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resuswhore · 1 year

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overview: m/m resus, fluid in lungs; cpr, suction, pacing, very hardware heavy. whumpy with a happy ending.

- this was originally written as personal/private piece, I wrote to get off, but I decided to share, so the flow might be a little odd. - perspective slightly shifts from beginning to end, but nothing drastic, just a heads up. - this is my first official piece on here, hope y'all like it.

I need to hold a limp and vulnerable boy in my arms, to feel his soft skin and brittle bones fall completely to my will, I want to hold his hands in mine, knowing his life depends on me. I want to hold him as he lays unconscious in a hospital gown, to kiss his almost too cool forehead, and listen to the beep beep beep beep of the monitor as his heart struggles to beat for itself.

I want his body is intruded upon; IVs in his hands and wrists, even in the crooks of his elbows, a PICC line taped down against his bicep, a central line embedded against his chest, a jugular line if I’m really luck, giving me access to all of him, to his weak heart and sickly body. I’ll to press kisses along his arms, port to port, iv to iv, feeling the sterile plastic beneath my lips. I’ll hold his cold hands in mine, weary of the pulse ox taped to his forefing, making sure to be gentle as I hold onto him like I’m his lifeline, and in a way, I am.

I will take him into my arms as he struggles to remain in the same plane as me, slipping between the veil of life and death. I’ll call his name and shake him in a way that seems far to harsh despite my attempts to be gentle with his fragile body; I’ll to watch as his limbs flutter around helplessly, and his head lolls against my shoulder, his face remaining slack.

As his heart begins to fade, I’ll force my knuckles into his sternum, rubbing at it harshly until it is covered in bruises. I want to feel his weak attempts at whimpers and the hiss of struggled breaths, as I try desperately to force life back into his weakening chest, to make his dying heart beat a bit stronger, a bit faster. I’ll take seflish pride in knowing the pain I’m causing him is saving his life, even if something that could almost label as guilt or shame tears through my own heart.

I’ll try to help him breathe, even if I know my actions are futile; I’ll help him sit upright, laying him against my chest, fluid spilling from his lips as I use a single, gentle hand against his throat, gripped tightly around his jaw, to hold his airway nice and open, while also tilting his head slightly down to allow him to pass the fluid keeping him from getting air. Every time he begins to choke, despite lacking the energy to do so, I’ll use my finger to clear his throat of spit and fluid so he can attempt to breathe clearly. When he stutters through half a breath, choking before he can fully fill his lungs, I’ll press my mouth over his and give him some of my own breath, feeling his chest rise and fall, his cheeks pillowing and throat shifting as I do so, bobbing as he nearly chokes over the force of my air going down his throat, pressing gentle kisses to his lips between each breath.

Eventually, he’ll stop breathing against me entirely, and I will hear him gurgling on his own spit until he is too weak to attempt another, and feel his ribs stopping shifting with the far too intense effort it took to pull even the smallest amount of air into his body, and his weak attempts at coughs as his lungs give out, jerking his chest against my own pitifully, his head pulling back ever so slightly until he goes entirely slack. My own heart will ache and my stomach will tingle with something eerily similar to arousal as his heart follows suit, flickering out from its already slow rhythm until there is nothing but a sharp ringing in the air. I’ll shift the hand currently holding his airway open, letting his head sag and his airway obstruct almost completely, to press my fingers deeply into his carotid, wanting to feel for myself that he is gone.

Before I can even process the fact that his heart has truly stopped, I will quickly scoop him up into my arms, his head falling off my shoulder and sagging helplessly, causing his neck to extend in an exposed fashion, before laying him out on the bed haphazardly, surrounded by the muffed-up blue hospital sheets and myriad of lines and wires and tubes that curl around him like some sort of all-consuming halo, letting his gown ride up and become disheveled, exposing his beautiful skin; the boney curves of his chest, the way his ribs stick out ever so slightly to protect his weak lungs and weaker heart, the soft flesh of his belly, the sharp edges of his collar bone.

I’ll press my fingers to each of his leads, making sure they’re firmly stuck down where they are littered over his chest, and rearrange the wires so they lay nicely against his form. As I let my eyes scan over his unmoving body, I’ll tighten the blood pressure cuff around his thigh, just to be safe. I’ll card my fingers through his hair and study his emotionless face, pressing kisses over his closed eyes and to the corners of his cold lips.

