#don’t bind like this irl

[marsberryart]

kisses :]

[phleb0tomist]

people love telling me not to isolate myself when I’m having a crisis- reach out, don’t hide, etc- and while that’s a lovely sentiment, a lot of people don’t seem to understand what it entails in practice? like they truly don’t seem to have considered that me being open during my mental health crisis will mean them actually Seeing and Hearing small parts of that crisis.

“don’t hide yourself” seems to come with a secret caveat of “but don’t be unpalatable either”. often my openness leads not to support but to an ethics debate about whether it was condemnable of me to let my struggle be slightly visible. interesting. when i wear short sleeves or make casual mention of the long-term aftermath of my self injury, it’s somehow perceived as me saying “self injury is awesome! i think the whole world should do it!” instead of being perceived as me living exactly as i always have, just hiding a little less, bringing you into my world a tiny bit, like you asked. healed scars are the only ones i allow to be seen, i cover up healing injuries and i don’t talk about methods or anything overly specific or sensational. i openly discuss harm reduction measures & therapeutic strategies. but somehow ppl still disapprove of the snippets they see when i reach out.

if you want people to reach out during crisis you have to accept that theres no way for a person to make themselves palatable while theyre showing you their severe mental illness lmao. they’re not going to provide you constant caveats while sharing their feelings like “ive been having trouble coping so i fell back on self injury. but i don’t condone it! YOU shouldn’t do it and I condemn myself for having done it btw! I will never forgive myself for this expression of mental illness, i’m so sorry I revealed it to you.”

this post might be a vent I can’t rly tell. open to conversation if anyone has any similar experiences 👍

[emmebearpaw]

Keeping my thoughts short as I find trying to write about my emotions just makes me feel them longer as I continue feeling them while writing about them. Do you ever find yourself wishing something upon yourself that would objectively make your life harder because “then it would be easier to make things make sense”. Like, no brain, having more symptoms of neurodivergence wouldn’t make things better except for in the very specific situation of diagnosis. It would just make our life harder the rest of the time. No dysphoria isn’t something to want either. Yes it would make it easier to parse out what the gender situation actually is. In both fronts we just have to be ok with never investigating and never getting an answer, because investigating is miserable due to how unhappy it makes me and without investigating I can’t get an answer. Now please stop thinking about myself and stop feeling the stomach void TM plus nausea.

[raeathnos]

.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi sex witch! This isn’t exactly a sex Ed question but it is related to sex. I’m aro/ace, and I’ve noticed that a lot of other aro/aces say that allos see friendship as a stepping stone to sex or romance, and less important than romantic relationships. I guess it makes sense, but my best friend irl is a gay boy (im a girl) and he obviously isn’t interested in dating an aro/ace girl. I made a post saying this and people in the notes were saying that he’s either secretly bi and lying to make me feel safe, or I’m an egg. I don’t believe either of those things but it got me wondering, is it common for allos to use friendship as a way to get close to people for the purpose of dating or having sex with them? Personally I’ve never experienced that but enough aro/aces are saying it that I have to wonder

hi anon,

okay so we need to start with the part about your best friend, because it's really important to me that we take a minute to recognize anyone trying to convince you that a gay boy is only hanging out with you because he has secret romantic feelings is being a homophobe. I mean, listen, it's annoying and childish when people act like men and women can't be friends in general, okay? but in this case they're not just being heteronormative, they're being actively homophobic. block anyone who said that. jesus christ.

secondly: I don't know if you've ever, like, spent time with people, but yes, many folks find romantic partners amongst their circles of friends because that's who they spend a lot of time with and build meaningful connections with, which can develop into feelings of sexual or romantic attraction for people who experience those things. I'd say it's less often a a case of anyone "using" friendship as a means to an end and more often a case of people realizing that a friendship is taking an exciting new direction and deciding to pursue those feelings.

there's a long-lasting trope, especially prominent it sitcoms and romcoms, of someone (usually a sleezy man) acting friendly to get close to someone else (usually a woman) with the intent of seducing them, but a.) like most works of fiction, that's much less common in real life, and b.) there's a huge difference between lying to someone intentionally and just developing a crush on someone you already know and like, which I think is the MUCH more common scenario.

like, don't get me wrong here, it's absolutely true that we live in a society(TM) that pretty materially privileges romantic relationships - specifically monogamous, legally-binding relationships - over other types of relations, and that's a fucking doozy. that's a thing to work on, for sure. but it's also not weird or creepy that some people couple up with their buddies.

[sepublic]

The Rapture, the Day of Unity, and Happily Ever After

I wouldn’t be surprised if the upper echelons of the coven regime weren’t concerned with being sustainable, because they were privy before the public was to the Day of Unity, which was itself essentially one big rapture where everyone goes to a perfect utopia! They don’t have to worry about the world they’ve left behind, they just need to last long enough to make it to this endpoint, like Belos talking about how he only needs to ‘live long enough to see this through’.

So it must’ve been quite a shock, realizing that’s not it; There’s nothing for all their hard work. They have to go back to their lives as normal, but knowing it’s eternal in the sense of worrying about living life until it naturally ends for them, and making society run ahead of them for the next to pick up. Now people have to do their jobs in creating an actual functioning society instead of loftily dreaming of a fantasy, which is of course topical to the show’s themes about being beholden to the world and people around you as you make dreams practical.

I can see a comparison between the apathy that came from the Day of Unity and how a lot of rich, powerful folk —especially the ones running fossil fuel companies— don’t care about destroying the Earth and its environment, because they’ll be dead before it gets bad enough that the devastation reaches them in their cushy little suites. On the Day of Unity, Emira’s frustrations over her mother only caring about money feel in a similar vein, it all hearkens back to the same problem with these CEOs where their personal, material enjoyment is the only priority.

And this makes me think of the rapture comparison too; It comes from the Evangelicals, who are the descendants of the Puritans. I can see the writers playing with how Marx called religion the opiate of the masses; The idea that Christianity was often exploited by the upper class against the lower class to justify their suffering. The idea was that if you were poor, you didn’t need to worry about improving your material world because as long as you remained pious and faithful, you’d eventually inherit a heavenly afterlife.

Thus, working-class Christians were made complacent, believing their mortal suffering was just temporary and even a test for their ascension. Whether you think they actually got a heavenly afterlife is an entirely separate real-life theological discussion, but the point was that it was an excuse by those in power to avoid being held accountable in making the living world actually tolerable for everyone else, and everyone else would not hold them to that standard because they thought it didn’t matter anyway.

So I can see the Day of Unity functioning exactly like that, in fact I’m pretty sure it just did onscreen because we see wild witches such as the Demon Hunters accept the coven bindings because for whatever losses they suffer, eventually the Titan will make it all worth it right? And this framing of the Titan as an abstract God who will take you to an abstract universe is interesting; We know tangibly that other worlds exist of course, but in the context of the show, the utopia bit is a lie.

And if we apply it to real life, much how the show calls out IRL witch hunters (and its fictional one, because TOH’s fictional witches warranted nothing for their existence) as insincere… I do remember a college lecture in things like Animism or cosmocentric belief systems; They saw the ‘spirits’ as not existing on a separate plane, but our own. There was no afterlife or heaven, it was all in this world, people live on when they die and break down and are consumed by other beings, that sort of thing.

The practices of wild magic and the worship of the Titan seem to follow in a similar vein to these and Animism; The Titan is sacred and her body has its own life reborn as the environment, but she’s also undeniably dead, as pointed out by a Deadwardian witch. Eda stresses learning from the natural environment around you for magic, their ‘god’ is a mortal being and also their tangible world. The magic comes via glyphs in nature, as well as the magic in everything that witches get their own magic from. There IS something resembling an afterlife in-universe but we never get to see it, the beliefs of wild magic seem to be at odds with Belos’ Christian colonialism, and again its promise of a rapture and a separate, abstract God and utopia.

Point is; There is no universe after this, or at least that’s not how wild witches treat it. The focus is on the here and now and making this world last, and making it last for the future generations that will take your place. And this defiance of a rapture in favor of life always going on makes me think of how Dana hates the term Happily Ever After, for the implications of everything just being over and that’s it. That’s the end. All the problems are solved now, there is no story left to tell.

I can’t say this was intentional on a conscious level or otherwise, but I do have to draw a connection between this and how TOH’s ending was in response to this critique; Life keeps going on, the protagonists have to keep fixing the Boiling Isles, and then keep it going even if it IS fixed. They just undid coven bindings and King found his first glyph. The Archivists are still out there. The protagonists don’t get an eternal unambiguous happy ending where there’s nothing left to do, they don’t get a ‘heavenly afterlife’ as one could call it, and that’s good!

From a meta standpoint, you can see how it encourages fans to write more stories, to be inspired to keep it going, and it’s another way Dana made the shortening work in the show’s favor. Dana said back in 2020 that she encourages fans to build off of things, as she did as a kid with her own shows, she also wanted it to be that deep growing up! So both in-universe and IRL, TOH isn’t meant to be over, there is no absolute ending because fandom lives on.

Hell, Dana even professed interest in a prequel following Eda’s childhood; She’s since become pessimistic about the possibility, more than likely on account of her cutting ties with Disney and executives’ disinterest. But the point still stands; Life keeps going, IRL. The lives of the characters keep going, in-universe and IRL through fandom.

I also wonder if you could discuss Lumity under this lens; I’m making exceptions for queer romances, especially in children’s media, because they often have to deal with censorship pushing them to the last minute. But when it comes to romance in general, romance involving the main character largely consists of Will They/Won’t They, with the climax having the romance achieved. But because of the Thrill of the Chase, a lot of writers don’t want to explore how characters actually navigate a relationship, hence why it’s drawn out and saved for the ending; The romance has been nearly tied up as a Happily Ever After, there’s no more story to tell. So when they get a continuation, they’ll often undo progress.

Lumity avoids this; Lumity has them get together at the halfway point of the series, and then actually explores their dynamic as a couple together, without creating misunderstandings or breakups or anything. We see how they work as a couple, how they get to enjoy each other as a couple. So them getting together isn’t the ending climax, it’s just another stage in their continuing dynamic. There is no Happily Ever After; There’s problems for them to face together that do sometimes strain their relationship, but they still work on it together; Dana was adamant on showing these things instead of settling for them asking each other out and letting the rest be an implication.

And I think that’s so much more healthy to show kids than just idealizing the Thrill of the Chase and its climax, without appreciating the mundanity of just being together. Because kids grow into adults and don’t really expect or care to pursue a romance past that point, and I wonder if this is part of the culture behind cheating, of still reaching for something unattainable because media doesn’t normalize already having things when it comes to romance. Nor does it care for tackling things together as a couple most of the time.

Dana was raised Catholic, which is separate from Puritanism, but she did have to deal with Evangelicals growing up, as they raged about innocuous things like Pokemon; And Pokemon was her Good Witch Azura, a last gift from her father before he died in a car crash. It’s something Dana still enjoys and she’s done crossover art for it and TOH.

