Stark is doing same with Zhaan). And then in the conduits, I love the scene where Aeryn basically offers pure sex, no emotional attachment necessary. She says they can have sex and to be emotionally detached. I have to say, I so do not follow the lady’s logic here. Point one, she and John love each other, and have admitted said fact to each other. Point two, now they are going to have sex, if she has her way. But how are you not having a relationship if you are in love and you are friends and you are having sex? Whaaaat?

I don’t think she connected the dots and desperately trying to compartmentalize. I suppose she can be hoping that their love is only lust which will pass if they do it, but they have done it already and she doesn’t seem to want to deny she loves him, she just doesn’t want to act on it, but isn’t sleeping with the man you love and who loves you back, acting on it? How is it supposed to work? She is all ‘I don’t need emotions’ but she already has them, she shares Crichton’s feelings. Oh, poor Aeryn, feeling her way in the dark. Plus, there is the simple fact that she always found John attractive, on a purely physical level, way before any love stuff. Heh, girl is frustrated. I do think John should have taken her up on the offer (as Chi said in LATP in S2, he should go ‘fast with the body and slow with the soul’ with Aeryn, and Chi should know stuff like that). But instead, he doesn’t and his line of ‘I got two hands, I can alternate’ when rejecting is one of my ep faves (of course he’s the one who wants feelings and she’s the one who wants only sex. I love the constant stereotype reversal.)  Not to mention how close they are to each other there, and all the touching is driving them both nuts, and making me a little hot too. It’s a combustible scene. And then she starts taking off her shirt before falling into a hole. Awww. I do love that he totally wants to take her up on that offer at the end of the ep but before he can say so, she tells him he was right and they should hold off. Good Luck, guys. And they are mutually grinning at each other, and they tell Rygel to shut up in unison, while grinning, and OMG, I love my ship so much. On non-shippy front, it is fun to see Crichton legend being born/formed (as that security chick recites it, greatly distorted). And fun to see the boy get a bit smashed in the bar. He needs it. I also love his ‘no patience with this crap’ for the fanatical religious security chick villain. If you think about it, he has a right to be fed up. Not only were they down there for r&r, but she is total small fry, comparatively, so it’s annoying having to deal with this.

  Let’s see, what else? I love Pilot’s evil cackle as he spaces villain girl. It’s so interesting though, because in the beginning, death of evil an awful person bugged John, but no more. His compassion is shrinking, isn’t it? But did I mention my love for competent, sane, not tormented Crichton? So much love. And then there is the betrayal of D’Argo plot. I feel horrid for D’Argo (love the John and D’Argo bonding scene outside, so much though. In a way, they have such a best buddy thing). I have to say though, while Chi might be a sucky gf, she is generally a loyal friend, a brave person, and a useful crewmate. None of which I can say for Jothee (look at their different reactions when Moya is in a crisis, he is useless. Or when D finds out about cheating, Chi tells D it’s her fault, not Jothee’s, as Jothee just stands there like a tree). But of course, he leaves, shamed by his actions, to grow and be worthy, and he actually becomes that, see his return in PKW. I love that possibility of grace. Even for Crais, and obviously so much more reachable for Jothee. Oh, and Rygel. I love the obnoxious, hilarious little toad.

Next ep: Zhaan, oh no! And Jool, oh yes! (A lot of people don’t like Jool but even before I liked her by her own rights, I thought she was a great comic relief from the darkness. You enjoyed her getting in trouble. Plus, if I was stranded on a ship of alien criminals in space, I am afraid I’d be more Jool, less John).  

[whatudottu]

Hmmmm if Annie fell and how would the Andromeda 5 react :))

Like what, she tripped? Fell out of bed? Jumped off a cliff?

Annie while being an adopted daughter to 5 aliens that don't know humanity inherently, she's a 16 year old who's first introduction to the 5 was through P'andor which I will state (if you're a long time follower, this is a reminder, if you're new, this is some context) she was immediately trying to mug him with a knife. He also probably looked like his human ID at the time which is... well, the picture of a large Slavic man who takes no shit.

But I'll indulge, I'll indulge, but prepare to be underwhelmed.

So if Annie fell (in the tripped context, maybe she fumbles a dance or just falls ass over teakettle on something), P'andor already has the impression she can take tougher shit than the ground. Might bark a short laugh especially if she gets right up and brushes the dirt off herself, depending on the dramatics of the fall he might jokingly award points for style, but not unless she got genuinely hurt P'andor does the quick 'You good' and move on when Annie starts walking as usual. Bivalvan would disapprove of P'andor's dismissiveness but less out of instinctual parental response and more from the fact he's grown up as a species with an exoskeleton, and Annie being human she has an endoskeleton which the soft fleshy bits on the outside. He takes a glance at whatever skin deep lesions Annie gets and puts in a bit too much stock than necessary into them, but his big main problem with that would be that Annie damaged the parts of her that would have been well protected under armour that humans don't have, and trying to associate the damage to scrapes in shell is building up his ability to cope that Annie would know what hurts or not.

You might expect that Galapagus would immediately baby Annie, but I don't think that would be the case. Aside from having the same instinct as Bivalvan (squishy shell-less human got skin damage), as a species with an unconventional method of flying, that being literal air propulsion, well there's a little bit of his cultural mentality that views children as baby birds or what have you. You could piff a geochelone aerio child (not in the least because they can be held in one human hand like Earth turtles and tortoises) and while still being an asshole, not an irredeemable bastard, the shell doing a lot of lip service (it's built in naturally to compensate for a fall, especially with all the weight of the shell itself contributing to the intensity of said fall) thanks to the inherent learning curve of 'oh yeah you're going to have to fly' children are gonna fall over anyway and heck, an adult too who would be much heavier is going to inevitably drop out of the sky like a rock. Not to say Galapagus wouldn't at least still hover over Annie for a hot sec or too, but if anything given that geochelone aerios have at least some areas of endoskeleton, so long as Annie isn't actively bleeding or straight up broken a bone he's not going to get too worked up about it.

The person that will really get worked up about it would be, of course, Ra'ad. Having absolutely no bones to actually break (his gladius doesn't count and his beak is hard to break at all) you might think he's the most prepared in dealing with skin lesions, but this is the man that grew up in an ocean and lived on land floating around like no one's business, people just don't get hurt by gravity! Not to mention, injuries in the sea are bound to attract predators, or injuries in stagnant water are bound to attract infection, or injuries are (in his culture) the first sign that you will be the next to die and dying isn't a thing his people are concerned with WHY AREN'T THEY CONCERNED WITH DEATH! It's only really his mind reading that tells him to stop right before he panics over Annie ensuing she dies... from embarrassment. If she fell and she's fine if slightly humiliated, Ra'ad will suppress his anxieties and kind of explicitly change the subject to hopefully make it clear he isn't thinking about her falling anymore (if it works it works, if it doesn't well...). And if she's legitmately hurt, Ra'ad would be actually the first to clock it since Annie like to be tough and infallible even if only for herself instead of being someone's stone, so if mentally she's wincing and grumbling etc Ra'ad will be the one to ask 'Are you actually okay?' and attempt (keyword: attempt) to be as low key about it as Annie is.

And finally I think out of all the Andromeda 5 I think Andreas is the only one who has experience with children, both in raising them and with the [alien] to human comparison to what a child is. I've mentioned my piece a whole bunch about making talpaedans ant inspired, and part of that is because Andreas would be the 'male' of an ant colony or the tradie of a talpaedan, which would mean Andreas grew up learning to parent the children of the colony's Queen and other architect/tradie pairings, expecting to in adult do the same in the colony Andreas had been married to if Aggregor didn't cause a divorce instead. So unlike Bivalvan who would claim with 100% certainty he was a father but only because he's a broadcast spawning species, Ra'ad who would claim complete opposite else he'd be actually dead to a herd of zooplankton young, Galapagus who would really be in human translation in his early 20s only remembering being a child, and P'andor that doesn't even know what sex is because prypiatosian-bs literally don't have sexual reproduction, Andreas would have nearly a life's worth of knowledge of childhood development (which is still only the equivalent of being 25ish years old, it's just Andreas being essentially a male ant) and have the most experience with a child falling over.

Which - because Andreas has experience - Annie falling over is not a big deal and if in arms reach, Andreas would lift her back up and brush her shoulders a little bit before letting her run off again and move on from the whole thing. The worst thing any parent can do is coddle their teen like a toddler and damn, Annie falling over is not as bad as what happens to talpaedan youth, it's a breath of fresh air.

This is hardly a 'P'andor exposes Annie to radiation' moment, but I did use this as an excuse to shoot forward some brief biology and culture headcanons about the Andromeda 5.

[kiruuuuu]

Thatcher/Lesion in which they go on vacation together and manage to confront a few things. Mostly each other. (Rating E, fluff, kinda explicit, emotional hurt/comfort, ~7.3k words) - dedicated to both @glazkov-smile​ and @magehir​ because the former put this ship into my head and the latter encouraged me 💕 I didn’t mean for it to become this long but here we are and oh look I’m stuck what a surprise

.

It’s telling that Thatcher doesn’t even remember what it’s like back home, finds no memories with which to compare his current situation for there is no space for anything other than the deep and profound calm filling him completely. He watches the tea leaves unfurl gently, soaking up the hot water while simultaneously dyeing it, breathes in the cool, clear morning air and listens. A soft breeze rustles leaves, birds sing – no cars audible or even anywhere in sight, only the pleasant rise and fall of the mountains and valleys surrounding him. Though his mind knows it not to be true, he’s always been here in his heart, far from people and stress and obligations, free from his duties, allowed to just be himself. He’s content.

Something shifts behind him, fabric drags over fabric and a blissful sigh lets him know that his companion is far from ready to begin this new day. Thatcher is almost tempted to let him sleep a bit longer, glance at the peaceful face now and then while he enjoys his tea and just wait until brown eyes blink at him sleepily. But they’re not on vacation to laze around, so instead he reaches out into the tiny tent behind him and scratches where he suspects Lesion’s feet to be inside his sleeping bag. An indignant yelp followed by flailing violent enough to threaten the tent’s stability lets him know he indeed hit exactly the right spot and so he leaves it at that, worried about the cup in his other hand, and goes back to admiring the beautiful scenery before him.

When Lesion emerges, he’s squinting at the brightness of the early summer sun and gratefully accepts the mug Thatcher hands him with a mumbled something. It takes several sips for him to perk up enough so Thatcher can consider initiating a conversation.

“Slept better this night?”, he wants to know curiously though the drawn-out yawn is almost answer enough.

“Not really. At least I’ve gotten used to it being this stupidly quiet”, Lesion replies with a self-deprecating smile. To Thatcher, sleeping while being surrounded by noise was something he had to train himself to do whereas Lesion is largely unfamiliar with total silence. “At this point I can only guess why I can’t sleep.”

“What’s your best guess then? Anything I can do to help?”

For some reason, this earns him a side glance and no more than a dismissive shrug. Maybe it’s nightmares and he’d rather not talk about them when it’s obvious how much Thatcher is enjoying this escape from everyday life. There are pillow creases on Lesion’s cheek and more down his arm, indents telling of his regularly interrupted and yet deep sleep. Together with his wild hair, the peculiarly patterned t-shirt and naked legs, he looks young and almost adorable, though Thatcher would rather saw off his own foot than admit this out loud.

“What’s for breakfast? I swear if it’s anything with fish again, I’m going to chuck it into the nearest gorge.”

This finally drags Lesion out of his morning funk and prompts a soft laugh in between gulps of green tea. “You’ve definitely come to the wrong place then, Norway is quite well-known for its excellent fish and not-so known for its deep gorges.”

“I came here to hike, camp and do both without too much human contact, not to turn into a seagull.”

“What does that make me then?”

“You don’t count as human contact”, Thatcher waves his question aside, well aware of how disparaging his comment could sound but confident Lesion will take it the right way. “You’ve seen me at various high and low points in my life and you’ve still stuck around.”

“I have, haven’t I”, Lesion murmurs more to himself than in response, smiling into his tea.

“Clearly because of my sunny personality.” When his friend chokes on the liquid, Thatcher doesn’t know whether to be offended or pleased.

.

They’ve been travelling for a week by now and are scheduled to return in a few days; a date towards which Thatcher looks with trepidation. He hasn’t felt this peaceful in years, not even during other vacations, and long accepted the low, insistent buzzing at the back of his skull as an inevitable side effect of his work – switching off is something at which he’s never been good and it’s always affected his relationships, even friendships. Maybe he’s getting old or careless, who knows, yet this time around he’s finally thoroughly enjoying himself. It took him three days to realise and funnily enough he’d literally stopped to smell some flowers at Lesion’s indication when it hit him: the need to justify this waste of time to himself was gone. His heartbeat didn’t spike when he thought about some of the things he’d have to do once they return. He didn’t urge them to move on if they lingered.

Lesion’s laid-back attitude seems to be contagious and though it spared Thatcher’s rigid sleep schedule, it allowed him to properly marvel at Norway’s breathtaking natural beauty and not despair over the lack of any reliable transportation, instead trusting Lesion that hitchhiking will get them to their small handful of destinations in their own time. They’ve picked up some Norwegian on the way, communicated with grand gestures when no common language was found and joked around with whoever was friendly enough to give them a ride. Thatcher even begrudgingly admits that his international phone plan comes in handy whenever his old and tattered map proves unreliable – he bought it for a planned holiday twenty years ago but it ended up never happening due to his partner at the time coming down with an acute case of lying, cheating and stealing.

Nostalgia is a powerful yet dangerous thing and so Thatcher mostly focuses on the present. Everything else would’ve been unfair to Lesion anyway.

Contrary to Thatcher’s underlying worries, the day plays out perfectly and couldn’t go any better than it does. They pack up after breakfast, careful not to leave anything behind, and hike for an hour to reconnect with the nearest street where they almost immediately get picked up and taken to a town close to the next sight they’re planning to explore. They stock up on supplies, causing a slight commotion in the store when Lesion repeatedly tries to smuggle herring salad into their basket with Thatcher objecting more and more emphatically. They really must look like tourists, Lesion especially with his cargo shorts and frankly embarrassing sun hat – and Thatcher thanks whichever deity is responsible for common sense for stopping his companion from bringing a selfie-stick.

The hike up the mountain isn’t as bad as some others they’ve mastered previously and doesn’t even begin to compare to some of their training exercises, so Thatcher takes a gleeful pride in passing by resting younger couples or families while hardly out of breath and matching Lesion’s unmerciful tempo effortlessly. The only time they stop is to pick some wild blueberries and argue about what to eat for dinner.

“Okay”, says Lesion once they’ve arrived at the entrance of the first cave, “why are we here again?”

Thatcher wants to both laugh and sigh simultaneously and ends up scoffing instead. “You really don’t remember? I told you this morning.”

“See, there’s your mistake – it was morning.”

“How do you normally go on vacations? Do you just wander around until a random flight accidentally lets you on and you’ve just always been lucky to bring the right clothes so far?”

A wide grin is his reply. “Tell me, Mike. What are we here to see?”

It probably should vex him that Lesion doesn’t seem to share his enthusiasm for scenic spots but as he always finds something meaningful to say about them and never complains, Thatcher has to admit he doesn’t mind doing most of the planning. And so he talks about the Trollkirka or troll church which isn’t a church at all but rather a marble cavern with a waterfall, and how they’re about to explore the three limestone grottos around it.

“Sounds better than your idea for improvised fishing the other day. Do we need flashlights?”

Thatcher pauses, recalls the descriptions he’s read for the caves and grimaces. “Are you telling me you haven’t developed the ability to see in the dark over the years?”

“I’ve got a phone. Let’s go.”

.

The lack of daylight turns out to be not the only obstacle they’re facing: there’s a shallow underground stream happily gurgling past their feet and covering the entire width of the floor. It adds a lot to the atmosphere, that much is true – for the short moment during which Lesion experimentally switches off his phone’s light, it really is utterly dark, yet the calming echo of the water turns what might’ve been menacing otherwise into something soothing instead.

Even so. Lesion’s casual shoes aren’t waterproof.

They’re both hunched over right now as the ceiling isn’t high enough to accommodate them and while Thatcher pays next to no attention to where he treads, Lesion carefully steps from stone to stone, choosing more elevated parts in order to save his socks from getting soaked. He looks almost like a very ungraceful and vaguely irritated bird and Thatcher only barely manages not to comment on his stilted walking.

“From what I’ve seen it’s worth the hassle at least”, he tries to cheer his companion up and earns a pained grin visible in the unsteady, cold light of his phone.