As I half heartedly pump his chest with one hand, I’ll attempt to shove my suction tube down his throat with the other, trying desperately to do the job of 2 people, maybe three people at once, or more so, the work his body should be doing but can’t. I’ll hear the satisfying crackle of fluid leaving his wet lungs, all while his head bobs with each compression, his body offering no other reaction to the bowing of his ribs or the tube down his throat. I’ll struggle at the angle, having to abandon his heart to focus on his lungs.

I want to watch his lips turn blue as I struggle to suction all the fluid from his throat and lungs, unable to truly get any air in his lungs, no matter how many times I pressed my lips to his and blew as hard as I could, only to feel my breath gargle in his lungs. I’d shift his head over and over until I decided to place and OPA, slipping the plastic tube down his throat, finally establishing an airway; I’d use it to place a suction tube down his airway, into his lungs, finally clearing enough fluid give his body what it so desperately needed. I’ll press my warm, pink, lips to his cold, gray-ish ones, finding them sickly moist, but finally feeling air move through the plastic tube and down into his lungs, lifting his chest in the process, the warm air coming back cool.

Once I can get his airway stabilized, I’ll go back to his chest, finding his once pale ivory skin now tinted gray. His delicate ribs bow beneath my hands almost too easily, his stomach bulging and his shoulders jumping with each compression. The sound of the gentle gasps of air that leave him, almost whistling past the OPA, as I break his chest and the quiet but still harsh beeping of the EKG as it warns me of his dropping stats and the effects of my compressions on his sick heart filling my ears.

I want to make use of all those ports, filling him with fluids and drugs, desperately hooking him up to whatever I can get my hands on, anything that could potentially bring him back to me. I’ll send adrenaline straight through his PICC line, fluids and vasopressors through his IVs, trying to stabilize his dying body or bring back even the most feeble of heart beats.

I’d have to keep breathing for him, stopping my compressions when my shoulders begin to burn more than I can power through, only to drape myself over him, fingers in his hair, as I press our mouths together, breathing into the OPA, air filling past the plastic tube. I’ll repeat the action over and over again, filling my lovers lungs with air, reveling in the smoothness the airway brings to our one-sided exchange of air, how the air whisps out of it with a gentle hiss, how steady it feels when I place my hand to his chest, feeling it fill his moist lungs.

I still have to pause to suction him over and over, to keep him from drowning on his own fluids, but something about the action, feeding the tube down his throat and working it through his lungs, hearing the crackle of fluid, and even when I go back to breathing for him, his chest rattles every now and again despite my best efforts. His lips grow colder and colder against mine as time passes, but as I breathe for him again and again, they momentarily match my warmth before I go back to compressions, our last exchange feeling almost like a kiss, but surely cool when I abandon them.

I’ll pull his gown even further down to expose his full chest, and the bruises I’ve left, so I can press AED pads to his skin, feeling his bones shift beneath me as I press them to his chest firmly. I’ll shock him and watch his chest seize, and his head throw back, exposing his pretty neck, and his hands clenched tightly at his sides. I’ll shock him over and over again, each time with higher and higher voltage, his reaction to the shocks becoming more violent each time. After each attempt I’ll lean over and kiss him, gently apologizing for what I’m doing to him, only to shock him again even harder. Somehow the shame is arousing, knowing I’m breaking him, hurting him, only out of desperation.

I’ll need him to come back, I’ll beg him throughout the compressions, as my hands begin to wander from his sternum, and straying just slightly to the left, directly over his heart, because I need it to beat, I need to pump it directly so it can find the strength to restart.

I want his name to fall off my tongue like a prayer, over and over and over again, until there is nothing left in my mind. I want my actions, and my devotions to be like prayer to him, my attention to every facet of his being, even then, when he is dead under my hands, to be like worship. I want to break him, hurt him, destroy him in my attempts to revive him; burning his skin with each shock, breaking his ribs, bruising his beautiful body.

His heart restart after I’ve shocked him more times than I can count, given him more air than I can even begin to imagine, and broken his chest in a desperate manner. It’ll be weak and slow, I’ll have to guide it with my hands, continuing shallow compressions, so it doesn’t flutter back out of existence, until I grow too tired to keep up any consitancy.

