#deal with the nerve pain without getting acid hand

[pancakeke]

possible eating disorder talk under the cut but idk if this counts. but i need advice on needing to lose weight for medical reasons without losing my shit

my doctor keeps telling me that I need to lose weight to deal with my CSF issue (idiopathic intracranial hypertension), and there is literally no other permanent treatment for this except surgery to install a shunt in my spinal cord. and I'd rather not create the potential for more complications with my fucking brain.

but it's impossible for me to diet without becoming obsessive and trying to restrict food plus exercise in a way that drives my net calories for each day down as close to zero as possible.

I don't know what my problem is but after a week or two of eating healthier and getting past sugar cravings dieting becomes a numbers game to me and i drive myself insane trying to maximize efficiency.

like I lost over 80 lbs in six months the first time I did this. another time i lost a little over 50 lbs in a few months. there were also handful of other dieting attempts that didn't last very long because they hit my mental health too hard too fast and I had to bail for my sanity.

I have not communicated this to my doctor yet but frankly most of the shit I say gets ignored so I'm hesitant to start crying in the office trying to explain this only to be brushed off. also I'm not so sure he's going to take me seriously now that I'm clinically obese.

this dude (optho-neurologist) keeps telling me to go to my primary care doctor and get ozempic but like i am not taking another medication unless i have absolutely need it to function.

but i am serious that there are no other real options for dealing with IIH other than putting a permanent lumbar puncture in my spine. and I really do not want to do that. but if I don't do either of these things, I risk permanent damage to my optic nerves.

there's a medication I can take that reduces CSF pressure but the side effects are such a hit to my quality of life and mental health that I am afraid to go back on them again. It gives me constant stomach pain, nausea, and acid reflux and it makes my larger joints (hips, shoulders, knees, elbows) hurt so bad that my quality of sleep tanks hard. plus the pain makes it difficult to crawl around doing DIY projects. and it's a diuretic so it makes me piss constantly and get dehydrated super easily, which really fucks with what I suspect may be undiagnosed POTS (postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome).

I explained the joint pain stuff to my doctor twice and both times he told me that it's not a known side effect even though it's noted on sites about the drug (Mayo Clinic). I refuse to take that shit anymore.

anyway. idk. how do I tell my doctor that i can't diet without going insane. and how do I diet without going insane.

[talkethtothehandeth]

As much as I agree that people who have EDS shouldn’t talk over people who have worse disabilities than us, and as firmly as I believe that disabled people should let other disabled people speak about their struggles without comparing it to EDS, I need you to know that having EDS, especially my type— the one you find more often than other types, is not just “being bendy”.

I was diagnosed with EDS when I was a baby. I was very lucky, and was able to receive treatment (whether good or bad) quicker than others. However, EDS caused my hip dysplasia, it caused the condition that affected my mobility to the point where I needed three corrective hip surgeries; it was the cause of my bone not forming, I needed a bone donor to aid in correction. I have three long scars on my bikini line where Dr Caroll (from Shriner’s in Utah) cut into me in order to give me a better chance of having less limited mobility.

EDS isn’t just me being able to play bendy straw with my hands, it isn’t just me having to deal with “fake dislocations, it’s subluxations so it’s not that bad”. It caused my scoliosis, it caused my arthritis from my joints going out of place so often. I was diagnosed with osteoarthritis as a child, but as I got older, my arthritis spread to more places. I have burning nerve pain that makes me want to die, I have partial paralysis whenever my body decides to attack me spontaneously, I have dystonia, I have hearing loss, allergic reactions, and pain in every joint in my entire body. From head to toe, all of my joints, all of my muscles.

EDS is something that has severely impacted and negatively effected my entire body. It took everything from me, it took my already limited mobility, it took my peace, it took my mental health, it took my most beloved hobby ever— riding horses. I cannot sit to play piano, use my hands for my guitar, sit in a chair for more than 30 minutes without my back muscles screaming.

I took 14 pills every single day with multiple prescriptions because of what EDS has caused. I am undiagnosed with something that nearly killed me last year, everyone was preparing for me to die, and it has been dismissed by anxiety or an eating disorder, it is caused by my disease. EDS will affect me for the rest of my life.

EDS isn’t “just” being hyper mobile. This isn’t just a small disease that people go through, it is life altering and life compromising and life threatening from all of the comorbidities that come along with it; it is debilitating, it is isolating, it is pain that cannot be treated with even IV morphine, it is a constant, unrelenting acid rain condition just as many other physical disabilities.

People who have EDS shouldn’t try to play the Sick Olympics, we shouldn’t go to someone’s page and say “I’M JUST AS SICK AND DISABLED AS YOU ARE”. We should take the time to listen to people who have it worse, because so often they get ignored by abled people, they don’t need other disabled people to say that their conditions aren’t worse just because we have it bad. So many people are definitely more disabled than I am, and that absolutely does not erase my struggles.

Every physical disability affects the body in different ways, and every physical disability isn’t necessarily comparable to others. My degenerative arthritis isn’t the same as someone’s ankylosing spondylitis. My joints are fucked and my mobility has been significantly decreased as my disease has progressed. I am not going to compare my knees that will need to be replaced to someone whose spine is literally fusing together. Even though it’s a form of arthritis, it isn’t the same as mine and it isn’t my place to pretend it is.

But someone saying “it’s just hyper mobility” is perpetuating a harmful narrative, because people already don’t believe us, our stuff doesn’t show in labs and it only shows during further and extensive testing that many doctors don’t want to pursue because we’re “faking” or “being over dramatic”, because it isn’t “that bad”, it’s just bendy joints, it’s not debilitating./s It isn’t just being bendy, it is so much more and doesn’t need to be dismissed solely because it isn’t the same or as severe as someone else’s condition. Even if someone does have it worse, it doesn’t mean that EDS isn’t bad, and just because someone has EDS, it doesn’t mean it’s always comparable and needs to be shouted to the world on people’s posts about a completely different situation.

[vonpharma]

w[h]ip wednesdaaaay

sorry for the hiatus! i finally just bit the bullet and set an alarm on my phone so i won't forget to post lol. here's a small preview from day 5 of sicktember~

Hoisting his unconscious sister out of the office stairwell was not exactly how Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth pictured his day going.

In his time alive he’d seen quite a few strange things go down in that stairwell. It was practically a second home to him, after all—twelve flights up, twelve flights down, it made nearly everyone cringe when he’d tell them how much of his day was spent hiking to and from his high-rise office. He probably could’ve benefitted from relocating, but it was honestly very convenient, getting all his cardio in before even his morning cup of tea. 

Yes, he’d seen a lot of things going on in that stairwell. Highly dramatic personal phone calls. Potentially shady dealings involving discontinued snacks from the vending machine. Overworked interns sneaking away for naps. Larry, once. 

One thing Miles had never seen upon these stairs, though, was Franziska. 

When they were children, it was a tradition, of sorts. They’d arrive in front of the foggy elevator doors—it didn’t matter where they were—and Miles would instinctively clench his fists, making the best attempts to muster all his courage. Back then, he was small, and he felt even smaller standing poised before the massive shape of them, his murky reflection refusing to crystallize in tandem with his nerve. Franziska, ever the little empath, would grab his hand tight in hers and drag him to the stairs. After tapping her foot performatively for a few seconds and complaining of how long the elevator took to arrive, we might as well use them with the foolishly slow descent of that foolishly inferior contraption.

Of course, children grow up. Miles never had a childhood to grow out of, but Franziska always did the most to sprint leaps and bounds ahead of him. At some point in their adolescence, she had stopped taking the stairs with him. There were no hard feelings, of course—but she had places to be and was more often than not in stilettos and pencil skirts. I’ll meet you at the top, she’d always say, and then grimace at him with her face all red when he (always, effortlessly, without breaking a sweat) arrived at their destination first.

The red on her face is a different shade, this time. A far less fortunate one, it would seem. Despite everything, Franziska is there in the stairwell with him once more. Only this time, she is not dragging him lovingly up the incline, but holding white-knuckle onto the railing as she makes her best attempt to climb, knees wobbling with the effort, drenched in sweat. Miles can see her forearms through the now-transparent sheen of her blouse, and despite how she’s perspiring, the poor girl is shaking like a leaf.

He stops there, at the top of the grouping of stairs that she’s making her best attempt to scale. Rigid, brow furrowed in concern, mouth firm. 

“Franziska?” says Miles. “Are you… quite alright?”

Her head, previously dipped toward the floor—watching her feet, nervous that they might fail her—snaps up to face him. The way she bears her teeth is somewhere halfway between a warning and a plea for help, pained and angry all the same. For a moment his blood runs cold as he remembers the last time he’d seen that look—blood coagulating on his car upholstery, a horrible scream echoing in his ears, tear-tracks refusing to dry on his cheeks. 

Curiously, her whip is unholstered, coiled in her free hand. As if she were announcing to the world that her guard is up, don’t come near. Despite the acid-drenched sheen of her glassy eyes, she maintains her hesitation in cracking it at Miles—instead just pointing, with the leather shaking haphazardly in her hand.

“You… don’t you—don’t you dare—!”

It’s all Miles can do not to visibly cringe when he hears her voice. A truly miserable-sounding affair, like bogie wheels struggling on miscut gravel. Come to think of it, Franziska had sounded a little croaky yesterday morning when she joined him for tea, and she had taken a little more honey than usual. But she didn’t seem ill otherwise, certainly not to this extent…

Miles isn’t really sure what to do, so he just kind of stands there awkwardly, lordly above her all the same. She manages to get herself up one single step before her knees buckle entirely, and Miles is already shuffling down to meet her, his body seemingly moving all on its own. 

Franziska’s a small fire in his arms as he catches her. Every square inch of her skin is scorching hot, singing Miles’ grip even through layers upon layers of perfectly pressed ruffles. In sleep, still, the tremors take her, and she’s breathing heavy and hard through her mouth. As he’s arranging her to something resembling bridal style in his arms, he thanks his lucky stars that his sister is such a small thing, hopes she will forgive him even for thinking so. Like this, especially, she looks so much smaller than usual.

[scamornoreviews]

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But what if there was a way to quiet the nerves and get back to living fully—without reaching for harsh meds or dealing with side effects?

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Who Should Use Nerve Revive 360 Supplement?

While anyone dealing with nerve pain could consider trying it, Nerve Revive 360 Supplement may be especially useful for:

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How to Use Nerve Revive 360 Supplement

The makers recommend taking two capsules daily, preferably with a meal and water. Pretty straightforward, right?

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That said, it’s always smart to talk to your doctor before starting anything new—especially if you're on medication or pregnant.

FAQs about Nerve Revive 360 Supplement

1. How soon can I expect results from Nerve Revive 360 Supplement?

Most users begin noticing changes within 7 to 14 days, but optimal results may take up to 4 to 6 weeks.

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3. Can I take this with my other medications?

Yes, generally it’s safe—but to play it safe, consult your healthcare provider first.

4. Is this supplement only for older adults?

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Not at all. Since it’s made from natural ingredients, there’s no risk of dependency.

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To avoid fakes or knockoffs, it's best to buy the Nerve Revive 360 Supplement from its official website. Many times, they offer discounts, bundles, or even money-back guarantees, which can be a sweet deal if you’re just giving it a try...

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[sickficideas]

understood || higuchi & akutagawa sickfic

ao3! 2.7k emeto/graphic depictions of illness sicktember 2023, day 4: hiding an illness (unintentionally)

Ichiyo has a very difficult time differentiating between the side effects of her stress and oncoming illness, but regardless, it's something she has to keep to herself at work.

"You're going, nee-san? Damn, we didn't even get invited," Tachihara huffs as Ichiyo checks her makeup in the bathroom mirror.

"You're a commander of a hit squad. You don't have any business attending something like this," she groans. Really, it's just an excuse to mess with Tachihara. It would have been a different story if Gin had said something about it. "Why are you in here, again? This is the girl's restroom."

Tachihara's busy digging some dirt from underneath his nails. "Yeah, yeah. You know you'd be bored out of your mind without me here, but whatever."

"Bored?" she scoffs. In reality, she's running off of a half hour of sleep.

Akutagawa told her about this banquet they have to attend last night before they parted ways. It's something he's known about for months and really has no interest in whatsoever, but apparently, the boss requested his presence there several times.

Akutagawa didn't mean any harm by telling her last minute. Surely, it's not a big deal to him, but to her, it's insane. In any situation she's in, she's a direct representation of Akutagawa. Her appearance, her behavior, everything that can be seen. She would personally rather die than make him look bad.

"Aww, you wish I was comin' with?" Tachihara snickers.

Ichiyo doesn't deny it. Really, the idea of going there as the only one representing Akutagawa makes her feel nauseous. She’s been nauseous all day because of it, and thinking about it more makes her gut churn. "Can you?"

"I'm just a lowly commander of the Port Mafia's most elite hit squad, remember? I don't belong in fancy places like that. I might just go crazy and kill everybody, who knows?" Tachihara teases.

Ichiyo frowns. "I did not mean it like that."

"Good, 'cause if you did, you'd be talkin' smack about Akutagawa, too. You know he'd be the first to do something crazy like that."

Ichiyo glares at him. "Tachihara, that is -"

"So inappropriate! Don't talk about your superior like that when he isn't here to defend himself!" Tachihara says in a mocking, high-pitch tone that does not sound like her at all, and he ends it with a stupid mischievous grin, like he’s proud of himself. He definitely said what she was going to say.

Ichiyo remembers why Tachihara goes on her nerves so much.

"Just messin' with you,” he says, hoisting himself up to sit on the counter. “Bet it’d be more fun with me there, though.”

“How many times are you going to tell me you’re jealous, Tachihara?” Ichiyo huffs. She feels her stomach churn again and she can’t hold back a groan back that time. She drops her mascara and overlaps her hands to press against her tummy with a pained moan.

Tachihara tilts his head, a brow raised.

“I don’t feel good,” she whines, a little panicked by how suddenly it’s come on. She drops one hand to brace the counter and presses a little harder with the other, worried she’s going to throw up right now. She lets up a watery burp into her closed mouth before she breathes out. “I’m nervous, I…”

“Hey, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Tachihara says, hopping off the counter and laying a hand on her back. It’s comforting. She expected Tachihara to sit there and laugh at her nearly puking from her anxiety, but it’s nice to know he’d rather comfort her. She feels a little better. She tries to swallow back the taste of stomach acid in her mouth. “You don’t need me there. It’ll be quick and easy.”

“Yeah…quick and easy…”

…

She really wishes Tachihara were here right now.

There’s hundreds of people here. Hundreds of people so high up in the Port Mafia’s ranks that she’s never been permitted to meet them. People with so much money that Ichiyo could never possibly see them in public. She has a duty to represent her superior here, and any slip-up would be reflected back on Akutagawa. To the mafia, Ichiyo is not Ichiyo. Ichiyo is an extension of Akutagawa.

“Are you alright?” Akutagawa asks her quietly, his eyes darting over in her direction as the enter the banquet hall. He’s wearing clothes he looks rather uncomfortable in, and he looks nervous himself, but she thinks it’s because he was asked to remove his coat.

“Oh, I’m fine. Yes,” she answers awkwardly. She’s definitely not alright. She’s overwhelmed as all hell and her stomach hurts a lot more than it should. Concerningly so. She sneaks a hand over her side and presses into her stomach for a moment, wondering if some pressure would help relieve it, but it doesn’t. It feels the same way it did in the bathroom earlier, and she nearly threw up in that sink.

“We won’t be here long. I’ll see who I need to see and then we’ll leave,” he tells her as he starts to walk off. She’s very lucky that her superior doesn’t like these sort of things either, but she can’t seem to convince herself that that’s fast enough. As she starts to walk with him, her stomach turns, and she resists the urge to groan from the discomfort. She hates dealing with anxiety like this, but this seems even worse than usual.

She feels her stomach roll as Akutagawa starts up the grand staircase, and she realizes that this isn't just anxiety. She's actually going to throw up.

A hand flies up over her mouth and she's already on her way to the nearest exit, which has to be the balcony of the floor they’re on right now. It's really not an ideal place to get sick at all, but it's far better than it happening inside here, with all of these people. She has to hope with everything in her that Akutagawa doesn’t notice. She’d die if he followed her.

Her free arm is pressed against her stomach as she darts away from the banquet hall, and she feels something splash up into the back of her throat that she has to swallow back, which only makes her feel worse faster. It’s hot and thick, but she’s not too worried. This already made an appearance in her throat on their way over in the car, but she swallowed it back before it ended up in her lap. Maybe she’ll be able to keep it down. She just needs some fresh air.

She leans against the outside wall with a desperate sigh, trying to take in some deep breaths in a last-ditch effort to calm her very upset stomach, but she realizes it’s no use. She feels it splatter in her mouth and tries to swallow it back, but that only makes it worse.

