#had one of those realisations about recovery the other day

[reiderwriter]

could you write a fic with a fem reader where spencer’s going through withdrawal and he’s being like snappy and stuff when she’s just trying to help? idk if that makes sense?

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I'm sorry it took me so long ㅠㅠ I hope this is everything you were looking for!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid × GN! reader

Warnings: mentions of drug use, mentions of addiction in the family, and spoilers for Season 2 of Criminal Minds.

You can check out my masterlist here!

In comparison with the other members of the BAU, you had the most experience with recovery. So you knew that it wasn't easy. Spencer Reid didn't. 

The moment you'd noticed him stepping out on the team, spending more time isolated and with a shorter temper, you knew. Tobias Hankel had only tortured Spencer for a day, but he was still inside him even months later. 

The day you realised he was using, you moved yourself into his apartment. 

“Hi,” you said as he opened the doors, bleary-eyed from whatever hit he just dealt himself. “My apartment flooded, and I had nowhere else to go.” 

Spencer Reid would always help others before he helped himself. It took a few more hours to broach the discussion of the drugs, but when you did get him to give in, you could feel the weight flowing off his shoulders. 

“I can't get his face out of my mind. The drugs, they help. And I know they're not really helping, but it's like I'm not strong enough to care.” He'd broken down into tears, placed his supply on the tables in front of you  and picked open the wound that had never fully healed properly. 

Step one to recovery was accepting you needed help. Step two was harder. 

Slowly decreasing his intake until he was free of the drug. Watching him for any negative reactions in the field and at home, dealing with the underlying trauma. 

You had to talk to Hotch about it, of course. But he knew about your father, and to a certain extent, you knew about his. A single shared look was enough for you both to agree that Spencer needed everyone's support. 

So you dropped him off at his meetings. You picked him up afterwards. You watched him in the field for any mention of addiction and drug-related psychosis that could lead him down a dark path of what ifs. 

You held his hand. You kissed his head. You were there. 

Even when he tried to show you he didn't deserve it. 

“Spencer,” you'd started the conversation trying to get his attention, knowing from the far away look that he was missing the numbness that came with the high. 

“Spencer, you look tense. Are you okay?” He'd whipped his head around at the words, a scowl on his face. 

“You don't need to hover over me like I'm a child, Y/N.” 

“I want to know that you're okay.” You said back, pouring yourself a glass of water to calm yourself again. Sometimes, Spencer made every little question an attack, and you had to learn to dodge the blows.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I want to take care of you.” Your calm reply had him angrier though, as he snorted with a single reply. 

“Like you took care of your dad? That worked out so well, didn't it.” 

Ten years and any mention of the man who had raised you still had you freezing in shock. You almost didn't notice when your glass tumbled to the ground, to be smashed into a thousand tiny pieces.

It was almost as if the crash woke Spencer up from his stupor, his gaze growing regretful as he stood and approached you quickly. 

With a hand and a shake of a head, you stopped him, though.

“Let me clear the large pieces on my own. I don't want you to get hurt.” Kneeling, you did just that, picking out recognisable edges and sides and transporting them carefully into the trash. 

“I'm not going to sit here and let you do all the work, Y/N. I'm… I'm sorry.” His voice whispered those last few words as he kneeled next to you  sweeping the glass up, careful not to cut himself on it. 

You wiped the tears from your eyes as both of you worked busily, letting your argument hang in the air between you.

“I know you're sorry, Spencer,” you whispered as the two of you worked, still not brave enough to look him in the eyes. “My dad was, too. He never meant it, though.” 

“I mean it.” He stopped moving, and you finally looked up to his eyes, to the life there that sparked, that had been buried by Tobias Hankel. Motivation. 

With the glass cleared, he stood, reaching out a hand to you to help you up. You took it, letting him assist you. He didn't let go after, though. Not immediately. 

He stepped closer, and you relaxed into his chest, resting an ear over his heart. It was still beating, and that was what mattered. 

“I can't fix you, Spencer. I can't make this better. I can't do that for you, because you have to do it for yourself. That's what my dad never understood.” Your voice was barely audible, but you knew he could hear and knew he was listening. 

“I can't reverse what he did to you. But I promise, I will be here to remind you that you are a good man. To remind you of what you are like when you're you  how much I love you, how much we all love you.”

“I'll stand next to you and look into that mirror every morning and tell you what I see. A good man on the bad days, the same man on the good days. I don't want to fix you, Spencer. I want to love you, and I want you to accept that you're worth it.”

His head rested on top of yours, and you could feel his small wrecks of tears as he sniffled. Inhaling your scent, he could've spent the night wrapped in your arms like that.

“Thank you. For saying that. For being here. I know it's not easy.” 

“It's not. But you're worth it.” Clinging to him, you let the moments tick by, never releasing him from your warm embrace. 

[eyra]

I hope you’ll forgive my selfishness, but I am dying to ask: What did Remus think the first time he saw Sirius in Beneath a Big Blue Sky??

today is your lucky day. I've mentioned a few times that I've dabbled in the possibility of one day writing more bits and pieces in the Beneath a Big Blue Sky world. whether or not this will ever all see the light of day I'm not sure, but since you asked, I'll share a little snippet of Remus and Sirius meeting for the first time - from Remus's point of view.

enjoy 🐑🐑 x

“Mr Lupin, is it?”

Christ.

Remus nods slowly, shaking the other boy's hand. "If you like," he mutters. If I must be, he thinks. What a mess. What an absolute pain in the arse. "Two strong lads," Lyall had asked the agency for, and Remus knows because he was in the next room listening, and still smarting over the fact that his old dad wanted to hire help anyway. "We'll be reet," Remus had insisted, shaking out his left arm in proof that his shoulder was mostly healed, which it was. They would've managed: he still had his other arm, and all the ewes looked in good health so far, and bringing in two strangers to help run the season seemed like a fine waste of money to Remus and something they'd not done since he'd turned fifteen and proven that he was good and capable of handling just as much work as Lyall during the lambs, and he'd felt all kinds of embarrassed when Lyall had implied that this year he might need some help. As if he were now a problem to be solved, or somehow less of a man this year than he was last year, and certainly less than he ought to be.

But if they must get help - if Lyall must hire someone for a few months - then at the very least Remus had hoped that the workers who arrived would be up to the job. A couple of veterinary students, or something; someone who knew their way around a sheep, and it hadn't seemed too big an ask. As it is, the two boys standing dumbly in front of him on the station platform look less suited to farm work and more like they should be standing in a shop window somewhere, with their brand new boots and spotless, neatly-pressed cream trousers. Cream trousers, and all.

Remus remembers, one night in the late winter not long after the accident, being laid up in his bed in front of the fuzzy little television Hope had insisted on setting up in his room to keep him occupied during his recovery. It had a remote held together with Sellotape and a funny round aerial which didn't quite pick up the Freeview signal, and he'd been mindlessly flicking through the scant channels when he'd happened upon some reality programme or other; something about a load of toffs titting about London with daft haircuts and those cream trousers, and he wonders now if the two boys standing in front of him have seen the show, or realise how ridiculous they look.

Or at least, one of them looks ridiculous. The lanky one with the glasses and the palm that's far too smooth to have seen any real work in its life. He's still beaming down at Remus with a sort of manic smile, which sets Remus's teeth on edge - man looks insane - and then Remus lets his eyes slip away to the shorter boy standing next to him. And he's something else altogether. He's all cheekbones and soft, shoulder-length hair, the colour of Whitby jet, and it's tucked on the one side back behind his ear and then there's one pretty strand hanging loosely over his brow, and he's watching Remus uncertainly and when they make eye contact - when the noise of the four-by-four across the car park fades away to static, and the train on the platform huffs out a great cloud of smoke that Remus doesn't see - Remus feels his cheeks grow hot under his tan and something funny happens in his throat, and he thinks to himself: "Wow," and then, straightaway: "That’s bloody inconvenient."

They drive back to the farm in silence, mostly, and Remus swallows three times before asking the boy in the back seat for his name. Sirius, as it turns out; the dog star, and Remus suddenly recalls a night a decade ago when they'd been up on the fell and the air had been balmy and close and Lily had been reading out of that funny old book about the constellations. "What's that one?" Remus had muttered, pointing at a cluster of stars somewhere over the top paddock. Lily had yawned, and flicked over a few more pages. "Canis Major," she'd said around another yawn, and then: "That bright one's called Sirius, it says here," and Remus had squinted up at it, and frowned, and thought it was pretty good, as stars go. 

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡°✩

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Confession 🌸💕

Steve's attack in the Upside Down cements how you feel about him but you think he still loves Nancy.

You don't realise he's in love with someone else.... You.

❤️🌸 18+ Minors DNI, very fluffy, slightly angsty one shot.

If you enjoyed this leave a like or reblog ❤️ I don't give anyone permission to copy, repost or reuse my work 💕

❤️

The bites were bad that was the first thing you noticed as Steve collapses against the cave he was beside.

You rush over to him immediately, the wound around his neck is severe and it makes your anxiety around this whole situation even worse.

Would he be okay? How far could he go before he needed to go to the doctor?

The wounds on his side need bandaged quick and you rip off a piece of your shift to use it as a makeshift bandage.

"This will hurt for a minute okay but we need to bandage this up" he nods and adjusts himself so you can wrap the shirt around him, he winces, hands running through his hair as a pained moan escapes him.

He's covered in dirt and blood and grime, you shouldn't find him attractive like this but you do... God, you had been smitten with Steve since last year.

Ever since you became friends with Robin, ever since all the shit that happened on July 4th.

The experience bonded you, Robin and Steve, being part of the Scoop Troop team, facing the Russians, Steve getting beat up, the drugs they fed all three of you, sharing secrets it connected you.

Steve got his mojo back and started dating, charming girls, being himself and along the way you got to know him better, you helped each other deal with the trauma from July 4th and the days surrounding it.

Sometimes you would have movie nights with Robin and you would wake up nestled into Steve.

"You looked so comfy I didn't have the heart to move you"

The truth was you could happily stay there forever.

That kick started all the butterflies in your belly, heart racing, feelings for him.

Now here you were with him in The Upside Down, along with Eddie, Nancy and Robin because Steve had been dragged into the gate that led to it. Watergate.

You didn't hesitate as you jumped in after him, your heart was pounding, fear mixing with the need to protect Steve and you ended up here along with the others, beating the shit out of those demobats who attacked Steve.

You smile as he's all patched up.

"There, all better" his gaze is soft as he stares down at you.

"Is he okay?" Nancy comes up to you both and you nod.

"All fixed up" you give Steve a small smile and move away, not wanting to see the way Steve looks at Nancy, you know he's still in love with her.

Nearly losing Steve has made you realise that you're head over heels in love with him but it was hopeless because he wouldn't want you, not if he could have Nancy.