“I believe you, trust me, I’m not complaining – look, I like getting wet, just not like this.”

Thatcher snorts and is about to respond when Lesion hits his head on a particularly low part of the ceiling with a yelp, causing him to drop his device right into the clear water. Once again, the light source dies and leaves them in pitch black, only this time it’s accompanied by a lot of cursing from Lesion as well as the sound of frantic splashing while he searches for his phone by his feet.

“Fuck, okay, here it is, shit. Can you use yours so I can take a look at it?”

Even now, Lesion doesn’t sound annoyed, merely exasperated, and Thatcher decides to buy him a few drinks once they’re back in civilisation. A quick pat down his own trousers assures him that yes, while he does have his own smartphone in his front pocket, he’s going to have a hard time getting it out with the way he’s bending over, stretching the fabric and restricting access to his pockets. “I can try but it’s hard to get, I don’t want to do the same thing you just did.”

For a second, all Thatcher hears is the rippling water, his own fingernails scratching over his jeans in their attempt to dive into his pocket and blood rushing in his ears. He can sense Lesion even if he can’t see him.

Eventually, there’s a quiet: “Let me try.”

There are footsteps now and they sound like their owner couldn’t care less about whether or not his socks end up drenched. Thatcher stretches out an arm for guidance, lets his hand meet Lesion’s and wander up his extended limb before resting it on his side once he’s close enough. They stand there, holding on to each other in the dark, and for some reason Thatcher’s lips are burning, itchy all of a sudden, he’s painfully aware of warm fabric under his palm and that’s when fingertips brush over his thigh.

He holds his breath. It’s suddenly imperative that he does even if he’s uncertain why, and then deft hands run over the edges of his phone, ticklish and tingling and he tries so hard to see anything, maybe make out Lesion’s expression by sheer force of will but all he gets in return is fingernails digging into skin and the feel of regular in- and exhales against his hand which refuses to move anywhere else.

Neither of them speak. The air is lovely and cool compared to the increasing summer heat outside but right now it’s both the same to Thatcher. Lesion makes a small noise of effort and moves, prompting Thatcher to finally drop his arm and twist a bit to make it easier for him. When he feels the device being slid out, he slowly breathes out and hopes the sound of the stream drowns it out.

It’s like flicking a switch. As soon as Thatcher turns the torch on, both of them snap back to what feels like reality even if he’s not sure what to call the previous darkness in comparison. The phone is just as soaked as Lesion’s socks and so they jokingly lament the loss of a good friend before moving on.

When they reach the waterfall, illuminated by bright rays falling in through the open ceiling and caught by a basin of light marble, Thatcher has shaken off any residues of the event, his mind is clear again and gone is the pounding in his chest. And even now, Lesion – shoes squelching and phone longing for a bag of rice – isn’t complaining.

The marvellous sight before him is oddly moving and so Thatcher hears himself say: “I’m glad we came here.” But he doesn’t only mean the waterfall, doesn’t only mean the cave.

“Me too”, Lesion replies and it sounds as if he’s referring to the same thing Thatcher is.

.

They play Xiangqi and drink brennevin.

Lesion almost immediately dives head first into tipsy territory as he hates the taste of it so much he downs half his glass in one go and then giggles at length over how international their set-up is: he’s in Norway with a Brit, playing Chinese chess and drinking Icelandic aquavit which he finds hilarious for no reason. Thatcher watches him fondly and utterly destroys him at the game several times in a row, not even hiding the fact he enjoys his wins seeing as Lesion usually outplays him effortlessly. They’re using a small magnetic set Lesion gifted him after their first meeting, intent on playing against him one day. Thatcher learned the rules and practised with whoever proved good enough, then they started playing via messages, informing each other of their day so far as well as the move they chose to make – a fact which somehow amused Mute to no end when he heard of it.

Setting up camp has gotten easier and easier as the week progressed, now they’re a well-oiled machine, the brennevin at the end the only deviation from their usual routine tonight. Stretched out on their sleeping bags in front of the tent, they make up more and more ridiculous toasts in between moving their pieces on the board and watching as the sun slowly sets, painting the clouds in beautiful pink and purple. Alcohol loosens their tongues and makes them forget they’re so high up that they could have a snowball fight within walking distance of their small tent.

“You keep saying drinking makes me sentimental and I keep denying it, but you know what? I think you’re right”, Lesion declares out of the blue and rolls around a bit to stretch and yawn. The hem of his shirt rides up, briefly flashes unnatural colours and dark ink on his lower back.

Thatcher’s gaze lingers until he realises he can’t set up the board without looking, and so he diverts his attention again. “Why, what are you thinking of?”

“Just that I’m glad to be here. I like it.” A warm smile is directed at him which does more than all the aquavit he’s had so far. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“Thanks for coming along.” Both of them remember how easy it had been: Thatcher mentioning Norway, Lesion showing interest, Thatcher suggesting they go together, Lesion accepting. Less than a minute, really, and he almost expected nothing to come out of it with which he’d been fine as he thought the knowledge that Lesion would accompany him is enough. Now he knows he would’ve been wrong, all of this is so much better.

“You usually go on vacations alone, don’t you?”, Lesion wants to know, curious, and makes no move to start yet another game, so Thatcher doesn’t remind him for now.

“I do, yes. I’ve travelled with a few people in the past but it often didn’t go well.”

“How come?”

He shrugs, unconcerned, but his friend is interested now, has propped his head up and is watching him intently. The twilight blurs a few details, softens his image and sharpens it only when Thatcher doesn’t return his gaze directly. So he doesn’t. “Didn’t work out. Many reasons, really. Conflict of interests more often than not. Lost sight of a lot of them afterwards, to be honest.” At this point, he’s confusing their current topic with something entirely unrelated – Lesion did ask about his travels, not about his ex-partners, right? How can he even mix these up?

“You’re not talking to any of them anymore?”

Huh, maybe they are talking of his past relationships after all because that’s what it sounds like. His mouth has developed a mind of its own, readily answering where his brain goes wait a second. “Not really, no. With most of them, it’s over after a year. I’m terrible at keeping in touch with people.”

Lesion looks at him. His expression is unreadable but Thatcher feels like he’s missing something important, misinterpreting something, skidding on ice where he thought he’d be fine but how can he avoid obstacles when he keep failing to identify them?

“I keep wondering what they’re up to these days, some of them were lovely. Maybe I could’ve ended up with one of them if I’d put a little more effort in.” He’s babbling and paying very little attention to his own words which seems to uphold a balance – because it turns out Lesion is indeed taking note very attentively.

“Probably not”, he states calmly. “Not with your horrible commitment issues.”

At first, Thatcher thinks he misheard. And when it finally sinks in that no, not his slightly foggy brain came up with that remark but rather the person before him, the man who so casually opens another match of Xiangqi as if he didn’t just say … well, that – when he realises, Thatcher is furious. “What?”, he barks, incredulous and reeling.

Lesion pretends nothing is wrong and simply produces a small, questioning hm? while even going so far as to meet his eyes in pretend innocence.

“I don’t fucking have – are you serious?” Lesion nods silently as if Thatcher had just asked him whether he was hungry. “That’s bloody ridiculous and you know it is. I’ve been in the regiment for almost my entire life, Tze Long, don’t you think that counts for something? What, you think I didn’t have a choice? I chose to make it my life and if that isn’t commitment then I don’t know what is. Maybe I just have different priorities than most people, but the fact that I can fucking exist without needing another person to tie my shoes does not imply -”

The longer he rants, the more stoic Lesion’s expression becomes. With every sentence he spits at him, dismantles the offensive and unkind comment, Lesion distances himself, avoids eye contact, looks around, takes a sip of clear liquor, inspects the long-forgotten chess board between them. His behaviour only fuels Thatcher’s indignation and though he can’t shake the feeling of somehow being out of line, overreacting maybe, he’s genuinely hurt.

Even so, his heart races and his adrenalin is spiking – his fight or flight response is kicking in and he has to wade through the mud of subconscious urging to just get up and run to arrive at every next sentence he spews out. Eventually, he realises he’s been going off for entirely too long and snaps his mouth shut. He abruptly understands that he’s afraid, but of what?

Lesion stops fiddling with the zip on his sleeping bag and looks up. Strangely, there’s disappointment lining his features along with steely resolve. “Are you done?” When Thatcher confirms with a nod, he adds, softer: “Kiss me.”

Thatcher’s head is swimming. He feels unnaturally warm. “No”, he replies.

“Coward.” It’s said in the same gentle, unfitting tone. Almost as if he expected it. Neither of them are moving.

“I don’t want to kiss you”, Thatcher explains very rationally, as he thinks, “I don’t – why would I want to kiss you?”

“A coward and a liar.”

He carefully avoids thinking about it too much. They’re both drunk so it’s not even worth any deliberations, not worth his time, maybe it’s a joke or Lesion really is feeling unnaturally sentimental – whatever it is, he’d best stop their weird conversation right here. Lesion’s presence is suffocating so switching topics is not a viable option, however, and thus Thatcher physically distances himself from him, grabs the bottle, gets up, turns away. “I’m going for a walk”, he grits out and doesn’t look back as he leaves, swaying a little.

Hopefully the odd mood will have dissipated once they’ve slept over it but spending the night next to his friend somehow feels impossible right then.

.

Walking around on hard snow, hearing and feeling it crunch under his hiking boots while knowing it’s summer and he’ll have to face over 30°C again the next day is vaguely surreal. The snow field a few hundred metres away from their tent glows in a dark blue, the crystals reflecting the dying light of the sun and creating a strangely bright canvas. In most places, it has melted and re-frozen into a solid mass but there are some where it’s still malleable and allows for Thatcher to sink in one or two centimetres. He considers pissing his name into it but discards the idea as too juvenile, though the thought of leaving behind something possibly for other hikers to find is tempting.

Besides, he’s desperate for anything which will take his mind off… everything, really.

It’s starting to get hard to see, he should return soon instead of stumbling about and taking swigs directly out of the bright green bottle, the colour vibrant even now against the white backdrop. Caraway lingers on his tongue, a taste he doesn’t even enjoy that much yet Lesion convinced him to purchase and try the Scandinavian distillate regardless. Maybe he could just write something, his footsteps are crassly visible and disturb the landscape anyway, but what? His own name would seem self-centric but he squats down still, intent on leaving a mark somehow.

The snow is biting against the skin of his fingertips, the cold radiating and surrounding his body uncomfortable but he continues scratching letters into the half-frozen surface, at some point putting the brennevin away so he can use both hands. It’s almost therapeutic, switches off his brain and reduces him to nothing but his simple task. Once he’s finished, he steps away to inspect it in full view.

Who dares wins, the snow tells him.

He’s shivering.

When was the last time he took a leap of faith? When did he last dare, really dare? Instead of risking nothing because he already knew the stakes, had done something similar a handful of times before, pretended it was a hard decision but his mind had been made up all along?

His fingers are still numb when he zips open the tent to crawl inside. Over here, it’s much warmer, even warmer encased in yellow canvas. Lesion has dragged both their sleeping bags inside already, wrapped himself in his and has his back turned to him, pretending to sleep or possibly asleep already, maybe just dozing or woken up by Thatcher’s return. It doesn’t matter.

Though his eyes have adapted to the increasing darkness, here he can’t make out more than rough shapes and fumbles a bit until he finds what he’s looking for. When he unzips the sleeping bag, Lesion stirs, rolls over in response to an insistent hand pulling him towards Thatcher and sighs groggily – he really might’ve been sleeping already, has Thatcher been gone that long?

He startles awake when icy cold fingers seek out his jaw and struggles against the gentle hold for a moment, about to protest or maybe ask something or merely make a noise of objection, but this too doesn’t matter. Because Thatcher seals his lips with his own.

It’s awkward, their noses bump together and one of Thatcher’s arms isn’t happy with his position, he has to crane his neck and keep body tension so he doesn’t fall on top of the other man yet when he feels Lesion melt against him, it’s all forgotten, easily trumped by soft lips moving and a hand clawing at him for purchase, a leg sliding over his own and he’s so warm, Lesion is stupidly warm and how was he able to overlook this fact the entire time.

One of them gasps for air, one of them groans and suddenly they’re intertwined, making out with no stopping in sight and grabbing at everything in reach. Lesion tastes of caraway, too, his tongue scalding hot in Thatcher’s mouth, courting his own, and for the first time Thatcher admits to himself what it does to him, what Lesion does to him, has done a few times in the past, when colourful swirls and a tiger filled his vision, when fingers worked away at his thigh, and now even more so with their mouths pressed together. It’s insistent, hurried and hopeful somehow, Thatcher feels it as well, contributes to the urgency.

He slips one of his hands under Lesion’s shirt, causing him to mewl and shy away from the coldness, in his attempt to escape scooting impossibly closer to Thatcher, and he decides he likes this, enjoys making him squirm. He strokes his fingers over Lesion’s back, half expecting to be able to feel his tattoo somehow and earning another surprised yelp and angry wiggling, a tight grip around his forearm convincing him to relent and not leech more warmth than he’s offered.

The tent barely offers enough room for them to lie next to each other without touching but more than enough for Thatcher to lie down on top of Lesion, cover him with his body while licking into his mouth and drinking in his quiet panting. Arms wrap around him readily, holding him tight and preventing escape should he be foolish enough to consider it. He isn’t, however. Not this time.

They’re pushing against each other now, aimless and uncoordinated, him bearing down on Lesion and he moving against Thatcher, enough to create a spark between them which catches on and kindles fire; a fire fuelled by feeling Lesion’s naked legs rubbing over his, the small noises he’s making without being aware, the way he follows Thatcher’s lead and tilts his head to deepen their kissing, equally loath to interrupt it as the Brit is.

The silence between them should be unnerving yet Thatcher doesn’t care, communicates without words and pulls on Lesion’s underwear to convey what he wants. To take them off, Lesion breaks the kiss and Thatcher immediately moves his lips to another spot as if he’d lose years of his life for every second they’re not connected to any part of Lesion. He sucks his way down his neck and earns gasps in return which he decides he likes a lot also. Even so, the way Lesion jumps when Thatcher’s hand brushes over his naked hip makes it clear he’s not going to do much touching any time soon.

Mutely, Lesion makes him understand to flip them over and perches on top of him once he has reversed their positions. He’s in a much better spot to take care of them now, yet instead of opening Thatcher’s trousers, he spits into hand and reaches behind him and suddenly Thatcher can feel his own heartbeat in his teeth. Very nearly he lets out a curse but miraculously catches himself in the last second, listening intently to Lesion’s heavy breaths, every hitch, soft exhale, sharp inhale. Fierce need is pulsing through him, clouding his mind and occupying his thoughts. Distractedly, he unbuttons his jeans, careful not to touch any part of Lesion in the process, and frees stiff flesh looking for contact.

When Lesion leans down as if to avoid eye contact – which is impossible to establish in the blackness of the night anyway –, Thatcher claims his mouth once again, swallows all the quiet noises and allows his palms to run over Lesion’s torso, above the fabric to avoid more wincing. Even now when it’s clear what they’re about to do, they don’t slow down, don’t stop to indulge themselves or each other. Lesion deems himself ready much too soon and only briefly wraps slick fingers around Thatcher before moving his hips up, hovering for no more than a second before sinking down. His groan is tinted with pain but he doesn’t let that stop him and so Thatcher doesn’t interfere; partly also because he’s suddenly encased in tight heat which feels so incredibly good that he’s got trouble not thrusting deeper straightaway.

His hands are restlessly roaming, eager to explore all now that they’re allowed to and end up on Lesion’s thighs, massaging the burning skin and guiding his first tentative movements which quickly turn more fluid and come faster. It’s almost desperate but Thatcher refrains from slowing him down, too caught up in the moment to try and make it last. He wants this so badly he soon starts thrusting up, meeting Lesion’s hips with his own and wrenching sounds from his throat in the process. It turns out he’s surprisingly loud which is a whole other turn-on because it’s not for Thatcher’s benefit, not even for his own – it sounds involuntary and broken and cut-off, almost distressed, and Thatcher can’t get enough.

Even though Lesion is on top, Thatcher seizes all control and takes over, decides how to move and endeavours to coax more moans out of him by overwhelming him with stimulation: he nibbles at the nape of his neck, licks over his ear’s outer shell and sucks on his jaw. He feels out his back muscles and ribs and nipples and hipbones and caresses them all, catching him in an embrace repeatedly and making them move in unison. Every whine and whimper he harvests, uttered directly into his ear, makes it harder to breathe.

