#now that hes more or less healed i just have to hang on til he fuckin leaves

[merry-the-cookie]

havent wished on my little brothers demise in a while but lucky for me hes keen on reminding me why i couldnt stand him when he still lived at home <3 cant wait for him to crawl back to paris

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 131

Frontierland/Flesh and Stone

“Frontierland”

Plot Description: Sam and Dean are sent back in time to the Wild West so they can meet Samuel Colt and asking for his help in defeating Eve

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: I don’t think I’d find myself in 1860s Wyoming…much less in a shootout there

I literally cannot with this show sometimes. WE UNSANK AND RESANK THE TITANIC YESTERDAY. CAN WE LEAVE THE TIME TRAVEL TO THE LAST OF THE TIME LORDS PLEASE. Like…remember when, aside from the existence of monsters, this show had any roots in reality? It’s still fun as…well, hell is demonstrably NOT fun. But it is solidifying itself as the “put that guy in situations” show

Y’all are both some NERDS (affectionate). Geeking out about having access to Samuel Colt’s journal. Also the fact that Dean knows as much as he does about Star Trek????? Hello??

Is she (the angel Cas sent) wrong though?? Do they not only call Cas when they need something??? While he’s fighting a war in heaven??? I get they can’t exactly reciprocate helping him out but damn

Dean 🤝 Sokka: older brothers who enjoy three things: meat, sarcasm, and shopping. Dean just went on a whole spree for their 24 hour trip to 1860s Wyoming

Oh…this isn’t going at all how you planned. You were so excited to be in the old west, and then you get immediately made fun of

You could have been anyone. You could have been just yourself, but you had to go and be Clint Eastwood, didn’t you? And then made Sam Walker Texas Ranger, which is…wild to hear in 2023 from whenever this episode aired

Can’t tell if the guy the town hanged was the phoenix because he told the people physically close to him they’d all burn for this or if that was a blatant red herring

I was right. It was just foreshadowing. At the same time, the commitment this show has to making monsters look like just some guy…

Sam, Dean’s having a hard time with not fitting in here, let him have his “posse magnet” and “I love posse” jokes just got now

Aw not Rachel. I liked her…oh god, Cas. Noooo.

Dean’s the sheriff now??

Somehow, Sam was the right person to send to go get Samuel Colt, but in the weirdest way possible. Like, told him he was from 2011 and then handed over his iPhone or whatever as proof

Good thing Castiel came to with an hour left in the boys’ excursion

Excuse me?? What have you two been doing for almost a full hour?? There’s two minutes left, your conversation about how the only way to heal Castiel enough so he can go retrieve the boys was to touch Bobby’s soul only took a couple minutes.

There really are too many people ACTUALLY burning to death in the shows I watch. It’s not fair to me personally.

Love it when they do something for a whole episode and it’s seemingly for absolutely nothing

Ah yes. The classic surprise delivery from the past trope. The “this has been sitting around the post office for so long we thought it was a joke. It’s real??”

“Been On My Mind…”: No. 3?

"Flesh and Stone"

Plot Description: The Doctor and his friends are forced to escape through the forest vault after they are surrounded by the Weeping Angels.

The Doctor keeps telling them to not take their eyes of the Angels, and what do they keep on doing?? NOT LOOKING AT THE ANGELS

(I really need to stop waiting so long to watch this...because...it's just not good for my ability to pay attention, not that there's a lot to comment on yet. They're just running from the Angels)

...I don't remember why Amy keeps counting down...

Oh, Amy, if you think a forest on a spaceship is cool, wait til you see DINOSAURS on a spaceship

Fuck...the Angels are making Amy do the count down because its FUN for them. Goddamn.

I'd be acting so much more scared than Amy is in her position. She has to rely on everyone else to not blink while she's not allowed to open her eyes. She's been left by the Doctor again, and not even River can stay with her.

It's a beautiful shot, but it's also so sad...Amy, completely abandoned in the forest, not able to open her eyes, and the Angels trying to close in. Every time she tries to get someone to stay, they leave.

How did Eleven get the reputation of being the silly goofy Doctor?? The way he has scarily yelled in just about every episode so far…

The angels were scarier when we never saw them move.

Well that’s taken care of the angels and the wall crack……..for now

I do love the pandorica stuff…those are some really good episodes

“If you like” is probably the best response to “can I trust you?” I just really love River

I just…really don’t love that last scene between Amy and the Doctor 😐

[dembenchboys]

Don’t - Tyson Jost

AN: this has been in my notes for like 6-7 months now I hope you enjoy! It’s based if the song don’t by Ed Sheeran.

Warnings: cheating and a mention of sex nothing detailed at all.

Word count: 1.9k

I met this girl late last year

She said, “Don’t you worry if I disappear”

“Yes.” That's the response Layla whispered in Tyson’s ear after he asked her to spend the night with him. As he planted more open mouth kisses to her neck, Tyson could feel her breath quicken and her plus racing up.

Tyson wasn't expecting to be taken back by the stunning brunette with green eyes who he locked eye contact with as she was busy dancing in the corner with her girlfriends when he went to the local bar Monday night with the boys for a simple night of relaxing. When they bumped into one other at the counter and she introduced herself to him while grabbing a drink, he wasn't expecting his heart to race a little quicker. He hadn't expected to be bringing her home at the end of the night, yet here he was, holding her hand as they climbed into the car he had booked for them.

What Tyson really wasn't prepared for was the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he woke up to an empty bed and a piece of paper on his nightstand with only 11 numbers scribbled on it.

I told her I’m not really looking for another mistake

I called an old friend thinking that the trouble would wait.

Tyson realized he should've tossed the little letter away as soon as he got off the phone with JT who reminded him to think with his head and recommend throwing it away. But Tyson, on the other hand, was always one to follow his emotions rather than his mind or gut instincts. After all, he was known as a softy for a reason. His head was telling him that he should simply toss the paper away since it was just going to cause him misery. His emotions, on the other hand, were reminding him of how he felt last night when he made eye contact with her. They were reminding him of how his heart raced and how he felt a nervous pulse in his stomach for the first time in a long time.

So, four mornings after waking up to an empty bed, he decided to take the plunge and message her. He realized that texting her at 11:00 a.m. would not lead her to believe it was a booty call. Tyson opted to keep it short and sweet, only saying, "Hey, how are you?" And before he could back out, he sent the message, not realizing how drastically those four words would impact his year.

It was 10:45 p.m., according to the clock. Tyson had become increasingly nervous as Layla had yet to reply. He was thinking to himself, what if he had waited too long, what if she had just left the note out of kindness and didn't mean it? But his phone vibrated in his hand just as he was about to turn it off and put it away for the night. And there was a text message from Layla on his phone screen, saying, "I'm okay, what's up?" “Have you finally missed me enough to send a text?” Tyson felt the blood rush to his checks at that moment, as he hoped she didn't realize how long he had been waiting, but she did. Tyson decided to make up for the fact that he hadn't spoken to her in four days, so he spent the rest of the night getting to know the lovely woman he thought had a good heart.

But then I jumped right in a week later, returned

I reckon she was only looking for a lover to burn

Tyson decided to invite Layla over after about a week of talking with her through his phone and tossing the idea around in his head. He had all of the spare time in the world before heading to Alberta since the Avs season had just ended.

Tyson had discovered recently she was a CU Denver student. So when they agreed on a Saturday, Tyson realized she wouldn't have classes, so he wouldn't have to worry about her cancelling, but he was still worried that she wouldn't actually show up. When a soft knock came to his door around 1:00 p.m., those nerves faded.

When Tyson awoke to an empty bed on the Tuesday morning he was supposed to leave for home, he wasn't surprised. Tyson found himself going to bed with someone and waking up alone more often after that Saturday afternoon spent with Layla at his place.

Then I put it on pause until the moment was right

I went away for months until our paths crossed again

After waking up alone on that Tuesday morning when he had to leave, Tyson wanted to put some space between himself and the situation. Tyson knew that if he went down that particular road with Layla, his heart wouldn't be able to heal if anything bad happened. Tyson tried not to think about her during his time in Alberta, but it became more difficult with each passing day. Tyson found his feelings growing towards her each day. He found himself thinking about her at odd times throughout the day, hanging with his family? Layla. Sitting around the fire pit? Layla. in bed right before he closed his eyes? Layla. She was an addiction, the kind you get when you try a new treat and can't stop thinking about it.

Tyson promised himself he wouldn't message her again until he returned to Colorado, and he kept his word. He'd been back in the city for about three weeks before he decided to pick up where they'd left off.

She told me, "I was never looking for a friend

Maybe you could swing by my room around ten

Baby, bring the lemon and a bottle of gin

We'll be in between the sheets 'til the late AM"

After several late-night phone calls to catch up, Layla eventually told Tyson what this meant to her after he invited her to dinner. “Around 1:00 a.m. on a Monday morning, she muttered to him, "I'm more into the friends with benefits situation right now." Tyson was definitely devastated but he was willing to take whatever Layla had to offer.

Tyson was unprepared for the feeling he got when he glanced down at his phone after leaving JT’s apartment to see a text that said, "baby, I'm swinging by your place with a bottle." Tyson knew that meant he'd wake up alone in the morning, yet he didn't care at the time.

Tyson and Layla had been seeing each other more and more in recent weeks. Tyson’s feelings for Layla became stronger over time, but he never expressed them. He just loved her company, and if that meant getting lost in the sheets more often than not, so be it.

And for a couple weeks I only wanna see her

We drink away the days with a takeaway pizza

Tyson was in a slump, he wasn't producing on the ice as he wanted to, and the media was branding him a draft bust because of it. As a result, he found himself blocking others out, with the exception of one individual. Tyson discovered that Layla was the only one he truly wished to be with. She didn't mention hockey at all, because they could easily lose themselves in each other and block out the rest of the world. They'd eat as much takeout pizza as Tyson's diet permitted.

Yet something changed between them in those few weeks. Layla confessed to developing feelings for the curly-haired boy. As a result, they opted not to label what they were doing, but they did promise not to see other people. Not that Tyson was doing so before.

Wish I'd have written it down, the way that things played out

When she was kissing him, how I was confused about

Now she should figure it out.

Tyson should have known something was wrong when Layla started staying at school longer than usual, but he didn't think much of it, assuming it was just finals. Tyson should have known something was wrong because she took longer to respond to his text messages and began avoiding his phone calls, but he was so wrapped up in the feeling she gave him that he didn't notice. When Layla failed to pick him up from the airport on Sunday morning, Tyson should have known something was wrong, but he just convinced himself she slept in.

But two things happened when the car he ordered from the airport arrived in front of Layla's apartment and he saw her kissing the kid from her biology class: one, Tyson's heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach, and two, something clicked and everything made sense to him.

That afternoon, at Tysons' place, he had to have a conversation he would never forget .Layla explained that she genuinely wanted to be with him and that she was just messing around with Tyler, the name of the kid from biology, because she wanted to be official with Tyson. And in a relationship, she puts a significant importance on trust and respect.

So they agreed to become an official couple that day, and the eight weeks that followed were some of the happiest memories Tyson had managed to make.Tyson grew more and more in love with Layla with each passing day, and he indulged in it. He treasured the cuddles and long conversations late at night. Tyson was certain he was in love with Layla, or Ly as he began to refer to her. He was about to reveal her to the group of people in his life that he held in high regard: his teammates.

She was crying on my shoulder, I already told ya

Trust and respect is what we do this for

I never intended to be next

But you didn't need to take him to bed, that's all

And I never saw him as a threat

Until you disappeared with him to have sex, of course

Tyson wasn't expecting to see Layla on the sofa on top of Tyler from biology when he stepped into Layla's apartment on the morning of the 23rd, three days before their three-month anniversary, ready to celebrate because he'd be on the road. But that is precisely what he saw.

Layla didn't know she'd been caught until the beautiful white roses fell to the ground and the door slammed shut  from behind her.

As the knock on Tyson's door rang through the silent apartment, Tyson knew that all that had occurred in the previous year, his best days, and the one person  he could turn too would all be gone in less than 20 minutes.

Tyson had never expected to have a conversation like this one in his dark, relatively clean apartment. When Layla cried on his shoulder, he reminded her of their compromise on trust and respect, telling her, "If you were unhappy, you should have left, I never saw him as a threat, well, before you slept with him of course."

But after all of the screaming and pleading, Layla gathered her belongings and closed the door to Tyson's apartment; the sound that echoed in the house was almost close to Tyson's heart beating in his chest.

As Tyson came into the dressing room the next morning, feeling dishevelled, he grumbled to JT that he should have just thrown it out.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

the fall of the red king

again, not a request. just an idea that intrigued me

what if, instead of charging into the crastle and dying, Skizz had stayed outside and Ren had been the Dogwarts red to die instead?

no i’m not in denial about Skizz’s death idk why you’d think that

…

  “I’m going in!” Skizz roars, charging for the crastle door. 

  Ducking under a flaming arrow, Martyn pursues him and catches his wrist by the door. “No! They’ll slaughter you!”

  Skizz tries to pull his wrist free. “Let go of me, Martyn! My bloodlust is HUNGRY!” 

  “We can’t afford to lose you, Skizz!” Martyn says pleadingly. “You’ve already taken two lives today; that’s enough for now!”

  After a moment, Skizz growls and nods. “Fine. But I wanna shoot someone.”

  He and Martyn rush back out to join the others and both start firing arrows up at the crastle. 

  Within seconds, a flaming arrow hits Ren in the shoulder, causing him to yell out and stagger back a few steps. 

  “The golden apple, Ren!” Etho yells at him. “Eat it, quick!”

  After yanking out the arrow, Ren scoffs down the golden apple, which heals him a fair amount. But he’s still dangerously exposed. 

  “Look, Impulse is up there!” calls Martyn suddenly. “He’s with them!”

  Skizz stares up at the crastle in horror. Sure enough, he can see Impulse through one of the slit windows, firing arrows down on them alongside Tango, Grian, and Bdubs. 

  “Impulse, what are you doing?!” Skizz bellows.

  “I’ve chosen my side!” Impulse’s voice yells back over the noise of battle. “This is where my allegiance lies now! Sorry, Skizz!”

  Skizz’s eyes flash red, red hot fury surging through his whole body. “I’m gonna kill you!”

  “Don’t fight angry, Skizzle,” Ren snaps at him, momentarily distracting himself from the fight. “Don’t let-!”

  He breaks off with a yell of pain as a second arrow strikes him in the chest. 

  “REN!” Skizz screams in horror, watching Ren fall. 

  Martyn immediately dashes towards his king but now he’s distracted too and an arrow hits him in the side, sending him down. 

  As Skizz freezes in horror, Etho springs into action and dashes towards Martyn, using his shield to protect him from further arrows. “Skizzle, go to Ren!”

  Managing to shake himself out of his stupor, Skizz rushes to Ren’s side and hurriedly drags him behind one of the stone hiding spots Etho made on the battlefield. Ren’s skin was already grey but it seems even more so now, so pale that it’s almost snow white. His hands go to the arrow in Ren’s chest, ready to pull it out, but something stops him. 

  Ren’s eyes are closed, his chest still. But it’s not until his communicator buzzes violently that Skizz realises what’s happened. The shot went straight through Ren’s heart. On his lowered health, he never stood a chance. 

Renthedog was shot by Grian

  Skizz’s stomach drops. His king is dead. Forever. He’s never coming back. 

  And it’s all Skizz’s fault. 

  “We gotta get Martyn back to Dogwarts!” calls Etho suddenly. “Skizzle, leave Ren for now and help me with Martyn.”

  “I-I can’t just leave Ren’s body behind!” cries Skizz. 

  “We can come back for it, Skizzle. If we try to take it now, we’re gonna lose more lives!”

  Skizz knows that Etho is right. Reluctantly rising to his feet, he dashes over to Etho, who’s still angling his shield over Martyn. “Get Martyn back to Dogwarts,” he says urgently. “I’ll cover you.”

  “Okay.” Skizz nods shakily but determinedly. “Stay safe.”

  “You too.” 

  Skizz carefully lifts Martyn to his feet and slings Martyn’s arm over his shoulder, supporting him. Martyn’s face is pale and his breathing shallow. Skizz doesn’t know if he’s even registered Ren’s death. 

  “I got you, buddy,” he murmurs, starting the journey back to Dogwarts. “I got you.”

  Thankfully, Etho’s cover gets them out of range of the crastle, so they’re able to speed up and get back to Dogwarts within minutes. Skizz and Etho take Martyn down to the underground area and lie him down on his bed. 

  “What do we do now?” Skizz asks nervously. “Do we need to take the arrow out?”

  Etho nods. “Yes. Go get something to stop the bleeding or he’ll bleed out as soon as we take it out.”

  Together, Skizz and Etho manage to remove the arrow from Martyn’s side and immediately begin treating the wound, preventing any major blood loss. Apart from a sudden and terrifying scream when the arrow was wrenched out of his body, Martyn doesn’t react to anything they do. He remains semi-conscious and feverish throughout their treatment of him, constantly stirring as if about to wake up.

  This makes Skizz very nervous. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asks, as Etho is finishing winding the bandage around Martyn’s side. “I mean… he’s… he’s really out of it. Is this normally how people react when they get an arrow yanked out of them?”

  “Honestly, I don’t really know. But his wound seems to be healing already and his skin is less pale, so those are good signs. I think he just needs to rest and he should be fine.”

  “Good.” Skizz exhales in relief. “Good. Is it okay if I stay with him?”

  “Absolutely,” Etho replies. “I was gonna suggest that, actually. I’ll keep watch outside.” 

  “Okay. Good luck.”

  Etho nods back to him and, after briefly washing his hands, leaves the room. 

  Skizz pulls up a chair beside the bed and sits down in it. Martyn seems to be asleep now, to his relief. It was far more scary when he was semi-conscious and restlessly twitching. Now at least he’s getting some rest. 

  He wishes he could get some rest too. He’s exhausted, physically and mentally. But he can’t. All he can think about is Ren, and how he died right in front of him. How Ren’s body is still out there by the enemy base, all alone. The crastle people might have taken it and hung it up on the outside of the castle as a symbol of triumph or revenge. 

  Skizz knows he let Ren down badly. And that guilt will keep him up at night for a long time to come. 

  Finally, after what feels like days, Martyn stirs and lets out a soft groan. 

  Smiling with relief, Skizz watches his eyes slowly open and register him. “Hey,” he says gently. “How you feeling?” 

  Martyn gazes back at him with hollow eyes, and instead of answering Skizz’s question, after a pause, he asks one of his own. “Ren’s dead, isn’t he.”

  Except it’s not really a question. 

  Skizz’s soft smile falls and he gives a sombre nod. “I’m sorry. I-I was too slow.”

  Martyn leans back and squeezes his eyes shut for a few seconds, before letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s not your fault. We were always going to lose someone in that battle.”

  “It should have been me, though. I should have-.”

  “No.” Martyn sits up again, wincing quietly as he does, and shakes his head firmly. “Don’t do that to yourself, Skizz. Ren made his choice to fight alongside us right in the line of fire, despite knowing there was a chance he would die, because he valued our lives just as much as he valued his own. He wouldn’t want you to wish you’d died instead.”

  Skizz hangs his head and says nothing.

  After a moment, Martyn reaches out and pats his shoulder. “Has he been buried yet?”

  “No, I… I had to leave his body behind to get you outta there alive,” Skizz replies quietly. 

  “Then as soon as I’ve recovered, we’ll go get it together,” Martyn says. “We’ll give him a proper funeral and say our goodbyes, just the three of us. Okay?”

  Skizz nods slowly and grasps Martyn’s shoulder. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you’re alive, buddy. When I saw that arrow hit you, I… I was so scared that I’d lost you too.” 

  “Hey, it’ll take more than just a little arrow to take me down.”

  “You literally lost your first life to an arrow.”

  “After it took THREE players to get me down to half a heart,” complains Martyn mildly. “I was about twenty blocks from Dogwarts when I died. If it wasn’t nighttime, I would’ve made it.”

  Skizz grins weakly. “Uh huh, sure.”

  The two chuckle but quickly fall silent at the same time, their thoughts travelling back to their fallen friend. 

  “What do we do now?” Skizz asks quietly. “We don’t have a leader.”

  “We’ll be our own leader,” says Martyn. “You, me, and Etho will make one hell of a team. We’ll avenge our king, no matter what it takes. But until then, we carry on as normal, make them think they’ve defeated us.”

  Skizz nods firmly. “Alright, yes. Anyway, I should let you get some rest. I’ll be right outside if you need me, okay?”

  “Okay. Thanks, Skizz.”

  Skizz gets up and heads to the door but pauses and glances back at his friend. “I just want you to know that the loyalty I have for you is just as strong as the loyalty I had for Ren. I’m with you ‘til the end, okay? No matter what.”

  Martyn gives him a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’m with you too.” 

  After a moment, Skizz leaves and shuts the door behind him. He sits down on the other side, leaning against it, and buries his face in his hands and cries. His grief for Ren is finally pouring out. 

  Unbeknownst to him, Martyn has lain back down in his bed and closed his eyes, crying quietly for his fallen king. He can see that Skizz is suffering just as much as he is but he knows that they’ll get through this. 

  Their grief may be strong but their loyalty is stronger. 

[kaebedom-me]

OKOKOK SO I HAD AN IDEA-- so like maybe modern AU where childe is a tattoo artist/piercing guy and you've been friends for a long time and one day u go in for a nipple piercing and things get ✨spicy✨

Ok but this au is [chef's kiss] thank your for this opportunity

You being friends with tattoo artist Childe is like him showing off new tattoos he did or new designs he made all the time

He texts at really odd hours of like designs? Asks you how they are and spams your phone til you wake up

You gotta tell him to go tf to sleep wtf

You like bring him snacks and stuff when you go hang at his place too like pastries and stuff?

Idk why i just see modern Childe really digging pastries

Also being friends w Childe and the two of you not acknowledging your feelings? So it's also just flirty and y'all doing bs things for the longest time

If you're into tattoos!!! He's always willing to give you them for free and you have to yell at him to take your money???

But he also gives you really good advice for your tattoos and stuff?

If you manage to convince him to take your money after a tattoo he gives you free touch ups

Just the best man i think he's treats his friends the best

So you wanna get your nipple pierced by Childe huh

Ok, but honestly i think he'd take it real seriously? Like he'll tell you about the precautions and as stuff and what happens after?

Like he cares a lot for you so uwu he wants the best for you

Like you tell him one day after strolling in with a fresh croissant and you're kinda nervous and he can tell?

You tell him eventually tho and he take a while to process the information? HAHAA one you're asking him, your friend for the longest time, to pierce your nipple

He'll ask if you're sure and tells you the stuff? And asks you again if you're sure and you're like yeah

Then he like fucking smirks at you HAHAHAH his usual less serious self like "oh you know you'll have to take off your clothes for that right"

HAHAH you like all confident at first but his damn charming ass smirk just makes you falter?? Jajdjdlsjd

But you're also all like "yeah are you gonna do it or do i have to find someone else"

And his eyes darken right just a bit before returning to his normal eyes and is all like of course I'll do it in your friend i wouldn't do you wrong and you shouldn't just let anyone pierce your nipple

And he takes you to the backroom uwu tells you to strip

Admittedly, this was a little more nerve wracking then you thought because

Childe's not talking to you like- um hello?