I’ll switch to pacing with the AED, struggling to get it to catch a rhythm at all, turning the dial up more and more, worrying that he’s too far gone, that even though his hearts attempting to beat at the moment, its given up its fight and wants only to fizzle out and be left alone (little does it know I won’t allow that). but once it does, I’ll find pleasure in watching his chest jolt with each small shock of the pacer. I'll turn the volts up, much like I did the defib, and push his heart to be strong. I want to hold his hand as he begins to dig his nails into his palms as he is struck with pain. I can’t even bring myself to give him something for the pain out of fear of risking his heart stopping once more, even though I know it's cruel and most likely selfish to do so. I love him, I can’t lose him, I’ll torture him if it’ll keep him alive, pleasures lulls through my being at the realization.

His breathing remains non-existent, so I’ll have to keep breathing for him, keep giving him these kisses of life, knowing my air is keeping him alive, is keeping his feeble heart beating and his sad little lungs alive. I’ll switch to an ambu bag when I can’t keep his saturation up any longer, and his body has gone a sick grayish palor, far past that blue shade, for me to keep using my recycled air, and when I do, I’ll fill his lungs to the brim each time, and relish in the return of color to his skin. It was selfish to deprive him of real oxygen for so long, but the feeling of knowing I held him in limbo for so long is intoxicating.

I’d spend hours keeping him alive, holding him in my arms, sterile hospital sheets wrapped around his form in an attempt to work some color back into his skin, my lips pressing to every inch of skin I can get to, kissing him ever so gently, willing him with sweet words to stay with me. I’d breathe for him, with the ambu bag until my wrists grew sore, and only then would I indulge my need to fill him with my own air, pressing my lips to his over and over again until his stats dropped, before going back to the bag, taking breaks every time he’d start to gurgle on fluid reaching his airway, to suction fluid from his lungs once more. Maybe he’d code a few times, maybe he’d gasp a few of his own breaths, or maybe he would just lay there, letting me help him, letting me keep him alive with no struggle or resistance.

But eventually he’d flutter into consciousness, looking frantically through his lashes, eyes blown wide and teary, whining as his chest spasms with each jolt of the pacer, and gagging on the airway still sitting in his throat. I’ll insist he keeps it in for me, because I need him to be safe for me, that he still can’t hold his own airway and his heart can’t maintain its own steady beat, and that it's for his own good. I’ll tell him I’m sorry, that everything hurts, that he has to suffer through the pain because I can’t risk his precious little heart.

I’ll watch as he struggle, hands haphazardly trying to pull the pads off his chest or pull out the air way, gently restraining him as the struggle begins throwing off his heart rhythm. I’d bind them to the side of the bed, holding one hand in my own, stroking his cheek with the other. I’d promise him that I was sorry, that he had to leave it, that he needed it, that is was for his own good, that it would all be over soon. I’d kiss away his tears as he struggled to remain conscious, finding trust in his tired puppy dog eyes.

I won’t allow him to breathe on his own, not unassisted, no, I’d sit behind him, leaning him against my chest, his head rested in the crook of my shoulder, aiding each and every breath with the ambu bag, oxygen turned up full flow, making sure his chest fills completely each time. His lungs are still weak and soggy, I still need to suction him every now and then, which is harder now that he’s conscious, but twice as pleasing, cutting off his air so that way he doesn’t continue to choke

treating him seems to be a lot like that, ebb and flow, doing harm in the moment to do good in the future, hurting him to keep him alive, torturing him because I love him, shame turning into pleasure

I’ll watch his eyes roll back as he loses grip on reality, lashes fluttering, alarms blaring, fluid crackling through the suction, something twisting in me in the most divine way. Once I’m finished I make sure to give him deep, almost too full breaths, rubbing his sternum until his eyes snap open, flashing to me in a panicked manner. I’ll kiss him and tell him everything is alright, that I’ve got him, that he’s safe with me, because he is, I’d shift the tides to keep him here with me. He’ll look up at me, still scared, confused even, and in pain, but all I’ll see is trust, trust that I’m protecting him, trust that I wouldn’t be hurting him if I didn’t have to, trust that I love him and thats why I’m doing this.

He’d submit himself to me, letting his eyes fall blankly around the room, his own breathing completely stopped, not because he can’t, but because he knows I’ll do it for him, his body going completely pliant against me so I can shift him and hold him and work him however I need without any problem.