When he deems his hands warm enough, he reaches between their bodies, between Lesion’s legs, and grabs the hard, hot member to skilfully massage more moans out of Lesion: despairing, pitiful noises only rising in volume when he experiments a bit and increases the speed, adapting to Lesion’s more and more frantic motions as if he was scared of Thatcher stopping any second. He doesn’t, though, doesn’t let up, merely tightens his hold, increases the intensity and brings both of them closer and closer to the edge.

They come simultaneously by pure coincidence, Thatcher arching up and burying his face against Lesion’s shoulder while he pants in disbelief over how fucking good it feels, Lesion trembling above him and wrapping his own hand around Thatcher’s to show him how he likes it. They shudder while they gently ride it out, fingers digging into skin, teeth clenched, lower half throbbing in vicious relief, and only stop moving once the tension holding their bodies taut has subsided. Lesion pulls him out but doesn’t climb down which is fine with Thatcher, prompting him to disregard all concerns for cleanliness and embrace him, turn them on their sides and leave them pressed together.

Their breathing normalises over time and Lesion crawls into his open sleeping bag, dragging Thatcher with him, and yawns once they’ve interlaced their limbs. The alcohol probably plays a part in it but Thatcher is also thoroughly exhausted, muscles sore from all the walking and now this as well, adrenaline worn off, panic not yet setting in. The proximity of the smaller body encased in his arms shouldn’t be this soothing, and yet it is.

They fall asleep in each other’s arms, never having said a word after Thatcher came back. They just hold on like they’re each other’s lifeline.

.

It’s going to be a gloomy day. Thatcher can tell even before he opens his eyes.

Where he’s been waking up to bright sunshine for an entire week, blinding even through the tent’s fabric and his closed eyelids, now it’s subdued and inhibited, hardly strong enough to help him shake off the remnants of deep yet unrestful sleep. This is the second issue: he’s had too much to drink the night before and long passed the days when he could booze much and suffer little. His head is pounding… and so is his heart. Because there’s something else too. A mistake, his brain provides a little too eagerly and convinces him once more that he’s being chased, hunted, threatened, tortured – that he needs to flee or strike back or lash out preemptively.

Refusing to give in to these urges is remarkably difficult. Much more difficult than giving in to his urges the way he did the previous night, oddly enough, and isn’t that an interesting topic to bring up with his therapist.

He’s alone, which is a small comfort but a comfort nonetheless, he’d have recoiled violently had he woken up next to a warm body. His hungover, sleep-drunk mind is not a kind place. As he’s still clothed, he simply closes his trousers and ventures out into the world of eating or being eaten. And feels his composure crack when he catches sight of Lesion.

He looks terrible.

Not even after most missions in the past did he look this fatalistic, this crushed; he can’t have gotten a lick of sleep and is piteously wrapped in some of his spare clothes. The air is unusually cool today, the sun hidden behind thick layers of clouds and the night not showing any mercy for lost, regretting men. He’s not looking over but the hand with which he holds his mug starts shaking, so he rests it on the ground and blinks at it a little too often.

Thatcher’s chest seizes with guilt and confusion – there’s no doubt he did this, he’s the reason, but he doesn’t understand. How can Lesion know what Thatcher’s brain is telling him to do? How can he know just how big of a coward Thatcher really is? How did he know he was lying?

Unsure of what to say, he looks around and spots the bottle he left behind somewhere else yesterday, turns to the snow field and finds a large Chinese character next to where he assumes he carved his own message. Unlike his, it’s dark and perfectly visible, probably laid out with gravel and thus likely to remain considerably longer as well as garner more attention.

“What does the symbol stand for?”, he asks. It looks familiar but he can’t recall where he’s seen it before.

Lesion doesn’t raise his gaze. “Good fortune”, he answers quietly and his voice breaks on the second word. He’s a wreck and Thatcher doesn’t know how to remedy it.

No. That’s a lie. He just doesn’t want to.

But is that really the truth? Or is he -

They seem to fare better when they’re not looking at each other, so he sits down behind Lesion, pulls him against his chest and when he’s met with resistance, he only pulls harder. Once he can cradle him, he notices the slight shivering and whispers a reassuring shhh, repeats it while kissing his temple, while wrapping himself around him as much as he can, while gently wiping moisture away. It’s not much, Lesion isn’t allowing himself to give in completely, but it unambiguously shows Thatcher how worryingly blind he was, how wilfully ignorant. He knew, must’ve known about Lesion, but thought that staying by his side would be enough for the both of them. But it’s not. It never was. In quiet nights alone, it wasn’t, and it wasn’t when he knew Lesion was crashing on his sofa, and it wasn’t throughout the entire last week. He never – never did anything, doesn’t know whether Lesion has. For him it was no more than a restless scratching at the back of his skull.

It’s a long while until Lesion stops trembling, noticeably uncomfortable with this fact but Thatcher doesn’t comment on it, merely holds him close and peppers his hair with kisses. He smells good, despite all, he smells familiar and safe and it calms Thatcher’s racing heart a little.

“I don’t know what to do”, Lesion murmurs and finally rests his head against Thatcher’s shoulder, eyes closed. Thatcher wants to kiss him, hug him tighter, do something but isn’t certain what.

“I don’t either”, he replies, at a loss. “But I don’t think I’m going to say or do what you think I will.”

“Are you sure?”

No, he’s not sure. He has absolutely no idea what he’s doing and this time he can’t blame any alcohol for the almost aggressive emptiness in his mind. “I’ll try”, he offers because while he can’t provide certainty, he can provide this much. Their eyes meet and all his confidence vanishes in an instant, leaves him speechless and frantically searching for more to say because surely, it’s not enough, won’t be enough -

“Okay”, Lesion interrupts his thoughts. “Let’s eat and pack up then.”

And as he pulls away, rises to his feet to squat down a distance away, rummaging in their large backpacks, Thatcher recognises the tone of his voice as defeat. He doesn’t believe Thatcher’s words, doesn’t trust the half-hearted promise one bit and he’s right not to; his repressed grief shows on his face and his movements are aimless, sluggish, at some point he even halts and stares blankly at nothing. It’s not even that he isn’t expecting anything. He’s expecting to receive nothing.

His sun-kissed skin looks warm even from a distance and it’s an impossible task for Thatcher’s mind to link the person before him with the one he kissed the previous evening – he’d embraced him, touched him everywhere he could reach, heard him moan. Made him moan. It’s the same man. The same man with whom he stayed in regular contact for years no matter what, whose necessary silence from time to time felt punishing and whose jubilant messages always brightened his day.

Maybe this will be easier than he feared. He’s in Thatcher’s heart already, he doesn’t even need to let him in deliberately.

“Tze Long”, he says and has no clue how to continue, only knows he needs to get rid of that expression on his face. Fortunately for him, his friend doesn’t turn to him, merely pauses. “Look, I know I’m a shithead and you know it too, and sometimes I don’t think things through or overthink them, and you know me well enough to call me on my bullshite. And I respect that. So do it now.”

Lesion shakes his head, confused, meeting his gaze with a frown. “What do you mean?”

“Call me on it. Tell me no, you’re not convinced I’ll make any sort of effort. Tell me that you think I’ll keep you at arm’s length still, just like I have all this time. Tell me that you don’t expect anything to change, for me to conveniently forget about it all. You’re thinking it, so say it.”

His lips part. He struggles to come up with an answer, eventually wants to know: “Why?”

This is the scary part. Thatcher isn’t proud to admit it but he’s terrified of this, of their entire conversation, of having to deal with any of it. Their friendship was safe and familiar, they’d established a routine and beyond that routine lies chaos, uncertainty, uncharted land. But he dares to step into it. “How else do I get the chance to get upset, deny everything, run away, mull over what you said in private and without telling anyone, then begrudgingly and in a subclause mention that you’re right and set about changing it while pretending it was my idea all along?”

And that does it. Lesion’s stony expression softens, a small smile stealing onto his lips. He’s ready to listen. “You’d change it, would you?”, he asks just to be sure and Thatcher really can’t blame him.

“I would, yes. Because I’d know it’s worth it.” You’re worth it, a voice in his head supplies but isn’t strong enough to make it out of his mouth.

“How about we skip the whole beginning then? Seems a little redundant now.”

“You’re right, yes, let’s. The whole… self-awareness thing probably lessens the effect.”

“It does. So – you don’t actually need any of my input?”

“Well, it’ll definitely be helpful on some issues, I suppose.”

Lesion laughs and though it’s awkward, the sound lifts a weight off Thatcher’s chest. “Good Lord, you’re terrible at this.”

“Listen”, he starts to defend himself sheepishly, “I normally make a point of keeping friends and partners separate.”

“That actually explains a lot.” The backpack, previously half on Lesion’s lap, now lies forgotten next to him and it’s as if their surroundings don’t matter anymore – the bleak sky doesn’t, the cold blinding snow field doesn’t, the mountains don’t. Thatcher erroneously believed that it was Norway itself which provided peace of mind, a place he’d been meaning to visit for decades now but never got around to it, thought that this finally fulfilled wish granted him one of the happiest weeks of his life. Yet he could’ve gone to the Antarctic and possibly felt the same calm – provided he had Lesion by his side.

“Can I ask for a show of good faith?”, his friend requests quietly and adds, when he’s sure he has Thatcher’s attention: “Kiss me.”

He’d lie if he claimed he showed no hesitation, but he overcomes it. Crawling towards the other man, he doesn’t stop once he’s reached him, uses his leverage to push him down into the grass, follows suit and takes the time to mirror his smile. Last night they were in a similar position, Thatcher hovering above him, yet now it’s intentional, eyes locked, in full daylight, thoughts sober. He still wants to run, the urge hasn’t disappeared and neither has his discomfort over leaving himself figuratively naked. But it’s easier to resist now.

They kiss for a long time and it gets less strange with every passing second, morphs from awkward to nice and though it hasn’t yet reached lovely, it’s almost there. Thatcher will have to get used to it, used to all this, re-learn a few things, dust some of it off in his mind and unearth old rituals, bury certain habits. It’ll take time. And fortunately, Lesion is nothing if not patient.

When they break apart, they’re not out of breath, their hearts aren’t racing, there’s no insistent need for more and ever more. Instead, they’ve replaced the sun which so tragically abandoned them this morning by beaming at each other.

“Looks like I have to take back the ‘coward’ ”, Lesion states ambiguously.

“No, the coward was warranted. The liar, too.” Another quick peck. Something tells Thatcher that he’s going to get used to this much quicker than he might expect. “Hopefully you’ll sleep better from now on.”

Lesion doesn’t even seem surprised that Thatcher was aware of the real reason for his restless tossing and turning and merely nods. “Yes. I think we both will.”

[fictionsmooches]

PORCO X READER X PIECK

Plot: after a small fight with Porco, Pieck helps (y/n) get Porco jealous, while also having fun with her.

Contains: sweating, degradation, Praia, name calling ‘slut’ whore’ ect.ect., oral sex, unprotected sex, thigh riding, lesbian sex, 18+ MDNI

Word count; 3k-ish

Classes had already been out for the day, and with a long weekend around the corner, you were more than ready to get this ‘Porco issue” sorted out. Your whole life felt like it was spent between Pieck and Porco. You three had formed a bond unlike any other. You shared secrets, hopes, and protected each other on and off the battlefield.

“Look (y/n), a small fire lit under his ass wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, he’s been awfully rude to me lately. I wouldn’t mind making him a little jealous myself.” Pieck said.

All week he had been acting funny towards you. A little too funny for your comfort. It all started when you and Pieck decided to hang out without Porco. He had been taking extra lesions from Zeke as of lately, so he wouldn’t come home until late. The dorms were too quiet to be alone. Your thoughts had rang too loud to be left alone with quiet ticks of clocks to keep you company.

Pieck had no roommate since Annie left for Paradis, so you decided to have a sleepover. The two of you spent the night swapping stories of the week and laughing over nothing. It was a well needed pleasant night. However, In the morning when you arrived home you could see the hurt all over Porco’s face. He was sitting up on his bed. He faced the door. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, you knew for a fact he didn’t sleep at all last night.

“Where were you? You know you worried me to death!” he yelled standing up. His loud tone took over the whole room. It was as if nothing else existed apart from you two in this room.

“Oh I'm sorry Pock.. I don’t mean to worry you. I just got lonely waiting here for you to come back so I had a sleepover with Pieck.” you spoke softly as if to sooth him. You really didn't mean to make him worry, that was the last thing you wanted.

“Well the least you could have done was left a note.” he said brushing passed you as he walked through the still open door. His voice was cold and numb. You hated seeing this side of Porco, the cold side of him.

You could deal with his anger outbursts, you could manage the yelling or the cursing when he was upset. You could at least talk him down from that, but you can't help him when he was like this. How could you help somebody who didn't feel nothing? This was the first time he ever acted like this towards you, and it felt horrible.

Sure he yelled at Reiner and even got too snappy with Pieck every now and again- but not you. He made a habit of bragging to everyone that you’d be his wife one day and how beautiful you were whenever you weren’t around. You knew Porco was smitten for you but he never acted on it.

You waited all year for Porco to make the first move but feared he never would. Maybe it was because he wanted to live up to Marcel’s legacy. Maybe he didn’t want to ruin the friendship between you and Pieck. But it looked as though he’d never act on those feelings now.

“Pieck.. what if he never talks to me again?” you spoke as you slipped down onto Pieck’s lap. Her skirt was damp with the tears you’d been crying all day.

“I highly doubt that. You just have to show him that if he doesn’t act fast, he’ll lose you.”

You nodded and sat up. You wiped your last tear away and raised your fist.

“Ok. What’s the plan?”

Pieck slipped her arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Your thighs now touched one another as she closed in the gap between you two. She cupped her free hand over your ear, she whispered softly.

“You want me to do what?! Pieck, we aren’t little girls anymore! We can’t just ‘practice’ like we did when we were little!” you jumped slightly. She pulled you back into her grasp.

“And why not! Am I not your type?” Pieck teased.

“It’s not that” you looked away. “It’s just.. I don’t know.. Embarrassing?”

Pieck couldn’t help but giggle at your shyness. It is true that you two used to practice kissing each other when you were children. You needed to be sure that when the time came, and you married your future spouse, you’d be ready. But you were not children anymore. You couldn’t just kiss her and act like it meant nothing. After all, you had some morals left.

Sure Porco and Pieck fought about who would be the one to marry you- but you never thought anything of it. Why would you? Wasn't it natural to hold hands with your best friends? Your mind ticked and ticked until finally you could form a coherent thought. Was Pieck in love with you? And was Porco as well? How long had they been? Either way, the idea of kissing Pieck didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

You could hear Porcos boots clomping in the distance, he had always been so brash with his walking. You often felt bad for the poor wood floors he had walked on.

Just as the door knob turned, Pieck cupped your face and pressed her lips against yours. As soon you were connected, you could feel yourself pooling under your skirt. Pieck had begun rubbing on your thigh, and that definitely didn't help the dampness from collecting. The warmth of her mouth took over your whole body. You couldn’t help but melt into the kiss, your mouth opened slightly as Pieck shoved her tongue into yours.

You knew Porco could walk in at any moment, and the excitement of him catching you made you want to kiss Pieck even more. It felt so dirty to be like this. To have Pieck’s hand up your skirt, and to have Porco possibly see. you wouldn't dream of pulling away. It felt too good to stop now.

The moment the door actually opened, Porco just stood there- eyes wide as he watched Pieck absolutely degrade the mouth he wanted for himself. He had dreamed about parting those lips countless times. He tried to imagine if your mouth felt as good as it did in his wet dreams. His now half hard cock twitched as he watched Pieck pull away from you, a string of saliva still connecting you two.

“Good evening Pock.” she spoke with a smile as if nothing just happened.

He avoided his gaze from the two of you. “Yeah.. whatever” he said, nearly throwing his books on his desk. He took a seat as he covered his face- hoping it would make his blush less noticeable.

Pieck kissed your forehead. “I’ll see you later my sweet (y/n), i’ll be late to class.” she said walking out of your dorm with a wink. You sat breathless at what had just happened. Pieck had unlocked something so sinister in you, and you feared that simple kissing wouldn't be enough for you anymore.

As time went on you wouldnt understand how Pieck could just go along with you like nothing happened. You walked to class together as usual, ate lunch like you usually would- but in the back of your mind the only thing you could think about was Pieck. You craved her touch on your body. You longed for her hands and for her mouth, but you wanted Porco’s gaze upon you just as much.

