#like the occasional pain is normal but if it’s consistent over a week then usually that might be something????

[anachronistic-falsehood]

Do you have a doctor relative or enough money to go to a doctor?

i live in canada so like it’s free i could go any time at all but the problem is that i don’t feel like it’s a big enough issue to bother anyone with. if i go in there and say “hey occasionally i have weird pains that only last less than a second what is it” they’ll say “you’re probably fine, do you think it might be anxiety?” because that is ALWAYS WHAT HAPPENS

[rileyslibrary]

This is a short Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader fic for @lauraliisa and @pasta-m1lk who requested a part 2 of the Hot Seat fic. I won’t be making a part 3 for this; I prefer to leave the rest to your imagination (sometimes I, too, like to torment the ones I love 😈) The fic is SFW, I promise.

Yesterday at the morning debrief, he was back to his usual self, dressed in his military uniform, with his signature skull balaclava, tactical boots and gloves. He eyed each of you independently and gave orders for the day’s duties.

Toilets. That was your day’s duty. Cleaning the fucking toilets.

And as if that wasn’t enough to torment you, he turned in front of everyone and yelled your name.

“Y/N,” he said, “will be quite tired after cleaning duty, don’t you all think?” to which everyone replied with the “sir, yes, sir,” including yourself.

“To thank her for her service,” he continued, “she’ll receive an exceptional deep tissue massage treatment after she fulfils her duties,” and added a “lucky her.”

Soap was standing behind you. “What the fuck did you do this time,” he whispered, and you discreetly asked him what a deep tissue massage meant. He smirked and said, “you’re about to find out.”

Under normal circumstances, a deep tissue massage would have been revitalising with the occasional “good hurt”.

This “deep tissue” massage was like a compact hell week; there was no relief from pained muscles, and full of “bad hurts.”

He made you run 8km with your bergen, do a fuckton of reps consisting of press-ups, burpees and sit-ups, then wash, rinse and repeat.

“Again.” He ordered, and you obeyed.

“Again.” He commanded, and you did as you were told.

“Again.” He said one last time, and you warned him that you were about to throw up, to which he replied with a simple “good.”

He might have thought you were over-exaggerating, but you couldn’t hold it anymore. You stood up with all the power you had left, ran to the nearest trash bin, dipped yourself halfway in, and began to gag. The smell of rotten food didn’t help.

You didn’t hear him approaching, but you felt his glove brushing the stray hairs off your forehead, his other hand gently patting your back.

He didn’t speak until you wiped your mouth with your hand.

“Better?” He asked.

“I didn’t mean to make a fool out of you, sir,” you explained in between gasps, “on the contrary, I was trying to be,” you got another gasp, “discreet, sir.”

He kept stroking your hair and back until you were finished talking. He then helped you up and held you by the shoulders.

“Seems like you’re not well, soldier,” he said in a low voice, “I would suggest requesting a sick leave.”

You were covered in sweat, your hair all messed up, you smelled like a trashcan, and your body ached in places you never knew existed. But you stared at Ghost, dumbfounded. This could have easily been a trap.

“I’m not si-“

“I’ll give you tomorrow off,” he stopped you, “how’s that?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but he squeezed your shoulders and shot you a meaningful look. He kept nodding, signalling for you to answer in the same manner.

“Yes, sir.” You replied, looking at him hesitantly.

He patted your shoulder. “Good,” he said, “now, what are you up to tomorrow?”

Your mouth dropped to the floor. “I, um, I’ll be home, I guess, sir.”

“So,” he tilted his head, “no plans for tomorrow?”

“N-no.” You replied, still in disbelief.

“Huh, what a coincidence,” he said, putting his hand on his hips, “I’m on leave tomorrow as well.”

“C-cool…” You muttered. What the fuck was he up to.

“Would you like to go for a coffee tomorrow morning?” He asked, “or tea, in your case, because,” he gestured at the miserable state he brought you in, “you know, you’re sick.”

You kept staring at each other. You couldn’t see Simon’s expression, but you looked like someone picked you up with a giant claw and dropped you right in the middle of a David Lynch movie.

“Should I take your silence as a- “

“Yes,” you nodded vigorously, “as a yes, sir; you can take it as a yes.”

He came this morning with his motorcycle and picked you up; he brought an extra helmet for you and secured it on your head.

He drove you to a café close to the pub you first saw and identified him without his mask, the reason behind all that hazing you’ve been through. The reason why you’re both here now.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you tell him.

“Why not?” He asks, “you’re sick and on leave.”

“I’m not sick,” you whisper with a smile, “and neither are you.”

He shrugs. “Oh, but I am sick,” he opposes you, “sick and tired of serving and ordering and,” he looks around, “killing.” He whispers.

You nod empathetically. He diverts his gaze from you and looks at the street, almost embarrassed for admitting it. You think of his mask; he doesn’t wear it to cover his good looks as you first thought. Ghost is a persona for the battlefield—for serving and ordering and killing. This, right here, sitting in front of you, is Simon.

“Hey,” you snap your fingers to distract him from his thoughts, “you promised me coffee.”

“Tea,” he corrects you, and you shake your head.

“I hate tea.” You say.

He shoots you a death stare and looks up at the sky.

“Why?” he wonders out loud and smiles, “why didn’t I ask you about that before taking you out on a date?” And gestures at the waiter to come and take your order.

[absolutebl]

The Currently Airing Shows Ask Game looks really interesting and I can't resist asking you the following:

4. What is your favorite day for shows to air on? 5. What show do you think is doing the best job at utilizing tropes? 6. What trope is crossing over multiple airing shows that surprises you?

Especially keen to hear your take on 5 and 6! 😍

‌

Aw, yeah thank you!

I just answered #5. I chose We Are and explain my reasoning here. So the other two, fun fun!

4. What is your favorite day for shows to air on?

OMG! Mid week. Please BL gods.

For me a "normal work week" is usually Monday evening through Thursdays at home and then travelling on the weekends. When I travel it's usually for work, which means I only have my work laptop and mobile devices with me, and am moving through different time zones, IPs, and occasionally overseas. So for me it's the opposite of most: on the weekends I have the least leisure time and its hell trying to get access to everything (grey is right out).

Thus I love a shows that air on Mondays (that never happens), Tuesdays (sometimes) and Wednesdays (thank you Japan and Taiwan). Also these break up the monotony of my week.

6. What trope is crossing over multiple airing shows that surprises you?

That's a doozie. I hadn't picked up on any major trend right now across all players.

I will say the shows I'm enjoying the most are the ones that are upending and messing with tropes like Wandee Goodday and My Stand-In. Usually I prefer the fluffy standard fair, but right now the world is a bit askew.

Frankly, I shouldn't be liking My Stand-In at all, but I'm loving it.

Other trends?

It's not really a trope, more a theme or a collective archetype, but I've been noticing that supportive friendship groups, always popular in BL, seem to be getting better development and attention than they have in the past. Almost as if they're being given as much emotional weight (by the narrative) as the central romance. I like that a lot.

I also like how many adult leads and sides we are getting, even from Thailand. By which I mean, BL outside of a school setting. We still have high school and university set stuff, but that used to be ALL we got. I don't mind school settings, but I like that we have some kind of balance going on these days.

Oh yeah. And Japan.

Japan came to play and will not leave the field that they built.

I mean it's crazy how many JBLs we are getting this year. (And last.) Consistently, one after another, even a couple airing at once. At one point there was like 4 airing!

I may not always like JBL, but when I love it, I REALLY LOVE IT, and when it hits it hit hard (pain or joy). And even when I don't like it, it always gives me a lot to think about.

[zylian]

Au of 3ht running a coffee shop but they only have night shifts

——(totally not inspired by closing shift whaaa)——

Majority of the time it’s only two of the three on shifts but occasionally it’s all of them and fridays get hectic so all three of them are obligated to be there.

Planet is always there without fail all days of the week. Bacon takes extra classes so his shift schedule shifts. Jaron needed something consistent and wanted to know the night time barista life not to be mistaken for bartender, he heard many horror stories and wanted to see it himself.

Bacon and Planet do not appreciate Jarons horror stories when he brings them up after something super sketchy happens in the parking lot. Though it has helped them avoid any possible troubles.

The night times crowd is unexpected, very different from the morning. Though the night shifts are 3ht’s normal so what can they say.

——

Some customers stay in the store after getting drinks and they have started to recognize them. A tiny book club that meets around 2am on Tuesdays & Thursdays. They always grab an extra coffee and muffin without fail. They are treated as regulars and always take the corner table with a booth.

They are very nice and Planet has spent a whole shift hearing their stories when the nights are super slow.

When the nights aren’t slow, they usually listen to the group of rowdy teenagers who show up. Don’t really have a schedule but every week something does happen. They would get their drinks and hang out in the parking lot.

Jaron suspects their delinquents and despite how much Bacon didn’t want to believe it, it was making sense.

Some would have bats, and other “items” for self defence of course, but when Planet asked if one of the teens were alright because of the blood on him, Planet was told not to worry since it wasn’t their own blood.

Planet thinks if they befriend them they would help them if someone tried to rob the store, Jaron has already been giving them free refills so really there’s nothing much else they can do.

——

Bacon remembers vividly when another group of guys showed up who actually looked like they would cause trouble, it scared him since he was alone that shift. With looks alone they could be trouble but when they walk in specifically talking about the pain of “getting rid of evidence” it’s worrying.

It was a rough night for Bacon but not because of those scary guys but because while he was giving the guys their respective drinks someone outside in the parking lot decided to break a window.

Planet and Jaron had a lot to ask about the next day and Bacon can confidently say those scary dudes caught the guy, beat him up and apologized for the inconvenience. Apparently the guy who broke the window was not on good terms with them.

More strange things occur throughout their shifts, once the tiny book club met the group of teens and surprisingly they were on extremely good terms. All of them hung out in the shop and 3ht over heard some crazy stories.

There’s also the not so normal regulars that appear. Though whatever is running around the trees outside is more concerning, on some days they miss the abnormalities.

3ht cannot go back to day shifts, ever, they like the uncertainty that comes from their well decorated coffee shop.

Coffee shop AU that’s more creepy/eerie with a lot of gossip

Yay!

[sketchraptor]

I wanna talk about my recent hospital experience because I haven’t been able to talk to anyone in detail about it yet, and I think it’s interesting, will help get some stuff of my chest, and can help others know when to listen to their bodies.

So for the last few years I’ve gotten regular ‘heart burn’. Usually once or twice a year and seemingly out of nowhere, regardless of my activity and the kinds of food I ate.

I never thought twice about it because I always took tums and it usually kicked it right out. Until it didn’t.

Looking back, the first time it happened I should have gone to the hospital but I didn’t. I was a junior or senior in high school and I remember having heart burn like twice a week for a couple months. Nothing too bad but enough that you start to worry. But again, tums and the occasional baking soda mix helped knock it out.

Then one night it was bad. I was pacing my room, hands over my head, at like 2am because I was in so much chest pain. I took tums which didn’t help at all. My mom brought me some baking soda which helped for couple minutes but it was right back at it. I was in the bathroom at this point feeling like I was going to vomit and die all at once. And we didn’t know that baking soda could make you sick, and I took more, and ended up throwing up. I felt a little bit better and knocked out from how tired I was. And I was fine the next day.

Then nothing until this last year, 2023-2024.

Right at the start of winter break when I was moving back in after a few months in the college dorms, it started again. Heart burn about once or twice a week that was usually treatable with tums, but it was steadily getting worse.

Come January, the day I move back into dorms, it kicks into full swing. My mom bought me a bunch of different kinds of anti acids and tummy-safe foods because we were still under the impression that this was heartburn, but I was getting the feeling that it wasn’t that. She claimed that she had really bad, consistent heartburn when she was my age exactly (freshly 22) and that I probably got it from her.

And then my appetite started to go down, and none of the over the counter medicines were helping. I was loosing sleep, I wasn’t eating, but it was weird because I’d be totally normal for a few hours then I’d be curled up in pain for several more. And sometimes the meds helped, but mostly they didn’t.

Finally after having this ‘heartburn’ for 12 hours straight, I called my mom nearly in tears asking her to take me to the hospital. I was in the bathroom of the dorm, curled up incase I threw up. And she was still apprehensive but took me to urgent care.

The doctor and nurse pulled me in right away and listened to my symptoms. And immediately my doctor knew it wasn’t heartburn. The fact that I hadn’t been eating anything but broth I think clued him into that, but he said it might be my pancreas or even appendix (though unlikely on that), so they took some blood and he ordered me an chest x-ray and an ultrasound to check out my heart and all the funky digestive organs.

I got those done like the very next day which is crazy. I was being pushed as a priority patient already but it hadn’t clicked to me yet.

I was miserable as I drove myself to these. My heart and lungs looked fine, and we just needed to get my ultrasound looked at and my blood results. Great.

The next day I get a call from my urgent care doctor who explains that he knows what’s happening. My gallbladder is passing stones, something that usually isn’t an issue but the ones I’m passing are too big for my bile duct and that that’s what’s causing my pain. My blood also shows that my liver is going crazy trying to keep up with my malfunctioning gallbladder, so he tells me a surgeon will contact me within the week to schedule surgery. Alternative treatments aren’t even on the table. I’m getting surgery.

I don’t even make it 48 hours. I’m in so much pain. I call my mom again as I’m laying in bed suffering while my poor roommate does their homework (oh yeah, classes started at this point), and she tells me to try and wait because there’s nothing urgent care can do but tell me to wait for the surgeons call.

A few hours later I’m curled up in the floor of the bathroom. I’m hunched over the toilet, dry heaving. My hands are shaking and I’m drenched in sweat, and I can’t even bring the cup of alka seltzer to my mouth to try and help myself. I’m not crying but I’m right about to. I’m almost wishing I was dead.

I call my dad instead. It’s like 6pm on a Wednesday and he’s at dinner after a long work day. He asks if I think I can wait, because the emergency room will take forever and they’ll probably just tell me to wait for the surgeon. I say I can’t.

My dad picks me up and immediately he’s more concerned than he had been over the phone. I’m flinching as I sit, taking deep breaths, eyes closed. I’m struggling to hold a conversation with him. I’m not one to show pain, and I’m obviously not in great condition. Unbeknownst to me, my dad was worried because my skin was yellowing and my eyes were yellow too.

We get to urgent care and I sign in and we wait. And I’m called up front. Not to the patient rooms, but to the front desk where a disheveled nurse is looking between me and my file. She clarifies what I’m here for. She says something like “so you know it’s your gallbladder?” And when I confirm this she tells me to go to the ER. Immediately. Says that they can’t administer any treatment that I might need.

Looking back I think she was purposefully vague considering we weren’t alone and she didn’t want me to freak out.

So my dads fucking worried now and he drives me to the ER where we sign in. I’m sitting for like five minutes before I’m brought up for a quick check in and then they draw my blood and do another EKG. 20 minutes pass. I’m surrounded by people who, to me, are in worse states. Some have broken limbs, some are throwing up constantly, etc. I feel like I don’t belong because my pain has faded considerably, drawing my pain streak of 26 hours of constant pain to an end.

And I’m called in. After being in the ER for a grand total of maybe 45 minutes I’m already called in to be looked at by a surgeon.

His name is also the name of my dad and he’s friendly and asks what’s up. He looks in my eyes and is like ‘yeah your gallbladders giving you a hard time. Your liver is going crazy and you’re yellow as hell’. He says he’ll order an ultrasound and schedule me for surgery. When I ask if I’ll be headed home or if I need to go somewhere for that, he laughs.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

My dad and I are taken back, I’m loaded up on a medical bed. And my dad and mom swap out because he had work and she didn’t. I barely nibble on a turkey sandwich (I still haven’t eaten) and the ultrasound goes great. The guy who did it was super cool and very cute and that was probably the best part of the whole week, haha.

I’m put in a room and change into a hospital gown. I’m given an IV for fluids (because I’m dehydrated as hell) and they ask if I’m in pain. I say not currently and I’m told to call if I am and they’ll give me something for it. Cool.

The next day is treatment part one. They have to do some scoping, which is basically just sticking some tubes down my throat and pulling that nasty gallstone that’s been tearing me up out. It goes smoothly and when I wake up I’ve got a sore throat but nothing else. I’m feeling exhausted but I’m okay. I’ve got my sleeping charmander plush and even though I’m not sleeping well or eating much, I feel okay.

I’m given a day out of anesthesia and then my surgery gets moved up. Partially because I haven’t eaten anything but a quarter of a turkey sandwich and broth in a week and a half, and also because they managed to get the other gallbladder removals done quickly.

I’m nervous going into it but it’s whatever. I remember feeling a little panicked as I lay down, especially because nobody was with me considering how short notice it was, but the second I feel the anesthesia hit my bloodstream I let it take me over.

And I wake up in so much pain. They’d warned me this could happen. But all I can mutter is the word ‘hurts’ to my nurse who immediately scrambled to give me some more pain meds. And it still hurts and I also feel sick to my stomach now and I have to pee like really bad.

They get me to my room and I hardly process that my parents, mother in law, and aunt are all there. I’m just in pain and feel sick.

It’s just me, like four nurses, and my mom. They tell me there’s likely an air pocket left in my chest from the surgery which is why pain medicine wasn’t helping. The nausea was likely just a result of the anesthesia and they mark it on my records as a reaction to going under. Moving around often and holding charmander to my chest who’ll help alleviate the pain, though.

And I have to pee. They put this suction thing between my legs while I’m laying down but I just can’t do it. I can’t pee laying down. And three nurses help me sit up and use a chair thing. And I’m so tired and exhausted and in pain that I don’t even care that I’m peeing in-front of like five people, four of whom I don’t even know.

This happens every hour like clockwork as the fluids from my IV finally work through my system. I don’t sleep well, but the nurses are great and by the next day I’m able to struggle out of bed and pee on my own. Great. I’m encouraged to walk because it’ll help me heal faster. I’ve got four tiny incisions on my belly that are glued shut. My surgeon checks in on me and is impressed with how quickly I’ve gotten to my feet and says he’s comfortable with my recovery so far, calling me appropriately tender’ given how recent the surgery was.

It takes about six hours for the air to dissipate and I’m still tired and stiff and sore, but I’m distinctly not in pain. But I’m still not eating, and they prescribe me Tylenol and Oxycodone. I refuse the Oxy and take Tylenol, but I feel nauseous every time they inject the pain killers into my IV, or if I swallow the pill.

So I’m in this cycle of pain medicine and anti nausea medicine and not eating. I also haven’t pooped!

But I finally get cleared to go home the next day with the promise from my doctor that I’d make an effort to eat more and to come back if I don’t have a bowel movement in four days. (I don’t end up having to go back)

In the two weeks this happened, from the start of my near-constant pain to arriving home? I lost 10 pounds. Super super unhealthy especially because I’m notorious for having a hard time loosing weight.

I sleep on the couch for a few days because I can’t walk up the stairs, and it takes me a week to go back to school and work, and another to finally get the glue off. And a month after that before I don’t have to worry about taking it easy anymore.

So what happened after?

Well, my digestive system is fucked. I was lactose intolerant before, but now it’s really bad. And I can’t eat oily foods either unless I want to face immediate and intense consequences. If I eat food, I should expect to be in the bathroom very quickly afterwards. I’ve got a few little scars and ended up passing my classes just fine. And I literally feel no different aside from my bathroom breaks becoming more frequent.

Some of the craziest parts were how quickly things happened. There was a grand total of about three days between me being admitted to the ER and my surgery. It was wild having the little ‘priority’ sticker on my wrist band, especially when it didn’t feel like it. And having doctors like… Agree with me? Validate what I was going through? It was wild. Especially because I’m AFAB and somewhat overweight. That doesn’t usually happen.

The wildest part though was when I was in the bathroom before I called my dad. I just felt that something was wrong. Everyone around me was telling me it was probably fine and that I should just wait for that call, but I just knew. I knew this wasn’t normal and I knew that I needed help. I could’ve died. I had acute cholecystitis— I had an infection.

My mom resents that they went right for surgery but like… There was no other choice. And she also feels incredibly guilty that she’d tried to talk me out of going to the ER. Both of my parents had. But none of us knew.

So yeah. Pain’s not normal. And if you feel like you need to go to the ER, then please do.

I know I’m privileged enough to have insurance and for us to have been able to afford all that (Insurance covered everything because it was an emergency surgery) but still. I’m someone who hates the hospital. I’ve been in and out of it since I was a kid for various reasons. And I was begging someone to take me to the ER.

Listen to your gut. Especially when it feels like someone’s squeezing your chest and putting out cigarettes on your lungs.

Because that shit sucks ass.

