#not that I would ever do anything illegal like that

[zero-up]

"Shooters are still A thing. Therefore: no one shouldn't complain when someone kills A CEO. Because making rich people unrelated to the suffering of 6-year-olds is totally good because."

What was the point of killing that CEO? How will it improve the health care system? Doesn't it just make it harder to attack the corporation he was in charge of, which role likely just continue honest though nothing happened anyway? Even if the CEO was completely evil, what was the point? Was it just to make someone you don't like suffer? Did you even know the CEO before this incident?

Gosh, I hate the Luigi apology! Especially when they try to pull the "so we should just sit down and politely ask for rides?". My dude, what will violence accomplish? How will killing anyone illegally make anything better in any way shape or form? What is the process here? How does this work? What is the step 2? Because unless your goal is to literally overthrow the government, I'm not really seeing how killing people can help you accomplish your goals.

You want to know how peace can actually solve the issue? By voting! Your elected officials rely on votes in order to keep power. You're elected officials have to care about their voters, because if they don't: they lose power. And if you do not vote: you do not have power over your elected officials. Doing research and voting sound like work? Fine then, don't vote, I don't either for that very reason. But at least I'm not saying "ViOlEnCe Is ThE oNlY aNsWeR" when I can't even be bother to vote!

And everyone sympathizing for the CEO because they don't want to live in a society that normalizes violence. And trust me: you don't either. You don't want the average person to think it's justified to resort to violence for political reasons. Because long beliefs don't magically have A different effect on one's psychology than true beliefs, and the vast majority of people think they are good, and that people they don't like are guilty.

If you normalize good people killing the guilty, then you also normalize bad people killing the innocent. That's not a slippery slope fallacy, that's A logical consequence of most bad people think their good people.

I generally do not like or trust the cops. If there's no other reason to hate them: let it be for how they conduct interrogations. And I have many problems with the US legal system. But I recognize the benefit of the law is that it forces people to abide by a standard that maximizes the punishment of the guilty and minimizes the punishment of the innocent. We can definitely do way better, but the easiest way to do that is to improving the system we currently have, and trying to ignore it or circumvent it is way more likely to make things incredibly worse than they are to make it better.

And trust me, I could go on, I have at least one extra point I could make right now that's alluded to in a previous point. I actually have A Reddit post draft that I barely started a while ago that I should probably finish at some point. But right now I'm really just venting because this gets me angry every time I see it, and I'm kind of annoyed that someone I followed unironically unironically reposted this, I still they thought it was so obviously correct that they didn't need to worry about backlash. And honestly, the Luigi-simping is just an example of a greater problem where people unironically think political violence is justified without ever putting A single iota of thought into how that would actually work. They come to conclusions based entirely off of what feels right, and then they call others naive when they point out how absurd their conclusions are.

I just want people to critically examine the own beliefs more, or at least honestly listen to what others critiques of theirs more.

[lev1berry]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲▶ discharged リヴァイ

( 𝓢 ) ﹕ he finds himself unexpectedly falling for you

in which levi ackerman, accustomed to a life of duty and emotional detachment, starts to change when he's injured and cared for by a nurse. initially indifferent, he gradually grows fond of her quiet kindness and begins to desire more. as his walls break down, he struggles with the fear of revealing his inner scars, uncertain about this unexpected connection.

──── levi ackerman x nurse! r ╱ ⌕ acquaintance2friends, fluff ∿ w. unethical relationship (nurse x patient) , romantic relationship , unestablished relationship , mutual pinning , feminine terms used , levi having a crush , brief mention of despersion , not proofread wc. 8.6k (8,611) ｡ ｡ inspired by this post by @levisrations the amount of times I rewrote this should be illegal

☆ 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈 𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 resigned himself to a life devoid of love. His world was one of duty and survival, where attachments were liabilities and emotions were weaknesses. But life, unpredictable as always, decided to challenge that belief in the most unexpected way. When he was confined to a hospital bed, broken and weary, you entered his life—not as a savior, but as a nurse assigned to care for him.

At first, Levi regarded you with indifference. You were efficient, professional, and kind, but he kept his walls firmly in place. He convinced himself that you were just doing your job, and he was just another patient in your care. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, something began to change.

It wasn’t a grand, dramatic moment that shifted his perspective. It was the quiet moments: the way you patiently listened to his curt remarks without taking offense, the soft smile you gave him when you thought he wasn’t looking, the way you treated him not as a soldier or a broken man but simply as Levi. Piece by piece, you slipped past his defenses, and he didn’t even realize it until it was too late.

For the first time in years, Levi found himself wanting something more. He looked forward to your presence in a way that unsettled him, and the thought of you not being there filled him with a strange, unfamiliar ache. But with that longing came fear—fear of letting you see the scars he had buried deep within. Not just the ones on his body, but the ones etched into his very soul.

Levi tried to suppress his feelings, convincing himself that you deserved better. Someone whole, someone unburdened by the weight of the past. He told himself he was protecting you, sparing you from the pain of being tethered to a man like him. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t deny the truth: you had become more than just a nurse to him.

Anyway, that plan didn’t work out. He wasn’t surprised; after all, things rarely went his way. Life had taught him that expecting anything more was a fool’s game. Still, he had hoped—foolishly, it seemed—that distancing himself from you would be enough to smother the feelings blooming in his chest. But it didn’t. If anything, his emotions only grew stronger with each passing day.

Hurray… What a cruel irony. Every time you walked into the room, every time your voice filled the air, it was like pouring gasoline on a fire he couldn’t extinguish. He wanted to hate it, to hate himself for feeling this way, but he couldn’t. You had become the one thing he couldn’t push away, no matter how hard he tried.

And it wasn’t just your kindness or your beauty that had undone him—it was the way you carried yourself, the way you looked at the world with such hope and grace. It was the way you treated him like he was something more than his scars, his past, or his title. You were so effortlessly… you. Bright, compassionate, full of life. You were everything he wasn’t—caring, gentle, and full of a light that seemed almost otherworldly. To him, you were the most gorgeous person he had ever met, not just in appearance but in spirit. And the more he dwelled on that, the more his hope diminished.

And he? He was just… him. A man burdened by too many failures, too many regrets, and too many scars to count. He felt like a shadow standing in the glow of your light. How could someone like you ever harbor love for someone like him? The thought was laughable, absurd even.

Levi clenched his fists, his jaw tightening at the ache blooming in his chest. This would hurt him, he was certain it would. There was no scenario where this ended with you looking at him the way he looked at you. No world where someone as extraordinary as you could ever fall for a man as broken as him.

And yet, despite the certainty of his own heartbreak, he couldn’t stop himself from caring. From wanting. From dreaming of the impossible, even if it was only for a fleeting moment. You were a flame, and he was a moth doomed to burn. And somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to turn away.

In the quiet of his heart, a small, fragile hope begins to grow. Perhaps, just perhaps, you are the one person who can show him that even the most shattered souls are capable of love.

He sighed deeply, the sound barely audible in the quiet of his room, as he lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Once again, his mind was plagued with thoughts of you. This had been happening more frequently than he cared to admit, and no matter how hard he tried to shake it off, you always found your way into his thoughts.

Levi rubbed a hand over his face, as if the motion could wipe away the image of you that lingered in his mind. It was impossible, though. The memory of your kindness was seared into him. The way you spoke to him—not with pity, but with genuine care—was something he wasn’t used to. And that smile of yours… God, that smile. It was radiant, warm, and so effortlessly beautiful that it made his chest ache.

And your eyes. Those breathtaking eyes. They held a light he couldn’t quite describe, a spark that seemed to draw him in every time he was fortunate enough to catch a glimpse. He swore the world felt quieter when you looked at him, as if for that brief moment, nothing else existed but you. It was maddening how much power those fleeting glances had over him.

The more he thought about you, the deeper the ache in his chest grew. Because with every second spent imagining your laughter, your touch, your presence, he was also reminded of the harsh truth: someone like you could never feel the same way about someone like him. Levi wasn’t the type of man who inspired affection or love. He was stoic, scarred, and far too broken to be worthy of someone as extraordinary as you.

Levi closed his eyes, the weight of his unspoken feelings pressing down on him like a lead blanket. It was a cruel torment, to be so utterly captivated by you while knowing his chances were as slim as the stars aligning. Yet, no matter how much it hurt, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about you. You had become his solace and his torment all at once—a beautiful dream that he could never truly hold.

It's not like it's impossible for you to feel the same…it's just that it's unlikely.

As if on cue, the door creaked open slowly, the sound breaking the silence and drawing his attention. His eyes shifted toward the doorway, where he caught sight of you peeking inside, your hand resting lightly on the frame. And then, with a smile that could rival the sun, you stepped fully into the room, your presence instantly filling the once-empty space with warmth.

Well, speak of the angel. His breath hitched slightly, though he masked it with a quiet exhale. “Y/n…” The name slipped from his lips in a hushed whisper, barely audible, almost as if it wasn’t meant to be heard. It was a reflex, really—an involuntary reaction to the sight of you. He would never admit it out loud, but seeing you again felt like the highlight of his day.