“Uhh Earth to (y/n)?” Pieck said waving her hand in front of you. You had spaced out at the table you had been studying at. Porco sat at your left and Pieck across from you.

“I’m sorry. I just got lost in thought!” You rubbed the back of your head In embarrassment.

The stuffy room you sat in, had once been dedicated to strategizing wars and battles but the campus had now converted them into study halls for students. You weren’t sure if the weather made the room feel humid or if you had imagined it to distract yourself from forming tension between you three.

Large windows covered the walls of the room, the sunlight coming in gave you a clear view of everything in the room. The tables were old and worn, chairs wobbled ever so slightly, and the books on the shelf were slowly collecting dust as years went by.

“Is it hot in here?” You ask aloud, fanning yourself with your hand.

“I’m sure it is, and these uniforms don’t help out any.” Pieck smiled was she pulled her book away from her face.

Porco slid his hand on your thigh from under the table, he snickered as he turned the page of his book with his other hand.

You gulped quietly.

“Yeah I’m getting tired of all these layers, I wish I could peel off a few, don’t you Pieck?”  Porco said as his hand gilded under your skirt, calloused hands rubbed small circles on your inner thighs. You were being too obvious, you had always been too obvious.

Pieck caught on quickly to the soft movements Porco made under the table and your breath heaving. Her eyes made their way to your warm cheeks with a smirk.

“I understand completely, Porco.” Pieck looked directly in your eyes “It’s almost like I could undress entirely right now.” she began fiddling with the top buttons of her shirt.

You could feel it happening again. The wetness starting to build between your legs was unbearable.

You were practically gasping for air as Porco’s hand slowly started making its way closer and closer to your clothed cunt. Your clit ached with the thought of his touch. All sense of shame was gone at this point. Pieck’s shirt was half way opened at this point. The bits of her lace bra were exposed more and more with every bottom she slowly undid.

You couldn’t tell if your arousal came more from Piecks undressing or from Porcos touch, but at this point it didn't matter, you only knew you needed more. You wished to be laid against Pieck’s chest as Porco bent you over the wooden table, just imagining it made you bucked your hips in desperation for more friction. Porco slowly placed the pad of his middle and ring finger against your clit.

He withdrew his hand entirely as you let out a soft moan.

“It’s almost time for dinner, we gotta get going if we want to beat the crowd.” Porco said, looking at the clock on the wall.

“Right! Best if we leave now.” Pieck said with a devilish smile as she began buttoning up her shirt.

The two left you there panting for air, and longing for hands all over your body. The light of golden hour stained the room with warm hues. Your mind raced with what had just happened, and why you were left hot and bothered. Your legs spread open on the chair you had been sitting it, a small puddle laid under you.

The next day You woke to an empty dorm. Porco had been long gone at training. You knew you would have most of the day to yourself but today your mind raced with thought of Pieck and Porco. At times you shifted your weight to distract yourself from the overwhelming thoughts you craved.

It wasn’t long before a knock at the door sent a shiver up your spine that jolted you to sit up.

“(Y/N)?” Pieck called as she let herself in. “I assume Porcos is training?”

You nodded.

“Ooh so you’re all alone?” Pieck’s tone sounded sultry like she was alluding to something. You felt the heat rising in your face.

She made her way over to your bed. Her foot steps echoed in the room with every step she took. She took a seat on your bed. And leaned over to your ear.

“Have you been thinking of me?”

You avoided looking at her. “Maybe” you answered

“Or have you been thinking of Porco?” She asks nibbling at your ear lobe. Your breath couldn’t help but deepen.

“Maybe” you answer again

Pieck pulled away and repositioned herself. She was now sitting with her back fully against the wall, her legs laid out over the length of the bed.

“Come here (y/n). I want you to show me the way you want to grind on Porcos lap” she lifted her skirt to expose her thighs. She looked so soft from where you sat.

You don’t think twice about straddling her thigh. Your clothed cunt made contact with her soft skin sending a shiver down your spine. Piecks hand found their place on your ass with a squeeze.

“Such a desperate little whore you’ve become. You get one kiss from me and a half assed teasing from Porco, and you’re so eager to do as I say?” She squeezed your ass again only this time more rougher.

You could only moan in response.

Pieck had begun dragging you back and forth on her thigh, pleasure rippled through your body.

“Unbutton your shirt for me”

You hesitated. “What if Porco comes back early?” You whined

“Don’t act like you don’t want him to see you like this. Now unbutton your shirt”

She lifted her leg to make more friction between you and her thigh.

You did as you were told and undid every button to the best of your ability given the circumstances.

“No bra? You really are a whore (y/n)!”

You moaned at her words, your pussy was leaking all over her thigh as you rode her.

Pieck placed your nipple in her mouth and began to suck.

“Fuck-!” You say throwing your head back

She slapped your ass making you moan louder.

Her mouth felt amazing wrapped around the sensitive bud, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

She looked up at you through her eyelashes. She looked as though she was smiling as she sucked on your nipple, she knew what she was doing.

The knot in your stomach had started to tighten.

“Pieck! You’re going to make me cum!”

She pulled away. Without saying anything, she pulled your panties to the side, giving your cunt direct contact with her.

“Cum for me then” she said looking in your eyes.

Your hips moved at a rapid pace as you released on her thigh with a scream.

You were so busy with Pieck that you didn’t even notice Porcos boots clomping down the hallway. By the time you noticed he was already opening the door.

He stepped into the most unexpected but beautiful sight. You say still straddling Piecks thigh, gasping with your tits out. Your cum and sweat covered your body and Piecked thigh, your skirt hiked up over your ass and piecks hands holding on the back of your thighs.

Pieck peered her head to the side “hi Pock!”

You couldn’t help but feel so embarrassed and exposed.

Porcos cock twitched with excitement.

“So this is what you do while I’m off working my ass off?” He says while slicking his hair back more.

You were speechless. When you decided to speak all you could manage to say was “I’m sorry- I couldn’t help myself! I just-“

“Just what? Decided to act like a slut and think I wouldn’t find out?” Porco says.

Your clit jumped with excitement.

Pieck shifted her weight so you lay elbows to the bed with your ass in the air. Pieck guided her hands to your panties and slid them off of you. She spread your ass cheeks and pussy lips for Porcos full view.

“Look Porco, she’s just begging to be filled” Pieck smiled up at you.

You could hear Porco’s zipper being undone behind you.

“She sure is. But I want to hear that from her” he grinned, stroking his cock. The tip was wet with precum already. He stroked as your hole fluttered with excitement.

“Please Porco! Please, I need it!” You said.

“Tell me princess, what do you need?”

Pieck reached her hand underneath to rub your clit.

You gasp nearly being able to talk, “I need you to fuck me Porco! Please fuck me!” You choke out.

“Good girl” he said as he slowly pushed the tip of his hard cock inside. “Mmm.. so fucking wet already” he shoved the enteier length inside you.

You moaned against piecks mouth as she kissed you. Her tongue once again shoving its way into your mouth.

While Porco took his time fucking your tight hole, you slid lower to make contact with Pieck’s lower half. She giggled at the sight of you being so eager to please her. “Here, ill help you.” She said lowering her panties.

You wasted no time lapping up every once of Piecks oozing pussy. She collapsed into the this matress as you attacked her clit.

Piecks moaning caught the attention of Porco. “L-Like what you see Pock? Her mouth feels amazing on my pussy.” Pieck said, smirking.

“I always knew (y/n) would be the perfect little slut.” Porco said speeding up his thrust into your sloppy tight cunt. You moaned against Piecks clit, squeezing down on Porco’s cock in response to his degrading words.

Slowly you added two fingers into Piecks slit.  “Better do a good job (y/n), or I wont let you cum” Porco said slowing his pace. You wasted no time proving at her g-spot. Pieck moaned in delight.

“Good girl.” Pieck said in between moans.

You couldn’t go on much long like this. You needed release and you needed it bad. Porco could tell you where close by the way you began clamping down on his cock.

Pieck was the first to cum as she held a fist full of your hair “(y/n)! You’re gunna make me cum” she exclaimed. She lay breathless on the bed for a moment as Porco kept thrusting into you.

Pieck seized the opportunity to reach under and rub your clit. Pieck’s soft fingertips where enough to send you over the edge. “Porco! I’m coming!” You screamed.

“I’m close (y/n).. where do you want me to finish?” He choked

“Don’t be shy now (y/n) Answer him” Pieck said.

“Inside!” You yelled feeling over stimulated.

“Fuck!” Porco said as he raised inside of you, your pussy drank up every drop of his cum.

You three laid squished against one another, sweat and cum covering your bodies

[sweetest-honeybee]

I love ripple affects, I say as I’m lovingly strangling Clap over my shoulder like a murderous raccoon who was eating my trash, they’re so fun to play with! Also yes please tell me about the Clap and Boogey curse! (And maybe something about Zaun because you mentioned him and Zedaph is easily one of my favs.) I won’t be able to write something until later but I have a page of notes and ideas because this convo is giving me brain rot. -Scribe Anon

Pffttttt Clap deserves some disrespect, as a treat XD

okay SO

Boogey worked for the Ridge, he was a spy that spent his time over in Hornet Hills ‘working’ for Vespa. Vespa never knew that he had any involvement with the Ridge besides any past interactions/living there or whatever.

Anyways, after the thing with Sever happened, Vespa (at that point still Val, but we’re calling him Vespa) sent Boogeydubs to the Ridge to do something to Clap for killing Sever. And because he already was working with Bach and Clap, Boogey didn’t technically intend on doing any actual harm to Clap.

Here’s the thing, Bach and Clap already knew Boogey could do the weird “curse” thing because it was often a form of punishment in the Ridge anyways. So they took the liberty of kinda immunizing themselves from said “curse” over some period of time bc they were the two rulers. It was part of their agreement with Boogey n whatnot.

Now, obviously they could’ve just faked it or something right? Vespa wasn’t necessarily there to see if Boogey actually did anything.

No, no, Vespa sent Boogey and several drones as witnesses to make sure no funny business was going on bc he was busy pestering Lesion. Just wanted to make sure Clap got what he deserved…obviously (totally not because I’m finding plot holes lmao just go with it it’s for the drama).

So they had to do something or else the drones would go back with nothing to say and if the Ridge did anything to those drones, that would just cause MORE issues and literally nobody wanted that, right? Right.

Okay so, rather than psychological torture or whatever, Boogey just decides, hey, Clap is immune to the curse, he can just do that. It’ll have the drones leaving happy and Vespa off their tail. So he does just that (after telling Clap of course).

What ensued was by far probably one of the most awful several week long experiences Clap had ever been through. At the time Boogey initially cursed him, they made sure Clap would’ve actually suffered for a bit for the drones’ sake, but after they just shrugged and left, it was an unfortunate discovery that as far as immunization was concerned, the only thing Clap was avoiding was death. He would still be going through what everyone else did and it was completely irreversible. Once it happened, you were fucked.

Yeah so he didn’t avoid much else. That curse would’ve absolutely killed him had he not already been messing with it but that’s about as far as it got. He was pretty much bed ridden and suffering for several weeks until the weird stuff started to happen with all the yellow and the insomnia and the generally very shitty experience of life as it were.

Went through some huge changes but I mean…he lived.

[subwaysurf45]

Tech problems (bucky x reader)

Summary: bucky doesn’t know how to work the TV, his new phone, anything. After getting made fun if he wants to quit but the reader helps him out.

Pairing: bucky barns x reader

Warning: mentions of death near the end, but it’s mostly fluff

Masterlist!

Bucky stood at the counter in the kitchen, full weight leaning on the concrete slab that most people ate off of. His eyebrows were basically touching as he fiddled with his phone that Tony just gave him, he just couldn’t figure it out for the life of him.

“Hey, old guy!” Tony walked in, “whatcha doing?” He walked over and peered over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Trying to…” his brain wasn’t focused on completing the sentence, more on creating an e-mail.

“I see,” Tony snatched the phone from Bucky’s hands and turned his back to him, Bucky tried to see what he was doing but Tony kept walking around. A little bit of anger grew inside him because Tony seemed just fine at working with tech- everyone did.

Steve had walked in, “Tony, what are you doing?” His voice was tired and annoyed, he already knew what was happening simply from the way Bucky looked longingly at Steve. “Tony-“

“Ah-ta-ta, let me help him.” Tony smirked, his voice dripping in sarcasm. “I’m doing it all for him, aaaand- done!” He turned and slapped the phone in the table, it looked like everyone else’s.

“What did you do to it?” Bucky asked, his anger coming through in his tone.

“Nothing, tin man- old man- silver hair, just nothing.” He seemed like he was telling the truth, “i just did it so you wouldn’t keep annoying me and asking so many god damn questions, jeez.” Tony scoffed and walked away, Bucky didn’t pick up the phone, rather stare at it.

“How stupid am I?” Bucky asked, “really, like you got this figured out in less than a week, Tony told me when I asked for the Bluetooth password.”

“Wifi.” Steve corrected.

“What?” Bucky looked over, “same thing, who cares…” Bucky waved him off, his head snapped up at Steve suppressing a laugh, his stomach sank, “what?” His voice light and almost a whisper.

“It’s not the same thing, very much not the same thing.” He laughed, Bucky sighed, he’d had enough of this. Bucky picked up the phone and walked down the hall, “oh, come on! I’m having fun with you!” Steve laughed.

~~~

You wiped the sweat from your forehead, training with Nat had just ended and you were heading back to your shared room with Bucky. As you walked past the kitchen you saw Steve looking at nothing, he hand kept his head up.

“Why the long face?” You panted, still needing to catch your breath.

“I made fun of Bucky, he’s mad now.” His mouth barley moved, the sentence was muffled.

“About what?” You asked softly but you were still mad, he made fun of your boyfriend.

“Him not knowing how to use tech,” Steve looked up and saw your jaw drop, “what?”

“Literally last night he was so upset because he called me when I was training and he used the emergency signal, so I came running to our room and he had no idea.” You looked towards the bedrooms, “he was so upset with himself that he made me scared, he was all in his head. I need to go check up on him,” you sighed and turned to go to your room; that hot shower had to wait.

Once you made it to your room you softly knocked on the door, “Bucky?” You called, when you heard a hum you opened the door a jar, seeing him slumped over with his phone in his hands. “Hey, babe.” He seemed to break out of his thoughts when you placed a hand on his back.

“Hi, doll face.” He tried to smile, “how’s training?” He looked over to you as you sat beside him.

“Very long and very tiring,” you chuckled, you knew if you asked how he was doing he might get mad or breakdown, “Steve told me what happened, he seemed sad when I was in the kitchen.” Your hand started to rub his upper back, making sure you didn’t hit any scars through the shirt. “You wanna talk about it?” His phone was still on the home page, all the apps were downloaded but you knew he didn’t do that himself.

“I don’t know anything,” he sighed, “i don’t know how to work my phone, the microwave, the TV…I don’t know how to use the system thing in here properly, I can barley understand cars these days, that’s why I use the motorcycle because they didn’t change much but-… y/n, everyone thinks it so funny, the old guy who doesn’t know jack shit about tech.” He slumped forward.

“I don’t think it’s funny,” you moved up to the back of his neck, knowing he likes when you get under into his scalp.

“You’re different.” He stated.

“How so?”

“Because you’ve never been mean to anyone, you’re this shining star, you’re a light and you’re never mean.” His eyes left his phone and he looked at your leg, not wanting to make eye contact after saying that.

Your heart melted, his lips turned up at the quickly kiss to his cheek. He looked over and kissed you back, your hands wrapped around his neck and his pulled your waist in. After pulling away your foreheads rested on one another’s.

“Let me teach you, yeah?” You whispered, “no jokes. No funny business. As long as you need, I’ll go through it all.” You leaned back and waiting for his response.

“I don’t wanna make you go through-“

“Nope. Final rule, no self-doubt.” You smiled, his lip pouted out and he tried to cover his face and blush.

“Okay,” he nodded, “teach me.”

“Not right now,” you laughed, Bucky quirked a brow, “I’m tired and sweaty and I feel gross, also, I would like some cuddles.” You stood and grabbed your towel and a change of comfy clothes, “tomorrow.”

~~~

It was the next day, Bucky sat on the bed as you walked around the TV in your shared room, deep down he wanted to take some notes but he knew if anyone found them, he’d never hear the end of it.