“Urgh…hhUURP - ”

With her next exhale, a torrent of vomit spills down her front before there's anything she can do about it. A hand flies up to her mouth far too late to make a difference, but she’s so shocked that she’s actually thrown up that she does it without realizing, and the hot liquid bubbles up over her tongue and shoots out, spraying through the spaces between her fingers. It burns, and she can feel it in her nose. Her face feels so hot that it’s making her dizzy. She’s sure she’s getting stares, she hears whispering - she’s thrown up all over herself, she must look absolutely ridiculous.

A wet belch morphs into a desperate hiccup and tears start to flood her eyes. This is nightmarish. The thick, slimy vomit coating her hand starts to cool as it drips down into the puddle beneath her, and her stomach is still twisting and turning, threatening to bring up even more. Saliva pools in her mouth and she leans over the puddle with her mouth slightly agape as another wave of puke comes up, aided by a thick burp. She shouldn’t have eaten before she left, maybe it wouldn’t have all come up like this.

It feels like there’s cotton in her ears, but the clearest thing she hears is Akutagawa’s voice.

Oh god. No. No, him seeing her like this would be worse than this happening in front of everyone else in the banquet hall. She feels her head start to spin and she’s dizzy and lightheaded and even more nauseous than before.

“I - I’m so sorry, sir - hic - ”

The colors around her blended together as they spin and eventually turn black, and she loses her focus on Akutagawa’s voice.

…

When Ichiyo wakes up, her throat burns.

She hates throwing up. She’s trying to stop drinking because of it. That’s her first thought. Was she drinking? She’s not entirely sure, but she knows she’s in the infirmary at headquarters. That can’t be right. She’s always at her apartment when she’s hungover. There’s an IV catheter in her arm.

Her stomach feels sore and empty. She lets out a quiet, pained groan.

And then, everything comes back to her.

She has to imagine they gave her something for her far-too-intense nausea, or else, she would likely vomit in her lap just from the memory. She’s lost most of it, but she remembers just how much she threw up at a banquet so important Akutagawa took his coat off for it. She whines, turning her head, horrified to see the man she’s thinking of part the curtain and walk in.

His arms are tucked behind his back, looking as regal as ever, with an unreadable expression. Ichiyo almost bursts into tears on the spot. He must be furious with her. She can't even begin to imagine -

"How are you feeling?" he asks. It lacks most any sign of emotion, but he sounds sincere.

Ichiyo was fully prepared for him to scold her right away for what she’s done, but there’s not even a hint of that in his eyes. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking at all, but she dismisses the idea of getting yelled at, just for a moment. She's frozen for a bit longer than necessary, eyes wide and unsure how to answer. She doesn't want to. She would much rather hide under her blanket and never be seen again.

But Akutagawa doesn't leave. He's still waiting for an answer. He tilts his head, silently asking if she heard him.

"I…I feel a bit better," she says, her voice scratchy. Honestly, she still feels rather nauseous, but not to the point where she’ll vomit. At least, right now. She assumes she was given medicine.

“The nurses told me you have a pretty severe case of the stomach flu," Akutagawa says. "I wasn't aware you weren't feeling well."

Ichiyo is relieved to hear that. It's much easier to accept that it wasn't a result of her anxiety, and rather an illness, because if her anxiety did that to her every time, she might really have to find a different line of work. It's good to know that Tachihara being there probably would have only made things worse.

"I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't…realize I was that sick," she says meekly, her head bowed. Don't cry, she tells herself over and over. Her eyes burn. She gets the impression that he's not upset with her, not at all, really, but she can't shake the shame hanging over her shoulders.

"No one saw anything,” Akutagawa says. Clearly he understands just what’s on her mind. She didn’t see how many people were on the balcony when she ran out there. Could it be that really no one was there? She finds that to be impossible.

"No one?" Ichiyo mumbles. She lays a hand over her stomach as she tries to sit up. The pressure helps a little bit, this time, so she leaves it there, pressing a little harder to soothe herself. "Are you sure?"

He nods. "I'm sure."

"But…you saw, Akutagawa," she murmurs, feeling tears start to prick at her eyes. She doesn’t even want to imagine what happened after she passed out. She’s sure that was even worse than when she was awake. The thought of any of it makes her cringe.

He shrugs his shoulders. Of course, she’s almost in tears, and he’s completely unbothered. "I throw up every other week. It doesn't bother me."

Ichiyo is very aware of that. He seems to vomit so often that sometimes he just continues on like nothing happened, but she knows for a fact that it bothers him because he's so easily nauseous. Seeing someone else throw up almost always sets him off.

Her lip quivers at the idea that he suffered because of her. "I'm…I'm sorry, Akutagawa -"

"No apologizing, Higuchi. Don't waste your breath on pointless things like that," he says. It's really a very Akutagawa thing for him to say, but he's right. She can’t change anything now, no matter how embarrassing it may have been.

"What about the banquet?" she murmurs. Her eyes fail her and a tear slips from one, and she wipes it away with her hand, hoping that she's discreet enough to avoid Akutagawa catching on, but he's observant enough.

“Don’t worry about that. Take some time to rest. And come back whenever you feel well enough. No sooner than that. Understand?" he says. He sounds more like a nagging mother than how he usually sounds when he’s actually upset with her, but she hasn’t heard that particular tone of voice from him ever since that day she rescued him. "The banquet doesn't matter."

It really sounds like he means every word of that, and it almost sounds like that last line might also mean you're more important.

She lowers her gaze with a quiet exhale, her eyes tracing the folds in the blanket over her lap.

"Understood, sir."

…

It's only a few weeks later when Ichiyo finds herself in the reverse of her situation - Akutagawa throwing up into a tall trash can in a hallway at headquarters, on their way back to their break room. She’s not sure what set him off this time, if anything set him off at all. She had no idea he felt nauseous. He seemed completely fine to her before they got here.

It hurts her to listen to, the way his breath hitches and the way he's trying to hold back whimpers as he breathes in, hoping those open breaths will somehow quell his nausea. He grips the sides so hard his knuckles turn white. Usually, when he's suddenly sick like this, it is just that - sudden, and he walks it off. But right now, he's clearly not feeling well. Ichiyo feels even more empathetic than usual, after what happened to her a few weeks ago.

"You should rest for a while when we get back…" Ichiyo says, a gentle hand rubbing his back. She hears him moan from the pain and discomfort before a muffled burp brings up another wad of stomach bile and saliva. He breathes heavily over it for a while, seemingly without any intention of answering her, which isn't surprising.

"I'm okay," he murmurs eventually, despite everything. He tries to stand himself up straight, but he's very obviously light headed. She's surprised he doesn't pass out right away, but her reflexes are ready to catch him in case he does. "We have…we have work to do."

"Please rest for a while. We can continue working when you feel well enough," she says, trying to mirror his advice from a few weeks ago. She hooks his arm into hers, and he doesn't pull away, doesn't even try to object.

He's quiet, and Ichiyo isn't sure what else to say. She thinks maybe she should backtrack. The last thing she wants is to upset him, make him think she views him as weak.

"Alright," he breathes out with a defeated sigh. He still feels tense, but she thinks that maybe he's relaxed just a little bit. These days, he gives into defeat much more easily than he did when she first met him - for better or for worse.

If anything good came out of what happened to her the other week, is that she can indirectly use that to help him, now.

[rachelflad2022]

Chemical Bliss: Activating Happiness Pathways in the Brain 😍🧠

Well, it's officially that time of year where the days get longer and the nights get shorter thanks to Daylight Savings. No more do we need to worry about seasonal depression, at least for a few months. Society will experience less darkness and more light as we make our way to summer! Thank you to sugarsprinklesoul for the post I re-blogged earlier this week, which gave me the idea to do some research on the topic of activating "happy chemicals" in our brains. I encourage you to read this, do your own research, and find the ways you too can release these chemicals to live your life to the fullest!

So the first "happy" chemical is Dopamine, which is considered the "reward" chemical and is a neurotransmitter that is made in the brain and acts as chemical messenger between the nerve cells in your brain and the rest of your body. According to www.myclevelandclinic.org, Dopamine plays a role in movement, memory, attention, sleep, learning, pleasure, mood and more. Dopamine can be released by completing a task, eating, and taking care of yourself. For me, releasing Dopamine would mean first completing my daily tasks. I am a person who makes a list of my daily chores (like dishes, vacuuming, laundry, taking care of my daughter and so on) and completing it in a timely fashion. Next would come selfcare, which for me, would be a nice long shower. I love using face masks to relax. I also have a back massager that I use when I get stressed too.

The second chemical is Oxytocin, a hormone and a neurotransmitter. According to WebMd, hormones travel through the blood and act on cells. Electrical signals in your brain and nerves cause chemicals called neurotransmitters to release and act on other brain and nerve cells. Oxytocin does both.‌ It is the hormone responsible for positive emotions like trust and happiness and is known for releasing love hormones. The post that was shared by myself earlier this week states that playing with a dog or a baby can help activate these chemicals, also holding hands with someone you love can too. For me, spending quality time with my husband would release this hormone. I am a romantic, so I like holding his hand.

The third chemical is Serotonin. I found a great article about Serotonin on Harvard's Health website, an article written by Stephanie Watson, which can be found here: Serotonin: The natural mood booster - Harvard Health. In the article, Watson says that Serotonin levels can be linked to depression if they are low, however, it is possible to raise levels without medication. She says one natural way to increase serotonin is by working out. "When you pedal your bicycle or lift weights, your body releases more tryptophan, the amino acid your brain uses to make serotonin. This boost in serotonin (along with other endorphins and other neurotransmitters) is why many people get that feeling of euphoria known as a "runner's high" after an intense workout." Another way to release Serotonin is being in nature, near water, meditating and getting sunlight. I personally feel a Serotonin boost when I am out hiking with my family: in the woods, with people I love, and getting sunlight. My regular family hikes are what I am constantly looking forward to, and my husband and I made sure we regularly take the kids outdoors to explore.

The last chemical I saw on this blog post was Endorphins, which deal with pain relief. This particular chemical is one I am not as familiar with, but learning more about every day, as I try to rely less on taking medication when I am not feeling well. I am still on anxiety and depression medication and 100% believe that if that is what works for you, you should take it! There should NEVER be a stigma for doing what's best for your own health and I am pretty open about taking this medication because for me right now, that's what works. However, I am trying to find more natural ways to help with my depression issues. Endorphins help boost self-esteem, give you relief from pain, and reduce stress and anxiety. Again, running can be a solution to releasing endorphins. Essential oils help as well. So, I didn't know this until I did some research, but the term "Endorphin" is a mixture of the words “endogenous” (meaning produced within the body) and “morphine” (an opiate pain reliever). They are known to give a sense of euphoria. Laughing with friends and eating dark chocolate would be a great example, and probably the two best examples for myself personally.

Well, after doing some research and finding out ways to help boost my mood and relax me, I personally find this information valuable and will probably go further in the research. I've always been someone who is interested in psychology and related studies. I encourage you to do your own research and find some healthy solutions for you to be able to release these chemicals for your body (it's good for it!).

In a world where sometimes the negative outweighs the positive, a little selfcare goes a long way.

#selfcare #love #dopamine #oxytocin #serotonin #endorphins #humans #humanbrain

[bloodycassian]

Azriel x Reader - Trying. 

TW- DEPRESSION//sadness - Thank you anon for this request. I have struggled with Dysthymia for almost my whole life. It felt good to write this little piece of representation. 

Nothing but a ghost. Like the two wraiths that waited to serve you at your command. The wraiths that had nothing to do. Granted, they had tried pushing food on you, or books or paints or whatever other form of entertainment or sustenance but you ignored them. Knowing that if you had put up the fight to say anything you may lose your control completely and break down. You could let the time pass, numbly without a care. It was better than having to deal with the reality of not being alive at all.

  Rhysand had set you up in a beautiful room in the house of wind after the village attack. You could see the entire city below and the ocean beyond. It did nothing for you. If he was hoping for some kind of gratitude he didn't show it. He simply explained the house would provide if needed and that he would check in weekly. You were surprised he wasnt asking for more - that he wasnt going to try to get any information from you about Hybern's forces on the continent. After months of war you had become numb to the idea of peace. It never seemed like an option anymore. Perhaps the two generals he had brought with him to save your village had gotten all the information they needed.

  Weeks of sleeping later and you felt your eyes getting heavy again while looking out to the Sidra. The bright city below seemed buzzing with excitement about the upcoming summer solstice. You couldn't wait until you could go to bed. The tower of books on the table beside you casted a shadow over your feet, then your legs, up to your arms. Until finally, it was dark on the balcony, the stars above twinkling like the white caps on the ocean. Dread twisted in your gut, and you slowly got up, letting your body adjust to the change. Dark spots edged in around your vision.

  You could feel the chasm open inside you. The pit of loneliness - the empty void of demons waiting to take you as soon as you dropped your guard. The head rush from getting up made you want to vomit. The acid in your stomach churned, burning up to your throat. Fasting for so long would make Rhysand force your hand to eat, you knew. But you couldn't bring yourself to even try. You felt weighted, like there was a tired blanket over your being and you couldn't get it off no matter how hard you tried. The demons pulled at you.

The pain was good though, a solid reminder of why you would not eat. Why you could not eat. You did not deserve such a pleasure. You doubted you could stomach anything more than crackers anyway after weeks of fasting. Rhysand was not subtle with his advances of trying to get you to try food when he visited. The smell of some of the treats he brought made you gag at times. Your stomach howled at you now though.

  The knock on the door didnt surprise you. It was time for the high lord's weekly visit where you would tell him everything was fine and you didnt need anything. And he would try to get through your shields, and there would be a flash of disappointment on his face at the obsidian stone you would slam down on him. Then he would leave. And you could let the sting of that disappointment burn you alive until you were on the bed sobbing.

  "Enter, your highness." You smiled to yourself slightly, knowing the title would bother him. The voice that came once the door opened made you whip around. Not Rhys. "Actually..." The spymaster. The general that had guarded your village while the other barreled through the enemy lines. "Rhys was busy. He sent me instead." He stood in the doorway, tentatively.

  "Oh.." You felt your cheeks go red at the embarrassment of him seeing you like this. From the defender of your village to..what? A tired being that craved nothing more than to simply not exist anymore? "What is he doing?" You asked out of courtesy only. You were used to the high lord seeing your mess of a room, but Azriel was.. different for some reason. You walked over to the bed and kicked the sheets under the frame. Attempting to tidy up even slightly. The rest of the room was a mess of clothes and empty containers, drink cups. Nerves made your heart race.

"Nightmares?" He asked, stepping inside and closing the oak door behind him. He leaned on it, arms crossed over his chest. His simple tunic seemed to eat the light in the room, not reflecting a thing.

  Your face burned. You felt your eyes sting. Clearing your throat you nodded, folding your arms over your middle. Your ribs seemed to jut out more now that he was watching you. You watched him, as his shadows snaked around his shoulders and curled around his ear. They searched the room. You sighed, going to the closet beside him -ignoring the mirror mounted there- and pulling out a folding chair. You placed it next to your own, facing out to the starry sky. You sat in the familiar padded chair, leaning on the arm rest. The half cup of cold tea next to the book tower rattled slightly on its plate as he approached. A bubble of tranquil quiet seemed to encapsulate the area. A feeling you recognized as relief flowed through your bones. You felt the tension in your body fade slightly. You breathed a bit easier, like he was taking a weight off your chest.

He sat next to you for a long while before he spoke. "I used to hate night time." His voice was level. You tore your eyes away from the most interesting spot on the floor where you were thinking of nothing to look at him.

  He kept his eyes out to the balcony, a cool wind gusting through. His wings were folded in tight behind him, the shadows coiling over everything in the room. The trees below sighed at the caress of the breeze. The night seemed to finally speak as he spoke. He brought his hands together in front of him, rubbing over the scarred texture there. "I would hear absolutely everything in that basement. I could tell when night fell, even without windows. I could hear the beasts hunting outside, or my bastard father getting drunk and-" His hands clenched, and you thought you heard his teeth grind together. "He was a cruel male. To everyone, even my half brothers."

  A shudder rippled through you. You wondered what he had done to Azriel, if his father was cruel to his more beloved children. They had forced him into that basement, even when they knew first hand how Illyrians craved the sky. He knew of total darkness and silence - of pain that seemed to stretch on without end. He knew loneliness, he was locked up with it for the first part of his life. His shadows circled around your ankles like a cat, like they recognized you. Your voice was little more than a whisper as you spoke. "I dont even know whats wrong with me." You were relieved your tears didnt spill over. They pricked your eyes but you blinked them away.

He was quiet, taking in the information. "I didnt either until I found out what a shadow singer is." He paused, glancing at you as you tucked your legs up under yourself. "It dosent mean anything is wrong, it just means you need help sometimes. To figure out exactly what you need." He stood from the chair and flexed his wings, the shadows collecting around him like a puddle.