No, it was the highlight of his day. The hours leading up to this moment had been nothing short of agonizing. He knew you were busy tending to other patients, carrying out your duties, being your usual diligent self, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every second without you had dragged on painfully, each minute feeling like an eternity. He had spent the entire day counting down the time, his gaze flickering to the clock more often than he’d care to admit.

And now you were here, standing in front of him, your eyes bright and full of that familiar kindness that always seemed to soften the edges of his otherwise harsh reality. He tried to keep his expression neutral, to maintain the stoic facade he always wore, but deep down, he felt something stir—a quiet relief, a sense of peace that only your presence seemed to bring.

If he were honest with himself, painfully, brutally honest, he’d admit that he wished you didn’t have to divide your attention among others. The selfish part of him (one he didn’t even know existed until you came along) wanted you all to himself. He wanted your care, your time, your smile to be for him and him alone. The thought was absurd, he knew that. But it lingered all the same, persistent and unshakable.

Still, Levi kept those thoughts buried, tucked away where they couldn’t betray him. Instead, he simply watched you, his gray eyes following your every movement as you approached him. The day had been long, but now that you were here, he could finally breathe a little easier—even if he’d never tell you just how much your presence meant to him.

His gaze instinctively roamed over you, taking in every detail as if committing you to memory. From the way your hair frames your face to the way you carried yourself, everything about you seemed to radiate a kind of effortless charm that left him momentarily breathless. Before he realized it, a faint smile crept onto his lips, one so small it was almost imperceptible. It was rare for him to smile at all, but with you, it felt… natural.

Of course, his fleeting expression went unnoticed. You were too busy looking at him with that warm, familiar gaze of yours, the one that seemed to reach straight into his chest and wrap around his heart. Your smile, soft yet dazzling, pulled him in further, like a tether he couldn’t escape—and didn’t want to.

His steel-gray eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, unconsciously softened as they locked onto you. The tension he carried in his shoulders eased, his hardened exterior melting away, if only for a moment. It wasn’t something he could control; it was simply the effect you had on him.

What a sight for sore eyes… The thought drifted through his mind unbidden, and for once, he didn’t try to push it away. It was true, after all. You were a breath of fresh air in the otherwise suffocating monotony of his days. Your presence was a balm, soothing the edges of his often jagged world. He realized that he could spend an eternity in your presence and still not grow tired of the sight.

“I got some good news,” you started excitedly as you made your way closer to his bed, the sound of your voice full of joy. You leaned even closer, your face now so near his that you could almost feel the warmth of his breath. His cheeks flushed ever so slightly, a subtle but telling reaction to your proximity.

“Go on,” Levi encouraged, his voice low and calm, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes as he awaited the news.

You beamed, unable to hold back your excitement. “You're getting discharged tomorrow! Isn't that great?”

At first, Levi’s expression softened into what seemed to be a small, content smile, but it faded almost instantly, replaced by a frown that tugged at his features. His gaze dropped to his lap, his fingers nervously twitching against the bedsheet. Great? How is this great? The word felt almost alien in his mind, a stark contrast to the wave of uncertainty that washed over him. Tomorrow, he would be free to leave the sterile walls of the hospital, but that meant he'd have to say goodbye. He wouldn’t be able to see you every day, to hear your voice or feel the warmth of your presence beside him.

The thought gnawed at him. Even though he was supposed to feel relief, there was a knot of unease tightening in his chest. “I… guess it’s good,” Levi muttered, his tone laced with a complexity that didn’t quite match the excitement you had shown.

You noticed the sudden shift in his demeanor. Your heart sank, but you quickly masked the concern on your face with a smile, trying to cheer him up. “Hey, you’re finally getting out of here. It’s something to be happy about, right?”

As much as Levi wouldn’t admit it, he didn’t want to leave just yet. Not until he found the courage to tell you how he truly felt, a confession he’d buried deep down for far too long. He’d been planning to speak up for ages, but the right moment never seemed to come. And now, here it was: he was being discharged tomorrow, and it felt like his world was about to shift in a way he wasn’t ready for. The truth was, he wasn’t ready to leave you behind, not without at least saying something.

In a panic, his mind scrambled for a reason, any reason, to delay his release. He didn’t care if it was silly or unreasonable. All he knew was that he couldn’t leave yet. Maybe he could convince them to keep him here for a little longer, maybe even longer than that. Anything to stall for time.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he said, his voice wavering for the first time in a long while. He paused, struggling to come up with the right words, but the silence only amplified the urgency in his mind. “I can’t walk with this…” His gaze fell heavily on his leg, his eyes momentarily losing focus as if the sight of it somehow made him feel even more trapped by his own hesitation. His leg was still wrapped in bandages, the healing process a reminder of the physical limitations that had left him stuck in the hospital for what felt like forever.

You stared at him for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you, before something inside you clicked. And then, it hit you: you knew exactly what he was trying to do. You couldn’t help it; a burst of laughter escaped your lips, light and carefree, as the absurdity of the moment struck you. The tension that had been building inside you melted away as you giggled, shaking your head in disbelief.

Levi’s eyes widened, a mix of confusion and annoyance flashing across his face. He hadn’t expected you to laugh, especially not at a time like this. “What?” he muttered, clearly not understanding why you were laughing at his predicament.

You managed to calm yourself down, though a few soft chuckles still slipped out. Wiping your eyes, you met his gaze again, your words carrying the remnants of your amusement. “Don’t worry about that,” you said, your voice light with affection, “we have a wheelchair for that.”

The realization hit him with a jolt, and he cursed inwardly. He had almost forgotten about the advances in Marley’s medical technology. In this world, they had more than just crutches or walkers—they had efficient, well-designed wheelchairs that would make his current condition nothing more than a slight inconvenience. That was his whole excuse, shattered in an instant.

Levi’s head dropped, and he exhaled a heavy sigh, trying to think of something else that could give him a little more time. But the truth was, there wasn’t much he could do to hold on any longer. He was trapped by his own thoughts, by the ticking clock and the weight of his unspoken feelings.

"I'll leave you to get some rest."

Your voice sliced through the haze of his thoughts like a soft breeze, stirring him from the swirling confusion in his mind. Levi’s heart skipped a beat at your words, his mouth opening slightly as if he had something important to say. He was about to call out to you, to ask you to stay just a little longer, to hold on to this fragile moment before you disappeared from his reach. But the words caught in his throat, and by the time he managed to look up, the door was already closing behind you. The soft click of it sealing shut was like the final nail in the coffin, the sound marking the moment when he knew he had missed his chance.

Damn it.

He let out a frustrated sigh, his shoulders slumping as he turned his head to rest against the pillow. His mind raced with all the things he should have said, all the things he had wanted to say, but now it was too late. He was left with nothing but the bitter taste of regret. Why had he hesitated? Why hadn’t he just told you?

As he closed his eyes, the thoughts continued to spiral through his mind like a never-ending storm. What would have happened if he had confessed how he truly felt? Would you have looked at him with surprise, maybe even a smile, and confessed that you felt the same way? Or would you have rejected him outright, laughed at the idea that someone like him could ever be worthy of your affection?

The thought stung, but as he considered it, Levi found himself dismissing it almost immediately. You were too kind, too understanding, to ever treat him that way. You wouldn’t laugh at him. You wouldn’t ridicule him. He couldn’t see you doing that. Yet still, doubt gnawed at him, eating away at the edges of his resolve. The uncertainty lingered in the air, the question unanswered, and it left a hollow feeling deep in his chest.

Levi tried to push the storm of thoughts away, as if somehow doing so would help him sleep. He shut his eyes tightly, willing himself to relax, to let go of the tension that had built up inside of him over the course of the day. But even as he breathed in, exhaling slowly, his mind refused to settle. The image of your smile, the sound of your laughter, and the unspoken words between you lingered in the quiet room.

What would have happened if he had taken the chance? Would everything be different now?

Before Levi knew it, the sun had risen, its golden rays filtering through the curtains and casting a soft glow across the room. He turned his head, squinting as the light hit his eyes. The warmth of it was almost too much, so he closed his eyes tightly and turned away, burying his face into the cool pillow. The light of the new day seemed to mock him, reminding him that time was slipping away. He hadn't slept a wink all night, the relentless swirl of thoughts keeping him awake as they so often did. But this time, the thoughts were different. This time, they were filled with the image of you—the pretty nurse who had become far too important to him over the past few months.

Today was likely the last time he’d see you.

The realization hit him like a weight, and it sunk deep into his chest. He hadn’t thought it would be so hard to say goodbye, but now that it was happening, the thought was almost unbearable. How many more times could he frown today? How many more times could he allow himself to be disappointed by his own inability to act? Levi felt a dull ache form in his heart as he turned away from the sun's light. There was nothing he could do about it now. You’d be gone from his life soon enough, and he would be left with nothing but memories and regret.

The soft sound of the door opening broke him from his spiral, and he didn’t even bother to turn his head. It was strange, really—this was probably the first time in a long while that he didn’t want to see you. He had grown accustomed to your presence, to the way your voice would brighten the sterile, dull atmosphere of the hospital. But now? Now, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts, even if they were nothing but a tangle of regret and longing.

"Mr. Ackerman? Are you awake?"

