#reintegration sickness

[gothicseverance]

A trauma is a traum, a wound, a rupture in our life-experience, and as such it is obviously not going to be possible to adequately assimilate it into a smooth, linear narrative progression: if it was, it wouldn’t have been traumatic in the first place. We can absorb normal events into our ongoing mental narrative of ourselves, but traumas are the places we get stuck, where we trip up, and as a result they tend to generate mental stutters.

—‘Every Night, The Same Routine’

Art by @larri0li 🖤

[porcubus]

i predicted people being like "Guys markhelly is the lumon pr ship its fake and toxic and not real" and i was right i was so right and it hurts because now everyones missing the point of it being a company weaponizing their own feelings and relationship against them and how invasive and strange that is. mark and helly very clearly like eachother but because they started liking eachother on company ground it makes lumon feel like they are responsible and have some sort of ownership over them

[alkeneater]

Bro i want to integrate the Severance into my clone high au so badly i already explained it to my fp and it sounds like a great idea

But there's one little thing... it will make my comics irrelevant.... it will change the plot slightly....

i can't work on the comic anyways it's getting too hard lately bc of my mental condition soooo WE'RE SLIGHTLY CHANGING AND EXTENDING MY AU TO MAKE IT COOLER

but the price is... no more comic </3 sorrey.... (lmao like anyone cares) i will probably make a visual novel tho.... someday.... when i feel like the au is ready...

anyways stay tuned anddddd don't be afraid to ask questions about my AU i'd be very happy to answer them!!

[nostrilferatu]

Blocklists work. Peer-pressure works. Social consequences are effective

[oldbutchdanielcraig]

i am kind of sick by the way that no matter what happens irving b will never get to see burt g again and if popular theory is to be believed mark s will never see helly r again. that even MDR won't see mark s again not really because he's integrated and he can't go back. this isn't to say that burt shouldn't have retired or that mark shouldn't have reintegrated (or that dylan shouldn't want to know his outie's wife, etc etc etc) because for the most part these changes bring in the outside world meaning that they gain more knowledge about who they are and what they've agreed to which i believe is an objective good. like of course remaining naive in lumon's system only benefits lumon. but it just really hammers home the point that as we grow and change we leave behind versions of ourselves that were loved greatly — and even if we still can and will be loved as we are, we won't be loved the same

[targaryenluvs]

PARANOIA

pairing: dark!peeta mellark x fem!reader

summary: peeta tries to reintegrate into society in district 13 and get over his fear of you being taken from him. no one noticed just how badly the capitol messed him up until he lashes out.

warnings: guilt trip/manipulation, possessive, panick attacks and nightmares

a/n: my first ever dark peeta fic as well as fic in general! thank you to the anon and their request

the first time you laid eyes on peeta since the arena was horrifying. his sullen eyes, hollowed out cheekbones, nimble fingers, all of it made you sick. your boyfriend was a shell of his former self and was deathly afraid of his best friend katniss.

it seemed you were the only one able to calm him down.

almost every night of yours was spent curled up in bed together, stroking his hair, assuring him that he was far away from the capitol.

“peeta, i promise, no one’s going to hurt you. i’m right here, shh.” you cooed, your hands rubbing down his arms. “y/n?” you smiled at the recognition, “yeah sweetie. i’m right here i promise.” his heart slowed down and so did his breathing, your hands around him, hearing your heart in your chest. you were alive. here with him. no one had taken you, he wouldn’t let them.

it was tough of course, getting him back into the world.

he seemed to think that everything was a problem, out to get him, to get you.

at his first dinner with everyone he’d been keeping his cool. focusing on eating his food and you. but it seemed to be all to much especially when finnick odair sat right next to you, striking up conversation for majority of the night, leaving peeta to himself.

“do you ever stop talking?” peeta’s abrupt disruption of the conversation and uncommon tone of annoyance was more than enough to stop everyone in their tracks. finnick was stunned, not expecting peeta to speak that way, and so were you. “peeta? is something wrong?” you asked him, hand slowly placed on his before he withdrew his, standing up suddenly.

“no, everything’s fine. let’s go.” he dragged your arm along with him, unrelenting grip as he led the two of you back to your room. “peeta! what the hell?” his glossy eyes made you immediately frown, “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have yelled. i just…” you exhaled, unsure of how to approach the conversation.

“you’re acting so weird, i just want to make sure you’re okay. what happened out there?” you questioned, sitting next to him on your bed. “everyone was taking you away from me.” he murmured, playing with the hem of his shirt.

you smiled, “i was right next to you peeta, i wasn’t going away nor was anyone taking me. it was simple conversation. i’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable, rather than lashing out, talk. tell me what’s wrong okay?” he nodded, “are you mad?” you hugged him tightly, “never.” you’d been told how hard it would be for peeta, but you never expected it to be this bad.

it seemed almost everything rubbed him the wrong way.

whether it was who you sat with, talked to or even looked at. it all affected peeta. and you had no clue how to handle it. of course you loved him yet you felt suffocated. you barely saw your friends half the time, peeta seemed to be everywhere.

his shouts for you in his sleep, he couldn’t control that of course yet it seemed to drain all the energy out of you. every night, as if on cue, he’d call out for you and your personal space was kissed goodbye as you crawled into his bed to hug him. promises of safety and love directed his way.

you found relief in your showers.

you could be alone, with your own thoughts for once. no peeta. you felt guilty at times, being so miserable around your dear boyfriend who’d been through so much. but it seemed the others were slowly getting better, johanna could at least sit with other people. annie had finnick of course. but peeta seemed to be getting worse, clinging into you for dear life and simultaneously dragging you away from your friends.

but of course, he’d pushed himself into the picture. claiming he felt as if he was back in the capitol when showering alone. he needed you, you’d help wouldn’t you? what a bad girlfriend you are if you deny him. and so he chipped away at your personal space, your privacy, all infiltrated by peeta mellark.

you were with him 24/7.

and he’d never let you go.

[lilacxquartz]

sickly sweet;

kenjaku x f!reader

plot: just as you got ill, your once distant husband started to be caring again — themes: one shot, domestic dread, character study, problematic mindset/themes, manipulation — w.c: 2k • masterlist

a/n: this is a story about kenjaku but the reader is unaware of such a fact… so the name we refer to him as is via suguru/geto and why it’s tagged as such.

For the longest time, you thought that there was something a little… off-putting about your husband.

It wasn’t always this way, but ever since he came back home following an accident, he changed for the worse. Before then, he was vibrant and abuzz with energy and then… something simply just changed. You caught wind of something happening within the cult, but you couldn’t investigate too much—what with you being pregnant with your first child. When he came back seemingly and alive unscathed—save for the stitches that ran across his forehead—you didn’t care to ask too many questions for as long as he was safe and sound.

(A short-lived feeling though; for what lingered just beneath the surface, left dread in its wake.)

The decline of what once made Suguru himself was a slow one, like a thick seeping venom that took its good, sweet time to enter your system. Before you tell something was amiss, he was already deep within your bloodstream—you were hooked—poisoned, yet unaware of just how devastating the damage truly was.

If you had to go back to when you first noticed that something was off, then perhaps when he tried to reintegrate back into your life. It was an ordinary event. He was simply just getting back home late one night and greeted you in the hallway as he stepped inside. At a glance, this would have been normal, but something didn’t feel quite right.

You remembered that sinking feeling of realisation perfectly well.

That moment when you were looking back into the eyes of a stranger, wearing the skin of the man you once knew—of the man that you once loved.

He’d announce his arrival too, singing out your name in a melody that felt forced, “I’m home,” he’d say, his smooth voice feeling somehow rehearsed.

Suguru’s characteristic warmth started to fade the more that you noticed such quirks, the delicately crafted facade beginning to crack. The kindness was retained, but there was a certain underlying edge to it as if he was playing a fabricated role rather than being the man you wanted him to be.

Still, you chose to ignore it. At least at first. You told yourself that if there was an accident, then maybe it was just his personality that was off and if given enough time, it would all smooth over.

(Although, it never did.)

As the months passed you both by, and the man claiming to be Suguru grew colder and more distant, too. Sure, he lived with you and practiced small talk with you, but it all felt fake, somehow. It was as if you were a temporary obstacle in the grand scheme of things and he was simply humouring you whenever he cared to, often disappearing into the night without warning.

Initially, you suspected adultery. It wouldn’t have been too far of a reach, knowing that some people, no matter how well you think you’d know them, would still succumb to temptation… but that didn’t seem to be the case. Whenever he returned, he would be the same just as he was before. Cold and distant. Should you have tried to initiate something intimate too, then he wouldn’t deny you such pleasures, but it always left you feeling unclean, somehow used instead. The moves he pulled were certainly familiar and something that Suguru would do, but it was devoid of the same tenderness that Suguru had.

So for the most part, you stopped initiating and also, you didn’t pay too much attention to him again. For the time being, you cared more to focus on your pregnancy and then hopefully leave somewhere far away from this whole mess.

(But then you got sick.)

It was deep into your pregnancy when you fell ill, bordering just below the final term. A low-grade fever that crept into your system, throwing you off balance. While you initially thought it to be fine, it was hard to ignore by the end of the week. You didn’t think that whoever was occupying your husband’s body would notice such a thing, but something awoke in him from the moment he did.

This deeply caring side of him was hard to dismiss, too, given that it felt close to how Suguru used to be with you.

Just like before, it didn’t take too long for you to notice the changes in his demeanour, the differences being almost jarring by that point. You woke up to the rush of cold air spilling into the room, watching on through partially blurred vision as the sheer curtains wafted in the breeze.

Suguru’s voice played in the background as he addressed you, his voice smooth like molten honey, “You’re awake.”

You initially didn’t respond as you were still waking up. Your eyes flicked over to where he sat on the edge of the bed, watching somewhat warily as he smoothed his palms across your blanketed form, his touch almost reverent.

“Some fresh air will do you good,” he softly murmured before stepping away to the dresser, bringing over a cup of tea to your nightstand table, “I brewed you some tea too. Ginger and honey, just how you like it.”

You warily eyed the cup but didn’t refuse it. The pleasant aroma filled your senses and soothed you as the steam rose and after about a minute, you sat up to take a sip, finding that the warmth from the tea actually did help a bit.

Just as you set the cup down though, Suguru moved closer, extending his hand to press against your forehead, his touch feeling cold against your heated flesh.