“So let’s start basic,” you stood in front of the blank TV, “let’s say you’ve lost he remote, this is how you control it. Right here,” you pointed to the circle with a line through the top symbol, “that is the universal signal for on and off, look for that. Then, once you’ve pressed it here is the little notches for the volume and then the channel notches.” You pointed as you went along the bottom of the screen.

“Sounds easy,” Bucky muttered more to himself.

“But we have a remote, here, same little symbol, on and off. There, that’s the volume, and the big circle can help navigate up and down, side to side.” You showed him up close, “lots of these buttons will never be used, so I won’t really go through them.” You waved it off. “Okay, test number one, turn of the tv.” You passed the remote.

“Okay…” bucky clicked the button with the symbol he now knew and the screen lit up, some random cartoon played, “yes!” He shit up and jumped, quickly catching himself he sat back down.

“Can you change the channel for me?” You asked, a smirk on your face from his reaction before, he clicked the channel button and it went to the news. “And turn it up, please.”

“Easy,” he smiled and clicked, no sound came out. “What?” He clicked again and the sound came back, but not louder.

“You hit the mute button, use the long button here,” you pointed, he clicked up and it went up one level, after catching on and holding it the volume kept going up, “Bucky-“ you tried to warn but the volume cut out completely.

“Shit.” He stood up, Bucky fiddled with the notches on the actual TV but nothing happened. “What did I do?” His face i genuine terror, “did I break it, oh god, Tony’s gonna get some mad.”

“You blew out the speakers,” after observing the smoke coming out from the side of the TV that was the only possible answer.

“I knew i’d mess it up, I get so cocky, I really thought I had it.” He paced around, tugging his hair.

“Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine,” you calmed him and sat him in the bed, “it’s hard at first but it will only get easier.” You smiled before pulling him into a hug, you could feel his sigh of defeat as he hugged back.

You both headed out to the kitchen, Bucky still in a mood from breaking the TV a couple minutes ago. You both had some coffee, yours with a little milk.

“Hello, lovebirds.” Tony walked in, Bucky looked right at his feet and tried not to look awkward. “What’s up with cyborg over here?” Tony giggled.

“Nothing,” you dipped your coffee, Bucky just nodded along.

“I got a notification that the speakers in your room were blown out,” Tony teased, Bucky stiffened and inches closer to you, “what happened?”

Bucky looked up, his mouth open and about to talk. You gently placed a hand on his chest and looked him in the eye, a way of saying ‘I got this’.

“I sat in the remote, turns out my ass poked it right at the volume and I couldn’t figure it out in time.” You laughed, Bucky looked at you crazy before forcing one out.

Tony hunched over, “I can picture that, oh wow- I wish I was there!” He cackled before turning away and walking down the hall, “it’ll be fixed by tomorrow!” He called over his shoulder.

~~~

It was lonely without you, it was very rare you’d go in missions without Bucky but also rare you’d go alone. It was a simple infiltrate, you were more on the espionage rather than Captain America side of powers. 

Bucky had tired to talk to Steve about letting someone go with you, this mission would involve zero contact with the base. But no one listened, it was always going to be you.

It had been a month, three quarters done with the they needed. The tech lesions had to be halted, you weren’t there to teach and Bucky refused to let anyone tell him anything about the tech in his room.

“If only you could see me, babe…” he whispered as he worked the TV, that was the only thing he knew, and he was great at it. Last week he recorded a show, he was never going to watch it, but it as recorded. He almost had a heart attack when the remote stopped working, but it just ran out of batteries.

After doing all the cool tricks he knew he looked over to your side of the bed, it was neatly made and seemed untouched. Whenever you’d be fine for even a night he’d sleep on the ground, but he promised he’d sleep on the bed, but he never rolled over or even sat on your side.

The one thing he missed was the way your shampoo stunk up the whole bed in a good way, when he’d wake up the morning after you’d showered he’d could smell your lavender shampoo right away, it almost puts him back to sleep. But as the days went on, it faded.

Bucky looked around before gently placing his face your pillow, almost like an afterthought of your sent came through; just barley there. His face hovered before he gave in and relaxed on it, he knew if he’d roll around the sent would fade quicker, he didn’t really care.

There was a hard spot on your pillow, he reached under and found a green spiral notebook. It didn’t have anything in the cover, once he opened it a gasp fell from his lips.

It was a notebook, for every piece of tech in the house. From his phone to how F.R.I.D.A.Y. works, it was all there. Intricate diagrams that where labeled, one page had everything he needed to know.

Bucky’s phone sat face down in his bedside table, he flipped the that page and looked it over. He picked up his phone and read through it all, slightly muttering then words that were written to himself like he was being taught.

“Okay, you got this,” he said as he pressed the on button, as he navigated around he learned how to add a contact, send and text, google, the a picture, send an email. Everything.

~~~

You walked into the compound completely exhausted, one black eye layer, the base had been infiltrated. You went to your mission report computer and Tony was there, he gave you your phone.

“Connect back to the wifi,” he nodded before leaving you to connect.

Once you were fully back online your phone began to buzz, over and over. Tons of notifications rolled in. You went to emails first.

From: bucky

To: y/n

Subject: test?

Hellooooooo this is a test, don’t worry about it!

You laughed and scrolled through the other emails, finding out they were all kind of the same, then you went to text messages.

There was a selfie of him holding the green book, his smile couldn’t have been wider. He sent three, probably by accident. But they were still cute.

So I figured hit text!

Kinda cool

I found the book, it was like Christmas

Anyway, I know you won’t read this but I think I’ll try the oven next, I’ll ask wanda about it.

As the texts went on, your heart started to drop and your stomach swirled. They had been getting progressively sadder.

Hey doll face, I hope you’re well, miss you

I miss you

I love you

I wanna marry you one day, maybe live on farm and have a few kids

If you want

Sent: two months ago

I finished your book, I think I know it all now, I’ve been going over those tests you put in the back sleeve, they’re really good

You’re very thoughtful

I know you can’t see this

I don’t know what to do with myself, this is very hard.

Sent: one month ago

Are you dead?

I had a dream you died in my arms, and I can’t tell if it was a flashback or a dream

I hope you’re not

I love you too much

Please come home

Please

I really need you

I wish I never learn how to use this shit, honestly, I can’t seem to put my phone down because this is all I have if you right now. I keep checking it to see if you’ve responded but I know you haven’t, but part of me wants you to respond so I know you’re alive.

I’m not ready to say goodbye to you yet.

Sent: 24 hours ago

You slammed the phone down and raced down the hall, you passed the kitchen and everyone who smiled at you because they hadn’t seen you in three months, they probably also thought you were dead.

You stopped right before the door, you could hear soft whimpers coming from inside.

“I miss you,” the voice was muffled.

You opened the door silently, you saw Bucky lying right next to your side of the bed, it was still perfectly made. You also saw what looked like glass shattered by the wall, a closer look and it was his phone.

“Bucky?” You asked.

His head shot up and he sat up straight, after wiping his face he ran right over to you. His hug pushed you back on the floor, he just stayed there.

“Don’t ever do that again, please.” His voice was still shaken, “I can’t go through that again.”

“Never again, i was so worried when I saw your text a minuet ago.” You whispered and ran your fingers through his hair.

“Your name in my phone, your the only one.” He sniffled, “it was like it was taunting me, I got really mad and I threw it.” He hugged you tighter, “you were supposed to come home two days ago.” He cried.

“I know,” you housed him and sat up, as he pulled away he saw your bruised face, his thumb gently traced the purple mark.

“I don’t want a phone, I like knowing about it, but I’ll only ever borrow yours.” He seemed like he was pledging something, like an oath.

“Done deal,” you pulled him in for a long kiss, hoping it would never end.

[mandoinevarro]

Deep into the Wilderness

Words: 4.7k (this was supposed to be short but, alas, i am an asshole) 

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut, sex pollen :0, dubious consent (see: sex pollen), a bit of size kink ö, multiple orgasms :O, light descriptions of blood, magic nature if you’re in the mood, incredible coincidences if you’re not

a/n: i genuinely thought this would be a lil drabble :/, also fuck snakes all my homies hate snakes

There’s something wrong about the stars.

Nights in the Tatooine desert are usually dim and still, as stoic as the Mandalorian who’s been journeying across the endless dune sea with you in your little caravan of two. These past few days, you’ve noticed that the jagged difference between coarse sand and smooth beskar are no obstacle for his ability to blend perfectly into his surroundings. For days, you’ve seen the bounty hunter cruise the barren wilderness like he was born in it, climbing the mounds of sand leisurely and offering his hand when the treacherous ground gives in under your feet and you tumble forward. Ever the gentleman. Silent and observant, he tends to adapt to the elements around him and mimic their energy, until he becomes part of the landscape. Tonight is no different.

The normally scattered and shy desert stars have all gathered in a cluster right above your modest campsite, blinking down at you white and yellow and red against an electric blue sky, bright enough to spare the need of a fire. You feel watched. The stars’ ghoulish eyes above trail your every movement. Waiting to witness something.

Yes, a meek voice inside lies for you, it must be the stars, as you purposefully try to ignore the crushing weight of the Mandalorian’s trained gaze on you, much heavier than the strong beskared arm resting on your upright knee. The tube of bacta ointment moves awkwardly under your fingers and, Maker, you know it won’t be enough. The small holes on the wool covering his arm reveal two angry red pupils gushing blood where the snake’s fangs pierced him; pupils that stare amused at the medical salve that they know and you know and Mando knows will do little neutralize the unknown toxin. You sit so close to him you can hear the hitch of his breath when you pinch the tube and white balm oozes onto your finger.

“I—Mando, I-I think we should get help.” It doesn’t help your nerves that the man to your left hasn’t stopped staring at you since the ruby red viper appeared from under the sand like a conjuring, going straight for the Mandalorian’s arm and slithering back inside its hiding place beneath the dunes before either of you could react. It was unnatural; desert creatures tend to linger in the shadows and never attack unless provoked. Then again, everything about this particular evening—including the bounty hunter—seems to be slightly off, like when something in a familiar place is moved, but you can’t figure out exactly what.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” the voice under the modulator scratches at a  lower register than usual, gruffier in a way that would excite you and warm your belly if you weren’t so worried about the liquid currently poisoning his bloodstream. It must be the pain. “Two days by foot to the nearest town. Just use the bacta.”

You gulp and nod as firmly as you can manage, trying to quiet the whisper saying that bacta won’t cut it this time as you get your finger closer to his arm. It’s strange that he asked for your help—the bite is right on the pulse point of his inner elbow, where he could easily do it himself. Maker, just focus. He must have had a good reason to ask you. Plus, you’re not about to miss the promise of even the slightest physical contact with the Mandalorian, even if the situation is not exactly as you’ve fantasized all these months.

Your finger presses lightly into one of the gaps, and with a bit more force when you hear a raggedy exhale leave him. The opening the snake left behind is too small for your finger, and most of the bacta gathers around its edges, while barely any gets to the wound.

“I, um…I need to cut it—t-the fabric,” you stutter and, stars, you sound like an idiot, getting nervous over applying balm when you’ve seen him cauterize his own injuries with a steady hand, much to your horror. You can feel the way his eyes feed from your words as they study you carefully, somehow strengthening the gravity pining you to the ground. A strange static crinkles in the air between you, so real you almost hear it, and for a moment you feel the weight of his stare move past your face, lower down your body. By the time he finally nods and signals towards the open medical kit with a tilt of his helmet, you’re warm all over.

Stretching your torso just the right amount so that his arm doesn’t slip from your knee, you reach straight for the scissors in front of you. Your fingers pinch the fabric to lift it while your other hand works the clippers, cutting with tiny snip-snip-snips that do little to fill the tense silence between you. Why it’s even tense to begin with is beyond you. Sure, Mando got bitten by some unknown creature that could potentially be lethal, but the invisible rope getting stretched from both ends more and more between your bodies has little to do with the mishap. Stars, it feels like it’s pulling you closer and pushing you apart at the same time, and the arm on your knee suddenly feels like it’s burning through your pants. What would happen, you muse as you crank your wrist, if the rope gave in?  

The scissors close their circuit, and you lift a small circle of cloth, leaving the clippers aside. It’s a little bigger than it needed to be, but the Mandalorian doesn’t complain when you properly apply bacta on the lesion, sitting like a statue with the visor shining dark blue at your face. The stars reflect distorted on his helmet with judging eyes, like they can hear your thoughts. Like they just know how being so close to the man you think about to warm cold nights is making your heart pump more blood that you need. To places that definitely don’t need it.

You raise your other hand and rest it on his bicep. It’s only to pull the sleeve a little higher. To give you more room to work. And it’s only with that touch that he flinches.

You immediately lift both hands. “Sorry, I—I’m sorry, does…does it hurt—?”

“—No.” Mando moves his good arm and grabs your hand roughly, bringing it to rest on his bicep once again. He clears his throat, unable to wash away the grainy strain on his voice. “No, it—it’s fine.” His large palm stays over yours for a moment, before pulling away slowly. Reluctantly.

You nod and continue your ministrations, massaging a little more bacta than necessary on the bite. Maker, you never want to stop touching him. The patch of olive skin burns hotter than the planet’s twin suns under your touch, and you feel under your other hand how every shift of your finger makes his bicep jump in response.

His flesh absorbs the ointment fast, and you’ve now covered even the surrounding area around the bite, so you lift your finger, a bit disappointed that your little moment of intimacy is over. Until you feel him tug at his end of the rope.

“Cut more,” he breathes, and you freeze before you can lift the hand off his arm, staring right at the visor with eyes round as moons.

“Cut—cut more? More cloth? Wh—”

“The venom will travel up my veins.” Mando’s voice is a little steadier, but it still doesn’t mask a strange tint of something that doesn’t sound quite like pain. “You need to check how far up it goes. If…if it goes into my chest…”

He doesn’t need to finish. You shuffle to your knees—a little clumsily because of the sand beneath—and let his arm fall to his side as you squeeze his strong bicep a little tighter. For support.

“Tell me when to stop.” The blades cut away at the fabric, revealing a vertical line of lovely skin with each snip. They go higher and higher, higher and higher, and it’s you who decides to stop when they almost reach his armpit. You rest the scissors next to your legs. The slit uncovers the upper half of his arm’s underside, and you can’t help it when one hand moves to rest on the pauldron and the other slips under the crevice to caress his skin.

Mando’s chest puffs with more air and moves quicker, and—fuck—he looks so broad like this. Sitting and injured, he still towers over you with the beskar and the mass of muscle beaten into him through years of fighting.

He could crush me. The idea pools hot in your core.

“What, uh, what am I looking for?” Your own voice is thick. It’s wrong, but you’re honest enough to admit it’s arousal.

“T-the veins.” You hear him gulp and imagine the apple on his throat bobbing up and down. “Feel around. Che—check if they’re protruding.” You comply, dragging your fingers up and down his burning, strong arm, getting caught up in how he tenses under your touch. He’s pulsing, sure enough, beating like a drum under your hand—you even manage to raise goosebumps when you give a test squeeze—but you can’t feel any veins.

“No.” The hunter exhales with relief and nods once, but his arm doesn’t follow, as it remains taut as wood. You don’t remove your hand. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into you.

An soft breeze raises a small cloud of sand and cools your face, whistling past you while it orders you to do it. “If it’s not pain,” you murmur, deciding it’s your turn to tense your end of the rope a little, “what do you feel?” You scratch your nails down his arm.

The gloved hand furthest away from you balls into a fist, clutching sand. “It—it, uh. It burns.” The words are dragged out and gritty, like they’re forcing their way out. He shivers and shuffles closer to you. “But—fuck—feels good. You—you feel good.” Encouraged, your nails sink into his flesh, testing the waters. Finally, it earns you a grunt, deep and rumbling its way between your thighs. In a split second, his arms fly to his shoulder, tugging at the cloak desperately, and you remove your hand from the opening to help him. It takes a few rough jerks, but the cloak eventually rips away from his pauldrons, and the Mandalorian throws it back. His hand travels to the side of his torso closest to you and signals. “Cut here.” He doesn’t offer an explanation this time.

Shit, you probably shouldn’t. But wetness is gathering around your folds and you’re not sure if you’ll actually get anywhere, but, Maker, you’re willing to try. Your hand is trembling when it finds the scissors next to you and you crouch slightly to cut away, eager and desperate to reveal more of the mysterious bounty hunter. This time, though, you don’t make a crevice, but instead cut a long rectangle from his waist to the side of his chest. You drop the scissors and the piece of fabric on top of the cloak and waste no time before your right palm crawls into the opening. Boiling skin welcomes your hand as it explores his naked torso, up a sturdy chest rising and falling rapidly, and back down again, savoring the sensation of soft skin over firm muscles flexing under your fingers. You stop at a trail of hair near his navel.

