#*delayed points back* shitti's fault!

[vrieseasees]

*trips and drops these two images out of my trench coat pocket*

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

I'm so glad you're normal about Taika/Rita because so many people haven't been. And unfortunately, a big chunk comes from people just not respecting Rita.

I'm not saying she's perfect, she's made some mistakes, she's human. But people have looked down on her for years, mostly for vey flimsy reasons like 'tries too hard'. I even found an article from 2014 that basically called her the 'punching bag of the music industry'. Even when she wasn't really on my radar, people on Twitter and Reddit kept saying shit like 'never seen a Rita Ora fan, how is she successful', even though its understandable to anyone with an actual brain who thinks about it for a minute.

I remember when it came out she and Taika were together, people were just so rude about her (this was a bit before the huge turn against Taika). Just saying stuff like 'what do they even TALK about???' etc. They clearly though she was beneath him. I know people can date for shallow reasons, but it was the just so mean and disrespectful. Not even considering that he might actually like her for more than just her appearence.

As i'm typing this, im realising this might be another reason they work together (obligatory i don't know them), they both know what its like to be unfairly targeted and ridiculed by the media and the internet. It's one thing to sympathise with someone, it's another to actual have them understand how it feels.

Hey Anon! Sorry for the delay, trying to catch up on asks, lots of write ins the last couple days! Thanks! I think a lot of us are a lot more normal about Taika/Rita but the assholes tend to be louder. I LOVE that I'm seeing so many people since that IG post of his really rally together and start pushing back. You all are so inspiring and sweet! I know some people are being shits though on twitter so remember to block if people start getting nasty because no one needs that kind of abuse. Some super sweet folks here are getting harassed on twitter and I'm getting very mama bear about it. To your point, you're right, she's human, she makes mistakes, we all do, seriously. If you don't like her, fine but don't be a dick about it? Like spreading rumors and being shitty does nothing but make you feel better (the royal you, not you anon!). That's an interesting point, it's possible they bonded over their both having to deal with trolls, and it seems like their personalities really match up-- they're both goofy and fun, so having someone who has had that same kind of life experience would be really helpful supportwise.

I think what we've learned from all of this is that people are just dicks sometimes and if we can, ignore/block them because not everyone feels that way and the more voice we give them the more they'll shout.

Anyway, thanks for writing in anon, I'm so glad to hear there's so much love and support for Taika and Rita despite their faults. <3 The more we talk about it, the more it'll become normalized again and we can help make that happen.

Hope you have a lovely weekend anon! Take care!

[henry1986]

Guiding (Gale x Tav)

This is my first ever Tumblr post after years of lurking. I wanted to format it differently, but it's been so long so I've written anything that I can't get back into my ao3 account, so here we are. (BleuHenri on there, btw. Wrote a kickass Labyrinth fanfic some years ago now).

This may be the only thing I write or share, but something in me has been longing to share fic again after so long. Had a shitty relationship that crushed my spirit so I stopped doing anything that brought me joy...you know how it be. Now I'm super happy and adjusted to life and letting my old self come back.

The TLDR: Random oneshot about Gale and my named Tav (Fits) from Baldur's Gate because this game is insanely amazing and I fucking love Gale and I love my little oc Fits (urchin tiefling druid who named himself 'Fits' with an s because he just wants to belong).

Summary: Fits doesn't do well with the unknown. So being blinded by a spell in the middle of a battle is not his ideal situation. Cue panic attack, and cue the voice of a certain adorable wizard he's been flirting with for weeks now. Gale to the rescue!

Story Below:

It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Dry and rot, what he wouldn’t give to be a child once more, laughing off his mother’s cautions with the arrogance of youth. His current situation is neither fun nor remotely game-like, so it seems unfair that he still has to suffer the drawbacks. Today one of Fits’ few childhood memories has come back to bite him in the tail.

                He’s probably going to murder Volo if they make it out of this mess.

But who is more the fool, he wonders briefly, the one with the ice pick or the one offering himself up like needlepoint? Either way he knows it’s not fair to blame the bard. Mistakes have been made, his party has been ambushed by bandits, and now he can’t see a godsdamned thing, false eye or no. Where just minutes ago his sharp tiefling vision would catch movement in any shadow, now he sees nothing but black. And what’s worse, his companions seem not to have noticed. Well, that’s his fault for breaking formation and getting separated. Stupid, stubborn rock that he is. And now that stubbornness has cost him his sight – possibly even his life.

The sounds of the battle thrash his ears, now sensitive in compensation. Somewhere to the left Karlach’s grunts mix with the dull thud of hammer on shield. The bandits shriek and curse and scream and…gargle? Perhaps that one has just met Astarion’s fangs. It would serve them right for thinking to rob a half-starved group of exhausted travellers. The thought of Gale’s stew simmering back at camp has been on everyone’s minds during the long trek back. To be delayed further has no doubt pissed them off to no end.

                “Desperados and cutthroats I don’t mind, but why did we have to find the only bandits clever enough to find a mage to fight for them?” Karlach had lamented as their attackers had unleashed their secret weapon. Gale had snorted, deriding the man in torn robes as nothing more than a charlatan with a few spell scrolls on hand.

The origin of the magic is a moot point – it hasn’t made Fits any less blind. And now he’s wondering if he should call for help, or if that will alert nearby enemies, and just what is he supposed to do? His mouth is dry as a creek bed in summer. His tail flicks an anxious metronome. The not knowing has always been his undoing. Fits is no stranger to pain and loss, same as many others. If there’s a burden that needs shouldering, he’ll take the weight with few complaints. But the not knowing…the archer he’d seen earlier might still be perched atop that rocky outcrop, not yet aware of his advantage on the blinded druid. Or he might already know, and there are precious few seconds left to find shelter. He might be knocking a fresh arrow right now, as Fits stumbles backwards over a rock and hits the ground. He might be lining him up in his sights as Fits grasps desperately around for anything to use as a shield, for a tree to hide behind, for his dropped staff or –

                ­­He’s a child again, youthful arrogance snuffed to embers, no longer lucky enough to have parents to caution him. The streets are filthy and bustling, danger lurking in the shadows. He’s small, so small in this big city with no idea of where to go or around which corner the next beating will take place –

                 Sounds blur into a single crushing weight, ringing in his ears. His breathing is fast as a swallow bursting from its nest, like a thousand swallows in a thousand nests trying to fly free all at the same time. Usually so dextrous, his stiff hands curl in on themselves like gnarled trees aged by time. Hopelessly he drags one numb hand across his face, risking damage to his good eye by rubbing at it so viciously, desperate to make it see, please just see…

                Someone’s gentle hand stills his movements.

                “Come on now, no need for that. Just breathe,” someone says, prying fingers away from his face. And then three words to change everything: “I’ve got you.”

The voice is fixed with the luxury of knowing – of always knowing – and tempered by reassurance. It’s so familiar his heart leaps into his throat. Relief douses his panic so violently it’s difficult not to collapse with the intensity of it. The city streets and their thugs are cast out of mind, thrown back to the recesses of memory to haunt another day. “Gale. I...my – eyes.” The words won’t come. They’re still struggling against the tide of his laboured breathing. Through the numbness in his hands he feels the barest hint of warmth; Gale’s fingers do not stray from his, lending him strength.

“Ah, so your hearing is still keen as ever, good to know. Though how you can hear anything over the utter racket Karlach is making, I don’t know. Honestly, get between a barbarian and her next meal and may the gods protect you…”

                Fits doesn’t hear the rest of the wizard’s rambling. I’ve got you. Has anyone ever said that to him in his life? Surely his parents must have at some point. There must have been a moment where he existed not as an urchin to be kicked but as a child that belonged to someone. If ever that time was, he doesn’t recall it. I’ve got you. It’s difficult with legs that feel like dead weight but he manages to climb to his feet and throw his arms around Gale. Grace is not his strong point in this moment. Gale catches him with a gently breathed ‘ooph’ as Fits bumps into different bits of him all at once.

Everything is intensified in his blindness: the pressure of Gale’s hands slipping around his waist to keep them upright, the pulsing scent of their mingled sweat and the tang of blood that speaks of fresh injury. “You’re hurt.” His fingers stumble along Gale’s arm and find a tear in the fabric. The skin beneath is slick with blood, coating his gently probing fingers.

                “How in the hells did you know that? You’re blinder than the proverbial bat.” Gale sounds as if he’s trying very hard to sound amused. Fits hasn’t missed the sharp breaths that begin and end his question, a parenthesis of doubt.

                “Your blood…smells strange. Different.” He inhales both to calm himself and to further investigate Gale’s scent. Fascinating.

                “Ah. That would be the orb’s influence. Let me assure you, in normal circumstances my blood is indistinguishable from any others’. I’m sorry if the odour offends your sensitive nose.”

                “I said it was different, not bad.” The sounds of the fight flicker and die for the briefest moment as they stand together. Gale’s hands flutter around his back before settling on a place below his shoulder blades. His fingertips meet at the spine and stay there with gentle pressure. So decisive. He wonders if the man has ever been unsure of anything in his life. What that must feel like… “I didn’t think anyone saw me go down,” Fits murmurs against the starched collar of Gale’s robes. The smell of him is grounding, chasing away his panic. “I cursed my own stupidity for straying so far off.”

                “Yes – well. I admit I did question the intelligence of your decision to pursue that ‘mage’ –” he spits the word out with scorn – “On your own. And good thing I kept an eye out for you, too. I saw the spell hit you and I thought...” His voice lilts with care, stepping over the words as though they themselves are creatures to be soothed. “I know you don’t do well with the unknown. I didn’t think you’d much care for blindness.”

                Fits’ anxiety has become no secret to the wizard in the last few weeks. He’s never been more grateful to have such a confidant. Especially when a hail of somethings whizz right by, spraying around them like deadly rain, and he feels the warmth of Gale’s magic envelop them both in a shield. It’s like stepping into honeyed sunlight from a cool spring shadow. His skin prickles. He can feel it even after they’ve stepped apart. Gale’s magic always feels so different to his own.

                “Will you two stop flirting for one gods-damned minute and do something useful?!”

                Fits winces at Astarion’s tone. Usually, the elf takes great delight in watching the two of them dance awkwardly around each other. Apparently his patience only stretches so far on long days. Fits shakes the moment off, refusing to imagine a lovely blush on Gale’s cheeks when he hears the man cough pointedly. It’s difficult to focus with nothing to visually keep his attention, but he figures they should probably start helping.

“I don’t suppose you could be my seeing-eye wizard until this spell wears off?” he asks lightly, amazed at the recovery of his confidence.

                “It would be my absolute pleasure,” Gale replies.

Fits can hear the curved edges of his smile. When they clasp hands, it feels as if for the first time – every ridge and dip of Gale’s palm is treasured new information. He catalogues the placement of each ring on the man’s fingers, evaluates the silver clang of them against his own single allowance of metal: his mother’s ring. Their hands sway as Gale swoops down momentarily with a soft grunt – his knees often protest such actions – and then he returns the precious weight of Fits’ staff to his free hand. With that the last of his anxiety pools to dull thunder in the back of his head, and they get to work.

When the last bandit collapses to the ground a short time later, Karlach’s triumphant call for dinner is echoed back by all. They trudge back to camp, tired but enthusiastic. Astarion asks if there’s any of that half-decent wine still left. Usually this leads to a quick but snarky conversation between him and Gale. ‘If you took any interest in maintaining the camp supplies, you’d know the answer to that.’ ‘But you do such a fine job of it darling, I’d simply mess it up if I tried to help.’ ‘That sounds awfully familiar to your arguments against chopping firewood and washing dishes.’ ‘But true nonetheless.’  They say no such things tonight. Gale’s thumb brushes Fits’ and he tells Astarion in a distracted voice that yes there might be some left, certainly, he’d have a look.

They find a comfortable alignment on the path back, Fits trusting the wizard to guide him. Each time the party changes direction or pauses to scout, Gale murmurs a soft instruction. It’s an experience that would have been terrifying for him at most other times in his life. He’s never completely given himself over to the care of someone else, let alone someone he’s known so short a time. But Gale is different. They’ve been friends from the moment Fits pulled him out of that portal. And now…well, Gale warns him about rocks in the path and at one point helps him climb a fallen log. The sensation of straddling the tree with Gale’s voice so close in his ear – “That’s it, up you go, just like that –” does things to his insides that are better left for late night contemplation.

Eventually his vision returns, the comforting greens of nature a welcome sight, Lae’zel’s torchlight too bright for his sensitive eye - the one that hasn't been gouged out by an ice pick. Yet for all his relief he somehow feels a pang of loss, like the unravelling of a well-kept secret between two people. So as his eyes readjust Fits says nothing, enjoying the feel of Gale’s fingers jostling his in their loose grip, walking along in silence. If Gale notices at some point the druid’s steps become more confident, his pace not at all like that of a man still blinded…well. He doesn’t say anything, and they don’t stop holding hands the whole way back to camp.

[medievalpeasant]

wbn stuff please do not spoil yerself it’s a great pod i encourage you to listen

sorry. gonna have to be an Ame stan on this one. Let’s look at what’s happening to her. She is:

1. 20.

2. neurodivergent (the coding is pretty obvious)

3. Has just inherited one of the most important position in the setting. The fate of the world is literally on her shoulders.

4. Has just woken up from a month long coma where she regained *numerous* important memories. All at once she begins to see the danger she is in.

5. Has woken up in one of the two hearts of an enormous imperial machine (let’s be clear: the citadel is a tool of the militaristic Kehmsarazan Empire. its goals are the empires goals, that’s where they get their funding). This empire is occupying her home land.

6. This is an incredibly dangerous place for herself, and her friend Eursalon. We see this from the Cassov collection, from the artificer’s factory, from Steels undermining and delay of her attempts to leave. Eursalon also understands this.

7. Her friend Suvi does not understand this. This is not Suvi’s fault, there are so many factors that make it very difficult for her to learn the truth (one of the main icons of this militarism, steel, is literally her adoptive mother) but it is still true that Suvi seems unaware (I want to state for the record that I really like Suvi. I think she’s an excellent character played excellently).

8. Steel. Steel is very scary. She’s the sword of the citadel, the head of its armies. She has probably the most important role in the entirety of the city. She has brought her legion back, is searching for vaguely designed “traitors” and “spies”, and is using the threat and reality of police and military violence to get her way. let’s be very clear. this is a coup. Even if it’s not, how could someone in Ame’s position be anything but frightened by this?

9. A friend of grandmother Wren’s and talented diviner, Sly, has told her that it is very important she leave, and soon, and that while her best friend Suvi *must* accompany her on pain of death, Suvi will not receive permission to accompany her.

10. All of this is merely the preamble to what may be the most important few days of her life, the summit at the north pole. The meeting will determine the fate of magic, the safety of every human in the world, and whether the job Ame has been training for since she was like 8 will even continue to exist.

With all of that in mind, it seems pretty obvious what Ame is (quite reasonably) thinking.

“Here i am in incredible danger. Not only is this the worst place in the world for me to be, but i desperately need to be a different place doing different things. Oh no! Leaving is difficult, and getting out relies on my friend Suvi unlearning her indoctrination over the course of a couple hours. Fuck! Let’s bounce.”

That this is a reasonable position is not only reenforced by everything I just said, but by the fact that Eursalon completely agrees! When presented with the same information (plus a little more, since he’s people smart in a way the other two aren’t), he comes to exactly the same conclusion. Let’s bounce!

My point isn’t that Suvi is evil, or that people should be shitty to Aabria Iyengar (she’s mentioned that ppl have been. if that’s you, fuck off!). It’s just that Ame is not the villain here either. She’s making decisions that I can only imagine I would also make in her position.

Plus, why are people only shit talking Ame? When Eursalon is doing the same shit? and is in fact more responsible for violence against citadel solders (see:the end of the previous arc) (which i don’t begrudge him either, for reasons i would get into if i wasn’t so tired)? It’s just obvious sexism. (tho i also wouldnt be surprised if people were trashing Eursalon abt this and I just haven’t seen it. still, the degree to which the hate is Ame focused is telling)

Anyway, I’m talking too much and no one will read this. I’m just saying, keep in mind the pressures mounting on Ame before accusing her of quest fever.

[pinkantagonist]

I’m just gonna vent about adhd for a second.

A while back, I told my boss (past boss) that I had adhd. I was being converted from a contract worker to full time, so disclosing my disability seemed like a normal part of that process. I wanted to put my best foot forward at my new job, and ask for reasonable accommodations so I could do my best work. My boss and I had a good relationship, so I felt very confident about it.

He scoffed at me, said that “everyone has a little adhd”, and then went off about how kids are over diagnosed. I sat in silence for the rest of the conversation. Oh, and it took about 8 months for me to get my requested accommodations.

I have a different boss now, who is much kinder about it, but this really colored my experience of being a working person with adhd. Sometimes I forget that I’m disabled or I don’t consider myself as such, but the corporate world has a way of reminding me.

Well, this morning I fucked up. I was supposed to do a small presentation and I completely forgot, and missed about 90% of it (I work remotely and have somewhat flexible hours, for context).