“You’re so warm…” he whispered, his thumb brushing along your temple and down your cheekbones. “I should have been more… attentive. Forgive me for being so busy.”

You blinked up at him as the tea settled in your body. Something about this whole interaction filled you with unease as if the applied sweetness wasn’t genuine.

“I’m fine,” you croaked, “really,” you emphasised after a hot second.

Suguru however just hummed, his voice taking on a condescending tone, “Oh, but you’re not, are you?” he asked, curling his lips into a calm, measured smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, his gaze appearing devoid of any warmth, “worry not though, my love, I’ll take care of everything.”

Relief wasn’t quite what you felt however as he hovered around you for the remainder of your sickness, locking himself into your shadow day and night, seemingly abandoning his work to tend to you. He urged you to eat, and hydrate and even helped you bathe, prattling on about the importance of vapours when one felt congested.

“You’re not usually this caring,” you let slip as you settled into bed, regretting your word choice right away. The atmosphere of the room changed within a beat at such an admission and though you tried to backtrack, the dread had already settled.

Suguru’s smile faltered, seeming almost offended(?)

“I may have been busy, yes…” he trailed off, his eyes drifting away from you before giving you back his attention tenfold, “but you’re still… my wife, correct? I have to apply my priorities carefully. You’re… important to me.”

The way that he referred to you as his wife didn’t feel as comforting as his intention might have been; the term felt almost possessive as if laced with warning. The way he said it and how he said it, was a little bit too deliberate—as if he was trying to convince himself of a role he had to maintain.

Still, the hours dragged on throughout the rest of the evening without an issue, or so he thought. He encouraged you to sip on hot broth whenever you were lucid enough and sat at your side vigilantly, watching you with a sharp eye to ensure that nothing would go wrong.

Such intensely applied care, however, soon started to feel suffocating by the end of the day and all you wanted to do was to have a break and sleep the flu away. You didn’t mean to snap the way that you did, fully expecting him to nip or protest at your attitude from the moment you let your composure slip away, but he didn’t.

“—please,” you spat out, unable to hold back any longer as you pushed him away, “just—I… I need to sleep.”

For a moment, a brief hint of anger flashed across his features, but then he simply schooled his expression into that same cold smile from before.

“Of course,” he murmured, brushing your hair away from your eyes, “I should have known. Please, rest for as long as you need to.”

You gulped down all of your unease beyond that point, too exhausted to care, but later in the night—you woke up and something felt wrong. Your eyes fluttered open with a jarring start as your breath caught in the back of your throat. You tried to swallow, but it felt like sharp glass resided in your lungs, the sensation like fire when you tried to breathe in or out. Your eyes struggled to adjust to the dark, but a familiar figure sat unnervingly close to where you lay.

“Suguru…?” you called out.

He must have remained close to you the entire night, even after you had fallen asleep. His deep gaze fixed on you with such a grave intensity that it stole the rest of the air away from the room, leaving you barely able to breathe at that point, feeling suffocated from being so close.

Before you could call out to him again though, Suguru hushed you with the application of his fingers pressed right against your lips. He then leaned closer, allowing the smell of something vaguely metallic to fill your senses, but also medicinal or even herbal.

You listened to his silent request to keep in bed, feeling as his fingertips swept across the side of your neck using soft, featherlight strokes, to trace along your pulse point. His touch lingered for a little too long as he settled around the area, pressing firmly enough that you could feel the blood flowing.

(A warning, perhaps?)

“Go back to sleep,” he softly parted a bit clearer that time, following up with a gentle hum to the tune of a lullaby you didn’t know. Despite how soothing it felt, your innate instincts were screaming at you to distance yourself—to not let this person get too close—that this wasn’t Suguru.

(But your exhaustion simply took you over.)

“That’s right,” he whispered, his breath rolling hot against your forehead as he parted a delicate kiss against your skin, “continue to live in bliss and I'll give you the life you so desperately crave.”

You woke up slightly again as he strode over to the bedroom door, lingering in the frame as he looked back at you with that same unsettling, unreadable stare.

“Just, don’t misunderstand,” he couldn’t resist, his true self seeping through the cracks of the facade he wore so well, “I’ll only keep that up if you don’t snoop around too far,” he then paused, lowering his voice on purpose so that you couldn’t hear him, speaking more to himself than to you, “as long as you learn to keep curious—as long as you don’t figure out who I really am—then I can keep you safe.”

You didn’t reply, trying to pretend that you were already asleep. He knew that you weren’t though, choosing not to bother you.

“Sleep tight, my wife.”

The door then clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in that thick, oppressive silence that you had gotten to know so well. You didn’t dare break through it, though, not even as you felt the squeeze of his phantom fingers remaining wrapped around your neck, constricting around your throat like an invisible collar, binding you to a whole new nightmare; a silent reminder of just how much your life had changed ever since that day.

Of just how much… he had changed.

A part of you knew that it would never get better, but if being sick was what it took to get even a glimpse of your old husband back, then that’s something you wouldn’t hesitate to do.

Because even if he did come to annoy you in the end—it was better than accepting that he might truly be gone.

(So why not live a little in your delusions, just this once? Or twice? Or… however long it took to feel normal again.)

[thearcanecat]

Love this song so much.

No pressure tags: @tristomisto @witchwoodcrow @misshollowayss @missholloween @average-book-enjoyer + anyone else who wants to join!

mutuals + other people, rb this with a song (or multiple) that you personally relate to

i’ll go first

tags:

@arijaiscool, @tripleatechie, @microraptorhours, @glitch-studios, and anyone else who wants to join

[howi99]

Project ARC remake 20

Qrow: *rolling his eyes* This is getting ridiculous, Ozpin. Glynda is a complete mess and Jaune regressed mentally to a 10 year old?

Ozpin: *sigh* From what i understood, speaking with him, it's less that he has the mental faculties of a 10 year old and more that he has the memories of one. He's also slowly getting his memory from Beacon back, so he should be able to reintegrate-

Qrow: Oz! *Slamming his hand on the table* We both know he can't go back soon. *Looking pissed* The kid is having phantom pains from- *shaking his head* urgh, just thinking about it makes me sick.

Ozpin: *sigh* So you want me to go against Glynda's wish and warn Atlas that we found him?

Qrow: ... Can't believe myself for saying that, but yes. *Drink from his flask* It's either that, or the kid might remember something he really shouldn't.

___________________________________________

Glynda: *looking at her little brother with pain in her heart* Jaune...

Jaune: *wearing an eye patch* W-well, the pain disappears when i'm blocking my vision. So with that, i should be fine, ok? *Smile* You don't need to worry too much about me, right?

Glynda: ...

Jaune: *scratching the back of his neck* Look, i won't be long. I'm just gonna get some eggs and prepare some Vale toast.

Glynda: *panicking* J-Jaune, wait i-

Jaune: *putting his hand on her shoulder* Sis, you can't be with me all the time. *Calming smile* I won't disappear or anything. Just... Sit and relax. Think of today as a vacation day, ok?

Glynda: ... *Looking at the ground* Ok...

Jaune: *nod* Good. I'll be back in a jiffy! *Leave*

Glynda: *closing her eyes* It's gonna be fine, he's gonna be fine...

___________________________________________

Cinder: Tsk, nothing to eat. *Closing the fridge door, taking a look at the rest of the little studio she took for herself with a sigh* At least, i'm not living with that psychopath... And it's comfier than Evernight. *As she said those words, her stomach grumbled* Urgh, fine, i'll go buy something to eat. *She puts casual clothes on herself before leaving the apartment*

___________________________________________

Cinder: *panicking, as the man who fought her in Mistral is now smiling at her with a dumb look* I-i-i-i-

Jaune: *looking apologetically at her* Sorry to have startled you, but could you take a step to the left? *Point behind her* i'm trying to get some milk and-

Cinder: *trying to protect herself from what she is assuming is going to be round two of her getting almost killed* I-i know how to defend myself and-

Jaune: *perplexed* What? *Realising he's completely in her personal space* O-oh, sorry! I didn't mean to frighten you! *Sheepish laugh* I lost a lot of memories and i keep forgetting i'm not just a kid anymore.

Cinder: *blinking* U-uh!?

Jaune: So uh... *Point, again, behind her* Can i get the milk?

Cinder: ... *Shaking her head, stepping aside* You can take it! I-i don't need it.

Jaune: *smile* Thank you.

Cinder: *still completely terrified* S-sure, no problem!

___________________________________________

Cashier: Sorry, but your credit card was declined.

Cinder: *slumping* But i only took some bread...

Jaune: *who just finished packing up his food* Would you like to eat with me and my sister?

Cinder: *startled* WHAH! S-STOP APPEARING FROM NOWHERE!

Jaune: *wince* S-sorry, i just wanted to make up for the fright i caused you...

Cinder: *looking at the loaf of bread in her hand then at the mountain of food Jaune is bringing back to "his" apartment* I... *Her hunger won over her fear* Fine. B-but just a quick bite.

Jaune: *smiling* Of course!

___________________________________________

Cinder: *sitting at the table of the second in command of Ozpin and the thing that tried to kill her* ...

Glynda: *sigh* Jaune, you really should stop trying to help everyone you see. It's a bad habit.

Jaune: *who just finished making breakfast* But you always told me to be the best i can be. Isn't helping those who can't feed themselves a part of being the best i can?

Glynda: *wince* I-i know i said that, b-but people can be dangerous and i don't want you to get hurt.

Cinder: ... *Internally screaming* I-i d-didn't know she was y-your s-s-sister.

Glynda : *Eyes widening* J-Jaune!? I told you to keep people from knowing!

Jaune: *wince* I totally forgot, my bad... *Placing the "French" toast on the table, along with bacon and eggs* Can you forgive me with a little bit of bribery?

Glynda: ... *Sigh with a smile* Sure, you may buy your way out of it... For now.

Cinder: *stomach growling at the sight of the food* ...

Jaune: *smiling at the (unknown) criminal* You can pick what you want, i don't eat much anyway.

___________________________________________

Cinder: *now back at her apartment* ... *Looking at the nicely packed food Jaune gave to her* ... *Then thinking back on the "conversation" she had with Tyrian two days ago* ... That's so unfair...

[Now, for everyone that thinks Cinder is out of character, remember that A) she doesn't have any power from the maiden, so her confidence is actually low and B) she stole a part of Jaune's soul in their fight. Basically the soul of an angel which is slowly but noticeably having an impact on her own.]