[learnaboutchiropracticcare]

What You Ought To Know About Persistent Back Pain

If you've ever before had persistent pain in the back, you understand that the problem can be unpleasant as well as irritating. It can seem like a consistent dull pain, however it can additionally be accompanied by sharp, stabbing or shedding discomforts. One of the most typical type of persistent pain in the back, called musculoskeletal pain, is typically caused by injury, muscular tissue strain or defect. Learn more about chiropractic, go right here. However, it can also be a result of muscle overuse, improper stance, age or genes. Signs of persistent back pain differ, yet usually consist of stiffness in the early morning or during activities like bending or lifting. This might enhance throughout activity and also lower with rest. You can find more information here. There are many methods to decrease your risk of persistent pain in the back, consisting of workout, correct pose and also preserving an energetic way of living. In addition, it is essential to avoid sitting for long periods of time as well as avoiding hefty training. Physiotherapy can aid boost muscle mass strength, boost versatility as well as ease persistent pain in the back. It can take up to 6 weeks to finish a program, but several people start to feel alleviation after their first check out. A specialized type of physical therapy, hand-operated therapy manipulates muscle mass and also joints to improve mobility. Similar to massage treatment, it makes use of a variety of strategies to stimulate the nerves. It is very important to stay up to date with your workouts and comply with up with your therapist for normal visits. Your medical professional will certainly carry out an assessment of your back to identify how much pain you're really feeling and also whether it's related to muscle mass spasms, herniated discs or other underlying issues. You'll be asked to describe your pain as well as how it influences your daily tasks. You may be offered an X-ray to look for joint inflammation or damaged bones. While these photos don't normally reveal spinal problems, they can help rule out serious difficulties that could need surgical treatment. If you're suffering from acute or subacute back pain that hasn't improved with over the counter medicines, ask your health care service provider if you ought to receive an MRI. An MRI will supply better visualization of any kind of damage to your spinal column and surrounding nerves and also muscle mass. Acupuncture, laser treatment and electrical nerve stimulation are all nonsurgical alternatives for chronic back pain. They can be efficient, but they should only be thought about if your pain isn't improving with various other conventional techniques. Over-the-counter pain medication (such as advil or naproxen salt) can be useful for most instances of persistent pain in the back. Talk with your healthcare service provider prior to you begin taking any new medicines. Warm or cold therapies are one more popular therapy for discomfort. Hot treatment can increase blood flow to the afflicted area and decrease swelling, while cold therapy can reduce inflammation as well as muscle mass pain. Your therapist may use you restorative rubdowns, which can aid loosen up limited muscular tissues and recover movement. This can be especially helpful after a strenuous exercise or injury. Acupuncture, electric nerve excitement, massage, and also various other nonsurgical therapies are occasionally used as an option to steroid shots for persistent neck and back pain. These nonsurgical methods can be much less invasive and can boost your lifestyle while helping you prevent the risks connected with steroid shots. Please click this link https://www.dictionary.com/browse/chiropractic for more info.

[kidsorthopedic]

Perthes’ Disease

Perthes’ disease affects children, most commonly boys aged between four and ten years old, but can also occasionally occur in younger children and teenagers. Tiredness and groin pain are two common symptoms, and they may have a noticeable limp.

 Symptoms

Symptoms of Perthes’ disease are usually on one side only and include:

Tiredness     and pain in the groin, thigh, and sometimes in the knee

Pain in     the knee only, even though the disease affects the hip

Stiffness     and reduced range of motion at the hip joint

Walking     with a limp

The     affected leg may appear shorter than the other leg

Diagnosis

It is important a medical professional examines any knee or hip pain in children. An early diagnosis is important to avoid long-term complications.

A doctor may X-ray the hip to help diagnose the cause of hip pain. However, in the early stages of the disease, X-rays may appear normal. Therefore, your doctor uses other investigations such as MRI or bone scans.

What is Perthes’ disease?

Perthes’ disease commonly affects children between the age of 4 and ten years old. But can also occasionally occur in older children and teenagers. Another name for Perthes’ disease is Legg–Calvé–Perthes disease. The exact cause of the disease is unknown.

It affects the hip joint, where the top of the femur (thigh bone) meets the socket of the pelvis (acetabulum). The blood supply to the head of the femur is disrupted, resulting in necrosis. This is where the bone softens and begins to break down.

Once the blood supply returns to normal, bone tissue is laid down and the femoral head reforms and hardens. This occurs over a period of 1 to 3 years.

Due to the joint being a ball and socket, one of the main problems is that the re-growth may not form in a spherical shape as before. The severity of deformity of the head of the femur determines the degree of symptoms and if there are likely to be any future problems such as a permanently decreased range of motion at the joint and arthritis.

Boys are far more likely to develop this condition than girls, although girls tend to suffer from more severe symptoms and future problems. Symptoms are usually only in one hip, although occasionally can affect both sides.

Treatment and management of Perthes’ disease

Depending on how severe the disease is will determine whether it requires conservative treatment or surgery.

Treatment consists of rest from any aggravating activity or exercise and maintaining range of motion in the hip through mobility exercises. In particular, exercises to maintain abduction of the hip (moving the leg out sideways) and internal rotation of the hip.

Treatment will depend on the age of the child and the severity of the condition but may include bed rest, crutches, traction, a plaster cast, leg brace, or surgery in extremely severe cases. Your surgeon performs arthroscopic (keyhole) surgery to remove loose bodies within the joint and repair damaged cartilage (chondroplasty).

Perthes’ disease usually resolves over time as the athlete grows, as long as they manage it properly. Athletes can return to sport when they are free of symptoms. With competitive young athletes managing injuries and diseases is important.

This may mean changing sporting activity for a while, or reducing the volume of training and focussing on quality. For example, a young soccer player may play once or twice a week and substitute other activities such as swimming, or light technical training.

If Perthes’ disease is not managed correctly then long-term complications include arthritis because the surface of the joint is irregular, resulting in faster wear and tear.

Content Source:  Sportsinjuryclinic

[emmyhem]

stormy fears & feelings (l.r.h)

a/n: hey everyone! here’s “stormy fears & feelings”, this is a nonfamous au with roommate!luke. (unedited as usual) this was really fun to write, i intended for it to be short and sweet but i ended up writing for longer than i had originally planned. anyway, i hope you enjoy and are having a great day/night/whatever. i appreciate any and all feedback, and as always my messages are always if you want to chat or anything :) thank youuuu - emmy <33

pairing: roommate!luke hemmings x fem!reader 

summary: a thunderstorm leaves you awake and scared, and going to your standoffish roommate, who you happen to have an extremely inconvenient crush on for comfort may be your only option to get a good night of sleep. 

warning(s): cursing, extremely minor injury, minor angst if you squint

word count: 5k

It really was an awful idea. In any other case it wouldn’t have even crossed your mind, but you had been on edge all week for no specific reason and thunderstorms had always spooked you. 

The storm had started unexpectedly. If you had known earlier you would have ran to the store to buy Nyquil before going to bed, but with it sneaking up on you, you were huddled under your blankets, eyes squeezed impossibly tight in hopes to drown out the loud crashes and blinding flares of light flooding your bedroom window. 

When the thought originally passed through your head it was more of an internal sarcastic remark than a possible solution. 

 I mean, you had been living with your roommate, Luke for over 4 months now, but you weren’t really friends. You would occasionally chat with him if you were both up and about around the apartment, which was pretty rare seeing as Luke seemed to avoid you for the most part. Hurrying out of a room when you entered, ending conversations quickly, and always being conveniently busy when you had attempted to make plans to get to know each other better. Your living arrangement had only come to be because you had heard through a friend he was looking for a roommate at the same time that you had happened to be on the lookout for a new place. Your relationship consisted mainly of half-hearted greetings and subtle avoidances of each other. So, going to him for comfort wasn’t a viable option to soothe your nerves. 

Even if you did, what would you expect him to do? 

Sit up with you? No, not when you knew he had to wake up early for work. 

Talk you down? He wouldn’t even know what to say in the first place, your typical conversations were made up of checking if there was still coffee, or deciding whose turn it was to do the dishes. 

Offer up a space in his bed? Absolutely not. That was the most unthinkable of them all. If it wasn’t for the fact that Luke had always seemed pretty adamant with his personal space, sometimes tensing up if you even sat too close to him on the couch. Your annoying and inconvenient crush that had started the day you moved in, just wouldn’t allow the two of you to be in such close quarters without your heart racing and your head dizzying.  

It was out of the question, end of discussion. 

With that being said it only took one more boom of thunder to have you shoot up from your bed and pad quietly into the hallway, with fuzzy sock clad feet and a large quilt wrapped tightly around your shoulders. 

You stared at his bedroom door hesitantly until the next strike, during which you knocked ever so lightly and muttered a soft,

 “Luke,”

After a minute and no reply you resorted to giving up on your plan and heading to the kitchen to drink a cup of tea, in hopes it may help. The idea was good enough, but you had failed to consider the noise that comes along with it. And as if the whistling of the kettle and clattering of the mugs wasn’t enough, the next roar of thunder sent you into a shock causing you to stub your toe on the corner of the cabinet and let out a pained yelp. You quickly slapped a hand over your mouth and sunk to the floor to assess the damage as you heard rustling and a door opening from the hall. 

Luke was in the kitchen in a matter of seconds, his long legs carrying him there within just a few steps. He hit a light switch, causing the kitchen to glow a dim yellow. 

“Y/n, you alright?” he grumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he approached your crouched position on the floor. 

“Yea, yea I’m okay. Sorry, I woke you up.” you responded, mentally kicking yourself for causing such a disruption. 

“S’alright. What’s goin’ on? Why are you up?” he spoke, offering you a hand to pull yourself up. 

You accepted it, trying your hardest to ignore how warm it felt, and how easily it enveloped your own as you returned to your feet. 

“Uh, I just had a hankering for chamomile.” you lied. You really should’ve thought this through. Now that he was standing in front of you, admitting your fear of thunderstorms seemed daunting. You were an adult for chrissakes, an adult that was left shaking at the mere thought of a considerably common weather phenomenon.  

His eyebrows tugged in confusion as he glanced between you and the kettle. 

“Did you knock at my door a couple minutes ago?” he questioned as you watched the window over the sink nervously. 

Your eyebrows raised a bit at the inquiry.

“Thought I heard something, but then I figured I must’ve just imagined it. Y’know, woken myself up.” he continued. 

“Um, yep that was me.” you admitted, turning your back to him in hopes to hide your embarrassment. 

“So, was there a reason, or?” 

“Right, yea a reason.” you paused, searching for an excuse in your drowsy and distracted brain. “I wondered if you wanted a cup.” 

“In the middle of the night?” your subconscious deadpanned as your face scrunched in displeasure. 

You turned back around to face him, holding a mug out for him. 

Confusion and a glint of amusement was painted across his features as he spoke, 

“You wanted to know if I wanted a cup of tea,” he peeked at the clock behind you. “at 2:30 in the morning?” 

As you opened your mouth to defend your admittedly bad excuse another crash of thunder rumbled from the sky, causing your body to jump in fear and your hand to release its grip on the ceramic mug. Luke took a step back just in time as it shattered to pieces on the floor. 

You brought two shaky hands to your face and pressed yourself against the cabinet, cowering as far back as possible. 

“Hey, s’okay. It’s just thunder.” Luke said, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

You peeked out through your hands before dropping them from your face all together. 

Realization sparked on his face as your eyes met his. 

“Are you afraid of thunderstorms?” Despite his tone being soft, sweet even, you were sure he was making fun of you. 

“I-uh, no. No I’m not.” you rushed out, attempting to push past him and scurry into your bedroom. 

“Y/n, the glass.” he warned, his grip on your shoulder tightened, not allowing you to move. 

“Was that why you knocked earlier?” 

You nodded, hesitantly your eyes dropping to the floor. 

“I don’t know why, I just- thunderstorms have freaked me out since I was little and I normally would take something to help me fall asleep, but I didn’t have anything and...I shouldn’t even have tried to wake you up in the first place, there’s nothing you could do and we aren’t even friends or anything. Probably don’t even like me, I mean you can hardly even stand to be in the same room as me. Anyways I’ll be fine, lemme clean this up and then i’ll just head to my ro-” you rambled, not even pausing to take a breath. 

“You think I don’t like you?” he interrupted. 

Fuck. Was the scare so intense oxygen had been cut off from your brain? Why would you say all that? He didn’t need to know that you took notice of the fact that he avoided your company like the plague. 

Instead of responding you opted for grabbing the dustpan, the sooner the floor was clean the sooner you could get back to your room. Where you would sit awake in fear, by yourself for the rest of the night, no doubt replaying this embarrassing interaction over and over again. 

Luke stood seemingly frozen as you kneeled down beside him attempting to gather the broken shards, which was proving to be difficult with such shaky hands. 

With another bolt of lightening your hand shuddered and slipped from the brush, hitting a shard and slicing a thin cut on the pad of your pointer finger. 

“Shit” you hissed, dropping the dustpan to examine the tiny gash. 

Luke’s head snapped in your direction, eyes immediately filling with concern. 

“Ow” you whined quietly. 

He dropped down next to you and took the finger into his hands. 

“You should clean this out, I’ll finish this up.” he nodded to the remaining glass. 

“I can get it.” you protested. “You should get to bed, you have to work tomorrow.” you continued, making your way to the sink. 

“So do you.” he responded flatly, already finishing up cleaning as you looked around for a band aid. When you finally located the box of bandages Luke was behind you. 

“Lemme see.” he said, taking one from the box while he examined your finger. 

You watched his face intently as he carefully wrapped your cut with squinted eyes and a small pout. 

You had never seen Luke during the night. There was a certain softness to him that was completely foreign to you, one that made the thought of cuddling into him seem far too appealing for your liking. 

“I do like you, y/n.” he broke you out of your thoughts, uttering it so quietly you thought you may have imagined it. 

You nodded in acknowledgement, not knowing how to respond without further embarrassing yourself. 

“I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t” 

At this point he had finished bandaging you up which made the fact that he was still standing a mere inches apart from you with his hand wrapped around yours, all the more affecting. 

“M’sorry I even brought it up, I’m just tired cause of the storm, and apparently I lose a filter with no sleep.”

His hand lightly squeezed yours as you spoke, and the butterflies that erupted in your stomach as he did so told you it was time to go back to your room. You gingerly tugged your hand away, ignoring the way Luke’s expression faltered when you did. 

“I’m sorry again, about all of this. You should get some sleep.” 

“Will you be able to?”

“I’ll be fine, one night of lost sleep is hardly the end of the world.” you responded, taking a step towards the hallway. Luke caught your arm before you got far. 

“Yea, but you lose your filter when you're tired, you said it yourself.” A small grin grew on his face as he continued. “Can’t have you spilling all your secrets tomorrow.” 

Was he joking around with you? 

Before you could stop it, a pleased smile appeared on your face. This was new. You didn’t even know he had a sense of humor, he had never attempted to share it with you before. 

“I’m sure I can control myself.” you returned, attempting to go once more. Of course, his voice stopped your movements within a second. 

“Y/n, let me help. How can I help?” 

The plausible reasoning for his sudden generosity was that he was feeling guilty or maybe even embarrassed that you were under the impression he didn’t like you. But that didn’t stop your entire body to warm at the offer. 

“There’s really not much to do.” you started. “I think the only reason I knocked in the first place is because I’m used to having some company when I get scared. Big family, y’know there was never a shortage of beds I could crawl into.” 

“Company!” he repeated, eyes lit up. “I can do that. I have it on very good authority that I’m an excellent cuddler.” 

Your body froze at his words. He couldn’t be serious, right? There’s no way he had any interest in that, even if it was just for your sake. 

He must’ve noticed your tenseness at the proposition because before you got a chance to respond, a bright red blush overtook his cheeks and he squeaked out, 

“Or the floor, I could always take the floor. I mean company can be just my presence in the room, I guess. If you want.” 

“No. I mean-um, I could go for a cuddle.” you heart answered before your brain got the chance to interfere. 

He smiled at you warmly. 

“Alright then.” 

You had never been into Luke’s room before, I mean not really. Sometimes you would sit his laptop in there if he had left it out or lay a sweatshirt of his on the foot of the bed but you had never actually been inside. It was slightly messy, there was a pile of clean, unfolded laundry on a desk chair, and a few empty water bottles scattered around but for the most part it was clean. On his bed the blankets were strewn about from where he must’ve been sleeping earlier, a pile of pillows stacked high on the right side, and it could’ve just been how tired you were but you had never wanted to crawl into a bed more. 

“I like your room.” you whispered, as he spread the pillows out more evenly across the top of the mattress. 

“Why’re we whispering?” 

“It’s nighttime.” 

“Y/n, we’re the only people who live here and we’re both awake.” he teased, laughing while shaking his head. 

“Oh, right.”

He gestured a hand to the bed, “Ladies first.” 

Hesitantly you sat, your back pressed against the mound of pillows Luke had compiled for you, shortly after he took a seat next to you, leaving a few inches of space between your legs. You looked down to your lap, aware of how awkward of a position the two of you were in, neither knowing how to go about this. Luke spoke first, 

“Are you warm enough?” 

“Yea, thanks.” 

“Mhm,” he hummed in response. “Do you wanna watch something?” 

“M’pretty tired.” you replied. “We should probably just go to sleep.” 

“Yeah, right.” he nodded, watching you. 

It seemed he was waiting for you to get comfortable, like he didn’t want to push any boundaries that you weren’t ready to cross. 

Unsurely you scooted your body down in the bed till you were fully horizontal, took one more glance at Luke and then turned your back to him, pulling the duvet up over your shoulders. With his blanket pulled up just under your nose you subtly breathed in the pine and vanilla aroma that you recognized as his body wash. You’d never admit to it but occasionally you’d spend a little extra time in the shower inhaling the fresh scent. 

A dip in the mattress told you that Luke had laid down and within a few minutes you were sure he was sleeping again. You were feeling a bit more calm, trying your hardest to ignore every loud crash of thunder and instead focus on counting the seconds between each soft breath Luke exhaled. 

Just as a drowsy haze began to come over you, straining your eyelids and fogging up your brain a particularly alarming rumble broke the silence causing your body to jerk and your breath to catch. Luke grumbled quietly beside you and you could feel him rolling around. As you opened your mouth to apologize for waking him a warm hand slipped just under the hem of your shirt, rubbing soothing circles onto the bare skin of your hip. Your body tightened at the unexpected contact and you strained your neck to look at him over your shoulder. 

“Luke,”

“Go to sleep, m’right here.” he mumbled without even opening his eyes. 

You faced back around but placed a hand over his and removed it from your body. This must’ve worried Luke because he pushed himself up on his elbow, eyes blinking open as you turned to face him. 

“Was that not good? I’m sorry, I’ll keep my hands to myself.” he rambled through a defense. 

“No,” you shushed, pressing a hand to his chest to lightly push him back down. “s’good.” you assured while pulling his arm over your body as you tucked yourself into his chest. Your bodies were completely flush in this new position. “This is better.” you murmured, your nose bumping his chest as you made yourself comfortable. 

He hummed softly in agreement, his hand finding its way to your hair, cupping the back of your head. 

Sleep was sweeping over you fast like this, the sound of Luke’s heartbeat drowning out any daunting noise coming from outside. Not to mention that anytime your body so much as twitched Luke’s arms would tighten around you ever so slightly as if to assure he was still there with you. 

When the sun had risen you woke up to the sound of soft snores, and the feeling of tiny puffs of air on your forehead. As you tried to roll over and stretch your limbs you found your legs were tangled with someone else’s and your cheek was practically glued to the faded grey cotton that adorned your roommate’s chest. 

“Luke.” you called, using your hand to shake him awake.

“Shh” he whined, repositioning you both so your back was snug against his chest. 

“We have work.” you mumbled, trying to squirm out of his hold. It proved ineffective as he just tightened his arms around your stomach. 

He grumbled something incoherently that sounded an awful lot like “No, stay with me please. So warm.” but that couldn’t have been it. Right? 

Afraid he would dig himself further into this hole of sleepy deliriousness, you began to rouse him, prying yourself out of his arms and promising him a hot cup of coffee if he met you in the kitchen within ten minutes. 

You quickly washed your face, brushed your hair and teeth and made your way to the kitchen to fix two cups of coffee. Luke stumbled out of his bedroom just a few minutes later, his eyes squinted under the natural light flooding the windows and he seemed to almost glide across the tile until you and his coffee were in arm’s reach. 

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” you greeted in a teasing tone, pushing the mug across the counter to him. 

He hummed and took two large sips before turning his attention fully to you. 

“G’morning, did you sleep okay?” 

“Yeah, I actually did.” you affirmed. “Thank you for everything last night, Luke.” you rested your hand over his on the countertop, squeezing it once lightly to express your gratitude. 

When you pulled it away Luke’s eyes lingered over where your hand had previously been before he dragged his gaze up to meet your eyes. 

He released a deep sigh before speaking, “Happy to help, I’m honestly glad the storm happened.” 

“Happy to see me scared shitless, are we Hemmings?” 

He laughed through a denial, leaning forward to press his forehead on your shoulder where your loose fitting shirt had slipped. 

Your posture straightened as your stomach tied itself in knots, each one tightening with every exhale that brushed your bare skin. 

“No, I’m just glad that we can finally y’know, be-” 

“Friends.” you cut off. Because that’s what you would be, you had to remind yourself. You wouldn’t have Luke’s bed to crawl into every night. You wouldn’t have his firm chest under your palms each morning, or his hands tangled in your hair. Especially not in the way you really wanted them. 

Luke pulled off of you like he had been electrically shocked. 

“Friends” he repeated, and if you weren’t so busy pitying yourself you may have heard the subtle lilt in his voice that caused the word to come out as more of a question than a statement. 

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air, and as the minutes passed this interaction was starting to feel more like the ones you typically had with Luke. 

“We should get ready for work, you have to go soon.” he spoke up, already walking away. 

“We should do something tonight.” you suggested. This is what you were afraid of, you had grown attached already. “Maybe watch something or, I don’t know.” Anything to be near you again. 

“I won’t be home.” he clipped, closing his bedroom door behind him. 

It really was an awful idea.

You hurried through your morning routine, carefully selecting any time you had to leave your bedroom to avoid bumping into Luke. What had gone wrong? Had the word friends spooked him? If that was the case, what would he have done if he found out what you really wanted to say? 

Either way you left feeling confused and rejected, so quickly you didn’t even realise you had forgotten your car keys until you were on the sidewalk outside your complex. 

“Shit.” you cursed, turning on your heel and storming back in the building. 

Once you had expertly made your way back inside the apartment and retrieved your keys, being as quiet as humanly possible to not alert Luke to the fact that you had re-entered, you were halfway out the door when the utterance of your name froze your movements. 

“She just left for work.” 

Luke must’ve been on the phone, but why was he talking about you? Curiosity got the best of you and you quietly shut the door with you on the inside, work could wait. 

“Because, Cal that’s not what she wants.” he sighed.

He was talking to Calum? The only friend you shared, and the connection through which you got a room here in the first place. 