So I can see the coincidence/connection in Dana critiquing Evangelicals’ rapture ideology and how the end of everything is used to placate people instead of worrying about what needs to be eternally maintained, and like. Her feeling similarly with stories and even romances where it ends definitively and perfectly. Because fandom keeps going and she’s a part of it too.

The world keeps going, there is no endpoint to history IRL or in the show; People have to adjust going back to the banality of continuing to live and worry about running society in the long-term, rather than expecting it to not matter because they were going to be raptured anyway. And you know what, this could be good, it means it lasts forever as we see Luz and co. embrace it, happy to enjoy their lives, actually getting to be in a relationship; But life is fragile as we see with the Titan, so we gotta work to keep it going, so that even when we get our definitive end, the people after get their time.

[littlemissayu]

Wht Songs Would Play in Your Rom-Com? Pt2

A/N: Hey Loves!! I'm posting pt2, surprisingly I actually posted on the day I scheduled myself to post so that's great!! I hope you enjoy pt2 and it is as good as pt1. And PLEASE leave some feedback it is very helpful!!

pt1

Parings: Pomefiore, Idia Shorud, Diasomnia x reader(seperate/romantic)

Love Grows(Where My Rosemary Goes) by Edison Lighthouse

If you read the lyrics or have listened to the song this is obviously the song that plays as he slowly falls for you. This also most likely opposites attract kind of trope. Js imagine how cute it would be to see Vil fall hard for someone who is almost nothing like him and as much as some of the things you do he may prefer to stay far away from, still he’ll think it's cute because it’s you.

Sincerely Yours by Zenglen

If you have seen some of my prior content you might recognize this song as the inspiration for on of my post. Now part of this may be my haitian culture influencing my opinion but cmon, you can’t see Rook and his love dancing in the living room, yk like that first time moving in kinda of dance when you two are just super sickly in love.(that or Until I Found You by Stephen Sanchez)

Late Night Talking by Harry Styles

I might be reaching but just think about the possibility of you guys having your “thing” be just staying up late talking to each other despite how sleepy you are. And maybe you two work out your conflict by one of you coming over at night to talk out your problem together js like all the other times you guys have random conversations to the point its js a normal thin gyou teo do.

Video Game Lover by Narraws Music

Now this feels a bit{a lot} on the nose BUT your telling me you don’t wanna see Idia’s rom-com becoming good friends with you through a common game you two play but rarely talk to each other irl, not even knowing who the person is behind the screen. You guys just vent to each other through the chat an you guys are just binding til you say something ridiculously familiar and so he recognizes you from that and he’s too nervous to approach you irl, how the issue is solved is all up to you my loves. 

Can’t Help Falling In Love by Elivs Presely

This is obviously a human-fae love between you two. Are you kidding me, that title is “Cant help falling in love” hinting at the complexity of your relationship as a human lifespan is considerably shorter than a fae’s so he’ll have to live a large chunk of his life without you. Not to mention that Malleus is bound to be king of Briar Valley which the faeries of Briar Valley may not be too overjoyed at the fact their king is with a human.

But you two just cant help but fall for each other and this song plays as you two are out dancing together in the dark, relishing the relationship that you two might not be able to have for long.

Viva La Vida by Coldplay

Despite this not being a love song it is pretty similar to Lilia’s story and so just imagine this playing during like your first truly swoon worthy kiss. But not only during the kiss, the instrumental can lightly play in the background in either the learning of his backstory OR during that first moment you meet. Maybe even when he first falls in love with you.

Bam Bam by Camilla Cabello and Ed Sheeran

Fell first(you) and fell harder(Silver). You fell first obviously bc he’s constantly asleep so it’d make more sense for you to fall first. And when you fall for him you begin to do things to help him out, some are smaller things like adjusting his head so his neck doesn’t hurt or bigger things like putting a pillow beneath his head(wheter thats one of your body parts or an actually pillow is up to you). Those little things add up and he notices and slowly you creep into his thoughts and dreams and now one of the only things he sees in his sleep is you. Convinced that its one of those tropes where you say you love him while you think he’s asleep and you think he doesn’t hear and he doesnt like you back, but he just hasn’t been able to find a way to tell you as their are many plot thrown in issues that get in his way.

That’s How You Know by Amy Adams

I’m very well aware this is another Disney song BUT, think about Sebek with a stereotypical Disney Princess who just belts into song whenever, and she’s not really singing to him but giving other guys advice on how to treat their loves and he just ends up finding himself admiring the fact your giving these random guys advice all the while not realizing that the seeds of his love for you were being sewed.

A/N: Well I finally got pt2 out!! Lmk your thought and opinions not only on this post(+the last one) but some other things that are similar(other ideas for post). Ik i haven’t responded to anything in my inbox in a while but i promise I’ll do my best to get to them I js have many other things on my plate as well

Pomefiore Masterlist

Ignihyde Masterlist

Diasomnia Masterlist

TWST Masterlist

Grand Masterlist

[cherry-writes-yanderes]

Can I request yandere ghost plz?

Soft Yandere Ghost Headcanons

(gn! reader | SFW)

a/n: don’t worry, a nsfw piece is in the works~

cw: mention of kidnapping, bondage (sfw), physical assault, drugging w/ a needle, blood, v domestic

I’m all for the “growly, rough Ghost where he throws you on the bed” type yandere stuff, but we gotta admit to ourselves that he is so soft after you’ve been with him awhile

He’s only rough with you because you’re fussy, and when the drugs kick in you see past that, he’s very domestic and gentle with you

He hates hurting you, but he will if provoked

So don’t piss him off.

Anyways-

As soon as you’re more relaxed, he’ll take you from his bed and into the living room to lay on the couch while he does… anything really

He secretly likes showing off his cleaning skills to you, how good he cooks and how comfy he can make you feel

He wants you to feel at home, especially after the first few days and how tough it was for the both of you

He’s still not all that animated and smiley with you, of course, but he’s surprisingly soft and gentle

Simon will lay you on the couch and turn on the television, letting your legs rest in his lap as he rubs your thighs

He cannot keep his hands off of you istg

And not even in a sexual way, he just needs to be touching you at all times

If he isn’t, then he’s cleaning or making you food, that’s it

One day very early on, he felt really bad all night because you had been really wiggly, trying your absolute best to get away from him despite the duct tape binding your limbs together

He got frustrated and had to knock you out by force, and the guilt settled in his chest right after

Especially with the blood on his knuckles from your nose as a reminder

The day after, he brought you out to the couch with the utmost care, cradling your head and giving you a pillow to lay on

To top it off, he squeezed in behind you, nuzzling his face into your neck

One thing about Ghost that I stand by is the fact that it will be a VERY LONG TIME until you actually see his face

He holds the sentiment that taking his mask off is a sign that he trusts you fully, and you’re just not at that point yet :(

But don’t worry, he has a solution!

He covers your eyes with his hand, slipping his mask off to press a kiss to your shoulder

He wants to kiss you, and it’s not the same to do it through his mask, so this was the next best thing

He loves to trail kisses from your forehead to your collarbone, whispering deep, loving things into your ear as a sort of comfort

“Y’so pretty, love… Mm… ya smell nice too…”

He tries his best to compliment you, although you can tell he’s not entirely sure how

He hopes that you’ll come around soon, but until then, he still hides his face like with everyone else

Ghost still loves you though, he always will <3

~i do not condone yandere behavior irl~

[ifyoucandaniel]

A Collision of Masks by movaz and art by @02png and endpapers by @huedmmi 🎭

i always forget i’m allowed to post projects on here before instagram if i don’t want to spoil the surprise because my IRL friends don’t follow this account :) so this is something i made for my best friend who’s only really watched half of young justice season one and only knows about the batkids because of my extensive over sharing and inability to stfu <3

the covers were supposed to kinda align and be like the two sides of his identity, one with the mask and one just dick, but when they’re actually aligned the spine is so thick it throws the perception off ;-; i still like the idea though. and you know i had to pose the book with all my art from 02png, i just bought more too so i can’t wait to get frames for them all. the bind would not be complete without their incredible art being the inspiration!! and thank you again to both @02png and @huedmmi for allowing me to use your art in this project!! 🖤🖤

anyways this fic is 100/10 if you’re looking for a dick centric fic (could he not have be named anything else oh my god) where young justice is trying to recruit nightwing while living next door to dick grayson with a side of dick being the best big brother ever and just overall being the loml, this is for you.

this fic really scratched an itch in my mind!! i’d been looking for a dick focused long fic for awhile and this really just delivered on all fronts. please give it a read and lmk what you think!!

[slic3dbr3ad]

Let’s say hypothetically -because you’d never let me do this irl- I tie you up so you’re helpless to move or escape what I’m about to do to you. You love the idea of me using you for my own pleasure so you’re obedient the whole time, letting me bind you tightly. You’re such a dumb puppy I can’t believe you really trust me, you’re excited even. You have no idea what I have in store for you. You’re uncomfortable but the point of being tied up has nothing to do with your comfort; you’ve accepted that… Now that I have you right where I want you I tease your dick with my mouth for a little until you’re hard and visibly needy for me to do more.. So i spit on my hand and rub the saliva on my strap before I force it inside you, not caring about how you’re wincing in pain and begging me to be more gentle. I don’t want to be gentle this time, I’ve been gentle to you. This time you’re my toy and I’m taking full advantage of you until I’m satisfied. I won’t be happy until you’re a bloody, sobbing mess. I’ll only know I’ve done enough when you’ve lost all hope of getting out of this experience alive -of course I’m not really going to kill you- I just need to pound into you relentlessly until you subconsciously tap out from the pain and from there I’ll reach for my blade. It’s small but sharp and I’m obsessed with how it feels in my hand but even better how it cuts into your soft flesh. When I’m finally done using you like a fleshlight, you’re laying there panting, trying to take the time that you have to recover. You’re so cute. Your eyes open a little bit and you notice the blade in my hand and it registers with you what’s abt to happen so you start squirming helplessly. I want clean deep cuts when I do this so I grab your legs, pin them down and sit on top of them. Usually that’s not enough to get you to cooperate tho so I blind fold you and press the blade up against your throat and I lean in next to your ear. “The more you squirm the more likely I am to slip up and actually kill you. You don’t want that. I don’t even want that. So stay still like the braindead doll you’re meant to be.” Underneath the blindfold, a few tears stream down your cheeks. I wipe them away and lick them off my thumb and give you a lighthearted kiss right before I start slicing into you all over your body. You’re bleeding so beautifully and screaming in pain, trying your best not to squirm but doing a bad job. So I slap you and remind you how dangerous it is to squirm in this situation. I care about you. I love you. I would never want to put you in danger. Of course I hurt you but I hurt you lovingly and carefully. And when I’m done hurting you I reward you for taking the pain so well. But you won’t be rewarded if you can’t stay still and take it how you’re supposed to. I figure you might feel better if you have something to bite on to distract you from squirming so I stuff a shirt into your mouth and punch you just as another repercussion for not listening to me the first time and I continue to cut up your entire torso, moving to your thighs and select a few areas on your arms as well. God you’re so fucking gorgeous covered in blood as more is dripping out of every fresh cut I’ve left on your body. I just have to lick it up. I get a little carried away and bite your neck so hard I could almost feel the skin ripping away if I had just gone a little further with it. You screamed louder than I’ve ever heard you scream before and spit the shirt out of your mouth. And start squirming aggressively to get me away from you and I’m done cutting you now so I just back off and let you squirm until you realize that that actually makes the cuts sting more so eventually you stop. I give you a few seconds to cool down from all that. Good girl. Unfortunately for you I’m still not satisfied yet. So I watch you lay there, kinda flinchy but dosing off and once you let your guard back down I light a candle -romantic right- and pour the melting wax all over your bleeding back. You jump awake, screaming and thrashing again so I grab you, spit in your face and throw you down.