Your voice was quiet, tentative, like you were trying not to disturb him, but it was impossible to ignore. Despite himself, he turned over in bed to face you, his eyes settling on your figure standing in the doorway. He let out a small, frustrated sigh, his gaze fixed on you. Might as well burn your image into his brain, because it seemed like that was the only way he’d be able to remember you after today.

Damn you. Damn you for worming your way so deeply into his life, making him feel things he never wanted to feel. For making him care. For making him think, even for a moment, that he could have something real.

Yet, even as the frustration swirled inside of him, Levi had to admit—he couldn't deny the truth. These past few months, with you by his side, had been strangely peaceful. The quiet moments spent together, the way you always seemed to understand what he needed without him ever having to say a word. Those months had given him a kind of comfort he didn’t know he could have, a sense of calm that had been sorely missing from his life for far too long.

But now, it is all about to end. And he hated it.

"We're nearly done," you said, your voice carrying the usual warmth, but to Levi, it felt like a distant echo. What a shame, he thought, the words almost tasting bitter on his tongue. You were finishing up, preparing him for the inevitable departure, and all he could do was watch you speak.

“Make sure to properly…” you continued, but his mind had already wandered. His eyes were fixed on your lips as you spoke, and despite himself, Levi couldn't help but wish that you’d kiss him. The thought of your lips against his, even just for a fleeting moment, consumed him, but he quickly pushed the longing away. It was pointless. You were leaving, and nothing could change that.

“...You understand?” You finished with a soft smile, your gaze expectant, waiting for his response.

“Of course.” The words slipped from his mouth, sharper than he intended, a little too cold, a little too distant. It didn’t matter, though. You didn’t seem to notice or, at least, didn’t seem to mind.

You gave a small nod before heading out of the room, leaving him to his thoughts. Levi barely registered the sound of your footsteps retreating, already lost in the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him. He didn’t have enough time to miss you, though. You were back before he knew it, a wheelchair and some papers in hand, the small routine task pulling him out of his stupor.

He didn’t say a word when it was time to sign the papers, nor when you helped him into the wheelchair, the movements were automatic. His mind was elsewhere, still tangled in the mess of words he never said and feelings he couldn’t express. You noticed his silence but chose not to say anything. You had always seen Levi as someone who didn’t like talking about his feelings. It wasn’t in his nature to share, to be open, and you knew better than to push him.

You signed the papers without hesitation, before gently pushing the wheelchair out of the room. “A man named ‘Onyankopon’ is waiting for you. He’ll take you home,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

Levi didn’t respond with anything more than a dismissive “Tch.” He didn’t want to deal with this, didn’t want to think about the fact that you were finally leaving him behind. But you didn’t press him, and you didn’t try to pull more out of him. You simply continued on, guiding him through the sterile halls, knowing this would be the last time you’d see him like this.

The journey felt too short to Levi. Soon, he found himself at the entrance of his new house in Marley, the place that now felt both unfamiliar and too familiar all at once. The wheelchair came to a stop, and for a moment, he just stared at the door, almost as if he couldn’t believe he was really here. He didn’t have the words for the swell of emotions rising in his chest, nor did he know how to face the world outside, the world that seemed so different from the one you had made him feel safe in, even if just for a little while.

And as the door of his new home loomed before him, Levi couldn’t shake the thought of you, how you had been so close, yet so far away.

Ever since leaving the hospital, Levi’s life felt dull and monotonous. The days bled into each other in a haze of silence, and the once driven and disciplined man seemed to have lost all will to move forward. He barely spoke to anyone, his communication limited to the barest essentials. Meals went untouched, the food left to spoil as he stared at it, unable to summon the energy or the motivation to eat. The bed had become his sanctuary and his prison, a place where he could escape, even if only momentarily, from the weight of his own thoughts.

He didn’t care to leave the confines of the room, his gaze fixed on the dull walls as if they could somehow provide the comfort he desperately sought. Even the mess around him, a stark contrast to the spotless surroundings he had once prided himself on, went unnoticed. Clothes were scattered around the room, some half-folded, others in crumpled piles. Dirty dishes sat abandoned on the side table. The place was a wreck, but Levi didn’t bat an eye at it. The clean freak who once took pride in maintaining order now found himself indifferent, the mess reflecting just how much this entire situation was weighing on him.

It was clear to anyone who knew him that this wasn’t just a temporary slump. This was something deeper, something more profound. His usual sharp edge, his resolve—everything that made Levi Ackerman the person he was—seemed to have faded. Instead, a hollow version of him lingered in the dim room, trapped in his own head.

Onyankopon, of course, had noticed the drastic change in Levi. The man was not one to ignore such things, and it had weighed heavily on his mind. He knew the raven-haired soldier well enough to see that something was off, and his concern only deepened with each passing day. The dark-skinned man had tried to engage Levi, tried to reach out, but the silence was always the same. He knocked on Levi’s door one more time, his fist gently tapping against the wood.

“Levi?” he called out, his voice soft but laced with concern. He waited for a response, but there was nothing—no movement, no sound. Just the heavy silence that seemed to have swallowed everything around the man.

Onyankopon let out a sigh, his worry growing. He stepped back and turned toward the living room, feeling the weight of the situation press down on him. He couldn’t just sit back and watch this happen. He had to do something. He thought for a moment, pondering what could be done to help the man who had once been so determined, so unyielding in his approach to everything.

And then, an idea hit him, almost like a flash of inspiration. He’d call you.

It wasn’t an easy decision. Onyankopon wasn’t sure how this would play out, but the more he thought about it, the clearer it became that you were the key to reaching Levi. Somehow, someway, he had come to understand that Levi must have liked you more than he let on. The day Levi was discharged from the hospital, the way he had stared at you with that look—an indescribable expression that conveyed longing, perhaps regret, and a silent plea. It had been a subtle thing, something most people might have missed, but Onyankopon had caught it. It wasn’t just that Levi was leaving the hospital; it was that he didn’t want to leave you.

He had never seen Levi like that before, and it troubled him. That quiet ache in the man's eyes, the yearning for something more, something he could no longer have. Maybe that was what was gnawing at him, pulling him into this abyss of isolation. Maybe that was what made him shut down completely.

Onyankopon couldn’t ignore it anymore. He needed to call you. If there was anyone who could help pull Levi out of this, it was you. And maybe, just maybe, you had a chance at healing the part of him that had been broken all along.

Onyankopon walked over to the phone with determination, his fingers hesitating only for a brief moment before he dialed your number. He had no time to waste; Levi needed help, and he knew you were the one person who might be able to reach him. The phone rang a few times before you picked up, your voice sounding a little surprised.

"Hello? How can I help you?"

Onyankopon took a deep breath, his voice serious as he spoke. "It’s about Levi. He’s not doing well—hasn’t been eating, barely talking, and he’s practically shut himself in. I’m worried about him, and I think you should come check on him. He might listen to you."

You paused for a moment, the concern clear in your voice as you processed his words. Levi. The usually strong and composed man who had, in the blink of an eye, become a shadow of his former self. It tugged at your heart to hear that he was struggling, but at the same time, you were cautious. You knew how grumpy and closed-off Levi could be, and you didn’t want to intrude on his personal space, especially when he had been so distant lately.

“I understand,” you replied carefully, a slight hesitation lingering in your tone. "But... are you sure he’ll be okay with me coming over? I don’t want to push him if he’s not ready to talk."

Onyankopon’s voice softened, understanding your apprehension. "I think it’s worth a try. He might need someone who knows him—someone who can get through to him. I think you’re that person."

You couldn’t deny the worry creeping up inside you, but there was something else too—a sense of duty. For the short time you’d known Levi, you had grown a soft spot for him. You had seen beyond his gruff exterior, glimpsing the man who, despite his stoic nature, had a quiet strength and a vulnerability that you found hard to ignore. You couldn’t let him continue like this, not if there was a chance you could help.

After a moment of silence, you made your decision. "Alright. I’ll come over."

The walk to his house was longer than you expected, each step carrying a mix of urgency and unease. The weight of the situation pressed on you with every passing minute. What would you find when you got there? Would he be angry? Would he shut you out completely? Or, perhaps, would he let you in, if only for a moment?

When you finally arrived at Levi’s house, you could see Onyankopon waiting outside, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. The moment he saw you, his face softened, and he let out a sigh of relief.

“You made it,” he said, his voice quiet but grateful. "I’m glad you’re here. He’s not in a good state… I just don’t know how much longer he can keep this up."

You nodded in understanding, your heart aching at the thought of Levi’s isolation. You could feel the tension in the air around his house—it was thick, almost oppressive. Steeling yourself, you followed Onyankopon inside, knowing that whatever happened next, you had to be there for him. You just hoped Levi would let you in.

“He’s in his room,” Onyankopon said quietly, his tone heavy with concern. He gave you a small, knowing nod before retreating, leaving you alone with the task of approaching Levi. You couldn’t help but feel a little nervous as you made your way down the hallway. The weight of the situation lingered in the air like an invisible pressure, and with each step closer to his room, your heart began to beat a little faster. You didn’t know what you’d find on the other side of that door, but you hoped, somehow, that you could make a difference.