Honestly, he takes his job pretty seriously? So he won't pull anything on you til after his done

But y'all the tension in the air as you lie half naked on the cold ass leather Childe and him disinfecting his equipment and not talking

Honestly just ask him to take you tf

I wrote like smth else already but i suddenly have a different better idea so here you horny bitches go

So you're a little stressed now because Childe isn't really Childe and you're like nervous

And he's like "aw don't be scared it's just me" moving closer to you with the needle

You're horny and your scared now no turning back man

And you're stiff so Childe tells you it's going to hurt more if you're not relaxed and you're like "how can i be relaxed when your looking at me like you're about to slit my throat"

For the first time since y'all went into the room he laughs

Shakes his head and gives you some space to calm down a little and waits like a lil puppy

And listen you're in good hands because Childe does his job very seriously and is very experienced so you'll be ok

And you're calmer so you just tell him to get it over with

So Childe tries his best to make it as painless as possible right

And I'll interrupt this building tension now to tell you Childe at this point has figured out your plan to like lowkey seduce him and bitch he's so into it

Anyway he leans down to pierce your nipple with the needle and you're like looking because you don't know where else to look

He tells you stay still and try to not to jolt when he pierces through your nipple and that you might feel a bite

Childe once he gets a good angle on your nipple leans downward a little more and kisses the bottom of your chest

The half whimper half gasp you let out almost had Childe lose his composure but he doesn't and swiftly continues with the procedure

You're honestly trying so hard not to buck up into him or squirm because honestly you feel like you just came from the sensation and the tension when he kissed you as he looked at you

Your brains so fried rn dude

So it ends relatively painless but god you're so turned on its unreal

Childe laughs and is ready to send you on your way when you pull at his shirt to bring him down for a proper kiss

He kisses back with the same intensity

He won't push further than a grinding and a sloppy make out session though he's got a shop to run

And is very careful he doesn't touch your newly pierced nipple because he doesn't want it to get infected

After though i think y'all just fall into a relationship? Like you don't really talk about it because you just know you aren't just friends anymore

After after thought when you're fully healed Childe's back on his bs

Is all smug like "hey how's your nipple piercing" tells you to strip again so he can check

You know what happens next uwu

[cake-writes]

Reparations

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: fucked up relationship dynamics due to shared trauma, enemies to lovers (kind of), smut, femdom, edging, begging, breeding kink, fluff if you squint, 18+

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: written whilst listening to this & this. i’m clearly in my feels tonight lmao

At first, Bucky almost thinks you don’t remember.

The two of you are at a seedy bar in the middle of nowhere, on a mission that neither of you particularly want to be on, but he’s here, you’re here, and you’re doing your best to make it work. As always. You’ve never gotten along at the best of times because there’s always been some tension there burning under the surface, ready to boil over, just waiting to come out—

And Bucky’s always waiting.

He waits, because he knows that he’s the cause.

He waits, but the fire doesn’t come. The anger. The resentment he deserves. It’s been over a year since the two of you started working together, for good things this time, and nothing. No discussion. Not yet.

Not until you corner him back by the bathrooms – shove him back against the wall and tell him in no uncertain terms with those pretty painted lips that you’re going to fuck him when you get back to the motel. Fuck him ‘til he’s begging for you, ‘til he forgets his own name – and then you’ll ride his face, too, if he’s lucky.

Want your mouth on me. But only if you behave.

It’s not a proposition, but a demand, one so unyielding that it has him unravelling at the seams before he can even finish his drink. His heart races at the look in your eyes – dark, dangerous, and full of fire. It’s burning on the outside, now, and that’s when he knows that you remember. Or maybe you always have, and you’ve had enough of the tension. You’re tired of it.

A couple drinks in, and this is how you’ll get your reparations from him.

For the unspeakable things he did to you in the Red Room, where the Soldier forced you and molded you into something unbreakable – but now, the cracks are starting to show. He’s not the only one going to therapy to process the past. He’s not the only one who’d been forced to do things he didn’t want to do.

This, he does. 

Because he’s always had a certain fondness for you despite your brisk demeanour. He can’t explain it; what he did to you, he did to Natasha, too, and while making amends with her was similarly difficult – he never felt like this with her. Never wanted this with her.

This, he wants. This, he craves.

You.

Bucky’s punishment is desire.

It feels like electricity running through his veins when you push him back onto the bed, never mind the order you give him to keep his hands off. And he does, of course he does, because this is meant to be a punishment, one that certainly doesn’t disappoint. It feels like hellfire when you use your fingers and your lips and your cunt to tease him ‘til he’s flushed and delirious, and all that’s rolling off his lips anymore are broken pleas of, “Please, darlin’, please.”

Need you. Want you.

Please.

Bucky doesn’t know if he means stop or continue. He can’t think anymore.

You edge him so many times he loses count. You ride him until your thighs quake, but you still don’t let him touch. His face burns hot from the tension, from the denial, from the desperation that has him begging you to put him out of his misery, but what you respond with is the anger – the aggression – and it’s pure, unbridled torture in the best way.

It’s what you want. It’s what he craves.

And then, when you’re finally, finally satisfied – when you’ve gotten yours at least three times but he really can’t be sure of anything anymore – you slide off of him and give him this shy little smile that breaks him even more.

“It’s your turn,” you tease. “How do you want me?”

And his brain almost short-circuits at the question, because he’s been so focused on doing what he can do for you that it takes him a second to process what you’re asking. What does he want?

You. Just you.

His voice is hoarse when he finally rasps, “On your back.”

Your brows raise for a moment at his answer – maybe expecting something different, but he doesn’t care because he’s too focused on the gorgeous way you’re leaning back on your elbows, now, and spreading your silky legs for him. All for him.

Prettiest fuckin’ thing he’s ever seen.

There’s your soft laugh, and then, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

And that’s when he realizes he must have said what he was thinking out loud, but there’s a glimmer of amusement in your eyes, now – a little less darkness than before, but they’re still bright as ever in the moonlight cascading through the blinds. Bright, and maybe a little nervous.

Bucky swallows – feels the sudden dryness in his throat. 

“No,” is what he answers, though, coming to lay in between your spread thighs, vibranium arm holding his weight beside your head. “Just you.”

Another quiet giggle as he lines himself up, and then he presses in – and your laughter is promptly replaced by a gasp. You’re still so slick and tight despite everything you’ve already done – but what really drives him crazy is the way you wrap your legs around his waist to draw him closer.

It’s intimate. It’s good. It’s you.

“Shit, Bucky,” you whimper, burying your face in his neck as your arms clutch around his back. Your hands are fumbling – nails dig into his ass, drag up his spine, and he feels you squirming beneath him, hears your breath going shallow, knows it’s working for you. You just can’t stay still, and he loves the way your body reacts.

It’s working for him, too. He’s been on the edge for so long, now, that he won’t last. He can smell the sweet scent of your shampoo coupled with your sweat and the sex in the air. Sweat dots his brow and he can feel your warmth, your tight heat, your lips on his neck—

“I’m close,” he whispers a breathy warning into your ear. “Where should I—?”

Your legs squeeze him tighter, draw him closer, and then you breathe, “Inside. Come inside.”

But having to always be so careful in the 40s is so ingrained in him that his hips stutter—

“Christ, darlin’,” he swears, fisting the pillow above your head to keep himself from blowing straight away. “You can’t just say that—”

But hell if it doesn’t work for him.

“Fill me up,” you encourage him, spreading your legs just a little more, letting him inside just a little deeper. “Wanna feel you. Want you dripping out of me for days.”

And this time, Bucky’s brain does short-circuit, because the 21st century concept of being able to casually finish inside a woman with little risk of pregnancy does things to him. It’s taboo. But god, it’s so good, and he can’t help himself. He shoves himself inside you as far as he can go – comes so fucking hard he practically sees fireworks, because you’ve edged him for so long that he loses another piece of himself with each hot rope of cum he spills inside of you. 

He feels you clench down around him and has some vague realization that his climax has triggered yours, but he’s so damn high he can barely even think.

And then, after he’s come back to himself and gently withdraws, aftercare comes in the form of a warm washcloth he fetches for you, and then he slides into bed beside you – your bed, one of the two in the motel room you’re sharing. Much to his surprise, you let him join you. You let him wrap his arms around you. You rest your head on his chest and trail a finger up and down through the coarse hair there.

It’s clear you’re lost in your thoughts, but so is he. Shared trauma between the two of you hangs heavy in the air, resentment forever unspoken.

“That helped a little,” is what you offer instead. That’s all you can give him yet.

Neither of you have properly acknowledged it to each other, but he knows what you mean. A soft kiss to your forehead is enough for him to convey his response – that he understands, and an even softer kiss to your lips is his apology. 

When you kiss him back, he understands what you mean, too:

It’s not okay, but it will be.

He’s not the only one healing. So are you.

fin

[eyeofthedrgn]

A Heavy Battle Symphony - Chapter 4

New chapter! This chapter is slightly fluffy, still angsty, but much less than previous chapters.

Catch up here: Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

TW: language, mental abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, depression, anxiety, panic attacks, self harm, self-esteem issues, sexual abuse (only alluded to briefly in future chapters), just a lot of trauma, angst, smut - lots of lovely gay smut

Word count: 1685

Chapter 4 - Forgotten

A little piece of paper with a picture drawn

Floats on down the street 'til the wind is gone

And the memory now is like the picture was then

When the paper's crumpled up it can't be perfect again

It was Monday, and he was healed enough that Maeve let him go to school. After a normal morning routine, Lorcan made sure he wore a hoodie that would do a decent job covering his neck. Hood up, hands in his hoodie pocket, head down, he headed to school.

He missed a lot of schoolwork. It was going to be a late night. Luckily, most of the teachers gave him until the end of the week to turn it in.

When P.E. came around, he went straight to the gym rather than the locker room. He found his teacher and handed him his doctor's note. Mr. Brullo sent Lorcan to the library to study. Lorcan was happy about that. He was able to catch up on some of his homework.

Lorcan's handwriting, luckily, wasn't hindered by his cast. Perrington at least broke his right arm, his non-dominant arm. That he was thankful for, if he could be thankful for anything that happened to him.

He was getting a headache from his pre-calc homework. Lorcan rubbed his face with his hand and sighed.

"Lorcan?"

Lorcan grunted and slowly turned to see Elide, who looked relieved to see him. That was interesting. "Oh, uh, hi."

"Aren't you supposed to be in gym?" Lorcan lifted his casted arm. Elide's eyes widened and her lips parted. "Oh." She swallowed. Fuck, here comes the pity. "How-" she closed her mouth. "How'd that happen? We thought you were sick." Why were they concerned?

He told the same story Maeve told the doctor. Something about getting in a fight and falling down stairs, and "you should see the other guy". She didn't seem to believe him, neither did the doctor.

"Can I sit with you?" Lorcan shrugged. She sat down and then proceeded to talk to him about what he missed in creative writing. He didn't realize her voice was so soothing.

"Has anyone signed your cast yet?" She was eyeing the black cast. "I have a silver Sharpie!" She pulled it out of her bag and held it up with a smile.

Lorcan huffed a small laugh. Not being able to say no to that smile, knowing he was going to get in trouble, well, what could really do to him anyway? So, Lorcan carefully pushed up his hoodie sleeve. She smiled brightly at him. He propped his head up on his hand, eyes closed and listened to her hum as she put ink to the black cast.

++++

It was hard to keep from asking Lorcan questions. Elide saw the handprint bruise on his neck, the exhaustion lining his body, and of course, the full arm cast. She thought about how his injuries were formed. Obviously, someone put their hands on him, but who?

She didn't know who he lived with besides his aunt. It was doubtful that a woman had done this sort of damage, but one never knows for sure.

As she put pen to plaster, she kept looking up at his face between strokes of ink. He had drifted off to sleep. His face was slack, a slight snore every time he breathed out. Lorcan looked so innocent like that and dare she say, gorgeous.

Having finished her artwork, she just watched him until the bell rang. She gently brushed a lock of hair off his forehead, delicately tucking it behind his ear. He didn't stir.

Elide wished there was something she could do to get him away from his more than shitty situation. Calling the police was probably out of the question, but that was really the only thing she could think of.

The bell rang.

---

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until he felt his textbook being pulled from under his elbow. "Oh, shit. Sorry," Lorcan furrowed his brow as he started cleaning up his stuff.

"You looked tired, I didn't want to wake you, but it is lunch time." Elide smiled, "and you have to look at your cast!" She seemed so excited about it.

Expecting some nonsense, he was pleasantly surprised to find a nice line drawing from his elbow to his wrist. It was a row of detailed trees with her name under it. Lorcan looked at it with awe. He looked back at Elide, "You did that?" Obviously, she did that. Don't be stupid, Lorcan, he thought to himself.

She giggled. He thought her laugh was adorable. "Obviously." Lorcan's cheeks flushed while he finished packing up before they walked together to lunch in a comfortable silence.

---

He followed Elide through the lunch line, the lunch lady gave him an extra serving. He was probably looking a little gaunt these days having barely eaten for the past week. Lorcan started towards the empty table in the corner.

Apparently, Elide wasn't having any of that as she pulled him to the group table before he could go be alone. Everyone seemed excited to see him. His name was shouted amongst several other greetings. Lorcan felt a tug in his chest as he looked around at the friendly faces. Why were they always trying to be nice to him? And then his eyes fell on the silver haired boy, he instantly forgot what he was thinking. He stared at the green eyed beauty a fraction longer than he should have as he sat down.

Elide introduced everyone. Aelin, Lysandra, Manon, Dorian, Chaol, Fenrys, Connall, Rowan - the silver haired boy - and then Vaughn, who was the last one to join the table.

He was sitting between Elide and Fenrys. Lorcan kept his head down while he ate, feeling very out of place. Everyone was chatting around him, over him, leaning around him. It was a lot. He wished he was alone at the table in the corner.

Rowan spoke up, "Can I sign your cast?" Lorcan jerked his head up. The sleeve of Lorcan's hoodie was still pushed up, he had forgotten to pull it back down which was unusual, but under the current circumstances, it made sense.

Lorcan's heart sped and he suddenly felt warmth spread up his neck. It drove him crazy how much his body reacted of its own accord around Rowan. He wished it would stop.

There was no reason to deny him when the punishment was coming now anyway since Elide's Sharpie touched the cast in the library, so he just shrugged and moved his arm towards the center of the table, towards Rowan.

"Elide, can I borrow your Sharpie?" She handed it over with a nod and went back to animatedly talking to the other girls about something.

Lorcan was careful not to press into the edge of the table, as he adjusted his arm. "I don't think mine will be as pretty as Elide's. Sorry in advance." Lorcan just shrugged a shoulder. He watched Rowan do his little doodle.

Then Rowan grabbed Lorcan's hand to carefully twist his arm to get to a different part of the cast easier causing electricity to shoot through his skin. His breath hitched. The soft fingers lingering on his skin, he never wanted the other boy's hand to move. Lorcan's eyes darted to Rowan's face to see if he noticed anything weird. All he saw was intense concentration, the way his tongue stuck out just a tad and his brows stitched together. Suddenly he was too warm, chest tight, heart pounding. Hellas below.

"There!" Rowan smiled at his silly nonsensical line doodle signed with his name. "All done." That smile did weird things to his stomach and the absence of those warm fingers made all the heat he had just been feeling disappear. A shiver ran down his spine.

Rowan capped the Sharpie and went to hand it back to Elide when Fenrys grabbed it.

"Can I?"

"Yeah." He was screwed anyway.

By the end of lunch, his cast was covered in names and doodles by his... Friends? They couldn't be friends, could they?

As he walked to his next class, he started panicking. His chest tightening for a whole other reason than being in close proximity to a certain boy. A tightness that was only reminiscent of growing anxiety. He shouldn't have let anyone sign it. What was he thinking?

Fuck.

++++

"Lorcan," Rowan breathed as he saw the dark haired boy basically being dragged by Elide to their table. Everyone perked up at that and welcomed him back.

Rowan saw his pained expression. Then, he saw the cast and the light purples, greens, and yellows on his neck that Lorcan was obviously trying to hide with the hood of his hoodie. It looked like a handprint. A fucking handprint. His gut roiled at the thought.

But then Lorcan looked at him, and oh boy, those eyes were going to be the end of him. They were an amazing onyx, almost like pools of night. His cheeks heated and he hoped no one noticed.

He finally got the courage to ask to sign his cast. And when Lorcan leaned over to get his arm closer to Rowan, he noted the stiffness and slight discomfort that flitted over his face. There was so much damage to Lorcan's body that they couldn't see. It made him unbearably sad thinking about it.

For the rest of lunch, while everyone signed Lorcan's cast, Rowan just sat there silently, observing the beautiful dark haired boy. He'd catch his eye every now and then give him a small smile, which was never returned. His eyes just quickly flitted away. Lorcan, he learned was very hard to read.

Rowan wished they could hang out, just the two of them. He wanted to get to know him and help him. And know what those lips felt like, tasted like. How it would feel to thread his fingers through his long dark hair that was usually in a messy bun. Or just to hold his hand. Fuck, he had it bad.

____

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

@thenerdandfandoms @starlightorstarfire

[mcmoth]

So... I just found the song Theseus by The oh hellos, which... really surprised I hadn't found it sooner, being both a dsmp and the oh hellos fan, but oh well. Anyways, I just wanted to ramble about how this song fits c!Tommy, cause my god... the animatic I could make with this,,,

Oh, and this was originally a YouTube comment, btw, so it's maybe less expansive or personal than my usual rambles here would be. I just thought to actually rather post this on tumblr and delete the comment as to not add to the pile of dsmp comments cluttering the original song's feedback ^^ here y'all go:

At the edges of my fingers

Never quite closing round it

Oh, that peace like a river

Always going, but never getting

- How c!Tommy is constantly on the move, always preparing the next plan, always striving for some closure, how his two main priorities right now are safety and honesty - peace - and he tries so hard to get it, always, but in the end, never seems to succeed.

Seems like maybe it's not all that much a place

As it is a way

And ways don't ever seem to want to

Stay too still for too long

- Reminds me heavy of L'manburg. At the start of it, Wilbur did say that L'manburg wasn't a place, it was it's people, it's ideals. Words over violence, fighting back against oppressive authority, and seeking a family. And that's still what c!Tommy holds close to this day. But... as we all know. L'manburg, as it stood, didn't last long in these idealistic hopes.

Isn't that what it's all about?

The slow trickling thaw that sets the banks in half

The sweet melody it makes when the canyons crack

I wanna give it all I've got, and I want nothing

I want nothing back

-The "I wanna give it all i've got, and I want nothing, I want nothing back" makes me envision the season 1 finale, when Tommy tried so hard to fight for L'manburg, against all odds. And as Techno shouted at him to give up on being a hero, he just yelled back that he never wanted to be one, didn't want to be anything, rather "just wanted L'manburg back". For all of them.

Also, the first 3 lines give off cool imagery - the division between the dsmp and L'manburg, the war, the split sides after the election for the "trickling thaw that sets the banks in half", and Wilbur's words and symphony, once hopeful, turned miserable, as it echoes against Pogtopia's walls for "melody it makes when the canyons crack".

Whatever kingdom come, it probably won't come quick

No mighty clarion to announce it

No single use ark to discard in an instant

Like Theseus's ship, we'll fix the busted bits

- makes me think of new L'manburg, of everyone trying to rebuild after the destruction - constructing on top of the remains. Integrating the losses into their future. The creation comes slow, and without fanfare - the healthy bit of it, at least. But that's what's important about it - being able to take something slow for once, and just... working towards something again.

'Til it's both nothing like and everything

It's always been

It's a wonder we expect a thing to

Stay the same at all

- Theseus' ship is a metaphor for how, if you take something apart, one by one, gradually changing it's parts 'till it's all replaced, is the ship still the same ship? Or is it something entirely different now? And I feel like that's an interesting way to view c!Tommy - so much has happened to him, all lives lost. He's lost his spark, he's regained it again, different now. He's lost his friends, he's regained them again, different now. He's lost his brother, he regained him again, different now. So many labels have been assigned to him - hero, liability, toy... is he even Tommy anymore, misaligned pieces of what used to be a full puzzle? Or... is it that, after everything, it's still just him...

Maybe that's what it's all about

We keep fixing what we know is only bound to break

What's worth saving is never worth letting go to waste

I want to mend what I've got, instead of throwing away

- This is so relevant for c!Tommy. Whatever is important to him, he refuses to throw away. The discs, his relationship with Tubbo, trying to reconcile with Techno, not giving up on Wilbur... His whole speech to Foolish, that one stream, highlights this well. If he loves someone, he will never let go. It's worth trying to mend, in his eyes, even if there's no guarantee it won't just break again. Just like his home, rebuilt dozens and dozens of times after all the griefs and opportunities to leave it. He always returns to what is close to him.

Ain't nothing come easy

No, nothing comes quick

It's gonna hurt like hell to become well

But if we set the bone straight

It'll mend It'll fix

And we'll be well

- c!Tommy's whole story has been painful. He gets beat down, more often than not. He goes to get closure in prison, and he returns undead. His bones shattered, feeling reality altered. But he still tries. Still tries to figure out what to do next, what to save next, even as he's tired to the bone. And there's something to say, about that - about how he tried, despite the pain. His healing process is such a mess, but it's a healing process all the same.

Ain't nothing come easy

No, nothing comes quick

But I want for you this, that you are well

I want for us this, that we are well

- That's what c!Tommy wants, in the end. For everyone to be safe from torment, and to have fun. For everyone to be well. It isn't easy, and he's not perfect, and his edges are sharp enough to cut, but he wishes nonetheless. He tends to the server, he asks c!Dream why he doesn't hurt after leaving everything, he preserves Ranboo's flowers; he just wants everything to be okay.

We are well, we are well

We are well, we are well

We are well

- And they will be, I hope. Because if there's one thing that c!Tommy's story has shown, after all the fighting, abuse, arguments, death and grief - it's that he's still alive, and hanging onto hope... And though things are bleak, I'm hoping one day, the whole server, not just c!Tommy, will be able to say "we are well", too.

So... Yeah. Check out the oh hellos if y'all haven't already, their music is wonderful <3

[casuallyimagining]

Just Us

Percy Jackson x Reader Percy Jackson & the Olympians

Anonymous asked: I love your blog! If you are doing requests right now, are you able to do something with Percy and his S/O arguing and making up. Or some angst with a happy ending?

This got a little long. Hope y’all don’t mind :) Enjoy!

Requests are open for headcanons and fics!

The lonely apartment felt weird. It was happening more and more frequently as of late, but that didn’t mean it was any less wrong.

When you and Percy had first moved in together, the apartment on 76th Street had felt so alive. It was perfect, and he was perfect, and nothing could possibly have taken that feeling away. And it had lasted, not forever, of course, but long enough that you were confident that letting yourself fall so hard for the scruffy-haired skater boy from the Upper East Side was the right choice.

Sure, living with the son of Poseidon had its interesting moments, like the pegasi that tended to show up on your fire escape every so often, or the monsters that would sometimes follow you home after date nights. But overall, it was good and it felt right.

Until recently, that is. When the apartment started getting lonelier and lonelier, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that your world was somehow irreparably different. Like how your mouth feels after you get a tooth pulled. Something was missing, even when the apartment wasn’t empty.

Sometimes, it was his mom needing someone to watch Estelle. She was always so happy that Percy wanted to be a part of his little sister’s life. And who were you to deny him that? So off he would dutifully go, often not getting back until after you were asleep, sometimes just staying the night and not getting back until after you had gone to work the next morning.

Other times, it was Jason requesting help making sure both demigod camps had appropriate tributes to every minor god or goddess. You knew the work was tedious, and you knew how much Percy valued his friendship with Jason. So when the son of Jupiter called, you waved dutifully as Percy climbed on Blackjack’s back, not coming back for days, or sometimes even a week or more.