I remembered at the tail end of the meeting, jumped into the call and apologized to everyone, and was able to finish it up, after my boss had so kindly stepped in and presented most of it for me. I made a real ass of myself and I’m trying SO hard not to spiral about it… it was absolutely mortifying.

Now, this was 100% my fault. I’m not trying to blame anything else, but damn is it just… hard. It’s so hard for me to like, be a person. And the adderall shortage is making it so much worse. I can only get the instant release tablets, MAYBE, if I’m lucky, and they just flat out don’t work as well as the extended release, which are impossible to find right now.

I have pretty severe TMJ, which is exacerbated by the instant release, so I’m constantly balancing being in so much agony and being a functioning person. The less pain I experience the more I fail at my responsibilities, and the more pain I’m in the better my brain works... And the more teeth I break. You don’t even want to know how much I’ve spent on dental work, and a mouth guard that my insurance refused to cover.

Basically, yesterday I chose to be irresponsible with less pain on my day off, which had major repercussions today. If I’m not like, 110% stressed out about everything 24/7 I WILL forget pretty much all appointments and commitments, but it’s unsustainable to live like this and my health is FAILING. I can feel myself becoming weaker and worn out. I’m killing myself just to appear “normal”. But I can’t do anything less, because if I get fired, goodbye health insurance! Then I wouldn’t even be able to get the shitty instant release tablets.

And it’s all invisible. No one suspects a thing. I can’t really talk about it. I told everyone we experienced a power outage, because the real reason just seems silly. Sorry, I took a day off from being a person yesterday because my daily life makes me feel like I’m drowning, and my meds didn’t kick in fast enough for me to remember on time! Sorry, I was distracted by having to pry my jaw open to brush my teeth when I woke up today since I already lost my $800 night guard! Sorry, I have chronic IBS which causes me so much pain that sometimes I can’t even move when I first get up, which was what delayed me taking my meds in the first place!

I don’t know what the point of this was. Happy disability month, I guess. It absolutely sucks here.

And if you think “everyone has a little adhd”, please go fuck yourself.

[mybraindumps]

I have not felt so unsettled as I have in the past few days, weeks, months (?) in a long time.

Infact I would go as far to say that the last year or so has been the best year of my life so far, not just in comparison whatever my life was before, but it was objectively a great year that anyone would be lucky to have lived.

I was wondering if all the high of a new life was draining out and the best parts of living by myself are fading the serious adulting things start to put me down but I don't think that's true.

I think what it is, is this sense of lack of control over my own life. Like too many external factors deciding what sort of day or week it's gonna be for me, emotionally or otherwise. I could have a really great day but there's no sense of control because I am contantly dreading when things will turn bad? And similarly I could have a really shitty day randomly and I feel completely stuck and powerless about doing anything about it.

A big big part of this is my fucked up client. Everyone's saying I have done such a good job, and maybe I have but people who are overly sweet generally, but turn into absolute monsters when things go even a little wrong or not according to them are I think worse than monsters who are always monsters.

Like, this bitch, would make our lives hell if she's upset about something, but all the other time she sounds so composed and logical and like you try to be mad but she just keeps flipping back and forth. And I am not fucking okay with this.

Why should my day depend on how she's feeling? And I didn't even fucking realise it but this has been going on for months. Easily 6 months or over. And it's not like we never make mistakes, we totally do. So in the beginning, I just thought, oh it was my fault, it's okay for her to react like that. But then you wonder how many faults were real and how may faults were cooked up out of nothing.

How many faults were their lack of understanding and miscommunication and scapegoating cause they do not even fucking know what they want and will flip whenever and think they are smarter cause she has an MBA or her title reads Marketing lead?

Answer me this. Why is the marketing lead fuming over oe single social media post being delayed? You take care of the entire marketing and this is your biggest fucking concern you entitled prick?

There are other things too, and I originally thought I feel lost cause too much is happening but I didn't even realise how done I was with the work shit.

I was just proud of myself for dealing with everything they threw at us, and yes, that's definitely something to be proud of, why did you forget it'd still affect you?

That even though you know your job is perfectly safe, being called out in front of everyone wouldn't affect you. That too when you did nothing wrong. You, who remembers what your nursery best friend wanted to be when she grows up, that you, thought that this wouldn't affect you cause you have a supportive team and you just wouldn't think about it?

They have to go, or you need to be taken off the brand. I don't care how many ideas you have about what all they can do, they can find someone else to deal with her if they can't findone else to deal with. Either way, not your problem.

Just becuae you can do everything, doesn't mean you have to. She's just like Kuber. No wonder their initials match. I have never ever taken the name of someone from my actual life here. Seems like I am gonna hate these two for the rest of my life.

But also, I don't really think that's true. You'll never have any positive things to say about them, but the second you are off, and never have to deal with her again, you'll forget. Like you forgot every other client who has been an ass to you. I guess Kuber will hold a special hate in your heart cause he wasn't a client, he was your boss, and you weren't used to asshole bosses. And you kind of walked into it knowing (or atleast sensing something off) he was an asshole.

Anyway, the point of this, your environment and the people you interact with on a regular basis will always affect you. Which is why you need to contantly watch your company. Getting out of shit once doesn't mean you can never fall right back into it. And mental health is kinda the same.

I am really fucking proud of you for doing everything you did, and got where you are but its also okay to realise that things haven't been great lately. And you can always prioritise getting better again and again, as many times as you need to.

I mean you did once, and you did it so well. This one's gonna be a breeze. Okay, maybe not, but its okay.

3:00 pm 11.10.24

[angstfactory]

As Cassidy approached, Jesse's stance adjusted. He was prepared this time, for another strike. A second one wouldn't go unanswered. That first.. Well, the junkman could see where that might have been earned. It was his fault, forgetting to text back-- then intentionally delaying so, once he did remember it. Then to have the guy come up on him, in the midst of trying to put away the evidence that he nearly blew out of town without so much as a real goodbye... Yeah, that wasn't the best picture.

Sorry. The tension in Jesse ebbed away, as he took the rag back and pocketed it. Cassidy confused him to all hell, honestly. His emotions seemed to ping-pong worse than his own did. As they stood there, just staring at each other, the words screamed before slowly sunk in.

Maybe he wasn't wrong? Maybe Cassidy was a gigantic fucking liar, claiming he had come down here for a shit ass ring that took him how long to remember that he supposedly lost? And Jesse had been chump enough to latch onto that story at face-value, because it gave them both the excuse needed to play this all off like it wasn't any big deal. That's not what he felt, though.

For him, this had felt more than a hook up. His instincts screamed that it was more to Cassidy, too.

Why the fuck else was he here? If there had really been any stupid, shitty ring the guy supposedly barely cared about, then why not text or call about it? Why come all the way to Deadman Acres to ask after it? Why yell about how pathetic he was to come out there? Why be angry Jesse was going to take off without saying anything? Why say he ghosted him? Why care if he was mixed up with someone else?

"No, bullshit," Jesse said once Cassidy's back turned, and he came up on him, "you're a fuckin' liar." He took the man by the arm to pull him back to face him and glared. "You didn't leave no damn ring behind." The accusation of why Cassidy did come, was left unsaid -- mainly because, Jesse wasn't bold enough to declare that it was him he came over for, not so freshly soon after the guy called him a piece of shit again. There was always a chance he was dead wrong here.

But honestly... What the fuck else did he have to lose, at this point?

Jesse wet his lips, that taste of blood still fresh in mouth. The ache at his jaw tender. "I told you before," he got out, "I don't know what I'm doin'... but this.." He gestured between the two of them. "It ain't somethin' that's just gonna go away.. You've been fuckin'--" his hands rose to frame his head anxiously, "--plaguin' me, months on end now, you bastard. N' sleepin' with you ain't fuckin' cured me of it."

He intentionally crowded a bit more into Cassidy's space, just so the other man couldn't try and look away from him. "N' so what, I'm a piece of shit -- you're an asshole, I'd say we're square. Right?" His jaw did too! "So what are we gonna do 'bout it? Huh?" he prompted, leaning forward some as his voice leveled to a softer, more desperate sound. "I don't wanna stay a piece of shit, Sykes. Not in your eyes."

Jesse wasn't sure he would ever be anything more than that, honestly. But not trying to change it, that was worse. "We've been doin' this song n' dance long enough, just fuckin'.. let me take you out already or somethin'. Shit, I don't care-- we can sit somewhere, n' talk 'bout grass growin', but I ain't doin' another six months of this torture." He shook his head. "You walk off now, you can stay gone n' I'll just stay a piece of shit. Or you do somethin' about this now, with me."

Shit. SHIT.

Instant regret.

What the fuck was wrong with him?  Jesse had no obligation to him, the two of them were not together.  It was as simple as getting caught up in the moment and sleeping together.  All those words that spilled out of his mouth, he just wished he could take every single one of them back.  Better yet, he wished he would have caught the message Jesse was giving him and kept his distance.  Anything at this point would have been better than this humiliation.

Why wasn’t he leaving, he just made this whole ordeal about Jesse needing to fuck off and was going to make his dramatic exit.  Yet, his whole body stiffened and he felt paralyzed in place just waiting for a reaction from the other.  Perhaps there was that hope that Jesse would have returned a punch and things would be even.

But no!  The fucking asshole had calm down and then do something nice such as give a clean rag so he could clean himself up.  Fuck him.  Not exactly fair, he just lost the high ground because he lost his temper.

As he caught the rag, he murmured a thank you under his breath as he patted down the small traces of blood on his arm.  Taking in a breath, he looked over towards Jesse and the reddish area where he decked him.  Cassidy walked a few steps to close the small gap between them, “sorry,” he told the man quietly before handing him back the rag.

There were a lot of words, things he wanted to tell Jesse but the majority of them would cause another fight and truthfully he was just exhausted at this point.

“Good luck with everything, I’ll see you around.”

It was a small town, he was going to be forced to see Jesse again.  All he could hope for it would be further down the road, where he would be in a better mental space.

Cassidy waited just a moment longer, something inside him hoping maybe just maybe Jesse would stop him.  But, that seemed like a foolish hope and he finally managed to talk himself into putting one foot in front of the other and headed down the road back towards the bus stop.

[ickeyandmian]

The Lost and Found

Fresh out of prison and avoiding going home, Mickey finds a lost kid waiting at the bus stop.

All he has to do is get her home, but along the way she somehow helps him find his.

Word count: 3.7K

Characters: Mickey Milkovich, Franny Gallagher, Ian Gallagher

Tags: Canon Divergent, Reunion Fic

Ao3 Link

The wind is biting. Mickey shoves his gloveless fingers into his coat pocket, squeezing them tightly as he cranes his neck in the hopes that he might be able to see the bus coming in the distance, but all he can see is his own breath fogging before him in the inky black night. That and a girl almost certainly way to young to be out by herself waiting at the stop a little further down the road on the opposite side.

His jaw aches from clenching it so tightly as the wind picks up, bringing with it its icy chill. He’s still at least another hour from home and at this rate he almost wishes he was still in prison.

Early parole had come as a surprise. He’d been expecting at least 4 more years in the joint, minimum, but they’d reviewed his case and for once it seemed someone higher up was in his corner. A lack of hard evidence attesting to the severity of what the bitch claimed he’d done, paired with good behaviour and probably a serious case of overcrowding meant Mickey got to walk free, even if freedom came with weekly parole meetings and a shitty ass job to keep up appearances.

He ponders whether, had things worked out differently, he’d have seen his sentence through. He’d almost ran once, had had everything worked out but when Damien, the fucking pussy, chickened out at the last minute the plan kind of fell apart and Mickey was back to the starting line.

The worst part is he’s certain it would have worked, he’d have been out of there and half way to Mexico before those fuckers even realised he’d escaped. That was always the end goal, in every half-baked plan from that point on. Learning Spanish would be a small price to pay to avoid freezing his fucking ballsack off in the dead of a bitter Chicago winter that’s for sure.

Christ, where the fuck is this bus.

He hates to admit it but, as he stands shivering, he knows this is kind of his fault anyway. He’d hopped on the first bus into the city once he’d walked away from the depressing as all fuck prison fence and just ambled around for hours, delaying the inevitable.

Terry’s home – he knows that much for certain – but there’s literally nowhere else for him to go and he’d be sure to freeze to death if he tried slumming it outdoors on a night like tonight.

He can’t say exactly how this reunion is going to go down, but he knows one way or another he’s going to bed tonight with a black eye and a fat lip, and that’s if he’s lucky.

Maybe he should just ditch this place and head south. Fuck parole.  

He sighs, as he drops down onto the bus stop bench, pulling his hands from his pockets and attempts to breathe some warm air into them.

The streets are empty. They would be, it’s almost midnight the day before Christmas eve. He can see lights twinkle in the distance and wonders when the last time he’d even been remotely excited about the holiday. Probably back when his mom was still alive, and he and his siblings would hide what few presents they would get to prevent Terry from pawning them the moment stores were open again, even if he always found them in the end.

It’s as close to being a kid as he can ever remember feeling.

The little girl is still there at the bus stop opposite, her legs swinging beneath her, too short to reach the floor. Jesus, she can’t be much older than four or five, practically a baby still. Mickey looks around for any kind for adult nearby, even though he knows without a doubt she’s been sitting there by herself as long as he has.

And they’re not in the worst side of Chicago, not by far, but it’s still approaching midnight, this kid is clearly alone and Mickey has a bad feeling.

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, the word escaping with a fog of his warm breath as he sees his bus appearing in the distance. He groans as he hears a voice he’d long since buried to the depths of his mind call him soft, but all the same, he gets up from the bench and crosses the street.

The little girl is staring at her swinging feet, hands clasped together in her lap, wrapped up in miniature pink mittens and a matching hat. Her shoulders are hunched as she stares intently.

“Ey,” Mickey says as he approaches. She whips her head up, eyes wide, “Where’s your mom, kid?”

She says nothing, instead shrugging her response as she looks back down at the floor.

“Uh, your dad then?”

She still remains speechless, but this time she shakes her head firmly from side to side, which Mickey takes to mean he aint around. He takes a look around, once again finding no one in sight. He huffs another breath as he takes a seat on the bench beside her.

“You lost?” Again, she shakes her head, and Mickey’s about to give up for fear of looking like a fucking creeper when she finally speaks.

“Waiting for the bus,” she says in a tiny voice.

“Oh yeah?”

She nods confidently, since apparently that’s her main form of communication.

“You know which bus you gotta get?”

“The white bus,” she says with another self-assured nod and Mickey sighs, unsure why he thought this would be simple. While the plastic Ziploc bag returned to him earlier that day did include a cell phone, the battery has been dead for as long as he’s been locked up. He looks around, seeing if he can spot a payphone anywhere; the last thing he thought he’d be doing the day of his release would be calling the fucking cops but he’s not sure what else he can do aside from leave the kid to fend for itself.

“Where do you live?” He asks, hoping to at least narrow it down a little and maybe figure out where she needs to be, but she looks nervous at the question, shrugging again that she doesn’t know. Mickey sighs. “You ridden the bus from here before?” He tries instead. He can’t say he knows shit about kids but even he can see the undercurrent of uncertainty beneath her charade. She shakes her head again and Mickey bites his lip, feeling out of his depth here. “So, how’d you know this is the stop you need?”

“We got off here,” she says as though it’s simple before elaborating. “I ‘member cause of the funny drawings.” She points to the glass behind her where Mickey sees that some vandals have not-so-artistically drawn a leaking dick, complete with hairy balls in black marker.

“Who’s ‘we’? Who were you with?” Mickey tries to press, knowing that if she gets on a bus from here, she’s only gonna end up further from where she needs to be.

“Gwampa.”

“Okay, so where’s your Grandpa now?”

“He went.”

“Went where?”

She shrugs again while Mickey screws his eyes up in frustration and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to make sense of this fucked up situation.

“So you rode the bus here with your Grandpa and then he left you?”

“S’posed to get a tree. For Santa. I think he forgot.”

He’d seen a couple signs advertising Christmas trees for sale nearby, but they’d be long closed by now, how long has this kid been wandering the streets by herself exactly?

“Jesus,” he says, making up his mind to find a payphone and just call the fucking cops. Let them deal with her. Someone’s bound to be looking for her, even if it aint her useless senile grandpa. “Look, what’s your name, kid?”

“Fwanny,” she states cheerfully with a childish lisp to her voice before shooting back “What’s your name?”

“Uh, Mickey,” he answers, caught off guard, but Franny’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning already. She pulls up the leg of her jeans to excitedly show off her Mickey Mouse socks, causing Mickey to cringe internally. Always that fucking mouse.

“Yeah, those are great,” he brushes her off, “You got a last name?”

“I like Daisy the most best, But Mickey is the leader,” she rattles on animatedly, “so that makes him more importanter I think.”

“Sure, whatever. Look, you gotta tell me your last name, then the cops can help you get home, okay?”

“Mommy says cops are pigs,” she states, face suddenly serious and Mickey, struck by the certainty of which she says it, finds himself laughing at the little tyke. She’s got her head on straight at least.

“Yeah, I don’t disagree,” he says with a smirk.

“Am I in trouble?” she asks, suddenly shy and dropping her head.