When you reached the door to his bedroom, you paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You raised your hand and knocked softly, not wanting to startle him but hoping to get his attention.

“Mr. Ackerman?” You called out gently, your voice careful but filled with concern.

The silence that followed was deafening. You stood there for a moment, waiting for any kind of response, but there was nothing. Only the faint sound of bed sheets rustling from the other side of the door. It made your stomach tighten with uncertainty. Had he heard you? Was he ignoring you? Or had he simply chosen to stay in his isolation, shutting everyone out?

On the other side of the door, Levi was laying in bed, his mind lost in a haze of exhaustion and tangled thoughts. He hadn’t expected anyone to come today. After all, why would anyone want to visit him? He didn’t even want to deal with anyone, especially not now. The days had blurred together, each one indistinguishable from the last, and he had retreated even further into himself, away from the world that no longer seemed to make sense.

But then he heard your voice.

It was soft, tentative, but undeniably real. For a split second, he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or if you were actually there. His mind raced as he lay still in his bed, his body frozen in place as he tried to process what he had just heard. He blinked a few times, trying to shake off the fog in his head. It had been days since anyone had spoken to him with such gentle care, and hearing you call his name caught him off guard.

Slowly, Levi sat up in bed, his movements stiff and sluggish, as if the weight of his own thoughts was pulling him back down. His gaze flickered toward the door, and he stared at it for a long moment, unsure whether to open it, to acknowledge you, or to remain hidden within the safety of his room.

He wasn’t sure if you were really there. He wasn’t sure if it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He had spent so much time in solitude that he had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone show concern for him, to have someone reach out.

But the rustling sound of your footsteps on the other side of the door, the softness in your voice when you said his name—it all felt too real to ignore. Still, he hesitated. The last thing he wanted was to open up, to let someone in. But for some reason, he found himself wondering, just for a moment, what it would feel like if he did.

"Can I come in?" you asked gently, your voice filled with hope. The silence on the other side of the door seemed to stretch on, but after what felt like an eternity, Levi's voice broke through, low and quiet.

"Yeah... come in," he murmured, almost as if it took all his energy to give you that permission.

You slowly pushed the door open, stepping inside with careful steps, your heart heavy with concern. The moment you entered the room, your eyes widened at the sight before you. The usually meticulous and clean Levi had let his room fall into disarray. Clothes were strewn about, some piled up in corners, others half-removed from the hangers, as if he’d lost the will to care. The bed was unmade, with blankets thrown haphazardly across it. The room felt stifling, a reflection of the mess inside Levi's own mind.

“Oh dear…” you murmured, your voice soft, but the surprise was clear.

Levi, sitting on the edge of his bed, shifted his gaze away from you, a subtle flush creeping up his neck. His embarrassment was palpable.

"Sorry about the mess," he muttered, his voice weak and hoarse from the silence he had been surrounded by for days.

You shook your head, offering him a warm smile despite the mess. "It’s okay, we’ll take care of that." Your words were light and reassuring, meant to ease his mind, but you could see how much it affected him. Levi wasn’t used to letting things slide, not like this. It was clear that something deep inside him had been shaken, and as you looked around the room, you could feel the weight of it all pressing down on him.

In that moment, as you stood there, so gentle and understanding despite the chaos, Levi could have sworn his heart skipped a beat. The softness in your gaze, the way you didn’t judge him, made him feel vulnerable in a way he wasn’t prepared for. It was almost like he was falling in love all over again, despite himself. He had never realized how much he had come to rely on your kindness until now.

You didn't let the silence drag on, your thoughts already drifting back to what Onyankopon had told you. He’d mentioned that Levi hadn’t had a proper meal in days—maybe even longer. Right now, he was a broken man, too tired to even care about basic things like eating.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” you said, your tone more resolute now, as if you had made it your mission to make sure he didn’t continue to suffer in silence.

Levi didn’t respond at first. He just nodded weakly, his exhaustion and emotional turmoil evident in the slight droop of his shoulders. A simple nod was all he could muster, but it was enough for you to understand that he needed help.

You left him alone in his room and made your way to the kitchen. The sound of the kettle whistling, the gentle stirring of ingredients, and the soft hum of the kitchen as you prepared his meal brought a sense of purpose back to you. You focused on the task at hand, but your mind kept drifting back to him—wondering if he’d be okay.

You made a small, simple meal—nothing too fancy, but hearty enough to give him some strength. Along with it, you brewed a pot of tea, knowing exactly how he liked it. Strong, just the right amount of bitterness, and a touch of honey.

With the meal and tea prepared, you walked back into his room, the soft clink of the tray in your hands filling the space as you approached him. Levi was sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze distant, but when you entered, he turned toward you, his eyes softening just slightly at the sight of the food and drink you brought him. You set the tray down on the small table next to his bed and handed him the tea first.

"Thank you," he muttered, his voice still quiet but carrying a note of gratitude that warmed your heart. It was the first time you had heard any emotion in his words for days.

"You're welcome," you replied, your smile small but sincere as you watched him take the tea from your hands.

Levi took a long sip, the warmth of the tea seeping into his tired body. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the familiar taste. “No one makes tea like you,” he said softly between sips. The words felt heavy with more than just appreciation.

You smiled at that, a chuckle escaping your lips. “Glad you missed me. I was lonely without your grumpiness.” Your words were light, teasing, but the undercurrent of affection was there, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you saw the faintest of smiles tug at the corners of Levi’s lips.

He took another sip of the tea, then picked at the food, eating in small bites, almost as if he hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of him eating and the occasional sip of tea, but it was a peaceful silence. The tension that had once filled the room, the heaviness in his posture, seemed to ease just a little with each bite and each sip.

You stood nearby, watching him carefully as he finally ate the meal you prepared for him, his movements slow but deliberate. It was a small victory, but it felt significant.

As Levi slowly finished the meal you had prepared, you took the opportunity to begin tidying up his room. The dishes were simple enough to clean, but it gave you a moment to organize the rest of the room as well. During your time with him, you had come to understand just how much Levi appreciated a clean, organized space. It was something that had become second nature to him over the years, and yet, now, he seemed almost incapable of maintaining it on his own, weighed down by his emotions and exhaustion.

You moved silently through the room, picking up clothes that were left in disarray and making the bed with careful precision. All the while, you could feel Levi's gaze on you. His dark eyes followed your every movement, tracing your figure as you worked. Though he didn't say anything, the way he looked at you made your heart skip a beat. It was hard to ignore the warmth in his eyes, the unspoken gratitude there, even as he stayed quiet.

Once the room was cleaned and everything was in its place, you returned to his side, helping him sit up in bed, your hands gentle and steady as you supported him. “Do you want help bathing?” you asked softly, your voice tentative. You knew how fiercely independent Levi could be, and if it had been anyone else, he likely would have dismissed the offer immediately. But this time, there was something in his eyes, a silent longing for care that made him hesitate.

He didn’t trust his voice, the words stuck in his throat, so he simply nodded. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. He trusted you, even in this vulnerable moment, and it meant more to you than you could express.

You helped him stand up carefully, supporting him as you led him to the bathroom. As you set to work drawing a warm bath for him, Levi stood in the corner, peeling off his clothes slowly. There was an awkwardness to his movements, but you could tell he wasn’t trying to be distant. He just didn’t know how to navigate this situation, and you couldn’t blame him for that. He was used to being strong, self-sufficient, and here you were, taking care of him in ways he hadn't allowed anyone to before.

Once the tub was full, you adjusted the water’s temperature, testing it with your hand before turning to him. Levi slowly lowered himself in the water. You could see that he was already relaxed, his shoulders less tense as the warmth of the bath surrounded him. You grabbed a rag and soap, pausing for a moment to make sure everything was ready before beginning. "You don't mind, right? Tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable," you reassured him, your voice soft and gentle, ensuring he knew he had control over the situation.

Levi closed his eyes, leaning back slightly against the edge of the tub as he sank into the warm water. He let out a small sigh of relief as the heat melted some of the tension in his muscles. For a moment, he just allowed himself to relax, and he realized that he didn’t feel uncomfortable with you at all. Embarrassed, yes—his pride as a soldier was a difficult thing to overcome—but uncomfortable? No. Not with you.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability that washed over him as you moved closer, the soft lather of the soap in your hands. You had been taking care of him in so many ways already, and now this—washing him, helping him like this—was something he never would have imagined himself allowing anyone to do. But with you, it felt different. The embarrassment was there, lingering in the back of his mind, but it didn’t matter. He didn't want you to stop. He couldn’t bring himself to ask you to, even if a small part of him wished that he could keep his distance.

When you confirmed that he was fine, you began to wash him. Your touch was careful and thorough, the rag gentle as it scrubbed across his skin. You focused on his upper body, being mindful not to invade his personal space too much, but your touch was soothing nonetheless. You could feel the tension in his body start to melt away as you moved, your presence a quiet reassurance that made him feel safe. You made sure to clean every inch of his upper body, your movements slow and deliberate, giving him time to adjust to each step. You didn't rush, knowing that this act of care was something he wasn’t used to, and you wanted him to feel comfortable.