In time his heart will strengthen, part of me is too worried to take him off the pacer, but I do slip him some morphine, and he finally slips into a blissful enough state to sleep. I’ll slip out from behind him, settling him up on the pillows gently, making sure his airway remains stable. I’ll decide to switch him to a breathing bag, so he can breathe on his own, but I’m still able to assist when needed, giving me an opportunity to let my mind stray.

I keep part of my mind locked on his body, the sound of his breathing, the way his chest moves as he inhales, the spasm caused by the pacer, the force it takes him to get air in, the palor of his skin; another on the monitor, what his vitals look like, if any alarms are going off; a third on the bag, watching him inhale, deflating the bag slightly before it refills with air. But the rest is focused on him, his pretty face, the bruises I’ve left all over him, on his chest, his jaw, even his lips are all red and swollen. His ribs are battered beyond belief, there are surely burns under the AED pads from how long they’ve sat on his body, his palms are bloodied from how tightly he’s clenched his hands tight, but something about all that is beautiful, all tragic like. It makes me want to just sit and stare, and to be frank, I do. I sit and I watch, hushing him when the morphine begins to wear off, squeezing the bag when he struggles to breath on his own, holding his hand still bound to the bed all throughout the night, savoring his beauty, almost like he’s now too fragile to touch.

In the morning, I’ll take the airway out and let him breathe on his own, feeling an odd disappointment in my relinquishment of control, almost shoving it back in when he chokes hard, coughing up fluid into his lap, his eyes panicked, but a few blows to the back and a rebreather mask takes the edge off and eventually he settles back into the pillows, where he’ll watch me dazily as I rub his chest, trying to get his breathing to fully settle until he falls back to sleep. His heart rate remains steady so I begin to wean him off the pacer, lowering the voltage bit by bit until I feel sure I can take them off. All the while, he doesn’t say a word, his throat is bruised from my efforts, but he watches me idly, like he wants to say something.

He’s still sick, there's still fluid in his lungs, and his hearts still weak, his output is low and his rhythm is bradycardic, but manageable with atropine, his saturation fluctuates, but upping his oxygen helps that too. He watches me float about his room, doting or while I’m working on him, listening to his heart and lungs with the stethoscope (hissing at his wet lungs once) more pushing meds, suctioning his lungs, cleaning around his ports. He even watches while I’m looking at the machines keeping him alive, listening as I babble to him mindlessly. He smiles, leans back, chest huffing lightly;

“I love you,” I barely hear him, his voice is quiet and broken, he coughs lightly between each syllable, but he says it. He looks at me like I’ve hung the stars (and his morphine), holding out his sickly looking hand, which I take immediately. “You saved me.”

He smiles, his perfect, soft, glowing smile, despite everything else happening to him, lightly squeezing my hand to the best of his ability, his head sinking into the pillow like it takes all his strength just to do so, and in reality, it easily could. But that doesn’t stop him from pulling my hand up to his chest, right over his heart, where it's thumping against his splinted ribs. I go to speak, to assure him that of course I did, but he pushes me with a gentle look.

“I’m here, cause of you, you saved me,” his words are floaty, like he’s not 100% there, but he looks at me, eyes wide, sure of himself, before pulling my hand up to his carotid, letting my fingers find his pulse, weak and slow, but there. “I’m still here, and I’m going to stay here, because I have you. and you won’t let me go.”

He wraps both of his IV ridden hands around my arm, his skin cool against mine, bringing it to his mouth so he could kiss my fingers. It was odd, feeling the boy he had just spent hours resuscitating and stabilizing, be the one to take care of him, even as minisculely as he was now, but touch was far from foreign, and the look in his eye was far too comforting not to lean into.

We would most certainly have to talk, really talk, about everything, but that could wait, right now, all I planned to do, was hold onto my boy, to feel him breathing, to hear his heart rate on the monitor, knowing I got him back, that all of it was worth it, cause he was here, and his still love me, despite the pain and the fear, the selfish choices made out of my own lust. It’d be fine. We’re fine.