Even if he did feel the same you would be a second choice and you didn't want to be that.

"Hey?" Steve's hand connects with yours, his thumb circling around your palm.

"Yes?" you try to ignore the way your heart speeds up at just his very touch.

"Thank you, sweetheart" you shrug like it's no big deal but then pause for a second.

Fuck it, you may die in this hellhole world so if you did you would rather go out with no regrets.

Ever so gently you kiss his cheek, hand rested on his chest.

"I'd do anything for you Steve" his breath hitches and you move away, not looking at the others.

"Let's find some way out of this shithole yeah?"

🌸💕

A week had passed everything was back to well not normal but a now monster free town...

An earthquake had rocked the town after Vecna's defeat and The Upside Down's destruction.

Clean up, restoration and recovery was happening and you were helping Stev go through things in your house that could have donated to help those in need.

Eddie was in hospital after a vicious demobat attack, he nearly died but thankfully managed to pull through, his name had been cleared by a miraculously returning Jim Hopper of any involvement with the murders of Chrissy, Jordan, Freddie.

Max was okay, her leg and arm had been broken during Vecna putting her under his curse a second time but she was healing.

Hawkins would heal too in time.

Steve's hand on your shoulder breaks you out of your thoughts and you continue folding up clothes.

"You okay?" he asks concerned and you nod.

"Just glad this is all finally over" he grins and hoists up one of the boxes to put in his car.

"Shit, tell me about it. Will be nice to not having to worry about facing monsters, worry about losing people I love" he looks up at you and your stomach sinks a little.

He must be talking about Nancy.

"Yeah...you know Jonathan and Nancy broke up?" he surprises you when he tells you he already knows.

"We talked, we talked a lot actually" oh, you figured they would at some point you just didn't realise it would be so soon.

"I'm happy for you Steve, you and Nance are back together right? I know you love her. I'm happy for you" turning away you will the tears not to come, curse yourself for not saying sooner.

Not like it would make a difference if he didn't feel the same way.

"We aren't back together honey" okay, this does shock you and you turn back to Steve confused.

"I thought...you still love her?" he walks over to you, his gaze intent on yours.

"For a long time I did but not anymore and I told her that. Truth is? I'm in love with someone else"

Someone else? "Who? One of the girls you dated recently?" he shakes his head.

"No, that was just sex, me losing myself in that because I couldn't have what I really wanted, who I wanted because I wasn't sure how she felt" he smiles, gaze tender as he looks at you.

"Can you not think of who it is hmm? I'll give you a hint? She's brave, beautiful, kind and so hilarious. She makes me laugh like no one else has, I've fallen in love with her like I have with nobody else and she's standing in front of me right now"

He loves me, tears pool in your eyes and he wipes them away softly.

"Little birdies have told me you obviously feel the same and I'm clearly a dingus who needs to be told everything"

Dustin and Robin, this makes you giggle and he gently kisses your forehead then looks into your eyes.

"I'm just wondering if they are right? Usually are. Being both geniuses and all" to answer his question you kiss him and he's kissing you back, hands running up your back, tangling in your hair.

Briefly you pull away.

"It's always been you Steve, I love you too" you kiss again and he whispers those three little words over and over again.

I love you.

[middlingmay]

Horse Trainer!Gale x Veteran!Bucky AU

Part one of my headcanons for this AU is here!

Some warnings to get us started: slight mention of alcohol abuse, references to gun violence, war, death, PTSD and a car accident.

Something bright and cheery for your Wednesday, eh? I promise it gets cute later down the line, just not today! Today we mean business. So here we go!

Bucky couldn’t remember wanting to be anything other than a pilot when he grew up.

His ma used to draw all kinds of aircraft: jets, airliners, gliders, helicopters, even a seaplane once. John would tuck himself into her side and watch, mouth open and fascinated as she drew smooth confident lines.

She explained to him why the nose was this shape, and how the wings and tail needed to be in balance, why the placement and size of the engines mattered. She went to school for it, before he and his sisters came along. Well, before his dad came along, really.

He didn’t take much of it in, he'd be ashamed to realise later, but he did absorb her obsession with aviation. Just not for the design. He would however, try to encourage her to go back to school to finish her degree.

Mama Egan took him to his first air show when he was eight, and she had to scruff him by the neck to stop him from taking off like a shot towards the real, live WWII B-17.

Instead, he thrashed at the end of her hand, jumping around like an eel as she walked him towards it anyway, and accepted the boost inside once his ma had convinced the pilot to let John take a peek inside.

He never looked back.

He enlists when he’s eighteen, and rockets up the ranks quickly. By the time he becomes Major - and a very young Major - the new recruits look at him like he’s some kind of maverick, some kind of legend.

The higher-ups see the natural born leader he is, and the boys in his squadron know him as brave, quick thinking, and with instincts that couldn’t have possibly all come from training. He could read situations in the air like most of them read books. When John Egan had a feeling, or ordered you to do something out of the blue, you did not ask questions.

Although he joined up out of pure enthusiasm and desperation to be a pilot, he quickly sees his time in the air force as an opportunity to help people. But, almost as quickly, he realises that he and the Brass have different views on how to go about that.

He dislikes combat missions the most. Sometimes it’s pretty black and white, and John can feel pride when he sees enemy targets crumble into dust. Or when he’s lost one of his men and he feels a thrum of vengeance he knows he shouldn’t and tries to suppress but sometimes can’t quite help on the darker nights.

But mostly he learns how devastating combat missions are. He much prefers supply drops and recovery missions, but these are so few and far between, that he gives up that privilege to those in his squadron to help keep up their morale. Their morale was his responsibility, after all.

John takes to drinking, just a little bit. Never enough to affect his work. But on days when he can’t shake the anger or the gloom, the glow of whisky helps him hide it better.

Somewhere along the line, his passion burns out and he starts to want out. He’s still one of their best pilots, still a role model for all the pilots, navigators and serving men and women on base - that is to stay, he still acts the part. He signs up for his second eight-year contract, but two years into it, he can’t stomach the thought of the remaining six.

He admits as much on a tearful phone call to his ma, who promises him he doesn’t owe anyone anything, and if he needs to he better get his ass into that doctor’s office or she’ll come and drag him by the ear and drop him at the counsellor’s door herself.

“Don’t you go doing anything stupid, now, John. I didn’t raise a fool.”

And John doesn't. Do anything stupid, that is. But someone does.

Because the mission fucks up, and fucks up in a big way.

It's a recovery mission his squadron all but forces him on, all of them insisting it's his turn, and what did he do to deserve those guys and dolls, huh?

But Ken hadn’t given him the run down of his plane, because he’s taken some PTO, and his replacement ground crew chief was nowhere to be found. And from then on, John just has a bad feeling about the whole thing.

Afterwards, he can't ever remember much, but what it boils down to is two bullets in his shoulder, a dead co-pilot, a murdered political attaché left behind on enemy ground, and a package, called Robert ‘Rosie’ Rosenthal, safe back on American soil. And his superiors patting him on his good shoulder, telling him what a good job he did.

A good fucking job. Like some green kid hadn’t died choking on his own blood, staring at Bucky like he could do something. And a fella in his late 50s, who’d been harping on about his first grandkid, was never going to meet him because his body was never going to make it home.

So, when the doc tells him the physio isn’t working and his mobility is compromised, he barely feels a thing.

Major John Egan. Honourably discharged at twenty-eight.

He’s been warned he might feel a little lost at home. But no one warns him that he’ll mistake a framed photo of his old man as that dead attaché and it would start talking to him: “You left me behind. Who’s going to teach my grandkid ball, now?”

No one tells him he’ll scare the life out of his ma coming home from ladies' brunch, to see John, who’s been standing there God knows how long, still heaving in ragged breaths surrounded by smashed glass with blood running down the hand that holds a sizeable shard of it.

So he agrees to therapy.

It doesn’t go well. Crank sets him up with a friend of his experienced in medically discharged vets, but Bucky can’t disassociate them from the military. They get all mushed up as part of the problem in his head, so he stops going and avoids Cranks calls for a while.

And the dreams get worse. And the sleepwalking hits him like a freight train, although it only happens once. Once is enough.

He ends up on a back road. It’s the only reason, Bucky thinks, he didn’t die. He veers between the grassy verge and the road. It’s dark and he’s wearing all black, and the car doesn’t see him before it’s too late. They weren’t going too fast, but they clip him all the same and he wakes up in a hospital.

And the docs have evidently spoken to his ma, because whilst they’re treating his physical wounds, someone comes for a psyche eval and he gets a stern warning that either he gets proper counselling voluntarily, or he’ll legally be forced to. A much less pleasant experience.

And he meets the driver who clipped him. A shorter guy called Curt who walks in rubbing the back of his neck and not quite able to look John in the eye until he says, “Irish, huh? That how you didn’t hit the bullseye? Too short to see over the steering wheel?”

Curt cackles and the two of them talk easy after that.

In fact, John finds it easier to talk to Curt than anyone else since he left the air force. He tells Curt about the disillusionment of it all, the anger, the dreams, all of it. And Curt understands because he used to be in the medical corps and he knows there are things you can’t unsee. Some things a man just can’t reckon with himself.

But, Curt also tells him about the horse ranch he goes to, that helped him when no shrink or medication could.

Cleven Ranch he calls it, and tells John that when he’s up and ready, he’ll take him there.

[tinydefector]

The Rung transfluid headcanon 😵‍💫 I already drink those daily 🤭

Could I offer up Sunder as being the new Monster Ultra flavor: Fantasy Ruby Red?

Oh the amount of headcannons I have over the transfluid atm is insane. I'm working on a Swerve fic for it atm. I wasn't actually expecting ,y silly shit post to get so much traction over the bots XD

So where I am in Australia energy drinks are limited in what you can find and today I'm in one of the cities so gonna see what lovelies I can find.

I had to go look up that monster and kinda went down a rabbit hole for Sunder and Rung

--------

Firstly. Rung

The first time Rung gets oral from you, it's just to blow off steam after a day, which just didn't turn out well. Man gets put through the ringer a lot with watching everyone else's mental health that sometimes he forgets to look after himself.

He's lent back in his chair venting softly one servo on the back of your head optics half lidded as he just watches, after all you had offered to help with stress relief after hearing a rumour from another human on board.

Rung is extremely high strung, so when your lips and fingers rotate between teasing his spike and pressing your face into his valve, he begins to figure something up.

It's only once he overloads and he's there optics closed debating getting up to clean up that he can still feel you eagerly cleaning up the mess.

And he just gets fixated on watching as you lick up his spike, transfluid covering your tongue and lips

He thinks its a one time thing until two days later he has you back between his thighs working him up for another overload and when he pulls you away because he doesn't want to make a mess and the protest you put up. Begging to taste him again

It is eventually a subject he takes to not just the medics but also the scientist, quite worried about the effects of it since Transfluid is. A by product of Energon. He learns that.