“She wants to be my friend and I can’t do that. Not with her.” 

“Why not?” you whispered to yourself, taking a step further inside to hear him better. 

“No, it’s not better than nothing at all. I can’t be her friend ‘cause anytime she’s near me all I can think about is kissing her.” 

Your stomach dropped at his words and a small gasp escaped your mouth. All the dots began adding up in your head. The avoiding? Well he had just explained that, and honestly it was the best excuse you’d ever heard. His behavior last night? You had caught him with his guard down, he was forced to let you in. His sudden annoyance at the word friends this morning? You had shot him down and you hadn’t even realized it. You liked Luke, and he actually liked you back.

“Actually, avoiding does work.” he continued, breaking you from your thoughts. 

You could hear the mumble of Calum’s response but unfortunately couldn’t make out any of the words. 

“Last night was an exception, she was all cute and scared. There’s no way I could’ve turned her away. I’ll go right back to avoiding, and things’ll go back to normal. Suffer in silence, I’m telling you it works.” 

That’s not what you wanted, not at all. The creak of floorboards alerted you to Luke’s approaching and you hastily snuck out the front door, your mind running through possible solutions the whole way to your car. 

Luke hadn’t lied when he said he wouldn’t be home, which meant he was taking this whole avoiding thing seriously. It was 1:30 am and you were still up waiting for him, your seat at the dining room table was losing its appeal as your back cramped in pain. The original plan you had concocted in the hours you spent daydreaming about him at work was to wait up for him, lure him into a movie night and make a move while the two of you were cuddled up on the couch. You hadn’t planned for him to be out this late though, and in all honesty you were starting to worry. You hoped he was just crashing at a friend’s, you hoped he wasn’t alone, you really hoped he wasn’t with another girl. 

Discouraged, you moved your pity party into your bedroom, flopping onto your bed and groaning loudly into a pillow. You rolled onto your back, wasting time by counting the blades of the ceiling fan in each slow rotation. 

You were at 231 in your counting when you heard the front door open followed by the clambering of footsteps. You perked up and angled your ear towards the hall. 

“Please be alone. Please be alone. Please be alone.” you repeated quietly to yourself as the steps got closer. From the light protruding the crack under your bedroom door, you saw the shadow of a figure approach. You held your breath in anticipation of the knock you figured was coming. A few minutes passed, nothing came, and soon enough the shadow disappeared and Luke retreated to his bedroom. 

You stared out your window and for the first time in your life found yourself hoping for a storm. The sky was clear, hardly a cloud in sight, and the moonlight was warm and prominent. It would look so pretty on Luke’s face right now, all soft eyes and drowsy expressions. 

It seemed a shame to sleep by yourself, he was just across the hall, the promise of his warm embrace taunting you. 

You huffed in exasperation and jumped to your feet, “Here goes nothing.” 

You didn’t bother being quiet as you advanced to his door, leaving three heavy knocks on the worn oak. 

You could hear him shuffling inside and then the intimidating creak of the hinges, revealing him to you. 

“Are you okay?” he questioned sluggishly, his body slumping against the door frame.

“Can I sleep in here?” you asked instead of answering. No time to waste here. 

“Um, it’s not storming?” 

“I know. Can I?”

“Is there a reason?” he breathed, his heavy eyes drifting down your face to land unabashedly on your lips, which you were chewing in anxiousness.

“I have a crush on you.” you blurted, causing him to shoot up from his languid lean. 

“What?” 

“I have this big stupid crush on you. I have ever since I moved in but I thought you hated me because you always avoided me, but now I know that you like me too and I don’t see the point in us sleeping in separate beds anymore.” you continued, your eyes glued to a dip in the hardwood floor. 

“How did you ev-” 

“I heard you on the phone with Calum earlier.” you interrupted to explain, still refusing to meet his eyes. “I swear I wasn’t spying or anything, I forgot my keys.” 

Without saying a word Luke stepped to the side allowing you entrance. You shuffled past him but didn’t make it far before his hand caught your forearm and smoothly tugged you a mere inches from him. 

He spoke through heavy breaths, eyes flitting to your own as you faced him for the first time since your declaration. 

“You like me?” 

You could only nod, your brain completely fogged by the close proximity. 

His eyes fell from your eyes to your now bitten lips, “Can I?” he sighed as his hand found your chin, thumb brushing the skin timidly. 

“Y-yea” you agreed, leaning into his touch. 

He closed the gap between you with a gentle press of his lips, his hand slowly dragging up your arm leaving goosebumps in its wake until it was tangled in your hair. As you relaxed into his hold his movements became more fervent, his tongue begging for entrance which you allowed when your mouth fell open with a flustered sigh. 

Luke stumbled backward dragging you along with him until the back of his calves met the foot of the bed and he dropped to sit on the edge, you standing between his legs. You pulled apart to breath and he spoke raggedly, 

“My heart…” he trailed off catching his breath. 

“What?” you muttered. 

“Feel it.” he continued, taking your hand and pressing it to his heart which you could feel thumping rapidly through the warmth of his skin. 

You laid your forehead against the top of his head, moving both of your hands to your own chest. 

“Me too.”

He tugged on your sweatshirt until you were seated securely on his knee, his hands grasping at your waist. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” he drawled before he began alternating pecks, and light nibbles down your neck until he reached the spot he could feel your pulse thrumming from. He lets his lips rest there for a while and reveled in the fact that you were just as affected as him. He pulled away when you spoke up.

“Where were you tonight?”

“Moped around Calum’s place until he kicked me out, told me I needed to deal with my shit.” he answered, the hand he was resting on your upper thigh caressing the skin through your pajama pants.

“I heard you outside my door earlier.” you admitted leaning into his side. 

“I came home with every intention of telling you but I chickened out.”

“What would you have told me?” you wondered aloud. 

“That I like you, and that last night was amazing. That I don’t want to sleep without you again if I don’t have to.” 

Luke took notice of the fact that your eyelids were drooping as he talked and began to scoot you both back in the bed as he continued.

He watched in awe as you curled into his side. 

“Up for a breakfast date tomorrow, love?” he asked, pulling the blanket over you both. 

“Yes, please.” you agreed, laying your palm flat against the warmth radiating from his stomach. 

“So what should we do with your room?” Luke said drowsily, sleep beginning to creep up on him as well.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, you won’t be needing it anymore since you’re moving in here.” he comments casually, pushing your hair out of your face with soft movements.

You laugh lightly but it’s drowned by the yawn that slips out when you respond. 

“In your dreams, Hemmings.” 

“If I’m lucky.” he replied, allowing his eyes to flutter shut. “Goodnight y/n.” 

“Night, Lu.” 

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.2

Finally, she felt well enough to leave the infirmary room for good. Her internal organs were at peace for the most part and she could keep some food down without the risk of seeing it for a second time. Her sinuses still seemed to refuse to recover though. Occasional nosebleeds would have her head spinning and the scent of blood so often present within the castle was somehow too offensive to her senses. Nicole couldn't help but wonder how exactly she got it this screwed up, but then again the first few days of the infection were a painful blur that she'd rather not remember.

For now she was content to sit in front of the fireplace with the rest of her family. They decided to have a movie night to break her out of the mopey state she had been in and, for the most part, it was quite the success. She wasn't paying much attention to the projector screen, some sappy scene from a movie chosen by Daniela playing at the moment. Instead, she was simply enjoying the close proximity to Cassandra that she so dearly missed in the last few weeks. Nicole was in the brunette's lap, with hands loosely around her waist and leaning against her shoulder. She was vaguely aware of Laura complaining about the poor life choices of one of the characters only to be unceremoniously shushed by the youngest sister. It made her chuckle.

Bela was passing the popcorn to her mothers when a knock on the main entrance reached their ears faintly. Lady Dimitrescu narrowed her eyes in the general direction of the sound, and listened. Soon enough the rapid steps of Alexandria, their Steward, reached them.

"My Ladies, Mother Miranda's assistant is here."

The whole family got up hesitantly and tried to look as presentable as possible, given their "lazy day outfits". For some like Bela that was a baggy shirt and shorts, while for the Lady it was one of her trademark white dresses. They made their way to the main entrance of the castle, where the assistant, a woman in her late thirties and the air of an annoyed teacher, was waiting. It was Alcina the one to ask why she was there.

"Mother Miranda wants to see um… Nicole was it? Yes, to take a look at the regenerative abilities."

"Why not do it here like last time?"

"Mother Miranda's laboratory is far better equipped for whatever she may want to test. Unless you have something to say against her wishes." She finished that with a raised eyebrow that would've gained her a talon through the skull were she not there as per Miranda's wishes.

Who's talons exactly was debatable.

"I'll come too," Cassandra spoke up from just behind Nicole.

That only got her a dismissive wave. "No, I was told specifically to only bring her. Come now, we don't want to make Mother Miranda wait."

With that, the woman turned around and started walking towards a carriage that would take them away. Nicole looked briefly at her family. They all had either confusion or mild concern in their eyes. All but Alcina who looked as if she'd like to protest and snap at the woman but was holding her tongue.

She reassured Cassandra that she'd be fine and started jogging after the assistant.

---

Needless to say, that was Nicole's first time stepping foot inside the underground network of tunnels. Not that she complained. Few people went there willingly and probably fewer left the same way they came in.

The ancient looking hallways were in such stark contrast with the occasional medical equipment and the pristine looking labs with doors left slightly ajar that Nicole had to wonder if the woman had no taste for a consistent aesthetic. At least Lady Dimitrescu kept all wiring and modern devices carefully hidden or blended in with the castle's decor. Here, the harsh neon lights illuminated worn out stone so dark it was almost black. Not to mention the smell of… old that seemed to ooze off the very walls she was walking by.

She was led inside a spacious lab, the bluish lights above being too bothersome for someone who got used to the warm or natural light in the castle. The room was rather long, numerous hospital beds lined up against a wall, some separated by white curtains and some left visible. An almost imperceptible whiff of an all too familiar foul odor reached her nose, but it was mild enough to be easily ignored. Nicole had a suspicion that the unmoving person laying in one of the cots further away could be the source, but she sighed and hoped not to join them by the end of the day.

Mother Miranda was sat at a desk, microscope in front of her together with a small stack of documents and a laptop. She was typing in what could probably be notes on whatever she was looking at, when icy grey eyes finally shifted to Nicole.

"Get changed and lay down," she ordered, not even moving from her spot.

The assistant that had brought her here, pushed a hospital gown that had been pulled out from a cupboard in her arms. At least she was allowed the decency of changing into a bathroom as opposed to stripping then and there in the middle of the room. The gown was surprisingly comfortable, fabric folding around her body and being held closed by a loose ribbon that she tried at the side.

Once she was back in the lab, she was ushered to one of the beds where she laid down, nervously waiting for whatever Miranda had in mind.

It was quite odd to see her without her usual attire, especially without the gold talons that Nicole was now far more familiar with than she'd ever hoped. The white lab coat looked far too normal on her and, were it not for the unmistakable cold eyes and regal posture, the woman would’ve been unrecognizable.

She finally got up, a few documents in hand, and approached her. The papers were handed over to the assistant, along with a few other objects and finally, Nicole had her full attention.

Mother Miranda bent down, scalpel in hand, and grabbed one of Nicole's wrists. Just like she did back during the first examination, the blade was dragged across the length of her forearm. Despite fully expecting it, Nicole couldn't help flinching at the pain, but she kept her eyes fixated on her arm, at the blood slowly starting to flow from the wound.

Soon the same tingling as before took over the pain and before their eyes, the skin started to stitch itself back together.

"Time," Miranda asked while wiping the blood to allow for a closer inspection of the now good as new skin.

"Five seconds."

"Alcina's?"

"Three seconds."

Miranda hummed, seemingly pleased with the results. Or at least as pleased as the woman was physically capable of being.

"Hook her up to the cardiac monitor," she further instructed while moving to retrieve something from another cabinet.

The assistant, Emma, if the tag pinned to her lab coat was to be believed, stuck a series of electrodes to her chest and abdomen. Nicole bit her lip to stifle a yelp when one came uncomfortably close to the still sensitive skin of the scar.

In no time, the machine came to life, familiar beeping sounding through the otherwise silent room.

"I hope you're not afraid of needles," Miranda said while grabbing the same arm she had before, lips pulled into a faint smirk.

Nicole only shook her head as she saw the needle of a syringe attached to a transparent slim tube slide into her arm. How ironic would that be. The sting was close to imperceptible, taken over by the now familiar faint tingle. Unlike with the cut, it didn't fade away, most likely due to not being able to fully heal the small wound with the needle embedded in the skin and vein.

She looked away, in the direction of the other occupied bed in the room. It was far away enough that she couldn't make out any detail, only messy brown hair sprawled on a pillow. The face was turned towards the wall and body covered up to the neck. She grimaced and decided instead to focus on the beeping machine, mildly annoyed by Miranda's lack of properly separating her dead lab rats from the living ones. At least she hoped she'd stay living.

The numbers on the machine started out normal. With the slight uncomfortable feeling of blood being drained however, her heart rate started to slowly increase.

Alright. Normal enough. Especially when someone is clearly in a fucking blood draining mood.

Nicole decided not to look at exactly how much blood Miranda was drawing, keeping her eyes glued to the various color coded numbers. The heart rate kept increasing until Nicole could swear she could feel her heartbeat ringing in her ears. She gulped. Still relatively within the norm.

Two things were at odds however. First, the blood pressure remained constant, almost as if her body simply refused to acknowledge the fact that it was currently being drained. Secondly, the temperature rose from the normal 36 degrees to a staggering 41 in less time than it should have.

"What the fuck…" She couldn't keep her tongue at the weirdness of her situation, her brain thankfully choosing confusion and curiosity over the dread that it probably should've felt instead.

Mother Miranda didn't seem to care though as she turned to type something on the laptop that she brought over from the desk. She tapped her finger on the device for a few seconds and finally spoke up.

"The accelerated healing means the blood is being regenerated constantly, thus not decreasing in volume. Which explains the constant pressure." She narrowed her eyes at the monitor once again. "It doesn't, however, explain the heart rate and temperature. Any bright guesses?"

It took Nicole a second to realize the question was actually addressed to her. Miranda seemed in an oddly good mood. Not any less hell bent on causing her pain, mind you, but she also seemed genuinely curious. Being a biology nerd will do that to you, she couldn't help but think.

Nicole hummed and thought for a second. She tried to recall any information about the topic at hand that she had studied prior to running away.

"Heart rate could just be the normal body response that stayed even with the mutation. Like… like a reflex. It remains even though it's not needed." Then she tapped a finger on her chin trying to find a less random explanation. "Or maybe it's the body's way of making sure that even while healing all body parts remain at least decently functional. No idea about the temperature though," she shrugged.

Miranda once again typed something up and then, without warning, pulled the needle out of Nicole's arm. She flinched, barely holding in an angry protest as she turned towards the woman. Which was a mistake. She couldn't help the gag that raised in the back of her throat at the sight of the metal container full of blood.

No, no, blood did not bother her. That would've cut her career as a medical examiner short before she even stepped foot in med school. It was the knowledge that that was her blood that made her stomach churn. The container could easily fit three liters of liquid in it, and it was full to the brim. Not to mention the smell that assaulted her still messed up sinuses mixing oh so perfectly with mr. corpse over in the corner.

Miranda just chuckled at her sour expression. "Do you think your darling wife would like to have this?"

With a sneer, masked by Nicole turning once again towards the monitor, she couldn't help slipping an edge of snark in her reply. "No need, she likes it fresh."

The numbers were back to normal, all but for the temperature that was taking slightly longer to go down.

---

By this point her vocal cords were raw from screaming and each shuddering sob felt like clumps of spines in her throat. Nicole was curled in on herself, small frame trembling pathetically on top of the uncomfortable bed. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, the tingling sensation feeling like needles constantly pricking at her skin around and under the wired leather cuffs wrapped around her wrists. The frantic beeping of the machine was grating to her ears.

An electric shock test.

Of course.

Mother Miranda decided to test out how the increased heart rate worked. Results? Her body vehemently refused to allow her to pass out. Even when the shocks traveled through every part of her body, causing the nervous system to short circuit. Even when damage to internal organs and muscles ripped painful sobs from her throat, that turned into gags as soon as the tingling turned to nausea. Even when she could feel her heart hammering against her ribcage so fast that she was sure the small organ would burst any second. But it didn’t.

Every muscle in her body flared up in a sensation of painful pins and needles when Miranda pushed the button to release another shock. The cardiac monitor started screaming again and Nicole brought shaky hands over her ears in an attempt to block out the sound. Her whole body was on fire while all the damaged tissue repaired itself, making her stomach turn painfully. She felt like throwing up. Not that she had eaten anything today, but bile and thick blood still coated her esophagus. It was all swallowed back with a disgusting gulp.

The nausea was oh so kindly accompanied by searing pain from her still damaged sinuses, who’s condition only worsened exponentially with the electricity. The blood that seemed to coat all the way up to the inside of her mouth felt horrible mixed with the putrid smell of death.

She swallowed again, but that proved itself a bad decision as now that same smell permeated the very inside of her nose and mouth and throat and the feeling of blood sloshing on her tongue behind clenched teeth made her head spin.

She lurched forward, a small river of dark blood flowing from her mouth and nose, into her palms that she instinctively brought to her mouth. Wet coughs made it splatter into crimson splotches on the white sheets, herself and anything else within proximity. It took surprisingly long to realize that, after the initial wave that rose up her esophagus, the rest of the blood was from her sinuses. It was cruelly invading her nose and sliding back into her throat only to come out of her mouth. Fuck fuck fuck-

“What’s wrong?” Miranda’s tone lacked any trace of sympathy.

Nicole simply coughed out the remaining fluid from her mouth and unceremoniously grabbed a piece of cloth from Emma’s hands. She pressed it to her nose, only to feel it soaked against her skin far too soon.

“Damaged sinuses, as you said,” she croaked, her voice sounding so unlike her own.

That made Miranda frown. She kept that same expression while noting down the previous results. “It should be healed by now.”

“Well they aren't,” Nicole spat. The blood and the horrid smell were clouding her mind and, as many knew, pain and holding her tongue did not mix well in her. “And did we really have to do this in the same room as a dead fucking body?!”

Nicole’s angry outburst gave the woman pause. Annoyance mixed with a hint of confusion on her face. She looked at her assistant, an eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“No. Just- just anestesia.” Emma answered promptly.

“What the fuck do you mean anesthesia? Anesthesia doesn’t make you smell like a goddamn decomposing corpse, do you have cotton stuck up your noses?!” Thankfully the bleeding was starting to subside, which meant there was nothing to stifle her steadily raising angry tone.

Miranda, now sporting a scowl, got up and grabbed Nicole’s chin between two fingers. It made her flinch back, but there was no escaping the iron grip.

“I can assure you that the man is not dead, simply under anesthesia and recovering from a bad infection.” She moved Nicole’s head from left to right, eyes scrutinizing as ever.

Afterwards, she turned back and wrote something down on a piece of paper and simply instructed Emma to wrap up and lead Nicole out. The sudden shift not only in demeanor, but also in her position from the bed to standing upright was mildly dizzying. She swapped the gown for her normal clothes as quickly as she physically could, not wanting to spend another unnecessary second in this underground grave.

While she was ushered out the door, Mother Miranda’s sickly sweet voice rang after her.

“I’ll see you in a couple days.”

Her stomach turned.

---

The trek home was short and silent, Nicole simply wanting to get home as soon as possible and get a damn hot shower and sleep.

She bid the young man that was accompanying her goodbye the moment the Castle’s entrance was within jogging distance, and hurried steps took her to the imposing doors. It was Alexandria to answer her knock, Nicole having left her own keys in her bedroom.

“Welcome back my la-” the polite smile was all but wiped off the woman’s face, replaced by wide eyes. “Are you injured?”

Nicole looked at her confused, then down at herself. A muttered curse escaped past her lips when she remembered the bloody mess on her skin. “I’m okay. Just-... just don’t tell anyone I’m here yet. I'll change first.”

Her plan went out the window when a set of hasty steps came booming toward them.

“Nico-”

Cassandra’s voice died in her throat when her golden eyes landed on Nicole’s small frame, dried dark blood on her face and arms and her clothes stained. An angry growl slipped from between bared teeth.

“What the fuck did she do to you?”

Nicole was quick to answer, too tired to deal with anything other than a few hours of sleep. “I’m okay. I’m just-...” she shook her head, then turned to the Steward. “Alexandria kindly ask a maid to draw me a bath.”

“At once.” And with that the woman turned and scurried away, most likely also not wanting to be in the vicinity of an angry Cassandra.

---

The hot water felt like pure bliss on her skin. It seemed to make every muscle relax and get rid of the awful tension. She leaned back, eyes closed and hands idly moving through the water.

It was just mildly difficult to fully relax with Cassandra muttering and pacing back and forth in the same room though.

"I'm-... I'm not letting you do this again."

Nicole simply sighed and started to scrub away at dried blood. The miniature red waterfall from earlier had gotten blood all over her arms and chest, some splatters even getting on her legs. Her face was also a mess, trails of blood going from her nose and mouth to the chin with smudges and splatters.

"What did she even do to you?"

Before she had a chance to reply, a knock came from the door and a maid entered with a few clean towels and a change of clothes from Nicole's own bedroom. The girl didn't linger, simply giving them both a courteous bow and exiting the room.

Looking for something to change the subject, Nicole focused on the pleasant honey smell. Honey with a slight citrus-y undertone, maybe lemon or orange.

"Did you get a new soap?"

Cassandra stopped pacing, brows furrowed. "No? It's the same one."

Confused, Nicole brought a hand that had just been scrubbed with that very soap right under her nose and took a deep inhale. It was indeed the same one. Chamomile and mint. She sighed in annoyance and leaned back against the cool porcelain while Cassandra came and bent down on one knee to be somewhat on eye level.