Most times, though, it was Annabeth or Grover just wanting to hang out. And you understood, really, you did. His two best and longest friends didn’t really have time to consistently spend with him anymore. Annabeth had gotten into Harvard’s graduate architecture program, so she only had precious little time to spend with Percy, and she could never leave Cambridge. Grover, of course, was still off spreading Pan’s message, and rarely did he have time to spare for his best friend. So, of course, you dutifully watched him race to gather his things, often enough forgetting to even say goodbye, before he was out the door for who knows how long.

Sadly, you sank into the couch—a plush leather hand-me-down from Sally and Paul when they redecorated their own apartment a couple years back—and turned on the TV. When he was gone for long periods of time, the news was often the only way to see what he was up to, even though he had a cellphone and a way to Iris message you on his literal wrist.

It was almost time for the 11 o’clock news, and, in theory, Percy should be home soon. You hadn’t heard anything from him all day, which wasn’t surprising, despite the fact that he was literally just on the other side of Manhattan babysitting.

But you weren’t so sure that he’d be home that night. Not only because Sally didn’t like when Percy walked home late at night. Of course she didn’t, and you didn’t either. The walk was quick during the day because he could just cut through Central Park, but late at night, the park was closed to pedestrian traffic. That, plus the fact that you and Percy had gotten into a bit of an argument before he went left you uncertain that he would return that night.

Or ever, for that matter, although your brain told you that was ridiculous.

All you had done was ask him to spend a little more time with you. You didn’t want to take him away from his friends and family, but you rarely got to spend time with your boyfriend anymore. Between work, helping out at camp, and him spending what seemed like every spare moment with his friends and family, you missed him. And you told him that.

Maybe you communicated it wrong, or maybe he misheard you, but whatever the reason, he left the apartment in a huff at noon.

Shortly before the news ended, you heard a roll of thunder and rain pattering gently on the window. There was no way Sally would let him leave in a storm. You stood and stretched, feeling your back pop, and made your way into your bedroom.

You had only been in bed for what felt like a few minutes when you heard the clattering on the fire escape. Annoyed, you got up and went to the window. You were getting ready to yell at Blackjack for making so much noise when you saw Percy half-slumped over on his back, clutching at his side. His shirt was torn and ruddy, and he was soaked from the rain that had progressively gotten worse.

Silently, you scrambled out the window, patting the pegasus’ nose as he shuffled to give you better access to his injured rider. You helped Percy dismount, pressing your hand to his wound so that he could use both of his arms. He mumbled a quiet ‘thanks, buddy’ and leaned his head against Blackjack’s snout for a brief moment before pushing away and letting you help him gingerly climb through the window. Your brain barely registered the flap of wings outside as you led Percy to sitting on the bed.

“What happened?” you asked softly, replacing your hand with his own before going to the bedside table to grab the container of ambrosia you had stashed in every room of the apartment.

“Empousai in the park.” His voice was hoarse, and he sounded tired. You doubted his six-year-old sister had tuckered him out that much. “Didn’t see them until it was too late. They chased me halfway through the Ramble before I was able to get some ground on them.”

You frowned, cupping a hand to his cheek briefly. “You’re home now,” you whispered. “That’s what matters.”

He paused for a moment, and you could see an emotion flash across his face too quickly to identify. Then, he nodded.

Silently, you went to the wardrobe and pulled out dry clothes for him to change into. Percy took the pajamas gratefully, and for a moment, his sea green eyes met yours. You were glad in that moment that he wasn’t the son of Zeus—the electricity in the air was palpable.

“How was Estelle?” you asked quietly, breaking his gaze. You sat on the edge of the bed while he changed.

He chuckled, wincing slightly. The ambrosia must not have fully finished healing him yet. “Good. She’s good. She asked about you.” You raised your eyebrows in shock and he continued. “She wants you to come over to play school sometime.”

You laughed. The last time you had played school with the five-year-old, she had been the teacher and you and Percy had pretended to be her bad students. She loved it. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to make that happen, then.”

He nodded and went silent as he pulled the ratty Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt over his head. It used to be a hoodie—you had gotten it for him shortly after you met him—and he wore it so much it was practically threadbare. He had cut the hood off at some point, and the front pocket had ripped off in a monster fight two years ago, so now it was just a thin sweatshirt that had been mended and sewn back together so many times, most of the stitching wasn’t original. But still he refused to throw it out.

After a moment, he sat down beside you, and for a second, you thought he wasn’t going to say anything. Then, he grabbed your hand. “Mom asked about you, too.”

“Oh?”

Percy sighed. His hair was soaked, and it stuck to his face at odd angles. He looked a mess, although if you were honest with yourself, he had certainly looked much worse. “I’m sorry I’m a shit boyfriend,” he mumbled. His grasp on your hand loosened. “I didn’t realize…”

You squeezed his hand.

“Everyone always told me that my fatal flaw was being too loyal to my friends. I never knew what that meant. ‘Til now.” His sea green eyes were sad when he finally let himself meet your eyes. “Turns out you can be too loyal.”

“I love how much you love your friends,” you reassured him. “I just want a bit more balance. I was starting to get the impression you didn’t want to spend time with me anymore.”

His brows knit together in frustration. “Of course I want to spend time with you. I love you.” The way Percy said it, so finitely and sure of himself, caused your heart to do backflips in your chest.

You leaned over and kissed him chastely, your lips barely brushing his. Before you had a chance to pull away, he was pulling you closer and kissing you again, one arm around your waist, the other cupping your cheek tenderly. It was brief, but kissing Percy always tied your stomach into knots like it was the first time.

He leaned his forehead against yours, and in the close proximity, you could feel him smile without even looking at him. “Mom invited us both for dinner tomorrow,” he mumbled, his sea green eyes meeting yours once again. “Maybe after, we can start that thing on HBO. The one with the monsters. Just us.”

You smiled. “Just us.”

[ahsbitch]

A Walk In The Woods

Word Count: 5762

Summary: You find a wild Michael Langdon in the woods, and after deciding that he definitely needs some help, you invite him back home with you. 

Warnings:  Smut, 69ing, so obviously oral happens, Male and Female Receiving, A Bit Of Praise Kink, unprotected sex, Vaginal Intercourse, Sad Boi Michael, some cockwarming at the end (obviously I’m v into cockwarming, don’t @ me) Shitty Writing, lots of cursing, that’s all I can think of

A/N: I’m sure this is awful but idk I put effort into it so I’m posting it. Also I should totally wait to post til tomorrow bc it’s like midnight but?? I really wanted to post it today so I’m just going for it. Hope y’all enjoy, comments are Always appreciated, much love! ♥️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Walking barefoot in the woods was probably your most ridiculous hobby, but it was probably your favorite as well. 

There was always something to discover in the woods.

You tried to take a forest walk at least once a week, on Sundays. You would be gone for hours, wandering, feeling the ups and downs of the universe all around you.

There was always something to discover in the woods, and it was always something different.

Often you would stop in sunny patches and meditated. Sometimes you could feel the musings of something greater than you, running through you. 

Occasionally, you would find a wounded animal, typically just small things like squirrels or sparrows, although sometimes bigger creatures, a deer, an owl, a fox, things along those lines. You felt a responsibility to them, to help them, to clean them up and help them heal and get them better enough to go off on their journeys in life. 

On this particular walk, you found a type of wounded animal you’d never dealt with before. 

Michael Langdon. 

You found him wandering the woods, bleary eyed, coated in scratches and sunburns. 

“Are you alright, sir?” You moved slowly closer to him, not worried for yourself but afraid to startle him. 

The man was beautiful, you could tell he was beneath the dirt that covered him. 

You had startled him, it seemed, as he looked up at you with wild, piercing eyes, raising a hand and sending you flying back against a tree, pinning you there by the throat. 

Well, fuck. 

Your hands clawed at your neck in spite of yourself, trying to pull at something that wasn’t there. You wouldn’t have tried at all, if you were capable of rational thought, would have let it happen as you had great faith that the mystery man was going to let you go, but of course when one loses the ability to breathe, one’s body tends to panic in spite of what the mind may wish for. 

After a few seconds, you dropped to the ground, gasping for air.

Breathe in...Breathe out...Breathe in...Breathe out...Breath in..

“I’m sorry,” You stood up, keeping your gaze on the ground but taking a step towards him.

Although you still didn’t look him in the face, you could tell just from his voice that the man was confused, wandering closer to you, “Why are you sorry?”

Shrugging, you lifted your head from the ground, although you still kept it below eye level, “I frightened you. I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

“I,” He frowned, and you focused your eyes on his mouth, “I attacked you.”

“Because I frightened you. I was trying not to, but I did, and I’m very sorry for it.”

“Is that why you won’t look me in the eye?” He sounded curious, and his mouth curved into a funny little smile, “Because you’re sorry?” 

“Because direct eye contact can be intimidating,” You explained, “I don’t want to upset you again.” 

Biting his lower lip, the man extended his hand, “It’s okay. I’m... my name is Michael. I’m sorry for...what I did. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You took his hand, feeling a zip of electricity shoot through you, and finally looked into his eyes, “It’s okay. I’ve been hurt worse. Wasn’t a big deal. I’m Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Michael.”

Brows scrunched together over his crystalline blue eyes, Michael cleared his throat, “It’s nice to meet you too, Y/N. I’m sorry for bothering you, I- I should let you go.”

You weren’t quite sure whether he meant that literally or figuratively, as he was still clutching at your hand like a lifeline. 

“Hang on,” Drawing him closer, you reached a careful hand up to his face, hesitating at the way he flinched, then stilled, his eyes flickering to the side anxiously, but allowing you to cup his cheek and examine him, “How long have you been out here?” 

Michael looked unsure of himself, leaning into your hand ever so slightly and seemingly not even conscious of it, “A few days, I think. I was doing a, well, I was doing something, but it didn’t work, and then I tried to make my way back to the city, but I kinda got lost.” 

“You must be starving,” You pulled away from him, straightening up, “I can take you back to the city, and you can come to my place for a little bit.”

You were already walking, and after a moment you heard Michael hurry to follow you, “What do you mean?”

“You said you were lost. I don’t think you just mean physically. Besides, you must be hungry, and no offense, but you’re kind of a mess right now,” You glanced back at him, giving a small smile when you saw his shocked expression, “You need help. I’m happy to give it.” 

“Why?” Michael moved to your side, walking in step with you, “Why would you help me? What if I’m a murderer?” 

“Even if you are, I don’t think you’ll murder me. If you do, I’d ask that you do it quickly, that’s just a little personal preference of mine, although of course if you’re some truly evil serial killer then I doubt you’d care much about my preferences,” Shrugging, you grasped his hand in yours and pulled him behind you, feeling another volt of electricity crackle through your veins as you led him back to the city. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You have a nice place,” Michael told you hesitantly as you made your way up the front steps of your apartment building. 

You almost laughed at that, but when you glanced back at him he looked so genuine in the compliment that you paused, pulling him inside, “You... you know this whole place isn’t mine, right? It’s an apartment building. My place is pretty not nice, actually. I mean, I like it, but it’s small and not very fancy, y’know?”

“Oh,” He looked a little embarrassed, and you could tell that he had thought the whole building belonged to you. He looked like someone who was used to money and big houses, or at least he looked like he would look like that if he didn’t currently look like he’d been attacked by some sort of weather monster and was now on the verge of passing out. 

“Sit,” You said simply, gesturing to the couch, and you hurried to get a glass of water, handing it to him, “Drink.” 

Bustling your way back to the kitchen, you looked back to see him staring at the cup, and you repeated, “Michael. Drink the water. Come on,” You turned to the plants on your windowsill, grabbing your kitchen shears, “Do you mind?”

“Do I mind drinking water?” Michael asked, confusion evident. 

“Not you,” You turned to him with a smile, nodding, “You don’t have a choice there. Drink the water. I was talking to Tennyson.”

“Who’s Tennyson?”

He had finished the cup of water, and you took it and refilled it before gesturing to the aloe vera plant that you had just trimmed a stalk off of, returning the cup to him, “The plant. The full name is Aloe, Lord Tennyson.”

“You name your plants?” Clearing his throat, Michael took a sip of the new cup of water, “You... talk to your plants?” 

Shrugging, you split the long leaf in half, scooping some of the gel inside onto your fingers, “Yes, and yes. Now this may hurt a bit, just a warning.”

You pressed against his forehead as gently as you could, where a large pinkish red sunburn rested, and Michael let out a hiss and suddenly you were flying across the room, hitting the wall. He didn’t hold you in place or choke you this time, at least, and in a moment he had leapt from the couch and hurried over to you, “I’m so sorry. It hurt and I wasn’t expecting it, I-”

“It’s okay,” You let Michael pull you to your feet, holding onto his hand ever more tightly as you looked at his ashen face and downtrodden expression, “I should’ve given you better warning. Listen, I’ll doctor you up later. Let’s get you in a bath, first, okay? You can bathe and I’ll make some food and then, after, we can take care of your sunburns and scrapes.”

“I keep hurting you,” Michael pulled his hand away, looking at it as though your touch had burned him, “And you keep being nice to me.” 

“If you were doing it on purpose, I’d be less nice. But you’re not, I can tell. Now, follow,” You led the way to your small bathroom, starting to fill the tub with water. 

Michael sat on the edge of the tub, watching you adjust the temperature and light the candles that lay at the corners and pour in some bubble bath. He stared as you moved, humming to yourself, and when you stood and started to step away, “I have some old clothes that I think will fit you. They’re not particularly fancy, like what you’re wearing now, but they’re clean. I’ll drop them off once I get some dinner started, okay?” 

Nodding, Michael began to undo the buttons of his shirt, and you hurried out of the room. 

He was still lost, even though he wasn’t in the woods anymore. And you were determined to help him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Y/N?” Michael called, cracking the bathroom door open, “I’m dressed and everything.”

“Great! Hop up on the counter for me, okay? Just hang tight,” You grabbed the bowl of aloe gel that you had scraped from the plant and a box of band aids and hurried back to the bathroom.

He was perched next to your sink, and you tapped at his knees. Michael frowned but opened his legs so you could stand in between them, “Why am I on your counter, exactly?”

“Because it’s time for me to play doctor. I’m going to touch your face, okay?” You cupped his cheek in your hand and tugged him down, beginning to dab gel onto his sunburns and clean the long scratches that streaked across his features, “Are you comfortable? Do the sweatpants fit okay and everything?” 

“They’re fine,” Michael mumbled, flinching when you pressed a band aid to one of the deeper cuts on his forehead, his hand curling into a fist. He sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting his other hand rest gently on your shoulder, “I appreciate you letting me borrow them. And letting me use your bathtub, and well, and everything else.” 

You nodded, taking in a deep breath and finally moving your attention to notice that he was staring at you, smiling at him, “You used my shampoo.”

“Oh, yeah,” He turned pink, “Yeah, is that okay? It smelled like strawberries and it was right there so I just...”

“Of course! Not a problem at all. You smell nice,” You were looking straight at him now, and he continued to stare, and just when you’d tilted your head to the side, trying to discern what exactly Michael was thinking, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours. 

The hand that had rested on your shoulder came up to stroke your face, and then as quickly as it had started, it was done, and he had pulled away from you, turning his head sheepishly to the side. 

Clearing your throat nervously, you stepped back, “Do you like tomato soup?” 

“Yes,” Michael hopped off the counter, following you to the kitchen, although he stayed about four steps behind you. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while, looking at each other over bowls of soup and large dinner rolls. 

Your lips still buzzed from the memory of him against you, but you tried to ignore that. Michael scarfed food down for a while, and you simply kept refilling his bowl until he finally started to slow down, and then you asked carefully, “So, Michael. What’s gotten you lost like this. Tell me where you came from. Tell me about your parents.”  

“There isn’t much to tell about them,” Michael turned red, and he steadfastly refused to make eye contact with you, “My father abandoned me, and my mother tried to kill me. There’s only one person who’s ever really cared, who hasn’t abandoned me, and she’s gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” You said earnestly, letting your hand reach out just far enough to brush against his, “Humanity is unkind, often especially so to those who need kindness the most.” 

Michael had a curious way of frowning, his confusion always quite evident. His eyes would widen and his brows would move, displaying everything he was feeling. It was cute, honestly. 

“I’m sorry about earlier,” He said finally bluntly, having been staring at you in silence, “I shouldn’t have done that. You’re just...I mean... I was gonna try to just not mention it, but you’re so nice and I feel bad.”

“You should’ve asked first,” Drawing your hand away, you tried to make eye contact with him, but now he was avoiding your gaze, “For a lot of reasons. But I’m not mad at you.” 

“You’re not? I know I should’ve asked, I’m just... I’m not used to having to ask for things. I know that’s not a good excuse, but I don’t really know what to say. I’m just sorry,” Michael was frowning even deeper than before. 

Shrugging, you reached back across the table, this time allowing your fingers to stroke along his jaw, “The fact that you’re sorry is enough. Just... don’t go around kissing strangers with no warning, okay?”

“Okay,” He smiled, leaning into your hand, a strange rumbling noise emanating from deep in his chest, almost like a purr.

Suddenly, you felt a bolt of desire shoot through you, seemingly out of nowhere, and you shifted a little in your seat, “Are you done eating?” 

“Yeah, I’m good. Thank you for the food. I can find somewhere to go, I’m sure,” Pulling away from you, Michael started to stand, and you rushed to stand too.

“What do you mean? Why would you go anywhere?” You grabbed his arm, trying to hold him in place even as he brushed you away. 

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

A burden? 

“If you were going to be a burden, I wouldn’t have brought you here at all. Spend the night,” Squeezing at his wrist gently, you moved to stand in front of him.

Michael looked utterly taken aback by this, “Really? Are you sure?” 

You tugged him along behind you, to your bedroom, bringing him to sit on your bed and collapsing down next to him. 

“I’m sure,” Turning towards him, you tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear and leaned forward, looking deeply into his eyes, “You’re the opposite of a burden, and I can prove it.” 

Michael’s breathing hitched, and he moved closer to you, closing his eyes and letting out a slow breath, “I really wanna kiss you again.” 

“You can,” You said simply, wanting to kiss him very badly, but having decided that he needed to be the one to initiate it.

“But you said-”

“I said you should ask first,” You placed a hand on his cheek, feeling something crackling in the air, his skin soft against your own.

“Y/N,” Michael leaned into you, and another rumble rolled from his chest, “May I please kiss you?”

“You can do a lot more than that. I want to show you that you’re not a burden. You deserve to feel good,” And then his mouth was on yours, and something deeper than electricity was running through you. 

He kissed you like a teenager, not pulling you closer to him but pushing his upper body forward, and you let out a giggle in spite of yourself.

Pulling back suddenly, Michael frowned, running a hand through his hair, “Sorry. Did I... did I do something wrong?”

“No, don’t be sorry!” You rolled your shoulders back, wishing that you two were still touching, a wave of regret hitting you when you saw the wounded look in his eyes, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, Michael, I just... I feel a lot of things right now, y’know? But they’re all good things! I’m just, well, shit, I’m rambling. I’m going to stop talking now and, uh, and take off my shirt. Take your shirt off? Please?” 

Michael’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak but closed it immediately when he saw you slip off your shirt, fumbling with the fabric of his own, letting out a shout as it got stuck over his head. 

“Fuck!” The fabric had bunched around his face, his voice slightly muffled, “Dammit, fucking, Y/N, help me!” 

Choking back a laugh, you climbed into his lap and assisted him in wrestling off the shirt, letting another giggle slip out at his look of relief once it was free, which instantly transformed into one of shock as he looked at you, and you could feel yourself starting to blush in spite of your best attempts not to, “Okay, you good?”

He let out a slow breath, eyes trained on securely on your breasts, covered in a lacy white bra, “I’m much more than good. I’m fantastic. Can I... I mean... can I kiss you again? Can I maybe touch you?” 

“I want you to feel good, Michael. Yes,” You gave him a quick kiss on the tip of the nose, smiling at the way he scrunched it up in response. 

Then Michael was kissing you again, and fuck it felt good, his skin ever so slightly prickling against you, and then he raised a tentative hand to your chest, swiping across your left nipple briefly. 

You let out a moan that you hadn’t expected, and he froze for a moment, beginning to slowly swirl his thumb around the covered bud. Suddenly his lips were gone from yours and wrapped around your right nipple, flicking his tongue against it experimentally, and he pulled back with a grin as you let out another breathy moan.

You sounded like a fucking porn star, what the fuck?

“Wow, you’re sensitive,” Michael teased, bringing his other hand up to replace his mouth, “Can I take your bra off?”

“I’ll get it. And I’m not this sensitive, not normally,” You panted, grinding down against him without thinking about it, reaching behind your back to unclasp, and letting out a high pitched whine when his hands were finally on your bare skin, “I mean, not like this. This is... this is you, I think.” 

You could already feel him hard underneath you, but at your words his erection became even more prominent, pressed firmly against your inner thigh.

The rumbling noise came from deep in Michael’s chest once again, and you decided that it was in fact a purr, or something damn close to one. He was beaming now, and there was something almost childlike about him when he looked so joyful, and there was an obvious note of pride in his voice, “Really? Me? Do you think I could make you cum doing this?” 

He pinched lightly and you gasped, head rolling back, “Probably, but not right now, okay? I wanna-fuck-I wanna-”

You couldn’t finish your sentence, couldn’t think of what was supposed to come next, and carefully you gripped Michael’s wrists, pulling his hands away from you and sliding off of his lap. 

With a pout, Michael watched you move between his legs, an eyebrow raised, “Was it really that intense?” 

“It was,” You glanced up at him from where you now lay, pressing a soft kiss to his cock through his sweatpants, your mind still strangely fogged, “It was... weird. Good weird, but weird. Are you secretly magical or something?” 

He barked a short laugh just a little too quickly for it to sound natural, but you figured that was maybe because you were mouthing along the outline of his dick, his hips bucking up every so slightly, and he was perhaps a bit too distracted to act like your terrible joke was funny. 

Just as you were sliding the sweatpants down his hips, Michael threaded his hands in your hair, tugging gently so that you’d look up at him, a blissful smile on his face as he watched you, “You’re so pretty, do you know that? You’re beautiful.” 

His dick had sprung out of his pants then, bouncing up to his stomach, and you weren’t able to respond at first because fucking hell, it was the most perfect dick you’d ever seen. Thick, veiny, a nice shade of pink although the tip had turned an angry red, and fuck it was big, probably too big, but you weren’t planning to complain about that. Finally, you snapped yourself out of your daze, looking back up at him with a laugh, “You’re just saying that because I’m about to suck your cock.” 

“No!” Michael looked shocked by the very thought, his hips bucking again, ever so slightly, at the feeling of your breath on his skin, “No, I’m serious. You’re so gorgeous, I-fuck-” You licked a line up the length of his cock, and he grabbed desperately at your shoulders, making you pause, “Dammit, I really want you to sit on my face.” 

Your thighs clenched, and you looked up at him, shaking your head to clear your thoughts, “I, I mean, no. I told you, I want to make you feel good. Not-”

“But it will!” Michael tugged at you, bringing you up until he could press a fervent kiss to your lips, “I want to. So bad. Please, Y/N, please do it. Please let me. Please.” 

Fucking hell, was he trying to kill you? 

“But I... I wanted you to feel good. Don’t you want me to...” You trailed off, trying to think as Michael kissed your neck. 