“No, you ain’t in no trouble.”

“But the cops are for when you’ve been bad.”

“Well, kinda,” he says, knowing he’s about to say something that goes against every ideal he’s ever had. He takes a deep breath and just goes for it. “They’re also s’posed to help people too. I guess. Specially when they’re lost and need to get back home.” She looks up at him then, frowning.

“I’m not lost,” she says. “I’m waiting for the bus.”

“No bus that picks you up from here is gonna take you back the way you came from, kid. You need the stop across the road for that.”

“The white bus took us here,” she asserts firmly, her brow crossed with certainty. “The drawings,” she turns again to point behind her.

“Yeah but then that bus keeps going north, it ain’t gonna turn around.” He doesn’t know why exactly he’s arguing with an infant, but he knows he can’t just let her get on whatever bus turns up next, who knows where she’ll end up.

“Need to get the white bus,” she says again, but the fight is gone from her and when Mickey glances back, he sees her eyes are wet and two perfect streams of tears line both of her pinkened cheeks.

“Shit.”

She starts shake with a sob and Mickey has no fucking idea what to do.

“Hey, don’t fucking cry, I’m gonna help you alright?” He knows his options are limited here, “You seen a phone around here at all?” he tries, turning back towards Franny.

“Are you gonna call the cops on me?” She says with a sniffle, seeing right through him.  

“Unless you happen to know your mom’s number? We could call her?”

“Uncle Carl got taken away by cops once,” she replies with instead which Mickey, exasperated, takes as a no. Do all kids have a one-track mind like this? “But now he wants to be a cop,” she continues, “Is that what happens when the cops take you away?”

“Fuck no,” he says, confused by turn of the conversation and to his surprise she giggles. Christ knows why but Mickey finds himself smiling back at her too. He’ll never be a kid person but maybe this one aint so bad.

“I saws a phone that way,” she says then, pointing ahead. Mickey turns to follow and he thinks he can make it out in the distance. At least they won’t have to go too far.

“Come on, let’s get you home, kid. It’s fucking freezing.” Mickey stands and Franny follows suit, stretching her hand up towards mickey expectantly, her impossibly big eyes wide and round. “What?”

She says nothing, only shakes her hand again in emphasis and Mickey gets it.

Jesus Christ.

He bites his lip, takes yet another look around to be absolutely certain they’re alone, before taking her hand in his own.

“You got no gloves” Franny observes innocently as they begin to walk. Their pace slow due to Franny’s significantly smaller legs.

“Must’ve forgot ‘em.”

“Aren’t you cold?” With her free hand, she takes off her hat, revealing a mess of bright red hair. Why is it always the red heads he ends up having a fucking soft spot for? “Here,” she offers, holding the hat towards Mickey.

“Thanks, kid,” he says, “but not sure my head’s gonna fit into that. You keep it.”

With a shrug she puts the hat back on, albeit backwards.

“Uncle Ian says your head gets big when you got too many ideas. ‘Zat what happened to you?”

Mickey’s heart stops. The name itself sending a jolt of electricity through him before the rest of it seems to fall into place.

No. No fucking way.

“What’s wrong Mickey?” Franny asks when Mickey finds himself frozen to the spot.

“Your other uncle,” he says, just to be certain “the one you said wants to be a cop, what did you say his name was again?”

“Uncle Carl?”

“Shit.” His heart drops. “ And your Grandpa that left you here called Frank Gallagher by any chance?”

She nods. How the fuck. He’s not been out 12 fucking hours and he’s somehow managed to get himself tangled up in Gallagher shit again. He swore he wouldn’t. That he’d keep his head down and avoid that house like the fucking plague while he waited out his probation.

Maybe once it would’ve been his first port of call, fuck it was top of his list of priorities with the escape plan that he never went through with. But it’s been too long now without so much as a visit. The memories are cold and bitter by now.

At least he tells himself they are.

“Yeah, I think I know where you live, Franny.”

“You do?”

“Big blue house? On the corner by the tracks?”

“Uh huh!” She nods excitedly.  

“Come on, we can still catch the last bus,” he says, turning direction to cross the road and Mickey is thankful that she doesn’t put up a fight about which bus stop they need, even if he is a little concerned with how willing she is to follow a complete stranger.

It’s just another 10 minutes or so before it arrives, Franny’s eyes lighting up when it does and pointing out towards it. “The white bus!”

Luckily Mickey has enough change in his pocket for the both of them, he pays the driver and leads them to the back of the empty bus.

Fuck he can see it now. He can see him, and not just in that obnoxious red hair. She’s got Gallagher written all over her.

So which one of ‘em popped out a kid then?

The hair would suggest the sister, the younger one, what was her name? Is she even old enough to have a kid this age?

Debbie, her name was Debbie, he remembers. His fucking accomplice in the shit that got him locked up.

Could she really have a kid now?

He can’t see her being Fiona’s, she had enough mouths to feed back then, no way she’d sign up to have another, and Lip is way too smart to leave his kid with Fucking Frank.

Yup. Gotta be Debbie’s.

Franny rambles on about nonsense as they ride but Mickey can barely keep track, his mind elsewhere. What the fuck is he even gonna do, just show up at their door with a Hi, sorry I almost murdered your half-sister, here’s your kid, gotta run.

Fuck that.

Maybe he can just ring the bell then bolt, no interaction needed. He wouldn’t be surprised if the door was unlocked anyway, not like they ever had a habit of bolting them. Franny can just walk right in and he’ll be on his way.

It’ll be fine, he tells himself. He’ll drop off the kid and then he’ll be done.

“Mickey?” Franny’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. “How does Santa go to every house in one night?”

He huffs out a laugh, her innocence surprisingly calming as his heart races.

“I don’t know, kid. Magic?” He supposes but she just rolls her eyes, seemingly unsatisfied with his answer.

“But how? Can he stop time? Or is he just faster than the time? And how does he fit inside of the chimneys? And what about the houses that don’t got chimneys to fit inside of?”

It’s strange. Mickey never believed in Santa as a kid, Terry made sure to ruin that fantasy from the start, and if he hadn’t, his brothers would have been quick to assure him that Santa Claus was nothing but a creepy old pervert who worked at the mall during the holidays. He always thought the whole idea of it was dumb anyway but seeing Franny’s eyes alive with the wonder of it all makes him kinda wish he’d had a little of that magic when he was young.

“You know, I’m not sure if we’re supposed to know how he does it,” Mickey says, keeping one eye out the window to keep track of where they are. “Think that’s the whole point.”

“That’s what Uncle Ian says,” she pouts, crossing her arms across her chest and Mickey isn’t sure why but something inside him squirms.

Eventually, he lets Franny climb on the seat ready to push the stop button as they get closer, hoping it will calm her incessant questioning.

It doesn’t.

“Now?” she asks wide-eyed every time the bus so much as slows down. “Can I push now?”

“Hold your horses, kiddo.”

“I don’t have horses.”

Jesus how does anyone do this full time.

The second they’re pulling away from the stop before theirs, Mickey nods for her to push and she does. Then again, and again and –

“Can you sit that brat down over there?!” The driver yells from his cab.

“Hey, shut the fuck up, asshole,” Mickey bites back, tugging lightly on Franny’s arm to pull her down all the same.

She plonks down in the seat, swinging both legs together.

“Asshole,” she repeats cheerily, drawing another smile from Mickey.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he says, presenting a fist which Franny bumps with her own proudly.

“Are we home?” She asks, entirely unaffected by the argument which figures considering the household she would have grown up in.

“Almost.”

“Will Gwampa be there?”

“Probably not.”

If he knows Frank he’ll be passed out on a bench somewhere. Let the Gallaghers deal with it.

The bus slows to a stop and Franny once again insists on having her hand held as they exit. Growing nervous at the likelihood of someone seeing and recognising him, he shoves his hands into his pockets but, relentless, Franny shoves her own hand in there with his and digs it out with surprising strength.

Fine, Whatever. He uses his free hand to pull his hood up and keeps his head down. The Gallagher house is just around the corner anyway. He can take her to the door and then –

“Franny?!”

– Leave.

Well fuck.

“Shit, Franny we’ve been looking everywhere.” Ian jogs across the street, engulfing her in his huge arms entirely and Mickey was not at all prepared for this. He looks…different.

“Uncle Ian!” Franny says with delight, wrapping her own tiny arms around Ian’s neck as he lifts her off the ground.

“Who the fuck are you?” Ian accuses, tone hardening as he turns to Mickey with a hard shove, “You tryna walk off with her or something you sicko?”

“Jesus, fucking chill, man,” Mickey pulls his hood down, but Ian’s eyes were already widening at the sound of his abrasive voice.

“Mickey?”

“Found her up near Bridgeport. Frank left her there. I brought her home.”

“He…what?” Ian’s eyes darken.

“We rode the bus!” Franny chimes in before whispering something into Ian’s ear.

“She says you called the bus driver an asshole?”

“He was being an asshole! Yelling at her and shit.”  Surprisingly, Ian smiles at that, the sight warming something within Mickey that he hasn’t felt for a while now. He seems as if about to say something else but his phone rings with a piercing chime, interrupting the moment.

“Debbie?” Ian answers it, “she’s here, I got her….no she’s absolutely fine…really.” Mickey takes this as his cue, turning to leave, but Ian’s hand reaches to grab hold of his bicep before he can. Phone pressed to his ear he implores Mickey to wait with a simple raise of his eyebrows. And he could pull away easily, leave this happy little reunion as it is but he doesn’t.

“We’re basically at home…yeah I’ll text them…see you soon.” He hangs up as though in a hurry to, then pockets the phone and refocuses his attention to Mickey. “So…”

Mickey shrugs, leaving his gaze on Franny clinging like a monkey to Ian’s neck, unable to meet his eyes.

“I thought you were still…?”

“Made parole,” Mickey mumbles, “got out today.”

“Today? Like today?”

“Yeah, today. What? The meaning change or something while I been inside?” he snaps.

Ian smiles. It still lights up his face the way it always did.

“Been a while, huh?”

“Yeah, long enough for one of you squeeze out another Gallagher,” he says with a nod towards the kid.

“Debbie’s,” Ian says fondly, ruffling her hair before frowning. “I’m sorry I didn’t visit more.”

Or at all, Mickey wants to retaliate.

“I wanted to, really,” Ian continues, looking torn. “Shit was fucked up back then.”

“Looks like you’re doing pretty well now, so.”

He nods, looking almost guilty at the fact.

“You look good too, Mickey.”

“Yeah, well, nothing else to do in the joint but work out,” Mickey says with a shrug, the memory coming back to him as he says it. Familiar words at the dugouts from all those years ago. Ian smiles too and Mickey is surprised to realise his thoughts have gone to that exact same night.  

They share the memory together, but only for a moment.

“Should go,” Mickey decides once it passes, fleetingly. “Let you take her inside.”

“Wait, Mickey,” Ian insists though Mickey wishes he wouldn’t. Because even now, he finds he can’t deny Gallagher a single thing. Ian takes a deep breathe, hoisting Franny to a more secure position in his arms. “I made a promise, didn’t I?”

Mickey frowns, not sure what exactly he’s talking about.

“I said I’d wait,” Ian clarifies, forcing the memory to surface. “You want a beer?” He offers with a nod to the house.

And yes, Mickey decides with a fond smile, he would very much like a beer.

[thetargaryenbride]

A break [Levi x Fem!Reader]

Requested by: @emmaandemmal  Hi, I love your works! Can I request one where Levi and his fem s/o have been a couple since before they were captured by the scouts in the underground? After the deaths of Isabel and Farlan, the reader tries to convince Levi to leave the scouts with her to go and live together in a safer place, but he refuses saying that he believes in Erwin's vision of the scouts and the two begin to fight badly. The reader eventually stays in the scouts because she doesn't want to leave without him, but the relationship between Levi and the reader is getting colder and more detached. The reader begins to think that Levi is no longer interested in her after noticing his growing friendship with Petra and she decides to leave the scouts thinking it's the best decision for her and for Levi. When Levi finds out, he tries to find her, but without success. Only a few years later, he catches a glimpse of her in the crowd after the scouts have returned from an expedition and he follows her. Once they arrive at the reader's house, she and Levi make up and the reader claims that she has been selfish in the past and that she would like to return to the scouts to fight against the titans and to claim the deaths of Isabel and Farlan. Eventually the reader and Levi resume their relationship and Levi promises her that nothing would separate them again. I'm really sorry that it's so long, if you consider this idea feel free to modify it as you wish. Sorry for my English too... it’s not very good. Thank you so much, you're one of the best Levi writers I know! ❤️

I’m sorry for the delay, dear. I was struggling with a mini writer’s block and was focusing more on art but I’m slowly getting back on track! Thank you so much for the request and thank you for your kind words. This really means a lot to me! As far as modifying goes, the only thing I modified is the timeskip. Instead of a few years, I made it one year. I hope you don’t mind ^^

Words: 4.5K

Warnings: Very Brief mention of suicide, prostitution and self-harm

Hope you like it  ❤️ Feedback is deeply appreciated! ^^

Also, if Levi seems OOC, please feel free to correct me~ I accept constructive criticism ^^  

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

You were arguing.

You never argued.

But the situation that had befallen you made you feel all sort of ways and neither of you knew how to express those emotions, that stress, which is why it had slowly turned into a fight.

“You shouldn’t have agreed! We have no idea how the world above works! We’re going to fuck up, Levi,” you raised your voice, hands clenching into fists by your sides, levels of anger rising at Levi’s indifference at the situation. You knew that it was only a façade and that deep down Levi wasn’t indifferent. You knew he was probably worried just as much as you were. But right now you were so scared and you wanted him to just show some more emotion, fight back, shower you with words of reassurance, hug you…anything…not just stand with crossed arms, staring at you.

“So what, I should’ve let the bushy eyebrowed bastard send us in prison?” he raised an eyebrow as if challenging you to give him a good reason for your big distaste of joining the Survey Corpse. He couldn’t understand why you had exploded like that when he had agreed. It was the perfect opportunity for the fulfillment of your mission…Not that you had been very accepting of the mission either. Your paranoia and distrust always clawed at you, many a time ripping any semblance of reason and logic. But he couldn’t’ exactly blame you. He was similar in a way. He supposed that this is what living in the Underground did to you.

Living?

No. More like struggling, digging in the mud, to survive.

And the two of you had been doing this since you were kids.  

“I’d rather rot in a prison cell than a titan’s stomach. And since when do you trust nobles anyways? It’s mostly because of them that we all fester here in this dump,” you spat out and he pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh.

“If you are so against this mission, why are you even joining?” he shot back and you choked on whatever words you had the intention of spilling.

You took a deep breath as you slumped next to him on the couch, body completely slacking in defeat as your anger simmered down a bit.

“Do you even have to ask me that?” you muttered as you stared at the ceiling, the hands in your lap fiddling with your fingers. “It’s because I would never turn my back on my family…on you,” you murmured as you straightened up and turned to face him. “Even if it’s the stupidest decision which would probably result in something shitty, I’ll still stick with you. You are all I have…I love you,” you timidly uttered the last words, casting your eyes downwards as a slight blush spread over your cheeks. The man sighed before his hands went to grab yours, successfully stopping your fiddling and wringing, squeezing them reassuringly.

“Look at me,” he ushered you gently yet firmly and you lifted your head, locking eyes with his. “We’ll be fine.”

You let out another sigh before you leaned, letting his arms encircle your form as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I pray that you’re right,” you whispered and just when you thought you could have a moment of peace, Farlan entered the room with a constipated expression. You couldn’t blame him. You were all beaten and battered by the soldiers and your ego was bruised, even though you let them capture you. And now they were all standing in your home or surrounding it while you packed the little of your belongings, breathing down your neck.

It was suffocating.  

“We’ve packed everything. It’s time to go.”

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

You wanted to blame him.

You wanted to tell him – “I told you so.”

But that wouldn’t bring back Farlan and Isabel.

It wouldn’t stitch back their ripped bodies.

They were gone and the only thing you could blame was this world.

Because it was so cruel.

And the only beauty you found in it was your love for Levi and his love for you.

He had no fault. Nobody knew that things would turn out like this. That fate would decide to cackle in your faces.

The two of you stuck together like glue more than ever after that day. You even went as far as to disregard rules as you would sneak into the men’s barracks just to sleep with him because he was the only one who managed to chase away the nightmares and wipe your tears. And you knew, even without him saying it directly, that you were the only one who could comfort him when he was feeling the burden of the world crushing his shoulders. And Farlan and Isabel’s deaths really did feel like the whole world just crumbled on top of you two. The only difference was that you were more prone to emotions and didn’t find such a difficulty at expressing them unlike Levi who preferred to bottle everything inside, feign indifference and coldness and find toxic coping mechanisms like not sleeping which as time passed shaped into the ugly form of his insomnia, despite all the scolding you’ve done.

Time passed. The first weeks after Isabel and Farlan’s deaths, you had been inseparable. But that slowly began to change after the date of the next expedition was announced. Your paranoia spiked up one night after you had tried suppressing it for days and that resulted in a breakdown.

You wanted out.

You wanted to leave the Scouts.