[astxrwar]

ties that bind [3/8]

SUMMARY: Quentin Beck-- your old college biology professor-- is still a bastard. Apparently, you’re kind of in to that.

RATING: Explicit

WORD COUNT: 7k+

CONTENT WARNINGS: extremely under-negotiated kink, character-typical behavior (negging, being manipulative and an asshole, etc), me bestowing upon reader!character my own shameless oral fixation/pathological lack of a gag reflex, gratuitous sex, overstimulation, me pretending that condoms are optional (they are not irl!) the most FUBAR relationship ever etc.

PART 1 | PART 2 | [PART 3] | PART 4

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, there are many things that you are immeasurably grateful for in the aftermath.

One of the most immediate ones– which might have been surprising in the moment, if there were any parts of your brain capable of engaging in conscious thought at the time– is Beck’s ability to be completely unmoved by anything . The knock on the door had made your blood run cold, sent a shock of nervous adrenaline lancing through your body that had cut clean through the not-unpleasant haze of whatever the fuck you had been feeling before that–

Beyond cursing under his breath, his eyes flashing dark with some unidentifiable emotion, Beck didn’t react– didn’t panic– at all. He had fixed you with a pointed stare and pressed a finger to his lips– be quiet – and then, apparently otherwise unfazed, he had reached for his belt from the desk and began working it back through the loops of his dress pants. 

The knocking– a student, presumably, because it was office hours, after all– stopped after a few minutes, and then there was silence, and when that silence had dragged on for what you deemed to be an appropriately safe amount of time, you slipped out the door of his office, not looking back once. Beck didn’t say anything to you, and didn’t make any attempt to stop you from leaving – your brain had been buzzing, overstimulated and racing with frantic, scattered thoughts that you couldn’t hold onto long enough to complete before they would disappear from you and others would take their place, and because of that none of it had actually felt real then. It would have, probably, if you’d been forced to focus on him again for even a moment– but he didn’t say a word, and so you didn’t have to, and you were glad for that, too.

You don’t remember getting back home, only that you must have. It had been a Friday, another thing you’re grateful for, because looking at yourself in the mirror of your apartment bathroom after having mechanically directed yourself through the process of a too-hot shower, there was a rapidly-darkening bruise at the base of your throat, another right over your jugular– something you knew, instinctively, in a distant and far-away part of your brain, would be there for a while. The sight of it triggered a twinge of something, like an echo, the flutter of your slightly-uneven pulse quickening in response– but it was still too recent to really register, then, still felt like a fantasy, or some strange hallucination existing in the realm somewhere between a dream and a nightmare.

It’s not until probably about eleven at night that everything slots into place and the memory fully realizes itself, integrates into the collection of all the other facts and realities that you know to be true. You’re laying sprawled out on your bed, motionless, staring up at the slowly-turning blades of the ceiling fan in the dark; these moments trickle back in reverse-order, in broad strokes, mostly. And maybe it’s because it’s late and you’re tired and you’re not thinking straight or really thinking much at all, but also maybe for other reasons that you refuse to acknowledge or elaborate on– but the very first thing you recall in its’ entirety, in brilliant, blinding detail, is what he’d said to you, his mouth low over your ear and his breath coming fast and hot–

Come on, honey. It plays back in your head, the edge to it, biting and cruel, not really urging you on as much as just telling you, like he knew that he was going to make you cum and he knew that there was nothing you could do to stop him if you’d even wanted to–

The surge of heat that flushes through you at the memory is so immediate and overpowering that it shocks you to your core. Your breath catches and then escapes in a totally involuntary, inarticulate sound, and you cover your mouth with your hand and screw your eyes shut as tight as you can— because after that it’s like the floodgates have opened or the dam has been breached and whatever wall you’d constructed between yourself and what had happened is gone, destroyed, swept away in the rush of everything you’d repressed rearing up to the forefront of your mind again, drowning out any other thought in a sea of white noise.

The mess of emotions that surges up with it is thorny and unfathomable and entirely too complicated for you to even begin to extricate, but you can recognize immediate, surface sensations, and wanting is one of them, the strongest one, probably, followed by fury and frustration and shame, none of which, you realize– alone or together– even come close to the intensity of your desire. Which is fucking embarrassing, honestly, what the fuck had he done to you? What the fuck had you let him do? And more importantly why and how do you already know with such a crushing and steadfast and terrible certainty that you’d let him do it again?

Your mind brings to the forefront, completely unbidden, the thought of what Beck might be doing, right now– you wonder if he’s thinking about it, like you are, but your instinct tells you that he’s probably not. He’s probably doing whatever the fuck it is he normally does at this time, collected and generally unfazed; you imagine that if he had any idea of you, the state you’re in, he’d smile one of those infuriatingly condescending smiles like every other time he’s managed to burrow his way under your skin, and your cheeks and your chest burn with an all-too-familiar embarrassment.

It’s not fair.

There’s an ache between your thighs again, a need, pulsing and trembling and wearing incessantly on the foundations of your fucking psyche, and you really, really, really want nothing more than to ignore it, to just roll over and go to sleep and not give him another inch of your resolve or the fucking satisfaction, but–

But the look he had fixed on you, before he kissed you, it plays behind your eyes; the feeling when he did kiss you, finally, how it had sated that frustration inside in a way that the confrontation hadn’t, better than anything else ever had to a degree that it was fucking frightening. 

You don’t push the thoughts away. 

So. Yeah. You’re grateful for a lot of stuff, in the immediate aftermath. Most of all, you’re grateful that it’s Thanksgiving break– that there are a whole ten days before you have to see Beck again, if only because it’s reason enough to justify that touching yourself to the thought of him later that night isn’t going to just make this whole thing that much fucking worse.

Ten days, it turns out, is not actually long enough for any of what you’re feeling to fade.

Come Monday morning you’re so high-strung that your anxiety is palpable– you drop your backpack on the floor twice just trying to hang it on the hooks on the wall outside of the lab, which is apparently out of character enough to warrant a concerned Hey, everything all right? from Dr. Banner, which absolutely does not help. Somehow, you manage to spin something about underestimating what a ten-day-break from XL coffees does to a person’s overall tolerance for caffeine, a spur-of-the-moment excuse that you’re quite proud of, especially considering it gets a laugh out of both him and your fellow grad students. 

You don’t actually see him at all that day. There are moments where you can almost completely forget about it, absorbed in lab busywork or chatting with labmates or grading assignments for Dr. Banner’s undergraduate microbiology class, but then there are also the moments where you’re alone and unoccupied and the thoughts are unavoidable, that same turmoil of emotions leeching up to the surface like a fresh bruise that you just can’t stop yourself from pressing down on.

Tuesday, too, is much of the same, and then Wednesday and Thursday after that; you’d have thought it would get easier with time, but it actually doesn’t– the longer it’s been since that day the fuzzier and more distant the memory, sure, but that frustration starts to build again in its’ absence. It’s kind of ironic, in a grating, infuriating way, the fact that you’re pissed off this time– for the first time– because he’s avoiding you, instead of the opposite. But it’s also so just like him– of course he’s unaffected, immune to this, and of course you aren’t, and of course he doesn’t give a shit. None of this is new, not really, it’s just different.

On Friday you end up having to stay late because one of your labmates fucks up a chemical extraction procedure that you were meant to be handling for the undergrads, meaning somebody has to remain in the lab for an extra three hours to run the dry ice bath and then transfer and separate the extract– it can’t be the person who actually fucked up, because they have work, apparently. But it could be you, of course, with nothing better to do, and you readily volunteer, because doing something is actually leagues better than sitting at home and wallowing in your myriad of unresolved issues– anger, mostly, but also other less appropriate things that you don’t want to think about.

So.

It’s five-thirty when the extraction is finally finished. You’ve run through the motions of locking up, putting all of the supplies back in their respective places, shutting off the overhead lights, kicking the door jamb out from where it’s wedged, the door itself having already been locked when Dr. Banner left at three. It’s November– December, now, actually– and so it’s dark and near-freezing outside by the time you’re done; the other end of the chemistry building is nearest to the parking lot, and so you decide that, in the interest of retaining feeling in your fingers, you’ll go down through the building and exit on the other side, thereby limiting the amount of time you actually have to spend out in the cold. 10/10, all-around solid plan.

Except Beck’s office is on this end of the building. You know that, and the knowledge prickles somewhere at the base of your spine as you sling your backpack over your shoulder and head in that direction, but you also know that it’s late, and that he doesn’t really ever try to hang around past four– much less past four on a Friday– so you’re comfortably certain he’ll have already gone.

(You’re wrong, because of course you are.)

You’d been thinking about what you were going to make for dinner, staring down at the faded tiling pattern on the floor and not really paying attention, until the sound of a door closing echoes down the hallway. You glance up, instinctively, drawn towards the noise, and–

Oh, fuck.

You see him before he sees you, and your brain kind of– short-circuits , freezes and stalls and shuts down like a glitchy computer. He’s turned with his back facing you, probably locking up. If you were thinking more clearly, maybe you would have turned back before he finished, but you don’t, can’t, frozen to the spot and unblinking.

Beck turns from the door, stowing the key ring in his pants pocket, and when he sees you his expression shifts from a kind of neutral ambivalence to one of those too-knowing smiles that had always struck you as just a little bit wrong in ways you hadn’t been able to figure out, not until he’d pinned you against his desk and–

You swallow, screw your eyes shut tight for a moment, and try your best to rid your mind of the thought. 

“Hey,” Beck calls out to you, “Heard you might be here late, honey.”

His tone is deceptively mild, conversational, but even so the nickname still kindles that heat again, brings all those thoughts you were trying so hard to suppress flooding right back to the surface, the echo of come on, honey that had played back endlessly any time you’d so much as closed your eyes ringing in your ears, somehow even louder than your thundering heartbeat. It takes an embarrassingly long second before the rest of what he’d said starts to filter in, drowned out at first by the immediate surge of heat that had flooded you; he knew you were here, you realize, and he’d probably been waiting for you. Waiting to get you alone.