[fluffyfantasticducky]

Focus on the Good

☆ Pairing: Loki x Reader

☆ Synopsis: Loki is overwhelmed dealing with being accused as a traitor, although this time he's innocent. But this time, he is not the man he used to be, and he has you by his side.

☆ Word Count: 5,110

☆ Notes: The relatively awaited part two of Smile for me. Sorry I took so long to post this, I had a creative block and had trouble deciding what to focus on. The traitor plot twist is anticlimatic but I chose to focus more on Loki and his feelings.

☆ Warnings: Loki dealing with self hatred, insinuations and caresses that aren't spicy per se but are a bit more intimate and flirty but it's all sfw.

Frustrating. How else could he call it?

His first mission as a leader was a complete disaster. You had gotten hurt due to his own incompetence. And add some insult to this pathetic situation, now he was being investigated for treason to S.H.I.E.L.D. despite that he was completely innocent.

It must have been some sick twisted joke of fate. He spent years playing with Asgard like a fiddle, getting away with so much, to the point that where he committed treason everyone realized only when it was too late. And now that he had a reason to make things right, be transparent and honest, now he was investigated as if he was some traitor.

The most offensive thing of those implications was that it suggested that Loki was either using you or lying to you. When in reality he would die for you, he’d walk through fire if you asked him. Or that you were complicit of his ‘crimes.’ You, you who were the kindest, sweetest, most righteous person he had ever met.

Every day or two days at most they come to either interrogate you, him, or inspect your shared room which always left them a mess to clean up.

At least the people he cared about knew he was innocent. Thor was constantly arguing with Fury, going over and over about how this was nonsensical and even offering Loki to flee to New Asgard for a few days until things calmed down. Valkyrie had offered him an extra room if he needed. Bruce, while he wasn’t as passionate about defending Loki, agreed that it made very little sense that Loki would betray them now with all he had accomplished. Even the great Tony Stark agreed between sarcastic jokes that he would’ve believed if he hadn’t seen how down bad, he was for you.

You… what would he do without you? You not only got into mad arguments and made abundantly clear your distaste for this decision, but you were his biggest source of support and peace after all the draining routine he was being put through during the suspension from missions. You were a risk taker by disobeying direct orders from Fury by asking Thor, Bruce, Nat, Clint to trade with you during missions as to make a strike until they decided to reintegrate Loki to his normal duties. And for the first week of interrogations, whenever it was your turn… Norns, he felt a bit bad for the director. You were quite loud and fierce when you wanted to be.

But most importantly, all the support he got from you after all the interrogations and room inspections that hurt him more than he’d ever admit.

“I’m sorry…” he sighed, resting his head on your lap.

In between the inspections to your shared bedroom one of the agents had broken a little figurine you collected.

“It’s just a toy, I’ll get another one…” you assured him.

Loki could sense a lie. But he also remembered how excited you had been when you got it, saying it was rare and it had taken you a huge effort to get it.

“You darling prince…” you spoke softly, running your fingers through his hair. “It’s okay. We know you’re innocent, soon all of S.H.I.E.L.D. will see it too. Everything else doesn’t matter.”

“What did I do so right to deserve such a pretty angel such as you?” he chuckled. “You are unfairly good to me.”

“You keep saying that baby.” You spoke gently, tucking a few strands of hair behind his ear. “You sound like a broken record.”

“I might be one” he shrugged, closing his eyes.

“Yeah?” you giggled. “Then I’ll just have to fix you.”

“I thought you said the I can fix him was a toxic mentality in romance” he said cheekily.

“Oh, now you remember my movie rants” you laughed. “But the I can fix him trope is toxic when—”

“…It is used by the abuser who manipulates them into staying as a rehabilitation center. A partner should be part of your support group but never the responsible to fix you, but a motivation and helping hand while you fix yourself.” He opened his eyes to look up at you as he finished repeating your old rant word by word. “I always remember the things you say.”

“Is that so? When is our anniversary?”

“June 9” Loki smiled and noticed you opening your mouth to retort. “And our 1,000 days together is on March 5th year. And yes, I knew you were going to ask that.”

“Smart pants” you smiled.

“You love me like that.”

“I do” you smiled and kissed his lips softly. “Guess you don’t need fixing after all.”

“Glad we agree, I am the most perfect man” he grinned, relishing the way you cringed and smiled at the silly joke.

“I don’t know about that.” You smiled, “But you are perfect for me.”

You pecked his lips and made him smile.

“I don’t deserve you…” he smiled.

“Oh, that’s it!” you laughed and soon your hands where all over his sides.

And sooner than that Loki was laughing his head off.

“Hehe- hey!” he protested between laughs.

You had an annoying charm. Tickling him silly as a pseudo-punishment. It was your shared secret how much Loki enjoyed being tickled. You stopped soon enough, smiling at him, caressing your thumb across his cheek.

“It’ll pass before you notice…” you whisper. “They will see exactly what you truly are. Just like I do.”

Loki chuckled softly.

“I hope not, you are a handful already” he smirked at the offended look on your face due to his comment.

“Oh, you want to talk about a handful…” you growled as you flipped to straddle him. “Let’s see how much of a handful I can be…”

Loki gulped, unable to fight a smile.

“Ahah…” he huffed, “darling, d-don’t… d-dohohohon’t!”

But your hands were already attacking his sides, your fingers skillfully scribbling along his skin, prodding his ribs, drilling along each crevice in the most maddening way.

“Is that enough handful for you, huh?” you asked in a faux anger. “Eh? Is it?”

“Thihihihihihis is cruel!” Loki protested. “And thahahahat doesn’t mahahake sehehense!”

“Mmm, it might have just been excuse to get my hands on this hot bod of yours” you smiled.

Being tickled was already a vulnerable moment for Loki. To the point where only you could tickle him without any resistance. Anyone else would need to overpower him physically or just restrain him. You, on the other side, he would barely fight back. He’d simply squirm in his place, rolling over to the side or on his stomach. Which it gave you more of a sensation that he just wanted you to focus on other spots. Not that he'd ever admit… you had tried.

“Ehehehe! You ahahahaha— wait no!” he protested as your fingers reached his stomach, giving it little pinches and pokes. “Lohohohove, stop!”

“Alright, alright.” You smiled and kissed his forehead as you stopped the tickling. “Is your mood better?”

“Ihi— if I say yes will you stop torturing my stomach?” he smiled at you, holding onto your hips. “You know I can’t take it there.”

The way you leaned against his chest to kiss his lips never failed to drive him wild. And this wasn’t the exception.

“I am aware” you hummed against his lips. “That’s why it’s my favorite spot to tickle.”

“I am, unfortunately, also aware of that” he chuckled.

“If you really minded it, you’d actually do something to stop me instead of just laughing your heart out.”

“I love it when a beautiful mortal has their hands all over me, is that something to be ashamed about?” he grinned cheekily at you.

You rolled your eyes and smiled. “It wouldn’t be if you were still single. But you are stuck with me now and forgive me if I’m not good at sharing my boyfriend. Unless you’d share me with others.”

“That is out of the question. You are mine, and mine alone.” He said solemnly as he held you in his arms. You lifted your eyebrows, expectantly as he felt his cheeks warm up under your gaze. “As… I am yours; I suppose.”

“Was that so hard to say?” you smiled.

“Terribly so” Loki smiled. But then, his face adopted a serious, melancholic expression. “I’m sorry… I should not be dragging you into this disaster. You deserve better, and I fear you will realize that. It would be best for you, but… I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Lucky for you, that’s not something you have to worry about” you assured him, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere. I am perfectly happy with you.”

One thing that Loki loved about your relationship was that despite knowing you said stuff to made him feel better, it never came off as dishonest, as if those two concepts weren’t mutually exclusive. You said the kindest, most loving things, and he could tell you honestly felt every single one.

It made his heart soar. That honest and kind heart of yours was exactly what he had been craving for. You were what he had been looking for.

It made him want to open his heart to you. You were kind and listened to him without judging or thinking the worst of him.

“What am I going to do?” he sighed. “If I can’t go on missions, soon I will not be allowed to go outside, and then I will be going back to being a high-class prisoner.”

“Actually… you can’t leave the building given you’re under investigation” you said apologetically. “Sorry.”

“Lovely…” he groaned, throwing his head back, rubbing his face with his palms. “I am back to being a prisoner. Might as well get inside a cell.”

“Yes, we could tie you up, and torture you until you confess” you purred, trailing kisses along his jawline, as your hands made their way to play with his hair.

“You’re making it sound appealing” he hummed, relishing the feeling of your lips against his skin. “Mmm~ Keep touching me like that and I’ll do anything you ask.”

“Mm, what a good boy” you giggled, kissing his lips.

He laughed along with you, but mostly because your hands had found his ears and were tickling behind them.

“W-Whahahat are you doing? T-That tickles!” he laughed.

“I told you I would torture an answer out of you” you giggled, tickling the back of his ears. “Now confess, you war criminal!”

“Nohohoho, stohop it!” he squirmed underneath you. “How is thahahat spot so bahahad?”

“Right?” you chuckled, pressing loving kisses along his face. “I found out the other day while we were kissing.”

He grabbed your wrists. “Oh really?” he smirked, and trapped your wrists in one of his hands as he began tickling your ear shell and behind it. It took absolutely nothing to have you giggling like a kid.

“Ehehehe! L-Loki!” you giggled. “Hehehe! I-It tickles!”

“It does, does it not?” he chuckled.

He traced along the outline of your ear. He relished the way you laughed against him, you never tried to get away nor asked him to stop. You loved that closeness as much as Loki did.

“Mmm, that laugh of yours is so lovely~” he hummed as he stopped, tucking a few streaks of hair behind your ear. “It’s my favorite sound in the whole world, you make me so happy.”

“Cheesy” you chuckled, kissing his lips.

“I mean that, darling” he smiled. “Without you I would have gone mad by now. Or worse, I would be a prisoner.”

“You can’t believe that…” you spoke softly.

“What else am I supposed to believe?” he sighed, “what I did to New York is unforgivable. I should be locked up for life, I was going to be… It’s what I deserve. It took me too long to understand it.”

It broke your heart to hear him talk like that. It was a shame that he still punished himself so badly. You appreciated that he recognized his error, but the fact that it haunted him was painful to watch. He was already working on getting better.