  He held a hand out to you, patient even while you considered. Getting out of the chair seemed like so much work with such a tired body. Tired soul, tired spirit. Anything beyond existence seemed like a complete burden. But his hand there, waiting, unwavering. Challenging. it made you sigh and finally, stiffly get out of the chair that housed you. The chair that had sucked you in, prisoned you for months.

His smile was stunning. His dark eyes seemed to light up. He led you on to the balcony and leaned over the railing. The pines far below rustled with the breeze. You swore you could hear the Sidra as well, bubbling with the current over the rocks. "How did you get out?" You asked, your eyes locking into his. He looked at you without sorrow, no fear or judgement lurked there. Just that half smile that had stayed since you stood from that chair.

"I was.. released by my father, but I still had to battle the darkness that I had learned. It wasn't until I met Rhysand and his mother that I began to... cope." He contemplated for a moment, his wings moving slightly with the wind that came through. "I'm familiar with what you're feeling. I ask that you try. I can come back again if you'd like." He left it as an open ended question, not as a demand or promise.

  "Just try? You're not gonna make a checklist for me?" You mocked, he just shook his head. "I think I would like that." You answered. At least he wouldnt pester you as much as the high lord did. At least he could bring this feeling of relief to your bones. He nodded, and the shadows seemed to spike, receding from the room and joining him, wrapping around his body and melding him with the night. "I'll be back tomorrow, then." He said simply, raising himself on to the balcony railing with ease.

  You nodded, wringing your hands with nerves as you watched him flare his wings, preparing to fly. "Dont let the bed eat you, Rhys wouldn't be happy if I had to break more of his furniture." He said over his shoulder with a wink. You felt a fleeting smile come to your lips as he jumped, wings catching him as he glided on the wind. You made a note to yourself to ask what other furniture he had ruined.

  He disappeared quickly, the shadows and the comfy bubble of silence gone. When you closed the door to the balcony and turned back to your chair, there was a plate of crackers and fruit waiting there. Your stomach rolled at the thought. Instead, you went to the closet, putting his chair away. You made a mental note to get a different seating option for him, to accommodate the wings. Knowing he was coming back, you saved yourself the future embarrassment and began picking up your clothes, putting them into the corner bin where they disappeared. You didnt pause long enough to check to see if the clothes were reappearing clean in the closet, you just kept cleaning. Trusting the house to understand you were in fact, trying. You dared not pause, knowing if you stopped there wouldn't be a beginning again.

  You went as far as requesting a mop and bucket from the Wraiths. They were wide eyes with shock at your room, at your abruptness. But they said nothing about it, just bringing you the items you requested and then some. Naula snuck in a plate of meat and cheese, leaving it next to the crackers on the end table now that there was more room with the book pile cleaned up.

  You requested the extra chair. They promised it would be in the room by morning. You made your bed, and once you were satisfied with the shining floors you stood back to admire your work. It looked like a different space, clutter gone and the books organized again. You had given the cups the Cerridwen before they left, thanking them both.

You went to your chair, hesitant to sit. The wear marks on the arm rests and the seat were apparent. Instead, picked up the plate of fruit and crackers and took it to the bench at the end of the bed, picking at the more neutral fruit as you went. A spark of something bloomed in your chest at the thought of Azriel coming back. Of what his reaction would be at the clean look of your room. You dared to hope that he would notice at all. Something told you though that he would consider this trying. He made it sound so easy.

  The bed welcomed you, clean sheets caressing your legs as you fell into the most peaceful sleep you had in a long while.

[minor-solemnity]

Never Gonna Give (You Up) pt.2

(content warning: some smut)

You really should get up.

You should.

You don’t. What you do instead is simple: you kiss him. You bend over his chest, one hand clutching his side the other pressed into the pillow and you kiss him with the fervour that only seven years of bottled up chemistry can conjure.

Riddle is unusually quiet as you lead him away from the party. His eyes are focused firmly on the ground, as though he’s worried that if he doesn’t watch his step, he’ll stumble. You watch him out the corner of your eye, taking in the slight sheen of sweat, the way his skin, save for the raw acid burns on his chest, is even paler than usual, his pinched expression. “You know, I’m surprised you’re not screaming bloody murder,” You say, trying to keep your voice light and casual and not like you’re about to start panicking over the state of his chest. “I always thought Slytherins were a bunch of posh crybabies.”

You suppose it’s good to know that Riddle is not so injured that he can’t summon up the strength to glare at you. “And I always thought that Gryffindors were meant to be chivalrous and honourable but the way you looked when Slughorn asked you escort me to hospital wing suggests otherwise.” He snaps and you feel at once both indignantly angry and… guilty. You feel��guilty. And you hate it.

“Oh please, you’d be as annoyed as I was if the roles were reversed. Because of you, I won’t be able to meet Beaufort and having her as a character reference is essential if I even have a hope of becoming a curse-breaker. You know as well as I do what’s waiting for me after Hogwarts otherwise.” You say, all the sorrow and frustration you feel over your missed opportunity leaches into your voice and the grip you have on RIddle’s arm tightens without you meaning to. You’re not wrong either, wizarding society is still of the collective opinion that witches if they’re from a good family should be married off as quickly as possible, and if they’re not, are looking at jobs in retail and teaching. Particularly intelligent and insightful witches might be lucky enough to go into research and academia but generally, any witch wanting to do something a bit more exciting with their life is shit out of luck.

Riddle shoots you a surprised look like he hadn’t expected your response. To your own surprise, he doesn’t have a quippy retort ready to skewer you with and you walk the rest of the way to the entrance hall in stony silence.

You begin to move towards the staircase intent of getting him to the hospital wing as quickly as possible. Your reasons are twofold: firstly, with any luck, once he’s under the care of Madam Montague, you’ll be able to return to the party and hopefully be in time to at least make yourself known to Beaufort; secondly, Riddle, as much as he’s trying to hide it, is clearly in a great deal of pain. The slight tremor in his shoulders has turned into full-body shakes and his eyes, usually so sharp and erudite, are clouded in pain and have a far-away look to them. It’s unsettling to see him so vulnerable. You’ve spent so much of your time at Hogwarts wishing to see Riddle cut down to size but now you’re witnessing it, you find that you’re really not enjoying it.

“Come on, let’s just get to Madam Montague,” You mutter, trying to pull him along but Riddle won’t budge. In fact, he begins to stumble in the opposite direction towards the dungeons. “What are you doing? We have to go to the hospital wing! Riddle, you’re hurt—”

“I’m not going there - I have… I’ll be able to fix this if I can get to my dorm.”

“Oh for Merlin’s sake, you can’t possibly fix this yourself.” You exclaim half exasperated half pleading. He fixes you with a glare that would be a lot more intimidating if, at that moment, he didn’t sway violently on his feet and you weren’t forced to steady him by looping both your arms over his shoulders. Riddle sags into you, his body pressing against you, his forehead resting on your shoulder. The way your stomach clenches at the close proximity is entirely inappropriate.

“Just go back to the party, that’s clearly where you’d rather be,” You think he might be aiming for scathing but something horribly vulnerable has crept into his words. “Beaufort’s probably still there.”

The fact that Riddle is allowing you to leave, to enjoy the rest of your night, to maybe secure a job is… You feel… Odd. Confused. Sad. Sad that he thinks that you’d leave him to stumble back to his dorm on his own. For the first time since you’ve known him, you wonder if he’s ever had someone to rely on before. If the air of self-sufficiency and aloofness is something that comes naturally to him, or if it’s something he’s had to learn.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can barely stand up by yourself; I’m not going to leave you to potentially faint on your way to your dorm.” When you disentangle yourself from him and resume your journey and he makes a small noise in the back of his throat that you will not for the sake of your sanity interpret as disappointment. “Like you said: Gryffindors: known for our chivalry and honour.” And he must be delirious because he actually laughs.

The Slytherin common room is exactly what you imagined it would be: dark, luxurious, refined, and so unlike the cosiness of the Gryffindor tower. Thankfully, Riddle’s room is empty when you’re finally inside. He pulls off his ruined dress robes, leaving him only in his trousers. You avert your eyes out of respect for his privacy and not because the sight of his lithe torso is at all appealing. He manages to get to his bed and starts rummaging around in the chest of drawers beside it, leaving you standing in the doorway, entirely unsure of what it is that you’re supposed to do next.

Jar in hand, he more or less collapses onto his bed. Wounded as he is, he still manages to look outrageously good. The low light from the candelabra casts him in a muted, golden glow, adding colour to his complexion and softening the wounds on his chest. You swallow thickly and internally berate yourself for having such thoughts because this is Riddle, and even if he weren’t your sworn enemy, he’s still injured and hurting and that should be your first priority.

You watch as he struggles to open one of the jars for a second before you make up your mind. Summoning every shred of Gryffindor bravery you possess, you walk towards him, ignoring the look of sheer surprise and alarm that settles on his face as you stop in front of him. “Here, just let me— let me help,” You murmur, your breath catching in your throat because this feels… This feels intimate and new. You’re fairly sure that whatever happens next, your relationship with Riddle has been changed irrevocably. The seconds tick past and you just watch each other. The air seems to thicken around you and the atmosphere grows charged and tense with something that you don’t have a name for.

Slowly, he nods and you gently manoeuvre him so that he’s lying on his back, propped up by his pillows. Next, you reach for the jar that he’d been holding, unscrewing the lid and scooping some of the clear, jelly-like substance into your fingers. There’s an awkward moment when you try and figure out the best way of reaching his chest before you grit your teeth and straddle his hips.

Despite his current state, Riddle still manages to look far too smug for your liking. He raises an eyebrow and smirks up at you from your perch on his thighs. Despite the furious blush that creeps up your neck and along your cheeks, you manage to keep your voice steady as you say, “Don’t make this weird, Riddle.” He starts to chuckle lowly before it’s cut off by a gasp as you start to rub the salve on his wounds.

Your fingers brush against his chest and you find yourself entranced by how warm his skin is, how he tenses under your hands as though he wasn’t expecting and isn’t used to gentleness, how his breathing slowly evens out as the salve does its job and the burns start to scab and heal. A slow, curling heat wraps its way around you, making your heart stutter and your blood thrum in a way that is so deliciously intoxicating that you don’t even notice that your hands have travelled down his chest and are now skimming his sides, edging lower and lower to the waistline of his trousers.

You’re brought back to reality when he wraps a hand around one of your wrists, his dark eyes glitter in the dim candlelight and a slow, easy smirk curls his upper lip. He moves his free hand to your waist and he watches you closely, taking in every twitch, every shiver, every sharp, stuttering intake of breath. “So, I should go and let you rest…?” You hate the way it comes out as a question, the slight upturn in your voice revealing the nerves that tangle and twist inside you.

“That would be sensible, yes,” Tom agrees, even as his hand slides up your waist and along the curves of your breasts.

You really should get up.

You should.

You don’t. What you do instead is simple: you kiss him. You bend over his chest, one hand clutching his side the other pressed into the pillow and you kiss him with the fervour that only seven years of bottled up chemistry can conjure. He responds immediately, let’s go of your wrist to tangle his fingers through your hair, drags you closer until the spaces between you are taken over by the feeling of his body, firm and solid and sure beneath you. His other hand slips under your dress robes, gliding up your thigh and pulling the silky fabric up until it’s bunched around your waist and his hand splays across the swell of your arse, exploring and gripping and kneading. Every part of you that he touches is on fire and pleasure curls inside of you like bonfire smoke: rich and thick and all-consuming.

A moan escapes you as he rolls his hips against yours and he tugs your hair sending small shockwaves of muted pain and pleasure tingling down your spine. You pull away from him to catch your breath and for a moment you just stare at each other. His eyes are nearly all pupil and there’s a delectable flush spreading across his cheeks and there’s something else as well. It’s the way he’s looking at you, you realise. Turned on and hot and wanting, yes, but under all that… there’s something like awe in his eyes.

That alone is enough to make you reach down and start tugging at his belt, hands fumbling with nerves and then he’s kicking off his trousers and you’re pulling your robes above your head with a frantic kind of desperation that would surprise you if it wasn’t so fucking obvious to you now. The opposite of love is not hate, but indifference and you have never been indifferent towards Riddle. Your clothes land in a haphazard pile at the foot of his bed, and suddenly his arms are around you and he’s flipping you over and pressing against you, grinding down as he sucks a bruise along the underside of your jaw before trailing kisses down your neck and along your collarbones, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud of one nipple. “So good,” He whispers into your skin, “Always knew you’d be so good for me.” And something inside of you sings at the admission, at the implication.

The franticness of earlier fades into something slower, though no less intense, and you take the opportunity to snake your hand down his body and curl a fist around him, stroking long and slow, revelling in the way he feels in your hand: heavy and hot and thick in. You are rewarded by a quiet, broken gasp and his fingers and tongue caressing every part of you he can reach. His fingers slip between your legs and you’re already so close to edge that all it takes is a few clever strokes and you’re tumbling into the ravine, back arching, toes curling and you’re dimly aware of him tensing above you and then he’s falling right along with you.

In the moments following, anxiety and uncertainty begins to creep through your afterglow, and you shift against him, unsure if you should gather your things and leave. You start to push yourself up but are stopped by a hand on your shoulder. Tom (because you should start calling him that, anything else feels like an erasure of what’s just happened, and despite the worry, you don’t want to erase this) gently pulls you back down, tucking you against his side as he runs his fingers through your hair. The anxiety fades and you fall asleep with your head nestled in the crook of his neck and his arm curled around your waist.

***

In the three weeks since Slughorn’s party, you’ve made several appearances in Tom’s dorms. There had been one particularly embarrassing moment when Abraxas Malfoy had walked in, rolled his eyes and muttered ‘finally. But also, gross’ before he'd made a speedy exit after Tom had threatened to poison his favourite peacock. 

You still argue and you’re still horribly competitive; you’re fairly sure that those aspects of your relationship with Tom are dyed in the wool by this point. But now he edits your essays and you bring him coffee when he spends too long in the library. You eat breakfast together. It feels good. It feels natural.

It’s over one breakfast on a nondescript Friday morning that the letter arrives. Tom passes it to you along with a mug of tea and you frown at the unfamiliar handwriting. You scan it quickly and your curiosity quickly turns into disbelieving excitement. “Christella Beaufort wants to meet me.” You whisper, eyes wide, hands shaking. “She says that she’s sorry she missed me at the party and that she’s available to talk the next Hogsmeade weekend. I… Tom, this is… How…?”

“I may have written to her explaining the situation.” He says, entirely casual, as though he hasn’t just made every wish you’ve ever had come true.

He really only has himself to blame when you lean over the Slytherin table, fingers wrapping around his tie and ruin a lot of people’s breakfasts by dragging him into a kiss.

(part 1)

[rattlerinthewheel]

Fruit Bat: Scud/Reader

He should know better than to irritate the vampire that’s already pissed, wounded, and starving—so you teach him.

For the Kinky Things Happen bingo square: vampires and discipline, at @pandoratriestowritestuff’s request for some Scud. Credit to them and @phoenixblack89, who talked about Scud getting spanked and choking on a donut, for the respective scenes.

- - -

You’re still pissed at him.

But it’s hard to give him the silent treatment when you need to get at the junk around the tables. Move, pass me that wrench, throw me that wire, is dry and distant, work-related; but turn that shit down, quit spewing crumbs, stop grabbing me, and other growls that aren’t related to the tech you’re fiddling with get read as some sign—to keep doing those things, but that’s sure not what your glares should be saying.

Well, it isn’t a surprise that he’s being a dumbass about it. A moron about a lot of shit, lately, the bandage on your arm can vouch for that. And it was an accident, sure, you wouldn’t usually blame him for aiming that UV flashlight at anything that swarmed at him on a job; but he’d been high and you’d called out a warning, dammit, and he still got you with it. Burned like a motherfucker, like acid.

His apology was huffed, high-sluggish, and rank like the shitty weed he’d been toking.

Maybe he’s realizing you’re really pissed, content with just your hand as company for a few days, because you haven’t taken a break even once from this group project—a net of UV panels you can drape over the van; they stay off for now, obviously—to get your hands down his pants, or his down yours.

But Josh—Scud’s dumb, and it pisses him off to be called Josh, so of course that’s what you call him—is definitely high, not as sharp as he’d otherwise be, and his logic is coming from his dick today. His brain would be screaming at him to not agitate the vampire that’s wounded and pissed.

He’s prodded at you the whole damn night so far, brushing your groin to grab a tool there’s fifteen more of scattered around that he can get to, angling his head in a way that makes the churning veins under too damn tempting, flat-out groping your ass when his first two tactics don’t get him anything more than warning hisses.

Except when he decides he doesn’t like a particular hiss you give, too much teeth for his liking, because when his hand drops from where it’s gotten in a squeeze it claps right back down across the ass cheek it grabbed. Fucking hard, too; "make peace, not war" your ass.

You whirl where he’s scrambling back to his side of the room, giggling, hands raised with his palms out like he can call a truce. Like he hasn’t been doing this shit all night and your hisses and menaced fangs are supposed to be equals, or something.