Once you had finished, you carefully patted him down with a soft towel, drying his skin as gently as you could. Then you wrapped the towel around him, securing it around his waist, and helped him out of the bath. His movements were slow, but with your support, he was steady. You led him back to his bedroom, where you sat him on the edge of his bed.

Levi didn’t speak as you helped him dress, but you could see the faint appreciation in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment that he trusted you, that he was grateful. You dressed him carefully, making sure everything was in place, then moved to dry his hair. You ran a towel through his dark hair, the damp strands slipping between your fingers as you gently worked to remove the moisture.

When you finished, you stepped back and looked at him for a moment. He looked different, more like himself, and though there was still a sadness in his eyes, there was also a hint of something more. Maybe it was hope, or maybe it was just the relief of being cared for after so long. Either way, it felt like a small step forward.

Levi finally looked up at you, his voice low but sincere. "Thank you," he said, his words carrying more weight than usual. It wasn’t just for the bath or the food—it was for everything you had done, for everything you had been for him in this moment of weakness. And despite the overwhelming emotions swirling inside him, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything more. But his eyes spoke volumes, and you understood.

Levi looked more alive now, his posture a little straighter, his expression less burdened than when you first arrived. The peacefulness that seemed to have eluded him for days was finally settling into his features, and it brought a small sense of relief to you. You stood by his side, your arms crossed in a playful but firm manner, watching him as he sat up in bed, his dark eyes now clearer, his fatigue somewhat lifted.

“You should really take better care of yourself, Mr. Ackerman,” you chided him gently, a hint of concern still lingering in your voice. He needed to hear it—needed someone to remind him that he mattered, that his well-being mattered.

Levi simply sighed, tilting his head back against the pillow. "Levi," he corrected you, his tone almost too casual, though you could sense the irritation beneath the surface. He wasn't one for too much care or attention, preferring to handle things on his own.

“Huh?” You blinked, surprised at his sudden insistence.

“Tch… calling me Levi," he repeated with a quiet growl, though there was no true malice in his words, just a touch of annoyance. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to be treated like some fragile thing, or perhaps it was his stubborn nature refusing to show too much vulnerability.

You couldn’t help but smile at his tone. It was the familiar, grumpy Levi you knew and had grown to care for. “Okay, Levi,” you said, your voice light and teasing as his name rolled off your tongue with an ease that felt more natural than it should have.

Levi’s eyes flickered slightly, an unspoken reaction at the way you said his name. It was something about the way it sounded when it came from your lips, like it held more weight, more warmth than anyone else’s. He felt a small flutter in his chest, but he quickly brushed it aside, annoyed at himself for letting something so insignificant affect him.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, a soft conversation flowing between you, easy and natural. Time seemed to slip by unnoticed as you talked, the rhythm of your words settling a peaceful air in the room. For the first time in a long time, Levi felt like he could breathe, like there was no urgency, no pressing battle to face—just the quiet presence of someone who cared for him.

But as the night wore on, you glanced at the clock, and your heart sank just a little. It was time to leave. You stood up slowly, gathering your things, and the moment you began moving toward the door, Levi’s gaze followed you, his expression softening. He didn’t want you to leave, and he wasn’t sure why. He wanted to spend more time with you, but he didn’t know how to ask for it.

You paused at the door, your hand resting on the knob, and before you could say anything, there was a brief, unexpected sensation—a light kiss pressed to his cheek. It was gentle, sweet, and fleeting, but it lingered in the air, making Levi’s heart skip a beat. His face immediately flushed, his breath catching in his throat. He turned his face away, hoping you wouldn’t notice the heat on his cheeks.

“Goodnight, Levi,” you said softly, your voice full of warmth. “I’ll check on you soon.” Your words were a promise, a reassurance that you would be there again.

Levi mumbled a quiet, almost embarrassed, “Goodnight,” his voice tinged with something he couldn’t quite name. He watched as you left the room, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that left him feeling a bit emptier than before.

But as he sat there, the smallest of smiles tugged at the corners of his lips. It wasn’t big or dramatic, just a soft curve that made his eyes brighten, albeit slightly. A feeling lingered in his chest—something warm, something he hadn’t quite allowed himself to feel in a long time. He couldn’t wait for the next time.

© 𝗹𝗲𝘃𝟭𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆 — 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾��𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽. 𝗱𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍, 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝖽𝗂𝖿𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗌.

[k0nanharv3y]

OKAY I CANNOT LET THIS DIE

Part 1 of this bullshit

"Hero? Villain? or misunderstood mind?", "Has he done more good for Gotham than its own inhabitants? What Wayne has to say about it", "The reality of the situation; Statistics of the recent attacks on Wayne Enterprise and Gotham City"

Tim didn't read the newspaper, it was boring, he didn't like it and he didn't have time to read the latest gossip from Gotham when he was most likely there. And he didn't need a piece of paper for that, that was contamination, he could get all the information he needed with just one search. So, yeah, Tim didn't read the newspaper

But then Riddle was imprisoned without even knowing it thanks to the newspaper and so Tim set himself the task of checking every single newspaper that ever mentioned him. And damn... Reddit was a thing when it came to twisting things, but this? This is blatant show-telling

Some called him a villain who didn't know how to do his job (in the first cases, really understandable, Tim barely knew what he was doing), but he had never set out to harm Gotham and apparently some people got angry...? Because... because he didn't kill anyone? (Joker doesn't count, he wasn't anybody) ...???. Others dared to lump him in with the Bats (And God bless the spilled coffee he spat out while choking reading that) saying how come; Apparently Tim was seen as a good guy and the explosions and cyber attacks on Wayne Enterprises had not been him but another rogue who was defeated by Tim???. But the others called it "The Evolution of Batman" and refuted his statistics. Batman's way was to go out and beat them until they calmed down, Tim's way was to cut them off at the root (Joker exploding in a building was nothing more than poetry. But the trafficking networks were eradicated by giving legal and stable jobs to those who distributed it, Tim didn't take their lives, not the literal ones at least, Tim changed them)

He finished high school early and dedicated himself to helping Gotham. It wasn't even illegal (stealing from the rich isn't illegal, their mere existence is illegal and unjust) Tim wasn't a villain, the citizens of Gotham seemed to love him just like they loved Batman; and if some building had to be blown up, at least nobody lived there and it was only to piss off the Bats

Batman's attempts to stop him seemed to cease... But Tim was greedy once... just once, and that led him to mess with forces he couldn't control. And then there was a price on his head, and Shiva and Deathstroke were after him. Because Ra's doesn't find it funny that a 14-year-old kid hacks into his systems and steals money to give to the poor. Shiva ended up being kind of... weird? She didn't kill him, but she threatened him that she would sooner or later, when Tim is a real threat to her (Tim learned to fight, thanks Shiva, but fuck it, it hurt) and Slade let him live because...??? I mean, he slit his throat and gave him enough trauma to last a lifetime, but he let him live... Tim doesn't think he's that lucky, this was already playing god

And then Ra's killed his mother

///

The irony is that Tim didn't WANT his mother, of course, she was his mother and he loved her deeply, but... it was like, a love out of responsibility, Tim was a child who was presented with, look, these are your parents and you must love them and respect them because they are your parents. That Janet's death hurt him so much... it was more a matter of pride, Tim didn't want revenge because Ra's killed his mother, he wanted revenge because Ra's killed his mother

And now he wasn't going to stop Gotham from burning. He was going to create the fire for Ra's to burn with whatever it took

If Batman stopped him, he didn't care, Tim had nothing to lose. His mother was dead and Ra's would pay for it

///

This is... actually before Batman's death, but after Damian became Robin, I'm working on this as I write, I don't have anything planned so...

Someone: Oh! Plot Hole!

I throw a brick at them and make sure they don't move anymore

Me: You didn't see anything.

Part 3 because i forgot to mention it

[bilboyagathechickenfootedhobbit]

Regarding your response to that post on advertisements, if you ever get a moment could you think up some of the key "easter eggs" you mentioned to look for in ads or do you have any recommendations of educational videos/books that you studied in class? Sorry if this has been asked before. Your perspective seems so intriguing.

So I had like, WAY too long of a response to this and was like, nobody wants to read your damn thesis 😂 So here’s my hopefully more concise answer (surprise, it’s not actually any more concise).

I took that class over a quarter century ago (Hi, I’m old 👋) and aside from retaining the visceral lizard-brain memories of “ADS EVIL DO NOT CONSUME” I don’t recall exact specifics, and sadly, my textbook has been lost during one of my many moves.

One thing I vividly recall: women’s placement in ads. They are almost ALWAYS shown in a physically lower position than men. The exception being if a minority man is in the ad, then a white woman would sometimes be allowed to be placed above him, but a woman of any minority would still be placed lower than the minority man. It reminded me of certain building laws in the city: nothing can be taller than this building. Except in the ads, it was: nobody is allowed to appear taller than this white dude in any way.

That’s a minor thing, but it was one of the more blatant things that I couldn’t help but see EVERYWHERE once I realized it.