“Loki… Your beef with Earth had its particular and complicated circumstances, it wasn’t 100% your fault.” You assured him. “But even if that was, there are other ways to atone for your mistakes… Punishing yourself but you were helping Earth, compensation is another way of redemption. Being an Avenger is a way to redeem yourself.”

“How do you do it?” he chuckled, “How do you manage to look at all the awful things I have done and still somehow see the best in me?”

“Because I’ve also seen how much you regret it, and I’ve seen you trying to prove to everyone, prove to yourself that you are doing better.” you spoke lovingly. “That means a lot, to me, to Thor, to everyone.”

“But why?” he asked. “What I did is…”

“Fucked up, yes. Tony and Bruce created a genocidal robot, Clint was an international criminal prisoner and retook as an assassin, Steve and Natasha were literal war criminals, your brother before you nearly started a war—”

“That I provoked him into.”

“Would you do it again?” you asked.

“For the sake of entertainment—” Loki pondered.

“Loki!” you giggled.

“I’m jesting, love!” he laughed. “Earth is no good in wars like Asgard, we fight to settle disagreements, make alliances, or get respect. But never to destroy.”

“We’re not so bad…” you smiled.

“Not all of you, no.” Loki agreed. “You for once are a wonderful mor— human. Smart, beautiful, funny, kind… It’s the people on the higher power that worry me.”

“It’s as they say, absolute power corrupts absolutely” you shrugged. “That’s what we fight for. For those without power, and against those who abuse it.”

“You say that as I remain locked in here, simply training and withering away” Loki sighed.

“Well… we can find something interesting to keep you occupied—”

“Reindeer games, out now!” Tony banged on the door.

“Not now Stark!” Loki called annoyed.

“You’ll want to see this.” Tony spoke through the other side of the door.

You stood up and Loki followed right after. Everyone was headed to the meeting room so that’s where you went to.

Bruce and Thor had one of the younger cadets, Philip. He was struggling against the two. His blonde hair was a mess and he looked like he had lost a fight.

“We found our traitor, brother.” Thor said firmly, even a bit prideful. “The little rat sabotaged our missions.”

“A double agent?” Steve asked.

“Self-sabotage” Bruce clarified. “He informed the base you were going. Who and when. And exactly how to take down a god. We found a report of the mission sent to an unknown address.”

“I found it.” Natasha stated.

“You?” Clint raised an eyebrow.

“We” she corrected herself.

“With my technology, that is.” Tony added. “In case anyone was wondering.”

“No one was wondering that, Tony” Steve smiled lightly, amused by the genius’ ego.

“But why? You were the only non-Avenger agent Loki chose personally” Thor asked. “My brother trusted you. And it was a wonderful opportunity for you.”

Fury looked… well, furious.

“Philip Crowe, you’re immediately and effectively removed from all S.H.I.E.L.D. work and installations, permanently for treason, espionage, and sabotage to an elite strike agent.” Fury said firmly.

“Elite?! He’s a monster!” the young man protested, struggling to break free from the arm lock. “It’s a time bomb! It’s in his nature! You’ve seen what he’s capable of! It’s a matter of time before we have New York part two! You’ve read myths, what guarantees that there won’t be a Ragnarök on Earth?! He—”

SMACK! He had been cut off by a slap in the face by you. If the stinging in his cheek was not enough to silence him, your cold glare silenced him.

“Take him away.” You said. “I want him rotting in a cell for a really long time…”

“Oh, he will be locked in the dark for a very long time” Fury agreed, “for espionage, and sabotage… And being an asshole as a whole.”

Thor was about to take him away. He was struggling to break free.

“Don’t.” Loki spoke up. “I’ll use a spell to delete his memories, about S.H.I.E.L.D. about the Avengers. Everything will be gone from his mind. He can live a normal life not remembering being an agent.”

Loki walked and looked down at him. Placed his hand on his forehead as the blond struggled. Loki let his Seidr flow and Philip’s body went limp.

“When he wakes up, he’ll be normal, he can have a normal life, he won’t be a risk for S.H.I.E.L.D.” he sighed and left the room.

Flowers bloomed under him as he sat by the lake. Just enjoying the familiar view. But not even that brought him any joy.

“Loki, there you are, honey.”

“Hello mother” Loki smiled. “I was just… thinking.”

“I thought you would be happy to get your naming” Frigga said. “You were excited this morning to receive your title.”

“God of Mischief, mother?�� he asked. “Does that mean I’m supposed to cause trouble?”

“Is that so bad?”

“Will father get upset at me?” Loki asked. “Besides, you like annoying your brother.”

“Pranking Thor is different. Why could I be the God of rain, wind, or something, then Thor and I could be gods together.”

“You can’t revolve your personality around Thor. Your godly title is meant to reflect your personality, not your brother’s” Frigga smiled at him gently. “Your father gave you a title that would fit you.”

“Does father think I’m a bad son?” he asked.

“I think your father thinks you’re creative, smart, with good abilities to get away with what you want” Frigga assured him. “All qualities you do have. And you are quite cheeky.”

Loki chuckled weakly. Frigga smiled and picked up a purple flower and wiggled it against Loki’s face. Causing the young god to scrunch up his nose and swat the pretty flower away.

“You know, son. I think it’s time for you to start learning magic” Frigga said.

“But you said I had to wait until I was 500 years old” Loki asked.

“I think you’re ready” Frigga said, “You’re 250 years old already, and you just got your title. You are a big boy now.”

With a few elegant movements the violet on Frigga’s hands turned into a purple frog that jumped out of hands and into the pond. Loki giggled as his mother’s arms trapped him into a hug as she tickled his sides.

“Pretty memory” you looked at him as you sat next to him. “Your mom is pretty.”

“Most beautiful woman in all of Asgard” Loki agreed. “Do you know what Orvokki means?”

“Uhh, it’s a violet, right?” you said looking at the flowers around the lake.

“It can also be interpreted as little orphan. How ironic that it was my favorite flower as a child…” Loki grumbled.

He flicked his wrist and the illusion of his memory vanished. He was no longer in Asgard, he was sitting on the rooftop of the compound’s main building. He wasn’t with his mother. And his eyes were red from crying.

“That was really nice thing you did back there” you congratulated him as you rubbed circles across his back.

“Not bad for a monster, huh?” Loki huffed out, in a failed attempt to fake out a laugh. “Did you see the way he looked at me? The fear in his eyes…?”

“Don’t listen to him…” you said resting your head against his shoulder. “He never gave you a chance to prove how good you really are. That’s his problem, not yours.”

“I can’t blame him… I would not trust me either… I am a monster, I was a monster to my people, to my home…” he sighed.

“What? No, Loki…”

“My birth father abandoned me to die, I was raced by a kingdom that thought my kind were monsters…” Loki sighed, “and I caused so much pain and death to a Realm that could’ve seen me as something quite literally divine.”

You looked at him and squeezed his hand.

“I thought… I hoped I had a second chance, I wanted to believe people were already accepting me. I thought that if I could have at least one agent to trust me… How foolish of me…”

“Stop that…” you scolded him, giving his hand a gentle and loving squeeze. “You’re not a monster. No one sees you as a monster.”

Loki laughed bitterly. While you weren’t lying in the literal sense, you were being too kind, blinded by your affection for the young Asgardian to acknowledge the recent events.

“I mean it!” you said. “You’re so focused on one person thinking you’re a monster, that you fail to see what everyone else did because they believed in you. They all helped in their own way to prove you were innocent. Either tracking conversation, providing resources… Gosh, even director Fury trusted you were innocent.”

“I…” Loki recapped the events from earlier. You weren’t wrong.

“Besides, you know how picky I am when it comes to dating” you smiled, “I wouldn’t date just anyone. Is that not enough for you?”

Loki was silent for a moment, for once he didn’t even have a smart reply for that.

He had seen you turn down a couple of agents or staff members before the two of you started dating. Philip among the lines of the rejected. In fact, he remembered that during that time where the other Avengers noticed his feelings for you, some of them tried to discourage him from courting you, because “you didn’t date.” In fact, they had brought it up, on his face to prove it so. You were, in fact, very picky when it came to dating. Which just made him value your relationship even more. It gave him a huge confidence boost, and the security of not being replaced or overshadowed he so desperately had been needing.

And once again, you were that source of comfort and security. You were his sweet little balm.

“I… um…” he stuttered.

You chuckled and kissed his cheek.

“Tongue tied?” you teased him, making him groan in frustration as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink. “Just… don’t give him power over you, if he didn’t bother knowing you, he shouldn’t deserve such a space in your mind.”

“Thanks, love” he smiled softly. “For… looking after me. And… helping me see that others look after me.”

“Heh… I’m glad I helped” you spoke lovingly as you rubbed your nose against his neck.

He chuckled rested his cheek against the top of your head.

“Should we head inside?” you asked, rubbing your own arms, as you stood up “it’s a bit chilly out here.”

“You can go inside, love” Loki offered. “I need some time alone.”

You looked at him worried, but a gust of cold wind made you shiver, making the idea of going inside more and more appealing. But he saw the hesitation in your eyes, the way you didn’t want to leave him alone made him smile.

“I promise I’ll meet you inside later” he assured you. But you didn’t look too convinced “Make some tea for us, and I’ll meet you in our room before you’re done putting on your pajamas.”

You gave him a look he couldn’t quite decipher but you nodded and made your way inside.

He relished the fresh air. But as he mentally prepared to be burdened with his failure, he surprised himself smiling. His mind wasn’t clouded with the young spy that betrayed him.

All he could think was that all the original Avengers, those he had cursed himself for unintentionally helping assemble to defeat him… now had stood up for him. And it didn’t stop there.

His mind was filled with happy memories.

All the times he had gotten a pat in the back from Tony and being called his new favorite for teasing Steve’s righteous stiffness and the way Bucky and Sam snickered at it. As well as his training contests with the super soldiers to test their serum with Loki and Thor’s godly nature. How he beamed with pride at the blond’s praise after a mission. The way Natasha and her little sister acknowledge his ability to infiltrate and swoon targets and even required him specifically. How Clint and his little new protegee had gotten really happy when Loki gifted them his old Asgardian bows for them, despite the teasing when they saw right through his “I don’t even use them” excuse and treated for dinner after. Bruce acknowledging his observation capabilities during some of his experiments. Thor… who despite all the awful things they had gone through never abandoned him, and still saw Loki as his baby brother, and despite they refused to admit it, both still adored each other.