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aratribow · 5 months

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Jingnyan, aka the husband-replacement cat that renheng adopted

Sesame cake and rice dumpling are respectively called renyan and hengnyan btw and this shit has a whole ass au behind it (with a Mafia origin but that's not important)

I STAN jingnyan being the MOST affectionate nyan ever

Ps: this is renheng getting all the cuddles b4 the renheng-nyan invasion..which...doesn't bode very well for them

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sergle · 8 months

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please elaborate on the though about stealing a dog post

okay hear me out. and this is for small rural towns specifically. you know when you see that someone has a dog tied out in their yard (unfenced yard) (cute dog) (alone) and it's like a little puppy. and or. clearly a dog that is not meant to be a Yard Dog. like it's a pretty dog of a breed that's like, this is some long-haired fluffy breed of Something that is so not a keep-outside kind of dog. or just a really sweet dog that clearly needs more attention. you know. you know. and do you know when you're like. I could just take that dog....... my city now...... this could just be my dog now...............

#I DIDN'T TAKE THE DOG I'VE NEVER STOLEN A DOG but I don't have. a strong enough moral compass to be completely opposed to it #there's this PUPPY that had me going ohhhh fuck if they leave this dog outside during the night it's over for me #it's like fluffy and softsoft and it looks like some type of small-built herding breed like a border collie or an australian shepherd #and it was so sweet and was saying hi to hugo and getting all up in his face. just a very pretty and sweet puppy #the end of the story is that actually I didn't see the dog later so the puppy in question does get brought inside at least sometimes #which means that my demons have been quieted and I'm not gonna steal a dog #sergle answers #but what is that emotion bc I feel this emotion Frequently #of like I'm gonna steal your fuckin pet. if it doesn't get brought inside is2g

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lunarharp · 2 months

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shirahama-sensei reminded me she has a thing for the teacher from pokemon s/v so i randomly went off on an au where qifrey is the professor. etc

#witch hat tag #orufrey #the first image is qifrey dressed as that guy. i'm glad she has an inexplicable attachment to some dorky pokemon man like i do #someone was like 'wouldn't it make more sense for deanreldea to be the champion' .... well no. not in my world .#it maps onto magic skill. champions aren't like the Rulers of the land they're just the most skilled at this thing #oru as a burnt out champion who's gently encouraging a kid like coco to reach him one day means a lot to me. i like pokemon narratives #agott went shiny hunting for the same thing coco had but cooler - just to impress her. she really is a pokemon rival type girl #pushing myself to the limit to prove my worth to you - to get to the summit first so i'm waiting for you..#and then realising it wasn't just to be strong - i realised i started wanting to see your smile. i wanted you to have fun.#i think coco would defeat agott at the end of victory road and then defeat oru & i'll probably draw one last thing abt that at least..#the image is very cinematic..the dialogue and music in my mind..I WANT TO FACE ORU!!!!!!!!!!#the super cool insanely powerful awesome champion is the spouse of my professor and he gave me advice at the beginning...no way....#btw the elite four would be the sages which is perfect (and maybe easthies as the first guy?) evil Team Brimhats #coustas as their renegade gladion-type figure. the gym leaders would be like sun/moon and s/v combined #travelling around facing the best students from different classes - so jujy and eunie etc.#i've barely thought about 'teams' or anything bc i care amore about the narrative side of things always lol #but idk. tetia with a swirlix - eunie would be ghost type boy - riche with small things but also a ceruledge or a steelix something massiv #and brushbug would have a final form which is really long like an eastern dragon- fluffy and with wings like a fairy. It's beautiful to me #well anyway *tries to move on to the rest of life now the brief obsession has passed*#obviously oru would be fire-type tho and qifrey would be water-type and they set off together and traded their starters etc.....it goes on

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sashimiyas · 1 year

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isagi likes to complicate things. it’s a habit that benefits him like during games. most of the times, unfortunately, it’s unnecessary. he likes to search for the exact reason why you didn’t bother sending an emoji in your last text, (there was a pretty butterfly at the window that looked so distracting) or specifically now, how he’s absolutely awestruck by your skincare routine.

“isagi,” you mumble while you rub circles into your cheeks. you’d giggle more if it didn’t mean that the bitter solution of your face wash might make it into your mouth. “you’re staring.”