You had even gone as far as to talk to Erwin and the Commander, literally begging them to help you with the citizenship matters and let you and Levi leave. But of course, they refused and Erwin even went to speak to Levi about this, not knowing that the man had no idea about your plans and wishes.

Levi was angry that you did something like that behind his back. He understood your fear. He understood very well because he was afraid too. He was afraid that he was going to lose you too – the only person he had left. But he didn’t appreciate that you hadn’t been straightforward with him regarding such a serious matter, only revealing everything you have done and felt at the heat of the moment.

“I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a little girl, hiding in the wardrobe, listening how man after man would use my mother every night. Dreaming about a life, safely tucked in the corner of the world, surrounded by beautiful nature, peace and quiet, alongside my beloved person... Is it so bad that I want this for us?” you had asked with trembling voice and Levi’s expression had softened, a sign that he had forgiven you for everything and that he didn’t want to argue anymore.

“As much as I want that too, we can’t have it when the titans are roaming everywhere, threatening to wipe out Humanity. If we don’t destroy them now, we are only delaying our doom,” he muttered as his hand went to softly caress your cheek, making you sigh as you leaned into his touch. “But that man, Erwin Smith, sees something that I don’t. He has a plan to save humanity and… he sees victory… That’s why I want to stay in the Survey Corps and fight,” he admitted and at that moment, you found yourself captured by that determination burning in his eyes.

His desire to fight for a better future.

Not only for the sake of you two, but for the sake of thousands of people.

And while you weren’t completely sure yet that you were ready to sacrifice your happiness and life for a bunch of people you didn’t know or care about, you knew that you were ready to sacrifice anything and everything for him.

And that’s why you stayed.

And he knew that. He knew you better than you knew yourself. But he chose not to call you out for this. Because he understood how you felt. He didn’t belittle you. He didn’t call you selfish or insensitive or a bad person just because you didn’t want to care about anyone else but him. What does selfish, insensitive or bad even mean? They are just vague concepts that are different from every person’s point of view.

And as more time passed, after every expedition, he could see why you wanted to leave. He could see why you didn’t want to fight. Every expedition, every death, left an impact on you, stealing bit by bit from your sunny personality and shaping you into a depressed, miserable person.

Even if you claimed that you didn’t care about strangers dying, deep, deep down, he knew you did. It was just the person you were, trying to convince yourself that you didn’t care about anyone but him in order to protect yourself. But on a deeper level you still cared and you were still affected and he knew that you hated feeling like this – it brought only chaos, confusion and misery to your mind and soul as you desperately tried to live up to your own expectations and build walls around yourself only for every brick to be broken as a comrade would send you a smile or compliment you or help you out with something. And after every expedition, he would gain a better understanding as to why you wanted to be selfish and leave. Why you wanted – why you tried forcing yourself – to stop caring about anything and everyone and run away with him – the one and only person who – you tried to convince yourself – mattered.

And he didn’t know why he couldn’t follow you. On many occasions, he felt the same. But somehow, for some reason, he would always find a way back to Erwin – back to the goal they shared for humanity. He didn’t know where that sudden loyalty for the blonde had come from – the same blonde who more or less had been the reason as to why Farlan and Isabel had died. But it was exactly this loyal bond that had formed between them that prevented Levi from following you and he hated himself for it because he could see how this life of soldiers was destroying you from the inside out and there were moments when he would lay at night and dark thoughts would cross his mind – of your body hanging from somewhere or him finding you drowned or with sliced wrists or a bullet stuck in the head.

It wasn’t uncommon for soldiers to turn to self-harm as a coping mechanism and some even committed suicide.

The fight against the titans wasn’t something to be underestimated and it left an irreparable damage on everyone.

And he could see you were heading that way and he hated himself for not being able to put a stop to this and just grab your hand and run away from everything – as you wanted.

That’s why he decided to distance himself from you. He thought that maybe if he started ignoring you, if he was being cold and distant, it would put a rift in your relationship. It would make you think that he didn’t love you anymore. That you were a painful reminder of the past. And once your bond was severed, nothing would be holding you back. Nothing would stop you from leaving. Because he was the only thing, the only reason, as to why you were still sticking around. And then maybe you would finally be able to find the peace and quiet you had been seeking for ages.

His conversations with you became shorter. His answers – curt. His affection and acts of service decreased. It had brought you to tears, thinking that you had done something wrong and it tore him apart when he caught you crying one night. But it was for your own good so he had to grit his teeth and bear with it never mind how much it hurt that he was causing you this suffering.

Him being promoted to a Captain helped a lot. Now he didn’t need to find reasons or excuses to not spend time with you because he was genuinely so busy all the time. The stress was making him snappy too so he tried avoiding conversations altogether, not wanting to actually say something hurtful because then he would feel even more pain and regret and that would have his resolve crumble and he would go back to being loving and affectionate which was far, far from the goal he had.

Then Oluo and Petra had entered the picture – two members fresh into the Survey Corps, graduated from the same trainee squad with incredible talent and promising skills. He had taken them into his squad but he didn’t know that this would be the final straw to put such a rift in your relationship.  

It was true that Petra was a bit clingy. Her infatuation, devotion and loyalty to him were obvious. But he thought it was a childish, fleeting crush which is why he didn’t find it necessary to confront her about it. He thought it would disappear over time, especially with how both she and Oluo seemed like an old married couple more and more with each passing day. He didn’t want to push away the members of his own squad. He wanted to embrace them. To embrace their friendship. On a subconscious level, he was trying to fill the gaps left behind from the people he lost. The gaps oozing loneliness and pain. The gaps you couldn’t fill because he wasn’t allowing you to in his haste to push you away.

And when one day he went to have lunch with Erwin, as the two needed to discuss important matters in his office, he wasn’t expecting the blonde to deliver such mortifying news to him.

“Look, Levi…I’m sorry to say this but… Y/N left the Survey Corps,” told him the Commander with a sombre tone and Levi felt his entire world shift.

Suddenly, regret flooded him, chilling him to the very last atom.

Erwin saw each and every emotion flashing in his eyes. And even if he wanted to remind his friend of the words he had told him years ago, he couldn’t.

Because there were things in this life that were impossible not to regret.

Like losing a loved one because of your or their own demons.

It was one thing to lose a loved one to death. And completely another to lose them because of your decision.

Levi didn’t utter a word, pressing his lips in a thin line as he swiftly stood up and turned on his heel, leaving the office with ebony bangs covering his eyes, shielding him from his friend’s look of pity and compassion.

He needed to think.

He needed time.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

You don’t realize how much someone or something means to you until you lose them.

No, that’s not exactly it.

Levi cherished you a lot. Levi loved you a lot. You meant the world to him. That’s why he wanted you to leave. He wanted you to find peace. He wanted you to live a good life away from that misery and bloodshed.

Even if it killed him on the inside.

Because if you truly love someone, you would let them go if it was for the sake of their happiness.

But now that he’s finally gone and done it. Now that he not only pushed you away as a lover but pushed you away from his life altogether, he felt lost.

He felt lost and miserable.

As if life was drained from any sound and colour, leaving him to float in some abyss, soaking in his own negative feelings.

The sorrow, the pain, the dread, the loneliness.

If he had to list them all, he would waste all of Erwin’s expensive parchment.

And as he laid there in his bed, after thinking and reflecting on everything for hours on end, staring at the ceiling with an empty bottle of alcohol shattered into pieces against the opposite wall – alcohol that barely got him tipsy – he realized that maybe he wanted to be selfish too. That, combined with the regrets of pushing you away, burned at his soul, melting any doubts he had, like a blacksmith melting steel, and solidified his resolve to find you and bring you back, like a new sword being forged.

So next day after he had gotten all his emotions, thoughts and feelings in check and after he had taken a decision, he approached Erwin and asked for your location.

He was unpleased when his friend told him that he had no idea where you went off to. Part of Levi wanted to be angry and yell at him. Accuse him of lying. But he was so tired after the emotional and mental battle he had wielded that he just gave up on his anger and frustration and decided that instead of letting such negative emotions rule over him, he would brush them aside instead and pave way for that same scorching determination he had for the Survey Corpse’s cause, now combining it with the determination of finding you.

And he didn’t stop.

Once he started, he didn’t stop.

He would visit every town, every village, whenever he was free from his duty.

He never stopped looking for you.

It took him roughly a year to scout most of Wall Rose’s lands.

But it was during one fateful evening, after the Scouts were returning from an expedition, when he spotted you.

The sun had just set, allowing the sky to be painted in purples and blues with shimmering stars being sprinkled onto the canvas. The street lanterns shone brightly and the comforting light spewing from them had illuminated a very familiar form.

A form that Levi knew like the lines of his own palm.

He hadn’t wasted time to jump from his black mare and chase after you. He didn’t want to approach and confront you right away so he just settled for walking at a slow pace behind you, trying his best to not be noticed or come off as some creep.

He seriously couldn’t believe his luck.

Knowing your thought pattern, he believed that you had run away somewhere far. Back in the days when you lived in the Underground, whenever you had arguments – which was very rare – you would always run away from home and hide somewhere far, knowing that it would be hard for him to find you and nearly giving him heart attacks because of it. But this time you had decided to hide right under his nose – near Trost district which was not far away from the SC HQ.

He counted himself outsmarted and he didn’t know whether to be annoyed by this or proud of you.    

You looked radiant even in the dusk. The cream dress you were wearing made you look like a vision, glowing in the dark. It reached a bit past your knees, revealing some of your calves while the upper part left your collarbones in the open. He longed to run his fingers over your skin. Through your hair. To touch you. To feel you. To hold you. To tell you what an idiot he was. How he wanted you back in his life because he couldn’t exist without you by his side.

To apologize.

“Are you going to keep following me or are you going to help me carry the basket?” your voice interrupted his train of thought and he cursed lightly under his breath. You chuckled and stopped in your tracks, turning around ever so slightly, eyes finally landing on the person you were so anxious to see again but didn’t have the courage to approach.

He wordlessly took the basket from your hands and began walking next to you.

All the way to your house you stayed silent.

He didn’t even comment when you exited the District and neared the woods, only lifting an eyebrow.

Your shoes and his boots clinked against the cobblestone pathway, the little door of the wooded fence creaking under your touch as you pushed it. His eyes scanned the yard, taking notice of the freely roaming chicken, a few lambs, one cow and one horse – your horse from the Survey Corps. He could vaguely make out a garden peeking from behind the house so he supposed you also had a backyard where you were growing your food. He almost flinched when a huge dog – almost as big as you and him – came running in your direction, demanding head pats which you gladly gave.

Levi was impatient. He wanted to enter the damn house already and talk. But at the same time, a part of him was happy about the delay. He almost gulped nervously at the thought of the following confrontation.

Almost.

At last, you unlocked the front door and the two took off your shoes, putting on slippers, and moved into the house. You took the basket from his hands and placed it on the kitchen counter before you grabbed a rag to wipe the table and beckoned the man to sit down. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, taking a step towards the chair before halting, looking at you rigidly, and resuming his journey until he was finally sat. You clenched and unclenched the rag before you threw it away and sat across him, fingers now playing with the soft fabric of your dress. You looked at the ground and he looked at your feet, noticing your toes curling and uncurling from nerves even through the slippers.  

“I-“

“Levi-“

You both said at the same time and you chuckled lightly at the cliché situation.

“You first,” uttered the man and you gulped, sending him a wobbly smile.

“I want to apologize-“ you took a short pause and an intake of air when you saw his eyes widening as his features twisted in a dumbstruck expression as if he was unable to process why you were apologizing. “-for leaving so suddenly without uttering a word. It was…childish,” you quieted down and he closed his eyes, sighing deeply. “You were walking further and further away from me, getting extra busy with being a Captain and…and then Petra came into the picture,” you muttered but were fast to wave your hands in defence, “Not that I ever doubted your loyalty! My trust in you would never waver but…I just thought that maybe we both needed a break. We needed to breathe and clear our heads and start thinking properly. That’s why I decided to leave and give us some space. I never truly intended on leaving the Survey Corps or abandoning you…You mean so much to me…but I’m still sorry that I-“

“Stop,” he rose to his feet and you quickly followed, anticipation and fear at his next possible words, building up inside of you, making you feel like burning. “You don’t have to apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

That calmed you down a bit, the fear leaving your mind, but instead, worry settled as you looked at the way he lowered his head and bit his lip.

“I acted wrongly…I was foolish by thinking that pushing you away would bring you the freedom and happiness you sought,” he muttered and your face softened. “I just,” he sighed as his trembling hand went through his hair in an attempt to ground himself. “I just saw how impacted you would get after every expedition…how you started losing that glow of yours, your bubbly and sunny persona…I saw how hard you were trying to force yourself to stop caring, to be selfish and leave, but you still couldn’t because…because you’re not like that… damnit,” he grit out as he tugged on a few strands before letting his hand fall and rest against his hip limply.

He kicked himself inwardly. He was never good at expressing himself. The moment he had seen you in the crowd, the moment he had set a goal to talk to you and sort everything out, he had been reciting in his head and thinking what exactly he was going to tell you and how he was going to explain himself and the reasoning behind his actions.

“I just-“

“-wanted me to be happy…So you thought that by being a dick and pushing me away, you would make me leave so I can find my peace and quiet somewhere far, far away,” you finished for him, deciding to help him out which caused him to halt in his speech and just stare at you, waiting for your next words, the terror of you rejecting him or telling him that you didn’t feel the same anymore felt like a nettle rope around his neck, getting tighter and tighter with each second, suffocating and scathing him. “Listen, while you might have been partially right, you were also wrong. Because even if I do find happiness away from all the bloodshed, it just wouldn’t be the same without you, silly,” you shook your head as you sent him a sad smile. “I’d rather endure all the pain and suffering in the world than be separated from you,” you finally took the courage to close the space between you as you laid your head on his chest, arms slowly sliding around his torso. He didn’t hesitate to return the hug, sharply bringing you closer, if that was possible, and squeezing you so hard you didn’t know whether to groan from pain or chuckle at seeing him express himself so openly and in such a sweet, boyish manner. It kind of brought back memories from the days you lived in the Underground and how he would hug you exactly like that when you would do something stupid that would put you at risk, albeit a bit more awkwardly since back when you were teenagers you both had no idea how to express your love for each other.

“Deep down I knew you were onto something. Because why would you start acting like that so suddenly? It just wasn’t in your style. But at the same time I felt…” he tightened his embrace even more and buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent and letting it comfort his tortured mind. He had missed you so unbearably much.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” he whispered and you sighed as you ran your hands over his back in a soothing manner.

“I forgive you, Levi…I understand that you did it for my own good. But believe me when I say that I can’t find true freedom or happiness without you by my side,” you placed a kiss on his shoulder before pulling away to look him in the eyes. “Don’t ever leave. Don’t ever try to make me leave. Let’s just stick together through thick and thin as we’ve done since we were kids, ok?” you asked and he nodded, leaning hesitantly. You met his lips halfway and you kissed gently which slowly turned into a passionate, hungry, heated and desperate make out as you tried to feel one another after a whole year of being apart. When you finally broke it off, needing air, you rested your forehead against his and let yourself soak in his presence. He did the same. You just stayed like that, foreheads touching, arms around one another as you swayed ever so slightly.

“Want to help me pack?”

[simmonsized]

Oh my god!! That was just great and I loved every second of reading that. Had to reread the post a couple times because I was so excited by the notification. The connections between Bro and The Handmaid you made are phenomenal! That’s exactly why I’m obsessed with them interacting and honestly, Bro interacting with people is kinda funny to me. Bro is funny without trying.

Don’t worry about how much you talk, I’m very much into reading long posts! I’m asking because I just want to hear another persons point of view and reasoning. No need to hold back.

Mom and Bro… sigh, I love them a lot :(

Their interactions in The Run and Go either make me laugh or pity them. Either way, it’s great. Sometimes I like having fun with them and exchanging conversations about them with a mutual of mine. How much would you say Dirk & Roxy are in their dynamic?

Sorry for the delay, I went to bed early last night haha!

Honestly I have many things to say about Mom and Bro, all the time! They're just so fun! I like writing them in RNG (the run and go) specifically because I love the concept of dealing with After, of dealing with things that came before, but already happened, and can't be prevented, and the guardians just happen to fulfill that desire pretty much to a T!

Warning most of this is just like. Fun headcanon stuff so sorry!