And you. You had stolen his heart from minute one. He had been hopeless before the first kiss or even a declaration. Your eyes brought him to his knees, and he had sworn to be at your mercy for the rest of his existence when he saw you smile. And with that power you had over him done nothing but nourish him. Your payback when he pestered you was always fun and harmless. You made him laugh. You listened to everything he said and always encouraged him to keep talking until he was hoarse. You gave him the attention he had been craving for so many years. You treated him as the most important being of the universe.

Honestly, he didn’t realize when his thoughts had set him in motion. But by the time he was aware of his actions, he was already turning the doorknob of your shared bedroom.

“Liar” you scoffed, throwing a teddy bear to his face as soon as he set foot inside the room. “You said you’d be here before I was done putting on my jammies, but it’s been 5 minutes since I got in bed, and you weren’t here.”

Loki couldn’t help but smile. For a secret agent, you were terrible at hiding your feelings… at least from him.

“I apologize for not keeping my word, love” he apologized as he took off his shirt and searched through his drawer for the pajama he wanted to wear. “I lost track of time.”

“Did you drink?” you asked him.

“I did not. I trusted my favorite thing to make me tea” he responded with an innocent look as he put on his pajama shirt.

“It’s on your night table” you responded with the slightest pout, knowing you it was because he saw right through you.

He walked to the warm mug and took a sip. Of course, you had prepared his favorite tea… and with extra honey, just the way he liked. Everyone always complained there would never be enough for everyone if you kept spoiling Loki with his favorite all the time. You always got more, but it just meant starting the cycle again.

“Thank you, dear” he smiled as he kneeled on the bed to reach and cup your face to kiss your cheek.

Oh, how he wanted to tackle you and cover you in kisses at the way you fought and lost against the smile that appeared on your lovely face along with a light shade of pink.

“So adorable…” he chuckled.

As he was taking off his pants, he saw the way your blush turned even darked. He rushed to put on the pajama pants and dove in the bed, wrapping his arms around you in a loving embrace with his chest against your back.

“You’re in a lovely mood” you smiled as you reached to caress his cheek. “What gives?”

“I just thought about a lovely little mortal” he hummed pressing soft kisses on your nape, “that makes my darkest days bright and cozy.”

“Do you have a fever or something?” you touched his forehead.

“No, I mean it!” he laughed. “I stayed back to think… and all I could think about was your love, your kindness, and this hot body of yours…”

As he spoke that last bit, he reached to caress your sides, making you giggle.

“Loki…!” you giggle swatting his hand away. “You’re asking for trouble.”

“You know I am” he whispered, resting his face against your shoulder. Taking in your scent, closing his eyes as he relaxed. “Norns, what would I do without you?”

“Probably snuggle your pillow tonight” you smiled. “But you’d be fine.”

“I would not…” Loki choked up, as he felt tears forming in his eyes. “I would be lost; I would be absolutely nothing without you. A monster…”

“No, no, baby…” you spoke softly, turning around to face him. “You’ve worked really hard to be better… That’s all you, you are utterly and undoubtedly wonderful…”

The way you always made him feel better was almost scary. Your word was law. If you said he was so good, then… perhaps he wasn’t as bad as he thought.

“I love you…” he whispered. “Thank you…”

“What for?”

“For being my second chance… For believing I was more than the man that caused so much pain to your people…”

“Second chances are earned, Loki” you said. “You’ve earned it.”

He laughed softly when you rose up to sit on his waist, straddling him with your legs as you gave him a pseudo-menacing look.

“Now speak poorly of my sweet cuddly honeybun and you will be sorry…” you said in the worse threatening tone he had ever heard.

He cringed and laughed softly at the overly cheesy pet name.

“Oh gods…” he muttered with a shaky smile as his lips twitched upwards, amused by the situation. “You goofball.”

You let out an offended gasp and started tickling his sides, immediately making him giggle like a child.

“W-Wait! Dahahaharling! I’m sohohohohohrry!” he whined between laughs.

“Nope! Sorry ain’t gonna cut it this time, you insult me, you insult my prince… you deserve being chastised” you said playfully as you tickled his belly, which always made him hysterical.

“NAHAHAHA! STOP! STOP! PLEHEHEHEHEASE!” he cackled, soon wheezing. He was so ridiculously ticklish that had had no chance fighting back or think about anything else but the tingles that made him howl with laughter.

But he wouldn’t change this kind of silly fun with his darling for the world. And if he was honest with himself, this was a great thing to focus on.

| MASTERPOST |

[greatcomets]

sick to my stomach thinking about mark reintegrating and realizing the gravity of petey being #dead and gemma being #weird. like i could throw up from this.

[gothicseverance]

Another quintessentially Gothic metaphor, one for the Past repressed by the Present, is the Madwoman in the Attic.

—TVTropes

[lesbianalanwake]

Severance S2E3..... I'm chewing through drywall:

-- Natalie referred to the Board as "it"..... it? it??

-- speaking of that: Natalie? are you good?? how literal is the concept of speaking for the Board? Natalie??

-- Milchick packing away the box of paintings (and it doesn't quite fit.... girl....), and Cobel driving away from Helena's invitation to speak to the Board (sleeping in her car.... where is she driving to)..... obsessed with them and everything they do, actually. enemy of my enemy please god 🙏

-- Devon and Gretchen meeting the innie version of someone they love, and seeing how innocent/lost/earnest that person is, how they echo the person they know but less closed off and worn down..... Devon's face when she said Mark's a good egg, and Gretchen's face when Dylan G said he would make her proud..... oh I'm chewing through drywall AND glass. (the stark contrast to the contempt that Helena's father shows towards Helly..... ough)

-- the unhinged conversations between Cobel and Helena..... careful flat affect and measured tone while simmering with cold rage. makes me wonder if it's a "raised by Lumon" thing, which makes me wonder about Miss Huang and her impassive mannerisms..... Miss Huang get behind me. Dylan worrying about her.... 😢

-- Dr. Asal Reghabi's first in-person appearance: beat a man to death with a bat. Dr. Asal Reghabi's second in-person appearance: unsevered Mark's brain. what WILL she do next. how long did she work for Lumon? going to make a tentative guess that it might have been for quite some time, because she's got those funky off-putting ways of saying things, but she emotes a bit more than, say, Cobel. so maybe more of a Milchick type

-- Lumon wanting to edit Ricken's book.... trying to absorb and rewrite every part of the narrative in order to control it. a dumb out of touch self-help book, but it meant something in an environment stripped of most anything else, just like Miss Casey's "wellness" sessions meant something to the goat people. scraps of some kind of meaning, and now getting twisted and taken away. I am actually sick in the head over it

-- we have GOT to get a copy of The Body Keeps The Score down there to them next

-- that has to be Helena because 1) we don't spend time with her that isn't driven by another character, and 2) Irving's instincts. and girl must have studied the security footage closely because she's got a lot of Helly's mannerisms.... but not all of them, and so much of what she does is stilted or subdued. even the register of her voice isn't quite right. studying Britt Lower's microexpressions and body language under a microscope like who ARE you

-- Reghabi talking about 5 brain waves while the macrodata files emphasize the number 4..... chewing thoughtfully on it..... the input survey also has 5 questions. is this anything

-- also pondering how Reghabi says the only way for Mark to get information in and out of the severed floor is through reintegration. locked down tight with code detectors, and an afterimage is too ephemeral, but information is encoded within the brain, and that can't be locked down so tightly despite every effort to control it.... you carry it with you.... the body keeps the score

[citrusandrottefruit]

Diagnosed with Hanahaki, a genetic autoimmune disease, as a child, Steve has learned to live with it. Along the way, he finds a family and falls in love with Eddie. He is never cured, but he lives.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Being diagnosed as a child meant that Steve didn’t have to tell anyone about Hanahaki, because his parents were the ones managing everything related to his health, and anyone he might want to share this information with was another child, so he had no reason to. Because of all this, Steve didn’t develop any particularly effective methods of announcing that he was sick. His parents told his teachers, babysitters, or nannies. The hospital staff just had to read his medical records.

Being Mrs. Harrington's son taught Steve to be discreet, because he learned that letting other people know could be painful and embarrassing. A show of weakness, sometimes. A part of him so intimate, so vulnerable, so shameful, so frightening that he could never even bring himself to share it with Tommy or Carol.

So when he sat down across from Wayne, a week after he had talked to Eddie and had reintegrated himself into the Munsons’ daily lives, he wondered how to do that. Eddie, who had been watching him out of the corner of his eye, seemed so nervous that Wayne began to look between them, suspicious and curious. Steve figured he hadn’t asked anything yet because he wanted to let them talk first.

He also wondered if Wayne was expecting some kind of different news.

“Wayne,” Steve called, because that was what he had been instructed to call Wayne. “I told Eddie something last week, and I thought I should tell you, too.”

“You don’t owe me anything, son.”

Despite his words, Wayne’s face showed that he wanted to know. Besides, Steve disagreed. He couldn’t just insert himself so deeply into someone’s life without alerting them to the danger he posed.

“I have Hanahaki. It’s not something new, so it’s not like I’m going to drop dead at any minute, and it’s not like I’m learning how to deal with it. I’m fine, I have access to treatment and medication, and I’m not freaking out about it all.” He said it all at once, hoping that throwing out all the information without wasting any time would ensure that Wayne wouldn’t worry.

Eddie frowned and kept casting sidelong glances at Steve, though he also exchanged deep looks with Wayne. They had that ability, a bit like Steve’s with Robin, of communicating without saying a single word.

Steve’s ears felt like they were plugged with cotton, but he heard Wayne finally speak. It felt like ages had passed.

“Steve.” He hadn’t dared look directly at Wayne yet, but he couldn’t help but do just that when he heard the crack in his voice. 

After everything that had happened with Eddie just three and a half months ago, Steve was more than familiar with reading the pain and fear on Mr. Munson’s face. He hadn’t expected to be the cause of the same kind of expression.

“Are you really okay?” 

“Not my best moment, but yeah. I’ve got it under control now.” 

“What can I do? What can we,” he gestured between himself and Eddie, “do to help?”

“I… I guess just by being here.”

Wayne nodded silently. 

Steve figured he needed time to process everything and that he would want some answers, so he let the minutes pass while he tried to organize in his mind which parts of his life he would have to expose. The truth was that he wanted to keep it all to himself and pretend that everything was fine, but the doctors had been warning him for years that there would come a time when he could no longer pretend, that it would help if he didn't worry about keeping everything so secret, and that he could only have a normal life if he had more support.