Well, they aren’t. And you feel like cashing in some payback.

"C’mon, baby, lighten up!" trails his getaway while you give chase. You don’t run after him, but Josh stumbles and darts around like you are. It’s one of the oldest hunting tactics, just following, while the prey tires itself out trying to get away. Vampires don’t need to use it, you could just as easily catch up, even with a bandaged arm.

But Josh wants to goddamn play, so you’ll follow suit. For now.

Smoker’s lungs, stoner’s, don’t let him keep it up as long as a guy his age could. Josh staggers, stumbles a last time like his clothes weigh fifty pounds, and drops on the steps up to another part of the workshop. By his couch and TV, the little nest he’s made for himself, and you don’t think that’s accidental; but you don’t plan to move things to that shitty couch, not anytime soon.

You walk right up to him, and Josh goddamn grins, leaning back on his hands and spreading his legs like he’s offering himself up like a damn meal. He’s still got one of those shitty donuts, and he takes a bite, still grinning, and flicks a crumb at your leg.

"You’re a child," you growl, getting a whiff of syrup lactic acids, probably burning his calves like battery; iron thumped in and out of his heart, jumping in his throat, flushing his face; that damn weed turning everything earthy, chalky like loam, but still good.

"I’m a delight," spews more crumbs with another giggle. "Besides, baby, you love it."

You do—when you aren’t pissed at him. "Love to kick your ass," you huff, toeing the step by his foot.

His hum makes you swallow. Fucking thirsty, you are, and that’s just the worst kind of trifecta for Josh to be near right now: starved, pissed, and wounded. Your nerves are shot, and his chase didn’t tire you, but it sure as shit reminded you of what hunts are supposed to take care of. And his hum, that sounds vaguely like a dying, helpless churr from a punctured throat...

Shit.

But the hum bubbles into a chuckle, as you’re stepping away to beat it and get back to work—so Blade doesn’t have you to stake and Josh to mend, or a drained corpse to bury—when you get a lazy kick to your calf and a teasing, "The little fruit bat running away? Afraid I’ll smack him again?"

You’re starving, agitated, and your arm throbs. It’s not a nickname you hate, but it sets off something.

You stop, turn back slowly, and flick your eyes to either side to make sure you won’t be skewered by stray junk out of place. All clear, so you skulk up, schooling your face into a careful, bland look that puts Josh on edge more than a scowl.

"Ain’t my ass about to get smacked, boy," is throttled with a snap of fangs and a low pounce, and Josh can only drop the fucking donut and yelp as you tackle him.

He gets a bit of ground, because his hand clamps right down on the bandages, making you bark at the bolt of pain. It’s been longer since your last drink than you admitted to Blade, before he left, and that doesn’t help. But Blade would’ve had you come with, otherwise, and you figured dealing with Josh was worth getting the panels for the van closer to field testing.

Because as much as you want to skitter up the wall and drop Josh from the rafters, most days, you don’t want to get back to the van and find a drained, stoner-sized juice box.

So it’s a little ironic that he’s sprawled over your legs, when the scuffle’s over. It’s not what you intended—to pin him to his stomach, straddle, and give a few smacks before letting him go—but you sort yourselves out. First Josh, and you wrap an arm over his waist to keep him down; then yourself, and you sit up properly so his ass is right where you want it.

These days, child rearing isn’t what you were accustomed to, and Josh doesn’t figure it out until he feels your hand settle across the seat of his cargo pants. "No fuckin’ way," is half telling, half laughing, and the weed probably has something to do with that second part.

Because the first part’s not amused, but just in case he doesn’t get it across that he’s not thrilled to be pinned this way, Josh starts trying to buck off your lap.

"Yes fucking way," you hiss, and your hand cracks down over his right cheek.

It’s loud, even for his human hearing, and goes off like a shotgun blast. Josh twists his head back, huffing. The scowl he tries to give doesn’t have the kind of impact he hopes for, when it twitches at the second swat you land, right over the same spot. Harder than the first, because you won’t have him scowling at you, goddamn brat.

"Hope you know how to sleep with one eye open," cracks when you get a handful of flesh, quieter when he hangs his head. The pants are thin, and you feel the warmth from the swats, hell, hear the blood fizz under the surface. "Get you back for this."

You frown, not at the threat, but another rush of blood you hear. Feel, even better, in your lap.

You growl and throw a withering look his way, because fucking seriously? "You gettin’ hardover this?"

You hear the bones grind, Josh gritting his teeth, when you give the spot you’ve hit twice now a slow rub. Christ, he is, and he’s halfway there by the time you’ve rubbed enough circles into the warmed skin that you have to strain to hear the fizzing blood. You should’ve guessed he was into this, not like he doesn’t rile you up to pin or chase him anyway, this even makes sense.

The swipe to his left thigh is sudden, vampire speed but not strength because you aren’t that cruel. Your ears perk at the sound it gets, when the crack settles again, but before you can ask if he’s fine you feel his thigh rise up into your hand. You can’t help but scoff, because Christ’s sake, you weren’t trying to get frisky with him—and that ship’s goddamn sailed, because you’re helping him get hard.

You’re getting hard, too, can’t be a hypocrite about that. Josh feels it, pushing up into his side, and when he twists his head back again he’s flushed and his mouth’s open. His eyes are glazed over, brow’s furrowed, you think, but it’s hard to tell with the mop of hair in the way. Dammit,and you get a handful of his shirt in your striking hand to keep him from toppling over, and unwrap the other to push the hair off his face.

You can hear his sigh just fine, but it thrums into your fingers where you keep them pushed into his scalp, warm, damp from work and running from you. "Done already, baby? Maybe we can switch," buzzes up your arm.

Shit. You aren’t excited for that, because if he’s going to get you back he’s damn well working for it. But you can feel him reacting to you, swamping your senses; a whine when your fingers curl in the bangs before combing out, his hips shimmying when your arm loops over again, the muscles of his hide clenching as you drag down his pants and boxers.

That last one gets a sharp breath that’s followed up with a sharper swat. You suck in a gasp yourself and tighten your arm, giving your hard-on friction to grind off of, as you run your fingertips over the barely-pink skin. Warm, hot, without the fabric, and it fizzles louder like damn fireworks, when you drop your palm over the left cheek.

"Baby? Not getting any, uh, urges? Know I look good ‘nough to eat normally, but—"

"Shut up," you snarl, and then you’re smacking him again.

It’s anger at this bullshit, your injury, your arm throbbing as Josh twitches against the hold you just double down on when you start laying down swats quick and hard. He could’ve killed you, and he was too damn high to realize it, to apologize, still hasn’t.

But it’s some twisted fascination, too, watching the barely-pink go hot pink, white in the beat after a blow before it blooms darker, then red. You hear the blood fizz, pop, and simmer with each shade the flesh darkens to. Ass goes slower than the thighs, more meat to them, and that reminds you that there’s something to grab so you do. Not after every swat, just to give you both a breather, and you groan when you peel your hand off each time and a five-fingered print flares white before reddening again.

"Hope you choke on those damn donuts," you groan, throaty, when you realize your aim goes off because Josh is rutting into your damn lap. "Quit moving, lemme."

He goes rigid when you grab a hot thigh and spread him open, shift him right so his cock isn’t snug against your leg, and start to stroke. Cruelly slow, but it’s not like he’s getting out of this without some discipline. But you wouldn’t exactly mind doing this again, either...

"No one’s dead, then?"

Josh yelps and finally does buck off your lap. You let him, falling in a heap with his pants still down to his knees, because you’re too busy cringing back from the circle of UV light pointed at the floor. On concrete, not too close to the steps, but you’ve had enough of that wicked light as it is.

Blade doesn’t look bothered by Josh’s undressed, red ass, or the wet spot he left on your jeans. Neither of you finished, just pre-cum, but you’re not keeping a nose or ear out to scent or hear if Josh does by accident in the scramble. You’ve got something else on your mind, that wicks away the lust and anger and drags hunger up your throat so fast you’re dizzy.

The IV bag’s tossed to you, torn into and drained in the time it takes Blade to fish out another from his bag. You hear the flashlight go off and pounce out onto concrete to burrow into the second one he gives over, then growl for the third you can smell when he doesn’t offer it.

"There a problem?"

Your growl sputters, and Josh must’ve gotten his pants back up because he draws attention to himself now. "All good, B. Just looking for some shit for the panels."

Blade doesn’t ask what shit required Josh’s nose being two inches from the lowest step, or being over your lap while he looked, but you go deaf to what they do talk about when the third bag’s thrown your way. By the time you finish, wiggling the puncture marks over your yawning mouth to get the last drop, Blade’s gone and Josh’s face wrinkles.

"Oh, now you don’t want to bother me?" you purr, all fangs, your arm hardly aching and your throat good and wet.

"Shit, dude, would table manners kill you?"

You purr louder, a chuckle, as Josh turns away and goes to hide on his couch with his TV. Close to dawn, anyway, and it’s better to have two pairs of hands for the panels. At least that’s what Josh will tell Blade, probably, if he asks why he isn’t working on it in the morning when you’re sleeping. You’re betting on Blade either calling him out, saying a sore ass doesn’t mean a day off, or just letting it slide. He’s not stranger to vampire strength, even if it’s never been applied to his ass.

Well, Josh can tell him all about it, and you wipe the blood off your face, purr throttling in a real laugh, as Josh decides to lay down on his stomach while he fumbles with the TV.

"Gonna get you back," he reminds you.

In the dim, barely-lit room, with just some cartoon to flick pale tones over the dark space, you lurk over and crawl up onto the back of the couch, balancing on your side, so you can lick your fingers clean and run them through his hair. You tune out the shitty TV to hone in on his blood, calming down, still sputtering around his warm ass. It’s white noise you lose yourself in, purring at his swears when he shifts and agitates the flesh.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

Feeling Special

Tamaki Amajiki x Reader

Warning: fluff, pg-13

A/N: commission for @marvels-biggest-ho​

Summary:  You show up to help Mirio terrorize Class -1A during training and your long time crush, Tamaki, is there.

The first year training gym had an air of playful tension as you walked in. Mr. Aizawa thought it would do the younger students some good to have an older student drop in and show them the ropes but you had a feeling your quirk was the real reason the teacher wanted you around. Your quirk was Acquire ; the ability to gain another person's quirk for a limited amount of time, depending on how long you touched them. They would still have their quirk but you were able to use it as well - it worked out most times but you usually avoided touching someone with a more complicated quirk. There was one time you accidentally touched Mirio Togata and ended up falling a floor below your dorm. Luckily, you only came into contact with him for a few seconds. Usually you wore gloves but as you walked into the large training gymnasium, your hands were bare.

“Oh, look who's here!” 

The greeting came from Nejire Hado and you smiled, noticing the two other members of the  Big Three. The trio stood in front of class 1-A. You eyed the slouched over Tamaki Amajiki; he glanced at you for a split second before turning away nervously. Smiling, you nodded to Mirio. 

“Mr. Awzia sent for me,” you explained, turning to the group. “He said something about showing you kids a good time.”

“That’s what I was about to do,” Mirio gleamed, hands folded against his chest. “I challenged them all to a fight.”

You laughed, sneaking a peek at Tamaki. “Amajiki, will you be joining the fight?”

The young man seized up, shaking his head no without looking at you. “Fair enough, we don’t want to rough the kids up too much. We all know you’re the strongest here.”

Mirio grinned at you, giving a little wink as he focused on the first years. You half listened as he went on about kicking their asses, eyes zeroing on Tamaki, who was making his way to the sidelines. He looked so cute in the UA jumpsuit, his ears poking out from his hair; it seemed obvious to everyone but him that you adored the soon to be pro-hero. You had been in the same class as the Big Three since year one, made friends right away with Mirio and his best friend, the quiet Tamaki. The nervous, socially awkward boy - who you had developed feelings for over time. 

“Y/N.” Mirio was calling out to you, as he rushed towards Class -1-A, a carefree glance plastered on his face. “You joining or not?”

“Hell yes,” you shouted back, rushing towards your friend. Watching as Mirio went head to head with the boy he called Problem Child, you wanted to throw some of the younger students off guard. Jogging over to the group, who were distracted by Mirio, you touched the shoulder of a girl with horns and pink skin. 

“He’s going to be the number one hero one day,” you boasted. She jumped back just as Mirio disappeared and reappeared behind the group. You smiled when the girl used her quirk to throw corrosive liquid, acid, in your direction. Mimicking her moves, her face drew up in horror. 

“You stole my quirk!”

The students that weren’t fighting Mirio off, turned to you in horror. Holding your palm out, acid flew up and you grinned. “I’d never steal someone’s quirk but I can acquire it for a bit. Of course, you still have access to your quirk but so do I….at least for a little bit or until I touch someone else.”

The girl relaxed and scratched the back of her head. “Sorry, I freaked for a second.”

“Do me next!”

A slender blond boy stepped up, an odd looking belt around his navel. “Let’s see if you can control my quirk.”

He winked at you and you looked to Mirio; he was way too busy wrecking students left to right. Figuring he had it, you shrugged and beckoned the boy over, he strutted over to you and posed. Laughing, you touched his shoulder for a few seconds. Feeling a wave of energy wash over your body, you looked over your shoulder to where Tamaki stood. He wasn’t staring at the wall as per usual, instead he was focused on you. 

Unable to control the butterflies in your stomach, your body tensed up and before you could regain control, a sparkly laser beam shot from your navel. The sudden jolts and power sent you flying backwards, thrusting you into the air. You shouted in pain as your body flew to the ground, but when you expected the pain of the concrete floor to hit you, it didn’t. Instead, two large tentacles wrapped around your waist, your body collapsing against someone as they slammed against the wall, sliding down to the ground with you in their embrace.

Out of breath, you laid still for a minute, trying to catch your breath. That kid’s quirk was powerful and it was painful too, you definitely felt bad for him. Breath slowing down to a normal state, you felt the tentacles retract, replaced by a strong pair of arms.

“Are - are you okay?”

A sweet whisper danced against your ears and you realized in a heartbeat, who had caught you; sweet, quiet Tamaki. His body was warm against yours and you could feel the heat rising from your toes. 

“I feel dizzy, I might puke,” you admitted, sitting up. His knees were bent up and your body was right up against his chest. Embarrassed, you crawled off him, He stumbled to his feet, turning to face the wall.

“I -  sorry…” Tamaki stammered over his words and you quickly got up, forgetting about being nauseous. His head moved forward but before his forehead could touch the wall, your hand slipped right in between. His eyes widened at the feel of your palm against his forehead and you smiled at him. 

“Don’t hurt your head, Tamaki. It’s too cute.”

A burst of bravery flashed across his face as he looked at you but before he could say a word, your body gave out.

….

The room was quiet as your eyes fluttered open; you were in your dorm, in bed. Feeling better, you sat up and saw Tamaki sleeping on the floor. Heat slapped your face as you realized someone of the opposite sex was in your room. Looking to the clock on the wall, you saw that it was past midnight - okay, that definitely wasn’t allowed. Unable to move, you studied the young man’s face and smiled at the way his indigo colored hair swept over his forehead. 

He was a snorer but it was endearing. 

Noticing he had no blanket, just a pillow tucked under his head, you reached over for an extra one at the end of the bed and was surprised to see tentacles forming from your hands. Startled, you held back a shout, remembering that you had touched Tamaki earlier. 

“This is crazy,” you whispered, chuckling as you grabbed the blanket and reached over to cover Tamaki without having to leave the bed. The tentacles weren’t as long as his but they were a little hard to control. It was evident when you accidentally smacked Tamaki in the face as you pulled away; holding your breath, you watched as he stirred but didn’t wake. Slowly, you crept off the bed and moved around him to get to the full length mirror next to the closet. 

When you saw yourself, you nearly died of laughter - you looked ridiculous and not as intimidating as Tamaki when he was in this form. He looked badass in his hero suit, like a knight in shining armor - you on the other hand, looked like a sea creature. 

“Oh, god.”

A low painful voice came from behind you, it was Tamaki, standing near your bed. He was still wearing the UA training suit, as were you. He looked embarrassed and upset as he rushed to the door but you were faster, looping a tentacle around his waist. Using all your strength, you held him in place as his hand came over the doorknob.

“Please don’t leave me,” you begged. “I don’t know how long your quirk will last, I could just go touch someone else but everyone’s asleep.”

You relaxed, letting him go when his hand fell from the doorknob. “I - I carried you to the nurses office and then to your room. I -I held you for too long, I don’t know when my quirk will leave you.”

He continued to face the door but didn’t leave. Walking over to him, you felt a strike of bravery - you had adored him for years now, watched him with soft eyes and love in your heart. It bloomed over the years, when others would not take the chance to get to know him.  Scolded him for looking down on himself and cheered the loudest in his corner, even though you never thought you would have a chance with him. It didn’t matter, being in his corner was enough but now as he stood in your room, you wanted more.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with my quirk,” he muttered miserably.