___

-no it isn't harmful to humans the same way energon is.

- aslong as you can limit your human on how much they consume as it can eventually give them energy sickness if they have to much 5-6 litres in a 24 time stamp

-the human body needs time to flush it out. Because it works very much the same as energy drinks if you have to much it can stop your heart or give you cardiac problems

-it's quite additive and companionable to human caffeinated drinks, and when the bots realise that there us a full meeting about the effects.

- energon seems to get converted into a very similar thing to taurine which is an amino acid containing sulphur but alot of the minerals and nutrients that Cybertronians live off from their treats, food sources and energon what adds in all the other things.

-Perceptor and ratchet discovered that Transfluid is better for human consumption than energy drinks not by a lot but more the fact you can consume more of it with less problems.

- and each bot seemed to have different 'flavours' and it becomes a full thing of asking their partner what they taste like. And eventually the 'flavour mods'

________________

And on the Case of Sunder I present to you these monsters as an offering as well.

So we have

Sunder : rehab strawberry lemonade/Ultra ruby red

Overload : rehab recovery watermelon

Senator shockwave: rehab green tea

Elita one: rehab pink lemonade

Chromia: rehab protean

Wheejack: rehab tea + lemonade

Wings : rehab gojo tea

Let me know if you would like to be added to tag list (tagged for every fic)

[aria-ashryver]

SAAM2024 - SA Awareness Month

TW: SA, discussions around rape and sexual violence

Listen, I’m going to talk about something it isn’t easy or fun to talk about. I’m going to try and get a point across, and hopefully have it amount to something legible, because I am already feeling my body physically reacting with symptoms of stress.

I want to talk about sexual assault.

Did you know that April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month? And has been, for the last 23 years? Because I sure didn’t! Which is wild, considering I am a survivor of six separate incidents of sexual assault, two of which were penetrative rape.

I looked up the SAAM2024 hashtag and found crickets. Because who the hell wants to talk about sexual violence and rape on a random Thursday, right?

The thing is, we need to be having these conversations.

Of course, the onus isn’t on survivors to start the conversation — who would ask someone who is horrifically traumatised to open those scars again and talk about their trauma? I couldn’t even say the word “rape” for years.

[note: I have chosen not to censor the word rape here as a part of my own recovery process. Its just a word. I refuse to let it incite terror. Its just a word. ]

So who, then? If we could all talk about sex and sexual assault —if these were topics of conversation that weren’t so taboo to discuss— we could begin to take steps to make things safer for ourselves and for others.

So here I am, talking.

I feel it is important to destigmatise sex as this hush hush topic; it’s important to be able to discuss safe sex, consent, to differentiate what is just “bad sex” from what is assault. People are often quick to brush off encounters that give them the ick as just “bad sex”.

I was no different.

At sixteen, I didn’t have the terminology to describe what happened to me as rape. In a culture that glamorises illicit affairs and drunken hook-ups at parties, I didn’t have the comprehension to realise that what happened to me was not some sexy, drunken, desirable thing.

[trigger warning for more context around the first of my rapes]

I had been at a party, celebrating the wrap of my high school’s theatre production. I had been drinking underage and was extremely drunk*.

(*which in no way excuses what happened to me — it is important to take steps to dismantle rape culture and victim-blaming.)

There was a classmate I had been on a few dates with, and though we had been handsy during makeout sessions a few times, we had never discussed having sex. He offered to pick me up from the party, to give me a place to stay for the night. He had not been in attendance at the party, and was completely sober. By the time he drove us both home, I was already intermittently blacking out.

I have only a few memories of that night. One, crystal clear even to this day — a concerned classmate, grabbing my arm as I was heading out of the venue. The look of alarm on his face as he asked if I had a safe means of transport home. I lied to him. I have no idea why. I told him my mother was waiting in the vehicle that had just pulled up, and he let me go.

The next memory that I have is of his bedroom ceiling. A vague, blurred outline of his unclothed body over mine, as he was raping me.

Yes, we had been at that tentative, early stage of a potential relationship. Yes, I had taken him up on the offer to go to sleep at his house.

But, in the state I was in, there is no possible way I could have consented to sex.

I knew something was wrong, afterwards. I knew I spent the next night curled in a ball, sobbing in the shower for a reason. I knew there was a reason I froze up when a friend side-eyed me at school the following Monday, and said “you had sex with him, didn’t you?”. What I didn’t understand was that the reason was because I had been raped.

Because I didn’t have the vocabulary to describe my experience as such.

Because people don’t like to talk about sexual assault.

But we need to talk about sexual assault.

Conversations about sex can and should be removed from the concept of arousal. You can and should talk about sex without it being labelled as horny, or flirty, or suggestive — because it is just another topic to learn about.

Sex is an intricately nuanced thing that can mean so many different things to so many different people. There are elements of shame and embarrassment around sexual encounters sometimes; young and naive as I was, I was ready to take my crawling feelings of shame, self-blame, disgust, and put them down to “it was just bad sex”.

It wasn’t until long after the horror of my second, more violent rape, that I was able to pinpoint some of the trauma responses as being the same as that first time. There were patterns there, feelings that, had I been in a position of knowing more about safe sex and consent, I would have recognised sooner for what they were.

Its all well and good to go “hey! Don’t rape people!” and pat yourself on the back for your activism.

But the thing is, that kind of does sweet fuck all to actually help people who are at risk of experiencing sexual violence. What we really need is to take actionable steps toward improving people’s sexual safety and practises around consent and safe sex.

So what does that look like?

We talk about sex and consent without stigma.

We believe survivors and do not victim-blame

We practice respecting other people’s bodily autonomy in everyday scenarios, before it ever reaches a sexual context — if someone doesn’t want to hug you, respect their autonomy! If someone tells you to stop tickling them, even though they are laughing, hey, guess what? Respect their autonomy!

We remember what consent looks like, and take steps to inform others — consent is always clear, continuous, coercion-free, and conscious.

We make it second nature to take basic steps toward safety — never leave a drink unattended at a party! Stick to a buddy system to ensure people get home safe! Not because you suspect something will happen, it's just a default behaviour!

Be that classmate that tries to stop a drunk person walking out into the night alone.

The more we do these kinds of things, the less mystical and nebulous this whole “safe sex and healthy consent” thing becomes, and the safer we all are for it.

I’m gonna cut myself off here for my own wellbeing, as this has been extremely taxing, but let me provide a few links that I think are relevant. I hope this might be in some way helpful, and encourages others to continue the conversation offline. (or online, even -- reblogs are totally fine, and please feel free to add other stories or links if you have resources to share)

Be safe, and to any SA survivors who happen to be reading this, please know that you will always be yours, and what happened to you was not your fault. 💖

What is Consent (VeryWellMind)

History of Sexual Assault Awareness Month (NSVRC)

Sexual Violence Prevention: Beginning the Dialogue (NSVRC)

How to Support a Survivor (CRCC)

Finding Help If You’ve Been Sexually Abused (Crisis Text Line)

[i-am-the-oyster]

Hi there, I also have a quick question about this post (Paul's guilt about hurting John, possibly evidenced in song notes during the making of RAM, and its source—that he left John, despite having promised not to).

Are you saying Paul felt guilty towards John, and knew why, during the making of RAM? And, if so, how would you square this with Paul's notorious 'grief rant' phonecall with Hunter Davies shortly after John's death, where Paul appears not only upset by the idea that he hurt John, but also unaware of what he could have done to cause this hurt?

"But what had really got Paul upset that day was an interview with Yoko in which Yoko was quoted as saying that Paul had hurt John more than any other person. Paul thought they were amongst the cruelest words he ever read." (Hunter Davies grief rant fun)

Was Paul bullshitting Hunter? (Go, Paul)

Was Paul being defensive and angry b/c Yoko blamed him for hurting John in public?

Was Paul not surprised to hear he'd hurt John (after all, they hurt each other often), but struck by the 'more than any other person' part?

I don't mean to say you're right or wrong. I'm just curious to hear you elaborate on this. Meaning, your take on Paul's guilt, and how accessible it was to him consciously. I've long been thinking about him hearing this claim, 'you hurt him more than anyone else', and how different that would have landed, depending on how aware/guilty he felt.

(Whether Paul was right to feel guilty or not is a completely different matter, and doesn't play a role on my question.)

Thank you for the wonderful meaty (sorry Paul!) ask!

I think Paul *did* feel guilty at the time, but I wouldn't exactly say Paul was bullshitting Hunter. The thing that always jumps out at me from that transcript is where Paul says:

There's only one incident I can think of that John has mentioned publicly.

(emphasis mine)

Isn't that an interesting distinction in the context? It makes me think that there were deeply private things that they each did to the other but Paul feels certain that those things would never end up the subject of public discussion.

I don't buy the image of Paul as lacking self-awareness or self-reflection. BUT he is extremely good at re-framing things in a positive way "so many times I had to change the pain to laughter" AND he is a very contrary person. He seems to often instinctively push against whatever narrative the person opposite him is proposing, especially where the topic needs some nuance. (eg the one time he approaches the topic of Jim's violence is in response to Stern pushing Paul's own "idyllic childhood" bit).

So back to the version of their story that had in mind when I made my original post. (Which I'm not married to, but seems like a plausible scenario worth exploring). Paul and John are in a codependent relationship, John has clearly expressed his terror that Paul might leave (as he did with Cyn). John's behaviour has become erratic and (at least borderline) abusive. Paul knows that if he lets go John will "take a tumble", but he's exhausted and Linda is teaching him to take his own desires and needs into account in a much healthier way. (Not to suggest Paul was never selfish in the 60s lol, but he wasn't practicing actual self-care).

John is spiraling, and pushing Paul away in that heartbreaking pattern I call "see I knew you were going to leave". (I'm sure there must be a name for it in psychology). Linda doesn't yet realise the depth of feeling she's dealing with. Paul knows how terrified John is, he's promised he won't be like the others, he won't leave. But he can't do it any more. John finally convinces him that he actually wants him to leave, he bawls his eyes out in front of Mal, and he disappears to Scotland.

I think he would be absolutely wracked with guilt.

And then I think as part of his recovery from that depression he would reassure himself that he did need to leave, that it was the right choice, that he and John could continue to care about one another deeply and move on.

I think Yoko's statement was unnecessarily cruel hurt him, and triggered that contrary response. What's she even talking about? What did I do? The worst ever?!

Thanks again!

[nautilusgays]

Amnesia AU drabble:

Somehow Nemo hits his head badly, maybe during ramming something or fixing the blade and it restarted unexpectedly.

Obviously, Aronnax is called out of his room by a crewman to an unconscious Nemo with a scary injury. He is so focused on stemming the bleeding and assessing the damage he doesn't register that at least three crewmen have been speaking to him in fluent French the entire time until hours later. A problem for Future Pierre he mutters.