He couldn't ask for any of this with a clear conscience if he didn't clarify at least a few points.

So he told him about how his mother developed Hanahaki first and how his parents made sure he got the best treatment possible and how his father organized Steve's finances into profitable investments so that he would always have some income even if he could no longer work.

“Is that all they did?”

The question took Steve by surprise and he didn’t know how to answer. His parents weren’t with him, they barely cared, and Steve didn’t even know for sure how his mother’s health was doing, even though the two were mirror images of each other, but Mr. Harrington had made a considerable effort for him. Granted, the money invested in Steve’s name was what was always meant for him, to pay for college, and granted that his parents didn’t think it was worth it for Steve to go to college, because he wasn’t smart and wouldn’t be able to manage his studies while working and taking care of his health. It wasn’t an extra gift, but it was a lot. It was much more than most people had.

His parents weren't sacrificing or giving up what was theirs, but they never denied Steve anything, so it was okay.

They had never been good at parenting. The way things were, Steve would most likely cause crisis after crisis for his mother, angering his father so much that he couldn't handle his wife, and in return, Steve would do the same for them. They would kill each other. Being apart would provide more stability than they would have together.

Despite their fragile bonds, the Harringtons had done what they could to keep Steve alive, and he wouldn't dare complain about it.

So Steve didn't answer, because he didn't want anyone to think he was convalescing from missing his parents, and he also didn't want to lie.

But that same night, as he and Eddie sat in the backyard, with four feet between them, Steve thought, "Why not?" and he spoke.

If he was going to pursue any relationship with Eddie, Eddie needed to know everything.

“I think my dad triggered Hanahaki on my mom,” he said suddenly, his tone flat and disinterested and almost too low. Eddie listened, because he was more attentive than ever to every sound Steve made. It was both scary and exciting.

Steve took advantage of the attention and said things he had never dared to say out loud before. About how Mrs. Harrington liked to pretend everything was fine, about how his parents were tight and traveled together all year long. About how he could expect a fifteen-minute phone call every month, except sometimes it was no more than five minutes, just to check in and see if he was still alive.

Eddie was so angry and indignant to hear this that Steve was happy and allowed himself to feel like he had to defend his parents. Because this time, he didn’t have to be the one fighting to validate all the hurt his parents had caused. Eddie was doing that on his own.

“They know I’m alive because they get updates on my health all the time. Sometimes they mention a procedure I’ve had. They call to hear from me that I’m alive.”

“I don’t like your parents,” Eddie muttered under his breath. “If you were mine, I’d be with you all the time.”

Steve smiled fondly.

“You are now.”

After that, the next conversation was with Joyce and Hopper. Both Eddie and Robin had volunteered to be there, but wanting to do it alone and away from the kids, he asked Eddie to go out with them and make sure they were distracted. 

Besides, as much as he wanted someone by his side, needing other people so much was exactly what he had been avoiding. 

So he ended up alone in the Byer-Hopper kitchen, under the watchful eye of an anxious and worried Joyce. She kept glancing over her shoulder at Steve as she paced around for no apparent reason, under the pretense of needing to prepare dinner even though she had already said that some groceries were missing and Hopper had gone to get them.

They made small talk as Steve helped chop some vegetables and grew increasingly restless, eager to get home and hug Eddie or Robin. Then he realized he had been thinking of the Munson residence as “home” and redirected his thoughts to imagine a quiet evening watching movies or walking around town (since he had started to feel more tired and weak, Steve had gained a greater appreciation for walking than ever before). 

The sound of the door opening followed by grunts and heavy footsteps caught his attention, and both Steve and Joyce turned to face Hopper. He stopped, scanning the entire room and craned his neck back toward the stairs, as alert as everyone always seemed to be after everything. 

“Steve came to visit.”

“The kids are with Munson.” Hopper grunted.

“Yeah, I wanted to talk to you two about something I’ll talk to them about later.”

“Do they want you to ask them for something?” Joyce asked, frowning. “I’m sorry if they dragged you into any of their plans, Steve.”

“No, no, it’s something I really want to talk about, I haven’t talked to them about any of this yet.”

“Well, do it.” Hopper encouraged.

Then, in what was very similar to the conversation with Wayne, Steve told him about Hanahaki and the treatment. He wasn't surprised by the tears or the hug from Joyce, but Hopper's hand on his shoulder, her broken voice, and his hasty exit were more than Steve had expected.

“Give him some time.” Joyce asked. “He’ll be back. You still have things to say, right?”

“Sort of, but I can come back later.”

“Would you prefer this? Come back later?”

He opened his mouth, not knowing how to respond to that. What he really wanted was to say it right away and leave, but Steve also wanted to respect their space, to give them time to think.

“I can come back later.”

Joyce didn’t answer, she just kept running her eyes all over Steve’s face. Then she sighed and gave him an awkward smile.

“Or we can keep cooking, come here. Help me organize the groceries, so we can continue.”

They didn’t have much time before Hopper returned, much more stoic than when he’d left.

“So, Steve. If I understand correctly, you’ve been sick for over 10 years.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In 1983, you were already sick.” Hopper pointed out the obvious, as if he were trying to steer the conversation somewhere specific. Steve nodded. “We’ve been to the hospital several times since then, and it’s been months since everything’s been back to normal. Why are we only hearing about this now?”

“I was stable. I still am, actually, but my rate of decline, even outside of acute flare-ups, has been worse. The daily symptoms, the things I feel even when I’m fine, have been more intense.” Steve explained, measuring his words as he spoke. “If the Ups… If something happens again, I don’t think I can be someone you can trust, because I won’t be able to protect the children.”

“Oh my Gosh, Steve.” Joyce covered her mouth and looked at the floor.

“It’s not that big of a deal, to be honest. It’s not like I’m going to die tomorrow.” He probably didn’t add. He probably wasn’t going to die any time soon. “I’m responding well to the treatment. Besides, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you two: the worry of administering Hanahaki while trying to hide it from other people doesn’t, uh, mix well with the treatment.”

“And this treatment. How are you paying for it? Do you have to have weekly sessions or something?” Hopper asked.

“No, I’m just on some medication, if any complications arise I’ll go to the hospital and find out what can be done. Other than that, I’ve been having monthly checkups for monitoring. And my parents. They’re paying for everything.”

“That’s less than the least those two could do.”

“Hop!” Joyce clapped him on the shoulder, and though he mumbled something inept that Steve assumed was an apology, he didn’t sound the least bit remorseful. He looked furious.

“Anyway,” Steve started again, “you don’t need to worry about that. I’m fine. What’s bothering you is the kids.” 

Hopper looked at him, alarmed. 

“The kids? What’s wrong with them?” 

“I need to tell them. Since you’re Will and El’s parents, and you’re important to the Party, I know you might have. Worries? Fears? With me being around them. It wouldn’t be easy for them if something happened to me, so I understand if you want me to give them some space.” 

“What are you talking about? Even if we decided to push you guys away, I’m sure they’d find a way to drag you back. They’d probably set up camp in your living room.” 

“We’d never do that, Steve, because we love you too, you know that, right?” Joyce asked as she approached, pulling him into a hug he hadn’t even prepared for yet. 

A knot in Steve’s chest loosened. 

That night, even though he had been invited to stay and have dinner, Steve returned to the apartment alone. He called Eddie and Robin, who kept asking where he was, and when he finally felt alone and at peace, he began to cry.

Tag list | @estrellami-1 @drips-and-drabbles15 @im-sam-fucking-winchester @wonderland-girl143-blog @eyehartart

[rena2307]

Pliss, can someone do a Lian and Jason interaction after she returns to the Arrow Family.

They are two children whose guardians are superheroes, they died in horrible circumstances causing terrible pain to their parents, they were resurrected, they lived for years in horrible circumstances which made them change from being a happy child to a person who lives their day to day fighting. They had to see their parents move on despite their deaths without being able to get close to them, they became criminals, they were reunited with their parents and they became Gotham's vigilantes.

They are VERY similar as far as I'm concerned, except that Lian had no hard feelings towards her father and it seems that she was able to re-enter her family despite everything.

Which surprises me that it seems that it was so easy to integrate her back into the Arrow family or rather that she will be reintegrated, because yes, I understand that she is still more or less small and that she missed her father.

But let's be honest, I don't think it will be THAT easy to become part of the group of people you once considered your family after you die, are resurrected and find them again after literally years of being a totally different person and having been a criminal and they some watchmen

As we saw in Jason, all of this leaves horrible marks on a person and it is very difficult to come back after having been through so much. Imagine adding the fact that you can look for your father but that every time you meet again they will take you away from him, so you force yourself to live away from his life since you know that they will never let you be together and be a family?

Sounds like something that creates BIG trauma to me.

And yes, Lian may be younger than Jay, but that only makes it worse, she had to live through that horrible experience when she was even younger than him, deal with a lot of trauma from that and other things. And still look at her.

She is a vigilante from a notorious neighborhood in Gotham's East End, overcoming the pain caused by her past and creating a family with the Stays.

"I've been pushed and pulled in a thousand directions. I've seen things that would make people twice my age sick. But I've made friends. There are people who have my back, and I've got theirs. I've made a home. Everything which means that, all these years later, I can sit here and say... DAMN, MOM!"

Damn, I love this girl and Jason, I definitely want some content from the two of them, I honestly think they could do a lot of good with each other's company.

(I apologize if there is any case in my publication that is not understood, English is not my first language so I am using Google Translate to translate it into English)

[writereleaserepeat]

Hear No Evil - Chapter 2

Masterlist

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

CW: bbu, bbu-typical institutional slavery, nonsexual nudity, it/its pronouns used to dehumanize

Rowan hadn’t slept. Ever since he’d signed those papers, and ever since a tag reading sold was affixed to the top of the boy’s cage, he’d been caught in a whirlwind of panicked activity. There was so much to do, and not enough time to do it. As he walked out of the WRU warehouse, his head was spinning. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the essential rescue training he was missing, how much knowledge he lacked compared to the PLF’s experienced rehabilitators.

“Your delivery is scheduled between eleven and one,” the saleswoman had said as she handed him the paperwork, like the boy was a piece of furniture. There’d been no background check, no inquiry as to his credentials, no investigation to ensure that he was purchasing a pet for its intended purposes. The only questionnaire he’d been asked to fill out was related to his satisfaction with WRU’s service at the event – a survey he’d politely declined.