“I do, believe, me, I really do, but I also want this.”

“I’ve never done that before,” You admitted, feeling your face get hot with embarrassment, “Honestly, I’m afraid I’d end up accidentally smothering whoever I was with.” 

“That wouldn’t happen,” Michael assured, kicking his sweatpants the rest of the way off, and you find yourself peeling your own leggings off even though you still weren’t sure of what you were doing, and he hooked his fingers into your panties, a smirk on his face, “And even if it did, I can guarantee you that there would be no better way to die.” 

“Okay,” You let out a deep breath, letting out a contented hiss as he brushed his long fingers over your clit, “But I still want to give you a blowjob, okay?” 

“You can. Just face that way,” Michael grinned, ripping your panties off with one sharp tug. 

You were about to scold him, but then his fingers were pressing into your folds, and you gave a quiet gasp, “Michael, fuck.”

He laid down, hands tapping away at his stomach as he waited for you. Hesitantly, you crawled up the bed, turning so that you could look down the length of his body, and knelt over his face. 

You bent down, lifting his cock up and running your fingers along the underside of it, kissing the tip, and you felt him let out a shaky breath beneath you. 

“Fucking hell, you taste amazing,” Michael whispered, wrapping his hands around your thighs and pulling you down against him completely. 

He made the purring noise once more, sucking fervently at your clit, and you let out a shriek at the feeling of it rumbling through you. Pulling your legs even further apart, he buried his tongue into your folds, and finally, you opened your mouth as wide as you could and sunk down over his cock until his tip brushed the back of your throat. 

When he moved back to your clit, giving it careful kitten licks, you buried your finger nails into his thighs. At this, he groaned, thrusting up into your mouth, and you gagged. 

This was... what? The third time today he’d accidentally choked you? You hadn’t been angry during any of the other times, but this was the time that probably bothered you the least. 

“Sorry, babe, I’m sorry,” He rasped, and although you could hardly hear him, between the feeling of his words vibrating against you and the intense presence of Michael Langdon that filled the air around you, you knew exactly what he was saying. 

Babe.

It was such a gentle word from him, the way it rolled off his tongue so naturally making butterflies start fluttering in your stomach. 

Well, that, and the fact that the feeling of Michael against you was extraordinary, and you were feeling the tight, delightful bubble that signaled your impending orgasm beginning to form. 

You sucked harder. 

It took only a few minutes of this, of you licking and sucking, running your teeth over the pulsing vein that streaked along the side, before you felt him flex his thigh muscles beneath your hands, his salty cum splashing into your mouth. 

It was sweet alongside the salty, a strange mixture of the two, not unlike a chocolate covered pretzel, and you swallowed every drop you could before licking frantically along to make sure you didn’t miss anything. 

“Fuck,” He growled, something authoritative, almost dangerous, flooding through the air. 

Michael lifted you off of him as though you weighed nothing more than a ragdoll and tossed you down onto the mattress on your back, his lips suctioning around your clit once again, two fingers buried deep inside of you. 

You held onto his shoulders as his fingers scissored inside you, squeezing your legs tight around his head unintentionally. You felt him chuckle into your folds at that, and he removed his fingers from you momentarily to pull your legs over his shoulders. 

“Michael!” You mewled, your hips straining to jolt upward, and then he was moving faster, faster, adding a third finger that brushed a spot deeper inside you than anything else had ever reached. Your entire body clenched, and then suddenly you felt the waves of your climax wash over you. 

When your head was fully back, Michael had straightened up, examining his fingers, which were coated in your juices. 

“Fucking hell, Michael, I didn’t need to finish just then. You could’ve waited until you were fucking me for real,” You sat up on your forearms, laughing as you looked down at him. 

“Sorry,” Frowning, Michael pulled away, “Was that too much?” 

Why was he so goddamn sweet?

Moving to your knees, you pulled his face up to yours and kissed him, the taste of yourself that lingered on his tongue mixing with the salty remains of Michael on your own tongue, and you let out a low groan, pulling back to give him a smile, “No. It was wonderful.” 

“Okay. Can we... I mean,” He turned red, looking away from you, “Would you possibly consider riding me? Or do you want to stop now?” 

You rolled to the side, gesturing for Michael to move up the bed, and after a moment he did, sitting up against the headboard. Climbing into his lap in one swift movement, you let out a quiet moan at the feeling of him against your folds, his tip pressed against your interest. He swiped his hand between the two of you, gathering the fluids that had spilled from you and rubbing it onto his cock, lubing himself up with the remnants of your last orgasm. 

“Do you mind going slow?” You asked meekly, burying your face against his chest as you rocked against him, “I’m sorry, just, you’re really big.”

“Of course,” He cooed, running his hands through your hair, and finally you began sliding down the length of his cock. Burying your teeth into his neck, you tried to concentrate on how good this would feel once you got used to the stretch, the burn, and he whispered in your ear, “You’re doing so good. You-shit-you take my cock wonderfully, do you know that? It’s okay, I know it hurts, but you’re doing great.” 

When you had reached the end, and you were filled to the hilt, you gave a careful roll of your hips, testing the waters. You were feeling better now, running your tongue over the spot on his neck you had bitten, before beginning to suck another hickey into his soft skin. At this, Michael bucked into you, his cock hitting all the way up against your cervix, and you let out a shriek. 

You almost laughed at yourself. You had thought his fingers were impressive, but they were nothing compared to the sheer, masterful feeling of Michael inside you, his hands splayed against the small of your back, holding you in place as you leaned into him, taking one of your nipples into his mouth once again. 

“You feel so good, Michael,” You cried out, and Michael made that damn rumbling noise again, “Fuck, do you know that you purr? I love it.”

Although he continued to hold you, he seemed to be trying to hold back from fucking you too harshly, instead occasionally letting himself thrust into you, his eyes rolling back in his head at the way you moaned each time. He paused, looking up at you with a frown, “I don’t purr.” 

You giggled, although it quickly turned into a whimper as he began sucking hickeys into your breasts, and you squeezed his shoulders tightly to concentrate, “You do. You make lots of pretty noises. It makes sense, too. You’ve got such a pretty mouth, such a pretty face, such a pretty cock. You’re so pretty, it’s infected everything you do. And-fucking hell, that feels good-you move so well. Fill me up so well.” 

Michel lolled his head back against the headboard, the purring noise coming out again as you began to grind down harder. You kissed him quickly, watching as his eyes opened suddenly, drinking you in. 

“You’re perfect, Y/N, do you know that? You bounce so well on my cock, and your tits are so fucking perfect,” He paused, clearing his throat, “Was that the right thing to say? I don’t want to be disrespectful. I respect you, too, and all that. You’re just, fuck, you’re so fucking gorgeous and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to last.” 

“It’s okay,” You reassured him, looking at his face to see that it was glistening, and it took you a moment to realize that there were tears running down his face. Kissing each one away, licking up the salty trail they had left, you resolved not to mention it or ask why, exactly, he was crying, “I’m not gonna last much longer either. I want you to cum for me, okay? Please, Michael.”

“Should I... should I pull out?” He panted, helping you roll your hips. 

“You don’t have to,” Gasping, desperately, you buried your nails into his shoulders, trying to contain the climax that was beginning to boil through you, “Just, fuck, please finish soon, Michael. I’m going to-”

Nodding, Michael’s thrusting increased. Although he was still cautious, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, you could tell that he was close to his end, as well. 

And he was, and he did, his cum flooding you once more just as you felt yourself boil over, heading hanging back. You couldn’t keep it up anymore, couldn’t concentrate on controlling your body and finishing, and you felt your breath catch in your throat, stars dancing through the air just in front of you. 

Michael held your hips tightly as you came down from your high, and then you had buried your face against his chest once more, arms wrapped around his neck. 

Christ, that took a lot out of you.

You leaned back to see that his eyes had drifted shut, and you leaned forward to press soft kisses against the lids. 

When Michael blinked them back open, his mouth had curved into a sleepy smile, another purr rumbling up from his throat, “That was... wonderful.”

“I agree,” You smiled too, tilting your head to the side as he peppered gentle kisses along your throat, “Now, you’re tired. Do you want me to leave, so that you can get some sleep?”

Michael tensed, clutching at your hips desperately, “Please don’t leave. I mean, I do want to sleep. But please, stay.” 

“Okay,” Mumbling softly, you leaned closer to his ear, “And by the way, I know a place you might wanna check out tomorrow.”

Looking curious at this, Michael brought his nose to your jaw, brushing along it softly, “Where?” 

“Church of Satan. It’s a few blocks away.”

“What?” This snapped him to attention, and he stared at you as though you’d grown a second head, “You’re... are you a Satanist?”

“No. Not a fan of organized religions. I believe in nature, and kindness. In caring for the ones around you who need it. But,” You folded his ear forward, kissing the three small scars behind it as delicately as you could, “I think that it would be beneficial for you to go.” 

“How did you know?” He shifted back so that he could sit more upright against the headboard, and you felt your sore walls pulse around his cock, still buried deep inside you, as you moved. 

You shrugged, “Lucky guess. Now, that’s all. No more talk. You need some sleep.”

Michael looked like he was about to argue with you, but then you pressed your head into his chest once more, and he rested his chin contentedly on top of your shoulder. 

You were almost asleep when he finally spoke up, hands rubbing gently along your spine, his voice hoarse, “Y/N? I just... I wanted to say thank you. I don’t normally say that, but you’re, well, I haven’t been treated with this much kindness, this much care, in a long time. Don’t say anything, I don’t want you to say anything, I just needed to tell you. Thank you.” 

And within moments his breathing had shifted, and he snored quietly, softly, and the snores sounded an awful lot like purrs, and the two of you were as close to each other as was physically possible, his dick softened inside you and his arms wrapped around you, and then you were asleep too, the two of you floating to a dream land that you couldn’t quite name. 

[tundrainafrica]

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (9/?)

Summary:  “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice.” At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 

Link to cross-postings: AO3

The oval stretched out in front of him, much wider than his range of vision but Levi felt no need to look around him and take in the whole view. It was the largest oval in his city and having been one of the more active high jumpers the past five years, he had been there enough to memorize it inside and out.

That particular day, instead of being out there in the field doing warm up jumps like he had been for the past decade of his life, he was on the bleachers, a few seats away from the front. He was merely a part of the audience, an oddly surreal experience. For years, Levi had never given the audience a passing thought after all. His world during those few hours on the track had consisted of the bar he had to jump over, the jumper before him, his coach and teammates on the bench and maybe some the interviewers who would flock to him after the medal ceremony.

Although he had gone to that track so many times before, somehow it felt like he was experiencing it for the first time.

He was unprepared as well. Levi found himself pushing his hands farther into his hoodie huddling for whatever warmth it could afford him. Possibly it was the long days he had spent indoors that had made him unready for how cold mid autumn could actually be.

The past two weeks leading up to that particular night, Levi had not left the comforts of Hange's apartment much aside from for the occasional check up or regular therapy session. When he wasn't writing or making sense of new dreams, he spent most of his days catching up with schoolwork or trying to help around her apartment even with his injury.

With the long hours he had spent indoors, he was almost sedentary in comparison to the twice a day training and it was a drastic change. As he watched the other athletes warm up on the track, he was unable to fathom how he had survived long ago in light athletic wear. He started to wonder how much he had changed. If his knee wasn’t casted or buckling at the slightest weight, if he had a perfectly good knee just like a few weeks ago, would he have still been able to jump.

Was that sudden sensitivity to the cold he was feeling a product of his psyche or did his body just suddenly get weaker due to his long stint indoors?

To think I used to actually win these events. With the disbelief that came with that passing thought, Levi suddenly remembered why he had hesitated to join them in the first place. Everything from the atmosphere, to the warm up jumps found a way to hurt him. The few whispers he could hear from his place on the bleachers about the Ackerman kid, who had achieved a college record less than a year ago suddenly sidelined for life, were reminding him why exactly he had cooped himself up in the first place.

At first, he had attributed a huge chunk of that to the healing process, the writing process and the general lack of necessity to go out. At that moment, he was watching athletes do the jumps he knew how to perfectly execute yet was sure he would never be capable of doing again. At the same time, he was listening to whispers that could have been very much about him with the smatters of conversations on knee injuries and wasted talent.

He had looked towards Hange for comfort, an almost instinctive movement. Ironically, that movement had him rubbing more salt on his already reopened wounds. He had ended up watching Hange fall so easily to a state of a daydream and Levi did not need to look back at the oval to know why. She was watching the athletes go through the motions of the jumps.

He recognized that same look to be the one she had given Elijah and those athletes on her instagram feed. He would have given a lot to be able to go back to the Levi of a few weeks ago, the Levi who had been the subject of her hyper fixations. The inevitability of time had him hating himself a little more.

Levi cleared his throat in an attempt to swallow the lump that had settled there and willed himself to look back at the field. The temptation to space out was strong.

He had decided on watching the high jump event for a reason though and he was determined to make it worth it.

                               A Tale of Two Slaves

"Mike and Nanaba?” Levi repeated. The names flowed out of his mouth so smoothly so easily as if he had said those names many times before. Of course, he knew them. They were the subject of Hange’s case study years ago, the one he had read in preparation for meeting Hange.

“Mike Zacharius and Nanaba Briete,” Hange repeated. “Two friends from high school. They’re both participating in the high jump event so I thought of watching."

Mike and Nanaba. As Levi soon found out though the names weren’t cold to his tongue. They didn’t feel as stiff or professional despite their clear origins from an academic paper. It was almost second nature for Levi to attach faces to both of their names.

And that had been a breakthrough at that moment. For the past few days, he had been struggling to dream something different. Ever since Hange had given him a dream catcher, the dreams with Erwin and Hange had surprisingly been clearer and those scenes he had pictured had so easily flown from mind to paper, particularly his dreams to see the outside wall, his drive for atonement, his heroic sacrifice. It had also made him familiar with more subtle things like the long hours he had spent in the office, the amount of time he had spent joined to Erwin’s hip as his right hand man, and the trust he had put on him all the way until the end of his life.

He had squeezed what he had taken out of every memory and every dream and suddenly one day, he woke up to find himself completely intimate with that dream Erwin. Yet the story wasn’t complete, he just had to find inspiration elsewhere.

In an attempt to support him, Hange had been doing her part too to invite him out when she could.

She had suggested movies, shopping or dinner out. Levi could see behind it though and knew Hange would have preferred hiking, park hopping or working out. Not wanting to settle for bland ideas, they probably would have both slogged through, Levi declined all of them despite Hange’s insistence.

Ironically, her mention of plans to watch his college track and field event of all things had been an exception. "I'll come with you," Levi said without thinking.

Hange frowned in concern. “You sure?”

“Why? You don’t want me to come?”

Hange shook her head. “It’s not that…. I’m just surprised that you seemed a little too eager. I talk watching something like that might be torture for you.”

“I haven’t gone out in so long. I’m fine with anything at this rate.”

“We could start with a trip to the mall? Or we could go out for dinner?” Hange lightly suggested.

“I wanna get to know your friends too,” Levi said.

Hange raised one eyebrow at him as she eyed him a little too suspiciously. “You never seemed like the type to actually enjoy meeting new people.”

Levi avoided her gaze. If it were any other friends, he probably wouldn’t have cared enough to leave the comforts of Hange’s apartment. In fact, meeting his classmates and having face-to-face classes were a burden he was happy to avoid. Those names which Hange had mentioned, the faces that suddenly clicked in his brain, which were further confirmed by a quick google search had him all the more invested. “Nanaba and Mike seem like interesting people,” Levi finally admitted.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. Levi found himself practically jumping out of his seat in shock at the explosion of laughter that came out of your mouth. “Why the hell are you laughing?”

Eventually, her laughter did die down but Levi wasn’t counting the seconds until it did. He had been too busy enjoying the way her eyes crinkled and her nose wrinkled as she smiled. “Wait ‘til Nanaba and Mike hear this. The quiet antisocial guy who beat them out of first place every single fucking time is actually interested in getting to know them

“Wait. I went against them?”

“Aaaaand you don’t even remember.” Hange flailed her hands up exaggeratedly. “I should have known.” She shook her head. Her voice still had the remnants of the loud laughter of a while ago and she didn’t look like she would be getting rid of that playful demeanor anytime soon.

“And now you’re just making fun of me.

Hange wiped a tear from the side of her eye. “I’m sorry. I probably look so weird right now. I know I shouldn’t be acting like this.” As she put her hand down, she looked back up at him, her smile visibly wider than it was a second ago. “It just never dawned on me till now how weird it just feels. If I told my past self I’d be sharing an apartment with jumper extraordinaire Levi Ackerman, past Hange would have tried to slap some sense into me.”

Jumper extraordinaire Levi Ackerman. Somehow, Levi was recalling the way she had held his hands and stared at him, the first time he had laid eyes on her. I heard you’re the best one in the team… I’d love to see you in action. The glimmer in eyes and the excited tone in her voice that fluctuated between highs and lows with every syllable, it was the same as it had been then when she first called out to him.

Hange took a deep breath. “The tournaments were the only times Nanabe and Mike would visit this part of town so they’d invite me to watch every year…”

“And you watched it every year…” Levi didn’t need to confirm anything. It was all in her eyes.

As if she knew she had given it all away through her eyes, Hange quickly looked away. She had done nothing though to hide the pink in her cheeks. She probably couldn’t have done anything to hide it anyway. “When the super rookie Levi Ackerman scored an almost record breaking upset win…” Hange recounted so mechanically as if she were reading a headline. “I was in the crowd. And I never stopped following him since.”

And I never stopped following him since. The moment Hange said it, she dropped her shoulders to the side, so quickly and so eagerly, Levi wondered what kind of baggage she had been holding for her to look so free as she said those last words. His mind shifted elsewhere before he could ponder it any longer.

It was a long shot but Levi still found himself looking back, scrambling to recall his first every competition through lasting sensations from the cold breeze, the blinding lights and the cacophony of cheers mixed with announcers’ commentaries.

As if by some miracle, he remembered it. He remembered it as he mentally prepared for the most crucial jump. The bar was a good two meters up in the air. His legs were aching, his heartbeat was getting wilder. Before he jumped, he had glanced at the bleachers as the murmurs and cheers got stronger and consequently more difficult to ignore. On the bleachers, more specifically on the fifth row from the front, sat Hange. Her hair still as brown and untamed as always, her eyes held the same wonder it always had. And maybe a little surprise? That had been his first tournament after all.

He had only given her a passing glance then. Within a split second, she had blended with the scenery as he ran towards the bar. The jump that came quickly after was strong and exhilarating.

And as Levi landed on the cushion on the other side of the bar, welcoming explosions of gasps and wild cheers as he did, he couldn’t help but reflect on it.

Rookie Ackerman bags gold in the Regional Cup with record breaking height.

That first tournament jump had been life changing, inspiring. Possibly it was the jump that had paved the way to the years of victory that followed.

No sane athlete would have memorized the faces in the crowd. For him though, it felt criminal that he had only noticed it then as she admitted it to him herself.

She had been a part of that experience too.

                            A Tale of Two Slaves

Eventually, Levi did get tired of torturing himself. He knew the way to the barely used locker rooms in the building next to the oval and he seeked solace there. Somehow, he found it worth it to make a slight scene as he struggled to keep his balance and he maneuvered his crutches down the bleachers.

When he got to the empty locker room, with only the dark ceiling above him and silence, that made even the dripping of water deafening, he was able to forget the embarrassing and frustrating journey there. And within a few more minutes, he did forget the onslaught of emotion that had culminated into a wave of incomprehensible emotions, manifesting as demons in his head.

With a lack of stimuli to remind him of his reality, he was once again numb. And numbness tended to lead to dreaming. The old locker room was no place to fall asleep though and Levi found himself trying to focus on whatever faint stimuli could reach him as to stay rooted in his reality.

Faint cheers made their way into the dark room. Levi had watched more than enough jumps to know the cheers flowed with the movements, always at their loudest when the athlete is at their highest. Oddly enough, he had managed to drown out the cheers more easily when he was in the middle of them.

Although they were faint, they were still much louder and more rattling than Levi had ever experienced them to be. And the cheers did rattle him to the bone. His body shook every time the cheers reached their crescendo and he wondered if Hange was watching too. Was she screaming? He could imagine her cheers so easily and he found himself trying to pick it out among what could have been hundreds of other voices.

Her voice was unique, nostalgic, memorable. It should have been easy. But the cheers were too faint. Even in the silence, he found it difficult to split them into individual voices, let alone isolate one out of hundreds. He leaned back on the cold wall, slipped onto the floor and closed his eyes.

“Levi?”

Levi had assumed it to have been a dream at first. The voice he had been raring to pick out among the crowd was right next to him. He willed himself not to open his eyes for fear that the voice might just disappear.

That small voice had opened up to sounds of steps then the brush of cloth on tiles. He felt a warm hand behind him, pulling him gently away from the wall and the warmth of something around him. Levi let out a cough, only then, when the cold was replace by warmth, did he realize how chilly the room actually was.

“You can really sleep anywhere huh?" Her voice had been too near, right next to his ear. Her breath tickled his ear and brushed past his neck. Even before he realized it, he had opened his eyes, Levi was already returning the subtle smile Hange had given him.

“What were you dreaming about?” It had become routine for Hange to ask that question. Levi couldn’t blame her. When he was at his worst, sometimes that was the only thing he was willing to talk about.

“Nothing. I wasn’t sleeping. I was just thinking,” Levi answered. “How are the results?”

Hange shrugged. “You saw it yourself. Elijah grabbed gold in the vertical jump. Mike silver…” She paused for a second.

“So none of the other jumpers after them got higher scores?”

“They still didn’t beat your record from last season.”

“I don’t need that reassurance,” Levi said. “This would have been my last season anyway. I’m gonna graduate, find a job, forget this sport then find out some other kid beat my record in a few years.”

“Why did you leave after Elijah cleared the 2.3 meter bar then?” Hange didn’t at all sound like she had wanted to provoke him. Levi was certain all she had wanted were answers.

“Why were you staring at Elijah like that when he jumped?” As he thought back to the final straw that had made him stand up and brave the stairs and the whispers from the crowd just so he could leave the field mid tournament, he realized exactly why. Hange hadn’t even noticed the way her eyes lit up at him. Somehow, that was enough to have Levi shaking as he saw the confusion in her eyes.

“Staring like what?”

“Your mouth was wide open and your eyes were stuck on him.”

“I just got a little excited I guess. When I see jumps that high, sometimes I feel like I’m flying myself,” Hange said. “Or I dunno, I’ve never flown before but it’s just so easy to get lost in it sometimes.”

“Did you feel that same way? When I jumped?” Used to jump. Regret weighed on him. As the seconds ticked as he waited for her answer, that regret gradually took over and pushed at his chest, making it more difficult to breath. It had been that one movement after all, that impulsive and reckless decision that had him there in that dark unused locker room instead of outside in the tournament.

It was his last season anyway. He had consoled himself so many times before. But it wasn’t the season and the career-ending injury that had him heavy hearted at that moment. Impending retirement in sports loomed for most college athletes, especially in their senior year. Levi had prepared himself for it already.

At first, it had been the loss of that one unique sensation, the blue sky above him, and the his body detached from the earth for that split second, the loss of that memorable and unique experience of having both air and gravity as his enemy as he flew through the air with the wind blowing through his face as if executing their own plans to stop him. When the dreams returned and when he had started to write them out, eventually the weight in his chest lightened, replaced by another one.

As he spent more time observing Hange and talking to her in between her thesis writing and his own writing, he noticed it fester slowly. Only when his chest lightened, set free from that other weight, did it start to make itself known.