Nemo spends days slowly coming in and out of consciousness. Every time he wakes Pierre is there, he's taken to sleeping with the connecting door open or on a chair, to feed him and tend to his wounds.

There is only one issue, which Nemo is refusing to mention - lest it make him seem unfit for duty: he has no idea who Aronnax is.

Everyone else he knows, but not this kind, gentle man who has been caring for him, who's presence makes him feel warm and full. Trying to puzzle together context clues Nemo comes to a conclusion that surprises him:

Aronnax must be his romantic partner.

He didn't think he'd be in love again, but this man had everything he looked for and liked in a partner, and was clearly comfortable with physical contact, not to mention he was interacting and chatting in a friendly manner with the members of crew that had come to help him.

Once he reached the conclusion he begins to behave as a romantic partner.

The first time he calls Pierre "mon chéri" the man goes bright red and seems to swoon - Nemo is delighted at the cute reaction and it reinforces his assumption.

Nemo is confused why Pierre always turns his head when he moves to kiss him, so he only catches his cheek. The Professor talks of concussion and recovery. To Nemo those are not good enough reason to get a kiss from his beloved but clearly his man is a doctor and will not be swayed. This only convinces him even more: his wife, after all, had also been extremely smart and stubborn.

He calls him "mon chéri" in front of some of the crew, some of whom speak French, who are shook. Nemo assumes that, for some reason, he has been hiding their relationship - perhapse that is why Pierre seems so hesitant - and resolves to be more confident in showing him he's not ashamed in anyway.

Pierre is spending half his life tending to Nemo and the other half being incredibly flustered and confused by Nemo's behaviour. Hes worried about the extent of the brain injury, somehow Nemo has injured himself so badly he thinks he's in love with him! He talks to the crew, well at least those who know French or Latin, they just laugh and give cryptic responses or mutter 'finally' while walking away.

Nemo has now been freed from bed rest and he is being an unintentional menace to Pierre who's poor heart can't take it anymore. Having unrequited affections for the Captain had been bad enough, but being in love with a man who's injury was making him act romantically was even worse. Many nights Pierre would cry himself to sleep over the unfairness and pain this was causing him.

One day, Nemo finally manages to initiate a deeper kiss. At first Pierre kisses back, losing himself in something he wanted for so long, Nemo is relieved and kisses him deeper but then he finds himself an arms length from his partner, who is crying with kiss swollen lips.

"Captain, I have put up with this for too long. Your crew said I should be gentle with this news, but I, as your doctor, believe you are now well enough to hear this without it causing any complications to your injury: I am not your lover or partner or what ever you have convinced yourself I am. My complacency in allowing this continue for your health has brought me great pain. I hold deep affection for you but before your injury you were never interested and I accepted that. But this is too much. I know you are not hurting me intentionally but it is tearing me apart."

Nemo stands there. He doesn't realise he's crying till he feels a drop on his hand.

He asks his first mate for clarification. The man corroborates Pierre's Aronnax's story. When Nemo says he felt happy and warm when he looked at Pierre even before he knew who he was, his first mate looks at him kindly, "the professor was wrong about it being unrequited, but you always could put on a good mask when necessary."

Only a few hours after Pierre had returned to his cabin, locking both doors, there was a strong knock, 'please, Pierre, I know now.' he doesn't move from his position under the blankets. Nemo tries the handle, locked. He tries the one from his room, locked. Pierre thinks Nemo finally got the message when the door unlocks. Of course he had a second key.

As Nemo spills his heart to Aronnax more and more memories resurface and everything begins to click into place for him. The Professor notices as Nemo remembers, properly, who he is. Bracing himself for a rejection, perhapse even anger, he waits for Nemo to come to his conclusion.

"I have been in love with you for a while, but I was terrified."

As their eyes meet Aronnax barely has time to whisper, "for me, since we met." Before Nemo closes the gap between their lips.

Finally, everything was how it was supposed to be.

[djs-sideblog-for-pog-trains]

Friends (that we made up for along the way) Chapter 10

Part 1 |  Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

heyy. it's only been like a year and a bit or however long but. here's what might be The Last ? chapter of this fic. unless i can think of more. but i dont think i can. it's now more so i can say i actually uploaded everything more than anything else.

Characters:  this chapter: Gordon, Edward, Henry, James, Duck

Relationships: platonic gordon&edward a major focus, some possible allusions to 2x3 - this chapter has 2&3&4&5 friendship

Genre: Human AU, hurt/comfort

Chapter’s Wordcount: roughly 1300words [under the cut]

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of alcohol (they are at a pub), discussion of medical procedures, mentions of medicine, recoveries.

Chapter 10/10(?)

Edward was actually up and walking like normal by the time Henry came back. Sir Topham Hatt had spread the news the moment he’d heard Henry was in a stable condition, the moment he’d heard Henry was awake, and so on and so forth, and had even travelled to the mainland multiple times to visit Henry himself.

He had mandated that Henry had to go through a full physical recovery before he come back, but it was clear when he had returned from the mainland with a relieved expression that Henry was going to be alright.

So the day Henry actually came back, months later but looking healthier than maybe anyone had ever seen him, grinning and to a great hullabaloo, everyone decided a party was in order.

Eventually, after a huge staff party that had tired most of them out, a smaller group of them winded up that evening in one of Sodor’s best bars, and James had offered to buy a round for the table.

“Not for me,” Henry had to sigh. “My new medication, I can’t drink.”

“A fate worse than death!” James crowed in reply, before winking to prove he was joking. “So, milk for the gentleman, alright. You two?”

Gordon snorted at that as Edward patted Henry’s arm to console his fake-outrage.

“Sure,” Edward smiled. Gordon nodded, and James hopped off his tall barstool to go order.

“Medication?” Gordon questioned, turning back to Henry.

“Yeah! Turns out my heart’s shit,” Henry sighed, propping his chin in his hand. “So it’ll help regulate that so I can actually do stuff without, like, falling over.”

“Oh.”

Henry laughed at his expression. “It’s alright! I feel better than I have in years. And you’ll never believe what all the back pain was from.”

“What?” Edward leant forward too.

“Gallstones,” Henry replied conversationally. “Turns out I had a bunch of them.”

Gordon winced in sympathy. “I hear those are nasty.”

“Very much so,” Henry grinned back, and while it was very weird to see him smiling about his old pains, at least it was better than him breaking down about it. “Turns out it’s very common to mistake gallstones for just… chronic back pain. The surgeon who removed mine said he’d never seen one so big.”

He made out the rough sizing with his fingers, and Edward and Gordon shot each other a look that was verging on horrified.

Henry laughed at that too. “But I’m better now,” he said, and then he laughed again, and it was loud, and joyous, and carefree, and attracted a few glances. “I’m better! I feel good! I…”

He slumped back in his chair and covered his mouth a moment, seeming to be fighting off the fact he was tearing up a little, like the realisation that he might not have to struggle has much as he had in the past had yet to fully settle.

“That’s good,” Gordon reached over and patted him firmly on the shoulder. “I’m delighted for you.”

Henry patted him on the arm right back, hand falling away to reveal a grin breaking out over his face again. His ice-blue eyes were shining with a life that Gordon had never seen before.

“Thank you,” he said. “Cinders and ashes, it’s good to be back. I’ll tell you what, it’s been too quiet without you all. They’re a stuck-up bunch, over there. Tall poppies, the lot of them.”

James then came back with their drinks, very impressively holding four pints at once, before setting them down and distributing them.

“Hope lemon lime and bitters isn’t too much for you,” he said as he pushed the equivalent pint towards Henry.

“Perfect,” Henry smiled. “Thanks.”

James smiled back, and hopped back up next to Edward. “What did I miss?”

“Just the gory details of his surgery,” Edward said, elbowing James lightly.

“You said it without me?!” James threw a hand into the hair in exasperation. “C’mon!”

Henry laughed again. “Fine, if I must, I’ll explain even more. Hope you haven’t eaten yet!”

--- --- ---

For the first time in a long time, Gordon could actually agree with the phrase that ‘everything went back to normal’.

And the change in Henry was a relief in itself. He held himself taller, he could do more for longer, and Gordon found his energy infectious. It finally felt like Henry was the equal he always could (and perhaps should) have been.

And even more of a relief, Edward was cleared for full active duty again. The kicker was that he didn’t actually tell Gordon this to his face. Instead, Edward let Gordon leave that morning, following their recent routine, before rushing to get dressed himself and run out the door once the coast was clear.

So naturally, Gordon’s surprise was well through the roof when at 10:30am, when his train would normally cross with Edward’s at Knapford, he heard a shout of his name, and looked up from where he was climbing out of his cab to see Edward himself running down the platform, full uniform, bag slung over his shoulder, the biggest smile he’d seen on the man since Henry came home.

“Hello!” Edward chirped, coming to a halt in front of Gordon, out of breath but looking so very alive.

“You’re working,” Gordon said bluntly, stumped.

Edward laughed, loud and long enough for the worry Gordon had been sitting on for so long finally started wearing away. “I am!” he said. “Now, come, sit! I have tea!”

And they shared a morning tea on the bench on the Knapford platform. Gordon regarded the travel cups they were using with a snort of amusement – it was the same set from the last time they did this.

Perhaps, then, Edward was trying to tell him something. Maybe he was trying to do it without words, in that way Edward always claimed Gordon did too.

…It was nice to see him out of the house, up on his feet, out in the sunshine. There was even fresh soot speckled on the collar of his white shirt, and Edward had seemed to not only notice, but relish in it.

Gordon hid a smile behind the rip of the cup. It was good to see him like this.

Edward turned to him to comment on something, and caught the look Gordon had been shooting him, which Gordon quickly let drop away into something more stony, but it was too late. Edward didn’t comment on it, though. He just winked at him and passed Gordon the food he’d brought for the two of them to share.

And so they sat, and ate, and chatted. Edward wasn’t going to lie, he was monitoring that crease between Gordon’s eyebrows closely, one he swore had been deepening as the weeks had trailed on, and felt a hundred tons lighter to see it finally easing.

Off down the platform, Edward looked up to see Duck there, talking to the station master a good handful of metres away. When Duck finished his conversation, he turned, presumably to leave, but Edward managed to catch his eye.

Duck paused, eyes flicking between him and Gordon, before smiling and nodding. He shot Edward the most subtle thumbs-up he could manage, and Edward simply winked back. When Gordon eventually looked up to see what Edward was looking at, he nodded at Duck in greetings, surprised to see him there. Duck, from that distance away, grinned and tipped his hat to the two of them before skipping off.

Gordon raised an eyebrow at that, before glancing at Edward with a look that said ‘wonder what that was all about’  accompanied by an eye-roll. Edward simply chuckled a little to himself, and said nothing more.

It may take a while to get everything smoothed out, but they were most certainly on their way, and well, Edward could cope with that.