Just like that, with a stroke of a pen and a touch of his credit card to a digital terminal, Rowan had been granted the legal possession of a human being.

Still dizzy from the weight of responsibility he had just created, Rowan came to his senses long enough to make it home from the liquidation event. The rest of the day, and the rest of that night, were spent trying to make his condo ready for the incoming arrival.  

Dawn hadn’t yet come when Rowan’s phone buzzed. He stopped fussing with the clothes in the hamper long enough to see it was a text from “Josh J. (Work)”

Sure man, I’ll cover your shifts this week. Everything good? You basically never take PTO.

No, Rowan wanted to reply, things were most decidedly not good. He’d acted on a rash impulse and was way out of his depth. As someone who’d been working for a decade and a half as a pet liberationist, he’d sworn to do good. He’d sworn to dismantle the system, to save who he could, to protest injustice. All that time, all that effort, and he’d still put money right into WRU’s hands in a moment of weakness.

And for what? To bring home a victim he didn’t have the knowledge or skills to help? This wasn’t even a victim that was prioritized for rescue, one with a strong chance at rehabilitation and reintegration into society, but a young man from a liquidation event with some undisclosed and undiagnosed problem.

All of that, however, wasn’t his colleague’s problem. Rowan grit his teeth and drafted what he figured was an innocent white lie.

Yeah, I’m fine. It was a hectic weekend and I realized I haven’t taken time to breathe in years. I’d think I’ve earned a few days away.

He didn’t want to elaborate any further.

Hell yeah. The response buzzed almost instantly. Then another. You fucking deserve it. No one hustles like you, boss. Crack a beer, put on the PGA, and I’ll try to make sure the station doesn’t burn down before next Monday.

Rowan would most certainly not be cracking a few beers and putting golf on the TV. At that very moment, he was doing his best not to get sick from worry or pass out from exhaustion. There were mere hours between his present breath and the boy’s arrival.

He’d spent the night doing his best to get ready to face the consequences of his actions. He’d combed the PLF volunteer site and tried to read every manual they had available on rehabilitating victims. He’d pulled his desk and computer out of the windowless den and set up the futon to make a bed, something resembling a room for the boy to call his own. He’d run out to the nearest department store and filled his arms with clothes that would be close to the boy’s size, at least from what Rowan could best guess looking over the papers. He’d tried to clean up the condo, but it was going to be impossible to make the space look livable before his latest acquisition arrived.

Hole-ridden sheets stretched over an ancient futon, clothes that likely wouldn’t fit right, the last of the toiletries Rowan could find in the drawers, a bathroom that had been hastily scrubbed with Comet from the very back of the closet - it all would have to be good enough for now. It just had to be good enough until Rowan could get his shit together.

It wasn’t much comfort to tell himself that it was probably better than what the boy had had in a long time.

As his shaking hands tried to fold yet another oversized sweatshirt - the boy would like that, wouldn’t he, something comfortable and warm? - Rowan knew there was one more call he had to make before the boy’s arrival. As much as he wanted to run from the reality of what he’d done, hide in shame from the fact his impulses had brought him to such an untenable situation, he also knew that he couldn’t get through this alone. He’d signed the papers, the charge had hit his card, he’d shaken the salesperson’s hand. He now legally owned a human being, a trafficking victim, an abuse survivor.

Folding laundry would have to wait. It was already almost seven in the morning, and the day wasn’t getting any younger. Rowan heaved a shaking breath from his lungs and sat down on the couch cushion next to the hamper. He hated how much his fingers trembled as he hovered over the familiar contact in his favorites list. It was two hours later on the east coast, and Grey would be on his way to the office if he wasn’t there already.

A lump lodged in Rowan’s throat as he hesitated again, face hot with shame. He’d come to his extensive privileges with the PLF through consistent dedication to the cause. His typical level-headedness and rationality had prevailed time and again, earning him promotion after promotion. He was one of their most crucial and well-hidden operatives currently active in the field. And yet, and yet, here he was, a pet arriving at his doorstep with no foresight or forewarning.

“How are you supposed to help this victim recover if you can’t even make a phone call, you idiot?” Rowan chastised himself through a grimace as he rubbed his palm across his furrowed brows. Rationally, making this phone call was the best way to get both himself and his incoming houseguest the help that they needed. Rationally, Rowan knew that he had to make this phone call sooner or later. But rationality hadn’t exactly been the captain of his choices over the last twenty-four hours.

It took another minute of gnawing on his lower lip before Rowan finally brought himself to hit the call button. The phone rang once, twice, three times, and-

“Hey there, Rowan! How’s my favorite videographer and secret agent?” The familiar and ever-cheerful voice washed over Rowan like a ray of welcome sunlight. It was warm and relieving, and some of Rowan’s tension immediately melted away. He could do this.

“Morning, Grey.”

“Yeah, it’s a morning indeed! What is it, not even seven there yet? Early morning for a busy man. You doing alright after the liquidation event yesterday? Any chance to pull footage or sound bytes yet? I’ve told her she needs to be patient, but you know Darcy is when they’re waiting on new content for our socials.”

Rowan took a breath and closed his eyes.

“Listen, man, I need your help. I went to the liquidation event, I got set up to take footage like I always did, they let me in without a hitch. But- but I might have done something a little impulsive when I was there.” The entirety of the admission wasn’t quite ready to come to Rowan’s lips, the words lodged somewhere behind the lump in his throat.

“Please don’t tell me they clocked you,” Grey groaned, his words thick with anxiety. It was the groan of worry that came with all the stresses of Grey’s status.

The two friends might have begun their time at the PLF together back in college, but while Rowan had been content as an agent with boots on the ground and neck on the line, but Grey’s ambition had taken him on the executive track. While Rowan busied himself with infiltrating warehouses and transportation trucks, Grey had climbed the ranks to become Vice President of the North American Division of the PLF. Although their career paths had diverged along with their practices, they’d remained as close as ever through their ideals and hard-fought friendship. And so Grey had become a full-time liberation executive, while Rowan kept his craft to weekends and evenings between his full-time job at the TV station.

“No, nothing like that,” Rowan said, falling over his words as he tried to soothe Grey’s fears. “No cops, no drama, no one suspected a thing. I got all of the footage I’d hoped to get, some sound bytes too. There was some seriously fucked up stuff, worse than usual, and it’ll make some great clips for us, this is some really great material. I’ll be editing it this weekend, at least I’d planned to do that, and-“

“Take a breath, man, take a breath. If you got in and out without a hitch, why’s the sky falling?”

Rowan swallowed, and pressed on.

“I- I, uh- I saw a victim there. I mean, I saw a lot of them, right, that’s the whole point of the event, that’s why we go. But you know, there was this one. There was something different about this one, okay? I can’t tell you what it was, you just, you’d have to see it to believe it, to feel what I felt. I looked at him, and I just- I couldn’t say no. It’s like he begged me to live with just his eyes. I’ve never seen anything like it before, and I mean never, and you know how long I’ve been doing this. So I- I guess- I rescued him. Bought him, really, if I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Cash upfront for a lifetime contract, signed on the warehouse floor, delivery set for later this afternoon. He should arrive in about four hours, actually, now that I look at the time.”

There was a pause, and Rowan could hear a slight crackling over the line as Grey took a breath. Finally, when Grey’s voice came again, it was more tired than Rowan had heard in quite some time.

“Jesus Christ,” Grey muttered. Rowan could picture his exasperated face even from more than a thousand miles away. “What were you thinking? You aren’t trained as a rescuer, you haven’t been assigned a rehabilitation team, and there’s no way we can get him in for an urgent medical work-up on such short notice. We’re not prepared for another intake, and you��re not-“

“I know, I know. I fucked up. I fucked up big time.” It was Rowan’s turn to cut his friend off. That guilt, that shame, it was heavier and heavier as Grey confirmed Rowan’s worst fears. This was a fuck-up on a massive scale. But there was no going back now. That boy was going to be in his home today, and he was going to be alive. That had to count for something, right?

“What’s wrong with him, huh?” Grey asked this over the sound of distant keystrokes. It was like the frustration from just moments ago had dissipated, and the confident leader had emerged with an air of business around him. It was that very trait that had made Grey a no-brainer for such a high-ranking role within the PLF. “You rescued him from a liquidation event, so this isn’t going to be a standard rescue case. Give me some more details, and I can try to connect you to a rehabilitator nearby for immediate and emergency intervention. I’ll need you to send me scans of the purchase papers, the ones with your contract, as well as any that come in his box later. Do you have his WRU ID number? I’m opening a rescue file in our system for him now.”

And now it was Rowan’s turn to let out a breath of relief. There was no anger left – no, there never had been anger to begin with – as Grey proved that he was every inch the liberationist that hundreds admired him to be. If Grey was going to scold Rowan, it would come at a much later time.

“I don’t actually know why he was sent for liquidation,” Rowan admitted as he hauled himself off the couch and walked back over to the kitchen table. It was piled with papers and books, all displaced during his frenzied cleaning and preparatory efforts, and it would probably take him some time to figure out where he’d actually put the contract papers. “I only had a few moments of contact with him on the floor, and the sales agent was vague. I looked over the papers, but it was only as far as the sales agent had mentioned in their words – he’s a dual-trained Domestic-Romantic with no apparent problems other than so-called ‘selective obedience.’ He apparently went through their standard and advanced refurbishment programs, but that didn’t fix the obedience issues. Cognitively, he was attentive and lively on the floor, capable of making eye contact and engaging with his surroundings. Physically, well, it was hard to tell under the jumpsuit. I saw some of the usual scarring under his uniform, and some fresh wounds on the sides of his face, but that’s it.”

Grey hummed as the keystrokes continued.

“Alright, well, that’s not really helpful. Sometimes they don’t share the true reason for the liquidation, and it’s up for the rescuer and their team to figure out the extent of the issues. I’ll need to get you a case manager who can follow up once he’s had his medical work-up and paperwork fully reviewed. It looks like our roster has a special-instance rehabilitator located about twenty minutes away from you, and I’ve already got her assigned to the case in our system. She’ll be the person you report to until we get a case manager for you both. She’s been with the PLF for about four years now, with twelve total successful rehabilitations, eight being special cases from liquidation events or other emergency rescues. I’ve sent her your contact information just now, and I told her to reach out as soon as possible. I hope she can get out there today, it being a Sunday and all. Her name is Angela Herrera, phone number ending in 8742, so pick it up when she calls.”