Three weeks ago that thought would have made you furious. Now, though–

“Yeah,” you say, still moving towards him– towards the door, fuck; even the way you phrase the thought in the privacy of your own head feels like you’ve betrayed yourself. You’re aiming for nonchalance in your reply but you miss that mark terribly, breathless with anticipation and unable to fight off the impulse to shiver.  “Somebody fucked up an extraction that we needed to have ready for Monday, so I said I would stay—Dr. Banner’s gone to New York City for a conference, or I would have just come in over the weekend.”

You’re talking a lot, you realize, the words tumbling out of your mouth with a far greater ease than you’re used to when it comes to him; you know he’s able to tell, that he’s aware of the difference, he must be. But he doesn’t react or respond to it at all, just watches you, eyes dark and warm and expression infuriatingly unreadable.

“You’re a good student, to help out like that,” he says, after a long, unbearable pause, “Bruce is lucky to have you.”

A part of you has trouble comprehending the sentence as complete, still waiting for the other shoe to drop; the inevitable backhanded insult you’ve learned to expect whenever he says something even remotely positive, but it doesn’t come. That’s-- actually worse, somehow.

Beck tips his head towards the door. “Leaving? I’ll walk with you.”

That hum that had started in your body at the sight of him, the one that felt like it reached every part of you, even down to your bones; it ramps up higher. “Yeah, okay.”

He doesn’t smile, but his mouth quirks up at the corners, like he wants to.

You walk in silence, your heart in your throat, a rush of energy flooding through your body, suffusing your cheeks with warmth and filling your ears with the thunderous echo of your pulse and driving a reflexive, arrhythmic twitch in your fingers that you try to hide in the bulky sleeves of your coat. This is probably the longest amount of time you’ve spent in each other’s company without him trying to upset you on purpose or you barely restraining yourself from ending up at his throat since– the last time. The thought of it– what had happened the last time, even as abstract and ill-defined as the notion was– still makes things worse, heightens your awareness of the space between your bodies; closer than you ever would have allowed him to be, before all of this. Still not close enough.

Beck trails to a stop at the end of the hall where the staircase to the upper floors sits across from the double doors that lead to the parking lot outside, having ended up a few steps ahead of you. You mean to just keep going; the door is within your line of sight, barely ten feet away, but it’s like as soon as you’re faced with having to move past him your feet are rooted to the ground, frozen, immobilized.

He’s staring at you again. You fold your arms over your chest, glad for the shapeless mass of your oversized winter coat that hides your reflexive, miniscule shiver.

“Ah–Y’know what, I forgot, there’s some things I need to grab for my lab,” he says after a moment, as if it had only just occurred to him,  jerking his head towards the door to the supply closet that’s tucked underneath the adjacent staircase and offering you an apologetic grimace that feels— exaggerated. Pre-planned. Performative. “This’ll probably take a minute. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

You have a response already half-formulated in the pause that follows before he adds, somehow still casual, “Unless you think you could stay a little longer and help me out.”

The implication isn’t even really an implication at all, evident in the way that he’s looking at you, obvious and unrepentant, and the tremble that it elicits from somewhere near the base of your spine, that knot of anticipation in your belly twisting and turning and coiling tighter– you already want it, him, and you’re certain he must be able to tell, the way your pupils, which are probably dilated already, must blow out even wider, like planets, like deep, endless oceans of black–

“It’s late, though, and I’m sure there’s other things you’d rather be doing.” That edge is back, mocking, sly, manipulative like he’s trying to trick the words out of you– no, actually, nothing. He turns to the door underneath the staircase and reaches for the key ring he’d shoved in his pocket earlier; you’re jealous, somewhere deep down, at how steady his hands are, firm and methodical, as he flips through a set of near-identical keys until he finds the one to the closet.The click of the lock is nearly drowned out by the sound of your own pulse thundering inside your head, every inch as unsteady and as volatile as you feel. 

The door swings outwards on creaking hinges. Beck fixes you with this look; like he’s already won, just by virtue of the fact that you haven’t moved. Maybe he’s right. He’s always been capable of deciphering exactly what you were feeling at any given moment in time, regardless of whether or not you wanted him to, always been better at getting you to rise to his bullshit than you ever were at getting him to rise to yours. He knows you, knows what you’ll do oftentimes much sooner than even you do. And maybe that shouldn’t be so surprising— he’s a tenured professor, he taught you for four years, and he’s got nearly two decades on you. He was always going to be better at this.

Whatever. You don’t really care if you’re proving him right. You’re tired of fighting it, and you were never all that good at it anyway.

The inside of the supply closet is dim and dusty and cluttered and probably covered in cobwebs, but you don’t care. He’s touching you before the door has even closed all the way, stripping your coat from your shoulders and pulling you towards him by the waist, the press of his hand wide and firm and so fucking warm even through the fabric of your sweater; and fuck yes, god, even that, that one point of contact, it soothes that burning restless ache that had built inside of you for the past two weeks better than any of your own attempts at doing so ever did—

You’re the one who closes that last sliver of space, this time– and it should probably be surprising, how eager you are to do it, to drag him down by his shirt collar and push yourself up on your toes and kiss him, that nameless thing inside that’s followed you for the last two fucking weeks finally going quiet. He makes this noise against your mouth in the very first few moments, a rough and low and surprised sound, like he’s taken aback for a second. But it’s only a second, and then your back collides with the sharp plastic edges of the overstuffed rows of shelving that line the walls of the room hard enough that it forces the breath right out of your lungs, and in the moments where that gasp has your mouth opened up he licks into it, his tongue curling over your teeth and sliding against your own and wringing out a sound from you that you don’t even really try to stop this time. 

Beck hasn’t even taken his coat off, you realize dimly. It doesn’t fucking matter. His thigh is pressed up between your legs, the pressure obliging the warmth there, and you can feel his cock already hard against the jut of your hip– you wonder, hazy and far-away, if he was hard before this, before you’d even kissed him, if he had been thinking about it the whole time he was walking you to the door. He works a hand up under your sweater, and you lean into it– rough, large, warm, god, he must just run hot, because you can feel him even in the spaces where your bodies aren’t touching, his presence, like the air around you is made a few degrees warmer for it. 

When that hand under your sweater smooths down your abdomen to thumb over the button of your jeans there’s this frantic swell of panic at the immediate and overwhelming flush of heat that accompanies it, the trembling pulse between your legs— he hasn’t even touched you yet. He’s going to take you apart, again, and it’s not even going to be fucking hard. You want him to, shivering at the thought, but it’s your pride that stops you– for all that bullshit about being done fighting him, you’re not, really. 

A four-year habit is hard to break. Go figure.

It doesn’t take all that much force to push him the grand total of two feet backwards until his back is to the opposite row of shelves in the closet; he lets you, or more accurately, he doesn’t resist, if only because you don’t think he’s expecting it. With the door closed the little room is dark, the shape of him just a darker outline against a field of murky, shapeless gray, the only light the sliver of it from outside that spills out at your feet. It works out, though, because you can see everything that clutters the floor– old paint cans and ancient long-retired confocal microscopes and unlabeled industrial-sized plastic buckets of god-knows-what– and you can see right where there’s the space for you to kneel.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Beck says when you do; the question is clearly rhetorical, amused and a little patronizing, like he thinks you’re out of your depth again. You hate that it gets to you, but it does, brings that familiar annoyance searing back, bright and vicious and spiteful in the pit of your stomach. It’s the way that he’s looking at you that really does it– like he thinks that this is beyond you, or maybe just that he thinks he’s somehow uniquely fucking special, impossible to satisfy, and all of that– every possibility, every interpretation– it all pisses you off. 

“You’re such an asshole,” you reply, irritated, stubbornness ticking at the muscle of your jaw. “Do you want me to or not?”

Beck laughs at that, loud and sharp and something that might have even been pleased. He reaches to run his fingers through your hair and pulls, just a little, the pinpricks of pain rippling across your scalp as he forces your head back so that you’re looking at him, really looking at him, not just sneaking glances like you had been before. He has one of those bared-teeth smiles, something that base and instinctive part of you interprets as a challenge, even though it doesn’t really feel like it’s meant to be one. It feels like it’s meant to be a warning, maybe. Or a threat.

“Go ahead, honey,” he says, grinning wider. 

Beck doesn’t react at all when your hands find his belt, his breathing steady and his expression even and his posture annoyingly fucking relaxed; doesn’t move to help you with it, either, satisfied to just watch as you work it open and tug his jeans and his boxers down his thighs. He’s still unaffected even when your palm slides over the hard outline of his dick through his boxer briefs, and, god, if that doesn’t just piss you off more– the way that he’s just so effortlessly immune to this, the same way he’s always been immune to any of your retaliatory attempts to incite him. The painfully obvious way that you’re not; the way the sight of his cock, hard, twitching lazily, makes this unbearable warmth pool somewhere inside of you, your breath catching somewhere, hesitating enough that you know he must notice. No, you– you’re whatever the complete opposite of immune is. Vulnerable. Hyperreactive. Exposed. 

Except– 

When you reach out to touch him, several things happen at once; the muscles in his thighs twitch and his posture stiffens and his breathing goes still, all just for a fraction of a second before he’s relaxed again. That  tension is gone so quickly that you might have thought you’d imagined it, if it didn’t happen again when you lick a long wet stripe all the way up from the base of his cock and then again when you curl your tongue in a slow circle around the tip–

Maybe, you think, maybe he’s not really immune to any of it. Maybe he just hides it better.

It becomes more obvious when you put your mouth on him, not even really halfway; in the near-dark of the room you can see the shadow of him as he drags his hand down the lower half of his face, can hear, as wound-up and hyper-aware you are, the trembling breath as it leaves him, hitching when your tongue presses up against the underside of his cock as you pull back and move down again, further each time–

“Fuck,” Beck groans under his breath, the sound rough and low. “Oh, fuck, honey.” 

Yes, you think, the rush of satisfaction so immediate that it takes you by surprise; whatever flicker of shame that inspires in you is ridiculously easy to silence. Beck makes another noise, wordless and low, pretense of invulnerability abandoned-- his other hand has wrapped around one of the supporting beams of the shelf, like he’s trying to steady himself, and when you finally reach all the way down to the base and stay there, just for a moment, unmoving, his grip tightens around it so hard that the flimsy plastic cracks in his fist. Your answering laugh when you pull back is more of a hum than anything, muffled by him, cheeky and pleased– but that ruins it, whatever small amount of control he’d granted to you, something bordering on growl vibrating out of him that you would probably call touchy if you were able to speak, and then his other hand fists in your hair and he pulls, hard, drags your head back down until his cock is buried in your throat and your nose is pressed right up against his stomach. 

It shouldn’t make you feel the way it does— your tongue pressed flat against the base of his dick, your mouth flooding with saliva and your throat working around him and his hand on the back of your head, holding you there, the tremble that shudders through the solid muscles of his abdomen so close you can feel it — but your body is betraying you, again, again, just like before, your thighs pressing together with your hand squeezed between them, and even the insignificant pressure of your own palm through your jeans is enough that you wouldn’t have been able to stop yourself from making some embarrassing involuntary sound if it wasn’t for him, the way he’s compressing your fucking voice box–

There’s the snap of plastic again, that same beam from earlier; he needs to let go of it, you think, the thought fuzzy as he pulls his cock out and saliva trails down your chin and then fuzzier still as he rocks it back in again, or he’s going to break it clean in half. 