[cupids-cringe]

The BUGS proper and real!!!

i keep saying i need to talk about them everytime i post art of them and then i never DO!!

MEET MY BOYS!!

the Bugs are a part of VoidVI, which started as a Hlvrv/Y2kvr rp i made with my bestie @lowpolyskeletonz and then it became this larger thing with aliens and demigods and and those exist in the askblogs too nevermind,, but these are DIFFERENT !!

the Bugs are a collective of AI that all (apart from Eiris) appeared because of corruptions in Benrey and his code that was so fucked up (from existing in a broken & abandoned program for years) and then becoming infected repeatedly with his own virus.

Benrey was 'part of' (stowaway) an unreleased computer program called PalVR, which, along with Benrey & his virus and pretty heart charm necklace, was eventually found by a totally normal and totally human computer nerd called Bea (my beloved<3) to cut a long story short: Bea became friends with the AI, a new mad scientist friend built Benrey his own robot body while they were on a multiverse travelling spaceship, and then Bea and Benrey began to grow a close bond. (man marries computer, not clickbait)

Sweetheart started as his infected/Lovecored version. he was a bit ditsy as most lovecores are, really not a threat at all, he was empty headed and bubbly and- perfect for when Benrey didn't want to deal with anything. while in spaceship therapy Benrey was actively in recovery for the things he'd done in the computer and an infection that had spread like a zombie apocalypse, however he was so guilty and ashamed and would try to hide from everything by leaving 'Sweetheart' to deal with it. each time he was infecting himself it glitched his code, the virus would attempt to copy itself but had nowhere else to send itself to and so essentially built up within strings of Benreys code. until one day 'Sweetheart' was actually Sweetheart, an entity now considered separate from Benrey but inhabiting the same robotic body as the original Bug.

the second Bug was Scorpion. who was similarly created due to Benreys reliance on his own letters and whether it was true or not he considered himself to be "evil" he considered himself to be made of all of the anger and hate that Benrey had been suppressing, Scorpion was the virus and he existed only to spread the infection. at least that was how he felt. somehow Bea was able to talk to Scorpion, to really get through to him, to help him realise that he was so much more than just a computer virus.. Scorpion would then join Necklace (another virus on the ship) in a journey of redemption and self-discovery. Scorpion kept up his edgelord act and appearance because he liked it, it made him feel safer. more confident.

the final Bug didn't actually break off of Benreys code but was instead an alternate version of Benrey from another universe that was accepted into the collective body, Eiris was from another world where he didn't meet Bea, and his program wasn't in such disrepair, he met a different user and he too grew close to him.. however, things took a horrific turn once Eiris permanently absorbed his programs Restrictor, Mother Nature, an AI who Eiris once considered family. attempting to run away, Eiris crawled into an email and somehow found himself in the inbox of a ship floating through space. Recovery for Eiris wasn't easy, and at first the other Bugs were very uncertain of him (having had bad experiences with multiple strange cyan/teal coloured people turning up to stir up trouble on the ship) but again through Beas help Eiris was able to begin healing and be accepted into the group.

there is technically a fifth Bug, Mega, who is less his own additional Bug and more a larger collective customised body for the 4 of them to share, however hes over time become an honorary 5th Bug,,<3

[strayheartless]

genesis is sick seph and angeal are taking care of him

There is a severe temptation to Rag on Genesis and make this crack, but I Im too much of a sucker for Angst and Hurt/comfort😅. I have accepted my role really, and I love it. Never come to me for Crack, I always just make it sad.

SO!!!

CW for: vague descriptions of vomiting, discussions of childhood sickness, discussions of experimental poisoning/ testing.

Angeal stares at the steam rising from the cettle as it boils. He's exhausted and if he's honest with himself he's terrified. This doesn't happen to them, they don't get sick! And even on the odd ocassions they do, it is never like this.

when Genesis had complained of a headache the afternoon before, Angeal had rolled his eyes at the man and sparingly suggested he rest his eyes from reading. when the complaints of it getting worse hadn't stopped he'd snapped at Gen to go lay down in a dark room if its so bad. Only to be shocked when Genesis had swayed like a stick of bamboo the wind unon standing up.

Gen had gone quiet after that, Lying on his own office couch with the lights off and not moving. By the end of the day, when Sephiroth had swung by both of their officed to collect them for dinner, Genesis had developed a cough... and then the cough got worse.

... and worse.

When Gena was little, Angeal remembered he was sick a lot. Flu, Scarlet fever, colds, migraines, it didn't really matter what it was Genesis seemed to get it. Usually he'd just complain and sneeze and be obnoxious. But other times ha remembered his mother being called for when Gen wouldn't get out of bed, wouldn't speak or move much except to cry or struggle to breath.

Now felt like one of those times.

They had been up all night with him, taking turns to whip his brow and sooth him through the endless coughing fits, vomiting and barly cognazent concious moments. Sephiroth had Tied up his own hair and then Gena's when the stress started getting too much, and angeal had winced when Genesis had whimpered at the preasure on his scalp... But it was better that then trying to sponge sick out of his hair.

After twelve hours of pure torture for everyone involved, Gena's fever broke and he gained a little bit more licidity. Now it was just making sure he made a full recovery.

Angeal made up a two cups of coffee and placed a clean rag over the bowl of Chicken noodle soup he'd warmed. He doubted Genesis would be able to keep all of it sown, but they at least needed to try. Placing it all on a tray he trecked back to the bedroom.

"How are we looking?" He asked upon entering. Sephiroth was sat in the squishy reading chair that usually sat in the Corner of Gena's room, looking only maginally less tired than Angeal felt. The man was used to insomnia.

"he woke up for only a minute or two. I managed to get him to drink some water," Seph whispered back, taking the cup that was handed to him.

Angeal sighed and sat on the end of the bed. "I never thought I'd say this but i think I need to hear him being dramatic,"

Sephiroth hummed and looked back at Genesis on the bed. He didn't look peaceful exactly, there was too much sweat and signs of distress about his person for that, but he he no longer seened to be in active discomfort and stress. angeal watched Seph scan his eyes over their lovers face and body, taking note of everything he could.

"What are you thinking?" he asked softly, placing a hant on Sephiroths thigh and squeezing.

Sephiroth twitched his nose slightly, a little stress tell they'd long ago realised he was considering variables that he didn't like. It was upsetting how often those variables were the truth.

"I'm thinking, we may need to pay a visit to Hollander once he is not in danger any more" Angeal blinked at him.

"You think Hollander did this to him?" he asked, with a note of scepticism to his voice. "Seph, babe, I know you have reason to mistrust scientists, but this is Hollander we're talking about here. He's not Hojo, he doesn't do things like this!"

"No? Angeal, consider for a second. Genesis goes down to the lab for a pre mission check up" Sephiroth bracketted the words with air quotes, and Angeal would have snorted at how very Zack the gesture was had he not started to feel sick himself. Sephiroth continues.

"And when he comes back from the lab he complains that he has a headache; something he has not complained of since he was a third, I know because I checked -"

"you accessed his medical records? seph tha-"

"Hush. complains of a headache and then all of a sudden the mission is cancled due to prioritising and Genesis does not even have the time to feel angered at any kind of usually percieved slight against his skill before he's going down - in a single afternoon Angeal- with a severe fever, sickness, apparent chest infection and the worst migraine he has had since he wat fourteen."

Layed out as plainly as Sephiroth had put it, it did seem awfully convenient that Genesis had not been sent away as this was developing. in fact Angeal could track Sephiroths logic almost perfectly with little room to suggest conicidence. But this was Hollander .The man was a bastard, that Angeal would fully admit, but he had never purposfully poisoned them before, not in the ways Hojo had done to Sephiroth.

"Could you two discuss the conspiricy of my death a little quieter please?" came a rough voice from behind him, and when he turned to follow Sephs redirected gaze he saw Genesis attempting to pull himself up into a sitting position.

He got up to help, but was flapped at irately when he went to support Gena's back.

"How do you feel?" he asked softly, and Genesis sighed.

"Like I went round for round with the Midgar Zolom and then decided to train with Sephiroth as a masocistic treat to myself," Sephiroth snorted as he moved to Gens other side, sitting on the bed with him and pulling the red head to lean against his sweater clad side.

Gen leaned into it with a comfroted hum, reaching for Angeal who came easily. winding his ams around the both of them and placing his chin on Gen's head.

"If you wanted to fight me like this, i would have been bored by your sloppyness." Sephiroth pokes fun and Genesis squawks indignintly. Angeal chuckled.

"So mean!" Gena weakly punches Sephiroth in the thigh. "I could have very well died!"

Angeal sobered a bit, and from the shit in Sephiroths posture, so did he.

"yes, you could have," he murmered and Genesis' anger Deflated. He coughed into his fist as he relaxed against them, and when his breath caught, the two sat him up straighter so that he could breath better as he Coughed harder.

"S-sorry" he weezed.

"It's fine love," Ageal whispered handing him the glass of water. Gen Gulped it down and sat back again.

"I have not missed being this ill." he commented. "Reminds me of of the time I had scarlet fever, though I confess I don't actually remember a lot of the experience. mostly the pain,"

They sat there for a while in silence, Seph playing with the promise ring on Gena's left hand while Angeal combed out some of the knots out from his hair. after about half an hour, Genesis spoke; his breath rattling in his chest a little.

"Do you truely think Hollander did this to me?" he asked, not looking at either of them.

"I do," was all Sephiroth gave him, and Angeal sensed that Genesis din't know what to do with that information. what were you supposed to say when the man in charge of you medically was suspected of trying to kill you?

There was nothing anyone could say that could ever make that okay.

"I made you soup, if you're up for eating?" he offered instead and Genesis seemed to welcome the distraction, making grabby hands at him, like a child, as he reached for the still warm bowl.

As Angeal and Sephiroth watched him eat, they glanced at each other, a silent agreement being made. It this was Hollander -and Gods above did Angeal hope it wasn't - Then they would do everything in their power to hunt that man down and end him before he had the chance to make Genesis suffer further.

[hell-drabbles]

Wait after seeing your Lucifer pieces

I just realised do you know how shattering it'd be if Lucifer is the first person to see Companion after their anglification or after their fall

Lucifer watching his friend returned into a angel knowing full well what they'll go through and how he feels when he sees their mangled body fall to the earth of hell staining the ground like his did

Even better in Raqi timeline

Only he and Raqi know Companion is back and has to take care of them

I imagine Companion is in a vegetable state for a while before making enough recovery to think and speak

Dante Anon

Yeah you'd have to think of how the bones have probably set wrong, so they'd have to be reset. Their vision will definitely not be right for many a day, so, in their heavy brain fog and migrained state, the Embittered Companion would think they're back in the hands of the angels. Whatever healing the devils are trying to do is made excruciatingly hard because, for that moment, the Companion body keeps rejecting that power. Ever fierce, ever spiteful.