Rolling your eyes, you stepped up to him. His back was hunched over but his entire body hardened when you wrapped both tentacles around his waist, pressing your face into the fabric of his uniform. You could feel his nerves rattling as you took a deep  breath.

“I’m glad I was given a chance to experience the power you have, Tamaki,” you whispered, tilting your head to the side. Your cheek felt warm against his back as you stared at the mirror, watching his reflection carefully. His face was surprisingly calm, opposed to the tension you felt in the rest of his body. 

“W-why?”

The question made you smile and you held him tighter. “It makes me feel closer to you, Tamaki and...and that’s all I ever wanted. Are you that oblivious?”

Terrified of his reaction, you looked away from the mirror and buried your face into his face, clinging to him. Tentacles trembled, waiting for his response to your confession. What if he did not feel the same way? He never showed interest, why would you think he would have feelings for you? You were questioning the moment, wishing it was a fever dream from using too many quirks in one day.

Yes, that’s it, you thought, holding back the tears. He’s not really here, this is a dream and when you wake up, you will be back with Mirio. Back at the gym, kicking 1-A’s collective butt. 

Yeah, that’s it. 

“Mirio- he...he’s always making comments,” Tamaki whispered, forehead against the door.  “Stupid little comments that I know could never be true, because why - why would you like someone like me.”

Your head pulled away from his back and you stared at the back of his head, focused on the nape of his neck. “Because, you’re special, Tamaki. I wish you could see what Mirio and I see, what everyone sees. You’re amazing and I have always wished to be someone you could look in the eye. I want you to look me in the eye, so I can feel special too.”

Tears fell from your face as the tentacles retracted, forming back into your own arms. They started to fall from Tamaki’s waist as he carefully turned around, face hung low. Your heart pounded as he stood straight and finally, after so long, looked you in the eyes. His face was nervous but soft, fingers trembling as they reached for yours. His skin warm and soft as he held your hand, squeezing his palm against yours. His usually frown turned into a quiet smile and you knew then, that you were in love.

“You’re special to me,” he whispered and you beamed, throwing your arms around his neck. Without hesitation, he pulled you close and embraced you. His chin rested on your shoulders as you kissed him gently on the cheek. His face turned red so quickly it made you laugh. Kissing him again, you moved away and touched the side of his face.

“Will you stay with me a bit longer?”

Leaning into your hand, he nodded. “Okay.”

His heart leaped as you led him to the bed, motioning for him to lay down first. He did and watched as you took the space up next to him, your head resting on his shoulder as he pulled your blanket over the two of you. You inhaled deeply, placing your hand on his chest, smiling when he cupped it with his own. The room was quiet as the two of you laid together, the feeling in the air was something new and sweet, and as your eyes began to grow heavy, you said his name.

“Y-Yeah?”

Dipping your head back, you stared up at him. “How did you get into my dorm after hours? I’m sure the administration wouldn’t have allowed it.”

Tamaki’s eyebrows furrowed and he moved his hand over his face. “Mirio and Nejire helped me sneak in.”

Laughing, you drew his hand from his face and grinned. “My sweet, sneaky Tamaki.”

He chuckled nervously and when his eyes met yours, soft and relaxed, you knew what it felt like to feel special.

[erminecore]

I really liked @doodledrawsthings’s A Hat in Time “Coffee Shop AU” idea… but also got me to thinkin. What if Vanessa’s poison was rather more immediate, so she had time to gloat, and so poor Luka had to deal with the idea of coming home to Harriet as a big snakeghost… who won’t recognize him at all?

--

“I’m not here to talk about custody.” Vanessa says, her smile angelic, perfect. She flicks a strand of hair from her shoulder, just to complete the illusion of the person Luka thought she’d been.

Luka’s emptied cup hits the saucer with a clatter. His nerves, which were screaming at him the whole time, rise to a fever pitch. He sharply stands, his stomach rolling, his hands hitting the table with the clatter of cutlery - but if anything, Vanessa’s smile only widens at the show of frustration. “...If this isn’t about custody, then what is this about?”

Vanessa laughs even as Luka’s stomach winds knots like dancing snakes, even as he bends double with the roiling pain of it. She laughs even as he hit the floor, his arm coming up to grip the tablecloth for support - and failing, his nerves turning to jelly, his muscles screaming as if melting under an acid kiss. “Oh, Luka. You should really know better by now. I’m here for revenge.”

From his vantage point on the floor, Luka gets a good view of the tableware as it comes crashing down around him. Forks and knives twirling like dangerous silver dancers around his spinning head, the graceful fall of a teapot in slow motion… but it is his own cup that, rolling to a stop near his arm, that draws his attention. In the tea, he sees the same purple, the same stain that is creeping down his arm - the purple of night, of pouring ink, of scribbled over legal documents and things gone wrong. Luka is aware, painfully aware, that he may be dying.

“What,” he rasps, aware of the spasming of his own arms, of the distant sound of his shirt tearing. His entire body was nothing but a ball of fire and nerves, somehow nebulous, but growing longer all the time, growing larger. “Have you done to me, Vanessa?”

In response, Vanessa stands - perhaps was always standing. Luka doesn’t know. His sense of time, of continuity, is near shattered. But he sees her perfect pink shoes, ribboned and sweet, as she walks over, and deftly kicks the cup away.

“I never wanted the child, you know.” Vanessa says, her voice full of spite. “You should have known that. I just wanted to make you suffer - to remind you whose you were.”

Luka tries to speak, tried to form the words to tell her just how awful she was, just how awful she still is. But the only sound that comes out is a soft gurgling, a pained wheeze. It’s like trying to breathe through a straw. His hands come to his neck and he feels them - large and clumsy, clawed and fumbling, two fingered, inhuman.

“You know? I don’t think you’ll be winning custody now.” Vanessa says, her voice sweet and pleasant. As pleasant as when she cut his hair while he was sleeping. As pleasant as when she told him to choose between her and Harriet. As pleasant as when she told him to stop talking to his tutor at law school. “No one would give a child to a monster like you.”

“You’re the monster!” Luka manages to spit, coughing up something black, something wretched onto the carpet. He forces his gaze upwards and yes, Vanessa’s glaring at him, glaring, but smoothing her face quickly, tightening it into a smile just like always…

“You think so?” She says, with a little chuckle, reaching into her pocket to pull out a silvered hand mirror, no bigger than her palm. It shows very little. But what it reflects nearly stops Luka’s heart.

Glimpses of black, of yellow eyes like a lantern, of fangs lit by an endless glow set above a gaping maw. He’ll never work at a law firm again - he’ll never fit in a law firm again. A long slithering tail where his legs should be… it is no wonder he cannot feel them anymore.

“You always were a little snake, my prince…” Vanessa croons, her eyes twinkling even as the monster in the mirror begins to cry. “Now the whole world will know.”

“...How could you? How could you?!” Luka sobs. He’s not thinking about Vanessa. He’s thinking about poor Harriet. He’s thinking about his job. He’s thinking about his life, in tatters. About the child he has to support. About the case he has to win. How in the world is he even going to get through courtroom doors like this? How is he going to navigate the formal attire required to be his own lawyer? What, is he going to just wear a tie on the day of the hearing and nothing else?

“How could I? How could you?” Vanessa snaps right back, crossing her arms and glaring, glaring as if Luka’s the one in the wrong. “You took my heart and ran away with it! You left me, alone, all alone in the world over a child!”

Luka sees frost beading at the edges of Vanessa’s clenched fists. Sees the tears of fury in her eyes. It explains everything. Magic? Magic. God, of all the people in the world to have magic, it has to be his ex…

“Now you understand, though, don’t you?” She says, her smile smoothing crookedly, uneasily over her face. Jagged lines and uncertain swoops. “You’re mine. Mine and mine alone. You can’t go anywhere else. No one else will accept you. No one will love you, not like me. That wretched child won’t even recognize you now.”

Vanessa reaches down, her pale hands coming to caress Luka’s cheek. Her fingers are still icy, horribly cold, all the worse on Luka’s freshly burned skin. “There’s nowhere else for you to go…”

“...I…” Luka whispers, shivering, trembling in her fingers. He sees her eyes widen. He sees the hope there. It’s the old hope, the hope he fell in love with, the light that was brilliant, that drew him in like a moth to the flame. God, he’d loved her so much, when he first saw her look up from her books, when he saw the boredom drain from her eyes to be replaced by this fire…

But that was then, and this is now.

“...I’m going to be pressing charges.” He hisses, pressing his hands into the dirt, scrabbling, sliding, slipping away into the night, however he can. He doesn’t think about it, can’t think about it - to think about it is to not be thinking about the furious howls of rage behind him, the wintry blasts of ice that shatter and smash tree branches above him - flash frozen in an instant.

Somehow. Somehow he gets away. Hauls himself up to a park bench somewhere, puts his head in his hands. Somehow, he finds a moment to think, but there’s only worry, only the same burning fear, over and over.

“She’s right.” Luka whispers, the horror dawning on him. “There’s no way the kid will recognize me now.”

--

He said he was only supposed to be an an hour, maybe two.

Luka had never been home late before. But, then… he usually didn’t make appointments this suddenly either. Not the day of, not thirty minutes before. But… it was with Harriet’s mom. So maybe that’s what made it special?

Harriet wasn’t supposed to know where, or with who but… she’d kind of listened in. Heard the phone call. It was… easy enough to pick up the details through the shouting, even without poking her head through a crack in the door. Subcon park, eight pm, sharp. They were going to talk about things. Talk about her.

It felt like the only thing anyone ever talked about anymore was her. But not in the way Harriet liked. Not talking about how brilliant she was, or how bright, or what she brought home from school. Talking about who she’d be happier with. Where she belonged. Who owned her.

Luka still talked about how bright she was, of course. How brilliant, how beautiful. But when he spoke about it, he was always… defensive. Or tired. Harriet wasn’t sure which one was worse.

Harriet… isn’t supposed to go out late. Or alone. But her dad is really, really late now. Maybe… maybe he got lost? Maybe it’s time to go look for him, to make sure he’s okay…

Harriet checks her phone again. Still no calls, no texts, nothing. Except, exactly as she’s looking the phone lights up, with a text from her dad -

“Dad

11:48PM

idmworot994 w”

-and nothing else. Not even the usual “Sorry I forgot it was in my pocket, kiddo!” that her dad always sends after scrambled texts. That seals it. He really must be in trouble, or he wouldn’t be so sloppy and un-Luka like…

Harriet snatches her hat from the hatstand, grabs her coat, and rushes out of the front door, into the night, unaware of the bright yellow eyes anxiously following her the whole way…

Luka follows along behind his own daughter, clumsily, awkwardly, anxiously, his body ribboning through the trees like an eel. He feels horrible doing it, but who else will keep an eye on her? Except, now he’s the embodiment of everything that he’s warned her to be afraid of in the night, the very essence of a “stranger.”

How is he going to be able to talk to her? How is he going to warn her about Vanessa, Vanessa who is even now, on the prowl, hunting for the both of them?

He waits until there is light, at least. A light and a bench and… hope. It’s risky. But he can’t wait any longer. He calls out, his voice rasping, low. Will she even recognize it?

“Hey, kiddo?”

Harriet jumps nearly out of her skin, starting back from the light - gazing around wildly into the night. She sees nothing. Just trees, darkness… and two glowing yellow eyes, suspended above a grinning mouth.

“M-monster!” Harriet shrieks, fear tingling up her tiny spine as she scrambles for the bench, crawling under it, losing her hat her haste to take cover and hide. Trembling like a leaf, too scared even to cry…

Luka feels his heart fall out of his chest to shatter on the cold ground below. Wasn’t it just like this? When things started getting rough. When him and Vanessa started fighting, and he had to turn the whole house upside down just to find the poor kid cowering under the bed…

Vanessa was right, of course. He doesn’t see any recognition in Harriet’s eyes. For the first time, he is a stranger, someone new, someone terrifying. Someone awful - a monster. He can’t blame her for hiding. But it still hurts him, leaves a sucking wound that sinks down to the pit of his soul, a chasm that might never heal…

“...H-hey, I’m not gonna hurt ya.” He chuckles, clumsily flopping down from the tree tops. The ground is hard, and the impact is harder as he lands in an ungainly heap. But the little giggle Harriet gives is worth it, even if the humor is lost as he shakily pulls himself into the light. “Don’t you recognize me, kiddo?”

Nothing. No reply, no recognition. Not even a response. He’s raised his kid well, even if it’s to his detriment. Don’t talk to suspiciously friendly people. If anything, she crawls further under the bench, keeping a wary eye on him. Luka sighs, running a hand over his head. Of course… it wouldn’t be this easy.

He spots the forgotten hat, lying on the ground, and reaches for it, stretching his arm far, grabbing it - and in that moment, when his eyes shift, Harriet makes a run for it. Smart girl. But he sees her hesitate, as he’s lying there with her favorite thing in the world. In response Luka slowly lifts up his girl’s favorite little topper, smiling forlornly.

“Come on Harriet. It’s me, Luka. I know it might be hard to believe right now but… don’t you recognize your father?”

Harriet stops. Not because she believes him. But because those words are familiar. Because when she was under the bed, sobbing her eyes out because her parents were splitting over her, over her… her dad had leaned down, with that same, forlorn smile, and had said…

“Come on, Harriet. I know it might be hard to believe right now… but it’s going to be okay.”

...In that same tone of voice…

“...D...dad?!” Harriet whispers, leaning down to take the hat, her eyes practically boggling. “What happened to you?”

Luka just laughs. That nervous, over-loud laugh he does when he’s losing a case, and pulls himself closer, wrapping around his daughter for a hug. Harriet tenses under him for the suddenness, the strangeness of it - but she doesn’t try to run. Instead she holds him back, comforting and being comforted at the same time.

“I have no idea. But we need to go. It’s not safe with Vanessa still around.”

[leviiattacks]

Two Faced | Chapter Five

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 3k author note :: just got diagnosed with covid so i have a lot of spare time on my hands so ummm send in any requests you have into my ask box i’d love to try doing headcanons!! → next part is here!!

Erwin sees the confused look you have and now he too seems lost as he shifts his line of vision to Levi. At that moment your husband slams his heel and grinds it onto your foot. Squirming around in your seat dealing with the stinging pain you catch on that you can't let Erwin think you're clueless.

Quickly, the look of confusion washes away from your features and you return his smile. "I'm willing to do what I must."

You think you've ruined this entirely because Erwin's eyes dart suspiciously between you and your husband. However, Hange intervenes, the interference seems to be enough for him to shake off any skepticism he senses.

Two hands hold onto your frame and squeeze your shoulders. Hange is standing up and seems ecstatic."You two are just so evil." they cackle to themself and you play along laughing too. You are not giving Levi the opportunity to ram into your foot again. Hange who is practically a personified ray of Sunshine at all times does still seem a little down, you did pick up on it when you entered the room. Maybe it was just you overthinking, that's what you assure yourself with.

Then it settles in your bones. Evil? Blinking you turn to look at Levi hoping for some sort of indication about whatever is going on.

"She wouldn't listen to me at all, said she felt the need to step in and help the Empire in some way." His tone is monotonous, still not sparing you a glance and you want to kick him in the shins. He's usually much more affectionate and you're afraid Squad Leader Hange and Commander Erwin will figure out this is all a facade.

"It's a noble commitment to put yourself forward for such a risky position, I see why you and Lance Corporal Levi are a sound match." Erwin isn't smiling this time but his tone is content.

Mind now buzzing with ideas you want to fall face first into the carpeted floor of the office spread out like a starfish. You would prefer that instead of being left in the dark. Could they simply mention the name of whatever it is you've apparently offered to do?

Levi's clearly grimaces but then he moves to hold your hand rather boldly. Shaking him off isn't an available option because of his strong grip. "She wouldn't listen to me at all. If I had it my way she wouldn't step anywhere near enemy soil." He grumbles.

The fake concern he's trying to lace in his voice is having an effect on his two colleagues, they're eating it up and believe this act.

Enemy soil? Risky position? He has to be stealthily plotting your death because you see no other reason for why you would be sent off to venture anywhere near the enemy. You aren't even apart of their regime, or any regime for that matter, you're itching with nervousness and want to free your hand from his desperately.

The only emotion this man is good at feigning is straight boredom, he ignores the way your hand shakes and squirms, ignores how your palms are dampening with sweat, instead the way he holds onto you only strengthens. It's surprising that no one has said a word about the lack of chemistry between the two of you.

Suddenly Hange looks down at their pocket watch and hurriedly gets to their feet dragging Erwin up with them too. "Y/N, I have something to tell you later on, please do stop by HQ when you can, I expect that will be soon." They then tell Erwin that there's no time to loiter and that there are more important meetings to attend to.

Erwin leans into your ear and whispers. "He seems disturbed that you're putting yourself at risk. He means well." You wish that were the case but it isn't. Despite that the way Erwin tries to explain Levi's behavior is sweet.