“You’re a miracle worker, Grey.” These five minutes had already changed everything. Rowan – and the boy – weren’t in this alone. They had not just the weight of the PLF, but the power of Rowan’s dearest friend, behind them now. Help was on the way. And by god, Rowan was going to take that help with open arms.

Grey gave a soft, strained chuckle.

“No, you’re the miracle worker today. You have given a human being a second chance at life, and that’s worth more than all the money in the world. Now, I would never recommend what you’ve today done to anyone, and it’s not going to be an easy path forward. But I know you did it with a good heart, and with good intentions. Most of all, I know that you are more than capable to handle this, even in these less-than-ideal circumstances. You are strong and you are smart – you’re going to have to be, for the sake of this boy.”

“I know. I will be. I’m going to do this, and I’m going to do it right from here on out. Even if this is how it has to start, it’s by-the-book going forward. You have my word I am going to put my whole heart and soul into making this right. Not for my sake, but his.”

Even without words, Rowan could feel Grey smiling.

“I know. Of all the people in the world, I can always trust you, even if you’re an idiot sometimes. Don’t worry about the footage from the event until you have your new guest settled in, alright? Any new liberation material can wait, and if Darcy bugs you about it, tell them to talk to me. Make sure you read through the PLF rescue manual on the rehabilitation site, then when you’re done reading it, read it again. When your guest arrives make sure you use a conversational tone, soft voice, lots of praise, slow movements and hand gestures, all of that stuff we went over in training for interacting with victims in the early stages of recovery. I know it’s been years since you took the training, but it’ll come back to you.”

“Of course. I already have the manual printed out and on my table somewhere – fuck, I swear I printed it, along with ten thousand other things, it’s here somewhere – but I read it. I’ll read it again now, as soon as I hang up. I’ll let you go so you can get back to your job saving the world. I’ve got my hands full over here, I guess. And, Grey… thanks for your help. Really. I guess I should thank you for not chewing me out either.”

“Oh, don’t count that out yet,” Grey said. “I’ll save the chewing out for a more opportune time, well after your new guest is settled in. Hell, I hope I can do it in person. We’re overdue for a visit anyway, and of course I’d love to meet your guest.”

“Noted.” Rowan felt his smile twinge slightly into a grimace. Of course, he wouldn’t get let off the hook so easily, not under Grey’s watch. “I’ll be on the lookout for a call from Angela or you, yeah? Otherwise, I’ve got to finish getting ready.”

“Yes, of course. Like I said, call me if you need anything, and I mean anything. Just because I’m Vice President now doesn’t mean I’m not your friend. You call, and I will pick up.”

“Likewise. Always. Chat later, Grey.”

“Later, Rowan.”

As soon as Rowan hung up he collapsed back into the couch, the already-wrinkled rescue manual clutched between sweaty fingers. There was so much to learn, so much to do, and so little time to do it. But it had to be better than death, right? Whether that was a lie or the truth, it was what Rowan had to tell himself now. Grey was on his side, and the weight of the PLF was behind him. They were going to give this boy a fighting chance at life, a second chance to live as a man, and not as someone’s pet.

It would be Rowan’s greatest challenge yet.

---

The third cup of coffee had just finished brewing in Rowan’s coffee pot when there was a knock at the door. It was half-past eleven, and despite knowing that this moment had been coming, the tightness in Rowan’s chest suddenly became as heavy as a stone. There was hardly a breath left in his lungs as he stumbled in a daze to the door.

He peered through the peephole and, sure enough, there were two men in WRU-branded coveralls waiting on his welcome mat.

A final deep breath in, heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings, and Rowan threw the door open.

“Good morning, Mr. Bailey. We’re here to complete your delivery.” The man’s voice was monotonous, droning, almost exhausted. It was like he was going door-to-door selling gym memberships rather than delivering a human being to a stranger’s home. And just as a salesman would, he shoved a clipboard with a thick stack of papers in Rowan’s direction.

“I need to scan your ID and have you fill out this confirmation paperwork. Once that’s done, my colleague and I will go get your delivery from the truck. As soon as it’s in your possession, you’ll have a final release paper to sign to effectuate the property transfer.”

Property. That’s all the boy was in the eyes of the law. In Rowan’s care he would be so much more, but for now, Rowan had to play into the charade for a few minutes longer. He grabbed the clipboard with sweating palms.

“Yeah, sure. Let me see those.” He scribbled something resembling his signature on any line he could find, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible, and slammed the pen down as he reached the final page. “There, I think I’ve got it all. Here’s my driver’s license, that alright?”

The man looked over Rowan’s ID, apparently blasé as he matched the birth date on the plastic to the one Rowan had scrawled on the paper, then handed it back to Rowan with a grunt.

“Looks like everything’s in order here. We’ll be back in about ten minutes with your purchase. Does this building have a freight elevator? Tends to be a bit easier to maneuver for us.”

“Yeah, down the hall and to the left past the fire doors. Can’t miss it.”

“Great, thanks. We’ll be right back.”

And to their credit, they were. After only seven minutes of Rowan pacing his recently-cleaned hallway, all of his shoes tucked in the shoe rack rather than strewn across the tiles, a second knock came at the door. This time, when Rowan opened it, there was a large pine box on dollies between the two WRU personnel. The first thought that crossed Rowan’s mind was how much it looked like a coffin.

“Alright, here’s your delivery. Is the hallway fine, or do you have a room set aside?”

Rowan did have a room, but he didn’t want anyone associated with WRU in his home a moment longer than they had to be.

“Hallway is fine.”

“Great. Then we’ll go ahead and put your box there, and once we’ve got it off the dollies, we’ll require your signature right here.” Another paper on yet another clipboard was thrust into his hands, and Rowan’s mouth was dry as the box was rolled into his hall and heaved off the dolly and onto the floor. There wasn’t a sound except for the slight scrape of pine across the floor, and then the scratching of a half-dead ballpoint pen across paper, and then the shuffling of even more paper.

The WRU delivery staff gave a final look over where Rowan had signed before a forced smile came over their faces. The tall one spoke in a tired service voice, just like a cashier who was pitching a club card.

“Congratulations, Mr. Bailey, the transaction is complete and the property has been fully transferred into your ownership. The rest of the documentation for your purchase and otherwise accompanying the product are contained in the box, including an additional copy of the sales contract and the property’s medical and training records. Further information, if necessary, can be obtained from WRU directly, as can additional copies or digital copies of the necessary documentation. When putting any inquiry in with WRU, please use both your purchase number and the product’s WRU-issued identification number. If you’ve been satisfied with today’s service and delivery, please fill out the survey that will be sent to the email we have on file for you. While the cost of delivery was included with your purchase price, at the conclusion of the survey, you will have the option to leave a cash tip if you were particularly satisfied with today’s delivery service. Thank you for choosing WRU.”

The words bounced off Rowan’s consciousness as his attention turned to the box. The boy was in that box, waiting for him. All he could bring himself to do was wave off the delivery personnel with an open hand.

“Got it, I’ll look for the survey and all that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to tend to my… purchase.”

Before they could respond Rowan shut the door on them. They would receive no additional praises or compensation for their role in facilitating this abuse. What mattered now was that Rowan was, legally, the boy’s owner. And the boy was here now in his possession.

Rare courage overcame Rowan. Perhaps it was the fear driving him, perhaps it was the anticipation, or perhaps it was delirium from the all-nighter. Whatever it was, Rowan didn’t spare a single spare moment before undoing the deadbolts on the top of the box and heaving the lid open.

And there, laying motionless in a bed of straw, naked but for the black leather collar around his neck, was the boy.

---

Light pierced the pet’s eyes like a bolt of lightning. Its ears had been ringing, and although it couldn’t hear what had transpired beyond the walls of its box aside from the slight murmur of voices, it had prepared for the lid of the box to be opened.

You’re lucky, Handler Green had said with his hand wrapped around the pet’s throat, moments before it was thrown into the box and the lid cut off any light. You’re not going to die today. This is your last chance, so don’t fuck it up.

The last few hours – had it been hours, or had it been longer? – in the box had been filled with little more than abject terror. No amount of breathing exercises or attempts at sleep had soothed its nerves. All it could think of was the future ahead, the new master that would await it once the box was finally opened, how it would make its first impression to the person that held its life in their hands. If it failed here and now, it would surely die.

All it wanted now, and all it had ever wanted, was to be a good pet who served its masters well. It rehearsed its positions between waves of panic attacks, it silently recited its old master’s favorite recipes step-by-step until the ingredients sounded like poetry in its mind, and it stretched each morning to keep itself flexible and pliable. It tried its best to listen in training, no matter how hard the ringing had made it. And when it received punishments or corrections, no matter how severe, it remained silent.

Now, with light streaming into its box, it had a final chance to prove that it was good. The pet was certain that it could be good, be useful, be the perfect pet its new master wanted. Though fear was sticky on its parched tongue, it knew from training that fear would lend itself to its determination and would likewise reduce its error rates. Today, on this very first date, that fear would serve it well.

Fear meant that it was still alive.

The pet had been specifically trained for this moment, and it was well-practiced in this first essential maneuver. Handler Green had gone over the routine with it again last night after it had been brought back to the training facility from the warehouse. For once, Handler Green hadn’t administered any additional punishments as they rehearsed the motions. Perhaps that meant the pet had done something right.

In those same fluid movements it had practiced just some hours ago, the pet sat up from where it had been nestled in the straw, heaved a leg over the side of the box, then another, and threw itself to the floor and onto its knees. Its legs tucked comfortably beneath it in the kneeling position, the same one it had been taught to assume from those earliest days in training. Its joints ached from the time in the box, but pain wouldn’t stop the pet now, it never did. The pet did many things wrong, but not this one small thing – it could kneel as long as its master needed.

And though the pet didn’t dare raise its eyes, the flash of movement from its hurried scramble to the floor confirmed its fearful suspicions. That same man that had stood outside its cage at the warehouse, the same one it had accidentally made eye contact with, was its master now.

Hands on its lap, the pet bowed its head, kept its gaze low and fixed on the dark wood floors. Although its ears rang, and although it couldn’t quite hear if Master was speaking, it strained for the relief and release of a command all the same. All it wanted was the chance to prove, once and for all, that it was good.

---

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