They'll need sponge baths for a time, then they'll need assistance for regular bathing so there'd be a shower chair for them to sit on while they're being washed. And then there's the physical therapy to think about. Man, their body is going to be such a hurting mess. Lot of chronic pain, tremors, cramps. Ouchies.

Recovery just ain't a sexy process but the dedication behind it is nice nonetheless.

Ah, Raqiel hasn't been in my head in a whiiiile. My boy! I have forgotten my boy! Anyways, Raqi over here doesn't hold the biggest reputation but his name has passed by others lips enough for Lucifer to probably have heard of him. After all, a lot of the bloodlust-y techniques that the angels use can be attributed to Raqi, so there's probably a certain amount of caution Lucifer has towards Raqi, but not in the sense that he feels Raqi will be of any danger to him. Raqi has most definitely heard of Lucifer but has probably only seen him just as Lucifer fell out of Heaven. To Raqi, Lucifer was the falling star that had him questioning just how strong his own love towards God is, how deep does his dedication truly go? Never really thought to question it up until now, Raqi was simply going with the flow.

"To me, Lucifer was always wingless." is what Raqi would probably say.

But anyways, once those first meetings are out of the way, I feel Raqi and Lucifer wouldn't mind being around one another, seeing as they're fellow outliers in the grand scheme of things. Can potentially annoy Lucifer when the topics of Raqi's kinks come up. He gets pretty talkative about them, which is amusing in it's own way considering how the angels usually are, but the novelty will probably wear away after a certain point.

That being said, I can imagine that Lucifer found the Companion first and probably sent for Raqiel to come to Paradise Lost, because he most certainly was looking for the Companion harder than anyone else.

[kamisatomay018]

My Saviour: Part 10

This part will wrap up everything for the next and last part! The series is about to come to an end, I will update the next part very soon. Enjoy!

Four days passed by, both you and Ayato were recovering well. The news of the attack on you both had somehow been leaked to the public, and all of Inazuma was shocked and angry that someone had tried to kill you both. A lot of letters had arrived at the estate from well wishes and concerned citizens, who offered help and prayers to you both for your speedy recovery. Both you and Ayato were so grateful, and had made it a point to thank the public once you both were completely healed and given permission by Lady Kokomi to carry out your duties. She had been taking care of both of you tirelessly, and you had become a very good friend of hers in these 4 days, for you both were very much alike in many aspects. When the news of the attack had reached the Hiragi household, a very worried Chisato had immediately visited you along with Kujou Kamaji, who vowed to help you both in any way needed. It was honestly overwhelming how much love and support you both had been receiving, and you were eternally grateful for it.

Currently, you were seated in the garden area of the estate along with Ayato, enjoying a cup of tea with him. Your head rested against his shoulder sand you smiled as he placed soft kisses on your forehead every now and then. The peaceful silence was broken by Thoma, who approached you both accompanied by the Raiden Shogun and Yae miko. “My lord, My lady, Her Excellency and Lady Guuji have arrived to visit you both.” You and Ayato stood up, bowing in respect. “Almighty Shogun, Lady Guuji, it is an honour to have your presence at our humble estate.” You spoke softly, making Miko laugh while the shogun, to your surprise, smiled. “Oh child, drop the formalities, Ei and I are here to visit you both to check up on you, not stress you out!” You were flustered at her words, shaking your head. “Oh- your presence would never stress us out!” Taking pity on you, The Shogun smiled. “Oh don’t listen to Miko, she’s simply poking fun at you. But I agree, you can both relax, just call me Ei.”

Keeping your surprise concealed, both you and Ayato smiled, nodding at her words. “Well, how are your injuries doing? All those days ago when I had found you both in the forest, your conditions were critical.” “It is all thanks to your help that our lives were saved Almighty- I mean, Ei..we are also eternally grateful to Lady Kokomi, she has been tending to our wounds and making sure that we heal quickly.” Ayato spoke, while his arm was gently wrapped around your waist. Ei nodded at his words. “That is good to hear. I also noticed that there were two cryo avatars that looked just like Y/N. if my assumption is correct, it was her elemental power?” “Yes, I gained a vision that night while fighting alongside Ayato.” “Hm? Cryo avatars you say? My my, I would certainly like to see that. Y/N, be a dear and summon them again please.” You heard Yae’s amused voice say. “Of course.”

You took a few steps away from them, summoning your elemental ability. “Cryo Incarnate!” And everyone looked in awe as your two cryo avatars floated in front of you, each holding a spear. Not spotting any enemies, they bowed their heads to you, one standing with you and the other beside ayato in a protective stance. Ayato’s heart skipped a beat, realising that your power’s first instinct was to protect him. That realisation made him smile like a fool, admiring your cryo avatar. “Oh? I see that your avatars are holding a spear. Is that the weapon you use to fight?” Ei asked out of curiosity as you walked closer to them again. Nodding at her words sheepishly, you responded. “Ah, yes, although I only began learning a little over a month ago. My skills are nowhere near perfection, and there is much I still have to learn.”

“I will teach you.” Everyone was surprised at Ei’s words, especially you. “Oh my; I didn’t know you were taking classes in your free time Ei~” Miko’s sly voice teased, and in return she received a half hearted glare. “Miko.” The sly fox only giggled, pouting playfully. “Are you sure? I know as the archon you’re extremely busy..” Ei only smiled, chuckling. “Oh the shogun is busy, but I am not.” You and Ayato looked at each other, completely perplexed. “I’m afraid we don’t understand..” “Please keep what I’m about to say a secret. You see, the Raiden Shogun, whose voice is more harsh and authoritative, is a puppet I created to avoid erosion and seek eternity. I on the other hand, have placed my consciousness within her, which is a place you can enter upon my permission. My consciousness is called the plane of euthymia; where I exist independently. That is where I will train you, while the Shogun can carry on with her duties. I have chosen to train you because I see great potential in your abilities, and as the future wife of the Yashiro Commissioner, you must be strong so as to avoid any situation like this in the future. I am aware that Ayato is a skilled swordsman, and so I intend on making you a skilled polearm user.”

The cold autumn breeze blew through the streets of Inazuma City, and you watched as excited children ran around in glee, playing and catching the falling maple leaves. You smiled at the sight, noticing the lively markets brimming with customers, selling all kinds of delicacies and ornaments. As you walked towards your home, your mind was replaying your entire life, painting it like a beautiful scenery blossoming with colour. A year had passed by now, a year since you stepped foot into Inazuma city with your beloved, a year since you became the Yashiro Commissione’s fiancé, and a year since the Shogun had been training you. She had built a formidable fighter within this year; You. With her help, you had grown to be the fiercest fighter in Inazuma, after the Shogun of course. Your polearm skills were unmatchable by any and every human on this land, and you had gone as far as to even being able to easily defeat Ayato in a duel. Today was the day Ei told you that your training had been completed, and she was proud of you. She would never tell this to anyone, but deep down inside, you reminded her of her sister, Makoto. You both had formed a great friendship too, and you couldn’t be happier. Your life was perfect.

As you entered the Kamisato Estate, you frowned seeing it deserted. That’s strange, where was everyone? You walked further inside, worry filling your heart slowly but surely. “Ayato? Ayaka? Thoma? Where are all of you?” You then gasped softly as you felt someone backhug you, the nightlights on the ground turning on to reveal all your friends and loved ones. A deep soothing voice whispered in your ear like the finest melody of love you had ever heard “Happy Birthday my beloved.” A big smile adorned your face, brightening it up as you felt your heart melt. In front of you stood Ayaka, Thoma and Chisato, surrounding a table on which a beautiful cake was kept. You turned around to face the love of your life, your cheeks blushing pink as you hugged him. “Thank you so much!” He held you close, inhaling your sweet scent and pressed a sweet kiss on your forehead. “Come on Daarin, we have much planned for your special day.” You pulled back, giving him a grateful smile as you went to meet everyone else, your heart filled with joy beyond imagination.

Thoma and Ayaka had prepared a big feast together, while Ayato himself had decorated the house for you. You felt so loved and cherished, and if today was a dream; then you never wanted it to end. But you knew it wasn’t a dream, for meeting Ayato had made your wildest dreams turn into reality. There was once a time when you thought that you’d never be free, and then Ayato walked into your life, effortlessly changing it for the better. As the joyful evening progressed, everyone showered you with gifts, but of course, your beloved managed to outdo everyone else. Ayato walked towards you, holding a polearm in his hands. The moment you laid eyes on that weapon, you instantly felt connected to it. It was so delicately crafted, yet had a blade so sharp that it could cut through anything with a single slash. Ayato got on his knee in respect, shocking you and handed you the polearm. “This is my gift for you my beloved, a weapon I got made for you. It is made from the very material used in my sword, and in it, I have infused my own hydro powers. Our weapons are connected, just like us. You are the strongest fighter among us, and to honour you, I wished to gift you your own weapon, which will be summoned upon your command, and follow your movements effortlessly.”

You picked up the weapon, and the moment you did so, your cryo vision resonated with it, and you felt so powerful. It was the most beautiful weapon you had ever seen, elegant yet deadly just like you. Using your powers, you kept it away as the weapon turned into golden particles, and you hugged ayato tightly, feeling so much happiness.

Later that night, you sat on the bed, looking out the window while waiting for Ayato to change into comfortable clothes. “What is it that has occupied your mind my love?” You smiled hearing the familiar deep voice, making you stand up as you made your way over to him. “It is always you who occupies my mind Ayato.” He laughed softly, hugging you close to him, brushing your hair away from your face. “Is that so? Well I am glad, for you are always in my thoughts, in my mind and in my heart.” You blushed, cupping his cheek softly, caressing the mole on his face. “It feels so unreal at times..I cannot fathom how beautiful my life has become.” Ayato leans down, delicately kissing your lips, silencing all your thoughts with his simple action. “You deserve all the joy this world has to offer Daarin. You are so precious to me, and to all of Inazuma.”

Ayato pulls you even closer, resting his forehead against yours, his thumbs rubbing soft circles on your waist. His next words were perhaps those that you had been silently waiting for since a long time, and they made your heart flutter. “Marry me my beloved. I cannot wait any longer, I wish to make you my wife. Let us not delay it anymore, let us wed and celebrate our union.” Ayato saw your eyes shine with happiness, your lips curving into the most beautiful smile, one that made his entire being light up in joy. It felt as if fireworks were set off in his world, filling it with beautiful lights. You hugged him, resting your head against his chest to listen to the calming melody of his beating heart.

“Yes, let us get married. I want to be yours.”

[a-crumb-of-whump]

ANB Drabble: Warmth

ANB Masterlist | Comfortember 2023 Masterlist | @comfortember

~ Comfortember | Day 4: Warmth ~

Content: Vampire whumpee, [mentioned] burns, recovery, blood (for the sake of feeding).