“can you blame me?” he has to ask while sidling up behind you. you can’t. it’s his first time sleeping over and the domesticity has you feeling giddy.

he offered to take out the trash, kissed you on the lips flavored like homemade dinner right before he left, and rubbed elbows as you washed dishes and he dried them.

unsurprisingly, isagi fits into your everyday life seamlessly. you wouldn’t mind if the gaps between seeing each other lessened or if you had less space in your drawers to make room for his.

but right now, isagi is staring as you wash your face before bed. he’d gotten through his routine in a quarter the time you get through yours but isagi keeps his post at your side, gratefully taking every moment in with wide eyes.

“i can’t believe you let me see you like this.” he marvels at your reflection as if the real you, the one he holds, is too precious to look at straight in the eye.

“like what? ugly?”

his distaste makes itself known before his words do. “what? no.”

isagi pinches you by the hip with a cutely scrunched expression until it falls into demise by your tickled laughter. “don’t say things like that. it makes me upset.”

“like what then, isagi?”

it amuses you how easily he falls under a spell. with just a flourish of his name across your tongue and a heavy blink of your eyelids, he’s stunned into a stupor, once again marveling at his luck.

“hmm?” you pinch his nose with a creamed hand. he shakes his head, and though you’re teasing, he speaks softly still.

“pretty.”

you have to snort out a laugh that’s quite the opposite of his description.

“like you. like all of you.”

you’re about to tease him for being so articulate but his arms circle tighter around you as he digs his face deeply into your neck. small kisses speckle your nape, so softly it’s feels just like the brush of his lips. it feels revenant, akin to peasant worshipping a goddess.

then isagi bites right into the solid meat of your shoulder blade and with your screech, you meet his eyes in your reflections. possessiveness colors his eyes and his arms circle tighter on you. one across your abdomen and gripping your hip, the other around around your chest and soothing the skin on your shoulder.

“the you that’s just for me. the one that’s all mine.”

and though he worships you as if you were a goddess, you forget that it is he who holds true power.

#reina.writesbllk #isagi yoichi x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #don’t ask actually. this was supposed to end up super fluffy #and it did not. very weird of isagi to do that to me

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fanmoose12 · 7 months

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Hange would not want this.

It's the only thing on Levi's mind, the one thing he keeps going back to, as he and the kids arrive at a grave that holds no body.

Armin and Mikasa kneel by it, with tears shining in their eyes, and leave a bouquet of sunflowers. Connie reaches out to touch the headstone with reverence, as though hoping that the feeling of cold marble can replace Hange's warmth that's been extinguished. Jean keeps close to the group, but turns his head away, his lips a tight line and eyes cast down to hide the tears brimming in their corners.

Levi watches the pain and sorrow on the kids' faces, his heart squeezing painfully at the sight of it, and hopes that his own expression does not betray the same emotions.

After all, Hange would not want this. They would not wish to see the people that they cared about in such pain, they would not want their memory to be forever tainted with sadness.

They would want to be remembered as vibrant, joyful, full of life, they'd want for people to smile when a thought of them crosses their minds.

They would not want to see tears or hear quiet, broken sobs, they'd want for people to laugh while sharing stories about them, they'd want to continue carrying that light that shone so brightly inside them, always, even in their darkest moments.

It's what Hange would want, Levi knows, because he knew them better than, perhaps, even himself.

So, although it's tempting - oh, so tempting, especially when nights are dark and cold, and all he craves, all he needs is a bit of light he'll never see nor feel again - to succumb to sorrow, he tries his best not to. It'd be easy, so easy to just let grief wash over him, bury himself in its familiar embrace, but then he'd wallow in that endless pit of misery for the rest of his days, and, Levi knows, because he knew Hange better than, perhaps, even himself, that they would not want him to live a life like that.

They gave away everything, after all, their life included, so that all of them could have a chance of surviving, of finding happiness.

So, Levi tries to, even though it's hard, seems nearly impossible without Hange's presence by his side.

But they still watch over him, he knows, because he asked them to, because he wants them to, and so each day Levi does his best to bury the pain of his heartbreak in a grave that holds no body, and soldiers on in a pursuit of a new purpose.

And each night, right before falling asleep, he makes sure to look up at the sky and give it the best smile that he can manage.

He hopes that Hange sees that smile, hopes that they're proud of it, and most of all - he hopes that that smile brings them joy, that it makes them happy, just like as happy as they always made Levi.

Hange wouldn't want him to be sad, Hange would want him to be happy, they’d want his life to be full of joy, and Levi does his best to find it, so that one day, when his and Hange's paths will undoubtedly cross again, he would be able to look in their eyes without a single regret.