"Nose still not working properly or…?" She said while gingerly tilting Nicole's chin up with two fingers. She grimaced at one yet to be washed trail of dried blood that made its way to her wife's thin upper lip.

Nicole simply shook her head and grabbed Cassandra's hand. "Can you… go get ready. I'm beyond tired and just want to lay down with you."

Cassandra pursed her lips but nodded none the less. With a kiss on top of red hair, she turned and left the spacious bathroom, door shutting with a heavy thud.

Left alone, she scrubbed every inch of skin again and took a few extra minutes to enjoy the warmth of the water. It felt so incredibly odd to not feel any actual pain after the day's events. Any trace of what her body went through had been erased by her newfound ability, not leaving behind even the faintest mark of a scar, nor blackened skin caused by electric shocks.

She pushed herself out of the tub, grimacing at the slight pink tone the water had taken. Body and hair quickly dried with the towels, she put on the clothes, a comfortable pair of shorts and a tank top, and finally stepped out of the bathroom too.

Cassandra was waiting for her in bed, velvety dark robes hanging loosely on her shoulders and eyes fixated on the window while her fingers were tapping furiously on the cover of a book forgotten in her lap. Book that was quickly placed on the nightstand when Nicole climbed in beside her and pushed her way into the brunette's arms. She was tired and absolutely not above demanding cuddles.

Her wife wasted no time in wrapping an arm around her and pulling the soft blanket up to cover them both. Nicole interlocked their fingers, absentmentally turning the ring on Cassandra's finger. The same ring she had, albeit in a smaller size. A golden band with intricate floral patterns engraved on it. It had no protruding gem, something they both opted for so that the rings wouldn't need to be taken off while working and wearing gloves. Instead, eight small ocre gems were lined among the minuscule curled leaves.

It took Cassandra about two minutes to take a deep inhale and open her mouth. New record.

"Are you… are you hurt?"

Nicole didn't look up at her, the concern dripping from her words alone were enough to squeeze her heart painfully.

"No. I'm all healed up, just tired." She could almost feel Cassandra's question of clarification, but not wanting to go over what had happened down in the laboratory so soon, she opted for something the brunette would hopefully be just as interested in. "We did get some odd results though."

At the lack of any interruption she went on. "Accelerated heart rate whenever I get hurt. Can't pass out." Which was both a blessing and a curse, depending on the point of view and situation. "Also for some reason my temperature gets really high."

"You get one hell of a fever?"

"Yeah."

Cassandra tapped a finger on Nicole's hand, mentally going over possibilities. "Aren't fevers used against infections? Maybe that has something to do with it."

A small hum passed her lips. Could that have something to do with it? It was possible that her healing abilities caused a fever in order to fight off any possible infection before it even became one. Maybe it was her body's way of lessening damage as much as possible since, as the day's events showed, the old replaced tissue had a tendency to get purged. She grimaced at the memory of slowly choking on blood and went for something at least slightly more pleasant.

"Oh and… I can't bleed out. Blood volume stays constant."

She looked up at Cassandra with what could only be described as a shit eating grin. Her wife blinked, realization seeming to dawn on her together with the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks. She coughed.

"Yeah well. I'll keep that in mind. For when you don't need to sleep."

"And deny me some fun now?" Nicole's pout was purely for dramatic effect and it gained her an eye roll.

Two slender fingers gripped her chin to keep it in place while narrowed golden eyes bored into her green ones. The pout slowly morphed into a smirk. Cassandra was not the kind of person who did not indulge in her own pleasures and that, although to a more careful extent, included drinking her lover's blood. A fact that Nicole was not only not complaining about, but also learned to use in order to push all the right buttons.

When Nicole turned her head in the uncharacteristically gentle grip to plant a small kiss on the soft palm, Cassandra finally gave in. Concern was momentarily put on hold in the name of the normalcy they both have been denied in the last few weeks. She bent down, their lips meeting into a kiss that soon turned needy with tongue slipping past sharp teeth and a hand scratching lightly at her nape. Soon Cassandra broke their kiss, but only to slowly trail her way across her jawline with kisses and small nips. She bit at the soft skin right under the jaw bone, eliciting a quiet groan right by her sensitive ear. Black painted lips took her down the neck and across collarbones, planting a kiss right in between them, at the base of Nicole's throat.

When she slowly made her way to an exposed shoulder, Nicole's hand at the back of her head guided her further up, right above where her pulse was. After an inquisitive hum against her skin, she spoke quietly.

"Since blood loss isn't exactly a problem… no need to avoid the neck really."

Cassandra hesitated for a moment, but ultimately decided to trust her wife. She placed a gentle kiss on the spot right above where blood was flowing in rhythm with her heartbeat. The same gentle kiss that was placed on the skin countless times before and that only Nicole had the privilege of experiencing.

Sharp fangs sunk into tender flesh, the warm blood invading Cassandra's mouth making her moan low in her throat. Being used to the feeling of the bite by now, Nicole simply closed her eyes with a sigh and let her body melt into Cassandra's arms. The familiar blissful ache was welcomed, even though, she noticed, it did not bring with it the lightheadedness she had grown accustomed to.

Although she wasn't aware of it, Cassandra was, in a way, a creature of habit. Every time she would drink her blood, her hand would come up to cup Nicole's cheek, thumb slowly tracing the jawline, right before she would pull her mouth away. Every time, without fail.

This time however, when that happened, Nicole kept her in place with the hand tangled in brunette hair, her voice coming out breathy when she spoke. "Go on."

Cassandra would never admit it, but her self control would always waver while feeding. Therefore, she didn't need much convincing, continuing to take mouthfuls of blood in between a satisfied groan. When she finally had her fill, she pulled back with a bashful look in her eyes. Concern quickly flashed on her face at the sight of the crimson mess on her wife's neck.

Nicole however, not wanting their moment to get ruined, took one of Cassandra's hands in her own and slowly placed a soft kiss on each knuckle. After that was done, and the downright ticklish sensation of skin patching itself subsided, she guided the fingers over the bloody skin.

"See? Healed," she whispered.

Cassandra gingerly traced her fingers over the spot, looking for no longer existing puncture marks. She smiled upon not finding them and turned to pull out a handkerchief from a small drawer of her nightstand. A ritual of sorts, one practiced more times than they cared to count over the years. Cassandra passed the white cloth over the skin, wiping away the crimson stains while her wife relaxed into the touch.

"Feeling good?" It was a remark meant to poke fun at how much Nicole seemed to enjoy herself, but the double meaning did not go unnoticed.

A smile tugged at Nicole's lips and she nodded.

In turn, Cassandra hummed. "You taste different." And, at her lover's furrowed brows and the slightest hint of alarm flashing in her eyes, she clarified. "Not bad. Just different. Slightly sweeter actually."

"Is that so," Nicole purred, the smile returning to her lips.

Cassandra discarded the cloth on the floor to be retrieved later and shifted both of them back down on the myriad of pillows.

"Yes. Now how about you get some sleep."

Nicole wasted no time in snaking an arm around her waist and nuzzling into her side. It would never cease to amaze her how Cassandra's presence could make her feel so at ease, as if nothing beyond the castle's walls existed. At that moment, she couldn't help but be grateful for her newfound ability, useful in far more ways than one.

She stretched slightly upwards, auburn hair like a small waterfall behind her.

"I love you," she whispered against cool ashy lips.

"I love you too," Cassandra replied, closing the almost nonexistent space between their mouths in a soft kiss.

It left behind a slight coppery taste on Nicole's lips, but she couldn't bring herself to care, instead readjusting her legs to tangle comfortably around her wife's thigh.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: Gains

Poly Sons of Ipswich x Reader

Word Count: 2,802

Summary: Trying to take advantage of their gym membership, reader starts working with a devastatingly attractive personal trainer. And his friend is pretty hot, too.  

The gym was still new for you but you had been coming consistently enough that you felt comfortable there. You knew what times equipment would be available and what times the crowds would be too much (week days 3-5:30 was like competing in the Hunger Games.)

Cardio always came before strength exercises because your muscles would be too fatigued otherwise. 

And on Tuesdays and Saturdays they played your favorite music on the loud speakers so you didn’t have to bother with headphones on those days.

Still, you weren’t an expert by any means. 

In fact, you were still hesitant to call yourself a gym-goer because you’d seen the workouts other people did and you definitely weren’t doing that. There was no strategy, you just did what you felt like doing on any given day. You were impressed by their discipline though.

Maybe, most likely, it would benefit you to incorporate some of that into your own routine.

The gym had a personal trainer program and you figured that would be the best bet—much easier than trying to figure it out on your own.

Poking around the website, you found the section that explained the process. The design was modern and intuitive, and it was easy to book an appointment: the only information you needed to provide was your name, the date/time, and what trainer you wanted.

The first two things were easy to fill out but the last had you a little stumped; you weren’t familiar enough with any of the trainers to request anyone by name even with the drop-down menu that listed out all of the choices. For a second, you were tempted to forget about the whole thing but luckily, there was an option for ‘no preference’ and anxiety levels dropped off as you selected it.

Appointment booked, you went on with the rest of your night, focus shifting to what sounded good to eat for dinner.

A week later, you found yourself in the gym’s front lobby, arms crossed and foot tapping. Since it was the first time, there was no harm in arriving early. The directions on the website had said to wait there for the trainer but so far there was no sign of them. Granted, there was still five minutes until the scheduled start so it would be unfair to start complaining about them just yet.

Rolling your neck to alleviate some of the tension, you paused mid-stretch, neck awkwardly craned like a gaggling turkey, when a man walked out. He was without a doubt the most attractive man you’d seen at the gym to date.

Thick dark hair that curled just above his ears. Warm brown eyes and an even warmer smile. Tanned skin that wrapped around arms that had just the right amount muscle: toned but not bulky. All in all, a good looking man.

You tracked him as he glanced around the area, looking for something—his eyes suddenly met yours and you straightened up in embarrassment—or someone. “Y/N?” he questioned.

You throat was so dry, it was painful to swallow. “That’s me.”

It didn’t seem possible but his smile grew even brighter. He stuck his hand out. “Nice to meet you. I’m Caleb and I’ll be your trainer today.”

Good karma most certainly at work here. How else could you explain being lucky enough to have the hottest guy in the gym be the trainer? Whatever the case, you weren’t going to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

He gestured you forward with a wave of his hand and followed you to the main workout area. There was slight pressure to staying cool and collected with him behind you. 

“I’m going to start you off with some jogging to warm-up. Do you want to use the track or hop on a treadmill?”

“Treadmill is fine. It’s what I normally use.”

You stepped up onto the belt and fiddled with the settings to establish a pace you felt comfortable with. The machine started up with a loud hum and your arms and legs began to pump. Normally, you’d have your earphones in to distract yourself with music but they weren’t that day so that you could hear Caleb if he said anything to you.

Good thinking, really, since he did indeed start chatting.

“So how long have you been a member?” he asked.

Determined not to sound steady, you took a few moments to normalize your breathing. “About two months. But this is the first time I’ve worked with a professional,” you added at the end.

It was hard to hear his laugh over the treadmill but the hitching of his shoulders gave him away. “Thanks, but I’m not really a professional. I just have a training certification is all.”

Huh. Attractive and humble. If you weren’t careful, you’d develop a full-blown crush in no time.

“A certification sounds professional to me,” you insisted. There. That wasn’t flirty at all. You were merely sharing an opinion.

Jogging passed by faster than it usually did even without music. Evidently, all that was needed to make a run enjoyable was good conversation and an even better view. 

You powered off the treadmill and gradually transitioned to a walk and then a full stop. A single bead of sweat trailed down the side of your face but before you could wipe it away, only to stumble after being patted on the back by Caleb. 

Those muscles were not just for show.

You had mixed feelings about him giving you props for completing the warm up. On one hand, you were a little insulted because even you could handle jogging for ten minutes. On the other, it was nice to have him flatter you. And he seemed to type to mean his compliments.

“Thanks,” you said almost like a question as you plopped down to stretch.

“Really,” he insisted. There wasn’t any level of patronizing tone that you could detect. “You’d be surprised by how many people I work with that complain about running.”

“Really?” you exclaimed with surprise. “I wouldn’t say I love running but it’s not terrible. Better than swimming anyway.”

“Whoa, now. I’ll have you know that I was a big swimmer in high school.”

The friendly banter about the woes, or in his case, the highs of swimming got you through the stretches he showed you. Occasionally, there would be a pause while he corrected your posture but once you fixed your position, the banter started up again.  

Finally, you conceded, “I will admit that swimming did wonders for your shoulders though.”

He looked away with a bow of his head. He smiled but it was closed lipped, no teeth on display. Oops. That comment may have been a bit too forward. Rather than draw more attention to it, you diverted attention to the actual work out.

Seeming to be of the same mind, Caleb dropped it, too, and set you up at a weight bench. He must’ve have seen the doubt on your face.

“Don’t worry,” he assured. “I’m not going to have you squatting 300 pounds or anything crazy. Here. Take this and we’ll start with some dumb bell rows.”

He handed you a twenty-pound weight, the smooth metal cool against your palm. The weight was noticeable but not so heavy you struggled to hold it. A month or two of this and your arms would actually tone out pretty nice.

You peered subtly at Caleb behind you. You wouldn’t be at Caleb’s level, not just after a couple weeks but then again, you doubted most people could measure up to him even after working out everyday for a year straight.

Someone people had all the good genes.

You could’ve complained but found it much more enjoyable to appreciate the good view. In fact, it was the view that got you through the rest of the season.

“Thanks,” you panted around the mouth of your water bottle. A bead of sweat ran down your neck and you reached to wipe it off.

“You did great, really,” he said, the epitome of what a good trainer should sound like. “The scariest step is always to start so signing up for additional personal training will be a piece of cake.”

“Y-yeah.” Suddenly, your shoe laces fascinated you. “So…if I want to do that—more of this...do I choose you on from that list of trainers?”

“Sure thing. Or if you’d prefer to try someone else, all of the trainers are fantastic choices.”

“I think I’ll stick with you. As long as that’s not weird or anything…”

“Nope, not weird.”

You worked up the courage to look him in the eyes. Swirling irises of molten brown, you couldn’t help but be drawn into them. “Same time next week then?”

“Same time next week,” he agreed with a nod.

***

It had been a little over a month since you had started working with Caleb at the gym and what had started as one personal training session a week had turned into two, sometimes three. Improvement was happening steadily and you definitely felt a difference in your stamina.

Strangely enough, you were even proud of the small callouses that were starting to develop on the tops of your palms, under the fingers. They weren’t classically beautiful but at least you had proof of the work you were doing.

Having worked up the confidence, you’d also started doing some of the exercises Caleb showed you on your own. It was on one such day that you met him.

Another gym babe.

The first thing you noticed was his ass. Literally. He was in prime squat position and his short, though knee length and loose as they may be, could not hide his toned glutes.

You were embarrassed to admit that you were totally ogling him, like a dog looked at a prime cut of meat. You didn’t get star struck often, but damn.

The universe must have sought to punish you for the lack of propriety and your mp3 slipped through your sweaty fingers onto the moving treadmill, yanking the earphones out of your ears along with it as it flew backwards on the conveyor belt.

Recovering from the stumble your mp3 caused, you turned off the machine and gingerly picked out the music player, preparing for the worst.

Miraculously, the screen was still in tact and sounds was still coming through the earphones. You took another sigh of relief when you realized he was preoccupied by his own workout and hadn’t seen your embarrassing moment.

Something similar happened the next time you saw him a few days later: he was cooling down after having thoroughly trounced the heavy bag in the small boxing set-up the gym had. His arms looked so good in his cut-off tank (muscles and veins were all on display) that you froze with your mouth hanging wide open.

Another gym-goer did catch you that time but at least it wasn’t the god sculpted from marble.

You almost felt bad, like you were cheating on one of your crush’s with another which was ridiculous because Caleb was just a trainer and you didn’t even know the other one’s name.

Who knew that so much drama could happen in the confines of a simple neighborhood gym? Seriously, The Bachelor wished it could have as many good options as the gym seemed to.

***

You huffed as you pushed yourself up on increasing shaky arms. For a few seconds, you honestly didn’t think you’d be able to do it as your arms got stuck at a forty-five degree angle. Digging deep down, you managed to fully extend your arms.

“Nine,” Caleb counted. He was kneeling besides you on the yoga mat, counting, and adjusting your form here and there, while you did push-ups

Rather than descend slowly as was proper for push-ups, you collapsed to the mat with your arms squished underneath your chest. Rolled your head, you gave him your best pleading eyes and hoped he might take mercy.

That hope was misplaced. He gave a sympathetic smile and shook his head negatively. “Sorry, Y/N. We agreed on ten and by my count, you still have one more to go.”

“Can I not and say that I did?”

“Come on now. It’s only one more.” He waved his hands around like he was waving imaginary pom-poms. “You can do it!”

You managed a weak laugh. There was no way you could’ve say no. Your arms felt like they were burning but he looked adorable trying to be a cheerleader. An unbidden image of him wearing a cute male cheerleading uniform flashed in your mind and you thought he would pull one off well, what with his wide shoulders and sculpted legs.

Imagination got you through the last push-up and you groaned as you turned over on the mat, spread out like a star fish. “That was absolute torture.”

Caleb opened his mouth but was interrupted by a newcomer.

“Geez, man. You need to take it easier on your clients.”

Recognizing the voice, you found the other gym guy you’d been eyeing standing above you.

“Pogue.” Caleb held his fist out to the man who in turned bumped his with the trainer’s. Evidently, they knew each other.

Then they embraced in a full-on hug.

Okay, so they definitely knew each other. And it was hard to miss the parting caress to Pogue’s shoulders—what kind of name was Pogue anyway?—that was generally reserved for two people that were close.

Were they related? Dating, perhaps?

Your imagination fired up again and you wondered what they would look like wrapped even more intimately with one another…which was entirely despicable, you reminded yourself. There was no proof they were romantically involved, and, even if they were, it was none of your business.

The other two, who had been talking while you were maladaptively fantasizing, had continued talking and their conversation now turned to you.

“So who’s this?” Pogue questioned politely.

“This is Y/N,” Caleb introduce you. “They’re one of the people I work with.”

Pogue stuck his hand out to shake. “Nice to meet you. I’m glad Caleb hasn’t killed you off yet.”

“Hey! I am extremely fair with workouts, aren’t I, Y/N?”

“He is,” you said with a small smile, rocking on your feet. “Besides, he way too nice to ever become a drill sergeant.”

Pogue shoved Caleb lightly and Caleb elbowed him in return. “I know he doesn’t look like the type, but he was quite the drill sergeant back when we were both swimmers. He just hides the competitive instinct under his charming smiles.”

That peaked your curiosity. “No way, you guys swam together back in the day?”

“Spencer Academy was state champs three years running in our time,” Caleb admitted. “But nowadays I do my thing with personal training and Pogue more into MMA.”

“MMA?” you questioned.

“Mixed Martial Arts,” Caleb supplied. “You’ve probably seen him hogging the punching bags in the back.”

You most certainly had but you weren’t about to confess that to either of them. It would be too embarrassing and might even toe the line of harassment.

“You are more than welcome to share bags with me, any time,” Pogue grinned teasingly.

A thought hit and flowed out of your mouth before you could stop it. “You guys should give me a lesson sometime.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you were interested in that sort of thing,” Caleb said, surprise coloring his voice.

“Are you saying that you don’t think I can?” You weren’t sure what made you say it. It’s not like you were hardcore dedicated to trying it. 

Whatever the cause it had Pogue chiming in save the situation.

“What prince charming means is that we would love to give a demonstration sometime.”

Caleb down at his watch because of course he still wore one instead of just using his phone like most other people. “Damn. Our hour is up Y/n and I’m late getting my next client. But we can hit the punching bags next time, if you want…?”

“Sure. Uh. Does Wednesday work for you?”

Both of the men nodded and Caleb called over his shoulder as he jogged to the lobby. “It’s a date. Schedule it online and I’ll approve it.”

The word kept replaying over and over. Date. Date. Date, date, date. He probably didn’t even mean it like that but it didn’t stop your heart from fluttering.

Waving goodbye to Pogue wit a promise of seeing him next week, you bounced off to grab your phone from the locker room. There was nothing wrong with scheduling your next session ASAP.

It’s a date.

_______________

Pogue boxing does make a fetching image. Pogue and Caleb in the ring sparring together even more so. Debating whether to make a part 2. 

Caleb always seems to be the hardest for me to write so I hope he sounded okay in this. This has been sitting in my drafts for a while and I decided to finally post it. 

Thanks for reading! 

[comfortmarvelimagines]

You are Home, and Home is Safe

heyhey ! deciding to just get it over with and post this tonight (for those of you who don’t know what i’m talking about, a post explaining can be found here. side note, please be nice in my inbox, its been rough getting some of those comments). i am, however, going to continue to tag autistic!reader fics with #whenyoucantfindthequiet and #wycftq, so they’re easier to find. hope it’s what you’re after, nonnie, and i’m so so sorry it took so long !!

features : autistic!reader x mama!nat, lowkey asshole Tony Stark (it’s okay i didn’t make him really mean, just kinda well-meaning but misplaced/ mistimed) 

warnings : uhhh i guess meltdowns, some self-injurious behaviour

Words are hard. Always have been, always will be. 

You haven't always had a family. For years you were passed from foster home to foster home, with a consistent message: you were too much. Your needs were too high, your behaviour too confusing, your struggles too much to deal with. It got to a point where you began to question yourself, your diagnoses and trauma, wondering if it was all in your head or for attention like you were told over and over. 

That changed when you met Nat. 