Hange gives you a cute thumbs up but makes it a point that you need to speak later on, even as they're both walking out the door Hange keeps reminding you to meet up later on. The abnormal behavior between you and Levi may have been noticed but you know if that were the case Hange would have been more vocal about it.

"Combat classes start soon. We know this will all be difficult, building you up from scratch is hazardous but all in good time you will serve a key role in the liberation of Paradis."

Erwin's parting words are gracious.

And then both the Commander and Squad Leader leave, the room is empty but Levi doesn't even wait for the door to shut behind your two visitors.

He makes it a priority to throw your hand away from his, he's now methodically using his handkerchief to dust his fingers off. It's oddly ironic and enrages you because he's the one who grappled your hand into his grasp. What's the point when those same hands until recently looped around your waist in the middle of the night?

He thinks your hand is filthy, that you yourself are filthy and disgusting. At least that's what you think he thinks.

Crossing your arms over your chest you make your feelings known to Levi. You're frustrated beyond the way words can describe, it's not about how he refuses to touch you. Admittedly that does hurt you, makes your chest swell in remembrance of the old days but you really just want to know what he's put you up to without your permission.

Not speaking you wait for him to take the hint but he doesn't get it or he refuses to acknowledge your existence, something tells you it's the latter because all he cares about is sanitizing his hands.

He always had been a clean freak but when he was enchanted it didn't take much for him to touch you. Part of you wonders if it's the nature of the touch that he wants to exterminate or the fact it's your skin he's come in contact with which is bothering him.

"Care to explain?"

"Touching someone such as yourself romantically gives me the urge to retch." The confession is as acidic as the after taste one has after a late night of drinking, but he has no problem telling you the blunt truth.

"I see." You shortly reply, you weren't asking about that, your question was directed more towards the conversation which just took place with his colleagues but now knowing he doesn't want to touch you has an emptying effect on your chest.

A silent minute passes, maybe two minutes, you're not sure all you're doing is eyeing the carpet thinking about how you would like to be asphyxiated and brought to your end, you can't handle this for much longer.

"Sign these papers, we need your written consent." His voice shows no hints hints of Lev. Last night may have been the last time you had a chance to witness him.

A stack of documents is thrown in front of you and then you see it right at the top of the pile. A sheet filled with general information, eyes skim over the "Purpose of employment" section and you don't know what churns in your stomach. Is it Exasperation? Nerves? Grief? It can't be pinpointed, it could be a mix of all three.

"An Informant."

Rereading the title you hold the paper in disbelief between your palms. "You told your regiment that I would be willing to spy in on enemy kingdoms?"

His hands rub at his forehead, he's not perturbed at all. "Is it in your blood to be ungrateful?" Brutally cynical his tone is rocky.

He moves - not even towards you but for some reason you flinch stopping him in his tracks almost immediately. Narrow ice cold eyes trace your face carefully for any signs of manipulation or deception. Gulping anxiously you know you have to be careful with what you say or do. Getting too comfortable or casual around him is a risk you are not willing to take.

"I don't think you understand. I do not have the abilities nor the skill to do this. I would cause more issues." You cautiously move to grab his arm but before you get there he takes a wide step back. He's clearly defining that there's a boundary. You won't step into his territory not when you've already invaded a large portion of it for so long.

"I am no witch. I still don't understand what happened." You mutter hoping he believes you or at least tries to.

"Then die." Levi hisses. He fixes you with his poisonous stare. "Make it quick."

Curse yourself to a life with this man who every step of the way is hoping for your death - maybe he'll even push you towards it purposefully one day. The alternative choice available is to die by the hands of that same man right now.

Guilt and regret are what you feel, you can't look death in the eye proudly. Not right now. If you can't commit to the promise you made mother then there is truly no point in making your way to the afterlife.

Cowardice is not the cause of death you want to present her with.

With a heavy heart you sign the papers.

It's been a few days since then, you've received training from some of Levi's squad, at first the combat is nerve wracking but you get to a level where you feel comfortable in terms of defense.

Oluo is slow, you've picked up on the way his stance predicts every move he's about to make. You're thankful for that because it makes training easier, he's oblivious to just how easy it is to read his movements and you snigger at that. Today he's trying a new technique, it consists of attempting to dive in the direction of one of your shoulders and suddenly darting at the other. It catches you off guard for a second but it's simple to block him. Jumping back from another surprise attack you lunge forward as if you're aiming for his face. He lights up thinking this is his chance unbeknownst to him you've already seen the open opportunity you've been waiting for. You can change the wager in this brawl. Swiftly ducking you undercut him with one of your legs, his balance has been knocked and he stumbles teetering by a thread.

A solid kick to his stomach is all it takes for him to collapse to the ground grumbling in vexation.

Mikasa has been helping you with one on one combat and the extra hours of training behind the stables has clearly been of benefit.

Thinking back to your training sessions with Mikasa you frown, not because of the way she flipped you and shoved you into the dirt, no that part was quite exhilarating. It's Sasha. She's been on your mind. She has to be feeling left out, that's your fault you've kept her in the dark about joining the regime, how could you attend training with her? Your maid waiting on you whilst you were training? Impossible.

The last problem you wish to arise is everyone finding out you're Duchess Ackerman. No one has to know about that minor detail, in fact when you informed Hange and Erwin of your decision they strongly agreed it would be best to hide it.

"I think we should get you strapped into some gear. See how good you really are in the dexterity department." Oluo is spitefully mumbling under his breath red faced.

Offering him your hand he looks like he wants to smack it away, You don't have time for this, you were planning on dropping by and paying Hange their more than overdue visit after training hours were up.

ODM-gear doesn't look too hard, you're sure you can work out the mechanisms if given some time. Calculating and shifting time blocks in your head you can come to an end at Six, if and only if you're able to rush past ODM training.

"Okay, I admit you were tired today I could tell. I'll strap myself into some gear."

At this new new challenge Oluo willingly takes your hand and you heave him up.

He's got a cocky shit-eating grin sprawled across his face as he pats your back enthusiastically.

"Good luck, you're in for one hell of a ride."

Three dimensional ODM-gear, a contraption that is very different to a sword or dagger. Most soldiers find it difficult to master the balancing of all their body weight whilst simultaneously gliding through the air with the grapple hooks. This is why introductory lessons in balance, momentum and effective weight distribution are a must.

It's been instructed that you won't be using ODM-gear nearly as much as other members of the regiment, you're training to become a spy after all and ODM-gear is very obviously visible when a person is strapped into their uniform. Nevertheless it's still a requirement to be able to use it. It's a hurdle because it's not your forte by any means but you can't continue avoiding it.

When living as the Duchess you deemed it pivotal to only interact with a limited number of Levi's colleagues, those who worked at the estate couldn't be avoided such as Mikasa but apart from that Hange was the only outsider you spoke to (Before Erwin had come along). You don't know if you regret that decision because it's definitely why everyone is cackling as you thrash around, they have no idea he has a wife and if they do they show no inclination of knowing you are that woman.

Sniggers can be heard as you struggle to center your strength fully, your instructor bellows at you. "No, come on. STOP FLAILING AROUND!" Particles of his saliva fly in your face and that only feeds into your embarrassment. Paralyzed you don't know what to do, he tells you to not move around then the next minute barks at you to not give up, repeats that you have the agility level equivalent of a sick child.

You've been stuck in this upside down position for more time than you can imagine, at some point a large majority of the scouts including Oluo double down in laughter whenever you make a mistake - they berate you when you are trying your best.

Legs kicking out you're panicking and want to escape the harness you're in.

Oluo was right, nothing could prepare you for this.

Mikasa when she isn't busy assisting Levi is a part of the regime too, that's why she's grinding her teeth this morning when she walks into the training grounds and sees the whole scene play out right before her eyes.

She wants to desperately step in and stop this because you being forced into ODM training without having your core strength developed is unfair.

Then a yell is heard from the crowd "GO Y/N!! LISTEN TO ME ALL YOU NEED TO DO IS KEEP CALM!" Both you and Mikasa turn to see Sasha standing next to her.

Sasha? Mikasa knows very well how you forbade her to follow you today, you gave her the day off to visit her family.

"I thought Y/N warned yo-"

"I am dedicated in my service to the Lady, if she chooses to do this I will be by her side to support her. She does not have to feel embarrassed."

Members of the corps are eyeing her weirdly when she says "Lady" she doesn't know you're keeping your identity secret, that was the reason for giving her time away, you were afraid she'd slip up and expose you but simply hearing Sasha proudly announce her commitment for you in front of all these people knocks the wind right out of your chest. You've never felt this much importance before.

Sasha's motivation is all you need because by a miraculous turn of events you manage to steady your breathing pattern and find it within yourself to focus on your core. Wobbling shakily the transition is far from smooth but you flip yourself right side up, the muscles in your calf ache and throb with pain but you've done it.

Grinning from ear to ear at your two friends you feel light-headed with relief.

"Took her long enough." Levi sneers. He's made his way to the front of the crowd, you wonder when he got here. Beaming at him you think your presentation might be enough to discourage his usual response. You're incorrect.

"She's a shame to this squad, there is no need in motivating someone of her rank." Shallow breaths puffing out of you it comes to your attention that he's addressing Sasha.

She ignores what he has to say about you and stays silent, any normal person would have their head hanging down in shame but she looks into his eyes with a determination that takes your breath away.

He pays her no mind after that and turns back to where you're still struggling to keep steady. "Don't think you're hot shit." Your bottom teeth dig into your lip, and your throat suddenly clamps down on you restricting your breath. "She's no good at combat, no good at using her gear. Do you only excel at spreading lies, Cadet?" The way he's now completely indignant in the way he speaks stings. He doesn't even bother to sound normal in front of Mikasa or Sasha anymore, it makes you manually hollow your cheeks trying to keep your tears at bay.

Lies, you know what he's referencing. You want to grab him by the collar of his shirt and throw him to the muddy ground. That's what he deserves for prodding and poking at your vulnerabilities.

He doesn't understand the degree at which all these sudden changes are affecting you, in his eyes this is light work and shouldn't impact you at all, that's why when you feel a muscle contraction and reel backwards, rapidly falling back into that cursed upside down position. He scoffs, doesn't even move to check if you're okay.

Whispers circle around you and even some of the cadets who participated in ridiculing you step forward to take you out of your harness. However, Sasha and Mikasa get there first and shoot them with their intense glares, the both of them work on hoisting you out of your gear.

Levi takes one last look at you before he storms away convinced you're faking, what else would a runt like you do to escape the situation?

In his mind you lost your momentum and your ship capsized because of your own self sabotage.

Little does he know all that has truly lost momentum is the inner-workings of your heart and that is all thanks to him.

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-Six

@lukadrien-june

Read it on AO3: Your Hands Hold Home: Chapter Twenty-Six: Secret Relationship

Adrien pulled back with a jolt, springing to his feet and knocking the coffee table with his knee.

The mugs clattered, sloshing tea on the table.

Adrien and Luka stared at one another, wide-eyed.

“S-Sorry. I—I’m sorry. I can’t—”

“—Adrien,” Luka tried to intervene, getting to his feet and holding up his hands in a placating gesture.

“I can’t do this,” Adrien blurted out and then bolted, not stopping until he reached the safety of his cabin.

 Luka sulked.

He wallowed in his suffering, allowing himself to indulge in all kinds of negative thoughts that would only make the hurt worse because, for the first time since Papillon had appeared half a decade before, he could without fear of causing the rest of Paris to have a bad day too.

He let himself steep in his dark mood for a few hours before he decided that it was time to act like an adult and suck it up.

With a sigh, he set aside his violin, got up, and dragged himself across the hall to Adrien’s cabin door.

“Who is it?” Adrien called hoarsely from within, and Luka mentally kicked himself for making Adrien cry.

“It’s…It’s me,” Luka sighed in response. “May I come in?”

Adrien was silent for an unbearably long stretch before finally responding with a faint, “…No.”

Luka exhaled slowly and let his head thunk against the door. “Adrien, I’m really sorry, but I need to talk to you, and I’d rather not have this conversation with a door.”

“Tough,” Adrien scoffed, but his voice sounded closer.

Luka reached up and trailed his fingertips along the grain of the wood, imaging Adrien right on the other side of the partition.

“I’m really sorry.” Luka eased his way in. “What happened earlier was a mistake.”

Adrien’s features contorted in pain, and he was glad that he hadn’t let Luka in because how could he hope to hide so much raw anguish?

He pressed his back to the door and slid down it to sit in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Yeah,” he choked bitterly. “A mistake.”

“I’m sorry,” Luka repeated, feeling vile and low. “I know you’ve got a lot going on in your life, and I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your vulnerability like that. I know it’s not an excuse for my behavior, but I got carried away in the moment, and I’m sorry.

“It won’t happen again,” he promised ruefully. “I swear to keep things completely platonic, so there’s no need to—”

“—Luka, I’m not a home wrecker,” Adrien grumbled acerbically. “I’m not going to tell Xavier-Yves what you did, so don’t worry about it. Just go away, please.”

Luka blinked, lifting his head to stare at the door, utterly befuddled. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, letting out a sigh of irritation. “I know you two are secretly dating, Luka. I’m not so much of a jerk that I’d tell your boyfriend about what almost happened, so stop trying to butter me up with your apologies and leave me alone. Please.”

“Adrien, I’m not dating Xavier-Yves,” Luka informed in confusion, trying the doorknob and finding it locked.

Adrien blinked, playing Luka’s words over and over a few times before their meaning sank in. “…You’re not?”

“No,” Luka confirmed. “Hey, could you open the door, please? I’d really like to talk to you.”

Adrien got up off of the floor and yanked the door open.

He stared at Luka for a moment, noting how bad he looked.

Luka was similarly struck dumb by Adrien’s gaunt appearance.

Adrien recovered first, demanding, “You’re not dating Xavier-Yves?”

Luka shook his head.

“But…” Adrien’s brows creased. “I saw you guys kissing.”

Luka’s eyes bugged out, and his jaw dropped.

He made a little choked sound. “You what?”

“The other day,” Adrien pressed. “He told you he loved you, and you two were kissing, and… You guys haven’t been dating this whole time and keeping it secret because of his father being a homophobic jerk?”

Luka shook his head. “No. We’re… Nothing like that is going on.”

Adrien whapped Luka on the arm. “Why the hell not? You heard the song he made for you. You like him. He loves you. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Feeling like the floor had dropped out from under him, all Luka could do was stare in bewilderment and shrug helplessly.

“It’s…complicated,” was the only answer he found himself capable of giving.

Adrien slammed the door in Luka’s face.

Luka inwardly groaned, berating himself for mucking things up as his head came to rest on the door with a dull thunk once more.

Meanwhile, Adrien sighed, slumping to the floor with his back against the door again.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled contritely. “I just…I can’t deal with complicated right now.”

“Okay,” Luka muttered glumly, his heart sinking down to be eroded by the acid in his stomach. “…Do you want me to go?”

“Yes,” Adrien lied and was very disappointed in both Luka and himself when he heard Luka’s feet shuffling away, back to his own room.

Adrien tipped over onto his side, curling up on the floor in misery.

He wondered if that had been a fight and then puzzled over what exactly they’d been fighting about.

He knew it was his own fault, but he couldn’t squash the urge to blame someone else just to spread out the pain a little.

 Luka jumped at the tentative tap at his bedroom door breaking in on his concentration.

His eyes widened as he stared in surprise at Adrien.

“Hi.” Luka lowered his violin and waited to see what Adrien would do.

Adrien’s gaze dropped down to the floor as he fidgeted, all nerves.

He hesitantly raised a hand in greeting. “Hi.”

“Nightmare?” Luka inquired, careful to keep his tone neutral so as not to betray anything he was feeling and scare Adrien off.

Luka couldn’t bear his small flicker of hope being crushed again.

Adrien shook his head, peeking up at Luka. “I just…I missed you.”

A tentative smile began to form on Luka’s lips as he patted the bed beside him.

Adrien eagerly scrambled to take a seat and regain some sense of normalcy.

“Sorry,” he hastily began the script he’d been rehearsing for hours now. “I’m sorry about how I acted earlier. I’m…I’m really messed up lately, and I…I can’t take complicated right now. I can’t do complicated, so…”

“Adrien?” Luka carefully placed a hand on Adrien’s arm, his touch light and his grip loose so that Adrien could easily pull away if he so chose.

Adrien’s head whipped around, and he stared apprehensively into Luka’s warm, loving eyes.

“It’s okay. I forgive you, and I’m sorry for how I acted earlier too. Do you think you can forgive me?” He held his breath and mentally crossed his fingers.

Ever so slowly, Adrien started to nod. “…Yeah. Yeah, no. This is… This is all on me. I didn’t… I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry I acted so irrationally. I was running on pure feelings, and I…I…”

He shook his head. “I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Luka urged. “I don’t claim to completely understand your situation, but I do sort of get it. Let’s just pretend that that stuff today didn’t happen, okay? Clean slate?” he suggested.