Hange never stopped watching jumps, turns, tumbles, runs and spins. Sometimes, she would turn on the tv in the living room to some athletic meet. Sometimes, she’d just be scrolling through her timeline, liking whatever inhumane stunts an athlete was showing her at that moment. She had those same raised eyebrows, that same gaping mouth, those same dilated pupils and that same glimmer in the eyes that he wished was just the glare of the screen.

And I never stopped following him since. Had she looked at him with that same expression? That same exact expression she had given Elijah? Would there ever be away to look back at those moments, zoom into her and look for everything from the raised eyebrows, gaping mouth, dilated pupils and that glimmer in her eyes?

Did you look at me that same way? That was all he had wanted to ask. Hange wouldn’t have known though.

“Of course I did.” Hange answered. Levi could only wish it were true. Without seeing that same expression, he would never know.

“But I’ll never jump like that again. So I don’t think you’ll get that from me anymore.”

I can get it elsewhere. Levi had prepared his heart for that reply. He was at least ready enough not to lash out.

“Because you offer other things,” Hange said. “These stories about Captain Levi and Hange Zoe… Commander Erwin Smith? When we’re up late at night and you start talking about those contraptions that get us flying through the air like birds? I don’t know if it’s the way you describe it or if it’s the passion in your eyes but… it’s like I could have been flying too.”

“You were flying.” And Levi held on to the image so tightly, that the words flowed too naturally out of his mouth. If he hadn’t been staring at the blank ceiling above him, recalling easily how she had tumbled and turned so freely in the air, he probably would have been conscious about how much of a madman he had sounded like.

Hange didn’t seem to mind though. “Even if just in my own dreams, it would be nice.”

The dim room only made the transition from consciousness to unconsciousness a little easier. The coat over his shoulders and the warmth that it kept close to him didn’t help keep him awake either. His dim surroundings blurred into nothingness, the last two sensations he made out was the arm around his shoulder and the faint discomfort as he dropped his head onto what could have been a bony shoulder.

You were flying.

It was as if his dreams had heard the conversation of a while ago. Squad Leader Zoe, Commander Hange Zoe. Dreams of her came in snapshots, in crumbs that indulged all his five senses. The whizzing of cables, the explosion of gas, familiar yet distant screams of excitement, week old sweat.

Her greasy hair on his hands. Then Levi found himself on horseback, his and Hange’s faces were a little too close for comfort. It didn’t take much to remember why though.

She had said something about wanting to meet an abnormal titan and he was in the mood for jokes.

                                A Tale of Two Slaves

“Of all the years and tournaments you could have ditched, it had to be the tournament with my first ever golden medal performance.”

“Nanaba, I’ll make it up to you promise…”

“To think you’re the one who roped me into this sport in the first place…”

They had the whole taxi ride to start an argument. Levi was grateful at least the conversation only reached that topic when they were already in the elevator on the way to Hange’s apartment. Hange had prepared some hard drinks, some soft drinks, some chasers and a lot of water. He was sure that the argument with devolve into something a little less coherent and might actually fizzle out within an hour or so with the right cocktail mix.

He had gone through that same bout of adventure with his own teammates after all. Nanaba continued to talk her ear off while Mike and Hange cleared out the dining table. Levi sat on one of the chairs, making himself useful by opening up the bottles handed to him by Moblit.

“I’m gonna need something hard first. Imagining being awarded that gold medal then looking in the crowd for the person who inspired me to try high jumping in the first place.” Nanaba sat to Levi’s left pouring what could be a nauseating amount of gin into the cup and emptied it within seconds. “And lo and behold, it looks like you were hiding out with wonderboy here in one of the old locker rooms.” She turned to Levi. “So… What were you guys doing there?”

Oddly enough, Levi didn’t understand the question at first glance. It could have been interpreted as an innocent question. When he wasn’t taking into account the cat-like grin, the raised eyebrows and the wide-eyed gaze.

It was Moblit who confirmed her intention. He turned to Hange. “There isn’t anything between you and Levi though right?”

“No one needs to be in a relationship to do anything.” Mike added, begrudgingly wise words from the most quiet one in the room.

“Nothing really…” Hange sat next to Nanaba and poured her own glass of gin, mixing it with some soft drinks. “I just kept him company. And he fell asleep next to me.”

Nanaba turned to Levi, her cheeks much redder than they were a second ago. “You sure?” She cupped her hands over her mouth and whispered in a still very audible volume. “Blink twice if you need help.”

“I don’t remember much, I fell asleep.”

Everyone in the room jumped as Nanaba abruptly slammed her hand on the table. “And you just let your biggest fangirl get away with doing whatever she wanted with you huh?”

“Biggest… fangirl?” Levi asked.

Nanaba turned to Hange. “Don’t you have a folder of pictures of him on your phone?” She dove under the table. From where Levi sat he could only hear the frazzled protests of Hange.

“The pictures aren’t on my phone anymore!” Hange screamed.

“What pictures?” Levi asked, trying his best to ignore the slams and the sounds of struggle from below.

“We did go to all of your competitions.” Mike admitted. “They went for personal reasons… I went for my own research.”

Levi noted that Mike and Elijah tended to alternate second and third place between the both of them. According to Hange that is. He never looked beyond his own experiences and his own injury had made him all the more hesitant to research high jumping stats.

“That sounds reasonable.” Levi managed to say. Small talk had never been his forte. Especially when his conversation partner wasn’t leaving much opening to continue.

For a while they were both silent. “It’s a shame. You made the competition interesting. If this didn’t happen, you could have pushed the sport to new levels.”

“Accidents happen. Someone else will show up and do it,” Levi kept his voice toneless as if he were just rattling off a list of inevitable events. That probably was going to happen anyway. His current inebriated state just convinced him that it wasn’t worth pondering at that moment.

“Moblit! Keep my phone and Nanaba, just go the fuck to sleep already.” Hange’s tone and her face then that managed to be both cold and furious at the same time was terrifying. Maybe, because it was the first time he had ever seen her so angry.

“You’re one of my closest friends Hange…. Be happy…” Nanaba slurred.

Happy. Hange always seemed happy, barring that one sleepless night he did see her cry. At that moment though, Levi instinctively looked towards her, his brain somehow expecting to see a smile on her face.

Of course, with what happened just a while ago she wasn’t smiling. She pressed her phone onto Moblit’s hand and whispered something to him. She returned back and sat next to Levi, taking Nanaba’s seat of a while ago. “Well, I had pictures to be honest but just for a few months I guess? I mean I really liked your jumps and I wanted to keep them...”

“No. It’s nice to know I had a secret admirer.” No actually, Levi probably would have found it odd if it were anyone else. He was doing the equivalent of writing fanfiction about her and somehow, keeping a secret folder of photos of him seemed mild. Although she had mentioned deleting it, Levi found himself clinging to the hope that she might still have kept a few.

“Hange, Let me make it up to you,” A voice and a pair of arms came up from behind Hange and wrapped around both of their shoulders. Levi could smell the strong alcohol in them.

“Nanaba, I think you should go to sleep now…” Moblit said. He stood up and started to prepare one of the mattresses Hange had laid out on the side of the room.

“Make it up to me by going to sleep…” Hange mumbled visibly uncomfortable.

Nanaba ignored her. “Levi, could I ask you one favor?”

“What is it?” Levi asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the still half fall glass of tequila in front of him. He had only been taking only small and cautious sips after all.

“Could you kiss Hange?” Nanaba asked “At least, just a peck on the cheek?”

“Kiss?”

“Nanaba! Go. to sleep.”

Levi could hear the rattle of her chair and from his peripherals he could see Hange moving to stand up but before he could have even processed anything else, he felt a hand on his head, a slight push.

And within a split second, he felt wet lips, he tasted alcohol, he saw scenes and he heard voices.

Within another split second they were all gone.

Hange had gone red, he could see it in her cheekbones. She had her hand cupped to her mouth, her eyes wide with what could have been shock or embarrassment. As Levi felt the blood run through his cheeks and his incapacity to do anything but stare, he started to wonder what he had looked like.

“Weren’t you wondering how his lips tasted? During that one tournament?”

“That was a joke…” Hange said. She swallowed a lump on her throat and as she narrowed her eyes, Levi could see the beginnings of what could have been tears. Was it really a joke?

“Nanaba. Let’s get you to bed.” Mike appeared from behind Nanaba and guided her back to the mattress Moblit had prepared. He started whispering to Nanaba so slowly and gently, Levi almost admired him for his patience.

That exchange between Nanaba and Mike had only lasted a second. By the time Levi did look beside him, Hange was already gone and he could hear the door slam behind him.

Levi took a quick glance at both Moblit and Mike who were still trying to subdue an overly excited Nanaba before he stood up. Not bothering to even grab his crutches from the other side of the wall, he hobbled the few meter distance toward the door of her room.

“Hange?” Levi opened the door just wide enough to see it. She hadn’t locked the door at least.

“I still have the pictures on my phone.” She sounded apologetic. She sat at the foot of her bed, her face towards the ground. Levi could tell by the crack on her voice that she was in no mood to look up.

“The pictures of me?”

“I can delete them if you want. I know it’s creepy. I shouldn’t have taken so many during tournaments.”

“And you wanted to kiss me?”

Hange fell limply on the bed and looked up at the blank ceiling. She had looked like she was avoiding his gaze. “It was a weird passing thought. I mean, I know a lot of girls have those types of things but I guess it really is creepy when the person isn’t as big of a celebrity as boy groups or actors. But I’ve wanted to be an athlete since before I could remember. I wanted to jump, to see how it feels like flying through the air. And when I saw you jump, I swear you could have had wings on your back with how well you were able to control yourself up there. You made me feel like I could fly too and I guess I got a little obsessed and ended up thinking a lot of creepy shit. I know it’s weird and I sound like a stalker…”

“No it’s not. I still have the stories about you. I’m just as weird,” Levi looked towards the wall, a gesture of respect for Hange who looked like she was in no mood to look at him.

“But, you only started writing them after we met.”

“But the stories are so detailed, it’s embarrassing,” Levi said. “if I made you feel so strongly about this, you felt obsessed enough to sneak pictures. Just remember, you made me feel things too. And these things I felt, ended up making me write. And I’ve never written in my life.”

“How did I make you feel?”

“Like I could fly too.” His dreams could attest to the fact that he wasn’t lying. Levi chose that moment to look at her and their eyes locked even before he consciously tried to follow her gaze. She had lain on the bed, looking more relaxed than a second ago.

Hange scooched over. Levi noticed then with the slight movement that his right knee was starting to ache, having taken the load of all his body weight as he hobbled.

Her scooching over could have been a subtle movement more than anything but with his aching legs, Levi decided the risk was probably worth it. He approached the bed on the side Hange had opened up. “I thought of stuff I wanted to write... Nanaba and Mike were in those dreams too. For a time we would go out for drinks after a long day of training. Meat was hard to come by but sometimes, we would have the budget to blow on a plate of meat and we’d share it. Erwin would be there too. And sometimes, they would joke that we bickered like a married couple.”

“You really built your whole world huh? What inspired you to think that up this time? The alcohol? Meeting Mike and Nanaba? Having our heads bashed together?

The kiss? The visions of the split second chose to remind Levi of their existence at that particular moment. “The kiss?” The words rolled off his tongue so easily and so fluidly.

“You don’t have to call it a kiss if you don’t want to.” We didn’t decide to do it. So technically it isn’t right?”

Levi had wanted to argue. Hange’s denial of that kiss only made his memories clearer and the emotions tied to them much stronger.

That peck had been satisfying, euphoric. It was a cathartic release of pent up emotions. Yet at the same time it had only lasted a split second. In that silent room, on the bed next to Hange, he had enough of a breather to reflect and maybe articulate that particular gesture. His feelings were strong enough to at least convince him to keep it as is. “It’s a kiss,” he said.

The silence stretched for what could have been eternity. “It’s a kiss then,” Hange said. “Did it make you feel anything?”

“I liked it.” Levi kept it to those three words. If he gave his mouth and his emotions free reign, he might just say something he would regret.

“Did you see anything? Did it inspire you to write something else about Captain Levi and Commander Zoe?” It was just like Hange to pull those words out of his mouth anyway.

“If they weren’t constantly fighting for their lives, they might have ended up kissing.”

“And you’re not going to write a kissing scene?”

“They didn’t kiss.” Of course, they wouldn’t kiss during the war. They were fellow soldiers, subordinate and superior, it wouldn’t have been professional in the battlefield.

“Maybe after their relationship develops then.”

“It won’t develop.” The words came out automatically.

“Why not? What about after the war?” Hange suggested. Words like why always bring up more questions than answers and Levi found himself racking his brain for it.

The dreams and the memories or as Hange liked to call it, bouts of inspiration, came in images and scenes and sometimes pieces of information. From what he could tell, Hange and Levi had a strong bond and it would have only been natural that they had stayed close long after the war ended.

And a kiss probably wouldn’t have been too far off. But why didn’t they kiss? Why didn’t their relationship develop? Levi asked himself, as his mind caught up to the words he said.

Maybe because the war hadn't ended yet. But after that there should be potential to develop.

With time, Levi had started to realize a pattern to the dreams though. The answers to the questions came gradually. They came in meetings, conversations and dreams. If he waited patiently, if he just opened up, those questions would be answered right?

Before Levi even noticed it, he had settled on the bed next to her and had fallen asleep to those questions. His brain chose those moments in between the sleeping and waking world to go through the voices and visions that went through him in that split second kiss.

One day in the barracks, he had overheard three of his squad members talking.

“You know I’ve been working with the commander closely right?”

“Yeah?”

“After the meetings, Levi always stays in the room with her and every time I see them together. I can’t help but think, there might be something between them.”

“Maybe you’re just overanalyzing it. You do analyze a lot

“Hey, he was right about the titan shifters and their locations back in Shiganshina."

“We’re talking about romance here, not military intelligence. Besides, can you even imagine the captain and commander kissing?”

“Just because you can’t get a girl with your horse face.”

[shiftytracts]

Stop Wanting More, part 1 of 2 (T/M/A fic)

In which season-four Jon tries to quiet his hunger for live statements by gorging himself on paper ones, and Daisy tells him what she used to do when she got shaky between hunts. Part two here.

…For almost ten thousand words (~5.1k in this half, ~4.3 in the other), beeeecause of course I did.

Content warnings:

Disordered eating (mainly of the statement variety, but mentions also the literal kind)

Nausea, and brief descriptions of prior vomiting

Brief but not-ungraphic description of Jon’s (canon) Boneturning incident—so, injury, very mild body horror

Vague discussion of Daisy’s passive suicidality (in part two)

Animal cruelty and death: Daisy talks about hunting rats for sport (in part two)

—

Jon paused the tape recorder, closed his eyes, and tried to breathe. A statement’s second-to-last page was the hardest to get down. The dull ache that had begun under his ribs twenty minutes before now stretched down far enough to converge with the one in his stiff hips. His pulse throbbed in his stomach; he could feel it swell and recede beneath his hand with every beat. Nausea boomeranged up from somewhere under his navel. He reminded himself he could stop for now, finish this later—and, as always, that thought made him feel even colder than the sludge of other people’s fear pooling in his stomach. With his free hand Jon pressed Record again, and turned to 0101702’s final page. Oh, god, there was barely anything on it. Just the rest of this paragraph and then one more. He kept his eyes on the page, didn’t stop speaking its words, but fumbled blindly for another statement with his fingers.

“Knock knock,” Daisy said as she entered. “Christ—you’re still recording?”

In a flash Jon folded his hands on the table, sat up a little straighter, tried to suck in his gut. “Er—”

“Thought you said you were gonna do one more.”

“I’m almost done.”

“You’ve got another one right there.”

“I…” he considered I’m sorry, but then she’d say For what. “I don’t know what to tell you. It is my office.”

“Yeah, and your home,” Daisy scoffed—“and mine. Sort of.”

“D—did you want…? You’re welcome, to. Sit down, or….”

She did, on the arm of his couch. “I know, Jon. That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay.” To show he’d meant his welcome, Jon pushed his chair back from his desk and turned in it to face Daisy. Hopefully she’d remember he couldn’t ask What did you mean.

“I mean, don’t pretend this is work. How many statements have you had today? You don’t think that one can wait til tomorrow?”

Seven? Or would this one be eight. Jon forced himself to exhale out the portion of gut he’d been holding back since she arrived; it hurt too much to keep sucking in anyway. “A lot. I’m just.”

“Hungry, yeah.”

“Even when I’m stuffed I’m hungry.” He snarled a laugh, and set a rueful hand over his stomach like a fig leaf.

At first he’d tried sating the hunger with garden-variety food. That didn’t help much. Way back when he’d first transferred to the Archives Jon had fallen back into the old habit of forgetting to eat—which, yeah, not great, but, it did mean he remembered well how amazing it used to feel to cram down even a stale biscuit after too many hours’ inanition. All the hidden notes he’d found in yogurt and dry toast. He even remembered tearing up once at the taste of a banana, early in 2016. Before that he’d been sure he didn’t like bananas; afterward, for a short while he’d eaten one nearly every day, hoping vainly to recapture the ecstasy of banana after 14-hour fast. No luck, of course. After a few weeks he’d concluded he still didn’t much like banana as final course of healthy lunch. He’d especially disliked peeling them: how sometimes the stems bent without breaking, and the more times you tried the warmer, softer, more flexible they got. How little strings of peel still clung to the banana after you peeled off its main body, like static when you pull off a jumper. Or like the lint it leaves behind on your shirt. And the way bananas bruise, like people do. All these vestiges of its previous life—reminders it had lived to feed itself rather than him.

Since the coma, all people food—er. That was, all food intended for human consumption—tasted like that chase after a faded spark. Cloying and mushy and… organic, reminding him too much of the garden it came from. And the way it landed in his stomach was far worse. The original banana, the one Martin had pressed on him in the Archives in April 2016, had gone down like nectar, ambrosia, manna from heaven, &c.; the ones afterward, like an unwanted dessert always does. (Cloying. Mushy. A biology lesson mildly tapping its watch.) These days, though, eating regular dinner on a stomach empty of other people’s trauma felt like trying to fill up on cake. Not like cake after fourteen hours of nothing; Jon was pretty sure his 2016 stomach would have welcomed that. But like cake at dinner time. When you’re expecting, you know. Dinner. It gave him the brief, fake-seeming energy of a sugar high, and made him sick before it made him full.

Especially when he was otherwise ailing, for some reason? After Hopworth he’d treated himself to a lie down and a sandwich. The rest had helped, but he’d squandered most of the energy it gave him on the effort to keep the sandwich down. At that moment nothing, not even the coffin, had scared him so much as the thought of what it would feel like to throw up when you had only ten ribs on one side. He hadn’t expected losing them to hurt, at least not for long—had expected the rib to flow out of his skin into Jared Hopworth’s hand like an ice cube through water, which in retrospect was stupid given the testimony of Mr. Pryor in statement 0081103, but he hadn’t had time to reread that one beforehand and at the time Jon remembered only that Hopworth didn’t break his victims’ skin when he pulled out their bones. Turned out that wasn’t much comfort: he’d still had to break the ligaments attaching Jon’s ribs to his spine and chest. It had felt like a bad dislocation (four of them, technically), only instead of the feeling of bone pressing on things it shouldn’t there was an equally violating sense of tissue wallowing in holes that shouldn’t be there. He’d had this horror that if he were sick the flesh would crumple and pop where his ribs used to be, like when you try to suck the remaining water out of a near-empty bottle.

A few months after that he’d caught cold. (A point in the still-human column, Daisy had called it.) You know the first day or two of a cold, before the encroaching mucus takes out your ability to smell or taste properly, how innocuous olfactory phenomena like cheddar and laundry soap suddenly become Bad Smells, on par with the olive bar at a posh supermarket? Well, in a similar way, this one seemed to sharpen the dichotomy in his body’s opinions of people food and monster food. His lack-of-ribs had mostly healed by then though, so either vomiting with only ten ribs on one side did not cause the anomaly he’d feared, or, if it did, it hadn’t hurt enough for him to notice it in the cacophony (pucophony?) of other sensations.

(Daisy liked to play on words, so he’d been doing it more lately. This project the Eye seemed happy to help with, though in this case the suggestion arrived in his mind at the exact same moment as a reminder that, technically, the word cacophony can apply to sensations other than sound only by synecdoche.)

And then, a few weeks ago, when the whole Archives went down with norovirus… well, it wasn’t a fun time. He’d at first mistook the lethargy, weakness, trouble concentrating for signs of hunger—the new kind of hunger. Ms. Mullen-Jones’ statement about the Divine Chains cult hadn’t seemed all that bad, when he’d first recorded it. Scarier than if he’d read its events in a novel, of course; that was just how statements worked. He experienced them more vividly than stories, though less so than the events of his own life. (Because the people they happened to thought they were real! he’d told himself when he first took this job. It’s empathy, that’s all. Nope, sorry—evil magic.) When he read a paper statement these days, though, the knowledge it wouldn’t give him nightmares never quite left him. And he’d thought he was growing desensitized to the kinds of horror most people came to the Institute to report. Coming back up, though—maybe it was the fever, but god, the visions he got on that statement’s way out, of Agape and the soft, sticky hivecorpse of Claude Vilakazi’s followers—the way it made the donut he’d shoved down that morning (in a show of team spirit, god help him) come back up tasting like rotten rice wine—it was worse than the dreams. Worse, he could have sworn, than even the first time he ever dreamt Naomi Herne’s empty graveyard.

While hanging over the bowl of the Archives’ toilet waiting to see if he’d got it all up or if there was still more to come, Jon remembered thinking again of the banana Martin had given him. A few days earlier Daisy had made him watch the video of the I don’t understand this meme and at this point I’m too afraid to ask man vore-ing a banana; Jon had confessed to her, in a conspiratorial whisper-laugh, that for him vore itself had been one such meme until that very second, when the Eye had seen fit to inform him. But when applied to a banana, the term apparently just meant eating it peel and all. In 2016 Martin had broken the banana’s stem and pulled back a section of peel before handing it to Jon, so as to brook no argument. Was it really the banana itself he’d cried over? Not the gesture of friendship, when Jon deserved it so little? The thought of someone caring for him enough that when he got hangry at them they handed him a snack. Martin had been living in the Archives then, like Jon did now. Sleeping in Document Storage—a guest in a room owned by pieces of paper. Those bananas may have been the only thing that felt like his.

A Guest for Mr. Spider was about vore, technically. Not an uncommon topic in children’s literature. Some surmised that was where the fetish came from, though others maintained kinks like that were inborn, and the stories merely alerted their hosts to them for the first time. Red riding hood, three little pigs, little old lady who swallowed a fly. The Leitner touch was only the part where he drew you to his real-life lair and real-life ate you.

Looking back, that was probably the first thing he’d ever admired about Martin—how easy he’d made it look to skin a fruit. Not at the time admired, of course, but in those weeks afterward, when every banana Jon ate made him claw at the peel til his finger joints throbbed.