It wasn’t immediate of course. There was the initial period of complete and total distrust, of another stranger whose life you were thrust into the middle of, floundering and drowning with no support. There was shutdown after shutdown. The trauma of being ignored and punished for meltdowns meant that you’d learned to internalise. You barely ate, and didn’t speak. But Nat met you where you were, unwaveringly. Was always calm, composed, voice level. Kept food out on the kitchen bench at all times, figuring out your safe foods and keeping them stocked. Realised you liked small enclosed spaces and stocked your bedroom with beanbags, pillows, stuffies and blankets, a permanent blanket fort taking up residence in the living space. Perhaps the most wonderful was her commitment to listening to you, with or without words. The superspy was quick to recognise your shutdown states from body language alone and responded quickly, with two option questions and the request to tap the hand of the answer you wanted. 

You almost wanted to feel embarrassed, humiliated, of the accommodations she made so immediately. But she always spoke to you conversationally and never in an infantilizing tone, like so many before her, and the trust you held for her grew. It didn’t always grow in a way that you felt was positive, though. As weeks passed you felt your shutdowns turn into meltdowns and silence into frustrated screams. You didn’t want to hurt her. You didn’t want to feel ungrateful or angry or like any of this was on purpose but somehow she knew. As she held you close after each one she reminded you that your body was unlearning trauma, that you were safe, that you were loved so fully and unconditionally and nothing, including meltdowns, would change that. The way she held you felt like home. 

But no one else was like Nat. Social workers were condescending, school was overwhelming, nowhere was safe. So you stuck to Nat. It wasn’t long after you were placed with her that she pulled you out of school, realising that they were doing more harm than good, and she was always there for homeschool. Not looking over your shoulder, but present. You could hear her humming through the walls, or swearing as she dropped a spoon into a pot of soup on the stove again, and it was comforting. It wasn’t the apartment that was home, per say, but having a parent made it feel like one. If she went to the grocery store or a walk in the park you came with, ear defenders on, clinging to her sleeve for safety. She told you that she loved you a million times a day, until one day you said it back. 

Words came easier after that. Simple things, like asking what’s for breakfast, became routine. It wasn’t just Nat softly illuminating the cramped space with hummed melodies and occasionally vulgar language but you as well, asking for help with homework or explaining a meme. It felt normal, comfortable, okay. The outside world was too much, but inside your home, the anxiety all but melted from your throat. 

You never wanted to leave safety. You wanted to feel it all the time. It was warm and sweet and heavy but in a calm way, like a weighted blanket sinking into your joints. It started as a one-time-thing, after a particularly rough meltdown, but you started sleeping in Nat’s bed. It just felt… right. The panic that set in when Nat left the room and you didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing or if she was ever going to come back was so all-consuming and nauseating that going to sleep alone, in another room, unable to hear her was torturous. What if she abandoned you, gone in the night, social worker beckoning you on to the next uncaring couple, crowded foster family or group home? This way, when you woke at 2am from a nightmare, the first thing you heard was her even breathing. Home. Safe. 

***

Tony Stark was something else. Nat eventually started to transition back to work, and, as being homeschooled permitted, brought you with her. Even in classified meetings where you weren’t allowed in you sat in corridors and made sure you could see her red braid through the frosted glass, glancing up from your laptop every few seconds to make sure she didn’t disappear while you wrote your English critique. The rest of Nat’s colleagues (it felt too weird to just casually refer to them as the Avengers and co) didn’t mention your presence, at least in front of you; it was as if they didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Not that you’d say anything back. Outside of the safety of home it was like the anxiety disconnected your brain from your throat, anything you wanted to say cut off before it reached your tongue. It was frustrating. The first few days ended in meltdowns when you reached the apartment and it felt weird and strange and almost like you were two different people but an all-round embarrassment of a child. It was weeks before things settled into a routine and a pattern of acknowledged non-acknowledgement. A pattern Stark ignored. 

You were sitting at the island bench in the communal kitchen, drinking chocolate milk and typing out an assignment, when you heard both Nat and Tony heading down the hall towards you. They’d just come out of a meeting, you sitting watch outside the whole time, and Nat had sent you to the kitchen to wait for her while she headed upstairs with Tony to drop off some paperwork to an intern. You hadn’t thought much of it. Sure, you didn’t like being away from Nat at all, but if she was clear in where she was going and how long she was going for (provided it was only a short period), you did okay. It was okay, until you heard the discussion from down the hall. 

“Damn, Nat, is that the longest you’ve been away from the kid?” 

“No.” 

“C’mon, Nat. I know the kid’s been through some shit, but this isn’t healthy. For either of you. What happens if you can’t get out of the mission next time? They’re gonna have to be away from you at some point. You can’t be in this line of work with a barnacle of a kid.” 

You’d heard enough. As the topic changed and they entered the kitchen, you didn’t look up from your laptop in greeting.  

*** 

Too much. Too clingy. Too anxious, too needy, too autistic, too much. You needed separation. Give Nat space. Of course she needed to work. The world needed her, and they didn’t need you tagging along. When you got home that night, you headed straight to your room. Buried yourself in the mountain of blankets and stuffies and waited until Nat came to check on you, facing the wall, feigning sleep. You doubt you fooled the former spy but nonetheless, she left you be, a whispered “I love you” hanging in the air as she creaked the door close behind her. 

It was seconds before you broke. It felt like choking. All of the fear that was slowly reduced to an ebbing tide through months of living in a caring environment crashed on you like the mother of all tsunamis, saltwater running down your cheeks and into your mouth as if smothering all the words you wished you could scream. It lasted for hours and hours and it was relentless, painful, as if your heart was being ripped out and an empty throbbing numbness was expanding in its place. You were too much. Too much. Too much. 

Nat stood outside your door at the time when she’d usually be gently waking you up, watching you unfurl and stretch yourself out of the cocoon of blankets you slept in every night. She knew something was wrong from lunch yesterday, and your isolation from her was concerning. She figured you needed space, but the sleep she knew was an act sat at the back of her mind and bugged her all night long. Even with that nagging suspicion that something was up, nothing prepared her for the way her heart sank when she came in and saw your body curled up, eyes red and barely open from exhaustion, pillow and face damp from tears. 

She was at your side in seconds. Your resolve to cut yourself off melted at the sight of her open arms, safe, warm, home. And immediately your body melted. Hands running through your hair, the promise that you were safe, loved, worthy of support, the request to “tell me next time, please, you don’t need to deal with this on your own.” 

For some reason, those were the words that broke out the first sounding sob in the 12 hours of silent crying. It was so loud and gut-wrenching and it almost didn’t feel like it came from you at all and it was such a weird feeling, and all of a sudden you were scratching at your arms to try and re-embody yourself and Nat was breathing calmly and deeply and gently rubbing your shoulders until you found yourself easing back into your physicality.  

“Did you hear what Stark said yesterday?” 

And just like that she figured it out, of course she did, because she’s a trained spy and that’s her job, to put the pieces together and slot the narrative into place. And god, were you grateful, because you couldn’t see yourself stringing sentences together to accuse none other than Iron Man himself of triggering waves of hurt just by stating what you’d convinced yourself was the truth. She was quick to reassure. You are loved, you are wanted, you are always welcome and will always be her child and what you need will always come first. The warm safety settled itself in your belly and you let the tiredness wash over you, drifting on a life raft of whispered Russian lullabies and Nat’s hand rubbing circles on your back. At peace.

Of course, you’d never tell Nat, but hearing her whisper-yell at Tony over the phone for being an insensitive dick was possibly one of the best moments of your life.

[mourntheantagonist]

Craving some bottom!Billy if you're up for it 👀

I am ALWAYS up for bottom!billy

you weren’t specific so I will be using that to my advantage and gift to you some first time bottoming (a personal favorite of mine!) and let’s make it a little rough for fun

***

It has been rattling around inside his head since the very moment Steve let it slip out past a moan while Billy had his lips sealed around Steve’s dick in one of the bathroom stalls after practice. One of their regular activities.

“I wanna fuck you raw Hargrove.”

Billy choked, and not just because of the head of Steve’s cock ramming into the back of his throat. Steve had never been so forward, or vulgar. Their escapades largely consisted of held breaths, stifled moans, and occasionally a snarky comment, usually alluding towards a planned “next time.”

But nothing like that.

Steve blushed when he realized what he just said, a hand rushing to cover his own mouth as he came down Billy’s throat, a feeling that had himself tossing his head back against the tile wall behind him.

They both pretended as if it never happened, and carried on with their usual exchange, their mildly flirtatious banter while they cleaned themselves up and left the stall one after the other.

But ignoring, didn’t mean forgetting, and Billy definitely didn’t forget. He didn’t forget the way Steve’s voice dropped to a lower octave when he said it, almost demanding, each word delivered with a solid punch.

Billy was happy to kneel before King Steve any day of the week, any time, any place. But the king didn’t want Billy on his knees for him anymore, he wanted something more, and it didn’t take long for Billy to start wanting that too.

In fact, it became his every thought. He couldn’t stop thinking about Steve bending him over one of those individual school desks and railing him into next Tuesday. Maybe gripping him by his hair and pulling his head back, leaning over and whispering something dirty into his ear in that same low and demanding voice. Under the covers at night, when the other members of his household were fast asleep, he let that imagination run wild and let his spit coated fingers trail a bit further south than normal.

But, despite all of the daydreaming during class, or nearly visible boners in the middle of gym, they continued on with their regularly scheduled programming. Quick blowjobs in the stalls after practice after the rest of the team had gone home that always ended the same way. That was until Steve had, for the first time, suggested they take their party somewhere else to do something else.

Albeit, somewhere else was just the quarry, and something else was just drinking through a six pack, but that was exactly the thing Billy needed, a dose of liquid courage strong enough for the both of them, enough for Billy to pull Steve in by the grip of his jacket collar so their faces were just inches away from each other. Just to seal his fate, he planted his lips on top of Steve’s all sloppy and forceful, knowing all too well that he couldn’t think straight once the taste of Steve was on his lips, which meant he wouldn’t have the opportunity to overthink his next words.

“Fuck me raw Harrington.”

His voice didn’t have the same punch that Steve’s did. There was no bite to his words that made Steve lose his breath. His voice reeked of desperation because that’s what it was, and it had Steve absolutely floored.

After a moment of hesitation, Steve forcefully turned Billy around and bent him over against the hood of the trunk of the beemer, his cheek pressed up against the metal. It wasn’t a school desk, but it was close enough, and perhaps better. Underneath the stars at night, the cold of the metal contrasting with the warmth of Steve’s hands as they unsecured his belt and yanked down his jeans, and just the fact that this was actually real and it wouldn’t just be fingers entering him tonight, or at least his own fingers for that matter.

It wasn’t before long that Steve was bringing one lube coated finger to his hole, the gel cold, causing him to shiver. It was nice to know that “fuck me raw” would only be an exaggeration and not an actuality thanks to plenty of lube, and proper prep, but that didn’t stop Steve from continuing to play into all of that, knowing how it would make Billy blush.

Billy whimpered at only the entrance of a second of Steve’s fingers slowly pressing into him.

“You’re so tight.” Steve said, and Billy let out another whimper as Steve continued to press in deeper. “Don’t worry, I’ll stretch you out real nice for me.”

Billy’s hands are balled into fists and banging against the cars trunk, the percussive metallic sound echoing through the woods around them. He’s biting his lower lip trying to keep himself from begging for more, begging for Steve to hurry up and pound him until he can’t even walk right.

“I think you’re ready for one more.” Steve said, his voice still in that low tone that sent Billy absolutely reeling. The third finger filling him up overpowered his attempts at stifling anything. The only thing he was able to refrain from doing was taking his nails and scratching streaks into the cars paint to release just a little bit of tension.

At this point he was practically begging, maybe not so much with words, but in desperate moans and whispers that could easily be translated as desperate please for Steve to fuck him, and he wasn’t going to refuse.

“Don’t worry,” he said, finally fulfilling the second part of his daydream and pulling him up by his hair and whispering directly into his ear, breath hot against the skin on his neck, but that wasn’t what made him shiver. “I’m gonna fuck that tight little hole of yours so good you’re still gonna feel me next week.”

Billy never expected that kind of language out of the boy who wore sweater vests and khakis.

Steve slowly removed his fingers from inside Billy, leaving Billy to let out a heavy exhale as he let the entirety of his body weight fall right on top of the car, hearing only the sounds of a fumbling belt buckle and the lowering zipper before he felt something back at his hole again. Steve’s hands came to rest at his hips after slowly entering him, and it was a feeling Billy couldn’t properly describe even if he knew every word in the English language.

It was filling and fulfilling. It was painful, but in the way a tattoo is painful, the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins like fuel to an engine, his heart racing. With Steve inside of him, still unmoving, he felt like a race car at idle, sitting at the starting line just waiting for the pistol to fire.

And when the pistol fired, Steve absolutely floored it, making sure he had a steady first place lead.

Steve was practically slamming into him, using both the force of his own thrusts and pairing them with the added pull of Billy’s hips backwards into himself, his fingers digging into his pelvic bones hard enough to bruise the skin, and Billy didn’t have the energy, nor the will or want to hold back any of the humiliating sounds that wanted to escape him.

“Fuck!” Billy moaned, “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Steve said, picking up his pace just a bit. “It feels like you were made to take my dick, so perfect.”

Steve trailed a hand from Billy’s hips forward and down to his front, reaching at Billy throbbing cock and wrapping his hand around the shaft, pumping his hand to the same rhythm with which he nailed Billy’s prostate.

And at that point it was getting to be too much, and Billy wouldn’t be able to hold off for much longer, the finish line was already in sight, just one more corner to go.

And with a final thrust, that checkered flag was waving in the air, at least for himself. But Steve was right behind him coming in at second place, but if you were to ask Billy, Steve was the one deserving of the fucking trophy.

[huihuiheart]

Idol As Your S/O Series: Taehyung - NSFW

Requested: Yes, by @mycreativeworld

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Warnings: NSFW Themes below cut

SFW:

- How did they fall in love?

I feel like your words are what would have some of the biggest impacts on Taehyung. In a way he’s a very poetic individual, so I feel like words are a way into his heart. Even if they aren’t the most eloquent, really it’s about the emotion and depth that they hold that speaks to him. First it is simply as intrigue, but over time it develops into more.

- PDA Level: 7/10

So I’m going to put his PDA level at a 7, but before everyone who hates PDA and such starts freaking out...let me explain. I feel like PDA will be fairly common, but not in the stereotypical kind of way. I mean, occasionally yes you’ll get a kiss and he’ll hold your hand. However, usually it’ll be more along the lines of him secretly getting you something and handing it to you right then and there or your favorite drink from that one cafe without you asking. More of gestures of affection rather than all the skinship type stuff.

- Gift Type:

Probably can guess based on my last one, but usually more little things. Stuff that he knows is your favorite, or something he noticed caught your eyes. Though he has no issues with gifting large extravagant things, he usually puts a little more planning into that, so it’s not as frequent as the other gifts.

- They surprise you/try to surprise you how?

Likely will try to surprise you with something at your shared home. When he does he tries to go all out too, so he’ll have your friends convince you to spend the whole day out and you’ll come home to his surprise. Most likely he’s set up a romantic setting, but nothing too cliché really yet still enough to get his feelings across. Also he’ll have lots of gifts for you.  A lot of sugar daddy vibes on those nights in all honesty.

- Favorite scent on you:

I don’t know that he would mind too much as long as it didn’t overpower you, and you didn’t change all the time. He finds comfort in you and so the consistency and warm embrace of your scent is something he likes. Though, he also enjoys when you smell like him, but he won’t really admit that.

- What is your home like?

I feel like lots of neutral tones, in particular black or dark grey/tan colors. Maybe some burgundy or deep maroon colors around as well. Something that looks very sophisticated and put together. It seems modern, but not cold or unlived in.

- Day in:

I feel like Taehyung will try to make you something fluffy for breakfast in bed, and he might succeed at it some of the time (not always though). Likely, a very lazy and slow paced day spent in each other’s embrace. You might not speak so much, but just sitting or laying together while doing your separate things whatever they may be is something that makes him very content. Not that he would mind doing something with you at home though.

- Casual Day Out:

I can see him being the type to want to take you different creative things on a casual day out, like to a pottery studio to make something together, the museum, anything that can get your creativity flowing. There’s no pressure with it of course, just lots of fun and laughter. He just wants you two to express your emotions, even unspoken ones through different venues together, so he’s trying to find ways to do that.

- Night Out:

Most likely something involving dinner reservations at someplace nice, but he leaves early with you so that you two can take your time instead of rushing. The whole evening goes at your pace. Other times he might want to go to a club, but even then it might be one that’s less crowded so that you two are able to really enjoy each other.

- Vacation:

Location isn’t the biggest, but if he had to choose a tropical location probably better fits his agenda for your vacation together. Still he wants someplace somewhat secluded so the two of you can just relax together and get your privacy. That being said he wants you two to relax, so he doesn’t want you two to have to care for too much...so it can’t be too secluded.

“I wrote something else about you today, but I think I need more time with you to get it just right. I need to hear the symphony that plays when you’re around again.”

NSFW Below:

-What was the first time like?

Very sensual and romantic, but I don’t think Taehyung would speak too much during, more of showing through his actions. He’ll give occasional affirmations though, especially about things he knows you might be a little self-conscious about or such. He’s going to express his emotions to you though, especially the ones he struggles to verbalize.

-Romance Level: 7/10

He probably averages a 7/10. Though if he gets really into a dom headspace that level can go down. That being said it can also go up when he’s in the mood for passionate lovemaking. He’s pretty versatile in bed, so I’d say his romance level is too. There are things though that he can only express in the bedroom, so depending on how often you two have sex will determine likely how romantic it is from time to time.

-Favorite Position:

Cowgirl or missionary. Only because he likes to see your face, take in every detail of every expression you make. He’s more likely to switch up the position when his romance level is lower, but the higher that is...the more he’s trying to share his emotions with you in those moments the less likely he is to be okay with not seeing your face.

- Dom/Sub/Switch:

I’m going to say Dom, or maybe a switch with a VERY strong dom lean. His sub side would be very subtle and if you call it out he’ll deny it. Still when it’s been a rough couple weeks at work and he’s just exhausted even he wants to be taken care of sometimes.

- What is it usually like?

Steamy and passionate, there is nothing slow about your usual escapades. Taehyung has held himself back enough by that point, so he’s just going to lay it all out there in the bedroom. I can see it getting emotional sometimes. That being said he can be FERAL,  but since his heart bleeds for you it builds up to that.

- Gift type sexy edition:

Lingerie in darker colors most likely, or warmer colors like the burgundy, maroon, reds that might be in your home. Toys are less likely to be gifted, but when they are it’s probably more like vibrators and such.

- How do they spice things up?

Most likely by letting his feral side loose, freeing his inner sadist. Punishments, brat taming, you name it he’ll incorporate it. He does this slowly though, he doesn’t want to scare you away.

-Unexpected at first: Aka something originally surprising but now well liked/normal

Wax play, I feel like he’d not have considered it, because to him it didn’t seem like he was the one really bringing you the pain. After trying it though, he loves it. Your reactions and the way it makes you anticipate what’s to come is something he lives for.

- Don’t Expect:

To get control. Even in more passionate sessions, Taehyung is the one in charge and in control. Except in the very rare instances I mentioned before, and even then you can lose it in an instant if you don’t play your cards perfectly.

- Almost Always:

Teasing touches, he loves feeling your body in his hands. This is the only thing he really takes his time with when it gets to this point. The man practically worships you with his hands. He will put them anywhere he physically can.

“Behave and I’ll spoil you more than you thought possible, but if you don’t...well let’s just say you won’t be walking out of this room anytime soon.”

[wondernimbus]

broken people — george weasley

pairing: george weasley x female!reader

prompt: Hi! First of all I love your work, you hit me right in the feels every time. If your requests aren’t open that’s fine, but I can’t get the idea of reader somehow getting her memory wiped by Voldemort and George tries so hard to get it back. Lots of angst and you can decide the ending! Again sorry to bother you if it’s to much. Sending love xx

a/n: i didn't want this to get too long so the ending is kind of unresolved n sad :0  might write a pt 2

requests are open. please refrain from plagiarizing my work!

The fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

George has it memorized by now.

The long-term spell damage ward.

When the metal doors clang open and he finds himself standing at the end of the long hallway, he pauses, for a moment, inside of the lift. Takes a few brief seconds to take all of it in as he has done every day for the past six months: the bare white walls on either side of the hall, the benches outside of each door that are usually left unoccupied save for the occasional visitor every two weeks or so—because this is the ward for long-term patients; people who live here, have lived here ever since whatever horrible thing happened to them, waiting for life to somehow go back to normal despite the sheer hopelessness of it all. And these benches are left unoccupied for a reason: that being life moves on, and families and friends have to let go eventually. And these patients are left to rot here waiting for a cure that won’t come.

But of course no one puts it that way, and they call it the long-term ward instead of the "forever damned" ward, because that doesn't sound all too optimistic, does it? Long-term instead of practically dead.

Today, George brings two sandwiches if only for the sake of positivity. His mum had insisted. It’s a feeble attempt to convince him that today is somehow special, that it’s the day he’s been waiting for for so long. That she will wake up today and they’ll eat these bloody sandwiches together.

But what are the chances?

George makes the familiar trek down the hallway. He takes a left turn, then a right, greeting the Healers who know him by name. He’s been coming here everyday for six months without fail, even if it’s only to catch a brief glimpse of her, even if the larger part of him knows she isn’t likely to wake up any time soon. So of course the Healers know him, and he them. George says his hellos to the other patients, too, as he passes by the recreation room.

A seven-year-old girl hops out of an open doorway just as he passes by. It only takes him a brief moment of surprise before he grins and says, “Hello, Aimee,” he crouches down so that he’s eye-level with her. “You look very pretty today.”

Aimee smiles widely back at him, twirling around in her little hospital gown. George lets out a quiet laugh and meets the eyes of a frazzled-looking healer who appears at the end of the hallway and immediately seems to calm down upon seeing Aimee.

“Did you wander away again, Aimee?” scolds George playfully.