Adrien gulped and nodded, seeing that this was his best chance. “Yeah, that’s probably for the best. You’re so important to me, Luka, and I don’t want to mess things up between us.”

Luka bit the bullet and nodded, accepting that that was the only way to preserve their friendship. “Yeah. I feel the same way. You’re too important for me to lose too.”

Adrien breathed a little sigh of relief and attempted one of his beatific smiles.

It was a poor shadow of the usual expression, but Luka let it go without comment.

“Are you ready for bed? Wait here a sec while I change, okay?” he prompted as if nothing were wrong and this were any other night.

Adrien adopted the same attitude, even going so far as to snuggle up into Luka’s space when they were under the covers.

They could both feel the shift between them, but neither said anything, desperately clinging to the fiction that nothing had changed and everything was still completely platonic between them.

Even though they had made up, the tension was still palpable.

[sirowsky]

The Flowers Always Know

Description: When a mad scientist uses you as an experiment while you’re on holiday, the Heroics only just manage to save you. And in your recovery you become very close to the leader of the group. (Slow burn)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, mentions of torture, psychological distress. Angst.

Link to Masterlist

Comment: We’ve had a few cute and funny chapters now, so we were bound for some trouble. Old ghosts mixes with more recent, and the resulting damage will have lasting consequences.

Chapter 13

  “Hey, kid, scram. Your dad and I need to have a grown-up talk.”

  “Got it. I’ll finish watching this in my room with my headphones on.”

  Missy and Marcus were in the living room watching a movie, when you walked in after having taken a long hot shower after work and dinner. She got up and bounced off towards her room, and Marcus did his best to play it off, but he was suddenly very nervous.

  “Kid? What happened to sweetie?”

  “There’s a time for sweetie, and a time for kid.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Nope. Just something we can’t really put off any longer.”

  “Okay.”

  You sat down on the table in front of the sofa, facing him.

  “So, you know how I was a little off at lunch the other day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well… I was late.”

  “Oh. That kind of late.”

  “Yep. It was a false alarm, I got my period today, but considering the fact that we haven’t been careful – at all, we can’t really ignore it. I mean, I know it’s a big conversation to have after just two weeks, but if we put it off, it might end up being too late.”

  “Right. Well… If you’re asking what my attitude is to having more children, the answer is that I’d love that. And if you’re asking me if I’d freak out if we got pregnant already after just two weeks, my answer would be – no. I don’t think I would. I’m sure about you, about us, and this family has plenty of room to grow.”

  “Oh.”

  It was all you could push out of your mouth after hearing him declare his thoughts on the matter so clearly. You were so ambivalent, yourself, that it was almost jarring to hear his simplicity.

  “What about you?”

  This was the part you’d been dreading. You had so much baggage where family was concerned, and you honestly weren’t sure if you were ready to talk to him about it. But you owed it to him to at least try to explain where you stood on children.

  “Hey, preciosa, what is it?”

  You hadn’t even noticed that your eyes were watering.

  “Um… It’s just… my own family… it wasn’t a good place. I don’t have a lot of fond memories of growing up and I’m just… completely fucking terrified that I’m somehow gonna taint this beautiful little family with that… darkness.”

  He listened silently, but he looked worried, and reached out to take your hands when the tears started to fall.

  “I have never realistically thought about having a family. Not because I didn’t want one, but because I just never thought that it was in the cards for me. I had more or less convinced myself that I’d never deserve something like that. And then I met you, and… damned it! Now I want all of it, and I don’t know how to deal with that.”

  He kept searching your eyes, but you had no idea what he was looking for. His voice was as soft as he could make it when he finally spoke.

  “Why wasn’t it a good place? What happened with your family, hermosa?”

  “I… I can’t.”

  “Please, just tell me. Whatever it is, you won’t lose me. I’m right here. Please.”

  The memories surged up behind your eyes, and you closed them as hard as you could, trying to keep it all out, trying to make the truth disappear. But it never would. So, you just cried. Painfully, forcefully.   Marcus held you as you doubled over, feeling as though your insides were turning to acid, trying to destroy everything that you were.   You didn’t see or feel him cry with you. You didn’t see how much your pain made him suffer, or how helpless he felt as you curled into a foetal position when he moved you over to his lap, and wrapped his arms around you and just rocked you. You didn’t hear him continuously repeat how sorry he was, as though he had been the reason for all this pain.

  At some point, you fell asleep, and when you woke again, it was to the sound of voices close by.

  “…can’t ask her to do that! No. Absolutely not, it’s not happening.”

  “That’s not your decision to make, hijo.”

  “And it shouldn’t be hers either. She shouldn’t have to even think about it.”

  “It might be good for her. Confronting it. Has she ever even talked to you about it?”

  “No. Not directly.”

  “And you know that that’s never healthy.”

  “And meeting the man that tortured you, is?!”

  “What?”

  You’d made your way from the sofa to the kitchen, where Marcus was arguing with his mother. But you stopped cold when you heard that last part.

  “Sweetheart, you should get to bed, you’re exhausted.”

  “No. Tell me.”

  Marcus couldn’t bring himself to say it, so you turned to Anita.

  “Dr. Prince wants to meet you. He’s saying that if he can talk to you for one hour, he will give the authorities the names of the three unidentified bodies they found at his facility, and disclose a secondary location, where he’s claiming to have hidden an additional ten.”

  You suddenly felt completely numb. You had never once asked to see a picture of the man, and while you were authorised to watch the videos of his interrogations, you never had. You’d made a choice at some stage of your recovery to leave all of that behind, and focus on moving forward. Without Marcus, you couldn’t have done that, because he had been the light that you had constantly been running towards. That you were still running towards.

  Fuck… you were still running. Which meant that you still felt like there was something you needed to run from.

  “Okay. I’ll do it.”

  Marcus lost every shade of colour in his face, and he stared at you with complete disbelief. Anita nodded and turned to leave.

  “I’ll let them know. It’ll probably be set up for the day after tomorrow.”

  As she left the house, you turned and walked to the bedroom, still not feeling anything, even your own feet as they moved over the floor. You sat down on your side of the bed, your back to the door, and tried not to think at all. You didn’t have to speak to him, you could just sit there and let him talk, it wouldn’t matter what he said.   But, of course it would. Every fucking word would matter. How could it not?

  “You don’t have to. They’ll get that information out of him some other way. It doesn’t have to be you.”

  He came in, rounded the bed and crouched down in front of you while he spoke.

  “Yeah, it does. Because it was always me. It was me in that hospital, it was me on that bed for weeks, it was me…”

  “Por favor, no hagas esto.”

  You just looked at him, trying to mould your face into the expression that you always gave him when you didn’t know what he was saying. You couldn’t really feel what your face was doing, but it seemed to work anyway.

  “Please… mi amor, don’t do this.”

***

  You had forbidden Marcus from accompanying you to the prison. You were nervous enough yourself; you didn’t need the added tension of his nerves on top of yours.   You’d never seen him that angry before, and suddenly Amaire’s comments about him turning into Cujo had made sense. There really was something wild about him when he was that furious, especially since he didn’t act it out, but got unnaturally still instead.

  There were forms to fill out and long corridors to cross before you got to the room. It was a specialised visitation room, parted in two with a thick reinforced piece of plexiglass. There were no holes in it, so the sound was carried over electronically, from small microphones to speakers in both sections of the room. It was all managed from an adjoining control room, where you waited the last few minutes before your hour would begin.   There was no possibility what so ever, that he could physically harm you during your visit. But that wasn’t what you were concerned about.   He was already there when you stepped through the door from the control room, walked in and sat down on the offered chair in the middle of your section.   He looked… ordinary.   He was quiet for a few minutes, while he seemed to study you, but then he spoke, and your blood turned to ice.

  “I knew it was possible. I always knew, despite the data, despite the numerous failures, that it would be possible, if I could just find the perfect specimen. And I did. Wow, you turned out so perfect.”

  You’d heard that voice before. You had never been able to remember anything of what actually happened in Egypt, and you still didn’t. But your body knew that voice. Your body remembered the pain that had accompanied that voice.   You didn’t want to answer him, but you needed to.

  “You’re delusional. Even now, you can’t admit that you failed. I don’t have any powers.”

  “Yes, you do. I can see it. You might not have discovered them yet, but you have them.”

  “You’re wrong. You’re grasping…”

  “You were different from the start, you know. The way you responded to the enhanced cells. The first round was so intriguing, seeing how you dealt with the pain, oh, you were so strong. You never stopped fighting me, even when you could no longer move. And then, as you regained your strength, you tried so hard to escape. The second round was more delicate, trying to figure out how much I dared to give you, to keep pushing your system, without breaking it, but you were amazing. No matter how much I gave you, you kept bouncing back as soon as you got the chance. So, I knew you’d survive the final round, the one that would actually send your body over the threshold.”

  “I’d be flattered by your confidence in my abilities, if not for the fact that you fucking tortured me for two days.”

  “Oh, no, my dear, I had you at my mercy for three weeks.”

  The ice in your veins seemed to double. Rationally, you wanted to believe what your mind was telling you, which was that it wasn’t true, how could it be? But your body’s reaction to him told you that there was more to this than you had realised.

  “…no, that’s… not possible.”

  “I changed your digital footprint, and rearranged your mind a little, with the help of a certain skilled friend. You went through ten rounds of my treatment, each one slightly more potent than the last. The final one, was mesmerising. It overwhelmed your system, letting the enhanced cells take control for a while, and in mere seconds you were healed. You were perfect. You are perfect. You’re a testament, living proof, you’re my salvation and redemption!”

  You were on your feet and by the door in two seconds, and they opened it for you the moment you reached it.   You collapsed on the floor and vomited into a trashcan as soon as you passed through the door. Your hands were shaking as you tried to steady yourself enough to sit up. But, when you lifted your arm up to grab the edge of the desk, you suddenly stopped shaking. From one second to the next. And a familiar strength eased its way through your nerves.   Marcus’ current. You looked around, confused, since you were convinced that he wasn’t there, but he was. He was right there in front of you, kneeling down with the most pained expression you’d ever seen on his face, and his eyes were so dark you didn’t even recognise them.   He was afraid to touch you, to get too close. But you couldn’t tell if it was because of his own anger or if he was actually afraid of you.

  “Marcus…”

  He didn’t move.

  “Please.”

  He stood up and backed away, and you felt as though you might break in half.

  “Don’t. Please, no hagas esto…”

  His current left you as he moved too far away for it to reach you. And you’d never felt emptiness like that before.

  Twenty minutes later you walked out of the prison, feeling like you were on autopilot. Nothing inside you was working right, and you had no idea how to even begin fixing it. You just knew that everything hurt.

  But as you stepped out into the bright sunlight, you were met with complete destruction.   The cars in the parking lot, the lamp-posts, even the pavement was broken where pipes and wires had been wrung out of it. Every piece of metal in sight was crumpled or distorted.   Marcus had been afraid of hurting you. And even if you knew that he never would, as long as he didn’t trust himself, you knew he would never touch you.

  Some hours later, after doing what damage control you could for Marcus at the prison, a cab dropped you off at your house. It looked so cold and empty after the weeks spent at Casa Moreno, that you didn’t even wanna go inside. But, you had nowhere else to go.

  Or, maybe, you did…

  It took you an hour to get there, and it was a difficult place to find, even though you had the correct address.   You knocked on the door and waited. You honestly had no idea if you’d be welcome here, but if you weren’t… you didn’t have a plan B. You’d just sleep out there on the grass.   The door opened after a while, and Anita looked you over, head to toe, before settling on your eyes.

  “Ah, niña. I’m gonna wring his neck the next time I see him, you mark my words.”

Authors’ Note: I love criticism, don’t be shy to let me know if there’s anything you like/don’t like/have questions about.

@blueeyesatnight​ @farfromjustordinary​ @allmyspideys​ @hrk-fic-recs​ @strawberryperegrine

[tearsofgrace]

Hellscape

written for suptober day 28: hellscape

this one sorta got away from me (NOT MY FAULT)

word count: 2.4k, tags: mcd, angst, fluff, pillow talk, dean winchester has nightmares, no happy ending, cas’ deal

also on archive

Hell had never really left Dean. Cas had pulled him out, lost angels in the process. But part of it had come with him. Even all these years later, he still sometimes woke with the heavy stench of sulfur filling his nostrils.

He could still see it, vivid as ever. The fifty years blended together but the landscape was stark in his mind. Bright flashes of lightning illuminating everlasting fires and tortured souls. He could see the chains in the sky, the jagged mountains, the place that had been his workstation--all of it in vivid color, seeping into his mind like a poison.

The sounds were the worst part though. He never saw them in connection with the visions--those were always silent--but they still rang in his ears. It was mostly at night, but sometimes he’d be walking down the street with Sam, on some case or rather, and see someone that looked like one of the souls that he had-

And every time he heard their piercing screams in his ear. But he could deal with those. He couldn’t deal with the small whimpers, the pleading, the defeat. The sound of a small child gasping as he dug the razor further into their neck, his eyes clouded over as he tried to be somewhere else. Because if he was in the moment, if he let himself be there, then he knew he would enjoy it. His sick, twisted mind would enjoy it. Even when he wanted to turn the razor on himself.

He didn’t talk about it anymore though. It didn’t haunt him as much now. New traumas had filled its place. But the visions of Hell somehow stung the most, rang the truest.

And more than anything in his life, Cas had been the one to help that trauma fade to background noise. Of course Sam had too. Or he’d tried. But Dean couldn’t really let Sam in. And sharing memories of Hell with Sam felt cruel, when his brother’s experience in Hell had been a million times worse. Some of that pain had been taken by Cas though.

He was ready to bleed for both of them. To suffer for both of them. Whether it was a desire to pay for his sins or simply a seemingly unending loyalty, he was always there.

Dean hated how easy it was to talk to him. Hated the peace he found when he was with him. Guilt would claw its way up his throat.

He wasn’t worthy to be talking to Cas. To be in the same room as Cas. He was the one who had dragged him to Earth even as Cas pulled him from Hell. And Cas kept choosing him over and over. And as much as Dean hated it… he loved it. He loved him. Not that he would ever allow himself the pleasure of saying it out loud.

When the nightmares came, it was always Cas who answered his screams. Even if they were silent, pleas spoken within his soul, the angel would come.

He would jerk awake, his heart pounding and body paralyzed. Sometimes it would take him a few seconds to know where he was, sometimes it would take him several minutes. Cas always seemed to know, almost instinctively, what he needed. When he wanted to be touched, wanted to have something real and solid to ground him. When he wanted to be left alone, just have someone else in the room to help him through it.

Sometimes, providing there wasn’t a danger of Sam walking in, he would ask Cas to crawl into the bed with him. It was just brotherly, he wasn’t kidding himself about that, but it made all the difference. In the angel’s arms, he felt safe, he felt home. He knew the nightmares couldn’t hurt him then.

The last time Cas had come into his room, had saved him from himself, was the day he was taken.

That time had been different.

Cas had softly opened the door as usual, crossed the room quickly and laid a hand on his forehead. Everything had been so easy between them since Purgatory, even with all the pain swirling through the halls of the Bunker. He’d whispered a few soft words and smoothed back Dean’s sweat slicked hair.

It was then that Dean woke up, the feeling of a blade still heavy in his hand. Cas whispered to him softly, bringing him back to his room, far away from the torments of that place. Something had been different in the air though. It was so sweet between them, so open, that Dean hadn’t even hesitated before scooting over and making room for Cas on the bed.

As soon as the angel was settled, he snuggled into him, wrapping his entire body around him. They didn’t normally get this close. It was easier to pretend it was platonic otherwise.

After some time, Dean whispered, “Thanks, Cas.”

He could feel the tightness in his muscles still, the panic that had seized him so completely. But it was starting to go away. He felt like he could breathe again, Cas’ scent filling his mind and drowning out the acidic smell of Hell.

“Of course.”

“I-,” Dean started before taking a deep breath and nestling further into Cas, “You make it easier.”

Cas just nodded against Dean and pulled him in closer.

“Cas?” Dean asked sleepily, his limbs almost free of that heart-stopping anxiety.

“Yes?”

“What if Chuck wins?”

He felt Cas’ grip tighten around him immediately and he let himself fall into it, completely encircled by Cas’ warmth- no, it wasn’t even warmth. With Cas it was just a bubble of pure energy that crept into Dean, making him feel whole.

“He won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Cas sighed, his hot breath falling on Dean’s neck and sending shivers down his spine. “You and Sam have saved the world again and again. If anyone stands a chance against-”

“And you.” Dean interrupted without thinking, drinking in the feeling of Cas pressed against him.

“What?”

This time when he answered, he was more alert, more insistent. “And you. You help us save the world, Cas. No- Dammit,” he paused, searching for the words. “You don’t just help, Cas. You are a part of this team, of this family, in every way. You’ve done more for us than anyone, and you’ve sacrificed even more for the entire world. Hell, you probably care more than Sam and I combined.”