He moves like that for a while and you just let him, or worse, you fucking enjoy it; until eventually the pressure of his hand at the base of your skull lessens and his grip goes slack and you can move again, your tongue curling up around the tip of his cock and then pressing firm to the underside of it when you take him back into your mouth– 

“God, honey, you’re such— such a terminal fucking overachiever, aren’t you,” Beck says, that edge in his voice, biting and mean, and you would roll your eyes at him if you could trust yourself enough to even open them, terrified that whatever way he must be looking at you right now would simply cause you to evaporate on the spot. The words alone are rough and cruel and dripping with condescension, but there’s still, contained within them, that begrudging admission that it’s good, that compliment hidden inside an insult or maybe the other way around, and it pleases you in a way that you know it really shouldn’t. He makes another sound, slurred and inarticulate, fist tightening in your hair— that control, it’s slipping through his fingers, that immaculate and insufferable level of self-constraint shattered and crumbling, and you’re dizzy with the thought of it; that you might be able to finally do something–even just once– that might actually get to him.

It doesn’t take long, after that. He wavers between letting you move, as willing and embarrassingly fucking eager as you are to do it, and moving for you, hand firm on the back of your head as he fucks your open, waiting mouth. You can tell when he starts to get close, passes the point of being able to fight it off just by slowing down, the muscles in his thighs twitching and his breathing turning rough and irregular, hitching and catching and forced out of his chest–

“Fuck,” He grits out, his palm suddenly flat against your forehead, pushing you back, away, muscles gone rigid and still. “Don’t.”

“Why,” you reply, breathless, aiming for something like teasing or taunting but ending up so shot through with desire that it doesn’t matter what you were even trying for anyways. 

He doesn’t even warrant that with a response, just looks at you, eyes dark and pupils blown out so wide that you can’t even tell where the sliver of his irises even begins– he looks at you like you must be fucking stupid, like the answer is obvious, and—

You shiver.

Yeah. It is, actually, obvious.

He drags you up from the ground by the collar, pulls so hard that you stumble to your feet, off-balance, and nearly come crashing into him. He only looks at you— at your mouth, swollen and bruised and spit-slick and red— for a moment, and then he kisses you again and you melt for it without so much as a single fucking thought. 

Beck forces you back against the other set of shelves; it’s not hard, with only about four feet of space spanning the whole room and with you swaying and unsteady and caught up in chasing his tongue as it roves through your mouth, for him to push you until the hard plastic corners are digging into your spine and the backs of your thighs again. He doesn’t let you touch him, grabs your wrist and pins it to the edge of the highest shelf up above your head when you try, fingers squeezing so hard that it hurts a little bit– that sends a sharp thrill of self-satisfaction flickering through you, the thought that he can’t take it, that you got him that close–and then he tears at the button of your jeans, the zipper, yanks them and your underwear only halfway down your thighs, just far enough to be able to–

The noise you make when he touches you is drawn from you so abruptly that you can’t soften it or even really try to make it sound less desperate; not that it would matter anyways, with the way that your body arches up, into him, how wet you know you already are despite having spent the last fifteen fucking minutes with his dick in your mouth and without him even really touching you at all–

“You fucking liked that– you were getting off on it, weren’t you, honey,” His mouth breaks from yours just to say it, like he knows what you’re thinking or maybe just like he’d been thinking the same thing, not even really asking as much as just stating a fucking fact,  that stupid smug smile spreading wide across his face again.

“Fuck you,” you manage to reply, not even really succeeding in saying it with any amount of vitriol, voice breaking at the last syllable; all he has to do is touch you again and everything inside of you goes hot and white and blank , your free hand flying out to grab a fistful of his shirt, so tight that your knuckles are drawn and bloodless, squirming uselessly against the solid unyielding hold he has on your other wrist as he works two fingers inside of you and curls them and finds some horribly sensitive something that you hadn’t even known was there, rubs the rough pad of his thumb against your clit as he works them deeper and no, no, fuck, it’s not fair–

He doesn’t make you come like that, even though it probably would have been so easy, and maybe later tonight or tomorrow or sometime next week you’ll remember to be ashamed of how absurdly fucking easy it always is for him to get anything from you, even this, but right now you can’t bring yourself to care. He fucks you open on his fingers until you’re whining and rocking back against him and begging for it in all but actual words, and as soon as the muscles in your abdomen start to tense and the pitch of your moans shifts up higher he stops short and tells you to turn around. You don’t bother to suppress the sound that elicits from you, petulant, frustrated and wavering, but you still do what he says; when he tells you to bend, to put your hands out flat on the shelf, you do that, too, without even really thinking about it. There’s something in the back of your mind that’s absolutely indignant at your immediate compliance– add it to the fucking long list of things you’ll think about later– but it falls silent as soon as he takes the space behind you.

His hand skims your hip and you take in a shaky, shuddering breath– you can’t see him, what he’s doing, and everything in your body is still wound so tight, the combination driving such a vicious surge of anticipation that it feels for a second like you’re going to come apart at the seams, or that you might have already and just failed to notice.

Beck notches the head of his dick right between your thighs, presses forward a little, urges you up on your toes until he’s aligned just right– there, right there, you think, trembling, yes, fuck, come on, please— and then he leans over you, his arms caging yours, his much bigger hands covering your smaller ones so completely, pushing them harder into the gridded plastic lattice of the shelf. You can feel his breath against your neck, warm, the heat of his body bleeding right through his clothes, soothing the prickle of goosebumps that had spread across the exposed skin of your lower back where the edge of your sweater has ridden up, bunched around your waist. It’s cold, here, much colder than it had been in the hall– presumably because there’s no heat to the storage closet, because why would there be– and that just makes it better, honestly, how much larger he is, how fucking warm. 

Please, you want to say, only remembering your pride at the last second, but then he moves closer and pushes into you anyways like he already knows what you want, and that’s fucking gone, too.

This time— balanced up on your toes, your hands braced against the shelf, the latticed plastic surface biting into your palms and his hands over them, keeping them there, your legs only spread as wide as the jeans pulled half down your thighs will even allow— you know it will take even less to break you than it did the day in his office. Beck is barely moving, short shallow motions as he works you open, but even still he’s already nudging something sensitive and electric inside of you that has your head dropping down against your outstretched arms, against his, too, where they overlay your own. It’s the angle, probably, you manage to think,  flushed and shivery and barely breathing; or maybe it’s just him, and he’s just too good at this. He finally bottoms out and the noise you make– stretched out and filled up and satisfied, that stupid needy thing inside of you gone completely fucking silent at last-– is so unlike you that for a second you don’t even really register it as your own, even muffled as it is by the fabric of his shirt where your face is pressed to the inside of his arm. There’s a twitch in your fingers, like you’re searching for something to hold onto, and Beck obliges that with a mocking chuckle that rumbles out low in his chest and vibrates against your back– he threads his fingers through yours, his palms over the tops of your hands. There you go, honey, he murmurs against your neck, saccharine, patronizing, like you’re this poor pathetic helpless thing, and any other time you probably would have hated him for it. Maybe you still do, even now, and maybe that just makes it even better.

There is something– probably something significant– that is just deeply wrong with you both, you realize, and then he starts to fuck you in earnest and the thought vanishes. 

This isn’t anything like the last time– every inch of you goes soft and pliant like you’re melting beneath him, not fighting it or fighting him or even trying to. Every time he rocks into you it wrings out this desperate hiccupping keen that might have just been the same continuous sound, stretched out, fading and then brought back to life again before it can ever really end. He releases one of your hands to reach down to touch you, the rough pads of his fingers dragging across your clit, and that involuntary noise he’s pulling out of you pitches up higher in response, taking on this breathless shivering quality that you recognize– you’re still fucking wound up from before, vibrating with it.

You realize far far too late that he fucking did this to you on purpose, made sure to keep you from touching him, make sure to get you close before he’d even started. The thought of him fucking you past your rapidly-approaching orgasm triggers something panicky and nervous inside of you; anticipation and apprehension and the sinking realization that you had missed something like you always do, and he had gotten the better of you, again. But there’s nothing you can do about it, really, not now, its’ approach inevitable no matter how hard you try to force your breathing to steady or your muscles to relax–

You know he must be able to feel it, just like last time, the way that you tighten around his cock, the shivering pulse of your muscles and the tremble that runs the length of your whole body. He still hasn’t stopped touching you, and he hasn’t stopped moving, either, the shelf and all its’ contents shaking with the rhythm of it, and you can’t silence the sounds or even try to mute them, the wordless inarticulate whine that pitches up higher each time his cock sinks back inside— 

“Be quiet,” he pants against your shoulder. His hand– the one that had still been covering yours and pressing it harder against the latticed surface of the shelf– it moves up to your throat and then higher still, curling around your jaw, and you should remember to be embarrassed about how quick you are to just let him when he pushes his fingers into your mouth, should be fucking ashamed the way your tongue roves around them, instinctive, obedient, but you can’t think , can barely even remember to breathe. It’s somehow even worse, more overwhelming, now that he’s not bracing his weight on the shelf, the bulk of it resting against you, makes it so that his cock reaches somewhere even deeper inside, his other hand still splayed flat below your stomach, his fingers still against your clit, firm, not really even moving, the friction generated just from the force of him fucking you enough to make something drop out of the pit of your stomach like you’re free-falling because you know with a startling and crystal-clear certainty that you’re going to— that he’s going to make you— again—

Beck must know it too (of course he does, of course) because he presses the fingers in your mouth further in and down firm against your tongue to quiet the noise that breaks out of you when you come for a second time, something that probably would have been closer to a sob than anything, but stifled as it is it just comes out as another incoherent sound. You’re shivering, muscles in your calves and your thighs strung taut, sore and burning like they might give out under you, and when he starts to really touch you again you almost bite down on his fingers, hypersensitive and overstimulated and unable to even move to escape it, with the shelf in front of you and the weight of him pressed to your back–

Maybe he makes you come again, or maybe he doesn’t— it doesn’t really matter, anyways,  the usually-clear delineation between your orgasm and the build to it has been erased, your body so high-strung you can’t even tell the difference anymore. It all just bleeds together, like trying to stay standing and upright in the ocean, in water that’s chest-deep, knocked down by a wave and only barely able to regain your footing before there’s another, and another, and another, rhythmic and relentless and entirely without respite. Beck chuckles, breathless, the sound low and mocking and warm against the shell of your ear,  laughing at you, at the state of you, presumably, and it just drives that tide even higher, until you can’t keep your head above water even in the spaces between the waves.

You should have expected this, you think, with whatever part of your brain that’s still even capable of it— just like any other time you’d ever tried to get the better of him. He always pays you back tenfold.