I think the main takeaway I took from that class that served me so well as a young woman in a capitalist society was simply realizing that, to any major brand, I am just an object, a consumer, a rube to swindle. They don’t actually care about how plump my lips are or how healthy my skin looks or how shiny my hair is or how fashionable I am. They only care about my personhood insofar as it better enables them to adjust their sales techniques to rob me of my money. And if I avoid them entirely, or as much as possible in this ad-saturated culture, then I can make purchasing decisions based on my actual needs and not the imagined needs some corporate shill came up with during a board meeting.

So yeah, that was my shorter answer, sorry for the wall of text. I’m always happy to discuss the gross ways in which advertising affects us and how we can avoid it and how much better life is without ads. I grew up in the era of heroin chic and anorexia, and ads were a nightmare. They’re worse in ways now, for sure, especially with it being outsourced to influencers, but at least we get to see stretch marks and different body types nowadays. Even if all the “fat” body types are still hourglass figures, it’s better than the parade of skeletons that was forced on teenage girls in the 90’s. That shit is still fucking with my generation nearly three decades later.

I wish I had recommendations, but even if I did, they’d probably be so outdated since the game has changed so drastically in the years since I took that class. Between 24-hour cable and social media, advertising has mutated into an entirely new, horridly evil beast that I’d honestly hate to study.

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[chibishortdeath]

Great googley moogley it’s all going to shit! Every day becomes exponentially more terrifying!

And all perfectly timed to just right at the start of what’s supposed to be my adult life where I get my shit together and be useful and productive!

[fingertipsmp3]

I’m always so fascinated by people’s bad roommate stories. I’m not sure I’ll ever live with someone I haven’t vetted extensively beforehand ever again

[parme-san]

omg i don't get to be at my job for an entire night what if they decide they don't need me anymore because i wasn't there for so long while we were closed :(((

[trans-leek-cookie]

as a certified Aromantic Asexual (I should make myself a certificate) I genuinely don't Believe there is systemic oppression that specifically targets Aromantic or Asexual people.

I do however believe that people Cannot be normal about ppl who don't have sex or romantic relationships, and that can Really Impact Aromantic And Asexual People.

Also like. Aros n aces are still. Experiences Other forms of oppression that can interact with the aro and/or ace-ness

[doggirl-narcolepsy]

how is my mom being prescribed almost a thousand morphine pills to manage mild pain after having scar tissue broken up in her knee when she already gets 200mg tramadol every day... yet they could only give my wife with blood clots in both her legs and lungs a single sheet of 50mg tramadol to manage the pain after she got home...

[orcelito]

i also researched lockpicking for ladue and tangentially, its legality. so i now have a basic understanding of how lockpicking works AND the understanding that it is perfectly legal for me to own lockpicking tools where i live. and i am Tempted ngl

[softboyshaven]

Thinking about the Holmes story where a blind girl goes to him and is like "My fiancé is missing and he kept telling me the week leading up to his disappearance that he would always love me and come back for me,were anything to happen so I think he knew he was in trouble and I love him so much and I'm going to wait for him but I'd like to find him faster,ya know?" And Holmes figures out that it was this girl's parents to scam her out of money she was owed from an estate which she gave to them because she was still living at home,which she wouldn't be if she ever married,so her step father PRETENDED TO DATE HER for MONTHS to keep her from ever getting engaged to a real person and when Holmes finds out he confronts this man and this man is like "Well,you caught me! But it wasn't illegal:) so:)" and Holmes is like "No,but it was sickening and cruel and if she had a brother or good male friend he should post you up and whip you but she doesn't." And the man is like "No,she doesn't." And does the Victorian version of sticking his tongue out and Holmes is like "Well,I guess I'll do then!" And HE PULLS OUT HIS HUNTING WHIP.

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[brotherhunting]

I love having sexual fantasies about people that I shouldn't /s

[hazelfoureyes]

The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice (part 3)

I deadass wrote part one as a one shot. Is this what peer pressure is? I love it.

It would have been easy to forget you, your soul was his anyways so the real fun had already finished. But that pesky video hit most streamed in 24 hours, he couldn’t even walk to the butcher without hearing you scream his name from errant phones. Surely there was a way, even from hell, to finish what he started and get you out of his system.

⟢ part1♡̶sidestory♡̶part2♡̶part3♡̶part4 ⟣

tags/warnings/promises: Alastor x reader, smut, soft Alastor, unprotected sex (duh?), creampie, edging a little, feelings, Valentino exists, Vox also exists, literally wrote this split screen with part 2 on the right side so I could line it up right like he does hehe, Alastor has a bad time

tag requested: @astraechos , @thekanrojimitsuri2 , @hoeforalbedo , @crazylazybabyk , @oddball08 , @lovingyeet , @just-trash-yeah-thats-it , @random-3455 , @alicehasdrowned , @des-deswain5621 , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @doctorswife221b

When Val released, ‘The Radio Demon fucks a Human Sacrifice’, it immediately went viral. The website crashed, downloads surpassed his wildest, horniest dreams.

It’s scary but also hot? ☆☆☆☆☆

Eat me Mr. Radio Demon!

I’ve never wanted to be a pussy so much in my life.

The reviews were all favorable, the comments rolling in, it was perfect.

Until Vox said it wasn’t. He had seen the video, but figured no one would care about seeing Alastor fuck anything. It wasn’t the success that got under his skin, it was the wave of positive attention it brought Alastor. Suddenly everyone was tuning in to his broadcasts, little miss princess’s hotel was busier than ever.

And it was ubiquitous. Every screen seemed to feature Alastor’s breakout role.

“I said pull it, Val!” Vox slammed his hands on Valentino’s coffee table.

“Vox, baby, you’re being really sensitive about this. I’m literally fucking piles of money right now. Actual piles of money, like, person sized piles.” Val took a drag of his cigarette, “Its good for business.”

“Would you rather fuck money, or me?” Vox’s screen glitched.

Val leaned his elbows on his knees, “That’s a really difficult question for me and I think you know that.”

“Augh! Val! Think of the big picture! That obsolete dickhead gaining attention means gaining power. And that’s bad for business.”

Val’s eyes fluttered, “What if we like, say it wasn’t him?”

Flashes of Alastor’s face fazed in and out of focus across Vox’s screen, your body flipping over, a mess of tentacles writhing.

Val took off his glasses, “Oh yeah, that’s pretty obviously him.”

“What is?” Vox’s face splintered back to the screen.

“Do you—- do you not know you’ve been like,” Val used his cigarette to gesture at Vox’s face, “just straight up playing his porno?”

Vox’s hands flew to his screen, “No! Fucking shit! What the fuck!!” He picked up a vase and threw it across the room, “Wipe it clean off the server! Delete it! Ban it’s fucking streaming! End of discussion!”

Val shrugged, he owned every bootleg distributor in the pride ring. He’d pull it and up the price threefold for illegal downloads. “Whatever you want, amorcito.”

Alastor was quite happy the video went ‘underground’ of sorts. The first month after you left, he was plagued by the sound of your voice. Everywhere he went it seemed you were screaming his name, every phone and television a conduit for you.

What really bothered him though, was the reaction others had to him. Where once sinners leapt from his path and set theirselves on fire to avoid him, now people winked and waved. It made his skin crawl. When alive, at the peak of his radio show fame, it wasn’t uncommon to have fans approach him in jazz clubs. But the decorum of 1930's jazz fans was a far cry from the brazen displays of desire from the citizens of hell.

“Perhaps I should have thought it through?” He mused.

“Ya think?” Rosie put her tea down, “Was it worth it, at least?”

He mulled the question over. Worth it? Well, he had your soul. Which is grand. But you weren’t even in hell to be called upon. What did he really get from the deal? Alastor brought his palm to his face, already feeling the blush spreading. Rosie's chuckle didn't help. He did get something. You'd been gone a month, and each day he woke up having forgot you existed. And every night he lied down to rest and imagined your eyes staring back at him. Did he want to fight you, or surrender, when he saw that look? When the silk tie had fallen from your face, slipping down your nose to reveal your intense stare...He thought his heart had stopped. For every ounce of resilience in your voice he found a pound of fury in your gaze. What poor luck Valentino had been given to receive you as an offering.

"Too soon to tell." He leaned back, finally dropping his hand.

“Well it seemed you had a good time… not that I could see much through the green glow and all that static noise. Really spoiled the climax with that move, Alastor dear."

Alastor’s eyes were saucers, “Rosie. Are you implying-,”

“What?” She drew out the word, “I thought you weren’t into those things so of course I was curious!”

He sighed, “I’m not.”

Rosie pushed the teaspoon around her cup with one finger, “Sure looked like you were.”

He crossed his arms, indignant, “You don’t have to have an appetite to enjoy a meal.”

“Message received loud and clear dear! I won’t bring up the subject again.” She cackled and changed the topic to the latest gossip around the colony.

Another night staring at the ceiling, mind ghosting over the idea of you. He felt like he his sanity was unraveling Leaving his bed, he stepped barefoot onto the grass of the swampy forest he materialized into his room when he moved in to the hotel.

With an outstretched hand, Alastor felt for your connection. He couldn’t see it, but the weight of the chain connecting your soul to him sunk into his palm. Curious, he wrapped his fingers around the invisible links and pulled.

With a soft green glow, you rose from the grass.