That stomach bug had struck the Archives with serendipitous timing, though. If he’d not found out how thin abstinence from the Hunt had made Daisy on the same day he’d barfed up a statement, Jon might not have pieced together what their combined evidence meant. Until then he’d put down his own post-coma weight loss to the fact he rarely ate more people food than a donut in twenty-four hours. Lots of avatars were scrawny, after all. Jane Prentiss, Mike Crew, Justin Gough, Annabelle Cane, John Amherst, Simon Fairchild. Jude Perry and Jared Hopworth could mold their respective fleshes however they wanted, so he didn’t count them as exceptions. True, Trevor Herbert’s bulk had struck him as odd; surely a homeless man wouldn’t waste cash on food his body no longer wanted. And what about Breekon and Hope? Did butterflies and a quartermaster’s pen and tongue sustain them? But maybe, Jon had told himself, it was like with alcohol. Maybe the avatars with more flesh on their bones had worked to develop a tolerance for (air quotes, heavy sarcasm) people food, for the sake of their physiques, or. So they could, he didn't know, eat socially? Without feeling sick, like Jon did whenever one of the others brought donuts.

Preposterously stupid, this theory seemed in retrospect. The truth was much simpler. It was like Jude Perry’d told him. She was strong and he was weak, because she fed her god with her actions, while Jon’s had had to resort to eating his flesh.

He wasn’t going back to live statements! That wasn’t an option; he knew that. He couldn’t feed his god with his actions. But he could have more paper ones. Maybe they were like the candles poor Eugene Vanderstock used to bring Agnes—the ones she’d sat over for hours. Hours and hours, inhaling the suffering that made them. They’d kept her strong enough, right? At least in body. All those people in charge of her care, all so much in her thrall—if she’d looked hungry one of them would’ve mentioned it in a statement.

During Jon’s school days, back when he was still trying to learn how to be a girl, this brief window had opened up right around age thirteen where the girls around him had enough self-consciousness to start developing eating disorders? But not enough to keep them secret. Thirteen had been this phase of, like, I’m a teenager now, see? I’ve got the teen angst now—SEE?! Where after they���d finished the day’s maths assignment, or while setting up microscope slides, one could overhear girls swapping self-harm anecdotes and tips for how best not to eat. Anne, whom he’d been almost friends with, went through two packs of chewing gum a day for a while. She would shove three or four sticks at a time in her mouth, then spit them back out into their wrappers as soon as they lost their flavor. Eventually they made her sick, and she switched to chain-sucking butterscotch discs. (Most artificial sweeteners, as the Eye now informed him, had mild laxative properties—including those used in gum.) Other acquaintances had brought comically large thermoses of coffee to school every day, and scurried to the toilet between classes. But it was another polyurious crowd that Jon kept thinking of, these days—the kids who would chug water every time they felt hungry. Trying to fill up on paper statements felt just like that.

He’d never understood that urge until now. Hunger was already a bad sensation; why would it help to add the further bad sensations of nausea and stomachache and cold? But now it made sense: feeling better was not the point. The point was to stop wanting more. He couldn’t get rid of the hunger, exactly—not in a way that mattered. Not the shards of glass in his belly, not the itch in his esophagus like a finger tapping behind his gag reflex, not the way simple motions like soaping his hands made his whole body ache. Not the sharpening of his senses to such a fine point that he jumped whenever Thérèse in the office above him shut her desk’s sticky drawer. (He hadn’t known that was what made the squeaky noise until a few weeks ago when the Eye decided he might like some office gossip. Even now he didn’t know which of the faces he sometimes passed up there belonged to Thérèse. She had no statements to make.) Nor the fog in his mind, though he tried sometimes to blame that on the Lonely. He couldn’t sate his hunger with paper statements—couldn’t make himself full, in the rosy way we usually connote that word. All warm and carefree and pleasantly sleepy. But he could cram the hole inside him with enough stale horrors that the temptation to chase down a fresh one momentarily left him.

And that was the new plan—to stuff himself with paper statements.

Tomorrow would mark two weeks since the day he’d first tried it. Brian from Artefact Storage had a statement to give him, Jon could feel—either Stranger or Spiral, it was hard to tell quite which. Something that caused paranoia. Not a great fit for that department. Good fit for a temple of the Eye, Jon supposed, remembering Tim and Michael Shelley. But Artefact Storage? God help him. He wondered if Elias had done it on purpose, hiring a paranoid man to work in a room full of objects that wanted him hurt. If so it must’ve been this one—this purpose. And on Wednesday mornings Brian manned the place all alone. Poor soul was already clinging to this job by a thread, though (so, Web…? That could cause paranoia too, as Jon well knew). Surely if Jon made him relive his trauma that would break it. Though perhaps that’d be a mercy. And but besides, two weeks ago Melanie had still lived here, and sat all morning between Jon’s office and Artefact Storage. Until she went to lunch. But by that time the woman whose laugh Jon could sometimes hear through the walls (Pooja, the Eye had since told him her name was) would have joined Brian. And it’d just be too weird, too risky, to go in and ask him about it with a third person in the room. Even if it wasn’t also evil.

So he’d read 0132210—the statement of Sierra Talbot, regarding a swimming pool whose depth changed every time she entered it—in hopes that’d make him quit thinking about the paranoid man down the hall. It didn’t, not really; paper statements didn’t take up as much of his attention as they used to. But he couldn’t get up and walk to Artefact Storage in the middle of one. When he finished and still couldn’t think of anything but Brian, he dug out another statement (this one from 1938, regarding a bad penny). Just to keep himself chained to his desk til lunch. And then a third (Liza Ho, attack of the killer seagulls). And by the end of that one he felt too heavy and cold inside to want to go anywhere but the couch. It made his stomach swell until it hurt to sit up straight, and the thought of shoving anything more inside made him feel sick—exactly like chugging water every time he felt hungry.

Basira had said maybe the Web just wanted to keep them so afraid of their own impulses they sat and did nothing so they couldn’t be puppeted. Maybe she was right. He’d never felt more like a spider, with his weak, skinny limbs and bloated stomach. Lying on the couch massaging other people’s horrors into more comfortable shapes inside him. Thank god he’d already given up tucking in his shirts, when he came back after the coma. Jon had worn the same trousers for three days in a row, now—shucked them off at the end of the day, hoping if he left them on the floor that’d convince him they were too dirty to wear again, and then slipped them back on over clean boxers in the morning. They were the only trousers he had that stayed up with the button left unfastened.

(Technically, the noun bloat refers to the feeling of weight or tightness in the abdomen. To describe a belly which has expanded beyond its typical size, one should use the word distended. Though these phenomena can occur separately, most people conflate them under the single word bloated. This trivia had seemed worthless when Beholding told him of it. But now he knew better. Every morning he woke up feeling like he’d had his whole torso replaced with the aching void of space, empty but for silver glints of pain that were the stars. And then he’d look down and find his belly still distended.)

Melanie and Basira didn’t know—at least not officially. They both seemed to have noticed how much more often lately they’d walked in on him recording, but Jon was pretty sure they suspected him less of bingeing on statements, more of pretending to record so as to avoid talking to them. He welcomed this misapprehension.

It was also possible they knew but declined to comment, since. Well, it was kind of a pathetic habit? Physically, a bit pathetic. Morally, though, such a big improvement over compelling statements by force that maybe they figured they ought to let him have it. If so he should be grateful, he reminded himself. Their pity, after all, was humiliating only in principle; Daisy’s teasing and concerned questions embarrassed him in practice.

“Enough navelgazing,” Daisy scoffed, but when Jon looked over at her he could see a smile creeping its way onto her face. “Look—finish the one you’re on, then come over here and I’ll. Tell you a story.”

“I—what?”

“Don’t know if it’ll count as a ‘statement,’” she said, with air quotes; “not much fear in it, more just.” She looked at the floor, then shrugged. “But it seems worth a try, yeah? Might make you feel better.”

“I-I, er. I really shouldn’t?” He meant in case it had a taste of human blood effect, but set his hand on his stomach again in hopes she’d think he meant he was too full.

“Yeah, you should. I want you to hear it.” Daisy shrugged again. “Think it might do you good to know.”

Jon turned back to his desk, unpaused the recording and wrapped up the statement. He’d quit bothering to record end notes on most of these—told himself he could add them in later, like he used to when he’d first taken this job. How proud 2016 Jon would have been to see how many statements the 2018 Archivist got through in a week.

He paused for a moment before standing up, to take as deep a breath as he could manage when stuffed full of paper. The end of that statement had gone down easier, since he’d had that few minutes’ break talking to Daisy, but he still didn’t love the idea of standing and walking. Especially since he knew once he got to the couch he’d be glued there by fatigue. If he didn’t pee now, he’d spend most of the night far enough into sleep to be paralyzed, but not far enough to numb his bladder. He excused himself to Daisy, promising to come right back. Then hauled himself up, with help from his cane and one arm of his chair.

Six limbs it took to maneuver this body now. Two more and he’d’ve gone full spider.

Three quarters of the way to the bathroom—that’s how long it took before the ache in his legs outpaced that in his stomach. He arrived on the toilet seat shaky and out of breath, as always. Months ago he’d given up standing to pee. When you sat you could rock back and forth, and cross your arms tight over waves of quease.

Not much came out, as was also usual lately. As far as Jon could tell, his body now required only enough water to keep his mouth from drying out while recording. Dehydration no longer made his head hurt, so, why bother. Good thing, too, he supposed—the last two weeks he hadn’t needed much non-metaphorical water inside for his body to parse that as needing to pee.

He let his trousers stay pooled around his ankles until after he’d washed and dried his hands. Then pulled up his shirt, to judge from his reflection whether they’d stay up with the fly undone. If he kept his hands in his pockets, yeah. Could you tell the difference, visually, once he put his shirt tails back down? Not for such a short distance. They wouldn’t have time to get disarranged.

It didn’t matter; Basira didn’t even glance at him on his way back, and all Institute staff who didn’t live here had gone home.

Jon opened the door to his office, said hello to Daisy but didn’t manage to look at her, and sat himself down on the other side of the couch. From the corner of his eye (or someone’s anyway) he saw her rise to her feet. “I’m gonna pee too,” she told him, picking her way toward the door; “get yourself comfortable, like you’re going to bed.”

“Where will you sit.”

“I’ll squeeze in.”

“I don’t mind leaving room for—?” Finally he made himself look up at her, in time to see her shake her head. Daisy hadn’t been strong on her feet either, since the Buried; she held herself up now with a hand on the doorjamb, elbow bent so her shoulder leant against that wrist. He regretted quibbling. “Never mind; I’ll just.”

“Really? You’re comfortable like that? You look like a sheep in clover.”

The knowledge came to him before he could ask her what that meant—complete with a nasty visual of what happens in cases acute enough to require rumenotomy. Jon swore he could feel himself swelling to accommodate this tidbit. His eye twitched in discomfort.

“Think I prefer ‘windbag,’ if it’s all the same to you.”

She made a face like that was grosser than what she had said. “You ruined my joke. I was gonna say I won’t let you have any more leaves til you look less like you might explode.”

“Sheep in clover suffocate,” Jon frowned; “they don’t explode. You must be thinking of how they cure them when—”

“Leaves. In. A. Book, Jon. That joke.”

“Oh. Yes, I see.” He made himself chuckle.

Daisy sighed and shifted on her feet. “I’ll be right back. Just lie down, alright? Like you’re going to bed.”

Jon agreed to lie down, but couldn’t decide whether to face the wall (as he would to sleep), leaving her to slide in between him and the back of the couch the way she had a few times before when she’d walked in on him catnapping, or whether he should lie on his back, where he could see her as soon as she opened the door. It was important to make sure she knew he appreciated her offer to give him a statement. Or, no—to tell him her story, he meant.

Ultimately he picked the latter course.

“You sleep like that?”

“Sometimes."

“I’ve never seen you sleep like that. You always face the wall.” Daisy crossed her arms, blew hair out of her face. “That for the tummy ache, or for me?”

“Uh….”

“Would it hurt you to face the wall.”

“No, I just.”

“Turn around, then. I’ll squeeze in,” she said again.

“I-if you’re sure.”

He rolled onto his side, gritting his teeth as the cramps in his stomach swirled in new directions. What made it slosh like that, he wondered. While he fought to regain his breath Jon watched Daisy climb up onto the back of the couch on shaking elbows and knees, then avalanche down hands- and feet-first so she fit between him and its cushions. He’d never watched her do this before—always either startled out of a doze at the sound of her thumping down next to him, or simply woken up to find her there.

“You’re just like the Admiral,” he informed her.

“True words spoken in jest,” muttered Daisy. Too quietly for him to hear what she said over the couch’s tortured creaks, but half a second after she finished speaking the words appeared before his mind, in white, all-capital letters with a black background like closed captions on the news. “That’s Georgie’s cat, right?” she said aloud.

“Yes.”

Her knee jostled the cap of his; when it made him gasp she snarled under her breath. “Sorry. Can you move your leg?”

“Yes, it’s fine, just—”

“I mean would you move your leg.”

“Oh.” He did so.

“Thanks. Ugh—you’re cold,” Daisy accused him; “where’s that blanket.” He pointed behind her to the arm of the couch where it lay folded. She shook it out, and draped it over both of them. Reached around behind him to make sure it covered his whole back. Jon tried to ignore the way his stomach lurched every time Daisy’s weight shifted against the cushions. Finally she settled next to him to catch her breath. Their foreheads touched; her stomach pressed into his, though not as tightly as the last time they’d lain like this. “Can you breathe or am I crushing you?”

“Not at all, you’re fine—in fact, if the couch cushions are chafing you too much you can—”

Daisy huffed, and scooted herself in closer to him. “That better?” She set her warm hand down right where his belly diverged from pelvis. Jon tried to keep both voice and tremor out of his exhale. Since the coffin, Daisy’s hands and feet suffered at night and after any exertion from the same excess of heat his sometimes did. So the cold inside him probably felt nice on her hand, if not to the rest of her.

(Like snuggling up to a hotel mattress, she’d described it, after the first time she joined him for a nap when he’d just had a statement. Cold, hard, covered in lumps and dents, and creaks when you roll over on it. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” he’d replied, while praying her elbow wouldn’t come any closer to the crevasse where his ribs used to be.)

“Christ you’re stuffed,” commented Daisy. For emphasis she lifted her fingers, then set them back down on his gut.

“I don’t know what you expected.”

“You won’t pop if I tell you a story?”

“Not literally,” Jon said, blinking.

“Of course not literally,” she scoffed; “you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Will it make you sick. Don’t want you throwing up on me; this is Melanie’s shirt. If you ruin it she’ll hit us with her cane, and I don’t trust you to hit as hard back with yours.”

“Mine’s shorter and thicker,” he mused. “I don’t have to hit as hard.”

“Stop. Avoiding. The question.”

Jon sighed to show her he capitulated. Then thought about it. He felt cold and sick, but the idea of saying no to a statement made those feelings worse, not better. And the sharp clusters of pain in his belly were harder to sleep through than quease.

“I’ll be fine,” he decided. “It’ll help.”

“Alright. When you’re ready, ask me what I used to do when I got shaky between hunts.”

--

Read part two here.

[kiriluvbot]

tender loving care

—

seroroki, sick fic, the second half

—

ten years after graduation, pro hero shoto’s agency

“sho? you in here?” pro hero creati’s gentle voice asks from somewhere across the room.

the sho in question is slumped at his desk, lights off, a blanket wrapped tightly around his grimy hero costume. he’s awake, but barely, and momo can see him shivering.

“‘m here.”

“are you okay?” she makes a move to flip on the light. “obviously you’re not okay. maybe—“

“don't turn on that light,” a severely uncomfortable shoto hisses, turning his head to look at her through shadowed eyes. his head is pounding, pressure building up at his temples. he’s pretty sure he’s about to throw up, so he lies (you know, like a fool) and says, “i’m fine.”

“did you find him? why’s it dark—oh, he’s in there?” mina ashido joins momo in the doorway, looking like she just came in from a rather busy patrol, covered in dust. “hey, shoto, what’s up with you? we thought you went home.”

“don’t feel like moving,” shoto groans and turns his forehead back into the flat of his desk. he thought about icing his hand and using it to cool his head, but he’s already so bitterly cold, and he’s too out of it to use his quirk how he wants to.

how heroic was it for shoto, one of the top ten heroes, to get so sick he literally couldn’t even use his quirk properly?

even the darkness makes his head hurt, his stomach twist.

“i think he’s sick,” momo murmurs.

“i am not sick,” shoto retorts.

“he’s definitely sick,” mina shakes her head. she turns to momo, lowering her voice. “i’ll get hanta on the phone.”

this catches his attention. “don’t. let him finish his patrol.”

mina gives him a scathing look, already pulling her phone out. “his patrol ends soon, anyway, so no harm done. you need to go home, sho. so unless you want one of us to take you…”

momo’s eyes widen. shoto curls into himself at the thought of moving at all, at the prospect of mina’s awful driving. “mina—“

“also,” she interrupts, tilting her head toward him. “he’ll be upset if we didn’t tell him his lover wasn’t doing well.” she pauses for dramatic effect. “am i wrong?”

shoto groans again, which makes his head hurt. mina smirks, exits into the hall to dial hanta.

“when did you start feeling bad?” momo asks him mildly, crossing the office. she moves his discarded boots out of the way, hangs his coat on the rack, observes the state he’s in.

shoto’s eyes are shut tight. he should probably be making a move for the trashcan soon with the way his stomach is twisting and turning like this. he should also probably answer honestly, because momo could generally always see through anyone’s bullshit.

“...last night.”

“last night?” she squeaks, obviously surprised. “why did you come to work today?”

“wasn’t bad til just a bit ago. probably just a—a common bug. just gimme a bit, i’ll be—“

momo comes up behind him, careful and kind as she rubs his back. “you didn’t tell hanta you were feeling bad?”

he doesn’t respond.

“oh, shoto,” she mutters, half to herself. “you push yourself too far. it’s okay to take a break when you need one. you’ve been telling that to us for over ten years now, you know.”

then she gets a grunt in response, followed by his most miserable moan yet. shoto pulls back from the desk, already reaching for the trashcan. his cheeks burn, feverish and embarrassed. if only momo could turn around or something—

too late.

his throat burns. how long has it been since shoto has been sick this badly? momo rubs his back through it all, respectfully quiet. it’s awful.

then the door opens, and yellow hallway light pours in, spotlighting shoto in all his sickly glory as he kneels on the ground, clutching that stupid trashcan like his life depends on it. it’s awful.

please go away, shoto thinks. please let me wither away and die here in peace.

pro hero cellophane stands in the entrance in all his 6’2 glory, decked in the crisp black, yellow, and white of his costume. he isn’t looking yet, and if shoto didn’t want to crawl into a hole at this exact moment, he’d take this opportunity to admire hanta, with his spidery limbs and thin waist. that costume does wonders for his figure; shoto should tell him that, shoto has told him that, but—

it’s been thirteen years. shoto will never tire of admiring hanta. shamelessly or secretly.

now shoto considers telling him to go away. he’s exposed and embarrassed himself enough already in front of momo, and now—

it’s been thirteen years, and pro heroes shoto and cellophane have seen it all, yet shoto is still cripplingly embarrassed to be found crumpled on the floor in such a state.

“he’s in here? oh—“ hanta pushes the door open even further, turning his focus to the state of his lover, as mina so kindly described him. “shoto, there you are,” he says, voice horrendously soft.

“he’s—“ momo frowns at the multicolored head dipped into the trashcan. “well, he’s not doing well. i think he has a fever.”

hanta is on the floor next to them in the blink of an eye, hair slicked back from his helmet. his hand finds shoto’s neck, feeling for the heat of his fever. the touch is generally a comforting gesture, but shoto nearly flinches away from it. sero looks a little distraught, like he’s never seen a sick person before.

let me be sick in peace, dear god.

it’s at this moment shoto seriously considers melting into the floor. he hasn’t been sick since middle school, probably. this is so embarrassing, he thinks bitterly. throwing up in front of your boyfriend and your best friend, unable to even stop yourself. he groans again.

“when did this start?” hanta asks no one in particular.

“i’m fine,” shoto mumbles, hating the taste in his mouth. what he would give to be at home, hidden under seventeen blankets with no light in sight.

“he’s not fine,” mina cuts in from the doorway. “hanta, please take him home. we’ll cover for you for the rest of the day, alright, sho? no worries.”

ah, mina. ever the natural leader. shoto appreciates the concern, even if he desperately hadn’t wanted to get caught whining around in his office. it’s minor, really, nothing big, he tells himself. you guys don’t need to be worried about me. you have jobs to do, and i’m just getting in the way. that thought leaves a familiar burn in the back of his throat.

“and as long as you need after that,” momo reassures him.

he vomits again. everything is horrible.

hanta sends a distressed look at momo, then at mina. a look that says what the hell can i do for him? he takes over rubbing shoto’s back as momo stands with a pitying look at her friend on the floor. she only hopes shoto isn’t too embarrassed (he is); she hopes he knows it’s okay to take a break, to go home and heal (he doesn’t, not really, not even after all this time).

after mina gives hanta a short run down on what he should do when he gets shoto home, both women bid hanta a silent good luck, then a quiet get well soon, alright? to shoto. then they're gone, and it’s only them left in the darkness of his office.

“can you stand?” hanta asks quietly as shoto starts to lean up.

“so embarrassing,” shoto mumbles, trying not to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. his hero suit is too warm, too tight. the floor hurts his knees. his feet are cold. “‘m sorry, hanta.”

“what? what are you apologizing for?” hanta doesn’t take his hand away from shoto’s back. “you don’t have to apologize, sho. i came to take care of you, okay?”

just like you always do for me, hanta thinks.

the sweetness and reassurance laced in hanta’s voice makes shoto hurt even worse. his eyes sting. why is it so hard to accept a helping hand? from your boyfriend no less?

shoto frowns and hanta watches his brows furrow, his lips purse. then his shoulders begin to shake. shoto’s crying, which makes him feel even worse.

“hate being sick,” he whispers as tears track down his cheeks. “so gross. so embarrassing.” he turns toward hanta, on his way to being completely distraught. “wanna go home, hanta.”

it’s a horrible sight, to see someone you love so out of control, so sick they can barely stand, so feverish they can’t see straight. it’s horrible because it feels like there’s nothing you can do, and hanta sighs, because he can’t take his pain away. he pitches both hands up, pushes shoto’s hair away from his forehead, and plants a ghost of a kiss there. his skin is scalding, slick with sweat.

shoto lets out half a sob.

“i’ll take you home, sho. i’ll take you home and fix you up and you’ll be better in no time at all, okay?” he whispers hurriedly, holding multicolored locks back away from shoto’s face.

a few more tears fall as shoto tries to nod. nodding makes the pounding in his head worse.

hanta scoops him up like he weighs nothing at all and carries him straight out of the building.

—

half an hour later, in shoto and hanta’s home

getting shoto off the floor had been easy enough, despite him because six feet of solid muscle and jelly-like limbs that refused to work properly. getting him out the door went smooth, as did getting him into the car and down the road. hanta had stolen a stray trashcan and gave it to shoto for him to hold on to in the passenger seat. just in case.

the entire ride home, shoto had only stared straight ahead at the road, unseeing. he didn’t throw up again, thankfully.

once hanta had gotten him into their house, he started running cold water for a bath, then got to work attempting to remove shoto’s hero costume.

that was hard, because shoto was horribly feverish at this point, like the car ride just allowed the heat to build, and he was insisting he could do it all himself then stumbling as soon as he stood up, trying to get hanta to turn around or leave the room.

“you don’t have to totally strip. it’s not a regular bath, silly.”

“don’t want you to see me like this.”

shoto is hopelessly defiant in this state.

“i promise you there's nothing to be worried about,” hanta insists. “i’m mostly here just to make sure you don’t pass out in the tub.”

shoto has the audacity to pout.