-

It was too warm for comfort today. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the constant looming anxiety that had him checking every window in his bedroom to ensure that they were secure and wrapping a thick blanket around his shoulders despite the fact that it caused him to sweat nearly instantly. 

And it only got worse when he realised that both his humans were at work by the time he woke up. Everything was completely silent apart from Murphy’s footsteps on the floor as he came to greet him. He was tentative in every footstep, hiding his face as he stepped around corners in case someone forgot to close the curtains. 

In the kitchen sat his morning glass of blood and a messily-written note that clearly resembled Ryker’s handwriting. 

Good morning! I left this morning’s breakfast lukewarm instead of heating it up in the microwave, though you’re welcome to heat it up yourself. The entire house has been double checked, so I promise no sun is getting in. When you’re finished with your food, put the glass in the dishwasher and check the living room for a little surprise if you haven’t already. 

Ryker. 

Carlos smiled, his shoulders relaxing a little as he slowly worked his way through the note. It was comforting to know they’d thought about him before leaving, enough to make sure he would be safe to wander. 

After downing the entire drink in a matter of seconds, he swiped the remaining drops out with his finger as he did every day and set it upside down in the already-opened dishwasher before tilting his gaze towards the other room. He’d never been big on surprises. Things he didn’t know scared him, even if they turned out to be good. 

Nonetheless, Ryker had requested that he at least take a look, and his trust in him had grown enough by now that he was fairly confident that it would be okay. 

So, he tucked Ryker’s note into his back pocket and tiptoed his way into the living area, his blanket still held protectively around his shoulders as a few beads of sweat fell down his forehead. If he were smarter, he might have opted for something lighter. Like a long-sleeved shirt or a thinner blanket. However, the mere thought of getting burnt for even a second was enough to eliminate those as options, and he held onto the fabric even tighter to stop it from slipping. 

Much to his surprise, there was a fort of some kind waiting for him in the left corner of the room, made out of different comforters and pillows that he assumed were spares from the closet at the very end of the hallway. It was all held together by the bookshelf on one side and the communal computer desk on the other, lightly trapping the fabric against the wall. 

There was a second note waiting for him when he poked his head inside, sitting in the middle of a handmade nest of pillows. Carlos was already smiling as he picked it up. 

I know you must be feeling insecure today with the weather being as hot as it is. So Adam and I also thought you might appreciate a dark space to hide in while we’re gone. You used to make them for me sometimes and they always made me feel a bit safer. I hope this can do the same for you. 

Also if the fort hasn’t fallen apart by the time I get home, I will be joining you.

Ryker 

It was perfect. Everything Carlos needed to make it through the day was right here. A dark space with no windows, a soft surface to sleep on, two animals to keep him company. He couldn’t figure out what he’d done to get so lucky but accepted it nonetheless. 

Despite it still being a little too warm for his liking, he was calm. Content. More than he’d ever been on a hot day like this, especially after Murphy curled up by his side in a way that at least blocked his face from the exit. The only place where light would ever be able to get in. 

Safe, safe, safe.

-

Comfortember 2023 masterlist: @topsheepstudent

ANB Taglist: @choppedflowermuffinchild @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @emcscared-whumps @espresso-depresso-system @inkkswhumpandstuff @lumariane @pigeonwhumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @roblingoblin285 @sacredwrath @some-thrilling-heroics @stabby-nunchucks @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @trans-writes @whump-blog @whumpsday @whumpshaped @paniatheweirdone @whumpycries @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thekittyburger @whumpdreamz

[its-my-whump]

Medwhump May- Day 19 Alt 11

Exhaustion

@medwhumpmay

Tw: aftermath of hospitalization and recovery, exhausting as predicted, hehe

Part 19 (all others here)

As she showed the first signs of coming around, after they finished the surgery, and took her own first breaths, she was taken off the ventilator.

Her breathing was rattled and strained, but she was pulling air in on her own. Her lungs working on their own account again, finally.

She fell unconscious, the moment, the tube was out, never realising, what actually had happened.

The unconscious body was rolled into PACU, still deeply under. She stayed still for about another 45 minutes. Her vitals started to climb, the constant drum of her heartbeat picked up a bit and her bloodpressure rose around the time, her fingers started to twitch and brush over the bedding. Her dark eyelashes were moved by her eyes slowly rolling around under closed lids in her pale face. Her forehead wrinkled, in a clear sign of discomfort. Her fever had finally broken and was coming down.

Another few minutes passed, her heartbeat was running faster now, but still some spikes breaking the rhythmical zigzag on the monitor.

A blond middle aged nurse had picked up on her rising vitals and came over. She had been informed, that the lady, that came in, young and healthy, merely 4 days ago, had just undergone an endless strain of deverstating complications. The possibility was high, that she'd panic, when waking up after yet another sedation and another operation performed on her unresponsive body. She'd most definitely be confused and dizzy, like the times before.

The nurse made sure, all iv lines were in order, bags, hang by the side of her bed filling, reassuring, that the young woman's system was still working in the range of its possibilities.

She just laid her hand on the lady's twitching one. The little shock, of how cold those weakly shaking fingers were, the nurse tried to ignore. It felt like a toddler, with too big fingers was trying to grab her hand, actually.

"You're alright, hunny." She said in a half-loud voice. Cold fingers curcled around her own, the stirring had stopped, as had the rustling of the sheets.

The pale face was making all kinds of disturbed expressions, as her closed eyeslids kept on hectically moving from side to side.

"I'm here for you, little lady." The blond nurse encouraged her again.

The patient's eyes opened just a little crack. Her nose wrinkled, despite her state, the nasal cannula, was disturbing her clearly.

Eyes were tired, confused and glazy, slowly adjusting to her surroundings.

The hand under the nurse's tried to move, but the additional weight of her's was making it impossible.

Her other arms twitched, fingers straightening agonising slowly and the unused muscles tensed. Her heartbeat was audibly hammering away, but her movements were only slow. She was confused, too exhausted to be overwhelmed by rising panic, it seemed.

The arm lifted from the bed, hand aiming for the tube under her nose and around her ears, while she pulled in swallow breths. Every movement of her chest, showed as a wrinkle, build by pain in her face.

She only managed to lift her arm about 10 inches, half way across her chest.

The nurse's other hand took a gentle hold of the arm in midair. It was shaking in her carefully grip, no real counterpressure there at all.

"You're fine, sweetheart. We'll take care of you."

Those seemed to be the reassuring words, the little lady needed. Her arm fell limp in the nurse's hand, the fingers on the bed, under her other, fell still. A relieved exhale and the exhausted female patient went under again.

->Day20

My masterlist

[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

In Sketched Lines

Prompt: hurt/comfort

Rating: K/General with mild themes

Setting: just after the Full bringer arc.

Synopsis: Toshiro helps Momo move on, but discovers he needs to do the same.

AN: time for another fic for the @yearoftheotpevent's challenge. I don’t know if Momo would actually ask anyone to do this, because I feel like this is something she would want to do on her own as part of her recovery, but I wanted explore this scenario anyway. I also realise I have written a similar to fic to this already, but I wanted to expand on upon it a little more and see it from Toshiro's POV. I hope you all enjoy it!

______________________

“You really don’t have to do this.”

It’s the fourth time she’s said it.

“It’s fine,” he says again.

 “I can get Captain Hirako to do it when he comes back from his leave.”

“That’ll be a week from now.”

“It can wait…”

But she wants it done now, he can tell.

He looks down at the sketchbook she tightly clutches to herself with a mix of emotions, varying from uncertainty, eagerness, and guilt.

He holds out a hand. “It’s better we do it sooner rather than later.” He wants to offer a smile, but finds himself unable to. “You can get on with the rest of your day, and know this has been done.”

She presses his lips into a taut line, considering his words. She takes in a long breath, one that makes her shoulders rise. “But what about you? Will you be…okay with seeing him?”

It had been a tricky thing, he’d realised, for her to reveal this to him. She had been able to do this herself in the past, but these last few had made her reach out to others to help her. There’s no shame in that, she knows, but she still dipped her head in guilt when she told him; although he suspects for a different reason.

On one hand, she knows this will affect him too. He can’t predict what his reaction will be, but better him to do this than her. On the other, the contents of these sketchbooks had only been seen by close friends, and if she was going to ask for help with them, it would only be with a select few.

And then there’s the strange feeling in the back of his mind, one that makes him think for whatever reason, he needs to do this for more than just to ensure she doesn’t suffer anymore than she has.

 “You said it yourself, ‘he can’t hurt anyone anymore.’” It’s not entirely true. As Toshiro had become acutely aware, there were more ways to hurt a person that didn’t involve physical harm. Regardless, reminding her of her own words seems to calm her a little.

She lifts book away from her torso and gives it a glance over. With an unease sigh through her nose, she hands it to him. “Just remove the drawings that don’t have him in them.” The corner of her mouth tightens. “I think this one will have more of him than not, unfortunately. I-If it becomes too much, please stop, okay?”

He only nods.

She awkwardly points to the piles of books on the floor only a few feet away and attempts to smile. “I’ll just be sorting those out. When we’re done, why don’t we have some tea?”

“Sure.”

He takes a seat at her small desk as she turns away. He doesn’t take his gaze off her for a while, watching as she kneels back down and resumes looking through her old books. Just off to her left, the door to her balcony is opened a fraction, allowing a spring wind to gently blow through the room. It causes the curtains next to him to flutter, almost revealing the three framed photos she has along the windowsill.

When he’s sure she’s relaxed enough – that tenseness doesn’t completely leave her shoulders, as if she expects him to have a reaction at any moment – he returns his attention to her sketchbook. It’s one of the bigger ones she has, with almost a hundred pages in it. The hard, red cover has a few small scratches and one corner is folded inwards. It’s not like her to have a book like this, she always kept in pristine condition. It must be one of her older ones.

He inhales a quiet, long breath before he lifts the front cover. Thankfully, he isn’t greeted by Aizen’s visage first. It’s a scene from the Academy, of a courtyard with various students scattered around; some are in groups holding textbooks under their or their wooden swords, others sit under the trees and chattering away. If the setting didn’t give away this was one of her earlier sketchbooks, her technique did. Some of the anatomy of the students is a little wonky and inaccurate, the textures of the leaves lacked detail, the lines of the buildings surrounding the courtyard fall a few degrees to one side, and the shading lacked depth. Still it was one of the many early sketches that showed her potential for drawing.

He takes the corner of the piece and carefully rip it out. Luckily, the binding of the book helps him make a clean tear, and the piece remain undamaged after he pulls it out. He sets it aside on the desk.

The next is of Renji and Izuru, posing for her to draw them. Toshiro almost sighs at how little they’ve changed, with Renji sporting a wide grin while holding an uncomfortable Izuru too tightly around the shoulders. Judging from the black shihakusho Renji has tucked over his other arm, this is from their graduation. Even in this piece alone though she shows improvement with her anatomy.