For me, I like to imagine that Bro and Mom knew each other when they were "kids", because it's implied in [I'd rather not talk about Hussie's awful Skaianet lore but it just sits in the back of my mind] that Jake Harley was their benefactor/sponsor, so I always imagine that they grew up separately until they were somewhere between 10 and 13, and then the beta guardians kind of like. Collected them I guess, at least temporarily. They met, became friends, stayed in contact when they separated, and then (once again all fake headcanons) Bro started to become more like how he is now, and after 16 he kinda walked out of Nanna and Grandpa's lives, and Mom became Grandpa's protege (more implied about Hiveswap which isn't entirely canon but sometimes I think about it anyway) . I like to think they still called and maybe emailed (cringes in 90s communication format) and stuff, but Bro was preparing for Dave at this point, and Mom was preparing for Rose. They grew apart, things kept happening u know, as they do, and they just! Stopped talking. Probably mostly Bro's fault lol

Anyway so all that being said, since they are to a point Roxy and Dirk, I think that there maybe have been a time before Bro was cruel, when he was Dirk, was still just a kid who cared a lot about what his friends thought of him, who maybe was a little awkward and only had one fucking friend, in Mom. He's a weird dude, for sure, but Roxy (Mom) likes weird, and they're both very smart, and very funny. I think they would have something in common, in the way that they both had a predestiny, in the way that their lives were already being carved out for them before they even had the chance to decide for themselves (i already said this about bro but it does extend to mom too lol). Much like Roxy and Dirk were the only two people who knew what it was like in a future without humans, I imagine that Bro and Mom probably felt, to a point, that they were the only two people in the world who had the kind of raw fucking deal they were dealt. I imagine they were shitty to each other, in that playful way that two very sarcastic people can be, because I always imagine the guardians as being a little bit sharper around the edges than their kid counterparts, even at the same age.

I think a lot about the fact that aside from being Ectobiological creations, they were still kids, who still grew up in “our” world, who had a bunch of fucking like. Genuine life experience and interaction with the outside world. We often see the homestuck kids as isolated in their own little worlds, for a variety of reasons, but it’s more interesting to me, to think of the guardians as being more connected to the outside world, in part because of the mystery in their upbringing, and also just. 30+ years life on earth!

I don't think Bro is a good enough person to actually stop Mom from drinking, but I imagine it probably "annoyed" him in a way, u know Cal influence etc etc but I do think he'd tolerate her, if only out of a kind of weird obligation mixed with genuine affection he'd probably never admit to. I do think Mom genuinely loved him, and though I headcanon the guardians as always knowing they had an obligation, I think she probably would have been happier, if they had been able to stay together. I like to think of the guardians as the worst reflection of the kids' inner selves, Roxy's addiction, Dirk's tendency towards calculation and manipulation, but they are still people, and it never stops being interesting, the concept of reconnecting with someone who you loved, who you failed, who failed you. Yeah!

Some of my favorite things Dirk has ever said about Roxy, for context, which influences a lot of how I write Bro and Mom's relationship:

[hizashis-lil-bunbun]

No Rest for the Wicked- HardDom!Dabi X Fem! Brat Reader

Prompt: Dabi just wants to take a nap but everything goes wrong

I asked a friend in one of my discord groups for a random writing prompt when I was up late. Something about this one activated my inner ✨brat✨

Enjoy!

Word Count: 3.3k

Kinks/Warnings: brat taming, degradation, pain play, spanking, belting, mild dacryphilia, bondage, edging and denial, hints of dubcon

Banner made by the always lovely @ladyshinigami!

••••••••••••••

Exhausted.

That was the best way to sum up Dabi’s mood as he trudged through the bar fronting the League’s headquarters. Shigaraki had sent him out on a mission with orders to “stake out and take out” a small band of up-and-coming heroes. It had been easy enough to find them (newbies can never resist being flashy), but making sure they were all disposed of was another matter. A matter only made more complicated by a few rogue civilians that happened to spot him. It had taken him two full days to track everyone down, leaving him covered in blood, soot, and burns. In short, Dabi needed a break.

“Well, well, well.” Came the nasally voice of their fearless leader, “The prodigal son returns! Took you long enough, Dabi. Hope that means you didn’t fuck up the mission.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.” Dabi snaps back, too tired and sore to care about his tone. Not that he’d be any kinder to Shigaraki if he wasn’t. “I did what you asked and left no witnesses. Now piss off before I turn you into a smoldering pile.”

Shigaraki didn’t rise to Dabi’s bait, opting to simply flip him the bird before going back to whatever game console he was currently obsessed with. Dabi returns the gesture in kind, glowering as he disappears behind the bar and into the League’s living quarters. Their warehouse provides more than enough space for everyone to have their own room, and the boss even allowed them to decorate and furnish them as they pleased. Wasn’t that generous? Dabi plods down the hallway to his assigned room and kicks open the door only to find it was occupied. By you.

“Dabi?” You question for a moment before your eyes light up with excitement. “Dabi! You’re back!”

As a fellow Stain devotee, you’d sought out the LOV and been initiated as a member a mere six months ago. And two months later, you’d been initiated into Dabi’s bed. You wouldn’t exactly call yourselves “lovers.” Love was few and far between in a hornet’s nest of villains. But you’d certainly become something more than the occasional lay.

He grunts as he stalks into the room, shedding his coat and boots as he went. Dabi was never big on grand displays of affection. And in his current state, that small show of acknowledgment may as well have been equivalent to a bear hug.

“I missed you.” You chirp back, undeterred by his gruff response. “How was the mission?”

“Long and shitty.” Came his terse reply as he strips off the rest of his clothes and grabs a towel from a nearby wall hook. “I need a fucking shower.”

He wraps the towel around his waist before he sets about searching for body wash and a first aid kit. Greedy eyes roam the plane of his toned torso, eager to touch the scarred and stapled flesh you’d spent many a night mapping out. Before joining the League, you’d never had an opinion one way or the other on touch or physical intimacy. You didn’t dislike it by any means; it was just something people did, fuck buddies or otherwise. But now that you’d shared a bed with Dabi, your perspective had changed. His rough touch was your drug of choice, intoxicating in all the best ways. And with him being gone for almost 72 hours? It was safe to say you were jonesing for a hit.

“Oooh, sounds like fun.” You purr, sprawling out on the mattress in a catlike stretch. “Want me to join you? I think we could use a little… quality time together.”

He snorts derisively at that, straightening up once he’d found his supplies and fixing you with a deep scowl. So pretty even when he’s pissed. You bat your eyelashes in return.

“Don’t get cute, dollface. Once I get cleaned up I’m passing out for the next century.”

Before you can shoot off another coquettish remark, he turns on his heel and marches out the door in the direction of the communal showers. You huff and clamber out of bed to follow him, determined that he wouldn’t get away so easily.

“C’mon Dabi!” You whine, trotting along behind him as he stalks down the hallway. “I haven’t seen you in days! Are you really just gonna give me the cold shoulder?”

“Yup.” He snaps back, shooting you a harsh glare over said shoulder before barging through the bathroom door. From the other side you can hear his bark of “Move it, psycho!” followed by an indignant squeak from whom you can only assume to be Toga. You huff and stamp your foot like a petulant child, turning on your heel to flounce off in the direction of the League’s bar front.

“Bastard.” You seethe under your breath, “Who does he think he is, ignoring me like that? It’s his fault I’m so pent up. If I tried ignoring him when he was all hot and bothered–!”

You pause for a moment as a lightbulb goes off in your head. A single impish thought flashes through your mind and it causes your lips to curl into a Cheshire grin. He wants to play games? You’ll give him games.

You continue your trek into the dimly-lit, woodpandeled speakeasy, a renewed vigor in your stride as you make a beeline for the bar top. Kurogiri is standing behind it as per usual, wiping out a pint glass like the faithful bartender he pretends to be. You sidle up to the bar and place both hands on the oaken surface, adopting a sweet, too-innocent lilt to your voice.

“Kuro-baby.” You purr, the cutesy pet name causing the misty specter to look up from his task. “Can I have a glass of water, please? With lots of ice, if you don’t mind.”

Wordlessly, Kurogiri sets down the glass and picks up a shorter one, using it to scoop up a generous portion of ice from the freezer below before filling it nearly to the brim from the tap. If he has any suspicion of you, he’s very good at hiding it. The same can’t be said for Shigaraki, sitting a few stools down from you and still tapping away at the buttons of his console.

“Fucking with Staples again?” He questions disinterestedly, followed by a hiss of annoyance when the game lets out a series of gunshots. He must have gotten himself killed again.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” You shoot back airily, swiping the glass from Kurogiri’s outstretched hand and hopping off your own barstool.

“It’s your funeral!” He calls after you, waving you off with one hand. You snicker as you march back into the living quarters, one hand wrapped around the chilled glass and the other flattened over the top to ensure you won’t spill a drop along the way. Soon you find yourself back in front of the bathroom door and, suppressing the urge to giggle, you slowly push through it and into the steamy room beyond. In spite of the hideout’s outward appearance, the place is surprisingly clean and well-kempt (all thanks to den mother Kurogiri). Two sinks stand against the left-hand side of the wall, with two doors opposite them leading to the toilets. Next to the sinks are the showers: three open-faced, tile cubes barely covered by flimsy plastic curtains. Toga is standing in front of the nearest sink, wearing a skimpy pair of Hello Kitty pajamas and washing the blood and goop from her latest transformation out of her navy, pleated skirt. She looks up at you when you enter and you quickly put one finger to your lips, smirking as you point between the glass and the running shower beyond. Toga lets loose a sadistic giggle of her own before hastily shushing herself when you hear Dabi’s bark of “Pipe down out there!”

As you move past her, you can see her mouth the words, “You’re so dead, big sis.”

You can feel a jolt of adrenaline course through your veins as you sneak up to the edge of the tiled wall separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom, the glass in your hand shaking briefly. A small amount of water sloshes over the rim and spatters onto the floor, the sound barely overshadowed by the shower.

“Doll?”

His low, rumbling voice coming from the other side of the curtain sends another shiver down your spine.

“What are you up to out there?” He growls dangerously, as if he has a sixth sense when it comes to you and your shenanigans. For just a moment, the rational part of your brain takes over and makes you question your actions. Dabi’s already in a foul mood, and getting worse by the second by the sound of it. Maybe if you hold off and behave like a good girl–

Your body seems to move of its own accord. The next thing you know, the contents of the glass are sailing through the air, arching high over the plastic curtain rod and landing with a messy splat onto your unwitting victim on the other side.

“What the fu–!” Dabi’s curse is cut off by yours and Toga’s mad giggling as you sprint out of the bathroom and down the hallway. Passing by a very confused-looking Spinner, you dart inside Dabi’s room and slam the door, locking it for good measure. Seconds later, he’s pounding on it, using enough force that you’re convinced it might splinter and break off its hinges.

“Open this door right now and make this easier on yourself!” He roars, furiously jiggling the handle.

You let him pound away for a few more seconds, in part to allow yourself time to catch your breath but mostly to delay the unenviable punishment. With a deep, steadying breath, you plaster on a mildly amused expression, undo the lock, and pull open the door. Dabi is visibly seething, water dripping from his hair and cascading in rivulets down his toned chest onto the towel slung low on his hips. His brows are knitted together in rage, turquoise eyes flashing dangerously while one hand is still raised in a fist.

“Oh hey, babe. Done with the shower al–?”

His hands are around your throat before you can blink, your sassy remark devolving into a high-pitched squeak.

“You little bitch.” He spits at you, forcibly backing you further into the room as he advances. “Was that your idea of a joke?”

“N-no.” You gasp in response, voice slightly raspy from the pressure on your jugular. “I just thought–“

“Thought what exactly?” Dabi growls, kicking the door shut behind him with one foot before giving your shoulders a hard shove and pushing you onto the bed. You land with a slight bounce, the momentum giving you just enough time to prop yourself up on your elbows.

“Well?” He hisses, venom dripping from the word as he glares down at you.

“I was worried.” You start slowly, tone almost loving as you gaze up at him with big, doe eyes. “You seemed so tense when you got back. And don’t think I didn’t notice those new burns on your arms. So I thought, since the mission was so hard on you…”

Your face suddenly splits into a shit-eating grin.

“I thought you might need to cool down for a minute.”

Dabi blinks for a second, seemingly struck dumb by your remark. And then his hands are back on you in an instant, roughly flipping you over to lie chest-down with your legs hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Of all the stupid–“

Your shirt is ripped over your head from behind.

“Immature–“

There goes the bra, clasps and straps lost to a wildfire of blue flames as it falls away from your body in a charred heap.

“Bratty little schemes.”

Your leggings and panties are harshly yanked down, slipped off, and discarded into some unknown corner of the room. You feel cool air hit your legs and backside, moments before a harsh slap lands on your right cheek. With a yelp, you cast a wide-eyed glance over your shoulder at the menacing presence behind you; a pillar of rage and sadistic urges looming over your naked form.

“You wanted my attention that badly, dollface? Well I’m sorry to say you’ve got it now.”

Before you can react beyond a pained, needy whimper, Dabi hooks his right arm under your thighs to haul you up and onto the bed. He lays his full weight across your back and reaches around and underneath the farthest edge of the bed to produce a simple, black cuff, attached to the nylon spreader running along the underside of the mattress. Giving it a few cursory tugs, he grabs ahold of your right wrist and yanks it towards the corresponding corner, attaching the device with practiced speed and precision. You continue to writhe and pant below him, muttering a litany of curses and “no’s” as he does the same to the opposite side. You’re now bound by both wrists, unable to do more than thrash wildly on the mattress in a humiliating, spread eagle position.

“Seems like you need a reminder of who’s in charge around here.” He snarls in your ear, pushing himself off of you and marching over to his discarded pile of clothing. You can hear the soft rustle of fabric, followed by the telltale clink of metal on metal that makes your eyes go wide.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare…” You start breathlessly, just before the first blinding sting of leather greets your exposed skin, right at the juncture where the soft swell of your ass meets the tender flesh of your thighs.

“That’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” Dabi says mockingly, his tone dripping with false pity and saccharine sweetness as he takes his place at the edge of the bed once more. “I don’t have any problems dealing with a mouthy… little… brat like you.”

His words are punctuated by three more vicious blows, this time striking the meatiest part of your ass and sending the pliant flesh jiggling. The metal rivets in his belt only add to the pain, biting into your rapidly heating flesh and causing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes. Shifting your hips in a futile attempt to get away from Dabi and his newfound torture device, you roll partly onto your side and look over at him with watery, pleading eyes.

“S-sir… Dabi, please!” You sputter out, voice already wavering as your resolve crumbles beneath the stinging sensation. But Dabi’s not in the mood for bargaining. Instead, he growls as he wraps an arm around your waist and shoves his left knee underneath your belly, hiking your ass further into the air.

“Hold still!” He barks at you, another crack of his belt sending a fresh wave of searing pain along your already raw skin. You scream in agony, unable to do more than wriggle and squirm against his hold.

“Start counting, brat.” He demands huskily, your only warning before the next punishing spank meets your burning flesh.

“One!” You gasp out, “I’m sorry! Please–!”

Another blow lands, somehow harder than all the others, revisiting the spot where ass and thigh meet and causing you to wail in pain.

“Too late for apologies, dollface. The only thing I wanna hear from that slutty little mouth is counting. Understand me?”

The arm looped around your waist tightens in warning, and you hiccup before sputtering out a shaky, “T-two.”

“That’s more like it.”

He continues spanking you at a steady pace, the only respite coming when he pauses to hear you choke out the next number. By ten strokes, you’re bawling. By fifteen, you’re practically brain dead, unable to quell the sobs that wrack through your body or think beyond the next count. He mercifully stops at twenty, dropping the belt and loosening his own grip on you. All you can focus on is the burning pain radiating out from your tanned backside, sobbing as you bury your face into the pillow below you for comfort. Dabi’s own breathing is heavy and ragged, and he takes a few deep, measured breaths to steady himself. After a few moments, that hand that once held his belt is carefully laid on the curve of your ass, and you gasp both at the gentle touch and the shock of prickly pain it brings. Judging by the way he strokes the heated flesh, you’re sure the silver eyelets have left a series of bruises behind.

“S-s-sir.” You blubber, “I’m... I…”

“Shhhh, quiet down.” He says softly, voice uncharacteristically tender as he runs his hand along the width of your heated cheeks. “It’s over now. You did so well.”

The unexpected praise makes you whimper beneath his affections, devolving into a quiet moan as his hand travels even lower, fingers coming to rest at the entrance to your heated core. He begins to gently massage at your folds, middle finger slipping inside to find you impossibly wet and clenching around the digit.

“You filthy little thing…” He breathes out on a chuckle, “Are you really that turned on by me beating the hell out of your cute little ass?”

His finger delves deeper, pussy eagerly sucking him in as you keen below him. His free hand begins to lightly scratch up and down your back, goosebumps rising in the wake of each careful caress. Without thinking, you shift further onto your knees, fighting through the pain to push against his hand.

“Please, Sir.” You moan wantonly, “More. Please.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi slips a second finger inside of you and begins to languidly pump them in and out. Pain and pleasure meld together in a sinful symphony, pants and whimpers coming from you as you rock your abused body against his own scarred flesh. He adjusts the angle and crooks his fingers downwards, curling them just shy of that sensitive bundle of nerves you know would have you seeing stars. Your back arches as you hungrily push against him, dignity forgotten in the face of pure, carnal desire.

“Getting impatient, are we?” He growls teasingly, fingers suddenly slipping out from your sopping core and wrenching a high-pitched whine from the back of your throat. He moves off the bed entirely, ordering you to stay put as he walks over to the nearby dresser and opens up the top drawer. Like the cuffs would allow you to do anything otherwise.