It could be forever or it could be ten seconds before his own breathing starts to catch and turn ragged, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference anyway, each of his thrusts making something bloom hot and bright across the backs of your eyelids, closed as they are– actual physical evidence of your brain short-circuiting, of everything falling apart; your thoughts, your sense of time, your tenuous, tattered hold on fucking reality. He moves both hands to your waist to pull you back against him, pace growing rougher, more erratic, and without his fingers in your mouth to mute the sound you have to bury your face in the crook of your arm to stifle it as best you can, fingers twitching uselessly, catching in the grids of the shelf and curling there even though it makes the tendons burn, holding tight like you’re trying to anchor yourself to it, to something , anything at all—

“God, fuck, yes,” Beck groans into the crook of your neck, one arm wrapped all the way around your waist and holding you there, flush against him, finishing so fucking deep inside that you think you can feel it in every inch of you, the steady, slowing pulse of his cock, the warmth of it, his trembling, indistinguishable from your own.

It takes a while for everything to settle, after that; for his breathing to steady and for your body to stop shaking and your brain to return to some approximation of functioning . You notice the details in pieces; the crisscrossed marks on your palms and forearms, bitten into the skin there from the latticed grid of the shelf, the ache in the muscles and tendons in your thighs and your calves , the feeling more pleasant than painful.

Eventually, Beck pulls out and his weight shifts away and a shiver runs right through you at the immediate chill of the air in the space he had occupied, the absence of that warmth; you try to straighten up, to stand, but make the fundamental mistake of letting go of the shelf before thinking to check if your numb, trembling legs can even support your weight–

The warmth is back, and you don’t fall.  “Careful, honey,” he says, mocking, mouth pressed against your hair, steadying you in his arms; you don’t even have to look at him to know that he’s grinning wide again.

“You be careful, asshole, you’re gonna stain my sweater,” you reply, unthinking, only fuzzily aware of how it’s slid back down from where it was rucked up around your waist and the solid pressure of his dick against the small of your back, still mostly hard.

He huffs out a laugh.

“Oh, right , of course, my mistake. I’ll be sure to just let you fall next time,” he replies, languid and amused and still a little breathless— and something inside of you trembles, somehow, even fucked-out and shivery and already sated as you are, going a little more lightheaded just at the thought.

Next time.

You don’t even bother to argue or to even act affronted at the presumption, the ability to even shape the words, much less deliver them convincingly, beyond anything you’re capable of right then.

His grip tightens around you for a split second before he lets go, and you’re sure that, like everything, Beck must have noticed that, too.

[dunmertitty]

not including ops irl cause they’re a teenager but like. can yall stop acting like it’s edgy and cool to purposely bind in a way that harms you.

one day you’ll love yourself and your trans body. and you’ll look back on your younger self punishing you for just existing as sad and pitiful. you don’t need to punish yourself for being trans. give yourself a break.

and obviously you don’t have to do what i say - do what you want with your own body. but don’t act like it’s suave and cool thing to do especially around younger dudes. they’re gonna see you as a leader or a big brother and copy what you do. this isn’t 2012 self harm instagram where we’re all taking pictures of our cuts and comparing how depressed we are by how depressed we Look. you’re not edgy and cool for treating yourself like shit. do better or keep quiet to younger folks so they don’t copy you

[dustorange]

autism is real so this isnt about that but One reason people are increasingly skeptical of autism diagnoses and autism AS a diagnosis is that over the past 15 years literally ANYONE who is the combined package of even vaguely smart, intellectually upright, and very awkward—or even just undersocialized from childhood shyness/aloneness, and so didnt develop the exactly correctly calibrated instincts for social interactions—and who has ANY kind of firm binding metaphysical or third-circuit outlook that isn’t the Current Thing has gotten REPEATEDLY and relentlessly coded as autistic and called autistic—and NOT in the pejorative 2000s vidya-game way in which people used to be called “autistic,” but warmly and affectionately and indulgently, and sometimes quietly and privately, identified as so by clearly well-meaning good “normie” people who are eager to put to real-world-application all the psych terms and identities they learned as “good allies.” But being smart yet awkward used to be just being smart yet awkward, and there is nothing inherently disordered about that, and that ALONE in itself is certainly not autism, but now the diagnosis is deterritorialized so it’s just all these things, even seemingly just the faintest tinges of just one of two of these things. And also part of it is just the label desperation to have like something to call ur human condition but it’s just hard to imagine a more sterile term for like explaining why you feel different from everybody else. But so if everyone is telling you this thing for all of your life, or at least, say, the last 15 years, of course you will think, “Well, how could everybody who independently came to this conclusion about me be wrong; the simplest explanation with the fewest assumptions would be that I, my one-person me, am WRONG and they are RIGHT because of their numbers because it would be pretty crazy if that were not the case.” Pretty crazy! But true. Our day-to-day IRL social calibration for detecting autism is just pretty much Type I errors all the way down. But there are people who ARE autistic but also frankly, there is only a very limited number of Type II errors in diagnosis past a certain age so maybe you do have autism and maybe you don’t but if you’re basing it off what regular degular people in your life have said to you, be aware that they are not correctly calibrated for actually detecting that; it’s like when fishing nets catch fish they’re not supposed to by accident (although they catch fish also that they are meant to catach) and anyway people see that and they become skeptical of the whole autism endeavor because they’ve been misidentified as a false positive but there are true positives and there IS in Autism “a there there.”

[higgity-diggity-dummy]

These Strings That Bind Us

first chapter; previous chapter

So this is the first chapter of this fic that I’ve posted since a few of my irl friends have started following me and now they get to see the crazed fanfiction maniac I am and I don’t know if they’re ready.

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

chapter 3:

Nico scanned the room he was left in. He knew logically that he was safe. That he was allowed to be… gay. And that the people that just overheard his conversation with Percy likely didn’t hate him for it.

They probably do hate you though. Even you can’t like yourself.

He just… didn’t like that knowledge to be floating around. 

It was then, after observing all the sleeping and uninterested patients that he saw the face of a particular blonde peering through a corner. 

“Hey. Sunshine. I see you.” Nico said trying to mask his worry. 

How long had he been there?

Will exhaled a laugh. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… stalk…? I was going to check up on you but you were talking with Percy and I did to want to interrupt.”

“How much did you overhear?” Nico asked, deciding to cut to the point. 

Will turned pinker. “Nothing! I swear I wasn’t trying to listen into your conversation. I was just watching,” he said getting redder. “I mean-! I wasn’t like ‘watching’ watching. But I was also not listening. I was just waiting for an opening is all. So I could check up on you. Because that’s what I’m here to do right now. Check up on you that is.”

Will snapped his mouth shut, trying to stop the word-vomit from getting worse. He had a flight-or-flight look in his eyes, as if how Nico responded would be the deciding factor in how this interaction went. He wished Will hadn’t stopped. He couldn’t pin down the exact reason why he liked hearing that incoherent mess of speech, but he did. It took a bit longer for him to realize that while he was brain was occupied by the rambling of the boy across from him, it was too full to waste energy on worrying. 

Nico tried -really tried- to think of something comforting or cringe-reducing to say but he could help it when a laugh slipped out. 

And another. And one more. And five seconds later he was miserably failing to stifle his giggles with his left hand. 

“Wha-“ Will started. “What is it? Are you ok?Did one of my siblings but you on laughing gas or something? It was Kayla wasn’t it?!”

This made Nico laugh even harder. “Oh gods no. You’re just really weird. In a good way. You kept on saying more and it made it get worse and worse.” He laughed again. “Thank you for that. Holy hades I needed a good laugh.”

Will didn’t even flinch when Nico described his little speech as pathetic. If anything, it seemed to make him more confident. Composed. “Well I’m glad you feel joy at my expense,” he said rolling his eyes. “And you have a pretty laugh too. I like hearing it.” He smiled at Nico, his gaze moving to the glow between them. 

Oh right. 

Stop getting comfortable. Especially with him. 

Nico shifted in his seat, moving so his arms are crossed with his left ring-finger covered by his arm. He failed to avert his gaze from Will’s disappointed eyes. 

See? Even if it weren’t wrong, you could never be with him. You fail everybody, and Will is no different. 

A few beats of silence. 

“So uh… checkup?” Nico suggested. 

“Yes! Right. Let me just…” he trailed off. Something about clipboards and procedures that Nico did not have to energy nor interest to pay attention to. 

Will got the information he needed. Apparently a lot of Nico’s story was already in the documents.

“Like I said: I know your history,” Will stated with faux-intimidation. Nico rolled his eyes. 

When they got to the physical checkup Nico started getting jittery. He felt awkward saying something to Will about it, but he really didn’t like being touched so much. Especially because Will’s hands were so… methodical. It was bringing him back. 

To the times of your torment? Good. Revel in it. In the feeling of pain. Relive it all. Maybe if you look tortured enough somebody will even pity you. Why do you think you want that so badly? You know how hard it is to be yourself. Trying to share that burden with somebody else is plain selfish. 

Will noticed. Probably. He didn’t point it out, but he tried to lighten the mood, albeit with terrible references to things Nico did not have the current cultural knowledge to understand. 

Something about Nico being “Mr. Perfectly Fine” when asked about he was feeling. Or responding to Nico’s remarks about his werewolf scratches with saying, “oh! ‘Tis but a flesh wound I see!” (He seemed really proud of himself with that one). And he kept calling Nico a “padawan”?  What even was that?

Yet, despite the utter confusion that had overtaken Nico, it was a good distraction. Will had or hadn’t brought a laugh out of him a couple of times. Nico was or was not starting to feel a lot more comfortable, especially with Will around. 