The Mandalorian growls. You scratch the hair lightly. The rope snaps.

Your hand slips outside when two hands grab your hips to lift you, setting you down to straddle Mando’s lap. You fall ungracefully, wobbling and grabbing at him to find your balance, until his steel arms wrap around your waist to press your chest to his. You grab his shoulders for support, and your warm breath clouds the beskar of his helmet. Your hips squirm unconsciously, making your core accidentally rub against something hard between the hunter’s legs. His grip on your back tightens and grinds you against him again, making him release a deep, primal moan against your ear. Fuck, you feel how hot liquid plops on your underwear as he ruts you against his erection, but somewhere in the back of your brain a puzzle solves itself in a snap and sends a pang of guilt to your chest.

“M-mando.” You sound whinier than you intended. “Mmando, I—I’ve heard about this, you’re poisoned, y-you don’t know what you’re d—”

“—Shut up,” he spits at you and pushes you roughly against him as a hand unwinds from your waist and wraps over your mouth. Your moans are muffled against his glove when a current shocks your body as your clit rubs just right over his bulge. You glance up at the stars, looking for guidance around the overwhelming pleasure threatening to break you, but they only stare back, burning brighter than before.

Suddenly, Mando pulls his hands away and pushes you off his lap. You fall back kneeling, worrying you’ve crossed a line somehow, but your anxieties disappear when you see him rip off his gloves and pull at your clothes hastily. You take the hint and help him undress you. The top garments he removes, but your underwear is ripped away and thrown to the side.

He whips around and finds his cloak, laying it on the sand and silently ordering with a finger to get on top. You shuffle on your knees until they reach the soft material, and—just when you’re about to turn around and beg him to touch you—the Mandalorian lifts the rectangle of cloth you cut away and wraps it around your eyes. Your vision gone but impossibly turned on, you feel his hands shove you back until you lay on the cloak.

Sand and hair tickle your face, and maybe it’s not the best idea to lay completely naked in the middle of a desert where you already know dangerous animals hide. The thought is quickly washed away by the heat of humid breath on your stomach. It throws you off for a moment, to feel a human gasp so clearly against your skin, but once you put two and two together the realization hits you so hard you slump limp on the ground.

The helmet…

You barely have time complete your thought. The Mandalorian climbs on top of you, a tuff of hair tickling your stomach. The trail of heat stops at your tits, where he takes a nipple into his mouth and bites down hard. You whimper to the sky.

“F-fuck, what—” He cuts you off when he laps at the injured nipple with fast, wide strokes of his tongue, before sucking hard on it. One palm holds down your chest, as the other comes up to squeeze your other breast, kneading and pulling the soft flesh like dough. You try to bite down your whimpers, but it’s too fucking much and they tumble outside urgent and needy.

Fuck, you should push him away. You both need to calm down before he forgets your body is attached to a living, breathing person and tears you apart. You—you—

The atmosphere seems to fall down on top of you when two thick fingers sink to the hilt inside your open hole effortlessly. You hum at the bliss while Mando’s wet tongue travels between your breasts, up your sternum, and leans into the curve of your throat, stopping only until it reaches your chin. You’re starting to cramp beneath him, trying to push down on his digits, but his body is too heavy over yours and fuck, fuck, you want him inside you.

His hand wraps around your cheeks and presses them together, making your mouth give in to the pressure and open up wide. His tongue—still salty with the taste of your own flesh—barges into the cave of your mouth and messily drags across its walls, your tongue, the roof, somehow everything at once with aimless movements that lack rhythm or pace.

And then his fingers start pumping. They start fast and hard and only get faster and harder, as they curl into a hook and hit something that makes you see the stars outside through the blindfold. Mando moans against your teeth, and you swallow every vibration.

“Yeah? T-there?” His mouth moves away from yours and trails the edge of your jaw, stopping at the edge and biting your neck. The two fingers working inside you push upwards to make room for a third one, and the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your clit up and down. Your scream echoes in the empty space of the sterile desert, now buzzing with life. “R-right there? Hm?” His voice hangs thick in the air, mixing with the loud static in your ears. Through the haze, you wonder momentarily what his face looks like right now. Probably red and sweaty, popping a vein or two.

“Fuck, I don’t k-know…I—I have to…” The Mandalorian removes all three fingers at once, making you yelp at the emptiness that they leave behind. Your pussy clenches a second too late and pulses around nothing, as you move in the darkness to find him again. You open your mouth to beg, but he grabs your shoulders before you can even gather some broken vocabulary together and he turns you around, pressing your chest and face against the cloak.

Resting your cheek on the cloak, you grunt at the abrupt change of position. Five fanned out fingers press down between your shoulder blades, restricting your movements and compressing all the air out of your lungs. You can’t breathe and you can’t wait, too stimulated to backpedal now, but not enough to be satiated.

An arm wraps around your midriff and roughly lifts your hips. You hear heavy breathing behind you and some incoherent mumbling, as a zipper lowers.  

Something round and smooth pokes at your entrance.

Is…is that…?

It definitely feels like the head of his cock as it runs up and down your folds gathering moisture. It even twitches a little against your clit and he’s grunting with every movement but…but even without your sight to help it feels so big. It can’t be his cock, in what universe would he be that fucking bi—

A grunt and a slight retrieval of his hips for impulse is all you get as a warning before he slams into you, lurching you forward. It knocks every single thought out your head, jamming what little air you’d managed to inhale on your trachea. The stretch bites, straining against your walls at an uncomfortable angle. And then he grinds further inside, deeply and hard as the bulbous head of his cock stimulates just about every nerve inside your pussy at once. You choke on your own cry, desperately trying to hold on to some sanity as you focus on processing the burst of pleasure that casts a dark shadow over the pain. The feeling secures every muscle on your body so tightly you think your spine is going to snap.

And he holds there, pulsing angrily and breathing down hot against your shoulders. You feel a slow trail of flames burn your insides with every strong sequence of thum-thum-thums of his thick cock against your walls.

Stars, did he cum?  Is that why he’s throbbing so violently, did he cum? It’s hard to tell when you’re so wet you’re sure you’re going to dehydrate tomorrow and fuck you only get wetter with the strumming and Maker you know the snake was poisonous but…but could he really want you this much?  

He sucks in a gulp of dusty air through his teeth, grunts and holds you tighter, his arm strong as beskar around your midriff and a burning palm pressing you against the cloak, sinking it deeper into the sand.

Finally, the Mandalorian pulls out with a grunt, your hips following his with a sucking sound because of the grip of your walls against his girth. He stops right before the tip slips out, its ridge catching on your opening. And maybe whatever venom running through his veins dissipated because he doesn’t move for a second that feels like an eternity. Fleeting disappointment surges inside you because maybe…maybe it was just the serpent. Maybe he doesn’t really want you. You are the only fuckable thing for miles, and you’ve heard enough about the toxin to imagine how desperate he’d be. Stars, you feel like such an idi—

Mando’s hips suddenly crash against yours, sinking himself to the hilt.

You feel him everywhere. Fucking everywhere, even where he isn’t. The fat cock hammering into you randomly with no pace or metric, seemingly determined to taste every inch inside your cunt takes most of your attention, but the hand on your back kneads and pulls the thin skin there as best as it can. You try to brace yourself against something solid—anything—but when your hands form fists they find only handfuls of sand, and the delicate particles do nothing to steady you from the animalistic thrusts of the Mandalorian.

So you moan, long and high to try and release all the pleasure stockpiling inside of you with no exit routes. Mando answers with grunts all the way down in his glottis. A deep and angled snap of his hips hits you somewhere electrifying, and you feel something hot and liquid knot your pelvic muscles tighter. His skin slaps against yours obscenely, paired with the squelching of your pussy trying to engulf him deeper and deeper in spite of his size.

“T-take it,” you hear him growl behind you. Barely. Your ears ring and you can’t even listen to your own whimpers anymore. His length keeps coming, restless and infinite and fuck, you need to focus on something else, something outside to keep your head from slipping away. “Just—just f-fucking take me whole, you—"

Fuck, focus. Focus, count to ten, do something—

You grit your teeth and you can’t even warn him. Something drops into your pelvic muscles and you swear you can see the blue desert sky in a flash behind your eyelids and feel the blinking stars prickling the nerve endings on your back, making you spasm desperately. Your head spins, and you only feel pleasure. Only him.

Still half-passed out from your release, you hear it before you feel it. The wet sound contrasting the dry dunes of how he keeps using your cunt to get himself off. He’s not letting you come down, fall to the natural next step of your cycle and relax. Breathe. No, he keeps filling every last inch of you, faster now with the help of the additional wetness and holds you in that state of euphoria that keeps hitting you like a tide. Shit, are you cumming again?

“F-fuck—fuck—d-did you—ngh—cum? W-was that—” Another wave hits you and you clamp down mercilessly around him before he can get an answer. His long moan gets you wetter somehow, and you can’t even savor it before the strong forearm holding your waist pulls you upright against him.

Up is down as you try to figure out in the darkness where your body ended up. Something slumps behind you and pulls you down with it hard against the cushioning of the sand. You find yourself impaled on the Mandalorian’s cock, his chest to your back. He bends and opens his legs to grab yours, pulling them back and hooking them around his cuisses. Propped up with most of your weight on Mando’s hips, your feet barely graze the cloak below them.

You reach up to touch him but he beats you to it, wrapping his arms around your torso and grabbing the surely bruising skin of your tits. Your eyes roll back and you try you best to keep your head above the water, which proves incredibly difficult when you feel his lips on your jaw, his drool trailing down your neck. You turn your head and he doesn’t miss a beat before his tongue slips between your lips, tasting and exploring and almost drinking from you like you’re water in he’s been stranded in this desert for years.

Mando thrust up at you, resuming his senseless fucking. And maybe you’re a little greedy. Maybe it’s wrong, especially because you don’t have an excuse to act like this, but you roll down into his cock, wanting him everywhere and for as long as you can get him. His thrusts are almost impossible to meet and his thickness catches at your opening, but you work diligently—determined to have him buried as deeply as he wants to go. The beskar of his chest trembles against your shoulders with a vibrating, noiseless moan.

“You—you pretty t-thing,” he breathes lowly against your mouth. You grab his knees for support and push down harder. “I’ve want—wanted this—w-wanted you f-for so—so long.” He bites your lower lip. His voice sounds delirious.

Maker, it’s ridiculous. You’re bouncing your pussy on his stiff cock like an animal in heat, but his words warm your chest more than your core. You know it’s probably the poison talking, but you indulge in it. You let your hand cradle his cheek and bring your lips sweetly against his, pretending you’re his lover and not just a vessel for his release. He gasps into the kiss.

It’s with your lips that he finally lets go. It happens midthrust, so his cum spurts out of you and dribbles down his cock. It smears on your folds and, surely, on the cloak beneath. Stars, you’re shaking. Your legs spasm with the promise of another orgasm that almost—almost happened. Still holding you, Mando pulls out, and the rest of his seed spills on wool and sand.

What now? If not the sweat and the fucking, then his release surely evacuated the venom by now. The Mandalorian pants behind you, just as spent and exhausted, and what the hell are you supposed to say to each other now? You squirm uncomfortably at the dilemma, and your slit accidentally drags against something upright beneath you. Mando winces at the contact.

Maker, is he still hard? How—?

Fingers dig into your arms and force you forward and away from him. You fall on top of the cloak, barely pillowing your fall with your forearms before you feel the Mandalorian turning you around to face him.

You lay open below him, ruined and confused in the darkness as to what he’s planning for you next. Your clit pulses with equal parts arousal and apprehension at the uncertainty, but it decides for the former when you feel him dip his fingers in your entrance and scoop his cum and yours. The sound of him pumping himself faster and faster is muffled by his moaning. It’s filthy gibberish: loose words of everything he’s dreamt about doing to you; of how he’s going to fuck you over and over again; of how you’re going to take every drop of him; of how good it’s going to be for you.

Four fingers land on your clit and work it wetly up and down. A whine escapes you and you’re so sensible it almost hurts and your head swims and he’s still talking but there’s something…something sincere about his words. Something that hides beneath the frantic movements against your bud that feels almost reverent. Like the snake’s toxin only lifted a veil, revealing the Mandalorian’s pent up lust and primal instincts below his layers of unyielding discipline.

“S-so, so fucking good for me, so—"

You cry out when your walls tighten around nothing with powerful contractions, deciding at some point of the frenzy that consumes you that you’ll take advantage of this queer land and the limbo its night has thrown both of you into. Deciding you’ll let the Mandalorian explore his more primitive urges and fuck you into tomorrow, whatever “tomorrow” may mean for your relationship with him.

The sound of him fucking his hand quickens and you hear it closer to your body. You can’t tell exactly where.

“I—I—gonna c-cum.” His voice tightens in his throat. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” you answer breathlessly, and you mean it.

[ivanabaqero]

Since I just returned from rehab, here is my.. idk, emotional journey on my chronic illness + mental health or wtf ever u wanna call this. This is the most personal thing I have ever posted but I need to get it out. 

Before you read, I guess I gotta tw this for suicidal thoughts and descriptions of my symptoms.

I don’t even know where to start. It feels like all of this happened in one week and at the same in a span of several years. But no idea, time just kept passing and more shit happened. 

Last summer was pretty cool. I worked hard and made a fuckton of money - not really considering the consequences of the fact that I overstepped the boundaries of my body every single day. Either way, I regret nothing it was pretty cool and another experience I am glad I could make. Well, but when I came back home, I started to notice a few things. Among some weird shit nobody wants to know about, I noticed a change of my eyesight. There was a cloud right on the vision on my left eye and it got blurry. At first, it started with minutes and then it passed. But I knew my body responded to exhaustion in an odd way so I let it slide. As doctors have instructed me, only when it lasts over 24 hours it’s an actual episode/flare and I should go to the ER -- to elaborate this further, I have been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 2015 and have not had any bigger flares since, only the regular symptoms like fatigue, etc.

 I got treated with the regular medication; cortisone. This shit gave me some energy boost for a few days and then, things went back to somewhat normal. The blurry thing in my eye has changed into a weird ass thing called nystagmus. Basically, my eyeball was twitching. It was better than the blurry sight and my doctors told me that physical therapy was the only thing to help me with that, and up until some weeks ago this didn’t stop, at the moment it’s gotten way better though - a relief because that caused me mad headache and made reading really difficult.

Anyway, that was the smaller problem. A few months later, in December around Christmas, I have gotten really weak and have been constantly dizzy. As usual, I let it slide for some days. Up until that point when I couldn’t move from the bed or look at anything else but right up at the ceiling or I would get fucking dizzy. Back to the ER again, the same procedure began. Cortisone  resulted in a massive push of energy that lasted for some days, but after that, all the symptoms slowly returned. Not only that, but it started to get worse. I have been dragging and limping with my left foot since months but I still managed somehow to walk and get around. In January I had a major panic attack when I noticed that I couldn’t walk on my own to my doctors, which is merely an 8 minute walk away. I had to call my mom to bring me back home because I couldn’t go any step more. My doctor sent me to the ER but the next day, I decided that I was fine and being over dramatic and everything was perfectly fine. The whole thing kept getting worse, I could not walk anymore, I kept feeling dizzy all the time unless I was staring at only one spot: my laptop or phone. So that was what I did, ignore my symptoms. Adding to my chronic fatigue, dizziness, inability to walk and my eye problem, a sensitivity problem spread all over my body from the chest downwards. My hands hurt and my fingers cramped up and got stiff, I lost all feeling in my feet. I had an appointment at the neurologist thank god, or else, I would have let it gotten worse and kept telling myself that I am being over dramatic and nothing is actually wrong. Delusional? Maybe. I don’t understand myself there either.

The neurologist decided to keep me in hospital for a whole ass week, getting cortisone every day. I got in there with the ambulance in a wheelchair and left out of there walking again. Not perfectly, but I thought things were looking up. Of course, once the high dose of steroids begins to wear off and you slowly come down from it, you first catch sleep. Steroids this time have been given to me five days in high dose instead of three and in addition, I had to take pills that I had to reduce slowly over another two weeks. I did not sleep in those three weeks more than 3-4 hours per night and then I finally could. To make this more understandable; my brain was tired but my body was buzzing. I also had a tremor that has still not entirely left me as a wonderful side effect from the medication. 