She smiles bashfully, nodding, and George's heart aches a little as he wonders, not for the first time since he'd come across her, what her voice sounds like. Something like Ginny’s, back when she was this small, probably.

Aimee was cursed to feel pain every time she uttered a word—George had learned this a few months ago from one of the Healers—so he has never heard her voice. And given the circumstances, he’d rather not.

He remembers the paper bag in his hands. "She might wake up today," his mother had told him. The sad look in her eyes didn't go amiss.

George hadn't had the heart to tell her that it wasn't likely, but he took the damn sandwiches anyway.

Now, he takes one of the sandwiches out of his paper bag and holds it out to her. Beaming, she takes it, hugging him as thanks, and disappears down the hall with the healer trailing after her.

What are the chances, after all?

He continues on his way to her room. George has these walls memorized by now, could find his way to her with his eyes closed.

But something is different today.

George pauses just as he rounds the corner and spots them: the group of Healers huddled around the door, peering in or speaking amongst themselves, and when they notice George heading toward them, they all pause—and the sight would have been funny if George wasn't so stunned.

And at that moment he feels something he hadn't felt in much too long—feels something like hope flood him for the first time in six months.

What are the chances?

—

[Y/N]'s life begins again in a hospital ward.

The fourth floor of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the middle-aged lady with the blond hair tells her. The long-term spell damage ward.

She is a Healer. And she is here to help.

But why?

How are you feeling? Fine.

Do you know why you're here? No. I'm sorry.

Six months ago, there was a war. You were taken captive and tortured for information. The strain of it.. took a toll on your brain. You have been unconscious ever since. I don't understand.

That's fine. Can you tell me if you remember anything? I.. I don't know. no. I don't know my name—why don't I know my own name?

It's alright, honey. It's alright. Calm down.

"They told me she was awake." Another voice. [Y/N]'s head snaps up; in the doorway there is a man—no, a boy, with red hair and eyes that are wet and wide with shock and something—something else that she can't quite place.

[Y/N] stares at him and feels an inexplicable pang go through her chest—hears a far-off echo inside of her head, a whisper of a name, something. But it slips farther and farther away the more she tries to grab at it, that tiny, tiny semblance of recognition, and for some reason this makes her anxious—it makes her panic. She edges farther along her bed until her back hits the wall, putting as much space as possible between her and the Healer and this boy in the doorway as she buries her head in her hands, fingers clawing at her ears as though to block everything out—

"I don't know my name,” she whispers. “I don't know any of you—"

Another Healer appears in the doorway. "I'm sorry, Healer Paige, he was insisting—"

"That's quite alright. Please leave the room, Mr. Weasley."

"I'm not leaving until I—"

"Mr. Weasley." The blond Healer—no, Healer Paige's voice is stern, but there's an undeniable sense of sympathy. "Please exit the room quietly."

The boy with the red hair steps forward, striding towards her, but the other Healer holds him back by the arm. "Let go of me, I need to—"

"Mr. Weasley—"

"What’s wrong? Why can't I talk to her?"

[Y/N] curls in further into herself, head bowed as she hunches over into a ball, whimpering something that sounds like get out of my head.

"We're facing.. some unexpected symptoms. We will explain as soon as we can, but for now you need to leave."

"What the bloody hell does that even mean?"

"Please escort him out of the room. It would be best for you to come back tomorrow."

Get out get out get out.

"[Y/N]?"

[Y/N]. She stills. Feels something inside her head, like a lightbulb flickering to life. Dim and weak and barely enough to shed light on the dark, empty recesses of her brain, but it's still there. And she hangs onto it.

She looks up, straight at the boy with the red hair. His eyes are frustrated, but they soften the second they meet hers.

"[Y/N]," she repeats, heart pounding erratically inside of her chest like it knows she’s edging closer and closer to something important. "Is that my name?”

—

My name is [Y/N]. Six months ago I was tortured and lost all of my memories. I am twenty years old but I have no recollection of what happened in all of those twenty years.

All I know is that my name is [Y/N], and for now I will start from there.

The next morning consists of a flurry of Healers coming through the door running tests and figuring out what the bloody hell went wrong with her. [Y/N] sits on the edge of her bed, feeling oddly numb, only speaking when she is spoken to.

She has her own questions: who is her family? Where is she from? Why was she tortured, and for what kind of information? Will she ever get her memories back? Should she want to get her memories back?

But hours pass by and none of her questions ever make it past her lips. When all of the Healers filter out of the room and Healer Paige is the only one left, [Y/N] clutches her pillow to her chest, fingers digging into it the same way they have been for the past few hours.

And only then does she look up, eyes filling up with tears, and goes—"Am I going to be okay?"

The sympathy in Healer Paige's eyes shines clear as day. After a moment's hesitation, she nods. "It's highly unlikely that you'll ever get your memories back, but I encourage you to be.. open-minded.

"Your family is outside. They've been waiting to see you. I know it will be strange, but—they are still your family. And they still love you, even though you don't quite know them, or at least not yet. I ask you to be brave."

Her family. [Y/N] inhales sharply, a crease forming in between her brows. How odd would it be for her parents to see her and to realize that the girl before them is a mere shell of their daughter?

Moments later, a man, a woman, and a little boy appear in the doorway.

Her family.

Hesitant greetings are made. [Y/N] may have lost her memories but she isn't blind to the way all of these people are looking at her—so terribly sad, and each time they meet her eyes it's like they're trying to gauge a memory out of her. Pleading with her to remember.

And [Y/N] wants to—she really does. But all she can offer them is a small smile and a quiet "how are you". When the woman—her mother—excuses herself and leaves the room, obviously in tears, [Y/N] sits there feeling so utterly out of place, wondering if she should comfort her.

But she can't even meet their eyes without feeling awkward—without feeling like she's doing something wrong—so when they all leave, [Y/N] slides back under her covers, brows furrowed, trying so hard to remember, to find their faces in the massive hole of her memory.

But she doesn't. She can't. She feels like she should be crying, but what is there to cry about?

Everything that she lost.. she can't mourn them, can't cry for them, because she just doesn't remember. And so she is left to lay there, staring up at the ceiling, searching the dark void inside her head for even the smallest glimmer of light.

Needless to say, her efforts are to no avail.

—

Visitors aren't allowed.

George stands in the lobby of St. Mungo's, staring at the man behind the counter. Ben—they know each other by now.

"But they told me to come back today," he says, throat feeling oddly tight, but he forces out a small laugh to mask it. "I'm supposed to see her today."

"I'm sorry, George. It's what her Healers said—but if you want, Healer Paige is on duty. You can go up there and talk to her yourself, if you have any questions."

So that's what George does: he takes the familiar journey to the lift, and to the fourth floor, and then to Healer Paige's office.

She tells him [Y/N] has already seen her family today, and it wouldn't be wise to overwhelm her with other people. George sits in front of the desk, brows furrowed.

"But it's better to get started as soon as possible, isn't it?" he asks, voice still constricted the same way it has been this entire morning, like there's a lump stuck in his throat. "So that she can remember faster."

The resigned look in Healer Paige's eyes fills George with dread. "I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley."

When George walks through the doors of the still closed joke shop, it's only then that everything he has been trying to hold inside bursts out of him and he finds himself sinking to his knees at the threshold, much to the shock of his twin brother, who rushes at him asking questions that he doesn't want to answer. All he does is sob out barely coherent words—she doesn't remember anything, she doesn't even know who I am, I was supposed to ask her to marry me.

How cruel is it, and how ironic, that after six whole excruciating months of waiting and waiting and waiting, she wakes up, finally, just as George had hoped for, but this is what the universe gives him?

It's not fair that he remembers everything. It's not fair that George remembers how they met, how they first kissed, how much they loved. It's not fair that he knows all of her little quirks, has memorized the sound of her laugh and the planes of her face and the tiny moles all over her body that he always used to compare to constellations, and [Y/N] doesn't even know his name.

She is suffering from severe memory loss, Healer Paige had told him. Mr. Weasley, this kind of damage is irreversible. I'm truly sorry, but it's highly unlikely that she will ever get her memories back.

They were strangers, once. And then friends, and then lovers, and at this point in time they're supposed to be bloody engaged, like George had planned, but it appears they are nothing more than strangers again.

And it's not fair. None of it is.

But George isn't going to give up. He's loved her for far too long—is letting go really an option?

He can start all over again. He's going to find love with her again, and sure, he'd be starting off with a clean slate—he'd be scrapping all the nine years they'd spent with each other—but he doesn't have a choice, does he?

So George wipes the tears off of his face and picks himself up off the floor. He's still so frustrated and he wants to scream until his throat his hoarse, wants to run until his entire body is on fire so he can feel something that could drown out the suffocating pain in his chest.

But back in St. Mungo's, [Y/N] is alone and sitting on her hospital bed, undoubtedly feeling lost and confused and perhaps even worse than George—what would it feel like to wake up knowing absolutely nothing, after all?—and it's the mental image of that that gives George the motivation to move, and he shrugs off Fred and walks up to his and [Y/N]'s shared flat above the shop. There he slams open drawers and rifles through photo albums until he finds what he's looking for—photographs of her, of her friends and family and everything she has forgotten.

And of her and George. He pauses at these ones, feels a dull, aching pang go through his chest.

He's waited for six months. Maybe he can wait a little longer.

—

My name is [Y/N]. I am twenty years old and six months ago I was tortured and lost all of my memories. My parents are Lisa and Patrick. I have a six-year-old brother named Leo.

[Y/N] writes all of this down on the journal that Healer Paige gave her. A way to keep track of everything, apparently.

Baby steps, she'd told [Y/N]. We'll take it nice and slow, build everything back up again from scratch.

[Y/N] walks around the hospital early the next morning, when the only source of light is the one that comes from the bulbs overhead and the sky is dark beyond the windows. Here she walks around the hallways, thinking of nothing in particular, just—walking.

And it’s nice, letting herself bask in the silence around her. Healer Paige is patient and understanding, but [Y/N] doesn’t quite fancy being reminded of her condition every few minutes or so. Here [Y/N] can stop trying to remember. Here she can listen to the sound of her feet against the ground as she treads the cold floor, safe to just walk and worry about nothing more.

That same morning, her family doesn’t come to visit her again. Healer Paige says they have strict visiting hours, and [Y/N] hopes that relief didn't show too much on her face.

The Healers run a few more tests. Ask a few more questions. Halfway through the day, they allow her to go to the recreation room, where the other patients are.

Broken people, she thinks to herself. Just like me.

She meets a man cursed to lose his memory every five minutes. A little boy with legs that are permanently tap-dancing. A seven-year-old girl named Aimee who, according to one of the healers, feels severe pain whenever she speaks.

And it’s a little sad, to see all of these perfectly normal people save for whatever kind of long-term ailment it is that they’re suffering from, confined inside the hospital walls because they just aren’t normal enough.

[Y/N] fits in right along with them.

She can’t sleep at all that night, so at one point, when the hospital is completely silent, she leaves her room again.

But the hallway isn’t empty. There is someone laying down on the bench outside of her room. Someone with red hair.

[Y/N] pauses in the doorframe. He’s asleep, curled up into a little ball, which is a funny sight considering he’s so tall.

She remembers him from two days ago. Mr. Weasley, they’d called him. And she remembers the look in his eyes when she first spoke to him—when she asked him if [Y/N] was her name: that look of disbelief, of pain, like something inside him had broken.

She steps closer towards his sleeping figure. He shifts just slightly in his sleep, presumably to try to be more comfortable, but [Y/N] imagines that the plastic digging into his back doesn’t exactly feel extremely cozy.

[Y/N] swallows. Feels that same dull ache in her heart all over again—the same one she got when she first laid eyes on him. She finds herself crouching down to look at him properly; the red hair that falls over his eyes, the freckles across his nose, the swell of his lips.

”Who are you?” she whispers quietly, more to herself than to anyone.

Without her even realizing, she has reached out with one hand to touch the side of his cheek. Her fingertips graze his skin, a mere ghostly touch, and her breath catches in her throat when his eyelids flutter open and all of a sudden they are staring at each other, [Y/E/C] meeting brown, and [Y/N] makes to pull back, feeling like she’s been caught in the act, but he just reaches up with one hand and grabs her wrist, holding her in place.

She stares, frozen.

—

When George opens his eyes again, for a moment, he thinks he is dreaming.

[Y/N] is in front of him, eyes wide, hair framing her face. He feels like reaching up and cupping her cheek—he feels like pulling her in close and pressing his lips to hers, as he has yearned to do for so bloody long, but he can’t. He can’t.

But this—he can have this, for now, this tiny moment of pretend. For these few brief seconds, George holds her gaze in his and allows himself to believe that everything is as it has always been.

For now, when the two of them are alone and the entire hospital is quiet and the sun hasn’t yet risen, George pretends that [Y/N] still loves him.

But then she is tugging her wrist out of his grasp, cheeks a blazing shade of red, and hurriedly apologizes before disappearing inside of her room again.

George sits up slowly, and there’s a sad little smile on his face—and then his lips are twisting and he’s crying again, burying his head in his hands and sobbing at bloody two in the morning.

It’s like she’s being dangled in front of him, and she is close but at the same time so far away from reach.

He clamps his hands over his mouth, not wanting [Y/N] to hear. He doesn’t want to burden her with something that isn’t her fault. He doesn’t want her to feel any more pain.

Even if it’s at the cost of his.

taglist:  @dancing-in-the-moonlight3 @kalimagik @alittletoomanyobsessions @hariosborn @obsessedwithrandomthings @emcchi @sxrensxngwrites @enjoying-fantasyland21 @masterofthedarkness @siriusly-addicted-to-writing @bforbroadway @hufflefluff-writer @summer-writes @chaotic-fae-queen @firewhisky-kisses @dracosvftie @heloisedaphnebrightmore @idont-knowrn @dreamer821 @peachesandpinks @slytherinprincess03​ @chocfrogaddict @nebulablakemurphy​ ​@kpopgirlbtssvt

[pluto-art]

Softly - PatB Fan Fiction

Type: Hurt/Comfort Rating: PG Summary: Baby Brain has known little but pain and misery in an unloving world, but when he gets paired up with a new lab student things change in a way he didn’t expect.

This started out as a mini story in a Discord server and got... a little out of hand. What you see here is how much I typed out in the server.

He hadn't been there long. Two... maybe three weeks? The cold metal had finally become familiar beneath his feet, and the strange blocks, though generally tasteless, kept him alive. There wasn't much that made his new living quarters interesting; there was only so much one could do in a pile of aspen shavings day after day. Occasionally, they would hook up to his cage some sort of liquid that wasn't his usual watery fair. He could never decipher or make heads or tails of the words on the sides of the bottles, saying things like D-D-T or S-N-I-P-P-L-E. The only distinguishing feature to him was that sometimes they tasted terrible, sometimes quite flavorful, and sometimes they tasted like nothing at all. Almost all of them turned his stomach. Driven to thirst, however, he'd play their cruel game. Choice was not something that existed in this crisp, sterile world; at least, not from a personal standpoint. When it did exist it meant the difference between a shock and a treat; a yellow light or a red light; a warm room or a cold one. Choice was manufactured.

He still cried almost every night. He tried to quiet the tears, but they didn't always listen. The others heard him. One or two laughed cynically. Most said nothing; they'd shed their own fair share and would again sooner than later. A single kind soul, a mother rat some doors down from him, occasionally whispered to him a lullaby or two when everyone else but them were asleep. They were songs she sang to her own children to quiet their tears, and she had no less compassion for this unfortunate soul, who was even worse off than her own brood -- he didn't even have any parents to nuzzle up to. Had she her way, she would have mutilated every last living human being in the facility. It was bad enough that they were tested on mercilessly as adults. To do so to children was simply insidious. Alas, she was simply a rat, and so could only dream of days when she wasn't.

Not that BR-41N (that's what they called him; no one had real names here) hadn't tried to be friendly with his captures. Aside from a particularly nasty poke from some long, thin, prickly object inserted into his thigh the first day (it had stung; oh, it had stung...) the proceeding couple of days had consisted of simple maze runs and treadmill exercises. Nothing too elaborate. As a child, he'd been used to running around a lot in the field, and sifting through the labyrinths reminded him of the long grass he'd play hide-and-seek in back home, except at the end of them was a tasty prize: a piece of cheese. He liked cheese. In the wild, it was hard to come by, but here they gave it to him generously, provided he finished the courses, which he always did. The fourth day followed in much the same way, but the fifth day brought something different: a sudden shock and a broken tail. That had changed his view of things. Perhaps the harsh awakening wouldn't have been so terrible had it not been followed by other unspeakable things -- poisoned food; friends made that, the next day, would never be seen again; more shocks given as punishment for choosing an incorrect panel; injections that made him see things he'd never seen, monsters and strange colors and other scary things that kept him awake at night; loud noises that came out of nowhere; and often, quite often, the terrifying echo of squeaks, barks, and meows that made up the daily music of Acme Laboratories. He hated it. He hated all of it. More than anything, he wanted to go home. He missed the warmth; the love; the soft whisper of the wind that traveled through his ivory fur. He wanted all of it back. But life? She was a harsh mistress. And no amount of crying, screaming, or pleading, seemed to ever make her turn an ear.

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks... months, more than just a tail was broken. Trust was broken. Hope was broken. Spirit... was broken. If there was any love, if there was any future, it wasn't here. Kindness had proved unfruitful, and patience had run its course. He didn't find reason to be willing, nor show charity, towards those who made his life a living hell. What reason was there? What profit was in it? Time had told him, quite bluntly, there wasn't. It had taken him a full month to admit defeat, but admit it he did, and cynical he became, 'til every hand that reached in to grab him was ripe to be bitten, every shot that punctured his stomach was the unwelcome norm, and every newcomer that tried to strike up a friendship was easily ignored. The latter-most was simply wasting their time. He could read the colors on the cages now. He knew that a red mark meant "death". He only wondered why he, as of yet, had never been given one himself. It was as if life itself was laughing at him -- keeping him as witness to the horrors that went on inside the dragon's cave, yet never giving him the satisfaction of death.

And so the third month dawned, chilly and barren, or so the scientists said. Autumn had come. Not that any of the residents within the thick, cemented walls could see it. But the laboratory personnel spoke of it -- gold and crimson leaves, hot chocolate, dried wheat fields. He could almost smell the corn; could almost feel the breeze.... Days passed. For the first time, they gave him a cage mate. E8-WN, they called him. He was kind, but BR-41N had little love left to give. Besides, he had the red tag. It seemed they had only placed him here temporarily due to a lack of space. The next day he was taken to the back. The tiniest shred of pity nipped at BR-41N as he watched the little peach-furred mouse be carried into the surgical room, a curious look on his face. Another emotion was also present within him: jealousy. On the 17th day of September, a new thing happened -- a thing that, for the first time in a while, made the little mouse turn his head.

The school year had started, and, as such, fresh meat was welcomed into the laboratory in the form of fourteen college students looking to continue pursuits in medical science. They were all very quiet during the tour, one or two of them occasionally lifting a hand to ask a question about course materials or contact information. They were each, it seemed, to be given a subject: an animal from the laboratory to study, train, and conduct experiments on. Rats, mice, and hamsters had already been picked out for them, and each was given a black-coated subject or a brown-furred captive to take charge of. Each student's rodent was to be kept in the lab at all times, and specific instructions were given them as to the proper handling of the creatures. At least two experiments were to be conducted on them daily, three if possible. They could spend as much time with their charge as they wished, so long as they got their homework done. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents. Four months to finish their work. Simple.

As it stood, however, there had been a miscalculation. Fourteen students. Fourteen rodents.... No. Not fourteen. Only thirteen. There'd been an error. They'd forgotten to set aside an extra subject. The unfortunate student without a charge was a college girl named Rachel. All other rodents were going through tests conducted by various personnel in the lab, set aside specifically for said conductions that couldn't currently be tampered with. All except one....

"So, um, Rachel," their teacher said, checking his student list. "You may have to share with... Peterson.... You know what? We might... actually have an extra for you. Hold on. Let me ask...."

And he departed into another room, calling for a "Jackson".

"Jackson! Can she use BR-41N? I don't think he's going through any rigorous testing.... Yeah? Okay. Yeah, that would work out perfectly. Thanks."

He turned back to his brood, many of whom looked quite eager to jump in to these intriguing studies, others looking downright bored.

"Okay. We have one for you. His code name is BR-41N. He's not going through any major testing, and he's generally given the usual works -- labyrinths, shock treatment, all that. But, um... he bites. Really bad. So... you'll have to watch it, all right?"

"Okay," Rachel nodded, looking a little nervous.

"All right. Umm.... Good. Yes. So, let's head back to the main campus, and... we'll start your work tomorrow."

And they left.

BR-41N had only heard part of all this, and had understood none of it. He shivered in his cage, taking a moment to drink some water out of the bottle that hung there. While the arrival of such a large group intrigued him, especially since it consisted of a much younger set than normal, it also made him nervous. Was it a sign of good things to come... or bad? Or just more of the usual fair? One could only wonder. For now, he was simply grateful that the cheese they'd given him today was, for once, not laced with drugs.

She came by on a Tuesday.

It was an hour after a cosmetics test that he heard a knock on the table. His skin still burned. He was cowering in a far corner, and looked back over his shoulder hesitantly.

Rachel stood there, smiling at him.

"Hello, little one." He stared at her, nonplussed. "I guess you're my charge. You gonna say hello?"

And she opened up the door of his cage.

He shuffled back further. He knew all too well by this point that the opening of a door meant one of two things: food or torture. Considering the fact that she didn't smell of food, he had to assume it was the latter.

"It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. Well, hopefully not...."

Although he didn't understand a word of what she said, her tone was calm; soothing. No one in the lab ever talked to him like this. He couldn't help but stare curiously.

She held her hand up to the entrance and made a soft, squeak-like sound with her mouth. He frowned at her. As if that was going to convince him. He turned away.