His breath hitched, he hadn’t expected that. “It seems our deal really did stick, didn't it?" walking towards you, Alastor dropped to his knees at your feet. You were on your side, unmoving.

His head cocked to the left, ears turned in. Alastor crawled toward you, rolling you onto your back and opening your legs. He slotted himself there, “Hellooo,” He took your face in his both of his hands, elbows resting beside your ears, “Are you… sleeping, dear?”

This is ridiculous.

Alastor inspected your face; peaceful. It was a new sight for him, he'd really only ever seen you in some kind of rage or lost in pleasure. His hand slid down your body, realizing you were in the robe still. He laughed, but realized it was for no one. "Are you really going to sleep, hmm?" He hooked his hands under your knee and brought it up around his hip.

Nothing.

"I'm starting to get offended, dear." He leaned down and whispered into the crook of your neck. "If you don't wake up-" He slid down, the robe open enough to let his breathe ghost over your stomach. He stopped. He couldn't do anything to you while you slept. It was void of any enjoyment for him. Without your reactions, it was just....pointless. While he did enjoy your performance in the studio, he was taught to show respect for those of fairer means. A sleeping partner fell into that category.

He reached beneath you and straightened your robe that had bunched there under your body. Placing your leg back down by your ankle, he began pulling the collar up and closed it snuggly.

He stood there for a second, looking over you. It worked. You're here again. His mother had taught him that the human soul was most vulnerable at night. When asleep, the soul could wander from the body and travel earth and beyond. She even said people could train themselves, and with practice, remember their journeys even after waking.

Kneeling down, Alastor pushed your hair from your face, "Don't forget. What fun is there in that?" The shadow beneath your body shimmered neon green before you were swallowed by inky darkness and Alastor was once again, alone.

After his mother died, Alastor was often alone. Most of his time, really. Well, there were people always around. But they were staff, or hangers-on, or women looking for a comfortable life. They were dancers and bootleggers and musicians. Which was fine and grand. But, they never saw him. He never let them, they never tried. He was the radio host. The great dancer. The southern gentleman. The killer. The cannibal. The deer in the woods. Not a single person ever looked at him on earth and saw him. Which was precisely what he wanted, and manufactured with his wide smile and good manners.

So when your eyes bore into him from that tacky studio set, and he felt suddenly naked in front of you, he knew you were looking at the him. You saw him.

It was worth it. Alastor was willing to admit that to himself.

Over the next couple days, he would randomly try to pull you to him. Through out the day, in different places, he would summon your soul and wait. Nothing. It confirmed his theory, your soul was only able to leave your living body while you were asleep.

In the privacy of his room, Alastor paced the space between grass and carpet. What was this feeling? Nerves? He hadn't felt nervous since he was a child.

But, what was causing him a pause, was if he summoned you and you didn't appear. Maybe it had been a fluke? Maybe for the 7th time in 3 days he would pull on that connection and be left standing there, alone.

Still.

He ran his hands through his hair, trying to regain composure. Finally, he reached out for your ties to him, and pulled you into hell.

He held his breath, unconsciously.

With a glow, you appeared again before him. He was quick this time to approach you, setting beside you and leaning close to your face. Asleep.

"Is this my foreseeable future?" He asked, "Staring at you while you sleep, my doe."

Suddenly, you opened your eyes and met his. Reaching up, you grabbed him with both hands and pulled his face into yours. Your hands ran through his hair as you took him in a frenzied kiss. Alastor froze for a beat, but when your tongue licked at his bottom lip, he was brought back to the moment. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, rolling over yours and reaching as deep as he could. He felt like he could unhinge his jaw and swallow you whole. He really could, if he wanted to.

Alastor swung his leg over your body and straddled your hips. "Mon cher, you've finally joined me." His chest was rising and falling with excited breath.

"Alastor?" You tried to feel your body, but it was nowhere near you.

"Don't worry your pretty little head. You're still alive and well. I've merely borrowed your soul for the evening." He looked down at you, and finally, for the first time in what felt like months, your eyes fell to his face.

But today, they were soft and out of focus.

"Can you see me, my dear?" He leaned down slightly, trying to read the look on your face.

"Am I dreaming?"

He chuckled, "Perhaps we both are." With an exhale he wondered if he had been holding his breath this entire time. "No, this isn't a dream."

"I don't understand...but--," You lifted your arms towards him, "Should I say thank you? It was fucked, what happened." Your voice was slow, words a little slurred, "But, I'm home safe and sound now. You did what you promised me. I don't know if I'll ever see you again so...should I thank you now?"

Your tongue felt fat in your mouth, heavy and delayed.

Alastor leaned down over you, "You don't have to say anything." He used his knees to open your legs, and settled there. "Unfortunately, you've become a little worm in my mind." His hands slid under the silk robe you hadn't stopped wearing yet, "I'm hoping if I finally have you, I can...whet my appetite, and return to my normal self." He felt along your hips, hands stopping when he realized you were naked under the thin piece of fabric.

"I keep remembering," you covered your eyes with your hands, "that big hand of yours. And I realize, you never touched me past that."

He smiled, genuinely, truly, "Exactly! You understand the problem precisely. Shall we both have our fill and be done with it?"

You moved your hands to touch his ears, waiting for him to disappear at any moment, "Please. I'm so tired of missing someone I don't even know." He removed your hands, and you held them to your chest.

"My thoughts exactly, mon cher." He adjusted his hips, letting his crotch rub against your core. This was the closest he had been to you since you'd met. It was dizzying, and it felt like his skin was vibrating everywhere it met yours.

A soft moan left your throat, causing his cock to twitch in his pants. Yes, it was you. This wasn’t his standard response to such sounds. Alastor sat up, his legs bent and knees at either side of your hips. Taking one of your hands from your chest, he placed a kiss on a digit. Then another. He kissed his way down your arm.

“So gentle. Weird.” You tried to focus on him, but your mind was still cloudy. The sensations were here but also so far away, too far away, in another lifetime all together.

“Was I not gentle before, all things considered?,” he continued his way down your arm.

You let your eyes drift to the sky, stars watching you from above, “More than him.”

His mouth went dry at the mention of Val, "I am many things more than him, darling." As his lips found your neck, he took a deep breath. "I can actually take my time now. No audience." He sucked a bruise, and released you with a pop. He presented two fingers to your lips, and without thinking about it you began to suck them. While you were slipping your tongue over and between his fingers, he moved to continue a trail of kisses and nips down your right arm.

"Get them nice and wet." He watched through half lidded eyes as you licked his long fingers. He knew he needed to remove his hips from yours, but the idea pained him. Finally, he took his fingers from you and swiped them over your entrance. Your chest jumped, so he did it again. He tried to push the fingers into you, but the resistance was more than he expected. You were wet, but tight. He let his middle finger slip inside you. So soft. So warm. His shadow tendrils allowed him some feeling but not this, this was something they kept to themselves.

"When was your last time, mon cher?"

Your mind searched for memories still left behind in your body somewhere, "In hell."

"You're in hell now."

"This doesn't feel like hell." You ground your hips onto his palm, trying to get that single digit slowly moving in you to come deeper, to become more. He replied by pushing in his pointer finger, erection becoming painful already as you let out a little moan. Bending them up, he began to make long thrusts past your g-spot. His mouth long stilled on your arm, staring at your face as you whimpered into the sky.

"Look at me."

Your eyes darted to him, half open and wet. Alastor felt his patience snap. Undoing his belt and zipper, he finally freed his cock. He ran his head between your entrance to your clit , gathering your fluids on him to ease his entry. Taking both of your legs, he held them at the ankles and set them on his left shoulder. With your hips slightly raised, he pressed into you.

With a hiss you dug your fingers into the dirt, body tensing instinctively. One of his arms hugged your legs to his chest, the other was now bruising your hips as he continued to push into you. With just his head in, he began fast and shallow thrusts. Every time making more progress into your warmth. The stretch burned, but the feeling of him forcing space into you for himself just made you wetter.

Finally, he bottomed out. He had no sense to still himself, shallow thrusts gave way to long, deep plunges. Alastor's breathing was filling the space around you, mixing with your own. Leaning back, he looked down at where you two were connected.

He withdrew slowly, nearly entirely, and pushed back in. Again. And again. It was intoxicating, how he felt himself melt into you. He'd had lovers in life, but never had he been with someone without a barrier of some sorts. Be that his well placed smile or latex. He'd never fucked anyone raw before. He almost regretted not trying earlier, as the sensation of your walls and arousal sticking to his cock and thighs was breaking him. Watching himself entirely disappear inside you, he closed his eyes. Everything was so hot, so tight, would he disappear entirely? Would he lost in the pleasure your body was so effortlessly giving? Was he the unlucky one?

Alastor pushed your knees up to your chest, using his body weight to hold them down as his paced picked up. You brought your dirtied nails to your own legs, holding on tightly. Desperately you needed something to tether you to the ground, keep you still against the twitches shaking your stomach and chest. You felt with any jolt to your nerves you'd fall off the world and drift into the night.