And the string they shared absolutely was not glowing more warmly with each passing moment they spent together.  Of course not. Never. 

~~~

After that checkup, Nico offered to help around the infirmary. He did this, of course, hoping that his complete lack of any medical knowledge and “aura of death” would be enough for Will to refuse the offer.

He did not. 

Figures. 

What Will did do however, was introduce anyone and everyone imaginable to Nico. Whether that be random patients, his siblings, his Roman siblings that he (being the social-magnet-golden-retriever that he was) had gotten close with after the war, or some poor soul that happened to be within the vicinity of the two of them. It was weird. Nico didn’t know how to feel. Nobody had treated him like a person they could show others to. He was usually hidden away. Chose to keep himself hidden away. 

Nico was starting to like being seen though. It helped that Will was there too. Unlocking the prison of isolation Nico had made for himself and dragging him into interactions when they were in the middle of filing paperwork. When he introduced Nico to a new person, he almost sounded proud. Like knowing Nico was something they could envy about Will. 

“Oh hey [person] have you met my friend Nico?” Will would say. “Yeah he’s the coolest kid in camp! Go on Nico say hi,” pride radiating from his voice. “We met a few days ago when he almost stabbed me haha. He really saved my skin out there. Even if he was seconds away from passing out while doing it.”

Nico would never admit it, but he kind of liked the attention Will was giving him. It was as if Will’s words of affirmation were able to fight off the self-doubt demons would otherwise occupy much of Nico’s thoughts. 

Not only that, but he also liked meeting people. 

Yes. Him. Nico di Angelo. The son of Hades. Well known social recluse. Enjoying the communion of others. 

Was that new? He thought he was an introvert to the core. The idea of people was supposed to make him want to hide under a rock a perish. Was it just that he was so much of a social outcast that he fooled himself into thinking that?

Dear gods, he was not going to spend the time going down that rabbit hole any further. 

Nico felt a tug on his string finger. Will had started doing that in order to touch Nico without touching him. Nico hadn’t decided yet how he felt about it. Well, his heart obviously had, but he’s choosing to ignore that stubborn organ in all matters pertaining to Will. He looked up, slowly bringing himself back to reality. 

Back to the storage/office room they were (as Will had put it) “chillin’” in. Back to the smell of antiseptic spray and old files. Back to the blonde idiot staring into his soul, seemingly trying to solve a puzzle. 

“…what?” Nico broke the silence. 

Will stared for a beat longer. “You were staring off into space for a while. Are you ok?”

He thought for a moment too long. 

“Yes,” was the response Nico decided on. 

Will stared even deeper with a curious look. “…ok… sure. What were you thinking about then?”

Nico was just about to bark out a basic response of “oh nothing”, or something like that, but he stopped himself. He didn’t need to hold himself back. Not when Will was looking at him in that eager and open way that he does. 

“I was thinking about how much in my life has changed,” since you entered into it, “in the past few days.”

Maybe he didn’t say the whole truth, but Will was enough to make him no outright lie. 

“Really?” Will backed off some, face turning from questioning frown to genuine smile. “How so?”

Oh. So this was gonna be some cheesy heart-to-heart, was it? Nico was not opposed to that idea. He looked back up at Will’s bright expectant eyes. 

He actually rather liked the idea.

He talked to Will. He was trying to keep it short (Will was always busy) but the more he talked, the more they kept talking. And talking. And talking. Somehow they moved from life the last few days to life in the past few years. Family, in all possible definitions of the word. Friends, in all their shades, hues, and complexities. Enemies, in all their surprising humanity. 

Will’s voice changed depending on what he was saying. He slurred together his words when they were talking about old interests. He would pause or stutter when they transitioned to deep topics, and slowed down when they got comfortable there. His voice got all jittery and slightly more high pitched when he was excited about something. 

And the way he listened… the way it felt like he hung onto every word Nico said like it was written in scripture…

Nico kept wondering when Will would leave. He would find some excuse about having to check up on a patient, or outright say he didn’t want to stay there. 

Wouldn’t want to stay with you. Why would anyone want to spend time with you. You’re boring him and he will leave you—

But Will hasn’t left. How long has they been there? They sat down on a nearby desk a while ago. Will was still with him. 

Will, talking about his mom and how much he misses her. Will, listening to Nico’s stories of his childhood in Italy. Will, leaning into the beats of silence that would occasionally fall between them with a rare comfort. Will, inching closer to Nico with each passing second. Will, making their string glow impossibly brighter with the effect he had on Nico. Will, coiling the string around his fingers until there was no space between his and Nico’s hands. Will, cutting himself off mid-sentence just to graze Nico’s hand. 

Will. Will. Will. 

How long had it been? It was dark outside. Not that Nico cared. In the moment all that Nico cared about was right by his side, chatting animatedly, listening with care, leaning against Nico as he got more tired. Nico couldn’t imagine falling asleep now. His heart was beating so fast one would think he was about to be killed by some monster. 

For some reason this moment felt more important than any of those past life-or-death experiences. He was safe. Nobody was in danger. But all those times he was fighting to live. Now he’s living to be alive. 

With Will. 

He looked over at the boy now resting on his shoulder and smiles. His mouth slightly open and he’s just barely snoring. It’s adorable. Nico’s heart warms with affection. 

Affection. He liked using that word in this moment. He smiled. 

He liked using that word for Will. 