“Ah, here we go.” He says after a few seconds of rummaging, striding back over to the bed and taking up residence behind you. You feel the mattress dip under his weight seconds before his hands find your hips, roughly hauling them upwards and forcing your face further into the pillows. You shriek as he grabs ahold of your left cheek and squeezes harshly, pain shooting up your spine like a bolt of summer lightning. Something hard and cool prods at your quivering entrance, briefly brushing against your clit before being plunged inside of you. The sudden stretch feels at once too much and deeply satiating, sending burning, pleasurable heat licking across your oversensitized nerves. Once the toy is sunk to the hilt, Dabi gives a short grunt of satisfaction before sliding off the bed and circling around to lean over your quivering form. You turn your head to face him and he smirks at the sight of your fucked out expression: eyes red and puffy, cheeks streaked with half-dried tears, lips swollen from the bluntness of your own teeth.

“Aren’t you a sight?” He hums lowly, brushing away an errant strand of hair to plant a condescending kiss to your temple. “Such a needy little slut for me.”

With another dark chuckle, Dabi pats your cheek, straightens up, and turns towards the door.

“Wait!” You squeak out, squirming against your restraints as you watch his retreating back. “You’re just gonna leave me like this?”

“That’s the plan, dollface.” He shoots back, casting you a wicked grin over his left shoulder as he pulls the door open. “At least until I finish my shower.”

[parkers-gal]

How about some Tom angst, when after getting off a flight and feeling gross and wanting to go home, Tom is swarmed by fans and takes forever signing stuff

requests are open

—

After waking up at four A.M. for your flight, you and Tom had learned it would be delayed for a few hours. It was out of your controls, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t be frustrated. You were stuck in a swarming airport with an A-list celebrity; it was only a matter of time before they mobbed you. You had already been followed by the paparazzi on the way here, you couldn’t handle anything else this early. 

By the time the clock struck six o’clock, more fans had started piling the airport. It seemed as though airport security could not care less about your entire ordeal, so you and Tom were stuck hiding out in a family bathroom until your flight was scheduled to take off. 

It had been sixteen hours since then, and you hadn’t showered in almost a day. You felt icky and exhausted, wanting to get off the plane and directly home once the aircraft landed. 

Of course, you couldn’t.

Tom, being the gentleman he is, left you alone to pick up the baggage so he could be with the fans for a little longer. You didn’t mind at first, thinking if he went now, the two of you could leave once you finished grabbing the suitcases. 

You were wrong, however, because as Tom was taking pictures and signing posters, you were stuck in the middle of about twenty paparazzis, begging for details and secrets regarding Tom and his career. 

You groaned — internally, of course — and forced a polite smile towards the men surrounding you. You could handle this many cameras and people and pictures shoved in your face — on a good day. This, however, wasn’t a good day. You were irritated before you even got on the plane; you couldn’t deal with this right now. 

Excusing yourself through the crowd, you left the luggage with Marty, a body guard working for the airport, and made your way  over to Tom. You had to lean in close just so he could hear you, but you spoke in a whisper, not wanting to startle him. 

“Can we get going?”

He turned his head with another smile, nodding his head before whispering back, “Just a few more minutes.”

A few more minutes turned into fifteen, and you had texted Harry to park somewhere close. He complied of course, and you made your way over to Tom one last time just to tell him you were leaving. 

You abandoned him before he could reply, Marty following you to the exit and fighting off quite a few paps. He quickly situated the luggage into the back, and you thanked him with a twenty, sliding into the passenger seat next to the younger Holland. 

“Hey Y/N-” he paused just as he was about to switch gears from park to drive. “Where’s Tom?”

You sighed, still slightly annoyed. “Inside.”

“Doing..?” “He’s been with the fans for the past thirty minutes, what do you think?”

You felt sorry for snapping at him, but he nodded, smiling softly as though to say “I understand.” It was comforting, knowing he had been in your position before. The person that was always accompanying Tom, the person that was neglected because they weren’t the celebrity in Hollywood. It was comforting to know that you weren’t the only one being neglected, and not just by the fans. 

Harry rolled down your car window, the one closest to Marty. 

“Hey, man!” Harry hollered over the loud sounds of cars, airplanes and screaming fans. “Can you get Tom? We’ve got to leave now. Tell him it’s Harry!”

Marty nodded silently, undoing a button on his suit before gliding through the glass doors and directly into the crowd. He had a gun, not that he would ever use it.

You sat in the running car listening to Harry’s playlist, for ten minutes. Tom finally got in the backseat, but by this point, you were fuming. Harry could tell, too — he’d tried to make things easy for you, but it’s not like he could fix his brother’s oblivious state. 

The car ride home was filled with tension, and unbearably so. You didn’t bother helping with the luggage, either. Tom hadn’t helped you in the airport, and you sure as hell didn’t want to stand around in the cold London air when you could be taking a warm bath or a refreshing shower. 

Stepping inside, you nearly slammed your keys into the bowl, unwrapping your scarf from your neck just as Tom set the luggage down. 

“Love?” He took another step, removing his gloves. “What’s wrong?’

“You! You’re what’s wrong!” 

Harrison and Tuwaine smiled politely, awkward in whatever situation had just walked through the door. 

“What do you mean?”

Hanging your coat up, you walked into the kitchen for a quick glass of tea before you planned to shower. “I mean, you took nearly forty minutes signing shit, Tom! Do you realize what time it is?”

“It’s late, I know-”

“No, Tom,” you spoke sternly. You suspected everyone was listening with how quiet the house was. “You don’t know. We’re over five hours late. You left me alone in baggage claim- I- I had to eat breakfast in a fucking bathroom, for Christ’s sake!”

“That’s not my fault,” He defended himself. 

“I never said it was! I am saying today has been a shitty day! You taking the extra time with your fans just happened to tie the knot!” “It wasn’t even that long.”

You scoffed, slamming your mug down onto the kitchen counter. 

“I have been awake for over twenty hours. I’m not having this conversation if you can’t see how ridiculously long this entire day was.” 

You left the kitchen, sending a rough “Hi,” to the boys before making your way upstairs, footsteps harsh on the hardwood floor. 

“Y/N!” Tom yelled, making his way to you again. 

“What, Tom?” You were nearly crying at how frustrating today was. All you wanted to do was take a bath and go to sleep. Get some fucking rest in your own bed without people you didn’t even know, swarming you. “What?”

He breathed out heavily. “I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how exhausting today was for you.”

“Yeah well, it was. I don’t have the energy to fight or be mad so if you don’t want to deal with this right now then you can sleep on the couch or something.”

“No- no I-” he chuckled, rubbing his forehead. “Look, I’m sorry. That’s what I was trying to say.” You looked up at him, pausing before nodding. “Let me help you- you’re tired and probably want to shower before you sleep.”

“Yeah, I do,” you were still speaking harshly, and Tom stepped forward, inviting you into his embrace. You accepted the invitation, falling into his chest and hugging him tightly, because no matter how infuriating this boy was, you knew you needed him. 

[fanmoose12]

the devil you know

Сharacters: Hange Zoe, Levi, Moblit Berner, Zeke Yeagar, Armin Arlert

Genres: Action / Drama

Summary: Can you still miss a person, if everything you knew about them was a lie?

He was wasting precious time. His primary object was Eren and getting to him before the last hope of humanity had his ass kicked by Marleyan tech or another shifter. His second no less important task was finding Eren's brother and playing a little shit show for his Marleyan superiors.

Eren was already being taking care of and Levi had Zeke in his line of sight. All he had to do was swoop in and get the bearded bastard.

Still, the time was of the essence. Every second wasted meant another useless death. And he had enough of this massacre already.

He had to be focused, had to remain vigilant. But as he flew through the burning city his focus began to slip and his attention was occupied by things of no importance to his goal. He couldn't help but wonder - that small cafe that was just exploded by a thunder spear, did she use to frequent it? And that alley to his left, maybe it had led to her house? Did she even have a house here, in the inner city? Or did she live somewhere else, maybe, in barracks with her fellow warriors? Or, maybe, in a little house in the middle of a forest she used to tell him about?

It didn’t matter, he told himself, none of it ever did.

What mattered right now was the plan and following through with it. Everything else was meaningless.

Keep your head in the game, Levi reminded himself, gritting his teeth. He directed his gaze to the ground, where a chaos was unraveling at a more rapid speed that he had expected.

The swirl of people in white uniforms danced around the city. Some of them, armed with guns and rifles, attempted to fight back, others, less courageous ones - ran for their lives.

Each time one of them fell, receiving a bullet to the head, or getting buried under debris from blown up buildings, his heart stopped. Despite his insistent thoughts - she wouldn't care about you, she never did - he still looked for a mess of brown hair in the crowd.

He wasn't sure if his heart would be able to take it if he saw her there - amongst dozens of dead bodies.

She wouldn't care about you, she never did - and yet, he still couldn't treat her with the same indifference.

Keeping Zeke in his line of sight, Levi landed in the nearby alley. He took out his pocket watch, checking the time. His ride would arrive soon, and that meant—

Showtime, he thought grimly, releasing his cables and readying his blades.

It didn't lessen the pain hidden in the depth of his soul, but hurting Zeke, cutting and hitting him gave the catharsis he was waiting for ever since their last meeting.

First he cut off his left arm - that's for all the scouts that lost their lives because of you.

Then he went for the right arm - that's for Nanaba.

He moved to the right leg, cutting it down and making the beast fall on one knee - that's for Mike.

And that's - he thought - as he slashed through his left leg - that's for Erwin, you fucking dipshit.

The beast collapsed, plummeting face-first into the ground. Levi landed on top of him, taking out a grenade.

He plunged his blade into beast's body, afflicting the final wound. He removed the pin, thinking - that's for taking her away from me too.

The crowd around them swayed, the masses stood terrified in a face of their biggest defender losing so easily to a devil from Paradise. Levi would have even smirked, if this whole farce didn't disgust him so much. He would have enjoyed injuring the beast, if it wasn't a part of Zeke's own, carefully orchestrated plan.

The airship was fast approaching, and so Levi pulled Zeke's body out, scowling at the sight of his hideous face.

"You truly are one of a kind, asshole," Levi whispered to him. "I have never seen anyone uglier than you."

"There are some who enjoy my looks, Levi," the fucking monkey managed to say, despite half of his face missing. "One of my admirers used to be your friend once. Tell me, Captain, do you still miss her?"

Fucker.

Levi shoved his blade into bastard's stomach, going as deep as he could. God, he wanted another round with him. He wanted to beat the shithead until there was no sass left in him.

"I would shut up if I were you, beast. Or I'll be busy cutting your tongue during the whole trip back to the island."

"Careful with your language," Zeke advised with a disgustingly sweet smile. "Someone's watching."

Instinctively, Levi looked up. Immediately, he felt his throat close up because there, on top of the building he saw—

Messy brown hair, those stupid, too big glasses—

His limbs moved on his own accord.

"Take him," he instructed Moblit, kicking Zeke's half formed body to him.

"Captain, the airship—"

"One minute," he promised and soared into the air.

***

Goddamnit, but she didn't age a day. The same proud posture, the same determined expression.

She stood on top of a rooftop, a rifle in her hands. Not far behind her Levi could see the Cart Titan.

Was Hange the one who advised the shifter to use the hard machinery? Most probably. She was the one who knew about scouts’ fighting style the most. Knew their advantages, knew how to exploit their weaknesses.

No surprise in that, she was a scout for almost five years too, after all.

All these times she begged him to show his tricks, to explain how he could move so differently from the others, was it with a malicious intent too? Not to satisfy her abnormal curiosity, but to simply gather more intel?

Was there any moment out of thousands, where she wasn’t pretending?

The rifle in her hands trembled, as she saw him appear.

"Levi," she murmured, and his knees almost gave up under him.

Damn her, damn her to hell and back, but even after all the pain she had inflicted on him, after all these lies and betrayals she was still able to set his heart ablaze.

She was the only one who ever could.

"Hange," he said, swallowing down 'shitty four-eyes'. That wasn't her. Not anymore. He lost his four-eyes four years ago, the night before they've ventured to Shiganshina.

Before him now stood a stranger. A stranger he was still reluctant to harm.

"You knew this was going to happen," he told her.

"I guess this is it." Hange nodded.

She didn't try to shoot at him, didn't call for help.

She knew it would only delay the inevitable. She was always too smart for her own good. Apparently that part of her wasn't a lie.

But everything else was. That's why he did what he had to do.

With a heavy heart, Levi took a step forward.

***

"Ah, and here I was worried it'd be a boring trip with only Captain Brooding as my companion." Zeke tilted his head, offering the most charming of his smiles. "Professor Hange, seeing you is always a pleasure. I'd shake your hand, but," he shrugged, pointing at his tied hands. "I'm in a rather unfortunate predicament."

"Zeke," she chocked out, shifting her gaze from him to Levi. A heartbeat later, her eyes widened in realization.

Too smart for her own good, Levi thought, watching Hange deliver a vicious kick to Zeke's thigh, fiery despite the bindings on her own arms and legs.

Watching that was almost satisfying.

"Asshole!" she raged, kicking him again. "Scheming, pathetic betrayer!"

"You're the one to talk," Levi noted dryly.

At the sound of his voice, Hange froze. She calmed down immediately, bowing her head.

Zeke observed the two of them, a malicious spark in his eyes.

"So my earlier guess was right, Captain? You do miss—"

"Shut the fuck up," Levi warned in a low voice. "Or my previous threat would become a reality."

Zeke curled his lips in a smile, and, maintaining direct eye contact with Levi, he had the audacity to wink at him. “My lips are sealed.”

Levi reached to his blade.

"What is going on here?” Jean walked onto the deck, stopping Levi from using his very sharp weapon on their very precious charge. Jean looked around, frowning in confusion. His eyes widened, as they landed on Hange. "What is she doing here?" his face changed, jaw tightening.

"None of your business," Levi muttered, sheathing his blade and pushing Jean away.

"None of my business?" Jean repeated, glaring at him. "I think it is my goddamn business, when you go against the plan without discussing it with us first."

"Careful, Kirshtein," Levi narrowed his eyes. "Despite the stupid democracy, I'm still your superior. Meaning you will do as I say."

"Captain," Jean grabbed his elbow. "I know how you feel about—"

"You know shit," Levi hissed, his low voice almost getting lost amongst the celebration around them. Stupid Floch and his band of fanatical idiots. "This has nothing to do with my so called feelings. But we need to question her. In case you forgot, she is one of Marley's best engineers."

"Exactly," Jean retorted. "She's valuable to them. That's why you had to kill her. Without her they'd be lost."

Without her - I'd be lost too.

The ruckus around them had been growing louder and louder. It was getting hard to concentrate, even without the added distraction of Hange's eyes boring into the back of his head.

He swept his gaze across the deck, looking for Moblit. He needed someone to put an end to that merry festivity, he would have done so himself, but the way Floch and his friends shouted and cheered made him doubt that he'd be able to calm them down without throwing some mouth-breather the fuck out of the airship.

He motioned for Moblit to come closer, ignoring Jean’s enraged gaze, when suddenly, out of nowhere, he heard a sharp cry, the still familiar voice shouting,

"Gabi, no!"

Levi whipped his head around, his eyes widening as he saw Hange - somehow freed from all bonds - launching herself at Sasha.

He rushed there, the malicious voice in his head chanting - this is all your fault, all of it is your fault, it's your inability to let go that is going to-

He stopped when the thundering, earsplitting sound shook the previously cheerful atmosphere.

He froze, staring at the scene with dumb confusion. The smoke rising from a rifle clutched in child's hands, the bullet flying, soaring through the spot where Sasha was standing seconds ago.

She didn’t try to—

He allowed himself to take a breath.

She saved Sasha, he realized, staring at Hange, who wore the same perplexed expression as he did.

"What is going on here?" Armin's soft voice cut through the air, making every head turn in his direction.

"The Marleyans got onto our ship!" one of the soldiers reported.

"Should we throw them out now or—”

"They're just children," Hange spoke up. "They don't know what they're doing."

"Hange-san..." Armin gasped. "What are you—" he turned to Levi. "Captain, what is the meaning of this?"

"She's Marleyan engineer and strategist. I decided it'd be wise to capture her."

"Alright, we'll deal with this later..." Armin muttered, rubbing his forehead. "And about those children..."

"The girl almost killed Sasha," Jean said, coming to stand at Armin’s side.

"Don't touch her!" Hange cried out, covering both kids with her body.

"Don't order me." Jean spat. "You're not my superior officer. Not anymore."

"And yet I still know you, Jean," Hange stared him in the eyes. "I know you're not capable of harming a child. Think of what your mother is going to say."

"You know nothing about me!" he growled, his fists trembling and his face reddening in anger. "You lying, deceiving—”

"That's enough," Levi sharply interrupted. "Moblit, help me deal with our prisoners. There are a lot more of them than we’ve expected."

Moblit nodded readily, obeying his command without a question. As he led Hange back to her place, his grip on her was gentle and his eyes were sad.

Approaching the two children, Levi stared them down, silently ordering the girl to put down the rifle. She surrendered with an annoyed huff.

Her demeanor changed, however, as soon as Levi's gaze turned to her friend.