That time stationary they finally put me back in a MRT and found 2 bigger new lesions. One of them in my cerebellum and the other in my spinal cord. Each of them causing me all those massive problems. Back at home I had physical therapy every day, but despite all of it, I had to rely on a wheelchair. I got my wheelchair in march and named him Otto because he is the best man ever. Next time in hospital, I was mentally and physically just fucking done and tried to just ignore how much my mental health was going downhill along with my body, the neurologist offered me stationary rehab at a very well known center where they treat several physical as well as mental illnesses. I said yes, and luckily got a place in July.

The initial plan was to stay there for four weeks, but the doctors suggested to extend to six. I did. And good that I did. I made slow progress. Very slow. To imagine, in twenty minutes at the first day I could barely walk 130m with four  breaks in between, with walking aid and what not - and my last day I made 640m in the same time with no breaks. I know this doesn’t sound like a lot but fuck -- I made it out of a fucking wheelchair. I am walking again. Not perfectly or any good, but my legs are used for their purpose again; to get me through this world. For someone who loves hiking and going for little walks alone, this was such a big deal to just not be able to anymore. 

The day I had the panic attack was the day I realized that in 2015 I made a promise to myself that if I ever have to rely on other people, I would end it. But I felt selfish for not wanting to end it. I felt selfish  for wanting to live and being a burden to people. I know, none of this is my fault and I am the first to give good advice, but am I good at handling my own shit? Absolutely not. 

With all the physical therapy I did for six weeks every day, I also had a psychologist that helped me understand myself better and deal with the trauma this experience brought me. I have to find another psychologist at home as well, because I didn’t feel the one I have helped me at all. I had to make a lot of promises to myself, such as accepting and asking for help and that it’s no shame in doing so. I feared losing my independence and I still do. But fuck, this experience was an eye opener in so many ways. I made new friends in rehab as well, which was one of the coolest things. And I got hit on by two attractive men - can you believe? I was in a wheelchair, dressed like absolute shit and not making any kind of deal of how I look! But yeah, my interest wasn’t really there to get involved in anything. I’ve got a lot of love to give but I need to give it to myself rather than pour it out on someone else.

I learned so many lessons, about my body and about my mind. My brain is an idiot and I have so many fears I was never even able to see until now. I thought optimism could beat everything and well... while it helps me a lot to get through every day life, every now and then I just need a slap in the face to look at things in another light. Not everything is fine if you tell yourself it is, no, you are not over reacting and you are allowed to feel sorry for yourself when life is dealing you a bad card. It doesn’t matter that other people have it worse -- it doesn’t mean your own shit is any less valid. And with that, I am going to wash my face and stop crying. I am still in a shock of reality state because I am  back at home now and everything is different. And I got to admit, I feel a little lonely. But I don’t want to reach out to my old friends at the moment with whom I felt like the “sick friend”. I want more friends in similar positions as me so I don’t have to feel bad for... well, feeling bad, and I don’t want to hear any more optimism monologues from healthy people who have absolutely no idea what it is like to have chronic pain, fatigue and overall; an illness. Whether it be mental or physical.

If you really read all of this, thank you. There was no need to, but I appreciate it. I honestly just needed to let it out. Because I haven’t done so properly since all of that started. 

[amelinksanatomy]

hi do u think you could write one of amelia working from home (set during covid) so while she looks at scans or other things she also needs to take care of scout and tend him please

Busy Day

A/N: Thank you for the prompt. For the purpose of this prompt, Meredith's kids are else where. There's not too much going on and it's a little on the short side but I hope you like it!

"Okay buddy," Amelia smiles down at her son as he lays on her bed while she finishes buttoning his onesie, "It's just you and me today."

4-month-old Scout looks up and gurgles happily, kicking his little legs around in an attempt to remove his socks. Amelia giggles softly at his cuteness as she reaches down, sliding her hands under him and lifting him onto her chest. The baby settles his head onto her shoulder as Amelia rocks gently from side to side, "Daddy's at work so it's just us. You're dressed and fed and now Mommy's gotta get ready because she's got a few consults today so I need you to be good for me, okay?

After her first consult, Amelia had been sent some scans to review. She was sat on the couch with her computer open in front of her on the coffee table and Scout sat up against her chest.

"And right here," Amelia points to the enlarged brain scan on the screen, "is the frontal lobe. It's used for problem solving and organising and decision making."

Amelia cocks her head to the side and smiles down at the baby in her lap. She bounces him gently on her knees and strokes his hair softly.

"And if you look right here... there is the nasty little tumor that Mama has to remove." her baby voice starts to creep in as she reaches the end of her sentence while she takes hold of Scout's small hands and softly shakes them in the air, "Right now, the tumor is making the patient is experiencing problems with his memory and impulse control which, isn't good for him... or for anyone really. So, Mama has to get it out of his brain soon."

Scout starts giggling happily as Amelia bounces him around on her knee once more, "You like brains baby? They're cool, huh."

"You gonna be a neurosurgeon like your Mommy?" Scout turns his head to look up at Amelia's face as she spoke, a sweet little smile appearing on his face as he babbles, "It's okay buddy, we won't tell Daddy."

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

"So, your scans did show multiple lesions which are likely the cause of your seizures." Amelia explains to the patient she was having a video consult with as she was sat at the kitchen table.

"Does that mean it's fixable? Can you make the seizures stop?" the woman on the other end of the call asks, hopeful that she'd come to the right surgeon.

"Yes. I can remov-" Amelia stops mid sentence as a piercing cry sounds through the baby monitor beside her, "I'm sorry, my son just woke up from his nap, I really need to go and pick him up, i'll be right back."

Once returning from the nursery, Amelia sat back in front of the computer with Scout in her arms. He was now calm and staring up at his Mom with his wide blue eyes as she continued with her consult.

"I'm sorry about this. My boyfriend is at work so it's just us here and this little man is very needy." she apologises as she adjusts Scout in her arms, "It's no problem, really, you look like you're doing a great job balancing things."

Amelia smiles as she looks down at the baby in her arms. Truthfully, she had been concerned about how she was going to handle having a baby and working. She'd seen a lot of her friends do it but, it still worried her. It worried her that she'd miss too much of his life. So far, because of the pandemic, she was able to do her consults online which meant she got to stay with Scout while she worked and then got a break when she went in for surgeries.

"Like I was saying, I will be able to go in surgically and remove the lesions which will hopefully relieve you of your seizures."

"That would be amazing. When can we do it?" the patient asks but before Amelia has a chance to answer, Scout starts wailing once more, "Oh god, he's hungry, I'm so sorry."

Amelia quickly stands up and runs over to the refrigerator, the screaming baby still in her arms as she swings it open to look for a pre-pumped bottle to give him.

"Crap." she whispers under her breath, "No bottles."

"Alright, I guess we're just gonna have to get ma boobs out in the middle of this consult. Never thought I'd do that. The things I do for you." she whispers down to the still crying baby.

She sits back at the table, angling the computer up so the camera is only showing her face before opening her shirt to allow her son to start eating. Immediately, he calms down against her chest. Amelia looks back up to the screen and offers her patient a smile.

"Okay, where were we?"

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

The front door closing startles Amelia, waking her up from where she'd fallen asleep on the couch with Scout laid across her chest. It takes her a moment to come around and focus her eyes on the body that had just walked in.

"Hey." Link smiled as he placed his bag down by the door and made his way over to the couch. He sat down beside Amelia, placed a hand gently down on the baby's back before leaning in to kiss Amelia, "How was your day?"

Amelia laughs, "Well, we successfully got ready without any tears and then I showed him some brains which he seemed to love annnnnd then I got my boobs out in the middle of a consult."

"Huh..." Link laughed and raises his eyebrows waiting to see if she'd give some kind of explanation.

"He woke up from a nap while I was in the middle of a consult and started screaming because he was hungry. There wasn't any bottles in the fridge so I just had to- I obviously tilted the camera up."

They both laughed again which caused Scout to start stirring on her chest. The two of them watched with a smile as their son wriggles for a second before settle back down, pressing his face into her chest.

"Well, it sounds like you had an eventful day." Link says softly as Amelia leans her head on his shoulder. He places a kiss on her forehead and runs his fingers through her hair gently,

"You're doing an amazing job, Amelia. I'm proud of you."

[greythroat]

arknights roleswap au

where theresa and kal'tsit pick up mephisto and faust in ursus, while talulah meets and takes in amiya a few years later. the kids are a bit older in this au so they'd be around 17 in the main story.

amiya

the infection is worse. she has lots of lesions all over her body. her arts make it difficult for her to get close to people, as prolonged skin contact (casting proficiency reduces the risk) distorts the mind and eventually kills. writes a lot so she can communicate without putting anyone in danger. has her canon energy balls of death and heart reading. i've written my hc for her backstory before (https://archiveofourown.org/works/33559045/chapters/90757339) and the rim billiton portion is what holds true for this au. tldr for link: amiya grows up as an infected (she hides her infection status) with powerful arts in rim billiton, where she defends her hometown from monsters. the divergence is that the originium exposure causes her infection to progress to a level where it can't be hidden anymore. her parents covertly send for a doctor, but he's a con artist who kidnaps her and plans to sell her as a child soldier. amiya escapes parentless and trust-issued, spending the next ~10 years wandering around terra. at some point she meets talulah, who she calls "miss talulah", and they have a mentor/student sort of relationship. they understand each other better than anyone else but sometimes disagree about how to handle things. trying to win patriot's trust. close to alina, but doesn't want to rely on her too much.

mephisto

half-liberi, half-sarkaz. conversely from amiya, in much better health. lord of fiends and theresa's heir as the king of kazdel. has his canon arts on steroids and the herd does the manual labor around rhodes island (who knows what they make up to tell other people). thus, rhodes island is more threatening a place to be than in canon. there's a whole room where he does fucked up stuff. as far as the official story goes, the herd was already dead when mephisto got to them and the pain they express is actually mephisto's. emphasis on the first part of that sentence. the doctor is an extremely bad influence on him. he calls theresa "king theresa" or "the king", except when he wants to be annoying, then he calls her "sister theresa". he would never do that to kal'tsit, though, she scares him. when theresa dies and the doctor is taken away, he begins to blame kal'tsit for the problems. kal'tsit vetoes the chernobog operation but he goes anyway, counting on rhodes not being willing to lose him. more functional than in canon but still mean and morally bankrupt under the pr facade. dgaf about politics but knows the mantle of king is not one he can put down.

a little bit about faust bc i have to: he works under ascalon as mephisto's bodyguard and also has a personal sniper squad. he's known for being able to show up in different places in rhodes seemingly inexplicably. has a complicated relationship with doctor and kal'tsit. doesn't buy into theresa at all.

[streets-in-paradise]

Fool

Troy Reader Insert Oneshot 

Word Count: 1.187

Pairing: ( Pre War) Paris x Healer Reader

Genre: Fluff with some funny elements.

Warnings: None

Summary: The reader is the daughter of the most famous healer of the city, a friend of the royal family, and she has a long time crush on Paris. He never seemed to be interested on her untill she returns from a long trip she made with her mother and his ways around her start to change. She doesn’t want to let him know that she reciprocates his feelings because she is afraid of getting hurted. Instead of being disencouraged, Paris keeps chazing her even to the cost of making a fool of himself. 

Disclaimers: This is for @spideyanakin​ , who asked me for a Paris x Reader just at the same time i was plotting the idea. This is slyghtly inspired in a less grimm approach for the story of Paris and Oenone. Since in the legends she is a ninph who knows a lot about healing, here the reader is a healer but that’s all. The backstory is invented by me and this is in Troy’s universe so i had to go for a human character for the reader. Also, there is a small reference to another reader insert of mine. I kinda connected everything accidentally. 

Tags: @yerevasunclair​ @hrisity12​ 

 The most remarkable trojan healer and her daughter returned from a long trip to Egypt. They were away from their homeland for almost a year, received under the goodwill of cultural exchange between nations as experts in the most notorious aspect of cultural development of their city. King Priam threw a party in honour of their return, he was absolutely pleased with the outcome of the trip as well. The celebration was esplendid. They were the center of attention and they got plenty of time to share their stories about the magnificent experience of sharing knowledge with people of such a glorious civilization. The young lady was a bit more unused than her mother to those sorts of travels, since it was the first one she ever joined her in one. She had a lot of amazing details to tell about her first trip. During the party,she felt slightly strange after noticing she was being the focus of all the stares. She was dressed in egyptian fashion, with garments that were gifted to her by the pharaohess herself. Everyone asked her about it and her old friend, the princess, recommended her to relax and enjoy the well deserved attention. 

  She started to feel in the mood for it only when she noticed a particular person staring at her. Paris, the youngest prince and her long time crush, seemed to be in awe while glancing at her. She was aware of the rumours about him, claiming he was an insatiable seductor, but she couldn’t help to feel a bit of weakness around him even after all the time that passed. She was used to being seen by him as only a friend of his little sister and that was his usual attitude with her. He never displayed any form of interest, not in the way in which he was usually seen chasing other girls. Then, after a year of not seeing him, he was looking at her like if she was an entirely different person. It was the way in which she always wanted to be seen by him. The soft stare of his brown eyes set on her with admiration and curiosity, as if he was trying to figure out who she was even when they already knew each other. 

  He didn’t approach her directly that night, probably because his sister was keeping an eye on him, guessing what he wanted to do, and he didn’t want to upset her. Paris’s interest became obvious during the first week of work she had in the houses of healing. Since she came back and assumed the position that was destined to her there the prince started inventing excuses to show up. Those started as quasi logical requests and became insanely ridiculous over time. A headache, a stomach ache, lack of sleep, a scraped leg,anything seemed like a good reason to look for the healers, expecting to be attended by her.

“ Paris, you can’t keep doing this. You will get me into trouble.” she warned him when he saw him coming for the eighth time in six days. 

“ Why?  You are fulfilling your duty of watching over my health. I require your delicate touch because I am a more delicate man than my brother and you have the softest hands on the kingdom.”  He replied innocently, glancing at her with his sweetest expression. 

“ You are not sick. Everybody knows it already.” 

“ It could be something on the inside. I could be dying.” He exaggerated 

“ You know? It is curious how in this week I have seen you more often than I ever did.” 

“Isn’t that proof of how serious i am? I feel terrible, I could faint anytime” 

“ Or maybe you just decided to notice that i exist?” She replicated, showing her annoyance. 

   Paris passed the threshold of the door and sat directly over a table she was using. He looked at her like a lost puppy while getting in the middle of her work, showing how desperate for attention he was. 

“ Do you really have such a low concept of me? I have always been fond of you. Now I just happened to discover a different side of you I crave to keep knowing… I also have an insufferable pain on my shoulders.”  

“ Archery lesion?” 

“ You will have to see it for yourself..” He teased her.

He didn’t give her time to start checking before pulling off the upper section of his garments, displaying his shoulders and back and trying to be seductive about it. 

“ You are dumber than what I remembered.”  She mocked him. 

“ But you remember me and that’s enough.”  He replied, smiling pridefully. 

She started to examine the area being very careful with her touching. At some point, Paris did an obvious acting, pretending to be in pain. 

“ You are a terrible actor and a fool. Luckly for you, I have a weakness for fools. What do you really want from me?” 

“ Some of your attention to ask you out and maybe a back massage?” He suggested in a clumsy attempt of honesty. 

“ I didn’t spend a year studying with egyptian healers to end up giving you back massages like a common caretaker. Look for another fool.” 

“ I am not fooling you.” He reassured her.” You are right, I’m a fool. I had seen you around my sister since you were little girls sharing your firsts lessons and i didn’t pay enough attention. I saw you at that party and I lost my mind over you. Maybe I needed enough time without seeing you to realize what I was missing.” 

“ I bet you had said nice things like that to every girl in the city at least twice. I would like to, but i don’t believe you.” She simply stated.

Instead of disencourage him, her reply made him get more determination.

“ You don’t do it now , but you will someday. I’m not a quitter, I will keep trying until you will be entirely convinced of how you had enraptured my heart since that night in which I saw you dressed like a foreigner goddess… What’s the name of the egytpian goddess of love?” 

She chuckled. That was what she liked the most about him, his clumsy humour and his positivity. 

“ Hathor. ”  She corrected him. 

“ Well, you are more beautiful than her and I have been blinded by my stupidity. Can you forgive a fool and give him another chance?” 