Cas was silent. Completely silent. Not even his breathing made a sound. After he hadn’t responded or even moved for a while, Dean shifted and looked up at him. His eyes were gleaming, swimming with tears. None of them spilled over the edge though, just made his blue eyes shine in the dark.

“I mean it,” he said firmly. Then he let his head fall back onto Cas’ chest, loathe to lose Cas’ eyes but missing the feeling of him.

When Cas finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, even lower and scratchier than usual. “Thank you, Dean.”

“What if we do win?” Dean said. His anxiety was all but gone and a sense of peace and hope was taking its place. He liked feeling this way, as little as it happened.

Cas cleared his throat before he answered, and when he did his voice was back to normal. “What do you mean?”

“What next? Sammy will probably want out… he could settle down with Eileen, be happy. He wouldn’t have to be all out either, they could do small hunts on the side. Who knows what Jack will do. What about you, though?” Dean squeezed out the last question quickly, afraid of the answer. He couldn’t keep going, even if the world was safe, without Cas by his side.

“What do you plan on doing?” Cas responded.

Dean snorted, leave it to Cas to totally avoid the question. But he let his eyes fall shut and hooked his leg further through Cas’. It didn’t feel weird… it just felt natural. “Don’t know yet. I think I’ll keep hunting. But,” he took a deep breath and tensed up a little, “But I’d need someone to hunt with.”

He craned his neck up again to see a soft smile on Cas’ face. As he watched, it became more devious, more snarky. That emotion looked good on Cas, even though he almost never wore it.

“Perhaps you could get Garth to come out of retirement. He seemed awfully fond of you.”

Dean laughed softly and traced his hand across Cas’ chest slowly. “Would you, though?”

“Hunt with Garth? I don’t know. He never seemed too fond of me.” Cas’ voice was laced with sarcasm and Dean couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face.

“No, asshole. Would you,” the words choked in his throat, but he coughed them up all the same, “Would you hunt with me?”

Cas brought a hand to cover his and Dean let his hand still, the steady weight of Cas’ hand impossibly warm against his skin. “Of course.”

“Cas-” he immediately broke off. He didn’t know what it was about tonight. Why he felt so comfortable next to the angel, why the room felt so peaceful, so hopeful, why he thought he could actually have this--but he wanted to tell him. He could tell him.

Cas seemed to sense there was more to say and he kept silent, his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over Dean’s hand.

“Cas, I want to tell you something.”

“You can tell me anything.”

“I know, I just-” he took another deep breath and let out a heavy sigh. “You have to promise me you won’t hate me. Or leave me.”

“What did you do?” Cas said haltingly.

“No- I didn’t- It’s not like that.”

“Okay. I promise.”

A little weight left Dean’s chest, but a part of him didn’t believe Cas. Of course he would leave him. It would be too weird, too tense, when he didn’t feel the same way. But he had to tell him. Even if it meant getting his heart broken.

“I’m in love with you.” The words were out of his mouth before he’d even formed them, slurring together like his jumbled nerves.

Cas tensed underneath him and mentally he cursed. He tried to untangle himself but Cas pulled him back in. The angel was shaking slightly beneath him now, but he had no idea why. When he looked up into Cas eyes, they were brimming with tears again and there was a strange expression on his face. It was almost wonder, but it was so fearful too.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I shouldn’t have-”

“I love you too.”

A million emotions crowded into Dean’s heart. Joy, love, happiness, but mainly confusion. “Then what’s wrong?”

Cas chuckled bitterly, and this time a tear did escape his eyes, tracking slowly down his face. Dean watched it in fascination, tempted to wipe it away but afraid of ruining it’s journey. “I never thought- dammit, Dean,” he said softly.

Dean raised himself up breathlessly until his face was just inches from Cas. He didn’t know what was wrong. Cas’ eyes revealed nothing. Or they revealed too much. There was too much in them to read. Too much pain, too much love, too much terror. But above it all, above all the swirling emotions, was one feeling. Want.

So Dean kissed him. Softly at first, their lips barely brushing together. Then Cas responded like his life depended on it, like he would never have this chance again. Dean smiled into the kiss, letting the electricity course through him, letting it overwhelm him.

When they broke apart, Cas just smiled sadly at him.

“I love you, Dean Winchester,” he said, his eyes drifting over Dean’s shoulder to look behind him.

Dean followed his gaze and his heart stopped. “What the fuck?”

Standing with a smirk on her face was Meg. Well… it looked like Meg. But one glance at her told Dean it couldn’t be. There was something ancient about her eyes, something immensely powerful that no mere demon could possess.

“My, my, Castiel. I didn’t think I’d be seeing you so soon.”

He looked back at Cas, a desperate question in his eyes. But Cas didn’t look at him, just cast his eyes down, his expression lost.

“Didn’t think the great Dean Winchester would be able to get over years of repression, but yet here we are. You ready to go, sunshine?”

“Shut up,” Dean spat immediately. “What are you talking about?”

He untangled himself from the bed and stood to face her.

“Why don’t you ask him?”

He looked back to Cas, who finally raised his watery eyes to meet Dean’s, standing next to the other side of the bed to face him. “Cas, what’s she talking about?”

“I made a deal to save Jack,” he said bitterly. “I’m sorry.”

“Dammit, Cas.”

“The Empty,” he nodded briefly toward Meg, “Could have me as soon as I was truly happy.”

Dean let his eyes flick to Meg- the Empty, a snarl on his face. But she just smiled broadly back. Then he blinked and she was across the room, a hand on Cas’ shoulder.

“Say goodbye, boys.”

“I love you,” Cas said, tears now flowing freely from his eyes.

“No, dammit, take me instead. You can’t-” Dean took a shaky breath and realized his own eyes were getting wet. “You can’t take him.”

“I’m afraid you’re no prize next to the angel who played God. Sweet of you to say though,” she said. Then she started to fade, Cas with her.

"Goodbye, Dean." Something clenched in his chest, his heart being shattered into a million pieces.

“No!” Dean launched himself across the bed, desperately grabbing for Cas. “I love you,” he screamed as his hands landed on nothing. Just empty air. Empty air and no angel.

He just stood there. Probably for hours. His mind was still playing catch up but his body was in shock. Cas was- Cas was gone. And they hadn’t even fought Chuck yet. Cas was gone and he had no clue how to get him out. Cas was gone because he’d made a stupid deal to save their son.

Cas was gone and he’d loved him back.

The nightmares never left after that. Hell consumed his every moment, waking or not. Cas had made them so much better. He’d raised him from Hell time and time again. But now there was no one to pull him out. No one to pull him out of the dreams, the memories.

Castiel was gone and Dean Winchester was damned.

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[terracottaalchemist]

Merry Christmas @hexalianrebel-blackfeathers !!

I'm a little rusty with my writing but I hope you like it! Happy Squealing Santa

Special thanks to @ticklygiggles for organizing everything❤️

🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

The Grand Highblood was a name that churned every sane troll's stomach. Ruthless, unpredictable, purple blood twisted inside him, cold, fueling a strength only rivaled by the Royal seadwellers. Signless could deal with the cruelty of the Empress, handle the attacks from his voilet oppressors, but not this. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

Signless tugged once again at the sharp, iron cuffs on his hands, thick and noisy in the silent cell. He had always known that one day his luck would run out, that he would finally be captured, but there was gratitude in his heart that the subjugglers left his friends and followers alone. So long as he kept quiet, he would be executed with the knowledge of where Dolarosa, Deciple, and Psiioniic were going safely tucked in his soul.

His feet were bound in frigid chains, sharp on the bones of his ankles. A small light shone overhead, enough to glint off the rusted bars, but not the concrete floor. He could see every exhale curl through the air in white smoke. So cold.

At the very least, Signless could hear every time the guard came within 20 meters of his cell from the sheer weight of his leather footsteps. His stomach gurgled for more of the grub paste he'd been given yesterday, but his tongue prickled preemptively with the phantom taste of bitter acid and bile. The guard stepped into view behind the row of bars, but there was no grub paste. Just keys as they jangled around the lock on the door, which opened with a piercing whine. The guard grunted, motioning with his hand to come closer, clutching a familiar black cloth.

Two guards, ahead and behind him, led Signless through the halls on two chain leashes. The blindfold was tied tightly to his face, forcing his focus to the tiles under his bare soles, the rough material of the unwashed trousers he was given, and the chains. As they climbed an oak staircase, the temperate rose to a more comfortable chill. Signless sighed, but chokes on a sudden, harsh tug backwards. They stopped. A hard knock rang against wood close to his head, but he couldn't move away if he tried. The door opened with a dull click and Signless was lead inside.

Living all his life as a renegade, Signless considered his senses to be rather sharp. But he was preoccupied with the chains on his wrists being pulled over his head so harshly that his heels barely brushed the floor. Far too preoccupied to hear the even more massive boots against the floor until they were far too close.

"That's enough, motherfucker."

That voice. Everyone knew that voice. Signless shifted his weight back, but the chain holding him up was taut and heavy. He hung there, swaying, like an oink beast carcass.

The blindfold was yanked down to his neck, colours and lights striking his mutated eyes. Signless blinked into focus, and took in the sheer sight that was The Grand Highblood. Doubling Signless' height, his wild hair framed his shoulders and wavy horns, adding even more height. Blood-curling, white paint stuck to his face, applied with careful detail to resemble the teeth of a deep-sea horror. With a sway in his step, The Grand Highblood began circling around his prized prisoner.

"You're real fuckin' short, aren't you?"

Signless turned to look at him, but kept his mouth shut. There is only one reason to keep a troll like himself alive, after all, even if it's only for the time being. He would not crack. He couldn't. A sharp slap cut across his cheek, the mark flushing an offensive red. Signless hadn't even see him move.

"Let's make one thing motherfucking clear," Grand Highblood spat. "When I ask you a question, you best give me an answer. Understand?"

Signless licked his lips, his jaw pulsing from the single, half-hazard strike. "Yes."

"Good." He pulled the blindfold back up with a single claw, this time allowing more light to seep through. There was a snap of fingers, a grunt of acknowledgment, and the rough scraping of wood on stone as some sort of furniture was dragged closer, just out of Signless' kicking range.

"Now then, let's not waste any more motherfucking god damn time." The three seconds of silence stretch between them, tensing like a rubber band until it snaps around the Grand Highblood's words. "Where are your apostles?"

Signless gripped back his displays of relief. His friends had not been found, nor will they be without his help. He was the only one on Alternia that knew where they were, and he swore to keep it that way, regardless of the cost.

"Maybe you didn't hear me." He circled again, but much slower, coming to a stop directly behind Signless. "Shit, I'm feeling downright merciful today, so I'll repeat myself one more motherfucking time. Where are your fucking apostles, mutant?"

Signless forced down a shiver, tugging gently at his wrists one more time. Not a chance.

"I was hoping you'd say that. Now I get to have me some motherfucking entertainment!"

Sharp, unkept nails skittered up his defenceless sides, forcing a surprised giggle from the preacher's lips. What on Alternia?

"Honk! Look how sensitive you are! Your skin is even weaker than that of a Rustie, already turning red. What a motherfucking miracle! It must be my hatching day all up in this bitch!"

Signless squirmed, feeling 1000 times more exposed than he did before. Every memory of being tickled absolutely senseless flashed through his eyes, each filled with more tears than the last. Psi had been his most common assaulter. On the bright side, no bodily harm would come to him this way. He just had to bear it until he finds a way to escape, and said escape won't be hindered by serious inquiries. A slight grin tugged at his lips as he clenched his jaw. A little tickling never killed anyone.

Without warning, two pairs of knuckles slotted themselves between his grub scars and dug furiously. Lightning shot through his nerves straight to his spine, his sense of touch heightened by the loss of vision. A guffaw tore out of Signless' throat before he could clamp his mouth shut, as he kicked off the floor to escape the sensations. It tickled so bad, so so bad. But he wouldn't dare laugh.

"Oho, a fighter! You can try that shit for now, but once you're all burnt out, you'll break easy. You're helpless."

Signless bit his lip harder, calves and shoulders quickly protesting all his movement. The knuckles dropped to his bottom ribs, continuing their ministrations. Finally, laughter broke free like water to a dam, harsh and powerful with the pressure. Shame burned his cheeks. Signless spun sideways to throw off the attacker's hands, but Grand Highblood quickly dragged him back into place. The millisecond of relief only allowed him to regret thinking this form of torture would be easy.

"Ha! You think you can escape, bitch? You're weak. I don't even know your worst spots yet."

"Hahahahahaha, oh fuhuhuck!" Nuckles turned to claws as they traveled up and down his sides, spidering quickly. Down to his hips, up, down, up, down, and up further to his lower ribs, still buzzing and flushed. Suddenly, each trip down was a promise to explore higher and higher, until both hands slid way too high to attack his armpits.

"AHAHA! No, nohoho fuck ohofff!" Signless squealed, thrashing as best he could but failing to lower his arms at all. He curled one knee up as high as he could, but it only threw him off balance as pain stabbed at his shoulders. He was truly, utterly, trapped.

The Grand Highblood chuckled darkly behind him. "Is it too much already? How motherfucking pathetic."

His fingers skittered across his torso and sides for what felt like hours and hours, until Signless' laughs became gasps and chokes, eyes falling in and out of focus. Whenever he got even slightly used to the sensation, Grand Highblood would just switch spots.

"HAHA....ahaAA.. p.. ehehaha .pleheheease!"

"You know how to make it stop, motherfucker. Where did they run off to?"

The temptation was there, as much as it pained him. The tickling was too much, he was going crazy. "I-ahaha! C-c-ahan't!"

A rough growl cut through the air, and the tickling stopped. The hands held his ribs roughly, but he finally caught his breathe in progressively deeper inhales. The relief was short lived, however, as two more footspets got closer. Probably more guards, but he still couldn't see for himself.

Seconds later, the tickling resumed threefold. Thirty fingers danced across his skin, in his armpits, ribs, and the rest were fluttering across his belly and squeezing his hips. He heard a girl chuckling at him, and a small "oh" from a young man.

Kids, 8 sweeps at most. With renewed energy, Signless' bucked hard, shaking his head side to side as he began kicking at whoever was in front of him. The first missed, but the second came into contact with a clothes torso. Instead of launching his assaulter back, his ankle was yanked forwards and caught between their body and arm. Stupid highblood strength!

Sharp nails teased his arch skillfully and he shrieked.

"Ooh, boss! Looks like I found a good one!" She said with more giggling.

"Good work, bitch. Keep it up," The Grandhighblood repied.

With one foot in the air, Signless' struggling turned into pathetic twitches and jolts. He scrunched his toes as hard as he could, but the girl simply pried them back and continued. When she reached under his toes, tears started forming in his eyes.

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA- AAAAA NOHOHOHO!! nOT THEEEHEHERE!"

"Not where? Here? Are your toes reeeally bad? Is that a really /ticklish/ spot for you?" She teased.

Heat dripped down his neck in embarrassment, even his back began flushing.

"Oh, do you not like that word? Tickle? But you're so ticklish! Tickle tickle tickle, I bet it feels sooo baaaddd~"

"Aha, hahaha! Dohhohoon't!" He pleaded.

"Don't what?"

"Mock meehehe!"

He could feel the venom dripping from her voice. "Mock you? If you wish!"

"Enough, child." The Grand Highblood interrupted. "He needs to focus."

She didn't respond but she dropped his leg. His hypersensitive toes barely brushed the floor before she yanked his other from underneath him, raking her nails over his entire sole hard and fast.

At the same time, the quiet boy shifted his hands down to squeeze at Signless' defenceless thigh.

"NOOOOOHOHOHOA! HAHAHAHA!"

Grand highblood continued to switch from spiders to digs and jabs at his armpits, while the other two scratched and squeezed his shaking legs and feet. After only a few minutes, white flickers of light bloomed under Signless' eyelids, head spinning as it forced his every breath out in raw, desperate laughter. His lungs began to burn.

"no- hahahhaha, nnhaha..noho more..no mohohoore!"

"You can make this all go away, motherfucker. Just tell is where they are and we'll stop."

"haha....n..no.."

"We won't stop until you're fucking dead. But it's gonna be a looking time till this gets you. Weeks, maybe even months"

Signless shuddered, body limp from exhaustion as all three of them tickled both his sensitive sides without care for his pleading.

"Or, you could spare yourself all the trouble now...and we'll make sure your end is swift and painless. You're finished anyways, and we'll find your followers with or without your help. So why suffer?"

His eyes rolled around in his skull, head pointing with blood lacking oxygen. His laugher fell quiet ages ago, but as it became silent his senses began to fail.

"Where are those motherfuckers hiding?"

Body numb and buzzing all at once, Signless forced one last breath through his aching throat, before the sweep lull of unconsciousness took him.

"..if that's what it takes, I will be their sufferer."