“you really think me seeing you in boxers is that bad?”

no response. being sick has made shoto both unnecessarily shy and even more stubborn than usual.

hanta lifts a brow at shoto’s indignant silence. “shoto, i hate to break it to you but i’ve seen your ass before. several times.”

shoto looks properly scandalized at that.

“why’d you have to say it like that?” he whines, head falling back.

hanta tries not to laugh. “come on, angel. let me help you.”

shoto flushes all the way down his chest at hanta calling him angel, like he’s seventeen and yearning all over again.

now he’s out of his costume and shivering and refusing to get into the bath.

“sho, the cold is gonna help draw out the heat from your fever. your quirk isn’t really stable right now,” hanta gestures to the tub. “so this is the next best option. you gotta do it.”

shoto stares at the tub with pure disdain, arms wrapped around himself. then he glances back at hanta, heterochromic eyes muted and heavy. and finally, finally, unfreezes from his spot and climbs into the tub.

hanta helps him, little by little, one dip at a time. it’s not super deep, but shoto has to submerge at least up to his chest for a bit in order for this cold bath to be worth it.

generally, shoto is hardly ever bothered by cold, but he’s having issues self regulating right now. obviously, or else this bath wouldn't have even been considered. his skin breaks out in goosebumps.

hanta feels awful. he sits on the edge of the tub, holding shoto’s quivering hand and dipping his free hand into the water, dragging it over shoto’s neck and forehead. he’s cheeks are blisteringly red.

“after this, you can get into something comfortable,” hanta promises him. “i’ll make you soup and tea, if you want. you can finally get some rest.”

shoto’s eyes are closed, brows furrowed as he tries not to complain about the cold. hanta only flicked on one light in their bathroom, because surely both would’ve been too bright. he’s just glad shoto hasn't thrown up again. hanta isn’t sure how well he could handle that.

he very nearly called his mother when they stumbled into the house and shoto tried to collapse on the couch and not get back up. he’s doing his best here.

shoto squeezes sero’s hand when he brushes some water over the back of his neck, wetting the ends of two toned hair a little by accident. he doesn’t say much at all in the tub, just sits and takes it as the cold works to draw out his fever. maybe him not saying anything ridiculous is a sign that his delirium is starting to ebb, along with his initial fever.

i wonder if he remembers taking care of me in the dorms all those years ago. shoto todoroki, always reaching out a hand for others but refusing to accept a helping hand in return.

even despite being stupidly in love for twelve and a half years, shoto has a hard time asking for or accepting help from hanta. from anyone at all, really, but especially hanta.

it’s taken a lot of time and devotion, but it works. they’ve torn down a lot of walls and defenses together.

hanta smiles fondly at the memory of tiny shoto and tiny hanta holding hands for the first time. oh, how far they’ve come. the panic in tiny hanta’s chest, the pinkness of tiny shoto’s cheeks.

“too bad you're sick,” hanta starts, teasing, “i can't kiss you until you’re better.”

shoto peeks a gray eye at him. he looks exhausted. he pulls his free out of the water and reaches up, dancing his fingers over hanta’s cheek, like he’s trying to be sweet. then he splashes him with all the strength he can muster.

sero gasps outright before bursting into a fit of laughter. that water really is cold.

“wish you’d kiss me anyway,” shoto grumbles, still peeking as hanta tries wiping away specks of water from his face. “we live in the same house, so you’ll prolly get sick, too, han.”

he’s already talking a little smoother. that's progress.

hanta grins. “think so?” he takes shoto’s hand again, brings it up to his lips. “you gonna make me take an ice bath if i catch a fever, too?”

“just out of spite.”

“whatever makes you feel better.” then hanta kisses his hand once, twice for good measure. “come on, let’s get you dried off.”

—

shoto is now bundled with his favorite blanket on the couch, a warm cup of tea cradled in his hands. he’s got the most outrageous red and green christmas pajama pants on, covered in little trees. he’s also wearing one of hanta’s hoodies.

and by hanta’s hoodies, that is to say, pro hero cellophane merch. it’s huge, even on shoto. it’s black with yellow markings that mimic hanta’s costume, cellophane written in hanta’s own handwriting across the back. shoto has the hood pulled over his head. his eyes are fixed on the tv, where he’s put on totoro.

he’s already doing ten times better. now he just needs to eat and rest.

hanta rounds the couch with a bowl of steaming soup. shoto looks up at him with pure wonder in his eyes, lips parted like he might’ve just been about to fall asleep. hanta takes the half empty cup from his grasp and replaces it with the bowl.

then hanta folds his long legs up underneath him and sits next to shoto.

“thank you, han,” shoto murmurs, blowing the steam away.

hanta glances at him, at the light returning to his eyes. red and white hair peek out of the hood. his chest tightens just a bit, like he’s sixteen all over again. “you don’t need to thank me, angel.”

shoto falls asleep immediately after finishing his soup. hanta lets him collapse onto his lap; hanta lets his fingers dip into soft two toned locks; hanta lets his heart soar.

i’d steal all the stars in the sky for you. that’s how much i love you. i’ll never tire of loving you.

—

sappy right? i suck at writing angst.

anyway, here’s the rest of the fic :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29718771

[not-close-to-straight]

100% Professional (Three)

MASTERLIST

*****************

"Tell me about Gwen." Wade flinched when Peter's fingers dug too sharply into his back, and Peter soothed with a quiet sound and lightened the pressure. "You mentioned her last week. Girlfriend?" 

"Wade." Peter sighed over loud. "Don't you think I would have mentioned a girlfriend at some point in the last month? Every week I come here, strip you down, oil you up--" Wade snorted a laugh and Peter grinned. "--and then we spend all week texting like our fingers are gonna fall off. What part of that sounds like I have a girlfriend?" 

"Okay, not a girlfriend then." Another flinch over a particularly sore spot. "Ouch, get away from there, Pete." 

"I will do no such thing." The brunette said blandly, gently but no less purposefully working at the knot near the base of Wade's spine. "You've got a pile of bullshit right here that makes my back hurt just thinking about it, so you'll lay here and take it like a champ. Think of America and it will all be over soon." 

"Wow, we've really just slid right past professional and straight into slightly abusive territory--OW!" Wade jumped when Peter pinched at his side, jumped and then gulped when the pinch turned into a touch that was damn near a caress as Peter settled him back down. "Um... what's up?" 

"Sorry." Peter's palm lingered for just few seconds more, then he went back to work. "I didn't really think about how it might hurt you to jump like that. Sorry." 

"You're apologizing for making me jump but not for pinching me?" 

"Talk shit, get hit." Peter said lightly and Wade laughed again. "Anyway. Gwen is definitely not my girlfriend. She has a sort of boyfriend right now anyway, and when we tried dating before, it just didn’t work out. She's got all these big plans to save the world by taking on big companies for all their environmental disregard and terrible health benefits for employees and I want to stay home and eat pizza. Obviously that’s two different goal sets.”

“Don’t mean there isn’t something there.” 

“Wade, last week she posted an article about how billionaires shouldn't exist because they only get that way by stepping on the backs of others and it was unethical to the point of demanding a guillotine.” Peter pointed out. “She got eggs thrown at her as she walked into work, so she whipped around and threw eggs right back. She had a twelve pack in her purse for such an occasion.” 

"She sounds  real pleasant." Wade grunted and Peter countered, "Gwen is wonderful. She just refuses to take shit for saying what she thinks. I wish I was half as brave." 

"I dunno, coming to random guy's apartments to give them massages seems pretty brave." Wade hissed out a breath when Peter flipped the towel up over his legs and started in at his calves. "I could be a serial killer, Pete. This could be most dangerous place in the world." 

"I know about a billion spots on your body to press at to make you scream." Peter said dryly. "I'm not worried about it. Also, threatening that you may in fact be a serial killer is like the worst flirting ever. Total boner killer." 

"I wasn't trying to flirt." Wade denied. "That would just be creepy, flirting with you while you're rubbing my naked body. Stay professional Pete, damn. Mentioning boners while I'm vulnerable seems like a quick way to get the cops called on you." 

"You're about to get pinched again." Peter threatened, but he was laughing, and Wade settled back down onto the table to just listen. 

A whole month they'd been doing this now, Peter coming all the way uptown to work on Wade. Twice weekly, shorter sessions seemed to be better for Wade so Peter had adjusted his rate accordingly and Wade had compensated by actually paying more to cover the transportation times. Peter fussed about the money via text, Wade replied with snark and sass, Peter sent a barrage of memes back, Wade rolled his eyes over and over at the nonsense... it was good. 

It was good and Wade didn't bother lying to himself about how much the massages were helping him heal, how much he enjoyed Peter's company, how his face lit up every time his phone chimed. 

And it wasn't professional-- well, the massages were professional minus a little good natured ribbing, but nothing else was. Peter was open and honest and teasing, Wade was sarcastic and probably obnoxious and when Peter had called him yesterday to talk about his day at work,  the phone call lasted for well over an hour before they said good bye. 

Peter was outright blatant in talking about how he liked Wade's body, he joked about swooning for muscles, poked fun at Wade for ogling his butt and Wade couldn't deny it. They joked about Wade being a sugar daddy every time money passed hands and Peter talked about needing to pick up more clients like Wade if this was how rich people acted and there were a million references to 'this isn't porn, I'm not that kind of a massage therapist' and it-- it--

--well, it was flirting and it was attraction despite Wade's scars and the several year age difference. It was easy and painless after so much of his life being awful and Wade didn't know the last time he'd thought about dating or even sex but holy shit, Peter made him think all sorts of things. 

It wasn't professional, but it was certainly something. 

"Turn over for me?" Peter smoothed his hands down Wade's side and patted at his hip. "Let me work at your front a little bit." 

"Um--" Wade hesitated, suddenly aware that all his thoughts about Peter had led to a rather delicate...situation. "Pete, why don’t we hold off a bit?” 

"It was alright last time, wasn't it?" Peter busied himself at his bag for a moment to give Wade a bit of privacy. "Didn't hurt too bad?" 

"Well no, but uh, seriously, lets give it a minute.” Wade’s rise and shine wasn’t exactly unimpressive but he knew damn well the first time to show it off wasn’t mid-massage. “I’m just gonna... meditate on my Grammy a little bit.” 

"I brought a weighted blanket for you." Peter held up the blanket with an almost sheepish smile. "Last night when we were texting, you mentioned how since the accident you started standing sideways, always trying to protect your front and that you didn't realize it til I asked you to turn over last appointment and it about made you panic." 

"...alright?" 

"So I brought you a weighted blanket." Peter shook out the quilt and offered it up. "I thought maybe it would feel like body armor or something, maybe it would feel like protection? And it would take care of that little bit of panic you get when you’re belly up and vulnerable.” 

“Belly up, huh?” Wade felt like he wanted to cry all the sudden, and while it was a thankfully instant boner killer, he still hated it, still hated being brought to the edge just because Peter had not only listened as he rambled, but also thought of a way to help. “So I freaked out, and you brought me a blanket? Neat.” 

His therapists had never tried a blanket. They’d been more worried about how he still had nightmares and couldn't walk past tall walls with no windows. God forbid a big truck rolled past on the street, it sent Wade into a straight panic every time and even though he’d purposefully bought the penthouse apartment so he didn’t have to hear traffic noise and random voices, the panic still crept up and lingered if he looked out the window too long.  

He hated it-- he hated it-- and now Pete had bought him a weighted blanket just to try and help and it was all a little too much.

"That's-- Pete, that's completely unnecessary." He insisted, cursing when his voice shook. "I don't need a blankie, I'm not a child. I'll roll over and it's fine." 

"I'm sure it's unnecessary and I know you're fine." Peter ignored Wade’s protest and stretched the blanket out anyway, settling it at the sides of the table. "But tell me how this is anyway." 

The blanket was heavy and warm, comfortingly weighted along every major point of Wade's body, from the tip of his toes clear to his shoulders and even the base of his neck. It felt like full body armor and when Wade breathed out it fell even heavier across his frame. 

And for the first time since the fucking explosion, Wade actually felt safe. 

"Wade?" Peter murmured. "You've been quiet for a while, is everything okay?" 

"It's--everything is--" Damn it. Wade screwed his eyes up tight and pushed his face into the table as he started shaking. "Shit." 

"Hey hey hey." Peter knelt at the front of the front of the table and reached for Wade's hands. "Wade. Too much? Should I get rid of it? I'm sorry, I was just trying to help." 

Wade pushed up onto his elbows but kept his head hanging, and Peter stood up again, stepping close until Wade's forehead was resting against his stomach. "Can you talk to me? Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine." Wade shifted his weight onto one arm and wrapped the other around Peter's waist. "Can you stay here a minute?" 

"Of course I can." Peter's heart clenched when Wade's trembling got worse. "I'm right here, right here. I'm not going anywhere." 

**********

Wade didn't know how long he lay there clutching at Peter while the kid held him tight and rubbed up and down his back, but by the time he came back to himself, the last little bit of sunlight had faded from the windows and the living room was dark. 

"...Pete?" 

"Hey, you back with me?" Peter's fingers were resting at Wade's pulse, but they slid back to tracing circles at his shoulder blades and down his back. "How are you doing?" 

"How long have I been--" 

"That doesn't matter, I was here and everything was fine." Peter interrupted. "Your muscles are locked up right now from laying like this though, so I'm going to help you sit up real slow alright? Nice and easy, slow and smooth. Gonna leave the blanket over your shoulders so there isn't any shock to your system, no sudden cold or weightlessness or anything, okay? You with me?" 

"M'with you, Pete." Wade couldn't even be embarrassed over his apparent melt down when Peter was being so patient, and with a little help, he sat up all the way and swung his feet over the side of the table, then automatically reached out for Peter again, needing the contact to ground him.

"I'm right here." Peter stepped right between Wade's legs, right up into his space and tore the top off a water bottle, pressing it into Wade's hands. "Small sips, work through it. I'm going to stay right here until you're ready for me to move." 

"Kay." Wade took little sips of water until the trembles had gone from his hands, and in between swallows he rested his forehead on Peter's shoulder, shuddering under constant, reassuring touches over the blanket. "I'm really sorry about this." 

"Sorry about what?" Peter ran careful fingers up and over Wade's bare scalp, working at his temples with light pressure. "Sorry about letting me hold you and get my hands on this smoking bod?" 

Wade laughed hoarsely. "Pete--" 

"Wade." Peter swallowed back his own tears and shook his head. "I realize we full on ballerina jumped across about a thousand professional boundaries tonight but that's fine. It's fine. I don't care. Friends who flirt, right? We can be friends who flirt and people who hold each other through this sort of thing. It's fine." 

"I uh-- I didn't expect to have a fuckin' break down cos you gave me a blanket." Wade muttered. "All the therapy I've been to and no one suggested a goddamn blanket?" 

"Did you ever tell your therapist you had a hard time sleeping on anything but your side cos you feel too exposed?" Peter pointed out calmly. "Or that you pile on clothes because you don't like feeling too naked? You had to get raging drunk just to get through being shirtless for our first appointment, Wade. It wasn't a big leap to think maybe you could use something like this." 

"But why do you even know about them?”

"I lost my Uncle Ben when I was in high school." Peter said softly. "We had a fight, I went out walking in the cold and Ben came after me. Wrong place, wrong time, and he ended up getting involved in an armed robbery and I couldn’t save him. For years after that I was cold. Just always cold. Felt like I was never going to be warm again after that night until I a weighted blanket to sleep under and I finally got better. When you told me how you didn't feel safe anymore-- I thought it would help you too." 

"Thank you." 

"It's fine." Peter budged even closer and put both arms around Wade's shoulders. "You want me to stay?" 

"Feel like I might fall apart if you leave." 

"Then I'll stay." 

********

"I didn't want to turn over cos I was thinking about you touching me and got a little... inflagrante delicto." Wade admitted some time later. "But uh, then the blanket happened and I freaked out and here we are." 

"Oh man, I was so close to getting to tap this and then went and ruined it with the blankie?" Peter teased lightly. "We'll have to revisit that later, huh?" 

"Right." Wade huffed. "Cos nothing says sexy like a man hiding beneath a blanket." 

"I dunno." Peter slid his hands beneath the blanket and back onto Wade's skin, smiling when Wade's breath got choppy all over again. "I've always wanted to do it in a blanket fort." 

"Oh my god." Wade's hands tightened at Peter's waist and they both sighed quietly. "Mr. Parker I think you're the man of my dreams. You show up and get me naked, use all sorts of slidey lotions and then announce you want to do it in a blanket fort? I've died and gone to heaven." 

Peter took a chance and pressed a feather light kiss to Wade's temple. "For the record, if you don't call me after this I will consider you a complete fuck boy and never talk to you again." 

"That's bull shit Pete, everyone calls fuck boys back, it's the nature of the game." 

"Oh fuck you and your fuck boy rules. I changed my mind, don't call me." 

“The hell I won’t.” 

*****************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER

*****************

@ships-galore @ceealaina @izziebladez @cwar1864 @hausoffro @tonystarkisanangel @multishippinglife @girlnic @iam93percentstardust @paranormalmoonlight5 @igotloki @moosette05 @wayward-student-philosopher @kaz-brekkers-gloves @atomicfandombomb @1fuckingshitup69 @agentlokii @livewire28 @tulipsnbigcats @kimstark @alex-stark-rogers @bibbarnes @heeeyitskay @goindownshipping @quietgayguy @nanita90a @justaniche 

@chiby-chan @thanossucks @i-am-worth-it-25 @dan4thefam

[phoebehalliwell]

Also i remember that you did an essay on nextgen relationship to witchcraft ??

i would like an mini essay on how each next gen tap to their other half (whitelighter and cupid) ?🥰

[this is where i’d put the link to the next gen’s relationship to witchcraft IF I COULD FIND IT] rip lmao but yeah!! bc basically everyone in the next gen is a halfling so i feel like there’s really like A Lot here like witchlighters are already just like hella rare and then pj parker and peyton are very possibly the first cupitches to exist ever y’know what i bet i can find? my mini essay on cupids & whitelighters yeah boi so i think the primary distinction between whitelighters and cupids comes down to like. head vs heart. and i know whitelighters are like innately good people who want to help others through good deeds blah blah blah but there is an inherent Logic to the process. whereas cupids are just a lot more fuck around/find out. it’s the same thing with orbing vs. beaming orbing you think of a place and you’re there beaming you feel a place. if pj and melinda were to swap bodies neither of them would be able to teleport. so i think the way that they were raised/trained also impacts that a lot so let’s go chronological order and start with wyatt

so, full disclaimer here, i am going off my own writings here as there are some blanks left in canon (i.e. who has what powers) also i made leo a whitelighter again bc like. a) i wanted to b) melinda’s a witchlighter which would be objectively fucking weird if leo was not a whitelighter ik the comics had this whole think about ~latent whitelighter dna~ but like girl what. and then also c) and i’ve talked about paige and motherhood before but i really don’t think paige wants to whitelighter for her kids bc she doesn’t want to be viewed as like,, as business associate to them bc that’s weird it’s one thing for your brother in law to be your whitelighter it’s a whole new can of worms for your mom to be your whitelighter. on top of that paige is still a charmed one and a witch so like. she definitely does not have the time to be the entire halliwell family’s whitelighter. but leo’s right there just give him healing and orbing hell he loves being a whitelighter just reinstate him. like come on. amirite lads? it doesn’t matter if i’m right or not this is my story and i’m sticking 2 it. okay let’s rock n roll

wyatt powers are projection, orbing, orb shield, healing, telekinesis, telekinetic orbing and he is a half split mother’s a witch father’s a whitelighter. i mean i think wyatt was really definitely as like The Witchlighter like at magic school all that like yes paige is a witchlighter but paige did not go to magic school and grow up around a bunch of little witches i think teleportation powers are Insanely Rare for anyone who’s not a halfling so the fact that wyatt can just. orb. he can heal. like this is Insane. but unlike a dency type situation where like these powers are so rare they basically have to be self taught i think there are a good amount of whitelighters at magic school who can teach him how to master his skills there’s also paige and leo so like. he’s pretty much covered. that and the whole whitelighter thing just really does come naturally to him like he was doing all this batshit crazy stuff from the womb like he healed piper from the brink of death at like age two. wyatt’s whitelighter powers are a fuckin breeze. i also think wyatt sort of id’s a little more as a whitelighter than a witch just bc chris is like so witchy wyatt feels like okay i must be more whitelighter by default. like chris will go out demon hunting and wyatt just like. doesn’t really want to do that so wyatt think’s it’s because he’s just more of a whitelighter more of a pacifist by nature. it’s not really it’s more just like chris is fuckin crazy but it doesn’t really matter. i also think that since wyatt is one of the only people with healing when the cousins are in trouble they almost always go to him, which only sort of adds to the Whitelighter element. i also don’t think wyatt has had any charges yet bc like. he’s really young he’s like 22. but i think he definitely will i think that’s something he would want to have. i think the elders also have some slight reservations about giving him charges bc like. very high probability he will fall in love with them.

chris powers are telekinesis, telekinetic orbing, orbing. does not feel very whitelighter at all. i mean for starters, wyatt’s totally Stacked with whitelighter powers that he just seemed to immediately have mastery over chris not so much. and it’s also like. everyone in the family Expected wyatt to have healing and then literally no one expected that of chris. like he tried he read about it all that and whenever he would try the sisters would just be like it’s okay hey you know not everyone has healing healing it’s big like not everyone can master it paige couldn’t heal til she was like 30 it’s nbd so chris is like yeah :| okay :| but it kind of bothers him how it’s like. his family just knew he wouldn’t be able to do that. and beyond that i think chris really does have this desire to prove himself in the craft to prove he’s a strong, talented, capable witch (which he is) and that’s really where he directs his focus. the power he hones the most it telekinesis. orbing and tlk orbing kinda of take a back seat simply bc they just aren’t as strong of combative powers (however, paige let him in on the insider secret that you can orb hearts of demons so that’s p fuckin cool. leo like Freaked out when paige told him this because he’s just a kid!! he doesn’t need to be hearing all of that!!! and paige is like yeah, just a kid who fights demons, leo. he’s seen worse and chris just looks at leo like yeah i mean i have and leo’s like cool gonna go have another parenting crisis). basically while chris knows he is a witchlighter he very much does not feel like one. he identifies as a witch. full stop. (side note he does not know he was the time traveller who came back to fix the timeline and if he found out and found out that he convincingly posed as a whitelighter and people actually believed him i think he’d lose it laughing)

melinda powers are empathy, orbing, telekinesis, telekinetic orbing. i think melinda views her Main Power as empathy, i think melinda considers herself to be more of a pacifist. again, this is kind of in relation to chris, so it’s like considering yourself to be short bc your brother’s 6′5″, but like. melinda is short. and she is more of a pacifist. i think given her empathy which is technically a whitelighter power tho it is much power likely she inherited the power from her aunt phoebe, she’s not really like. a fighter or a powerhouse or anything i think she also inherited piper’s want of a normal life. in my writings melinda is actually a nursing student i mean she’s a freshman in college but like. she wants to be like a nurse or a doctor she hasn’t entirely figured out how that would work with her like. Witch Schedule. but she kind of doesn’t care?? like she has a full family of charmed ones. they can save the day by magical means; she can save them by mortal ones. she also just like as a fun fact with her empathy powers can diagnose things really well because she can just like. feel what other people are feeling. so yes i think she’s really more whitelighter than witch i think if people ever saw her out and about with her whitelighter (i gave her a new whitelighter that isn’t leo in canon explanation is the elders are kind of worried the halliwells are getting a bit too cliquey little bit too much of a feedback loop there and they don’t really have the best relationship to the elders so like. now that one of them has kind of broken off into her own path they’re like okay can we give her a new whitelighter. just to kind of make sure they don’t all hate us. out of canon explanation i think it’s more fun for melinda to have a whitelighter her age instead of constantly dragging her dad to davis). i also think melinda is the most likely out of any of the next gen to receive a charge, but again, this is like, way out bc she’d like. 18. i also think she would keep her whitelighter on speed dial bc i think she’d be Super Nervous about fucking shit up like so bad for the first couple while. like eventually she’d get the hang of it and be confident and capable in herself and her abilities but for the first bit she’d be like. so so so anxious like s1 piper need to have everything be perfect when it most definitely is not.