"Don't hurt Falco, please," she whispered, sniffling. "He isn't guilty, he's not like me."

"No one is going to hurt you or your friend," Levi rolled his eyes, scoffing. "We're not that much of devils."

Putting his arms around their shoulders, he led kids to the back of the airship.

As they were passing Zeke, the girl - Gabi, Hange had called her - stopped in her tracks.

Her lip trembled, as she gawked at the shifter. "M-mister Yeager? You're here too? B-but why?"

What a goddamn circus, Levi cursed.

He sighed, pushing them forward before the beast could even open his mouth and feed the poor kids a lie, or, worse, reveal the truth about his betrayal.

Once he tied the girl and a boy down, he closed his eyes and heaved a deep breath.

Two angry Marleyan children, the bearded beast and Hange fucking Zoe, a person he dreamt about every night he slept for more than two hours. And all of them were aboard one damned airship.

There was one thing Levi was sure of - one hell of a fucking trip was awaiting them.

[dynyamight]

(. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) bkdk 38 plsssss

send a number & i'll write a bkdk drabble about it

5. “You fainted…straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

Midoriya can handle most things, pretty well. With his built pain tolerance, he’s able to withstand and undergo even the most agonizing experiences, that surely many other would have fell dead to.

Though, the blood bank begs to differ.

Bouncing his leg rapidly, Midoriya waits inside one of the school’s nursing beds. The curtains surround him entirely, as Doctor Chiyo has her trustee phlebotomist deal with Mineta, his paired partner from seating arrangements.

As hero students, they are expected to help donate their blood to the people in need. And, I’m pairs, they have been sent to Doctor Chiyo’s office to get their blood drawn.

‘Sent to my demise’, Midoriya thinks.

He has been waiting for awhile now. But, it seems as if both the technician and Mineta are now chatting with each other, delving deep into their shared interests and the medical field.

Well, it’s more like Mineta’s uncomfortably trying to pressure the technician into giving him her number, to learn more about the human body. And, she’s rejecting him, hard.

In truth, Midoriya doesn’t mind being holed up here. He’s actually hoping those two can continue their conversation, so he can sneak right out.

Because, being a blood type O means that Midoriya has to undergo a long blood draw, unlike most. One that always leaves him utterly dizzy and sick to his stomach. Heck, just thinking about it is leaving him already unsettled, anxious once more.

And, the longer he goes unnoticed, the higher chance he could step out of the nurse’s office, and head back to class. Unharmed.

The front curtains loudly slide open, and Midoriya’s abruptly met with sharp red eyes, taken aback right back at him. “K-Kacchan?” Midoriya coughs out.

For a split second, Bakugou’s face is completely slackened, surprise softening his sharp features. But then, it disappears in an instant, a pointed, glaring expression settles, instead.

“Hey, Midoriya!” Hagakure’s gloved hand peeks over his shoulders, waving wildly in the air. “Aizawa thought you two would be done already, so he sent us out over for our blood draws!”

Oh. Midoriya nods, and quickly reverts his attention back to Bakugou.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, gaze already turned away. “You said this was empty, extra.” He grumbles under his breath. Hagakure awkwardly laughs.

Mineta steps out behind the two classmates, though a fairly round red bump is evident on his forehead. “Sorry for the hold up! I didn’t mean to go over your time, Midoriya.”

And, just like that, the sinking feeling drops his heart down to the foot of the bed. “O-Oh, that’s okay! No worries!”

“I promise I’ll let Aizawa know you’re still in here.” Mineta reassures him, before stepping out of the office.

“I call dibs!” Hagakure giggles, rushing immediately to the available nurse’s bed across the office, left by Mineta. She hurriedly closes her curtains, leaving behind Bakugou to wait by Midoriya’s.

It all happens so fast after that. Bakugou gives him one last look, scanning all over his face, before he steps aside. Both Doctor Chiyo and her technician shuffle inside, greeting him and offering their sorry’s for the delay.

Midoriya’s asked many questions, all of which he he answers, with a tremor in his voice. His lifestyle. His health. His quirk. His possible risks for infections.

The phlebotomist inquires if he’s eaten, before arriving. And, other than last night’s dinner, Midoriya knows he’s eaten a couple of apple slices during breaks.

So, he says he has.

And just like that, he’s suddenly asked to roll up his sleeve. “I’m going to wipe the inside of your arm down with an alcohol pad. But, after that, I’m going to tightly tape you up, and insert the needle.” She states nonchalantly.

Midoriya wants to vomit.

And, he starts getting already light headed, by the time the technician starts to slide in her gloves, with Doctor Chiyo directing her towards the side tray they have their supplies.

One of which, was the long needle and its tube end, teasing him.

A nudge to his shoulder blinks Midoriya out of focus. He looks over, only to be surprised to see Bakugou has seated himself close, right next to him.

Before he can breath out anything, Bakugou narrows his eyes. “Your face is pale and you’re shaking.” He huffs out, in a whisper. “You’ve dealt with worse, you know.”

Midoriya rolls his eyes. “It’s still scary.”

“Well, it shouldn’t be. Now, that you’re not dealing with it alone.”

Midoriya feels the corner of his wobbly lips upturn. He feels fluttery. “Thanks.” He mumbles back.

“So, because you are a type O,” the technician speaks over them, alerting both of their attention back to the matter at hand. “We’re going to try and take as much as we can from you. If you start feeling weak and dizzy, please let us know.”

Sweat builds up at the collar of his neck. “Y-Yeah. Okay.” He barely wheezes out.

A gloved hand pulls his forearm taunt, with the other holding to the needle. “I promise it won’t hurt.”

It always does. Midoriya simply nods.

He looks away to avoid staring at the puncture, but he nevertheless feels when the needle pricks his skin, deep. It wells a blurry vision in his eyes, and it causes his entire body to cease tight.

However, Bakugou’s hand is on his shoulder, rubbing side to side. Midoriya desperately tries to focus on that comforting pressure, instead of the odd one at his forearm.

He always wishes the blood drawing could end in seconds, but that’s only wishful thinking.

Yet, Midoriya doesn’t realize he’s losing conscious until Bakugou’s trying to jostle him upright. His hand on his shoulder is now suddenly on his back, supporting him fully.

Actually, Midoriya’s body is slacking, moving off to the side of the bed.

Midoriya barely hears Doctor Chiyo calling out his name, and suddenly, his vision goes black.

When he opens his eyes, Midoriya notices both the phlebotomist and Doctor Chiyo are no longer at his left. The side tray is missing, and instead of a needle inserted into his arm, there’s a bandage covering the site.

“You fainted.” Bakugou deadpans.

Midoriya sighs, shifting his gaze to his right. Of course, he did. “For how long?” He asks over to him.

Bakugou shrugs, pulling up his sleeve. An identical bandage was wrapped around his forearm. “Enough for them to steal my fucking blood.”

“They take your blood.” Midoriya corrects, smiling ever so slightly. “They steal mine.”

“Not my fault you won the damn blood lottery.”

“Well, I doubt it’s winning, when I hate every second of it.”

A thought visibly passes through Bakugou, and immediately he deep digs into his pockets. Midoriya wants to ask, but he’s already hit smacked in the face with it.

Flopped down at his lap is a huge plastic wrapped cookie. Chocolate chip. Scrumptious.

“The old hag said to eat that, before you start walking.” Bakugou mentions, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “Something about eating sugar to wake you up.”

Midoriya feels his smile widen. “You’re being awfully nice today.”

“It’s from the damn doctor and that bitch ass assistant.” Bakugou grumbles.

Though, he doesn’t deny what Midoriya just said. It makes him bubbly inside. “You say that, but you could have went back to class.” He states, as he starts pulling the wrapper apart.

“How? You fainted straight into my arms.”

The plastic breaks, in sync to the blush that breaks out throughout his face. “No, I didn’t!” Midoriya incredulously insists.

“Yeah, you did.” Bakugou snorts, sitting himself up in his chair. He gets up, only to lean in close to Midoriya’s space. “You know, if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

A whistling echoes inside his ears, as Midoriya tries to defend himself. “I-I wouldn’t want your attention this way, Kacchan.” He stutters out, though the wave in his voice doesn’t make it sound at all confident.

Bakugou pinches the side of his cheek. “Look at you. The rest of your blood is flowing up to your dumb face.”

He knows Bakugou’s only mocking him, but it still makes his poor, whipped heart somersault. “S-Stop looking, then.”

“Nah.” Midoriya feels the pinch let go, though instead Bakugou stares at him, fully. “S’cute.”

And, Bakugou leaves him just like that. Mentions he’s going back to class. Promises to share his notes with Midoriya. Meet up in the common room, after class. And, eat up his damn, shitty cookie.

It takes a long moment for Midoriya to process what exactly Bakugou said, before all that. And, when Midoriya does, he short circuits terribly.

[fandom-happy]

Whumptober fic - prompts 10 & 11

So I did a thing and here is the result - first time posting fic on here so sorry if I stuff it up!

Green Around the Gills Summary:

Malcolm is struggling with the side effects of his medication and Gil is there to help him.

Hope you enjoy it :)

Malcolm struggled to lift his feet enough to stop him from tripping as he walked the route to the precinct. 

Sleep was not his friend again and his meds were messing with his stomach something fierce, to the point that he had struggled to keep them down with the sip of water he took them with this morning. Food was just completely out of the question today. Avoiding it, likely being the only way to prevent a complete revolt of his stomach contents. Not that there was much in there right now.

Malcolm sighed heavily, head tilted to the sky as another wave of nausea crested and slowly settled in his gut. 

Today was not going to be a great day. Hopefully the current case would keep him occupied and distracted from his rebellious stomach.

Malcolm mounted the steps of the precinct and braced himself for the smells of the press of too many human bodies all in one space and then pushed through the doors.

The first few steps in were ok, the rush of fresh air from outside followed him in. The next few were ok too as he held his breath, delaying the inevitable a little longer. As he made it into the bullpen he was past the point where he could hold it any longer and stupidly left it so long that he needed to draw in a gasping breath to compensate.

The onslaught of smells that hit him from the overheated space was just too much for his already mutinous stomach. Slapping his hand to his mouth, he raced through the halls towards the bathrooms, ignoring the indignant yells that followed behind him as he barrelled through whatever happened to be in his way. The fight to not embarrass himself by vomiting all over the floor was too close a call to care about upsetting a few of his colleagues. 

Malcolm flung open the bathroom door, the sharp curse as the door thumped into a solid object had him urgently swallowing the pooling saliva in his mouth as an undignified whine left his throat at the delay in reaching his goal.

The door was pulled out of the way to see Gil framed in the doorway, his hand rubbing at his shoulder that must have taken the force of the door swing.

Malcolm lurched forward, frantically scrambling under Gil’s arm and squeezed past his side and launched himself over to the sink, just in time to lose the battle with his nausea.

“Jesus Bright, what the hell is going on?” Gil questioned as he turned back to Malcolm and gently stroked his heaving back.

It took Malcolm a few minutes to finish and be able to respond, “Sorry Gil, are you ok? Did I hurt you?” he rasped out as he wiped the remnants of his sickness from his lips. His throat felt raw after his stomach acids scorched it on the way up.

“Kid, my shoulder is the least of my worries right now. Are you ok? Do I need to take you in?” Gil’s hand curled around the back of his neck and gave a gentle squeeze. Malcolm sighed heavily and slumped back against the sinks.

“No, no, I’m fine. Just...I’ll be ok. You know, some days are a little tougher than others,” Malcolm croaked out, clearing his throat and pressing his hand to his still rebellious stomach.

Gil looked at him with that face that Malcolm knew so well from his childhood that made him feel chastised and loved all at once. A muffled groan escaped him as Gil pulled him into a tight hug. The sudden motion, seeing his nausea crest and almost get the better of him again.

Gil quickly let him go and cupped his face with his warm hands, looking him in the eyes before turning him back towards the sinks and rubbing at his back as his nausea won the battle again and left him to heave nothing but saliva and bile at this point.

“Come on Kid, you look greener than a frog right now, I’m taking you home and you can sit today out. I will be coming to check on you at lunch and if you aren’t looking any better, I’m taking you in. You aren’t even keeping water down, are you?” Gil said as he helped him rinse away the mess he made and rinse his mouth.

Malcolm shook his head minutely, too scared to move it much, lest he trigger another agonising bout of nausea.

Gil caught his eyes in the reflection of the mirror as he slowly pushed himself up bracing on the counter top.

“Kid, you know it’s ok to need help sometimes. The dehydration from not being able to keep anything down…” Gil started to say as he frowned at him. His mentor’s, well Father’s, disappointment hurting more than that cramps now pulling at his abused abdominal muscles.

“I know, Gil. The vicious cycle. The meds make it so I can’t keep anything down then the dehydration makes the nausea worse and the cycle continues. I’m trying, I promise.” Malcolm pleaded, unable to maintain eye contact as Gil’s frown deepened.

“Malcolm, I don’t blame you for this. I know this isn’t your fault and it’s a shitty situation you have to deal with. I just mean that it’s ok to admit that you need some help from others or even medical intervention to get through sometimes. No one, and especially not me, will think less of you for getting help. Hell, I would be proud of you.” Gil admonished with a little squeeze to his neck.

“You done for now? Or do you need to rest in my office before I take you home?” Gil asked his brow furrowed with what Malcolm knew now to be concern.

“I’m done...for now. Going home now would be good. Just give me a minute to get ready for out there,” Malcolm said as he rubbed at his cramping stomach and regulated his breathing to calm the stormy sea in his belly.

“Take all the time you need, Kid. I’m here for you,” Gil said with a touch to his shoulder, the simple touch enough to help him steady himself. He looked up to meet Gil’s worried stare with a tired smile.

“I know...thank you...you...I’m not sure I...yeah...thanks for always being here when I need you,” Malcolm’s voice was low and tight with the swell of emotions he was feeling about his surrogate Dad who had really been the one to save him all those years ago and continued to save him over and over again.

Gil’s gaze wavered from his as Gil’s eyes glistened as he cleared his throat and nodded his head at Malcolm.

Gil’s voice cut out as he started to respond and suddenly Malcolm found himself back in Gil’s embrace, his firm hands rubbing a steady rhythm across his back that had him sagging into him. Gil’s familiar scent enveloping him, a calming balm to his nausea.

Gil’s arms shifted to pull him to his side and rub at his shoulder, “let’s go Kid.”

Malcolm nodded into his shoulder and looked up at him with a small smile. 

It was going to be ok. 

[nugnthopkns]

dance me to the end of love (iv)

word count: 4.1k

warnings: fem!oc, cursing, alcohol consumption

series masterpost: here

a/n: my apologies for the delay!! life got crazy for a bit but i'm back with my two favourite idiot intellectuals

Magdalene stays busy to keep the loneliness at bay.

All of her friends have left Denver, doing whatever it is that hockey players and their partners do in the off-season. She never expected them to stay to keep her company, and would certainly never ask. Besides, they were all so excited to go home and visit family. How could she disrupt their happiness just so she wouldn’t feel so alone? It isn’t her fault that Ryan, Bette, and company aren’t estranged from their families like she is. At twenty-five she should be a little more self sufficient than what she currently is, but Magdalene is working hard at being kinder to herself.

To combat the pervasive loneliness Magdalene spends a lot of time in the heart of downtown Denver. Under normal circumstances she would hate the crowds, but now they comfort her. The swaths of tourists walking the streets and approaching her to take family photos make her feel like a part of something bigger than the pity she finds herself wallowing in often. Barn Owl Books also becomes a frequent retreat when she has downtime, and the owners enjoy when she brings Caligula around. Other patrons adore the white cat and he loves the attention.

One day as she’s leaving work, once again offering to stay late so June doesn’t have to, Magdalene’s phone rings. She contemplates not picking it up, wanting nothing more than to curl into bed with the novel she picked up at Barn Owl the other day, but she knows it must be important. No one ever calls her around this time unless it’s absolutely necessary. Digging the phone out of her pocket, she sees the number of her building superintendent Paul flashing on the screen.

“Hello?”

“Miss Stevenson?” he asks, voice tinged with the toughness that comes with dealing with upset renters on a regular basis.

Magdalene chuckles at the formality, pointing out he hasn’t called her by her last name since she moved in five years ago. “Yeah Paul, it’s me. What’s up?”

There’s the crackle of static on the phone line as the man clears his throat. “So, uh, some bad news.” Magdalene’s stomach twists into an intricate knot. She knows she paid rent on time and can’t think of another reason he’d call her. “A sprinkler main on the floor above yours burst about an hour ago, and it’s pretty bad. Your place definitely got hit the hardest because it’s directly under where the pipe burst. You’re going to have to move out for at least two months while we gut the place and start from scratch. How quickly can you come and get the things that are salvageable from your apartment?”

“Fuck.” This is the worst news Magdalene has ever received. “I can be there in fifteen minutes,” she panics, “But Paul, you’ve gotta go inside and check on my cat. He’s going to be freaking out.”

Paul agrees to visit Caligula after some prodding, and Magdalene drives much faster than she ever has before through the neighbourhood. It’s far from reckless, but she knows that it isn’t the safest course of action. A police officer stops her about three minutes from her final destination but lets Magdalene go after she explains the situation as calmly as possible.