She remained silent for a while. The sweet bliss of Paris’s face as he waited full of hope was killing her. Internally, all she wanted to do was to kiss his perfect lips and hush his fears of rejection. At the same time, she didn’t want to leave things so easy for him. She gave him a short peck over the commissure of his lips. Short enough to tease him and confusive enough to make him doubt if she really tried to go for his cheek or his mouth. His confusion was evident and she thought it was the most adorable thing in the world.

“ Put in a bit more effort and i may consider it.” 

[kindasadwriter]

This turned out to be way longer than I expected so I put a cut in.  Hope you like this anon! 

While he had no clue where you were he knew you were nearby thanks to Hattori’s absence.  The bird who had been loyal to him and only him for years developed a weakness for you at your first meeting, irksome at times but he had no right to judge considering his own feelings.  Though he couldn’t help but wonder if Hattori would be so enamored if you processed a different devil fruit power or none at all.  

He’d never get an absolute answer but he was fairly certain if you were anything other than a bird Hattori would be far less interested.  

Turning a corner to cut through a nearby alley Lucci’s frown deepened when he realized there was still no sign or trace of you.  If he was searching for anybody else he’d have more patience however this was you and it was very likely you were not only already aware of his presence but knew he was searching for you as well.  Which meant you were purposely avoiding him. 

Which was beyond infuriating.

Emotions aside, while the two of you have fought in the past he’d never managed to seriously injure you and during your more recent meetings he made no effort to do so.  If you noticed the change in nature you kept it to yourself, and if that was the case he was thankful for your silence as it kept his pride completely intact.  Regardless of what he told himself or how he looked at it, falling in love with an unaligned informant was embarrassing and dangerous considering his own occupation.  

There was nothing he could do though.  The government could try to send others but you were very particular with those you interacted with and rather than waste resources to find another lesion to work with you, it was easier to just send him.  

 Watching him from the sky you chuckled as Lucci continued to search for you.  You were well aware he knew you were here however revealing yourself like that was no fun.  Well that and it was strategic to remind the house cat that you couldn’t be found that easily, though you would admit thanks to his keen senses and Hattori’s infatuation he was the one that found you with the most ease.  Glancing at the bird that’d was peacefully perched on your shoulder, you could admit to yourself that you’d developed a sort of soft spot for the house cat over the past few years.  You had a hunch he’d developed something similar for you but he was a difficult man to read. 

Wings getting tired you glided down to a nearby building and transformed back to normal.  Wings turned back to arms and talons turned back to legs.  You’d consumed your devil fruit as a child and so your bird like abilities had become second nature.  Wanting to have some fun with him you found a nearby fire escape and stealthy made your way down to the ground.  Arguably you were putting yourself at a disadvantage considering Lucci’s power-both physical and devil fruit ability but the opportunity to sneak up on the man or at the very least surprise him was far too good to pass up. 

Spying on the spy, you followed him around careful not to make a sound.  Every so often Hattori would notice how close you were to Lucci and would try to fly back to the man but you made sure to keep the bird in place by using your left arm to anchor him down onto your shoulder.  If he were to return to Lucci no doubt he’d know just how close you were.  

Hattori really was a peculiar bird.  They had no devil fruit and yet they could find Lucci and yourself as if the two of you had trackers that led the bird to you.  At first you believed the bird to be a very realistic robot but an accident between you and Lucci proved otherwise.  You still felt a little guilty but time had healed the birds wounded wing and neither Lucci or Hattori seemed to hold a grudge over it.

As Lucci stepped out of an alley way and back into the public you let him get a little further before stepping out to continue your stalking.  Humming softly you had to wonder exactly what the man needed this time.  It hadn’t been all that long since you’d last met and it was rare for him to need more information so soon.  Had you unknowingly come across valuable information or had the house cat docked on the same island as you by chance? If it was the latter there was no guarantee he was actually searching for you right now and even if he was it was of his own will rather than orders.  

The possibility brought a small smile to your face.  So distracted by the thought your grip on the pigeon loosened and sensing the opportunity to return to Lucci and alert him to your presence Hattori launched himself off your shoulder and was back with Lucci in moments.  

“..Ah..” You observed as the man eyed the bird before turning his head slightly to look back and scan the area, “Not great.” You added as the two of you made eye contact.  

Well, this was fine too.  

Transforming back into your half bird form you gave the man a wink before taking off into the sky.  Regardless of where you went he’d be able to track you now so you might as well go somewhere more private to talk or fight.  Really you’d prefer the former but every so often he’d ask for information you weren’t willing to give the government and that’d result in a fight between the two of you.  Him trying to force the information out of you without killing you(because let’s face it you were a valuable resource) and you trying to push him back and look for a proper means of escape.  

Spotting a fairly secluded area you landed but didn’t bother transforming back.  It didn’t take much longer for Lucci to arrive.  

“Hey house cat.” You greeted with a smile.

His frown deepened at the nickname but he said nothing regarding it, “How long were you following me?”

Innocently humming you tilted your head to the side, “No idea what you’re talking about.” You replied, “I definitely didn’t follow you all the way from that restaurant, through the alley ways for a good hour or so and then through town for a little bit.”

Trying to keep his brow from twitching Lucci took a deep breath before letting out an exasperated sigh.  How was it one woman could be so irritating? Not wanting risk playing any of her games, both for professional and personal reasons Lucci cut straight to the point, “What do you know about the country of Dressrosa?”

Now that was a..complicated subject.  The country had changed drastically since Doflamingo took it over and getting information about what happened was..difficult if not confusing.  You’d visited it on several occasions but talking to people and some of the strange toys had only made things more confusing.  Stories seemed to contradict or end without reason.  Citizens had blank spaces in their memories, photos they couldn’t explain, and other odd occurrences.  

You’d wanted to go back to investigate more, simply to satisfy your own curiosity but the heavenly demon had sent you a very clear warning that if you returned to that country you wouldn’t leave it.  While you didn’t doubt your own strength you also weren’t foolish enough to put yourself in a situation where an entire island could be easily turned against you and so you’d taken his warning to heart and never returned.  

“Not that I doubt your strength but if you’re planning on taking a trip to Dressrosa I’d advice you to be more cautious than you were today.”

“Care to expand on that?” He questioned.

Not all that protective over Doflamingo or the country of Dressrossa you were happy to tell him a majority of what you knew, which unfortunately wasn’t nearly as much as you’d like.  The underground SMILES, green bit, Doflamingo’s odd rise to power, the human like toys, and the citizens odd behavior at times.  

Lucci wasn’t surprised by a majority of the information you gave as CP0 had already gathered the same though there were some loose ends that were tied up by what you said.  If he thought you were holding out on him he would’ve said something but by the time you finished talking you had an unsatisfied expression, it was the same look you had when he refused to tell you how he loss to straw hat.  Actually it was the same look you wore whenever you didn’t know as much as you wanted to, it was amusing and cute and at times it made him wonder if fate had originally intended for the both of you to consume the others devil fruit.  

“I thought you’d know more.” He finally said, earning himself a warning glare.  Shamefully and painfully aware that you’d probably been stalking him for quite some time before he found you he continued to push your buttons.  His words really weren’t all that insulting if you thought about it, the fact you knew anymore than CP0 was beyond amazing especially considering you worked alone for the most part(your only-ally other than himself to a degree-being the media that protected you and had far too much leverage over the government for anything to be done to you without facing a wave of backlash that), well you really were something else.  

“Well if it’s not good enough you can always go ask some other world class informant.” You snapped.

“I might have to.” He casually agreed.

Fingers involuntarily twitching, you took a step towards Lucci.  Jabbing your index finger directly into his chest you glared daggers as you spoke up, “I know for a fact there isn’t anybody else like me” You paused before adding, “Anywhere, Lucci.”

Were you defending your profession or simply stating a fact?  It was true for both but he wouldn’t admit it to you right now.  If he did your conversation would be over and the two of you would have to go your own ways.  It was impossible to avoid, the two of you really weren’t meant to be close or have any sort of relationship and yet you did.  Lucci still recalled the shocked looks and surprised tones when he returned from his first meeting with you.  He supposed he was lucky you took an interest in him because he’d gotten more information out of you than anybody else had and since then you’d become a part of his job to the government.  And what did you get in return? 

Looking up at the sky, or rather the news coo that had been circling above the two of you for some time he really couldn’t help but wonder.  He’d tried questioning you before but so far it had been the one thing you refused to answer him about.  Never the less, moments like this were more than enough for now.  This kept the two of you alive and allowed you to continue meeting and until he could find out exactly what your relationship to the media was, what you were getting and they had over you and you over them-there really was nothing more you could do.  

[sweetest-honeybee]

Actually I would love to hear about Clap’s involvement! Bach’s curiosity and want for entertainment is also very fun to learn about, I already have a thought or two rolling around with pens as I type. Oh, and don’t worry about rambling! I love listening to rambles! -Scribe anon

:DD

This is gonna be extensive lmao (also mentions of decapitation)

Okay so Lesion hates Sever because Sever got to live a life that he don’t get a chance to live. “Stole” those years or whatever.

Lesion hates Vespa because, ofc, Vespa killed him to revive Sever.

Lesion would hate Clap for even killing Sever in the first place.

Now here’s the weird part, Lesion, like most Hels and especially the people at the Ridge, was a huge fan of death. Loved killing people because it’s fun, ya know? And they taste good so win-win.

Clap just. Used people. All the time. As guinea pigs for his experiments and whatnot.

Lesion never had an issue with that, he often actually encouraged it (like most Hels).

But the day Clap decided “I’m gonna use Sever as a guinea pig and this machine may decapitate him” was basically a turning point ya know? Went a little too far, but just assumed because it was a rather insignificant little version of Scar, it wasn’t like anyone would miss him.

Right.

So we got our local softie over here, Waltz. Hels by technicality like Sever is and was there to witness said decapitation and went off to tell Vespa. Who, might I add, was an iron fist ruthless leader named Val. He wasn’t Vespa at that time.

I promise this is related, there’s just a lot that went into this event and there’s so many people who were involved that the lore is a bit scattered heh It’ll come back to Clap!

So Clap just let Waltz do that. He figured that this nasty and violent leader wouldn’t give two shits about some random Scar that hadn’t even existed that long and nobody knew who he was. People knew Lesion, people don’t know Sever (fun fact, Sever wasn’t called Sever at that point lmao, Sever was a nickname that came later) and Clap just assumed Val (Vespa) would be the same way.

AND BOY WAS HE WRONG

Val flipped his shit because this wasn’t just some rando off the street, this was a connection to a Hermit. This could cause so many issues of course!

But in the midst of seeing what he could do for Sever he literally just kinda. Shoved Lesion aside. I can’t explain exactly why he just decided then that Sever was of any importance, he just did. And that sparked the shift from iron fist leader to a much more approachable and powerful leader. He started caring about some life he didn’t even know but to do that, he had to get rid of any other existing Scar to bring him back which brought on the whole “Why is Sever’s Life More Important Than Lesion’s” debate among all of the districts.

People were confused and angry because everyone just went around killing people like it was nothing and nobody batted an eye and suddenly one of the most powerful people in their realm is just like NOPE. No more of that, we need to be a lot more careful.

Anyways, because of what Clap did, Vespa bothered Lesion for a WHILE, trying to convince him to just agree and give his life away. And on the other hand, Vespa sent Boogeydubs (a spy for the Ridge and Hornet Hills) to punish Clap how he see fit.

(And the whole thing with the curse and how/why it happened is very interesting and I’d love to tell you about it)

But this WHOLE THING started because Clap was a dumb fuck and wasn’t watching who he was using and got his ass handed to him as well as Lesion. Lesion would’ve blamed him almost entirely.

And there’s even the after effects of the situation too related to the temporary shrink in Vespa’s district during the switch from Val to Vespa, Clap and Bach’s relationship damn near crumbled, Clap got worse as a person and a leader, Waltz was hated by nearly every district for snitching on Clap and that started Waltz living in Oblivion. It was just a huge chain reaction.

[storymaker-14]

Our secret love

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Word count:1.0k

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Pov: told to you/ Bakugou’s

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Hey guys! This is part 16 of the Bakugou x FEM! y/n. Hope you guys enjoy it!

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Master list to all the parts

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Into: after everything that happened Loki seemed to be keeping a close eye on Bakugou.

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AN: took me a good while to figure out what to write for this part but enjoy :”)

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You always knew your brother could be protective of you but isn’t this too much? He had you sit next to him for the next week, you barely got to talk to your friends or even Bakugou. “Lokiiiii I understand your worries but I have a life I would like to live.” he turned to you with a small sweat running down his face. It looked like he was thinking for a second then he turned back to you. “Uhm….then I’ll come with you. I just..don’t want to see you like that again…I don’t want to see anyone like that.”

-he must be referring to the panic attack…good dammit it-

You agreed to let him stick around you for another 2 days but after that, he had to go make some of his own friends. You also knew he was also using this as an excuse to not have to talk to anyone. Looking intimidating and being shy doesn’t work too well with each other. Whenever he does spark a conversation with someone somehow they end up leveling cuz he just stares at them. They don’t understand that he just doesn't like to talk all too much, especially with new people. You sigh as you drag him to your table with the rest of your friends. “WOW, IT'S Y/N! We haven’t seen you in like..forever! Where've you been? Also isn’t that your brother?” you try to answer all of Denkis's rapid questions but soon feel someone grab your hand. You didn’t turn to face him but you already knew it was Bakugou, since you guys couldn't hold hands in front of people he often would hold your hand under tables so no one saw. But it's usually you who goes to hold his hand first. He only does it when he feels jealous (though he'll never admit it) or if he just missed you. You squeeze his hand which errands a grunt out of him. You turn to face your brother instead who looked like he was on the verge of punching someone, though you know what that meant.

-he's uncomfortable….I mean they are loud and outgoing. I need to do something before he just leaves he needs to make some friends..-

“Hey Loki, why not tell them about yourself? They don’t know you too well anyway!” you smile and everyone else agrees with the idea. “Uh-...um” you saw him take a gulp then open his mouth to talk but nothing comes out for a second. “um…I’m Loki….uh….I think Izuku is my friend?.....um…..y/n is my sister….and…I like cats a lot..” he was shuffling in his seat, but you were proud of him most of the time he would just get up and walk away. “Cool! Cats are pretty nice though I’m not sure they like me this stray cat scratched me the other day!” not long before Denki was on another rant which in all honesty made your brother ease up. Though when Bakugou throws a water bottle at you and tells you to stop eyeing his water bottle though you knew it meant he wanted to make sure you were drinking water do you feel a strong familiar ora. Your brother was giving Bakugou the death stair. “Don’t throw things at her please.” you were just as shocked and scared as everyone else. Your brother would always stare down people that would be mean to you but he never said anything to them so clearly. “T-tck..whatever I’m leaving.” you also never seen Bakugou stutter before.

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After a couple of days, things seemed to be going back to normal, until one day. You, Denki, and Bakugou were playing against each other. Loki, Mina, and Shoto were talking in the background. He seemed to enjoy hearing people talk. After a couple of minutes, you and Bakugou had 2 points while Denki only had one. It was the final round and you lost due to being distracted by Denki. “HA TOLD YOU! CAN’T EVEN BEAT ME IN A DAMN GAME SHI**Y WOMAN!” he said it, then regretted it instantly. Your brother stops lesioning to Mina and Shoto and looks Bakugou dead in the eyes. “What?” you felt like someone was holding you still Bakugou looked…scared? Loki then stood up and walked over to Bakugou whispering something in his ear that made him go white then left. The room went dead silent. “Girl your brother is scary when he wants to be.” Denki agrees with Mina and you notice Bakugou signaling you to walk out with him. You nod and watch as he walks out of the building. After a minute or two, you walk out too and meet him in the back of the dorm building near some bushes. “I’m sorry about my brother he can be protective sometimes.” he just glared at you the sighed rubbing the back of his head with one hand while the other stayed in his pocket. “It's fine or whatever. I’ll be more careful next time.” you could tell that he missed you, and not just that, he missed the times you spent together. Having a secret relationship meant you guys could only meet in secret but now thanks to your brother you guys spent even less time together. But just as he was walking back after giving you a kiss on the forehead you grab his arm gently. “Meet me in the garden around 7:00, I have something I want to show you. He lifts an eyebrow in suspicion but nods noun the less and you both head back inside. You know exactly how to get some alone time with your boyfriend and make him feel better, without your shy and protective brother coming in to interfere.

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Sorry, this one is kinda just filler for the next part but I will be linking a playlist to the next one. So look forward to that anyway cya beautiful people <3