tamora powers are molecular combustion, healing, invisibility, psychic link with kat. so. tamora’s technically like only 1/4 whitelighter as neither of her parents are whitelighters, her maternal grandfather is a whitelighter and that’s it. so that’s why both her and kat are a little less whitelightery that the rest of the next gen tamora can’t even orb. which was like genuinely a shock as literally every other witchlighter in the family can orb, but she just straight up cannot. she can heal, though, and is the only one beside wyatt with that capability, so her whitelighteryness is still there. she just can’t orb. and then while molecular combustion as a power obviously came from piper, healing, invisibility, and even her psychic link with her twin are all very whitelighter-y. (side note, it is specifically the whitelighter part of the twins that give them this link just like how all whitelighters are linked to their charges, them being twins just like. amplifies it. it also allows kat to always be able to orb tamora to her side and sometimes orb her other places without ever seeing her but that bit still doesn’t work that great. so while part of it is a Twin Thing, it’s also a whitelighter thing, which is why like warren and sheridan do not share a psychic link. note pt.2 the girls powers were bound when they were kids bc they had i mean like p dangerous powers at least tam did but as established by the fact that paige could always orb despite having her powers bound, their whitelighter abilities were always active. kat could always orb, tamora could always heal, their psychic abilities stayed active.) and like, because of this it’s the same though i’m just leaving the parenthesis before i forget, tamora for the longest time had no offensive power the only thing she could do was heal. she was also kind of like the coward to kat’s fearlessness or even just like henry’s popularity. she’s the shyest out any of her siblings, a lot more reserved, she has anxiety, blah blah blah. so she never felt very witchy. she had her whitelighter power and her cowardice. and kat was off running around having a wild time and henry was reading about the most terrifying demons known to man shit that have clawed their way out of the underbelly of the earth and tam’s just like. like no?? stop??? oh my god??? and then around age 14 when the girls entered high school they unbound their powers and started to train them and tamora just really only felt more uncomfortable in her own skin bc like. molecular combustion, man. and piper would teach her like how to use her powers like okay you just really really angry and you throw out your hands like BAM and she blows up a chair and turns to tamora with that cute lil grin on her face like okay now you try and tamora just feels so out of place man. like her aunt piper is this fuckin powerhouse and this power is like. it’s just too much for her like she always somehow felt like there was some cosmic swap some mistake in the grand design where she and kat got mixed up somehow and she should have freezing and kat who’s bold and fun and brave and strong should be able to blow things up. because this isn’t her. this is too much for her, it’s too loud it’s too. strong. that being said, she’s always had a knack for it, which she doesn’t realize bc like. it’s a very rare power. but she was able to gain mastery over it faster than piper did in her day. so piper knows it’s not a cosmic mix up. she knows this is the power tamora was meant to have, and some day she’ll grow into it. it’ll just take time. but yeah. witchcraft is not so much tamora’s speed she doesn’t like. necessarily identify more with her whitelighter half (or fourth but whatever) but she does just. like she likes those powers more she feels more comfortable with them. i think if she were to body swap with kat she’d be perfectly fine at orbing too. in regards to charges she is Also 18 so again long way out i think she would be open to the idea but it would necessarily be something she’d like really really Want to do i think like her whole dynamic with peyton would really be her jumping off point for whitelightering but if she got someone who was a lot more just like. into making bad decisions i don’t think tam has the backbone yet to tell them off. 

kat powers are molecular immobilization, orbing, omnilingualism, psychic link with kat. absolutely no on the whitelighter front. yeah she can orb and is omnilingual doesn’t even register those as whitelighter powers. considers herself a witch through and through. is not wise, is impulsive, is reckless, is a witch. would never take a charge. if she did, she’d go on all their adventures with them bc that’s just the type of person she is. doesn’t to the vague, gentle guiding of a whitelighter she is not vague. she is also very close with chris bc they have such similar ideologies. but yeah. she’s not a whitelighter.

pj powers are levitation, astral projection, beaming, sensing love we have exited whitelighter territory and entered cupid territory i think pj very much identifies as Cupid-Witch i think she is Thee hyphenate i think she wholeheartedly embraces both parts of her craft as the eldest of her charmed ones set she does feel the need to like Set a Good Example she measures out all her potions ingredients perfectly and mastered spell writing from an early age she treats the craft with respect. she doesn’t necessarily treat the cupid practice with respect that’s not quite the right word there’s no dignity it’s all fun. bc love is fun!! her and parker have a running betting pool on various relationships in school. melinda would sometimes put down money, now that peyton goes to school with them she’ll also place bets. henry jr also does this despite having zero magical abilities to sense anything he thinks that makes it more fun. but yeah. pj views herself as cupid. she loves giving relationships the little Push they need to blossom. people think it’s because she has an advice columnist for a mom and they like trust her bc like. she’s nice and her dad’s a relationship therapist her mom’s an advice columnist and almost everyone has at least one friend that pj has had a hand in their relationship so if she sets something up they’ll trust her. the school newspaper suggested that she actually start an advice column or a matchmaking thing but she turned it down bc like. she doesn’t do remote, y’know. her cupid powers are very personal, she needs to see it irl all the move parts before she makes a judgement call. but yes. very cupid. loves saying it, too. people are like wow you’re so good at relationships she’s like yeah i’m basically cupid lmao. parker boos every time she makes that joke.

parker powers are premonition, beaming, sensing love. so parker definitely considers herself a cupitch not just a witch but she doesn’t go as far pj just bc that’s not like her mo. pj does have a slightly higher eq than parker a bit more of a gentle touch they stay neck in neck in their betting pool because of parker’s premonition power however pj knows her sister can see the future and frequently engages to change the circumstances. parker does meddle as much as her sister. and like yeah parker is p witchy she does focus a lot on combat she did turn her cupid ring into an athame bc like. fuck yeah. but she isn’t like chris or kat where she’s like I Am A Witch Full Stop she really does see herself as a cupid she had yet to like. Set Up a relationship like pj does but she doesn’t consider herself any less cupid for that she is a cupid that is who she is. she’d just like. a tiny violent one. 

peyton powers are telekinesis, beaming, sensing love. again kind of like parker where she still very much identifies as half cupid she just doesn’t do mayn cupid things. i mean she’s also like 14 so like give it time but yeah pj was ten and putting couples together on the playground like it was wild. and it’s not like parker where she doesn’t have the eq to do it like parker just straight up doesn’t know what to say to steer to people together she’d just be like hey u to r in love with each other so. have at it. like baby peyton could probably get it right in the very subtle classic cupid manner she’s just too shy. like she could not imagine just walking up to someone and talking to them lmao. especially not about love. and since the girls aren’t full cupid they don’t have temporal manipulation they can’t move through time nor can they slow it down to speak to people’s subconscious but if she could that’s what peyton would do. bc she does love love in the very true cupid sense she just like. like talking to people?? aaaaaa amirite lads.

[elysiashelby]

In Another World - T. Shelby Imagine Ch. 3.2

Paring: (Eventual) Thomas Shelby x Aliena Welsh (OC)

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Word Count: 3, 449

WARNINGS: Cursing, Depictions of PTSD panic attacks, Hints of Self-Harm

Summary: Aliena Welsh has been living in the universe of the show Peaky Blinders for 7 months now. She’s beginning to heal after the incident, but when she hears Arthur having troubles while sleeping- she can’t help but intervene. How will the rest of the family take it? Will she listen?

MASTERLIST  CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER 3.3

A/N: This chapter and 3.3 are both considered extras. You can move onto chapter 4 without really reading them. I honestly wrote chapter 4 before 3.2 and 3.3. So, that will explain why Ch. 4 is a little different. THANKS FOR READING!

                Month 7 with The Shelby's 

It's been a month since the incident. We don't really talk of it and it's better that way. If I got one thing good out of it, it's that Tommy now trusted me. He trusted me with a lot. 

I was in charge of teaching the kids how to read and write. That included Finn which diverges from the original plotline 'cause Finn wasn't supposed to know how to read. He's a good lad, though. He really wants to impress Tommy. 

I did the groceries for everyone, but I doubt that I’m gonna be doin’ it for John much longer. I caught him and Lizzie Stark making out outside of the house. 

Anyway, I finally got a hang of UK currency. And Tommy told me that at the beginning of next year, I'll be expected to collect the money from some of the shops. It was gonna be family owned stores, nothing that would put me in danger. 

I was glad that I was trusted so much. It just solidified me routine even more. I trusted Polly the most though, especially after that night. Whenever we had a chance to just relax, she would always style me hair. It was really boss. 

It was nighttime and I was having some trouble sleeping. I discovered that this body had more talent that I originally had back home. See for some reason this body could draw. I can't explain it. But I can just draw whatever I like now. Before, I was just a really good storyteller. Mind you, the only affirmations I had were from family and friends. So, I never knew if me writing was actually any good. 

I was trying to draw a red spider lily flower. I bought some colours with me money. 

So, it was going just fine even though I was supposed to be asleep. That was until I heard a big bang. I jumped at the sound and I slowly got up from me chair. There was another bang. It was so stupid of me! What the hell was I going to do about it, right? So, why the hell did I decide I was gonna check it out?

I put on a robe and walked into the hallway. I followed the banging sounds and found it was coming from Arthur's room. I inched towards his door and slowly opened it. 

Arthur was thrashing around. The banging sound was actually him punching the wall from time to time. 

I remember that I read something about helping people with a PTSD attack, but it's not coming to me! 

So, I just rushed to him, grabbed him, and started to tell him he was alright. But instead, I triggered him. His eyes flew open and his hands wrapped around me neck. He rolled us onto the floor and his body hovered over me. It was hurting a lot and I couldn't breath. 

He kept screaming 'No!' 

I tried to peel off his hands, but immediately realized that wasn't going to work. I unwrapped me hands around his wrists and placed them on his face. I used me thumbs as I was slowly caressing him. He flinched but looked back down as I called out to him. Me voice was extremely hoarse and strained. I tried to smile at him. I tried giving him a very sweet, non-threatening smile. 

I saw the exact moment he realized this wasn't his dream anymore. He gasped for air like it was him who was being choked out. 

"Aliena?" He shouted. 

Arthur practically launched himself off of me and huddled into a corner. 

"What are ya doin' 'ere? Huh? What the fuck are you doin' in 'ere!"

I rolled over to me side and started coughing harshly. 

"You… You were punching the wall. I just wanted to help you."

"I coulda killed ya! I coulda-!"

"But you didn't. It's alright now." I shuffled closer to him, but I made sure not to reach out to him. 

He had his knees pulled to his chest. He just looked overall vulnerable which I hadn’t seen before. I've seen it in the show, but he hadn't shown me firsthand yet. He was crying so much. 

I just felt so bad that I stood on me knees and held open me arms. He looked at me up and down before going straight into me arms. I stroked his back vertically while combing his hair out of his face. I even started rocking us back and forth after a while. 

He sobbed into me stomach. We stayed like that 'til he calmed down. He separated us and looked up at me. 

"Is your neck alright?" His fingernails ran over me neck. 

I had to bite my lip to control the twitch that wanted to happen. I smiled as I whispered. "Yes, I'll be fine. Will you be? For tonight, I mean."

He nodded. We both got up and he really did tower over me. He hugged me again and it was my turn to be suffocated (again). I found that he was perhaps an inch or two taller than Tommy. I separated us after a while. He sat down on his bed and I bid him goodnight. 

I was barely out the door when I was given my 3rd scare of the night. Me hand flew to me chest as I saw Tommy leaning against me door. 

We met each other and he immediately started to inspect me throat. 

"'m fine, ya know. Hardly even hurts." 

Tommy raised an eyebrow. "That's a fucking lie 'n you know it. C'mon, we need to get it iced before it gets noticeable." 

He tugged me downstairs and we iced me forming bruises. I was really just sitting there. He was the one that did all the work. 

He sighed before speaking. "You shouldn't have done that, you know? His fits aren't gonna go away."

I looked away. "I approached him the wrong way is all. His fits won't go away, but I can teach him how to deal with them."

Tommy leaned back with a scoff. His smile was tight. He rubbed his chin while shaking his head. 

‘He didn't like what I just said.’ 

"You think you can cure us of what we have, eh, Aliena?" He asked. His tone, it was scary. I knew he was trying to scold me. 

"No. No, I can't do that. That's up to you and Arthur. And even youse can't fully cure yourselves. It's just not gonna be possible. But, you both can learn to deal with it."

"We are-!"

"In healthy ways, Thomas! It's not healthy to be drinking that much, either of youse! You can get alcohol poisoning or fuck! You'll both damage everything in your bodies. Your mouth, esophagus, pancreas, brain! Your fucking brain, Tommy! Liver-!"

"Enough!" He yelled while slamming his hand down on the table. 

I jumped and cowered. He yelled at me. I felt me eyes sting and the tears were  blurring me vision. 

"Don't yell at me… " I didn't even let him say anything else. I got up from the chair and ran to my room. I didn't want him to see me cry. 

When I woke up the next morning, I checked me neck in the mirror and sure enough, I had light handprint bruises. I ran me fingers around me eyes, exhaustedly. 

‘I can already tell this day is not gonna be good...’

I waved me hands ‘round before deciding to stop spazzing out. I began to get ready for the day. I looked through me collection of dresses and luckily, Polly had the good sense to buy me a dress that was a turtleneck. 

I did me hair in a bun like Polly taught me, put on me boots, then headed downstairs. I had to start on breakfast. 

When I rounded to the kitchen, I was only half surprised when I saw Polly standing there looking at me, expectantly. I sighed loudly as if I was already admitting defeat. She had a cup in her hands and she just stared at me. 

“So, what’s the damage, then?” She asked.

“Bruises.” I walked over to the stove and started it. It wasn’t gas-fueled, I knew that much. But I didn’t ask who turned it on in the morning or how. I figured it was someone else's job, or Polly did it herself.

After me reply, she said nothing. That did not ease the tension in the room. I knew what she was doing. I wasn’t gonna fall into her trap. Today, everyone will be eating egg on toast. I was letting the egg cook when I went to see if we had any bacon for meself. I grabbed it from the ice box and went back inside. I put it on the counter then went to flip the egg. 

Slurp!

Me left eye twitched. Slowly, I turned me head back to Polly. She slurped again, louder and longer. Sadly, on reflex, I began giggling. It was a nervous giggle. 

‘I broke. Stare-down is over. She won.’

“It was the banging,” I said. “I went to check on Arthur. I didn’t really realize what I was doing exactly, but it happened. I spooked Arthur while he was ‘aving an episode. It was entirely me fault. And don’t worry, Tommy already scolded me.” I looked back at her, gave her a small smile, then placed the egg on top of the ready toast. 

I turned me head back and heated up the pan for the bacon. 

“Ali, it’s not safe to be doing that. It’s better to let them ride it out. They’ll get better over time, love, but on their own terms. We’ll be there when their fit is over with, but it's best to not interfere while they’re having it. Okay?”

I nodded. I understood. I knew that men could help other men because they were less likely to get pinned down. Like Tommy is gonna do when Danny Whizzbang has an episode in the pub when the plotline starts. He and Freddie managed to calm him down ‘cause they overpowered him. While I was pinned to the floor by me neck. 

“It’s just that… It was so sickening seeing him like that. I couldn’t stand seeing him in pain like that.” Me voice was strained by the end of it. I shook me head as if that would prevent me from crying. 

The chair scraped against the floor. Polly pulled me into a hug. I held her tightly. She rubbed me back and rested her cheek against my head. It lasted until footsteps came thundering down the steps. 

Throughout the day, I managed to keep the bruises a secret from everyone else. I wouldn’t be able to bear it if they kids managed a glimpse ‘n decided to ask about it. When I had to give the boys their lunches, the only normalcy I maintained was with John. He brought it up, but he was very brother-like about it. 

Said that he figured it was gonna happen, he just betted that it’d happen with Tommy. More like hoped, he said. After that he cracked a few jokes with me. 

Then, I went over to Arthur. He couldn't even look at me. He asked how I was, I told ‘em. He nodded and left it at that. I figured that was for the best. 

Finally, it was Tommy’s turn. I was rather hesitant, to say the least. I acted very childish in front of him, and I was trying so very hard to avoid that! I knocked as always, went in, put down his plate, and in a last minute decision I decided I didn’t want to deal with confrontation today! I barely turned ‘round to walk away when he caught my wrist. His chair scraping against the floor as he sprang up to do so.

Me gaze was locked on him, but he was staring down his paperwork. I took in the sight. 

On the outside, I was keeping a composed face, but on the inside I was fangirling.

I swallowed and waited for his words. 

“I- uh,” he said, “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t ‘ave yelled at you.”  

I hummed and nodded. He gently let go of me wrist and I went about me way.

Thomas Shelby was never one to apologize, I’d say it was because the man was as stubborn as a mule. But this past month, that’s all he’s done.

So, everything was normal after that. I gave Finn a lesson while preparing dinner, I did all the chores, and yeah. 

I appreciated that he apologized, but that didn’t make the funk I was in disappear. With every strain on me neck, it hurt— stung. I’m sure it would have been unbearable if Tommy hadn’t iced it. But there was this sick part of meself that kept putting pressure on the bruises. 

The pain was there. The pain made me feel. 

When night came again, I still wasn’t asleep at a proper time. I was standing at the mirror. With the back of me fingers, I brushed over me neck. There was almost pain this time, I was just tracing over them. I was fixated on them. 

‘My sheltered life is truly over.’ I thought. ‘Parents aren’t here to coddle me anymore.’

I was safe in me suburban home back in California. I mean I had different dangers. Superficial dangers now that I think ‘bout it. I was now in a time that if I was taken advantage of, law enforcement would do nothing about it. If you weren’t from an affluent family who could kill the bastard, it was better to just adopt the mindset of “get on with it.” 

I think the only reason why I’m even slightly okay with what happened a month ago is because I’ve already accepted the fact that was going to eventually happen to me. Being in 1920’s Birmingham just upped the stakes, that’s all. 

I exhaled with puffed cheeks as I dropped me hands from me neck. 

“God, I want a ciggie, right now.” I whispered to meself.

I roughly rubbed me face before I picked up my hairbrush. Me hair was really thick and the length of it didn’t help me at all. It was at me mid-back. Me ma’ wanted it to be long. I’ve always had it short or mid length ever since I was a kid, but since she wanted me hair to be long, I caved. 

I was never gonna see her again. So, I might as well do everything that will keep her with me. 

I was still brushing me hair when I heard something. It wasn’t a bang or a thud. It was more like a whisper or a mutter. I stilled and waited. It was still going on. Gently, I placed the brush down then I crept over to the wall.

The wall that separated Tommy’s room ‘n mine. I pressed me ear against the wall ‘n the mutterings got louder. He was having an episode. I put me hand over me mouth and me other on me chest. I clutched on for dear life.

I wanted to help, oh, how I desperately wanted to! But, should I? After he told me off, after Polly told me. I don’t care. I still wanted to help him.

Me hand flew to me neck and I squeezed. Pain, I felt a lot of pain. Me eyes stung with tears. I stopped when I felt the pain begin to numb me thoughts ‘n rationale. That’s when I rushed to Tommy’s room. 

I didn’t care to put on a robe. I just ran out me room. When I got to his door, I slowly turned the knob, and slowly closed it behind me. He was having the sweats and muttering. I couldn’t tell what he was saying, but I knew he was dreaming about the tunnels. 

I stayed by the door and called out to him. “Tommy! Tommy, wake up!” 

He didn’t wake up.

“Tommy, you’re just having a nightmare. Wake up!” Despite my best efforts, I dived nearer to his bed. I had to be at least two feet away from him, I think. I didn’t even know what two feet away was!

“Tommy, you’re home. You’re not there anymore. Tommy, wake up!”

With a gasp, he woke up. Tommy’s eyes were blown wide as he jumped into sitting. Slowly, his eyes focused on me.

“Aliena?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“You were talking in your sleep. It worried me, so I came in ‘ere.”

His chest was heaving up and down, his eyes wider than I’ve ever seen— in the flesh at least. I tried thinking of ways to calm him down. 

“I told you-!”

“Smoking opium, Tommy? You’re killing yourself. Killing yourself with all the booze and smoking! You want to talk sense into me like a child, I’ll do the same. Me job is to take care of the lot of youse, so that’s what I’m doing!” I stood up. 

“You plan on doing Billy Kimber over, there’ll be consequences to that even ‘til Finn is old and grey. So you’re gonna listen to me and we’ll find out some other vices for you to turn to so you can at least sleep at night.” I started waving me hands a lot. 

“I can’t babysit you during the day, so to hell with that. But, while you’re within me sight and grasps, I swear by everything that’s holy- I’ll be counting every cigarette and drink you have. I can’t very well overpower you, but don’t doubt my power to be annoying! I will annoy you and I will convince Polly to join with me if you plan on getting rid of me.” I crossed me arms while leaning on one hip. 

“You want to be the leader of the family, Tommy? Take care of yourself so that you will never become a liability even when you’re old and grey. So, what do you say, huh? Are we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?”

He was surprised, to say the least. He had an eyebrow arched with his mouth hanging open. He closed it then looked away and ‘tsked.’ 

“For the amount I pay you, I shouldn’t be getting this kind of lip from you.”

“Take it up with management, then.”

He scoffed while shaking his head. “All right then, how are you going to put me to sleep?”

I sat on the ground and looked at the floor. “You could help, you know? One of the steps is for you to tell me how to help you, not the other way ‘round.”

He scoffed again. “Will you go fetch me a drink?”

“Nope.”

“Right.”

I pouted. I knew some ways I wanted to try out, but I didn’t want to embarrass meself. 

‘Fuck it! This isn’t supposed to be about me!’

 “How about I talk to you? You know, it’ll be like you’re me living diary. Or I sing? Or I hold your hand? For some people, it gives them a sense of comfort, but for others it makes their skin crawl. Or I could just be by you ‘til you fall asleep? Yeah, that’s all I got. The rest of it that I read about is…for couples.”

Tommy hummed. “All right, we’ll try it. But, you have to promise that if this fails, you butt out. No more bugging me and Arthur about this, ever.”

“I promise! Now, what are we trying?”

“All of it.”

“All of it?”

“Yep, never done this before, so can’t tell you what will work. Go on, talk the night away.”

So, I did. I talked to him about me family and some of me past. I told him all about me rocky relationship with me ma’ and how me da’ was an absolute genius. I told him about the embarrassing things I did as a child that I regretted. I told him a little about how the future would be. It didn’t matter if he believed me or not, still would be me talking.

And I made sure to not tell him any historical events!

But neither of us really paid attention to the fact that at some point, his hand was holding mine. I had to have talked for at least three hours before he fell asleep. All that talking made me tired too. I was yawning so much that tears were running down me face and me nose was runny. 

I fell asleep that night sitting at his bedside with our hands entwined.

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