"No? I don't blame you," she replied, taking a look at his clipboard. "BR-41N. What kind of a freak name is that? Mind if I call you Brain? Or Brian?"

No response.

"We'll go with Brian. Brain sounds kinda weird."

Brian it was.

She kept the door open, and he braced himself. Any moment now, gloved hands would be protruding into his enclosure to wrap themselves firmly about him, not tight enough to choke him, but secure enough that he couldn't escape. But the hand didn't come. If anything, she pulled up a chair, sat down, and rested her arms upon the table on which his cage sat. She was... giving him a choice? He stared at her, unsure how to react.

"Come on, sweet heart," she cooed, rubbing her fingers together encouragingly.

But he wouldn't budge. If this was some new trick, it wasn't going to work. He wished she'd just grab him and get it over with. Sooner or later, she'd have to. It was only a matter of time. And so he waited....

She sat there for a full twenty minutes, trying her best to get him to come over, but he refused to budge, and so she gave up. As expected, she still ran him through a maze, but instead of reaching in to grab him, she found a clear tube and scooped him up in it, covering both ends before depositing him into the run as such. It was... odd, but less invasive than what he was used to. He rather wished the others would do it that way.

Via the same method she returned him to his cage at the end of the test. As usual, he took to the corner, assuming his usual cowardly pose, but he turned to look at her as she spoke.

"Sorry about that. Nice job, though. See you tomorrow."

And so went the next day... and the next, always with the same introduction: She'd open his door, pull up a chair, and offer her hand to him. After twenty minutes of nothing, she'd scoop him up in the tube, deposit him in the maze or whatever other test he was to perform that day, and return him in the same manner. This went on for four whole weeks, always with a kind word, never coupled with a harsh prod or poking of his skin. He came to somewhat look forward to her almost daily visits, not because he trusted her (the one time she had tried touching him [with gloves on, of course], he'd given her a fair warning in the form of a bite), but because it was the only two hours during the day in which he knew he wouldn't be fed poison, given a shot, or made to inhale cigarette smoke. The other students joked with her. By far, she had the unfriendliest mouse out of all of them, and they found her kind advances a waste of time.

"Just pick him up!" a tall boy said.

Most of them had no problem with handling their subjects by the tail; at least, the boys generally didn't. The girls were kinder, but even they didn't take the time to get to know their animals intimately. They also were given the harder tests to conduct on their critters and so tried not to get attached.

Whereas most of the rats, mice, and hamsters given to the students would eventually be killed in some way or other at the end of the semester, via through vivisection, gassing, cancer, or some other method, BR-41N, or... Brian, as Rachel now called him, was not scheduled to be offed anytime soon and so could not undergo such rigorous experiments. As such, she got both the easy job of conducting very simple tests on him, and also the hard job of trying to work with the most hostile mouse in the entire facility.

"He's never gonna warm up to you," one of the other students said.

Rachel took it as a challenge.

"Watch me," she said.

But Brian was proving to be a much tougher can than expected. By the sixth week, he still hadn't even bothered to venture near the cage entrance when she sat near it, even with tasty treats in hand. He simply didn't trust anyone. Not anymore....

October came and went, to be replaced with a frosty November. Whenever Brian saw Rachel now she had a cup of tea in hand, the better to ward off the coming winter chill. Still she tried; still he refused to relent. Until the 9th....

It was late. She hadn't been able to get to the lab until 8:00 PM due to unfortunate series of events that involved a fender bender, two appointments, and a last minute essay. When she got to the lab she was tired... and not at all in the mood to deal with Brian's B.S., and he knew it.

"'Sup?" she asked him wearily, setting down her things in a huff. Only a handful of other people were still in the facility at this hour, none of them students. Fine by her. She preferred the quiet anyway. "We're gonna do something a little different today, bud."

Indeed.... He perked his ears up at her exhausted tone and the fact that, for once, she didn't open the cage door. But she did still slide the chair up to his table.

On the opposite side of the room was a television on a rolling stand. Normally, this was used for surgeries and other experiments. Once in a blue moon, however, someone would use it for recreational purposes -- to watch the local news when there was time to kill. Most fortunately for Rachel, it also came with a VHS player. Into it she popped a tape, before sitting down in the chair and grabbing her hot cup of peppermint tea. Despite himself, Brian took a whiff of the tea, whose scent had wafted into his cage and tickled his nose. It smelled good.

The film began to play. Brian didn't know the name of it, but whatever it was it was made up of very pretty pictures and featured a lot of dogs... and snow (at least at the beginning). It was rather soothing. Still, he didn't move from his spot, save to grab a lab block at one point to munch on, more to pass the time than anything. His stomach was still a little unsettled from earlier. Privately, he was a bit ticked off at the girl. Had she been a bit earlier he might have avoided the shock treatments. Not that they would have withheld them regardless.

It wasn't until the second song that his attention was at last caught.

"La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...."

Sweetly did the animated woman sing her little song, and Brian, captivated, perked his ears. He looked up at the television. She was still singing. He stepped forward, bit by bit, until he was right up to the closed door, two little paws coming up to grasp at the bars of his cage as he stared, entranced, at the screen.

"La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper, La la lu, La la lu, La la luuuuu."

And so it ended, all within the span of a minute, if that, but something had stirred with him -- a remembrance of home, and warmth, and what it was like to be loved.

He was still clutching at the bars when he noticed that Rachel was smiling at him, and he promptly sped back to his corner, embarrassed.

"Atta boy," she whispered, still grinning softly at him.

He refused to look at her. He wasn't touched by it or anything. He wasn't....

"It's okay. Don't be embarrassed," said the girl. "I like that song, too."

Brian stayed in his corner the rest of the movie, but the song never left his mind. 

---

The next day proceeded as normal. Once again, Rachel sat by his cage. Once again, she had brought a treat, albeit one he'd never seen before, nor smelled, for that matter. It was small... and white... and fluffy, and it smelled sugary and sweet. He wanted it. Oh, he wanted it so very badly. But nothing that ever came from the fingers of a scientist, even a soft-spoken one, was innocent. And so he refused, his back turned to her.

"Stubborn butt," said Rachel, and by her tone alone Brian could tell that it was a snide comment. He ignored her.

"Here."

As had occurred many times before, she left the treat in his cage near the entrance, closed the door, and sat to watch him. His eyes shifted towards the treat. It sat there, staring at him, mocking him. Eat me, it said. No, he thought. Oh, but it smelled so good....

Rachel sighed. So did Brian. She rested her head in her arms, exasperated. Maybe it really wasn't worth it....

Brian licked his lips. Perhaps....

He took a step forward. Rachel remained where she was, head in her arms, not looking at him. He moved another step. She was still as a stone. Patter patter patter patter patter... GRAB. He swooped back to his corner as fast as possible, marshmallow in his mouth. Rachel looked up... and chuckled. Brian dug into the treat, enjoying every second of it as teeth sunk into the savory delight. He'd never tasted anything this good before. It was better than mother's milk; much better than lab pellets; better than cheese....

"Silly little thing," Rachel giggled, smiling as he filled his cheeks with pleasantness. "Wait 'til you see what I bring you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, he was to find out, brought a piece of a doughnut, and the day after that a waffle. He'd never been this darn spoiled before. On the fourth occasion, he was, for once, already at the door, waiting to see what she'd bring. Lady and the Tramp and sugar, it turned out, were the keys to his heart, although he still wouldn't let her touch him. If her hand so much as brushed his fur he was back to his corner in a rush, although, this time, he didn't try to bite her first.

Rachel laughed when she saw the two little paws clutching at the gated entrance.

"You like 'em that much, huh? Here ya' go."

He stepped back to allow her access to the gate, and watched carefully as she placed something savory and smelling of salt inside. He sniffed, investigating as she closed the door. He took a tentative bite. Mmmmm. Yes, this was acceptable. Grabbing it, he rushed back to his usual corner and chowed down.

"Good. A fellow bacon appreciator," Rachel nodded, satisfied.

He ate the entire piece, licking his lips and proceeding to clean himself afterwards. That had been a bit messy. Good, but messy. If there was something he still valued, it was cleanliness. He could at least retain some form of dignity. The state of his fur was one of the few things he still had control over. Unlike some of the other unfortunate chaps, he'd never had to endure surgery or a shaved stomach.

Two little pink ears perked up as his cage door was opened yet again. More treats? No. Just Rachel, hand offered to him once more. Brian sighed. She just wouldn't give up, would she?

A second glance made him aware that she did, in fact, have something in her hand -- another marshmallow. Hmph. Sneaky. And yet, he'd be lying if he said he didn't want it....

"It's okay, little one," Rachel cooed, hand still outstretched, that plump marshmallow beckoning ever so tantalizingly. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I promise."

Brian sighed. He looked down at the floor, then over at her hand.

Rachel's eyes widened a touch, but she otherwise didn't reveal her surprise as Brian moved forward, inch by inch, step by step, towards her hand....

He stopped at the entrance, debating. Dare he...? It was a risk. He'd never willing done this, not since he'd been captured. It was a stupid decision. Stupid. And yet....

Her hand shifted a touch, and Brian shifted nervously with it. Rachel waited with bated breath.

He stepped forward....

In a flash, he'd grabbed the 'mallow from her hand and retreated to the back of his cage, not daring to even think about what he'd just done. It was foolish. It was dangerous. And yet, she hadn't tried to grab him, or even pet him. She'd just... given him a choice. And he'd taken it. Somehow, for some reason, he'd taken it.

Rachel smiled.

"Atta boy."

---

Perhaps it was the mere fact, the tantalizing realization, that he had a choice in the first place, that drew him back, but over the course of the next few weeks, things changed.

It had started slow at first. A light brush of the whiskers here; a sniff of the hand there. But, eventually, Brian, of his own accord, stepped into her hand. And she didn't close her fingers about him harshly, or strangle him, or pick him up by the tail. She simply... let him be. It was kind. It was unobtrusive. It was respectful. And he appreciated it.

No longer did the other students make fun, or joke that she'd never gain his trust. If anything, they questioned her.

"How the heck did you do it?" they'd ask, curious.

Even more confused were the scientists themselves. Not that anyone had tried very hard to gain the little mouse's trust. He was, in their opinion, not worth the time.

But he was to Rachel.

December came, and with it a complete turn-around in Brian's behavior, albeit towards one particular individual.

He eagerly rushed into her hand now. No need for the transportation tube. She could carry him on her shoulder to the maze area and pick him up with her bare hands as she placed him in the labyrinth, although she still made sure to let him take the first step and would, more often than not, simply offer a hand instead of plucking him from her shoulder. He still appreciated this.

Every weekday was now a day to look forward to. Sure, he was still tormented by the main personnel, but for two or three hours, two or three sweet hours, he didn't have to worry about anything. On the days he suffered from a stomach-ache, she'd hold him close to her chest and do her best to rub the pain away, offering him tea to ease his suffering, and if he fell asleep on her shoulder and woke up, shaking, from a bad dream, she'd rock him back and forth, singing "La La Lu" to him until the nightmares went away. On those rare nights, when she could only work late and no one was around, she'd bottle feed him. He'd been hesitant (and a little embarrassed) at first, but any reminder of home was difficult to ignore, and so he ended up embracing each form of love and affection with open paws, clutching tightly to her chest some days, as if this hug would be his last. For all he knew, it could be. He'd gotten used to her visits, but what if she left and never came back? He didn't want that love to leave....

December 14th.

The end of the semester was approaching. Rachel had told him, time and again, that she was leaving soon; that she would miss him; that she'd try to come back for the next semester. Brian understood none of this. He was a mouse, after all. Human language was foreign to him. The most he could understand was the occasional word -- his name, Brian, and various names of foods and tests -- and basic inflections that he knew signified concern, happiness, or contentment. But he didn't understand "leave", or "semester", or "miss". He could tell something was wrong, that she was sad, but as to why, he did not know.

A week from the last day of the semester, she brought a surprise: a movie. It had something to do with a rat, and food. He liked it for those things. He wished he could understand the words. It seemed interesting. He sat on Rachel's shoulder the entire time, at least until the end of the film, during which Rachel offered her hand to him. He accepted. She brought him up to her chest, nuzzling him close.

"I'm going away for a while, but... I'll try to be back next semester."

She petted him gently. He stared up at her, curious and concerned. Why was she so sad?

"I'm going to miss you...," she whispered. And, for the first time, she kissed him on his fuzzy white head. "I love you...."

He didn't understand the words, but he understood what they meant; how they felt.

Slowly, gently, he nuzzled close to her... and licked her fingers. It was the first time he'd shown genuine affection outside of nuzzling since he'd been captured. I love you, too....

He didn't understand it, but... there was something in the air that told him something big was coming. Something new. Something was going to be different....

December 18th came just like any other day. The semester was coming to a close. Many students had already finished their courses and gone home for the holidays. The occasional class still lingered on, including the medical science class. Most all had completed training and experimentation on their subjects for the season and were simply spending the next few days filing reports and filling out last minute essays. Some of the rodents wouldn't live to see the new year. Others had already been subjected to vivisection by their handlers and were far from the lab by this point. Subject BR-41N was one of the few who'd been given the same sheet on their clipboard day after day, week after week: a run of the mill of the usual, simple, non-invasive tests, along with an injection or two. But today was different.

As Rachel stepped up to Brian's cage, sipping at a hot cup of tea and smiling as her charge ran up to the bars to greet her, she frowned as she pulled up the clip board. His tag was yellow. Not the usual blue, but... yellow. She set down her cup, ignoring Brian's squeaky pleas to be let out as she looked over the sheet carefully.

Subject Reserved for Project B.R.A.I.N. // Invasive Study -- Cognitive Psychology, Neuroscience Psychology // 4:00 PM - Dec. 20

There was a pause, in which the dip in Rachel's brow furrowed ever deeper, her eyes roaming about the page scrutinizingly, before she slipped the paper out of its holder and headed back out the way she'd came, Brian looking curiously after her.

She marched all the way to a back office, in which sat one of the laboratory heads: Jackson. He looked up over his square-rimmed glasses as she knocked upon the exposed inner door frame.

"Yes?" he asked, sounding bored.

"Hey. Um.... I think you gave my subject the wrong paper."

"BR-41N?"

"Yeah. He got a yellow."

She stretched out her arm, offering the paper as proof, but he didn't take it. Instead, he looked up at her, fingers meeting at their tips, and said:

"No, I gave you the right paper. That's for BR-41N. His procedure is in two days."

His tone was flat and laced with a thin layer of poison, as if her daring to question him was a challenge.

"But... I thought he was just doing mainly labyrinth tests."

"Ms. Field, I thought you were told...?"

"Told what...?"

"He's been scheduled for this procedure for months. We wanted him fresh and so have eschewed more invasive tests until now. Frankly, you've been spending a little too much time with that mouse. He's gotten too friendly. We're not in the business of developing attachment here."

He said all this with a straight face, completely emotionless. Rachel swallowed thickly.

"Sir, I've... been going over this test. It's... very dangerous."

"Yes."

"It could kill him...."

"Yes?"

Rachel simply stared at him, uncertain of what to say next. He wasn't working with her here....

"Look.... What did you expect? You're studying medical science, correct?"

She nodded.

"Okay, well," he continued, a small chuckle of sarcasm escaping his lips as he said it. "Y-You have to realize that... this is a laboratory. We can't keep every subject. And these tests come with a lot of risks."

"Could you possibly do the test on another subject...?" Rachel asked, choosing her words carefully. "Brian is still kind of young, and..."

"Brian?"

Shoot.

"Sorry, I mean... BR-41N."

"You can't start... naming them, Miss Field. That's when you start getting attached. Understand?"

"I know...," Rachel mumbled, cheeks reddening as she looked down at her shoes.

"And the whole point of using him at this age is because his mind is younger. He's fresh."

"But he's just a baby..."

"Yes? And? A lot of the other students are working with infants."

"This one is...," Rachel began, than stopped. Already she'd said too much.

"Miss Field, if you don't prepare him for the procedure, someone else will. Now, you can either do your assignment or lose your credits. It's your choice."

Rachel sighed. Still holding the paper, she let her arm fall dramatically to her side.

"Fine...."

And she turned to walk off. But...

"Miss Field?"

She looked at him.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Yes, Sir," Rachel replied, after a hefty pause, and headed back to her charge.

---

Brian didn't understand why Rachel was so quiet that day, nor why she cuddled him so much. She whispered to him something about "breaking out" and "night", but he didn't understand what those things meant, although he heard the urgency in her voice. As a result, he was a little more uptight the rest of the afternoon.

Before leaving, Rachel kissed the top of his head again, before setting him back down in the cage and hooking the door. Her good-byes were all but gibberish to him, although he recognized the word "tomorrow". So he'd be seeing her tomorrow. That was good. At least he had a time frame. He was naive to the rest....

---

December 19th 9:15 PM

BR-41N cleaned his whiskers, pondering.

She hadn't shown up today. Strange. "Tomorrow". She's said "tomorrow". Today was tomorrow. Why hadn't she come?

To his left, in a far corner of the room, someone sneezed in their cage. Brian frowned sadly. It was that hamster again. Whatever they'd given him had put him into a sneezing fit for an hour. Now and then he relapsed.

He yawned, stretched, and made for the food dispenser, when he suddenly heard a sharp click of a door being opened and abruptly snapped shut. He turned in the direction of the door. A light flicked on. Brian smiled.

Rachel's feet slid across the floor in haste. Instead of her usual student lab coat, she was decked out in her normal clothes, complete with backpack. Her hoodie was up, obscuring her hair, save for a few strands that stuck out here and there, as well as part of her face. She moved with purpose, albeit a little covertly, looking over her shoulder every now and then, as if expecting someone to grab her at any minute.

Set in a wall above the entrance to the room, a camera followed her. Rachel's eyes shifted at the sound as she moved towards Brian's cage. She knew she only had five, maybe ten, minutes at best.

Opening the cage door, she held her hand out for Brian to step onto. He hesitated. Something didn't smell right....

"Come on. We're busting you out of here, dude," Rachel whispered.

Brian cocked his head at her questioningly.

"Listen, they're going to put your through that splicer if we don't get you out of here, so come on."

There was an urgency in her voice that, despite his misgivings, compelled him to move forward. He trusted her too much by this point.

"Atta boy," she praised him, tucking him in her shirt pocket.

He peeked out, paws clutching at the edges of the pocket interestedly.

"Let's go," Rachel whispered, turning back to the door and stopping as she realized that someone was already standing there....

Framed in the metal doorway was a woman, thirty-five... maybe forty-something in age. Her arms were crossed, and the expression on her face seemed as taught and firm as the scrunchie tightening her poofy auburn hair. Her long lab coat was still settling; she must have only just gotten there. Rachel recognized this woman. Lana, her name was -- she was one of the head managers at the facility. Jackson had obviously tipped her off.

"Fancied a night stroll?" she asked, tone dripping with sarcasm.

Rachel remained frozen in place, a hand subconsciously cupping her shirt pocket. The gesture didn't go unnoticed.

"You know you're risking a lot for this. That's all your credits down the drain."

"He's worth it," Rachel answered, resolute.

"He's not. You take him and they'll just get another subject."

"At least I'll have saved this one."

"We'd still rather you not take an asset that's been reserved for months for this procedure," Lana nipped, taking a step forward.

Rachel took a step back. Her eyes shifted to a door to her left. It led to several other testing rooms and then back out into the main hallway. Some of the doors had security locks. It was the long way around, but if she was fast enough....

"Rachel...," Lana spoke, tone threatening as she advanced. "Put him down."

With each step Lana took towards her, Rachel moved two back. She could feel herself starting to perspire. Gosh, this was a stupid idea....

"Rachel...."

With a hand cupped over her shirt pocket, Rachel darted in the direction of the door, opening it up in a flash and slamming it shut behind her. Already she was racing for the opposite end of the room, where another door stood.

Brian jumped as an alarm went off, followed by red lights that flashed all throughout the facility. Rachel was already in the next room, her heart racing. She could hear the panicked footsteps behind her, mimicking her own, and hoped upon hope that she was faster than her pursuer.

Rachel picked up her pace as she entered the next room. This one, she knew, required an employee badge to open. All of the students had been given security badges, of course, primarily for general access to the entrance and main rooms. They worked on some doors in the facility. Some, but not all. She'd never been in these rooms. Privately, she prayed that they'd open for her.

Slamming her badge up against a wall panel, she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet nervously.

"Come on. Come oooon! Take it!!"

It did. The door unlocked, and she swung it open in haste to make for the next locked door, which also granted her entrance.

She was faster than Lana, but it didn't mean the woman wasn't hot on her heels. Brian shut his eyes tightly, huddling against Rachel's chest on the inside of her pocket as she darted about, her hand still cupping him securely. He knew, somehow, that this was about him. His ears rotated this way and that at the duo of clicking feet racing down the linoleum flooring. Who would win? Who was he most valuable to?

It wasn't until the fourth room that Rachel started to panic. Yet again, she'd reached a door asking for proof of access, except this time... her badge was not accepted. She shook the door handle feebly, knowing it wouldn't open; knowing this was the end of the line. Despite himself, Brian peeked out of the shirt pocket, just in time to see Lana as Rachel swiftly turned around to face the woman, who stood at the opposite end of the room, hair askew and chest heaving as she glared at Rachel and her tiny charge.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Lana huffed.

"Why do you need him?! Just let me take him and get another subject!" Rachel bit.

"We let you get away with it and you'll set a precedent! You know that!" Lana snapped right back. "And we don't want to waste any more time. We've spent too much money on this project."

"He's just a baby!"

"All of them are meant to be expendable! Hand him over!"

"No!"

Brian's ears flicked. Rachel held her breath. Was it just them, or did they hear... more footsteps?

"You won't have a choice," Lana said flatly, expressionless as she was joined by not one, not two, but five other lab hands, one of the them Jackson, all of them full-time personnel.