Other tenants affected by the flood are already moving boxes down the stairs when Magdalene pulls up. Everyone is understandably grief stricken, but she can’t find it in herself to console them like she would under normal circumstances. All Magdalene cares about is making sure Caligula is okay. She sprints up the four flights of stairs and doesn’t even break a sweat, adrenaline flooding her veins. Her apartment door is ajar, most likely from Paul entering a few minutes ago, and she flings it open with more force than probably needed. It swings back violently on its hinges and makes a spectacular crash when it hits the wall.

“Caligula?”

“He’s in the bathroom,” Paul sighs. “I can’t get him out of the tub but he’s still breathing. Is he not scared of water?”

Magdalene lets out a breath of relief she didn’t know she was holding in. She treads deeper into the apartment, casually assessing the damage, before reaching the room in question. There, pressed against the far corner of the tub, is the fluffy white cat that Magdalene’s heart beats for most days. Paul is there too, leaning against the sink and shaking his head.

“Thank you,” Magdalene says sincerely. “I’ve got it from here.”

The superintendent exits the unit with a solemn goodbye and heads to the lobby, no doubt going to direct traffic flow and answer questions. It takes a few minutes but Magdalene coaxes the cat out of the tub and into her arms. She holds him tightly and whispers words of praise, knowing it will help to calm them both down. After an uncounted amount of minutes Magdalene moves them into the bedroom, that looks surprisingly intact upon first glance, and changes out of her work clothes and into something more suitable for rummaging around her destroyed home. Caligula climbs up her body and settles gingerly into the hood on her sweatshirt. She starts in the bedroom, and finds that the only thing that’s actually salvageable is the clothes in her closet. Grabbing the suitcase from the top shelf, Magdalene shoves everything inside of it and wheels it into the living room.

She spends the next few hours going through every room in a meticulous manner, desperate to keep relics from her life in Denver. The water did a number on her space and destroyed almost everything. All the furniture is a write-off, and most of her books and records are ruined. Two things that withstood the damage are faux marble busts of Augustus and Marcus Aurelius, which Magdalene packs into one of the boxes Paul dropped off. Everything else fits in three other boxes and they’re tucked into the trunk of her car before the sun sets. Paul insists that the demolition company will get rid of everything else and ensures her she won’t have to pay rent while the construction is going on. It isn’t much of a consultation, considering that Magdalene has no idea where she’ll be staying, but she thanks him anyways as she makes the final trip to her car with Caligula.

Once inside, Magdalene breaks down. She has no idea what to do – no one is in Denver to help her out and she can’t afford to stay in a hotel for however many months this is going to take to fix. Tyson and Bette will be back in just over a month, but Magdalene doesn’t want to bother them or guilt them into coming back early. She cries in the driver’s seat of her car for a while, Caligula on her lap and doing his best to lick up the tears streaming down her cheeks. Not knowing what else to do, she dials Ryan’s number. Though they haven’t been talking as frequently due to the time difference and Magdalene’s insistence he enjoys his time with family, she knows he’ll pick up and listen intently. He’ll also hopefully talk her down from the imaginary ledge she’s found herself on.

He picks up on the second ring. “How’s my favourite girl?” Ryan asks, and Magdalene can hear the smile in his voice. The combination of his voice and the words spoken has her choking on another sob. “Hey, hey, breathe.” Concern is now the primary emotion expressed through the phone line. “Mags, what’s the matter?”

It takes her a few seconds and multiple pads of Caligula’s paws into her stomach for Magdalene to calm down, but she eventually tells Ryan what happened. He listens just as she thought he would, and keeps her breathing steady with his voice. She cries a bit more before running out of tears, but Ryan keeps her focussed on anything but the shitty circumstance she’s found herself victim to – detailing how he skated with Nate earlier in the day and just how many times his teammate kicked his ass. Hearing the mundane story helps more than Magdalene thought it would, and when Ryan asks her where she’s going to stay she responds with a relatively strong voice.

“I’m just going to sleep in my car.”

“Fuck no you aren’t.” The certainty in which Ryan utters the words takes Magdalene by surprise. For someone so far away, he has a lot of opinions on what she should be doing.

She sighs. “There isn’t another option Ry. I can’t afford a hotel for the months my apartment is going to be out of commission and there’s no point in renting another place.”

“Stay with me.”

A series of flabbergasted noises come out of Magdalene’s dropped jaw, but she can’t form any words. Ryan continues, “Think about Caligula. Being cramped in a car isn’t going to be good for him. Or for you. I have an extra bedroom you can call your own for as long as you need. Please Mags.”

Truthfully, it’s the best she’s going to get. Bette and Tyson offered to house a couple of rookies this season, meaning their spare rooms are filled, and there’s no one else she’s close enough with to think about asking. “I don’t want to intrude,” she sighs, but it isn’t a very convincing deflection.

“I want you there,” Ryan insists, “And little boots too.”

It takes them a while to work out the logistics, but Ryan makes a couple of calls and lets the doorman of his building know Magdalene is moving in. He also books a flight for the next day, and ensures her that he’s more than ready to come back to Colorado. They talk for a few more minutes, and in that time she gets directions to her temporary home. Once Ryan hangs up with well wishes and a see-you-soon, Magdalene looks in her rear-view mirror and sets out for a part of Denver she never thought she’d live in.

☼☼☼☼

When Magdalene calls Bette to fill her in on what’s been going on while on the way to pick Ryan up from the airport, the blonde is taken aback by the surplus of information. “Hold on,” she breathes, “Ryan’s coming back to Denver?”

“What part of ‘I’m on my way to the airport to pick up Ryan’ was confusing?” Magdalene laughs.

Her friend doesn’t find the jest funny. “Fuck off.” The comment only increases Magdalene’s laughter, but Bette forges on with the conversation. “Can you recap the events that led to Ryan leaving home nearly three weeks early?”

Magdalene indulges her friend, explaining for what feels like the hundredth time that her apartment was destroyed in a flood and that Ryan offered her his spare bedroom and that he was coming home so she wouldn’t be alone in the unfamiliar environment. Bette listens in silence, and Magdalene imagines she has a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. She’s made quite a few comments about how friendly the two of them seem, but Magdalene does her best to shrug them off. Ryan can just be her friend, a great one even, without Bette projecting her need to have her best friend to have an identical lifestyle to her. Even if she’s right, and Magdalene does want there to be something more between her and Ryan.

“Hold the phone.” Magdalene hears Tyson shout, no doubt getting closer to his girlfriend so he can join in on the conversation. “Gravy’s letting you stay at his place?”

“Yeah…” she trails off, unsure about what wasn’t clear this time.

Tyson hums as though he’s an old-school anthropologist who just made an astute observation about the group they’re studying. “Interesting.”

“How so?”

“Well for starters, he barely lets us hang out at his place,” Tyson explains. “I think I’ve been there maybe twice. So that’s new. Is Caligula staying with you?”

Magdalene is completely confused. “Why wouldn’t he be? He’s my cat.”

“How does Gravy feel about it?”

“What the fuck are you getting at Tys?” Magdalene asks, but there’s a bite to the question. She’s tired of the impromptu interrogation he’s providing. “Because Ryan was excited to have him around. Last night I sent him a video of little boots prancing around the condo like he owned the place and he thought it was hilarious.”

Bette, who had been silent for several minutes, gasps loudly. Tyson laughs, but Magdalene can tell it’s riddled with disbelief. “Mags,” he says gently, though with more than enough teasing laced in, “Gravy isn’t a big pet guy.”

The comment hits Magdalene like a tonne of bricks. What is she supposed to do with that information? There’s only ten more minutes until she gets to the airport, and she needs time to push Tyson’s comment to the back of her brain and collect herself. Magdalene gives a rushed farewell before hanging up the phone and checking her rearview mirror and blindspots. The radio filters back through the car speakers, but she doesn’t hear it, too caught up in what Ryan allowing Caligula to share his space means. There’s little traffic on the off-ramp and before she knows it Magdalene is pulling into a parking space and killing the engine.

She grabs the messily scribbled welcome home banner from the back seat before locking the doors and heading inside to the arrivals section. The inside of the airport looks similar to the empty parking lot – it’s a Tuesday after all. Only a few others wait with her for the plane, and many chat idly amongst themselves. Magdalene stays off to the side in an attempt to not get sucked into a conversation about the upcoming thunderstorm. Passengers slowly trickle through the open door, and Ryan is easy to spot. He towers above everyone and is carrying a rather large bag of hockey equipment. Magdalene smiles at the sight of him, unable to help herself. It’s been nearly a month and a half since she’s seen him and being apart for that long is something she never wants to do again.

“Hi,” she breathes as he approaches, waving awkwardly while she speaks. It’s as though she hasn’t spent countless hours talking with him about every possible topic her mind could dream up.

Ryan doesn’t feel the tension, or if he does he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he wraps her in a tight hug that lasts a touch longer than one with just a friend should, especially in public. Magdalene tries hard not to melt into his side but it’s nearly impossible – Ryan has a magnetic pull that tugs on her heartstrings and makes her insides feel fuzzy. Others bustling around the terminal start to give them strange looks, and it’s only then that Ryan clears his throat and untangles his arms from Magdalene’s waist.

He smiles down at the strong-willed brunette with kind eyes and shoulders his bag once more. “Let’s go home.”

☼☼☼☼

It takes a few days to settle into a routine, but once they do it’s glorious. Training camp doesn’t start for another three weeks, so Ryan spends his day doing light workouts and chilling with Caligula while Magdalene is at work. Once she gets home they make dinner and watch West Wing reruns on the cable network Ryan didn’t know he was even paying for. Their lives fit together seamlessly and it surprises Magdalene just how much she missed having a roommate – Bette moved out after their sophomore year of college, and it’s been just her and Caligula ever since. Though the personal space is nice, she likes being able to hear Ryan laugh at the meme she just sent or knocking on his door in the middle of night to ask if he wants ice cream.

Magdalene wakes up one Saturday to complete silence. It’s unsettling considering she hasn’t heard that since adopting her pet – Caligula sleeps next to her head and breathes loud enough that she’ll never have to buy a white noise machine. She notices her door is slightly ajar and hears soft noises coming from the living room. Ryan must be taking a day off, Magdalene notes, because he’s typically out of the house by seven and it’s currently five minutes past eight. She rolls out of bed and stumbles into the ensuite, brushing the tangles out of her hair and washing her face.

Not bothering to change out the pyjama pants and hoodie she stole from Ryan, Magdalene pads into the sunlit living room to see her roommate doing yoga. On a tiny mat beside him is Caligula, stretching his limbs like he’s following along with the tutorial. The sight is adorable, and before she can think twice about it Magdalene is snapping a photo of the two of them and posting it to her Instagram story.

“You trying to whip my cat into shape Graves?” Magdalene teases, weaving around them and plopping onto the couch, bringing her knees to her chin and holding in a yawn.

Ryan laughs, loud and care-free, and Magdalene wishes he could record the sound and play it on loop. “He kept trying to sit underneath me and I didn’t want to hurt him. I read somewhere that if you give a cat something similar to what you’re doing they’ll leave you alone. Guess it really works.”

Her heart constricts in the best way possible. Ryan continues to go above and beyond to make her and Caligula welcome and doesn’t seem to mind they’re the ones invading his space and not the other way around. There’s still twenty minutes left on the YouTube video he’s watching, so Magdalene pushes herself off the expensive leather sectional and into the kitchen. The least she could do is make breakfast. Deciding on pancakes, Magdalene gets to work prepping the batter and warming up the frying pan. She hums absentmindedly to the Joni Mitchell song playing on the small radio she placed in the kitchen window. Music always made cooking more enjoyable for her, and Ryan doesn’t seem to mind the device taking up space.

The island is set and the food ready by the time Ryan slides into his seat, small beads of sweat lingering on his forehead from the workout. Magdalene resists the urge to wipe them away and instead busies herself with placing the right amount of berries on his plate.

“Mags,” Ryan calls softly, pulling her out of her mind and back down to Earth. “That’s more than enough. Sit down and eat before it gets cold.”

They eat in silence until Caligula appears, meowing for whatever scraps he can get his hands on. Against Magdalene’s pleas Ryan feeds him a blueberry. The cat sniffs it inquisitively before swallowing it, though it comes up again a few moments later.

“You’re cleaning that one up bud,” she laughs, bending down to make sure Caligula is okay before rinsing her plate in the sink.

“Fuck.”

Ryan does as he’s told and helps Magdalene with the dishes before getting ready to head out for an unofficial team meeting. Camp starts in a few days and Gabe wants to get together and make sure they’re all on the same page before barreling head-first into the season. He promises to pick them up a late lunch of sandwiches from Barn Owl and Magdalene follows him to the door to say goodbye. It feels natural, like they’ve always shared this routine, and she knows that Ryan feels it too because he wraps her in a tight hug before petting Caligula one last time and slipping out the door.

Bette calls soon after he leaves and grills Magdalene on all the details of her new living arrangement. She’s still in Canada, spending a few more days there than Tyson to help his mom and sister finish unpacking their things at the house they recently purchased.

“So, have you kissed him yet?”

The question is asked in such a casual, Bette-like manner that Magdalene barely chokes on her water. “Bee, what the fuck?”

“Oh come off it Mags,” she sighs, “You like him. He likes you. The two of you live together now. It’s only a matter of time before the friendship turns into something more.”

The blonde is right about at least one thing – Magdalene has developed a steady crush on Ryan. She should have known being in such close proximity to him all the time would put her feelings into overdrive. However, she didn’t have another option other than to accept his offer when it was proposed nearly a month ago, so Magdalene is now being forced to deal with the repercussions.

“I have, in fact, not kissed Ryan,” Magdalene huffs. “But I’ve thought about it once or twice.”

A squeal tears from Bette’s throat and she forces her friend to share the details. Magdalene obliges mostly to get her off her back, but it does feel good to talk about it with someone. It’s a very long time since she’s had romantic feelings for anyone, and Magdalene is nearly giddy with excitement over the possibility of new-found love by the time Ryan gets home. She says farewell to Bette and promises to come over as soon as they're both in the same city again.

It’s later than both of them expected, so they decide to forgo lunch and instead cook an early dinner. Ryan wants chicken and Magdalene wants spaghetti, so naturally they compromise on a carbonara without the pork. The radio is cranked to the highest volume as they work, both singing along and in their own little worlds. Magdalene is in charge of cooking the pasta and Ryan sets about making the sauce, and more than once she catches him looking at her while he’s supposed to be stirring the mixture. She can’t be too mad, however, because each time their eyes meet she’s supposed to be doing her job too. Before too much time has passed the meal is ready. It cools on two plates while Caligula is fed and wine is poured – the former done by Magdalene because the cat still isn’t quite comfortable enough with Ryan. Once sitting, they raise their glasses in a silent toast and dig in. The pasta tastes heavenly, and Magdalene makes sure to say so.

“Oh my god this is delicious,” she nearly moans, “You have to make this like every night.”

Ryan laughs and raises his fingers in mock salute. “You got it boss.”

Conversation flows into how they spent their hours apart – Ryan gushing about how good it was to see his teammates again and Magdalene talking about how she caught up with Bette on the phone. She of course left out the part where she confessed feelings for her best friend to her other, more senior best friend. Dinner passes in the blink of an eye and soon the two of them are standing side by side at the sink, elbows knocking occasionally as they do the dishes.

“Want to watch a movie tonight?” Ryan asks nonchalantly. “You said earlier this week you wanted to see Clueless again.”

Magdalene smiles – of course he would remember this offhand comment she made a few days ago about the classic. “That sounds fantastic. Can you finish putting these away? I’m going to pop a couple blankets in the dryer to warm up and see if I can get a nice picture of the sunset for Bette, she mentioned on the phone that she’s missing it.”

“She literally hasn’t changed time zones!”

Laughter tumbles from Magdalene’s lips as she slips out of the kitchen. Two fluffy blankets are pulled from the back of the couch on her way down the hall and tossed into the machine. Grabbing the same sweater of Ryan’s she was wearing earlier in the day from the foot of her bed, Magdalene heads for the balcony door and slips through the glass.

The city is nearly silent. Cars pass under Ryan’s balcony like blips in the night, but they don’t dare touch the peaceful atmosphere radiating from Magdalene. She’s had one of the best nights of her life, just her and Ryan laughing over glasses of wine and the pasta dish they cooked together. It’s all so domestic and charged with stolen glances and soft smiles that Magdalene knows it’s more than two friends living together for a short period of time. There’s been a fundamental shift in their relationship but she doesn’t know how to address it, or if she even wants to despite her looming attraction. Being with Ryan is so easy that she forgets it’s only temporary. Realistically she knows it can’t last forever, but she finds herself hoping each day Paul will call and tell her the rebuild is taking longer than expected.

Ryan calls her inside, informing her the blankets are out of the dryer and the movie she picked out days ago is queued up on the television. Magdalene takes a deep breath and finishes her glass of wine in one gulp. Hopefully he won’t notice when she casually leans in and rests her head on his shoulder halfway through the film.

☼☼☼☼

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