He felt the build up, his balls tightening and drawing in, he wanted to slow down-- he wanted to bring you there first but he couldn't stop the rutting of his hips. With a whine, Alastor's forehead came to rest on yours, hips smacking into you with a wet slap. "Look at me," He commanded again, and you obeyed. One of his hands came to your chin to hold your head still, "Don't you dare look away."

Struggling to keep your eyes open, he pushed into you with one final, deep thrust. His hands came down now to the ground around you as he pushed you into the grass. Hips stuttering, cock twitching in you. You'd never let anyone cum inside you before, the sensation of heat quickly filling your cunt made you tighten around him. "Good girl", He purred, jaw tight.

He pulled back slowly before bringing his hips down, sweat sticking to his forehead where it met yours. His pace was quickly becoming brutal, a hand finding its way to that little bud of nerves of yours. With rough pressure and hurried speed his thumb drew out your orgasm. When you came, you gasped out his name, craning your neck up to ghost your lips over his open mouth. As the pleasure surged from your center, you could feel your body again. He tried to keep his eyes on your eyes, but the overstimulation of your cunt trying to wring him dry forced him to shut them.

A light shone through his eyelids, startling them open again.

"Wait-!" He watched you get pulled away from beneath him. Before he could react, Alastor was on all fours in the forest, alone. Eyes wide, he pounded his fist against the grass. He tried to summon you back to him, to drag you to him but nothing happened.

He thought he'd gone crazy. Hands came to his head, smile pained as he tried to process what he was feeling.

No.

Not enough.

Too soon.

A growl ripped through his chest. This hadn't satiated him at all. No, he was worse off now. He was starved, he had nourishment ripped from his mouth and he as angry for it. Angry to hell, to Valentino, to the conditions of owning a living soul.

He did not even attempt to rest that night. Taking his time, he had to find composure again. Alastor managed to pull himself together after several hours of self isolation. After his heart stopped racing, after his hands stopped feeling phantom skin beneath them, he calmed his smile and went about his day.

When night returned, he couldn't help but stare into the forest domain. He wanted so badly to bring you to himself, but that want was terrifying. It was overpowering him, and he couldn't accept that.

Another night left, another day passed. Husk found Alastor's cruelty to be growing, his patience giving out at the smallest perceived slight. Angel stopped engaging entirely. Charlie found herself wanting to approach him, find out why it seemed his hair was always standing on end, his eyes sharp. But, she didn't. She couldn't. Alastor would pass through the halls like a raging specter. He wouldn't slow or acknowledge anyone.

He managed a week. Satisfied with his resolve, he waited for when night fell and he was sure you'd be deep asleep, yanked your soul from your body and into him. He felt rabid, like he his brain was catching fire. Finally when you materialized before him, he grabbed your face with his hand.

"My doe?"

Just like before, you stirred, and your hands immediately went for his hair. He pulled back, "Are you awake?"

"Am I dreaming? Alastor?" You looked drunk, mind struggling to process the change in scenery. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he hovered above you, and you pulled him into a kiss. He happily returned it, hands quick to untie the robe you had taken as your own. He wasted now time in getting himself unsheathed and lined up with you, before he could enter you reached out to him, "I wanted to say--- thank you. I don't know if I'll ever really see you again."

The realization made his blood run cold. His mother's stories flooded back to him. It takes training, and time, to remember the travels of the wandering soul.

"You don't have to say anything." Alastor thrust into you, your body tense but not as resistant as before. When he was finally enveloped in you, he could feel himself calm. He didn't feel any need to be gentle this time around. He immediately set a bruising pace, digging his nails into the soft flesh of your ass as he forced your hips to meet his with every thrust. You gasped beneath him, eyes wandering up to the sky just past his head. He'd bring you to climax, wanting to drink in your expression, and to his horror as you choked out his name you were spirited away from him again.

Everyone on the floor heard Alastor's rampage. When Angel ran to get Charlie and Vaggie, they were scared to knock. With a steadying breath Charlie rapped the door, "Al? You okay in there?"

Suddenly, silence.

The door whipped open, Alastor smiling with half lidded eyes, "Why of course. What ever made you think otherwise?"

"The fuckin' sounds of carnage, maybe?" Angel looked past Alastor. The sofa shredded, coffee table in pieces. The wallpaper had been ripped down and torn to shreds. Charlie noticed the dirt under his nails, but Alastor coolly pulled his hands behind his back.

"Can I do something for you?" His tone was cold.

"I guess not, Al...," Charlie took in the damage, "Did something happen?"

Alastor smiled wider, "No," and closed the door. No one saw him the following day, which wasn't entirely unusual but it was weighing on Charlie. When Alastor finally appeared and announced he was going to Cannibal Town, she was elated. A chat with Rosie would surely bring him back to himself.

"I don't see the problem. You've got her soul, you can summon her to you, and you get a little," She searched for the word, "relief. Why do you look so pained, old friend?"

"You know better than most I have no interest in chasing women, Rosie."

"Yet..." She cocked her brow.

"It isn't about the release. I don't particularly need that. I never have." He huffed, the conversation already exhausting him, "When I would kill someone, I was God. Their life was in my hands. I took that power from them."

Rosie clicked her tongue, "And when she's in your hands?" Alastor hunched over his black coffee before remembering himself and straightening his back. "I've never seen you like this before, hun. You've got it bad, huh?"

"Personal connections like this, Rosie, are dangerous. I lost my self restraint entirely. It's a weakness." He fought to regain his smile, never knowing who could be passing by.

She tutted him, "Oh no, that's where you're wrong. The difference between a strong man and an unstoppable man is having something to care about." Rosie leaned over and set her hand on top of his, "Imagine you walked into Val's studio right now and found her like you did a couple months ago. How would you react?"

His stomach wretched forward, if he saw you today, hanging from the ceiling? The stench of Valentino's cigarette smoke clinging to your hair, the marks where his hands had made contact with you? His hand under her's tightened, claws leaving marks into the wooden tabletop. "Do you feel weak right now, Alastor?" The hair on his ears was standing straight up, his now black eyes met hers, "You sure don't look it."

He’d remembered hearing something similar before from Vaggie. Could it be true? It was a precarious ladder. If he let himself be close to someone, then the person is in turn close to him, then that person knows him intimately, and then— they are a walking soft spot. Someone could take them and torture them for information. Or, hurt them to hurt him.

But, who would dare? A fire rose in chest at the thought. What was the point of power if he couldn’t have what he wanted? If he had to answer to others about his desires? To pursue strength and status was what he wanted but if that strength didn’t afford him freedom than what good was it, really?

"I say, not that you asked," Rosie smiled and withdrew her hand, "Could be nice to have a little company now and then. Plus, better than waiting 60 years or something for her to just die." She shrugged, "Now, eat. You look like a shit."

Rosie had a point, while your existence was fragile, it was still available to him.

For awhile, he would call you nightly. Alastor would fuck you into the grass, beneath the trees, under the stars. He learned your orgasm would wake you, and he would draw it out as long as he could. He'd edge you for hours, watching you sob for your release. Slowly, your consciousness became more and more solid during your meetings.

To his relief, his hunger for your presence calmed over time. He could handle a week or even two without sharing your company, and he noticed each time you seemed to recognize him more. You'd participate more, moan louder, scream his name and squirm from the pleasure. He relished trapping you underneath his wide shoulders, pulling you onto his lap as he fucked up into you.

He wasn't fond of the few times he summoned you and you were already wet, or smelling of cologne. He'd tease, "Lonely?" and when he'd fuck his back cum into you before helping you chase your own orgasm, he'd remind you, "You're mine, little doe. No one can replace me." And he'd feel his chest swell. Others had your body for the night, but your soul was his forever. With every meeting, he felt more like himself. And the nights you were screaming his name in the forest, and his horns were looming over you as he marked you over and over as his, he felt powerful.

Some nights, he'd call you to him to just let you rest. He'd enjoy a book, or some jazz over a meal, while you lied quietly in his bed.

The days he pulled you into hell and your hair smelled of the trees, of sweat and dirt, he would be gentler. He could feel the ache in your muscles, the tan on your cheeks, and sent you back.

One such night came, where he of course took your chains in his hand and tugged. But this time, when you arrived, your face was painted with anger. You were asleep still, and even when he whispered to you, you didn't wake. You were having a nightmare, from what he could tell. He took you to his bed, and let you settle.

You stayed there until waking up again in your bed.

And every night that week, he'd bring you to his bed and go about his tasks while you fought some demons in your head. He'd never seen you have a nightmare, and began to wonder if something was happening in the overworld.

Alastor was enjoying a deer carcass in his room, humming softly to himself, when a green light erupted on the floor.

He was well aware it wasn't night anymore, and that he hadn't brought you here. With a soft smile, he left his meal and approached the light. Slowly, your body rose from the darkness there. Not just your soul.

When you looked up at him, a smile on your lips and two small doe ears on your head, he grinned, "Did you miss me terribly, my little doe?" He offered you a hand up, "Welcome home.”

༻Masterlist༺

[inkskinned]

so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.

this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.

somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.

i used betterhelp.

i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.

the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.

they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.

the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.

i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."

i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.

the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.

i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.

in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.

the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.

betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.

i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.

there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.

in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.

i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.