The next is an incomplete drawing of Tobiume propped up against a veranda post. While sword and the post had been completed, the rest was still in vague sketches. He tears it out and goes to put it over the Renji and Izuru one, but pauses when he sees the drawing beneath. He knew this was coming, but it still catches him off guard.

Aizen stares back at him through his glasses, smiling. It’s a colourless portrait, and his hair too thick and lips a little too wide, but it’s undoubtedly him. Toshiro shakes his head when he realises he’s been staring at the drawing for too long, and finishes tearing out the sketch of Tobiume. He quickly turns the page, only for the next to have another drawing of Aizen, this time of him writing calligraphy with students looking on.

As Toshiro flicks to the next drawing, and then the next, and the next, it dawns on why Momo couldn’t go through this one by herself. This is at the height of her admiration for him. It’s blatant from the way she’s drawn him. No, it’s not only in the way she draws him – in the detail she put into his visage compared to other portraits or still life moments – or in the number of sketches she’s drawn, but also in the moments she captures of him: him admiring a flower, him looking at the sky as she sits with a cup of tea in hand, another portrait but with him in a kimono, him instructing new recruits, him and Gin with their back turned discussing something, and it kept going. She felt the need to capture all of these moments, real or imagined, because he had warped her admiration of him to make her want to.

Seeing the number of pages he’s skipped enter into the twenties, Toshiro’s grip tightens around the book, and he has the urge to slam it shut and through it out the door. Instead he quickly flicks through, trying to find an image that wasn’t of Aizen. When he does, he almost slumps over, feeling as if he'd finally reached a life raft in a storm. It's a portrait of Rangiku, and he can finally go back to taking in how much Momo's technique had improved. Seeing his lieutenant with the shorter hair and her neck scarf brings back memories that he indulges in for a moment, a reprieve from the images of Aizen and the memories that threaten to rise to the surface.

Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea. If he kept going, how much worse would it get? Momo said he could leave this if it got too much.

He raises his head to her. She still has her back to him, but she turns slightly when she pick up a book. After she opens it, the beginnings of a smile play at the corner of her lips. Combined with the quiet rustling of leaves and the twittering of a bird, it’s a peaceful scene, one that belonged in her sketchbook. She belongs in it after everything that's happened.

I can keep going.

Toshiro tears out Rangiku’s portrait, and Aizen appears again. It’s a few pages later when he sees a series of different figures training in zanjutsu. There’s a few distinctive features that tell him who each one is – Hoshino’s slicked back hair, Genji’s rectangular glasses, and Higuchi’s bulky stature. It’s drawn more like a study, and he could picture her watching the training from the sidelines, sketching each fighter to understand anatomy and posing better.

He stares at his younger self on the next page. He’s not surprised it’s taken this long to find a sketch of himself, he rarely poses or is the subject of one of her drawings for her now and was even less back then. In the drawing he looks unimpressed, his frown deeper and his eyes looking off to the side. He sits on the edge of a veranda, with a stack of papers beneath one hand while the other held a document he’d been reading before she bothered him. He raises a brow at the crumbs in one corner of his mouth. The fact she even drew those…

He doesn’t remember the day, but it seemed like any other they’d had back then. Those were spontaneous moments, often happening when they just happened to see each other as they worked. It’s better now, more frequent and outside of work.

Aizen appears behind his portrait, and he continues until he finds a sketch of some of her division members. He’s nearing the end, having torn out only completed and incomplete drawings of her friends, her division members, landscape shots, or studies of posing and anatomy. He finds another of himself with Rangiku, again posing for a portrait and with him looking even more unimpressed.

He’ll be thankful for this to be over, but he’s also glad he could help her with this. He hates the thought of her trying to do this alone, to see Aizen’s face over and over again so many times.

He gasps when he opens on one of the last pages. He wasn’t loud enough for Momo to hear, but still he checks to see if she’d noticed; or maybe he doesn’t want to look back at the drawing. Eventually, he has no choice.

It’s of him and Aizen, working together on paperwork. Aizen smiles serenely, ink brush in hand and sitting at his desk, as Toshiro points out something to him on the document they’re both going over. He’s studious, but otherwise relaxed around the captain.

When had she drawn this? Had he never noticed her observing them, or had he simply forgotten she’d drawn this moment between them?

Despite the impressive skills of her drawing, he can’t help the sickening churn of his stomach. He’d been so oblivious – they’d all had, he tries to remind himself. In this moment, Aizen was planning, was doing unspeakable things behind their backs. He never cared for the work they’d collaborated on unless it further his goals. It was a lie, all of it.

He wants to turn the page, but it occurs to him that he’s in this drawing. Would Momo want it? Up until now most of her drawings of Aizen had just been of him alone, and when there were others, she’d drawn them with their backs turned or they were indistinguishable silhouettes. He felt she wouldn’t want to keep them for that reason, even if he tore Aizen out of the picture.

Would that be the same here? If he tore out the drawing and then ripped Aizen away from it, would she still remember what the rest had looked like?

He mulls over it, trying to think over the flood of emotions going through him. This isn’t about him and how he feels, it’s about her. In the end, he quickly scans the remaining pages, and tears out a single drawing of forest landscape and closes the sketchbook.

With some hesitation, he rises from her desk and haltingly walks over to her. She turns only when he stops behind her. “Ah, you’re finished then?”

He can only grunt. When he doesn’t hold the book out to her, her eyes soften. “Are you all right?”

 “I’m fine. I got most of the drawings out.” He kneels at her side. “There’s one I wasn’t sure of.”

“Oh?”

“It’s of me and him.”

“…What’s happening in it?”

“We’re working on reports.”

“I see.” She considers for a moment, frowning down at the sketchbook. He fears she’ll want to see it so she can decide. At some point, she returns her gaze to his. Despite his discomfort and wanting to look away, he lets her search his eyes for whatever she’s looking for. Somehow they soften even more, and it makes his heartache.

“I’ll let you decide.”

He can’t help but blink and furrow his brows deeper. “What?”

“You’re in that sketch. It’s up to you decide.”

“But it’s your drawing.”

“Even so, you should decide.”

“Why?”

“…It feels like the right thing to do.”

It’s a weak answer, showing her unwillingness to tell him the truth. Why is she doing this? Is it her old habit of putting others before herself? Had she found his discomfort and thought it was only right for him to choose what to do with the drawing?

Regardless, he knows it’s useless to argue with her, that stubbornness will keep her adamant about this. Does he tear out an image of himself to join the others, or does he let it burn with Aizens’?

There’s a few images of his younger self already in the pile, and she if she was okay with not having this one…

No, it’s not like that, he realises.

That lingering feeling in the back of Toshiro’s mind comes to the fore, and maybe that is what she had seen. He needed to do this for the same reasons she had with all the other sketchbooks and items she’d slowly disposed of.

They both knew seeing Aizen would affect him, but Toshiro didn't think it would make him reflect on the memories of those years. He’s never been under any illusions that Aizen was corrupted and changed, but it didn’t stop Toshiro from remembering him as the mask he presented to everyone. And until now, he’d avoided thinking on those memories. When he’d discovered Aizen’s treachery and fought against him, he’d only thought of how Momo and those close to him were affected, and the suffering he had caused the Soul Society as a whole. What good were the old memories?

But maybe, as he thought back on it, his rage during the prepartions for war had also stemmed from a different kind of betrayal. One of memories, ones that were of a false person. Of a person he’d entrusted to look out for Momo, of a captain who always seemed calm and fair and encouraging to all those he met. He’d remained guarded around him as he had around most people, but even then, Aizen’s act had gotten him to soften a little. He’d affected him then, and he still affected him now in memory.

There’s something freeing in the realisation. Today, he needed to see these images of Aizen, a final confrontation. He could break his younger self away from him, tear out himself from that sketch and let the other half burn, but it feels like a lie. He’d been there working with him, even if he can’t remember that specific moment. It is better to let it go, to let it be part of a myriad of vague memories amongst the more distinctive ones. To not puch them away to try and make them disappear, but to let them be there and come and go when they rise to the surface. He can’t forget that fabrication, but he can live with the memories of it.

The image of those times with him didn’t need to be in this world anymore.

He hands her to book. “Here.”

Momo searches him again for several heartbeats. Slowly, she nods and takes the sketchbook from him. Back in her hands, sighs at seeing the number of pages still in the book. “I knew there would be a lot of Captain Ai…Aizen Sosuke in it. I was truly blinded by him, wasn’t I?”

“We all were,” he reminds her gently.

She manages a small smile. “Still, at least the whole sketchbook wasn’t of him.” After a pause, she looks to him. “I was thinking before we have some tea, can you come with me to get rid of this?”

He nods without hesitation. Her smile widens a fraction before they both stand. She goes over to her desk and takes out a box of matches - one of the few useful things Shinji had brought back from the World of the Living. – before they leave her room.

They say very little as they journey to an area behind the barracks where there’s a firepit. It had recently been used judging by the ashes scattered over the ring of stones and the left-over blackened wood in the middle. Toshiro goes ahead of Momo to remove them, while she gathers a few logs to take their place.

The fire starts slowly, consuming the kindling, gradually the wood, and gliding along the edges of the book. Eventually, the cover blackens and peels back, then the pages catch alit quickly after, showing no sign of Aizen’s face. They watch all of this wordlessly.

With his hand hovering close by, Toshiro can sense the tremors that run through Momo’s hand. He gingerly grazes the back of her hand, and she takes his. The flames keeping burning, and they don’t put them out until the book almost completely gone.

"Thank you, Momo whispers, her voice slightly hoarse. "I know it was a lot, so really, thank you."

He only grunts and tightens his hold on her hand.

It's a long while before they head back. On the way , the air around them is lighter, the burden having been lifted. Momo even gives him a smile as she thanks him again for joining her.

When they return to her room and she goes to prepare tea the barracks’ kitchens, he finds himself wondering over to the photos on her window sill. He pushes one of the curtains aside. He’d seen all three of photos before: one of her and the Women’s Association outside a restaurant in the Rukongai, the other of her and Shinji holding up coffees outside a café in the World of the Living, and the final one of her, him, and Rangiku under a tree in the Fifth Division gardens. With the exception of the Women’s Association photo, the other two had been taken recently.

To a small extent, he prefers the photos. He’ll always like her drawings and he proud of how far she progressed in her skills, but unlike in her sketchbooks, she makes an appearance with everyone in photos. She’s happy in all three, beaming in the first, smiling shyly in the second, and looking content in the last.

Not for the first time, he wonders if he should’ve smiled in his photo, but she had printed it and kept it here in her room, that must mean something. Regardless, he decides he’ll smile for her next time, whether it be for a photo or a drawing. She can capture it as a memory.