"Rachel.... Hand him over," Jackson said, holding out his hand expectantly.

Rachel glared daggers at him, even though she was fully aware of the impossibility of the situation. Like the mouse she was trying so hard to protect, she was trapped, her back against the wall, literally. They were going to take him. They were going to take him and there was nothing she could do about it....

"I told you not to do anything stupid," Jackson continued.

"Please...," Rachel pleaded, breathing heavily. "Please, let me take care of him. I'll train another in his place as compensation, I swear. Just... don't hurt him."

"And then you'll grow attached to that one and try and kidnap it. We've seen it before. You're not the first," Jackson reprimanded.

"Good," said Rachel. "I'm glad I'm not."

Privately, she wondered why she'd ever signed up for this in the first place. She wanted the degree. She wanted it badly. She also loved animals, and knew that following her passion came with sacrifices. What she hadn't counted on was how difficult it would be to accept that. It wasn't feasible, she realized. In fact, it was darn near impossible.

She looked down at the infant trembling in her pocket -- at this little creature that had captured her heart and locked it away, far away from any hopes and dreams of graduating in the medical field of her choosing. "He's not worth it," Lana had said. Was he not? Brian looked up at her, those glossy little eyes staring at her expectantly, trustingly. She smiled sadly at him and, for the last time, cuddled him close, before looking up at the troop across from her.

"If you want him, come and get him," she challenged. They weren't getting him without a fight.

And they rushed at her.

She tried to escape. Oh, she tried... and failed. They grabbed her by the arms as she wrestled against them, cheering Brian on as he somehow managed to escape from her pocket and slip underneath one of the shelving units in the room. But Lana caught him, Brian squeaking as his tail snagged between the beaker and the small metal panel she'd captured him with. He stared at Rachel, his desperate, panicked expression the last thing she saw before being knocked out.

-------

- Two Years Later -

The plan had failed. Rather spectacularly, he might add....

It was the first time in Brain's memory he could ever recall being caught red-handed by any of the personnel at Acme Labs. It was a miracle he and Pinky had managed to escape, but, despite his best attempts, they'd been separated in the process.

He made for a facility some yards away from the main laboratory, sweating as he squeezed under its front door and immediately hid under a cabinet to his right. Lights flashed now and again beyond the windows, desperate voices accompanying them as the scientists searched here and their for the escapees. Brain silently prayed that Pinky had somehow found a suitable hiding spot.

In his position under the cabinet, he backed up against the wall and slid down it, a paw clutching at his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. After a few seconds, he gulped, sniffed, and buried his face in his knees. Stupid. Stupid.... He'd jeopardized their whole mission. What if they'd captured Pinky? What would they do to him? And even if they did escape, where would they go? He'd ruined everything. Everything....

In his haste to remain undetected, he'd neglected to realize that this room... was not entirely devoid of life. It was a small area -- a security office, to be exact. Numerous monitors took up space on a desk, at which someone sat. They slid out of their chair and stepped over to Brain's hiding place. He noticed... and shivered.

Whatever, whomever, it was got down on their knees to peer at him from just outside the dresser.

"Hello...," they said.

It was a woman. Her voice was soft, and kind, but Brain turned his head away from her prying eyes. Typical. In an effort to not get caught he'd inevitably been ratted out. He immediately considered making a run for it, but, for some reason he couldn't explain, he didn't.

"Hey.... Shh. Shh. It's okay, little one. It's okay," cooed the woman. "You wanna come on out...?"

And she held out a hand to him. She didn't try to grab him, or scare him out. She simply... gave him a choice.

But it had been too long. He didn't recognize her, neither she him... until she noticed the tail. Then she knew.

"Brian...?" she breathed, eyes growing wide.

He stared at her, nonplussed, still shivering.

"Brian, it's me. Rachel," she beckoned, her hand still in place. But he didn't move. If anything, he frowned at her. "Brian"?

And she tried everything -- talking to him soothingly; offering him a treat from her pocket. Nothing worked. Brain simply hid his face once more, willing her to go away; to leave him be; to, hopefully, not report him to the authorities if they came to call.

Rachel sighed. She sat up for a moment, thinking, and blinked. Struck with a sudden idea, she rested her hands on her lap... and began to sing....

“La la lu, La la lu, Oh my little star sweeper, I'll sweep the star dust for you...“

Brain blinked... and lifted his head, ever so slowly....

“La la lu, La la lu, Little soft fluffy sleeper, Here comes a pink cloud for you...“

He stood up... and walked forward, right to the edge of the cabinet. She was still singing.

“La la lu, La la lu, Little wandering angel, Fold up your wings, Close your eyes...”

His mouth was fully open now, his round eyes glossy and getting ever shinier. He couldn't pull his gaze away from her face.

“La la lu, La la lu, And may love be your keeper...

La la lu, La la lu, La la lu....”

Rachel stared at him, smiling. He had completely stepped out from under the cabinet by now, his little body trembling slightly.

"Hello, little star sweeper," Rachel whispered to him.

Breath hitching, Brain ran onto her lap, up her shirt, and clutched tightly to her chest, only a second or two going by before he felt those familiar hands hold him gently, securely.

"Oh, Brian...," she choked, kissing his head. He didn't even flinch.

"Why didn't you come back?" he asked, unable to hold back his tears.

"I couldn't," she answered honestly. "But I was able to keep an eye on you from here."

He sniffed and pulled back a little to look around the room. It was, indeed, a security office, and a fairly high end one at that, decked out with all the works.

"I'm an artist now, but in my part time I take the night shift. They at least let me come back for that, probably 'cause Jackson and Lana are gone now," she chuckled softly. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you this time...."

Brain looked up at her, suddenly understanding. All that time they'd never been caught; never been reported. All those months and years that the camera had simply turned a blind eye to their antics. He thought it was simply negligence. Now he knew why.

"Thank you...," Brain whispered. "And it's... Brain now."

"I know," she smiled. “I still watch tv, ya' know. I just still remember you as my 'Brian'. I'm sorry, Brain."

He couldn't help but smile. All this time....

"Come with me?" Rachel asked him.

"Where?"

"Back to my place. I'll hide you. You can have the guest room, if you'd like."

A sharp knock at the door startled them both, and she quickly ran to her desk, Brain in her hands. She lifted him up and under the desk.

"There's a hidden panel in the roof! Get in it!" she whispered to him urgently.

He found it, albeit with a little difficulty. He pushed at a little area that looked as if it had been cut into... and down shifted a small cubby in which she kept an assortment of odd bits and bobs that were probably not supposed to be in her possession -- special looking keys and badges, among other things. He slipped into it, and Rachel pushed it closed before walking over to answer the door....

Another barrage of bangs thundered at the entrance as Rachel opened it, a hand on her hip as she held the door ajar, doing her best to look as ticked off as possible.

"Sheesh! Gimme a minute to finish pouring my tea! Gosh...."

Outside stood two gentlemen, both in lab coats, looking frantic.

"Have you seen a mouse?" one of them said. He was taller and appeared to be the leader. "White. Large cranium. He was with a companion."

Rachel shrugged.

"Is that what you guys have been looking for?"

"You haven't seen them on your cameras?" the second man asked, panting a little.

Rachel shook her head.

"No, I haven't seen anything."

The men exchanged glances.

"We'd better search the place, just to make sure," the leader said, and without further ado they barged in and began searching every nook, cranny, drawer, and trash can they could. They failed to find the hidden cubby, however. "Can we ask you to roll back the footage?"

"Sure, but you're not gonna find anything," Rachel shrugged again.

They did as permitted, scrutinizing every bit of film captured within the last ten minutes. Although they managed to catch one or two glimpses of the mice leaving the lab, as expected, they couldn't find hair no hide of them on any other roll. Behind their backs, Rachel smirked. Smart little guy. Even on the run, he'd purposely made sure not to walk in the path of the cameras.

After several more minutes of scrutiny, they finally gave up, heading for the door in a huff.

"Sorry for your time. Report to us if you find anything," said the leader.

"No problem," Rachel said, shutting the door with a snap behind them and sighing deeply. Yeah, right..., she thought.

Going back to her desk, she pushed open the hidden cubby. It lowered down and Brain immediately jumped into her hand, breathing rather heavily.

"Sorry, little one," Rachel apologized. I can imagine it's pretty stuffy in there...."

He gave her a look, albeit not a very harsh one. He had no reason to complain.

She raised her hand, allowing him to jump up onto her shoulder.

"They'll be back later to go over more footage," Rachel warned, sitting down at her desk and leaning back in her chair.

"I know," Brain said, licking at his paws and smoothing out his frazzled fur.

Rachel jumped a little and stared at him.

"Heh. I forgot you guys talk now...."

"Is that a problem...?" Brain asked, a little nervously.

Rachel smiled.

"Not at all."

She reached out a hand to scratch at a spot behind his ears.

"What are you...? Ohhhh-ho-ho-ho...," Brain melted, reeling a little at first before giving way to a goofy smile and a thumping foot as he pressed into the touch.

"Still got that little sensitive spot, huh?" Rachel chuckled, her scratches evolving into a head massage.

Brain practically fell off her shoulder, Rachel catching him in her hands and raising him up to eye level, the better to get a good look at him. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. How demoralizing.... But Rachel simply beamed at him.

"You know... I really missed you."

"I... wish I could say the same...," Brain confessed, shuffling a foot. He imagined he had thought of her often, as an infant, but over time the memories simply... faded.

Rachel didn't look upset, though.

"I understand. It's okay. I still love you."

"I...," Brain began, then stopped. No. He couldn't bring himself to say it. Even with Pinky he couldn't ever admit such a thing, and he loved Pinky most of all.

"You don't have to say it. I know you do in your heart," Rachel said, and she kissed him tenderly on the top of his head.

His ears flattened as she did it, and he almost immediately smoothed out the area where she'd kissed him, but he couldn't hide the blush tickling his cheeks and ears. Her behavior was cheesy as all get out, but privately he knew she was right. He did care, even if he'd never admit it.

Just then, something, or... someone, slipped underneath the door. A white-furred, lanky somebody.

"Pinky!!" Brain yelped.

Brain leapt off of Rachel in a flash, landing hard on the floor and limping a little as he ran into Pinky's outstretched arms.

"Brain!!" Pinky shouted right back. "Oh, I thought I'd never see you again!!"

He twirled him around in a circle or two before Brain became aware of what he was doing and promptly pushed himself out of Pinky's grasp, clearing his throat, once again embarrassed.

"Y-Yes, well.... I'm... glad you're safe, Pinky," Brain replied awkwardly, patting his companion on the head.

"Ohhh! Who's this, Brain?" Pinky asked, pointing up at Rachel, who still sat in her computer chair, smiling down at them both.

"Umm.... Pinky, this is Rachel. She's... an old friend."

"Nice to meet you, Pinky! I've heard a lot about you. Well, maybe not heard, but... I've seen you guys on the tv a lot!" Rachel said, beaming.

"You have?!" Pinky gasped, clasping two paws to his face in surprise. "Did you hear that, Brain? We're famous!!"

"Pinky, we've been famous many times, all of them never lasting as long as I'd like...," Brain recollected.

"Well, yes, Brain, but never to a friend!"

Rachel smiled and leaned forward a little.

"I have a proposition for you guys."

"For both of us? Is that legal, Brain?" Pinky whispered to his cage mate, looking concerned, to which Brain facepalmed.

"Proposition, Pinky, not proposal."

"Ohhhhhhhhh. Well, that's different then, isn't it?" Pinky said, nodding eagerly to Rachel.

"How would you guys like to come room at my place? Just for as long as you need until you can get off your feet."

Once again, Pinky gasped excitedly.

"Can we, Brain?!"

"Well...," Brain pondered, hesitating. The offer, though generous, made him feel rather... helpless and awkward, as if he was intruding.

"You're welcome to any of the food and stuff. I've got havarti," she smirked.

Pinky gasped again.

"Oh, please, please, please, please, pleeeeaaaaase, Brain?!?" Pinky pleaded again.

"You're... sure you wouldn't mind?" Brain asked. "I'd hate to intrude...."

"My house is yours," Rachel said genuinely. "And it comes with a pool table," she added, winking at Pinky.

Pinky was doing his utmost to contain a squeal, biting his lip and practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet. Brain rolled his eyes.

"Oh, all right...," he relented.

"YAAAAAY!!" exclaimed Pinky, jumping into Rachel's outstretched hand, followed by Brain, as she lifted them up onto her shoulder.

"You'll have to hide in my backpack on the way to the car," she said. "The next guy is about to swap out with me."

And she pulled her backpack up from off the floor and plopped it onto the desk, opening it up. Pinky sprung off her shoulder as if it was a diving board, plunging into the depths of the backpack, which, by all accounts, wasn't very deep. Pinky didn't seem to mind, though. He had fun "swimming" around amongst the snacks, car keys, pencils, wallet, and little sketchpad all the same. Brain simply shook his head, unable to keep a smile off his face. What an idiot.

Rachel was as good as her word. They were given the guest bedroom, along with access to the rest of the house, food included. Provided they didn't draw too much attention to themselves, they were allowed to tinker and plan all they liked within the safety of the back room, and lie low they did, for Acme Labs was on the hunt for a good number of weeks before they gave up on finding them entirely.

Pinky was quite fond of the seemingly unlimited amount of cheese available in the fridge, along with the plethora of movies Rachel had at her disposal. He was often to be found in front of the television, and if he wasn't there he was by Brain's side almost constantly. Brain was most grateful for the space in which to concoct experiments and conjure up plans for world domination, although he had to improvise more often than not, seeing as he didn't have all of the lab's equipment at his beck and call anymore. It was something he sorely missed, but he couldn't say he minded the warm bed and good food that came with their new living quarters either. It was... nice.

Once in a blue moon (which ended up being once a month), Pinky would request Lady and the Tramp for movie night, not just because he liked it, but because of Brain's unusual reaction to it. He liked to watch him subconsciously lean up against Rachel as they sat next to her, eventually breaking down into a fit of silent tears as "La La Lu" danced around the room. Sometimes Rachel would pick him up, holding him close and massaging his head as he calmed against her chest. Oftentimes, Pinky would join them, cuddling up next to Brain as they nuzzled together in Rachel's warm hands.

"I love you, Brain," Pinky would mumble sweetly, giving him an extra squeeze.

"I love you, little one," whispered Rachel, petting him softly.

I love you, too, said Brain in his own little way, holding them both just a tiny bit tighter, a smile creeping its way up onto his face. It was nice, being loved....

~ I love you, too. ~

The End

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

The ending of this is meant to be sort of an alternate to Pinky, Elmyra, and the Brain. What if they'd ended up there after running away from Acme instead of at Elmyra's?

I didn’t realize until after writing this that it makes no sense for Rachel to be cool with Brain talking one minute, only to be surprised by it the next. It’s a glaring error on my part, but I left it in as a reminder to myself that I need to be more careful. Lol.

Technically, this whole thing is a self-insert, although the name of the girl is not my real name. It’s actually the cognomen of my very first rat. Ha-ha. But the personality of the character is me -- how I talk; act around animals; and most likely what I’d do if put into this situation. The exception is the chase scene. I don’t think I’d act that... panicked? Who knows, though....

This is kind of a way I show compassion for Brain, seeing as I cannot, of course, give him an actual hug. I love Brain more than any other fictional character I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching on screen. It’s not a romantic love or anything. Certainly not. It’s more... maternal. The desire to love and protect is strong. That combination of: individual with a tragic backstory + laboratory setting + main character who happens to be a mouse = the perfect concoction to turn my heart to mush. I owned rats for many years and have a great love for animals, and tend to get attached to certain fictional characters, so here you have the result. He’d be as averse as ever to physical affection, but if I could hold Brain in my hands, plant a kiss on his head, and tell him he’s loved. I would. Thank God for Pinky.

[wixelt]

Season β AU #002 - Welcome to β

So when we last left off on the Season β AU, the Hermits had been kidnapped by shadow doubles of themselves & dropped into an unknowable reality made up of an infinite blue jungle under an empty, Void-like sky. So, what’s next from there in the weird dream I had?

Well, from here, things get a little less ordered, but i’ll set it up as best I can.

- All the Hermits wake alone, with no-one else nearby, something i’m certain my unawake mind drew from @hermitcraftheadcanons’ Scattered AU (check it out if you haven’t, it’s great). I can tell from this that my dream originally intended this to be an alt version of Season 7 - though it isn’t now - as one of the “arriving alone” bits was Scar turning up in the jungle, as he does at the start of S7 (was in full wizard gear in my dream, to boot :P ). I want to play with the most recent info on S7, though, so post-S7 it is instead.

- There’s a few things various Hermits find odd or outright alarming beyond just what they can see after doing the normal “player” thing of crafting some basic tools to survive to take their mind off the panic. X discovers his admin powers are completely gone. They’re not even inaccessible, they’re just... not there. Anyone else who has command access notices this quite quickly too, & nobody misses the complete lack of access to communications.

- And all of the Hermits, beyond this, find that mining & crafting is broken somehow. Mumbo swings his fist to punch a tree, & cries out in pain, the wood far harder than even his practiced hands were ready for. It’s nothing more than a sting, & he’s fine once he’s gotten used to it, but it came as a shock, & rather than getting a log block for his troubles, he watches the section of tree, on his final punch, explode into a million useless splinters of wood, only a few large enough to put in his inventory. After a while, the Hermits begin to find that, with enough of these fragments, they can build a rudimentary sword (False manages this faster than most others), or a pick, or some planks, but it makes everything far more of a slog, as if the world is fundamentally dragging them down.

- In the months to follow - in the part of this that reminds me of Sky Factory - they will find that stone has the same problem, but worse. Stone drops... nothing. Absolutely nothing. Same with anything else underground, which would be bad for ore mining... if there were any ores to mine. Instead, through much trial & error, the Hermits find that crafting enough layers, combinations & types of wood & dirt together (in my dream I saw someone crafting thousands of Rubies together to get something - so I guess Rubies also exist here) - like those mods that have compressed blocks - gets you stone, & magnitudes more effort beyond that to get iron, gold, redstone, etc. Magnitudes further still to get even a single, tiny fragment of diamond, & then there’s netherite, & the other top tier, heavy duty materials & tools Minecraft has.

- By a year into this hell, the Hermits collectively have maybe enough diamond for less than half a set of armor between them, & no netherite to speak of. It hasn’t exactly been their main focus, though.

- With that initial panic out of the way, maybe it’s time to introduce you to where the Hermits are. This is Season β. That isn’t it’s actual name, if it even has one, but as far as the Hermits’ season system works, it’ll suit it well enough. It’s a sort of underlying junk/echo reality (in the part of the dream that was probably drawn from the Backrooms creepy-pasta) that runs beneath the entire Minecraft multiverse. All the echoes of worlds, all the little bits of lost history or forgotten places that never should have been or that simply slipped through the cracks... this is what β is. The place where all these various never weres have coalesced into an infinite, broken place where the usual rules of the Minecraft realms don’t consistently apply... and the Hermits are stuck here.

- β isn’t entirely this infinite, headache inducing blue jungle. This is just one layer of the dark infinity. There’s at least 11 layers, though I imagine there’s actually infinite or functionally infinite amounts. In my dream, I remember there was mentioned a 6th Layer, a 10th Layer, and I think an 11th Layer. I recall that one layer, I think the 10th Layer, was gradually “eating” away at another layer despite them being supposedly infinite, probably the 11th, in my dream, so in order to have the Hermits not immediately have to deal with that metaphysical clusterfrick, i’m stating now that the “Jungle” is the 6th Layer. How the Hermits are meant to get from layer to layer, or if they’d even want to, is undetermined.

- This endless hell is, well, just that: hell. And nothing shows that more than when a Hermit dies for the first time. It’s False who’s the unfortunate one. Being one of the most resourceful of the group, she manages to craft a stone sword within the first few weeks, sets up some basic shelter, & even manages to reunite with a couple of the other Hermits after days of trekking for miles & miles at a time, herself Ren & Stress managing to build a perimeter to keep out the mobs, which have thankfully been both keeping to their normal behaviors despite a few anomalies & been spawning in lesser numbers due to the jungle biome & copious amounts of leaves.

- So when a creeper unfortunately gets the drop of her in the midst of an unexpected mob horde - glowing with red lightning, of all things - and all the Hermits see her death message, it comes as a shock. Thankfully, she had a bed, so she dashes back to where Ren & Stress are waiting... & blinks in surprise as their eyes widen in shock & horror. Unnerved, False catches her reflection in a nearby pool of water... & flinches in fear as she sees the empty socket where her right eye used to be, as if it simply vanished. She can still mostly see fine, somehow, but her right eye’s “vision” is strange and hazy, with occasional flickering, & she swears she keeps seeing something moving in the corner of her eye, despite Ren & Stress assuring her there’s nothing there. And that’s not even getting into the strange, single black tally line that she later finds has appeared on her left shoulder like some sort of tattoo...

- This, unfortunately, isn’t the extent or even the specific outcome that awaits someone each time they die. It has the potential to get quite... odd. False got off quite lightly the first time losing an “eye”, all things considered.

- It is over a year before Grian - who was left behind from the party due to illness - sees any of his friends again. Through a means I haven’t yet decided on, he finds some manner of reaching β, albeit one-way & by accident, while searching for everyone with assistance from others. What he finds, though still his friends & relieved to see him, isn’t as pristine as he remembers. Time in β has not been kind.

- And I've decided it is Grian who gets left behind, rather than Jevin. I had this thought that maybe my dream “labelled” it as Grian but meant Jevin because in one part of the dream Grian appears “slimy” & face paint seems to melt right off him due to that (was an odd moment even with context). But given what β can do to people, apparently, i’m willing to lock the one left behind in as Grian.

Cutting it off again. Still a few things I haven’t gotten into, I think, but this is already a long post. :P