~~~

The Apollo Cabin did not cut him any slack when he brought a sleeping Will back in a bridal carry late into the night.

~~~

“Hey! It’s Mr. Perfectly Fine!” Will exclaimed to his siblings when Nico had entered the infirmary office. 

Nico had caught a glimpse of Will hunched over his desk, with an exhausted expression written on his face just as Nico had walked in. It seemed like he was talking to his siblings, Kayla and Austin, about how he can “totally handle all this work” and that he’s “not burnt out”. They however, were willing to drop that conversation to snicker at Nico regarding whatever it was Will had just said. 

“Seriously? You have no other jokes,” Nico retorted. “What is that referencing? I’m convinced you’re making it up at this point.”

“Oh please, at this point it’s your fault for not being a part of the Taylor Nation,” Kayla chimed in. 

“I’ve been here for two days!”

Kayla crossed her arms. “That’s two whole days of Taylor Swift that you could have been listening to.”

Nico rolled his eyes and looked to Austin, the one person left who hadn’t taken a side against him.

“What?” He responded. “They’re right. All the effort you’ve made to avoid Taylor Swift is really some Kanye behavior.”

Nico hated his past self. Why did he decide to start hanging out with the Apollo Cabin? They were one mess of snarky comebacks joined together by their obsession over various musicians. 

“I’ve been helping out! Would you really rather have me be wasting oxygen while listening to Swift?” Nico asked the cohesive mass. 

“Yes!” They all shouted in (a partially harmonized) unison. 

Nico groaned and sat on the chair he had placed next to Will’s desk the last time he was in this office. He’s only been here for three days and yet he has a spot for him. Next to Will. 

The siblings talked about some infirmary stuff. Work schedules, post-war stuff, some new Roman ailments they learned about. Nico tuned it out, picking at his hangnails. 

Some time later, the door Nico had just come through slammed open with an uninterested Drew Tanaka on the other end. 

“Hey shitheads! I need drugs!” She said. 

Nico raised an eyebrow at her and turned to look at Will, hoping he would translate. 

Without looking up from his desk, Will rolled his eyes and said, “Sweet baby Zeus, can’t you just say ibuprofen like a normal person?”

He pushed back on his chair to get up, but Kayla pushed him right back. 

“Nuh-uh. I’ve got this. You stay here and take a break with your,” she looked at Nico, “dude-best-friend.” She winked at him.  

She headed out the door, with Drew on her heels. 

The three left in the room looked at each other. A silent conversation played out between Will and Austin that lasted for much longer than a silent conversation has any right to last. Nico was glad to not be involved in it, whatever it was. 

Austin sighed. “I guess I’ll go with them to make sure they don’t blow anything up.” 

“Again,” Will added. 

With a quick finger-gun-snap to his brother, Austin left. 

The door creaked it as it closed. 

“Wait,” Nico put his elbows on the desk. “How many explosions have they caused?” He thought for a second. “How do they even cause explosions to happen?”

He waits for a second more. Will is writing something down. Nico probably shouldn’t have interrupted by talking. He needed to be more conscious about his actions. Especially now that he is friends with Will. What was it Kayla said? “Dude-best-friend”? Yeah. He needed to be a better dude-best-friend. Not that they were “best friends”. It was probably just some slang or something. If they were even considered to be best-

Thunk. 

Will face-planted onto his desk. 

“Shit.” How long had he been working? “Are you ok?” 

Will held up a hand to give a thumbs-up before dropping it back down to his desk. Will started snoring. 

Nico knew there was a right way to react to this. Will probably had the answer for him. But Nico couldn’t find it in himself to do anything but stare. Stare and think. Like he was moving in slow motion but the rest of the world wasn’t kind enough to take note.

Was this normal for Will? Did he just collapse at his desk from time to time? No. He was always preaching his gospel of “taking care of yourself” and whatnot. This had to be a one-off thing. 

He’s probably fine, right? Sure, he’s probably a little bit burnt out, but it’s not life and death or anything. 

Yeah good idea. Bury your problems. Maybe one day you’ll share a grave with them.

How could he even think like that? “Not life and death,” so many things are not life and death but they are still worth worrying about. 

Nico is a terrible friend. He needs to be worrying more about Will. Will needs help. 

And how the hell do you expect to help him? Name one time you weren’t a burden to somebody. Every time you try to do something it fails. Just stop. 

Gods. He was pathetic. His friend was passed out in front of him, and he was standing there, frozen. He should do something. He needed to do something. He just. He- he had to-

You always let people down. You’re too pitiful to help anyone. 

No! He could help! 

Will laid there fully unaware of the warfare happening in Nico’s mind. Someone looking in would likely find his state of rest to look peaceful. He was just a tired kid doctor in a tiny room filled with papers and files. 

Outside that room was a couple of teenagers bickering about ibuprofen and explosives. It was a conversation severely lacking in context for the onlookers not in said conversation. 

Even further beyond there were children doing dangerous and mundane activities. Somewhere a kid first encountered a monster. A man proposed to his girlfriend to the joy of an entire restaurant. A man proposed to his boyfriend to the shock, disgust, and joy of a small park. A child wrote a letter that never got read to her father fighting in a war. A species that was never discovered went extinct. A group of teenagers got high on the roof of a parking lot. A tired mother decided to quit smoking for the third time that year. A grandparent met their first grandson. 

And back in that small room with too much paper and a sleeping boy, a damaged kid sees nothing but the worst of it. 

Nico’s mind is a tunnel with no light at the end; flashing horrors crowding it out and letting no logic or hope in. 

This was life-or-death. If Nico didn’t do something, he would be responsible for whatever happened to Will. 

Will would know what to do. If Nico just knew Will better. If he just payed a bit more attention while Will worked. He must have been a terrible friend, having not cared enough to know how to handle this. 

Finally, something you’re right about. 

Gods! How could he even be drowning in this self pity now? Will needed help. He needed… caffeine? An intervention? He needed something and Nico needed to help. He could help. He needed to help. He needed-

His hand met a warmth. He looked down to see his and Will’s hands touching. Nico didn’t know when he started reaching for his hand. He let it sit there for a few beats of tense, heavy, warm silence. 

His fingers moved without his consent to gently coil their string. 

People say that, for soulmates, strings are able to pass emotions. The way one touches their string and the feeling they have while holding it are felt by the person on the other side. 

Nico could… send some comfort? The thoughts would have made him laugh in any other circumstance. Him. Being the bringer of comfort. But in this instance, he could. There wasn’t anything else he coulddo. 

No you cannot. You will lead yourself to heartbreak. 

Will groaned. Nico flinched. 

His hand twitched to reach out. To let Will know that “I’m here”. That “you can talk to me”. 

You can’t do that. 

He couldn’t do that though. 

You don’t know how to comfort people. 

He didn’t even know how to comfort people. 

Just look in front of you, you let this happen under your watch. 

He’d let this happen. 

And here you are thinking to yourself instead of doing anything. 

Gods! He just needed to focus. Think of some solution.

Just think! Just think! Just think! Just-

A door opened and Nico’s throat dropped, feeling like he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have done. Which was stupid. He knew that. 

He uselessly held his hands up and backed up, turning to the door. His body was frozen as thoughts of the thousands of ways the next few seconds could go all competed for his attention. He was a deer in the headlights, weakly looking past the person who was on the other end of the door. They looked at the scene in the room and raised an eyebrow.

“Nico? What happened?” Austin asked. 

Austin! Thank the gods! He can-

“Help.” Nico creaked. “I don’t know what happened. Will, he…” Nico cut himself off. His throat was so choked up it was barely letting him say anything. It hurt. He didn’t realize he was this close to tears. 

Fucking baby. 

Austin rushed to his brother’s side and after a few moments sighed a breath of relief. “He’s fine. Just exhausted.” He took a few moments to give Nico a worried look. “Are you fine?”

Nico couldn’t respond. His body was still in fight-or-flight mode. He could only hear the pounding of his heartbeat, so strong it was like it was coming directly from his ears. There was to much happening. He just needed to calm down. He also had to respond. He had to look normal. He had to help with- 

“Everything is fine.” The mantra he repeated in his mind. “He’s just exhausted. He’s ok. I’m ok.” 

No you’re not. No he’s not. 

Austin just confirmed that there was nothing to worry about.

You just don’t care enough about Will to keep worrying for him. 

“I’m ok,” he finally responded, voice even more shaky. 

Austin made a doubtful look and walked over to a shelf, pulling out some ball. He handed it to Nico, placing it in a hand he had not realized was shaking until then. He squeezed it and it was cushiony, but firm. 

“Breathe with me,” Austin said simply. 

And they breathed together. Slowly in.  Holding it. Slowly out. Holding it. 

After a minute or so he asked “would you mind if I brought Kayla here too?”

Shrugging, Nico lied. “I don’t mind. I’m fine really.” Although he didn’t know why he was still trying. 

“No, you’re not.”

Austin steps out of the room and sticks his head out the door, peering down the corridor. “Kayla!”

Nico heard a muffled, “What?! I’m busy!”

Again shouting back, “Just come over here please!”

Some shuffling. Some footsteps. “What’s up?”

Austin stepped aside and let her view the scene. Her eyes softened and she walked over towards where Nico stayed standing. 

“Oh Gods Nico, what’s wrong?” She asked him. 

He tried for a dry laugh. “Nononono I’m fine. I was just a little-“ he choked. He hopelessly tried to steady his voice. “Just a little worried for Will is all.”

Kayla’s eyes immediately went wide with panic at the mention of his brother’s name. “What happened? Is he ok?” She looked over to his desk. 

Austin stepped up to his sister, putting a hand on her arm. “He’s alright Kay. Just a little exhausted,” he said. They looked like they were having a silent conversation for a moment after that ended when they both looked back at Nico. 

“Do you want to sit and talk for a bit?” Austin eventually asked. 

“It doesn’t have to be about anything important,” Kayla added. “Or anything at all. Like, if you need silence with company we got you. Or silence without company. Or company without silence. Or any other combination. Or some other secret option. Or-“

“Company without silence is just the first choice you said,” Austin interrupted

Kayla thought for a second. “It is, isn’t it? It feels like there should be more combinations of those words though.”

“No company with no silence.”

“Ok but does that actually make any sense? Unless you talk to yourself professionally you wouldn’t be alone and without silence.”

“I would say that I can be alone without silence. I’m an interesting guy, I have fun talking to myself.”

“Yeah well, you’re just lonely so-“

A laugh escaped from Nico. They both looked at him. 

“Sorry,” he said, for once with a steady voice. “The way you guys talk to each other is really funny to watch.” It reminded him of how he was with Bianca when they were younger. They used to argue all the time, sometimes escalating into screaming matches. Their mother would always step in and say something wise and meaningful that completely went over Nico and his sister’s heads. If Bianca were both alive now, would it be like this? Would their arguments not be out of malice but sibling love? What would that have looked like with them?

Kayla rested an arm on her brother’s shoulder as he looked at her with fake disgust. “We are, aren’t we?” She asked him. 

“I really don’t think you’re ‘funny’. If anything funny looking.”

Kayla walked over to a circular table and sat down. “Oh please. I’m the hottest sibling. No contest.”

Austin followed her, taking a seat for himself. “If that’s what you want to believe, I will let you continue living with that lie.”

Kayla scoffed and looked back at Nico. “Wanna join the order of the round table?”

Yes. 

“I uh… Are you sure it won’t get in the way of,” he waved his hand around at the general vicinity, “infirmary duties?”

“Not really,” Austin answers. “We did rounds this morning and everybody just needs more time to heal with the meds and magic,” which he embellished with spirit fingers, “and we already gave them their afternoon doses. Unless there’s some random emergency-“

“Or Drew comes back demanding drugs again,” Kayla added. 

“Or that, then we’re just chilling.”

Nico wanted to say yes.

Don’t fool yourself kid. They don’t want you there. You’re just being a burden. They seem to be having a great time without-

Nico squeezed the ball. He moved to the table. He smiled and they smiled back. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author’s Note:

thank you so much for reading!! To that one person who commented on my last fic saying they needed more: thank you specificially. And I’m sorry specifically for you because the wait for the next one is going to be worse than a cartoon hiatus. Tho I’m actually going to be spending that time writing instead of feeling guilty for not writing to that’s a win. also I have an Ao3 now so that’s cool

[eupheme]

fanfic ask game!! 57, 59, & 76 for sugar, sugar 🤍

(also 11 if you'd like— always desperate for fic recs 🫣)

hi hi el!!! 💖 these were so fun and omg of course, I would love to give some recs! thank you for sending me these!

Link your three favorite fics right now

Ahh three recent fics that have burrowed into my brain are:

right where you left me by @moonlight-prose

remember you are half water by @tarabyte3

house in nebraska by @venomnyx

I absolutely recommend all of these, they are incredible and brilliantly done!! 💖

Do you prefer editing as you write, or waiting until it’s finished? 

I like to try to get everything drafted before I edit, so I don’t get too sucked in and lose my steam! But if I get stuck or see something that needs fixing I’ll take a moment to do that.

Does anyone in your personal life know you write fic? if not, would you tell anyone?

My partner does! He’s been so sweet about helping me find or gift me supplies for my fic binding journey, too. I don’t have any irl friends who read fic - but if I had a bestie who did, I would probably tell them!

Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut of [Fanfic Name]? 

Ahh thank you for asking this about sugar, sugar!! 💖 when I first started it (before come on and show me, I was leaving wade single so I could do a poly spin-off with the three of them (which is why I wrote out Vanessa too BUT I think Wade works better as a bff here! and if I write more I’d love to get them back together) and I also wasn’t going to originally write the 2nd part, but I got the idea for it at the last minute and I’m glad I did because I think that chapter is cute 💕

[ashenprofessor]

Celebrating TOA and the people who contribute to make our group what it is.

Repost, don't reblog. Only fill in what you feel comfortable sharing!

Happy anniversary, TOA! Here's to many more years spent together.

Name: Rua

Pronouns: they/he

Birthday (no year): 02/10 (I share my birth with Kaze and am also a twin!)

Where are you from? What is your time zone? From UK, GMT

How long is your roleplay experience? however long Byleth has been in TOA

How were you introduced to roleplaying as a whole? tbh, I'm not even sure. Just found TOA somehow despite not really being a tumblr user and yeah... here I am.

How were you introduced to TOA? see above answer

Do you have any pets? Yes. A black void cat who's mine and family dog.

What is your favorite time of year and why?(Season, holiday, general period) Autumn because the temperatures mean can snuggle up with games/book/videos but not freeze your ass off. Plus autumn colour is so pretty.

What is your IRL occupation? Structural Engineer

Some interests and things you like/enjoy? I like fantasy and sci-fi books, playing boardgames and rock climbing.

What non-Fire Emblem games do you play? Kingdom hearts, Professor Layton, Persona, Yakuza (Like a dragon), Pokemon, Final Fantasy, lot's of games really 😅

Favorite Pokemon type & Pokemon: Dark type. Lycanrock (Duskform)

Tell us some funfacts and trivia about yourself! I'm a black belt in taekwondo, I like to crochet and I've just started learning drums.

How did you get into Fire Emblem? I bought Awakening after watching a top 10 3ds games video where it was described as 3d chess. Played a bit then got very invested in Fates as it was releasing. Bought my copy birthright with first ever paycheck.

What Fire Emblem games have you played? Engage, 3Houses and 3Hopes, Fates, Awakening, Echoes, Warriors (started), Fire Emblem Binding Blade (Currently playing)

First & Favorite Fire Emblem games: first was technically Awakening but I didn't finish it till 2023. First finished was 3 houses. My favourite? Either fates or 3 Houses.

List your 5 favorite Fire Emblem characters across the series! Byleth, Shez, Kaze, Dimitri, Xander

Who was the first character ever to make you go “ooh I like this one in particular” and why? Can be any context and reason! Dimitri for his story arc. And eyepatch. And later hairstyle.

Any Fire Emblem crushes?

If you’ve played (or are familiar with) the following games, who was your first S support? Who would you S support nowadays?- Awakening:- Fates:- Three Houses:- Engage:

Favorite Fire Emblem class?

If you were a Fire Emblem character, what would be your class and stats? Would you be playable? Ninja or tactician.

If you were a Three Houses character, what would be your affiliation? (Black Eagles, Blue Lions, Golden Deer, Church of Seiros, Those Who Slither in the Dark, unaffiliated civilian, other - for example Almyran) Blue Lions

If you were an Officers Academy student, what would be your boons, banes and potential budding talent? Boon: Reason Bane: Heavy Armour. Budding Talent: Gauntlets

If you were an Engage character, which nation would you originate from? (Firene, the Kingdom of Abundance; Brodia, the Kingdom of Might; Elusia, the Kingdom of Knowledge; Solm, the Queendom of Freedom; Lythos, the holy land of the Divine Dragon; Gradlon, the desolate land of the Fell Dragon)

How do you pronounce TOA? T-O-A

Current TOA muses: Byleth

Past TOA muses? Chrom, Shez, Dimitri

Who was your first TOA muse? If you no longer have them, can you see yourself picking them up again? Byleth. Don't think I could ever drop them.

Do you believe you have a type of character you gravitate towards writing? Mostly with MC as less anxiety of getting the portrayal or lore/canon wrong. I do like Lords too.

Do you have characters or types of characters you don’t think you can handle writing, but wish you could? I wish I could write a soft/tragic character which people would love/protect. Or a complete arsehole but I always feel bad being too mean.

What kind of scenes, situations etc do you believe you enjoy writing the most? I've really enjoyed writing pokemon AUs and word count challenges.

Do you have any scenario in mind for your muse(s) that gets you thinking “man I hope I get to write this one day”? Maybe some other type of AU which aligns with other interests like Persona/KH/ Camp Half-blood etc.

Favorite TOA-related memories? Just the love and support from everyone here and the fun we all have together hyping each other up. Plus Lore events. Especially Unscripted 2022 where Shez became a K-pop idol in dance offs while Byleth was in a apocalyptic future. The dichotomy was hilarious.

Present or past tense? Past tense is what I default to writing but my dyslexia means I can swap part way through sentence! Third person.

Normal size text, small text, no preference? Normal text as easier to read.

Got any potential muse delusions to share? If I could handle 2 muses I would love a Shez rerun