So that one day, when his and Hange’s paths will undoubtedly cross again, they’d be able to share a smile that for now, Levi can offer only to a vast, dark sky.

#levihan #so! it's angst time right???#i mean obviously that's an au because as we all know hange survived until the very end and spent the rest of their days with levi #but yeah.... angst time #(i promise i'm working on something light and fluffy though and i'll post it..... some day i hope)

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getosugurusbangs · 6 months

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as snow falls.

tags: some comedy, suguru being angsty, and a fluffy hurt/comfort (if you squint) ending. 2,757 words.

synopsis: satoru has been out on his first more serious solo mission, but as the days pass by, with no sign of him coming back home, suguru starts to get a little concerned. suguru decides to go to shoko, to find solace in her in these trying times.

a/n: so here’s my first genuine fanfic, and yes ofc it’s satosugu. suguru is anxious in this because i love projecting. also despite this being a stsg fic, there’s not a lot of satoru, mostly just suguru and shoko so… do with that what you will! also, this fic is implied to have taken place the christmas eve before hidden inventory arc.

☆

satoru had been gone for over a week at this point. everyone was told that it would be a slightly longer mission, but suguru hadn’t expected it to be this long. he really hadn’t noticed how dependent he’s been on satoru, until he left. they haven’t even been friends for that long, yet they were already attached at the hip. of course, shoko was still back at home with suguru, they were still good friends after all, but there wasn’t that same level of understanding there that the boys had with each other.

suguru had been busy studying all day. he felt the need to get work done, despite this being the one time of year he could comfortably take a break. early winter was never a particularly stressful time of year for him, but this time he’s ended up with other problems. he had gone ahead and made sure his parents were asleep before layering on a nice coat he had bought recently, going ahead and putting his boots on too. before he left the house, he made sure to grab a scarf to put on. it faintly smelled like satoru. that bothered him.

walking along the barely illuminated streets, a thin layer of snow and ice crunched under suguru’s feet. he’d never disliked winter necessarily, but snow had never been his thing. he always preferred staying in the warm indoors until someone dragged him out to either play in the snow, or shovel it.

he turned the corner, and finally saw his destination. suguru walked up to a particularly dull house. almost standing on the doorstep, he debated whether he should actually knock on the door or not. suguru thought to himself— “her family members are probably asleep at this point.. it’s pretty late, so… “ he decided to knock on shoko’s window, giving a smile and wave at her as she peeled the curtain from the glass.

she opened the window. “who died?” shoko remarked, with a chuckle. but suguru just rolled his eyes at her. “looks like someone can’t take a joke..” she scoffed. “but why are you here, geto?” “just wanted to talk. get some fresh air.” he craned his head a little, trying to peer into shoko’s room. but all suguru got from it was some curtains getting shoved into his face. “i’ll go on a walk, i just need warmer clothes.” she confirmed, scampering off to somewhere in her house.

shoko climbed out of her bedroom window, now wearing some shoes, leggings layered under her nightgown, and an oversized coat. suguru stood up from the bench in front of her house, looking shoko up and down. “did you steal that from your dad or something? i’ve never seen you wear that.” all she did in response was shush him, and shut the window. “it was the first genuine coat i could find, okay?” she said, amidst both her, and suguru’s laughter.

“so where are we heading to?” shoko asked, zipping her coat up all the way, so it would cover the lower portion of her face. “i didn’t really have any place in particular i wanted to go. probably just walk through the city for a little bit, then we split up and go back home.” suguru responded as they started to walk down the street, going back in the direction he came from.

“how’s your family doing, shoko?” “same old, you know how they are.” she said, with a solemn tone. “i get it, mine are a similar way. it’s why i don’t talk about them much. they try to be supportive and all, but just get in my way.” while talking, he was looking around at the unfamiliar neighborhood. “was there a specific reason you wanted to talk to me, geto?” she looked over at him, to make eye contact. suguru fidgeted with something in his pocket, uncomfortably. he, for some reason, wasn’t expecting to be asked this question. it felt like a million thoughts rang through his head at once.

“should i be honest?” was at the top of his mind. he figured shoko would end up seeing through him eventually, one way or another.

“…i miss satoru. a lot.”

“…that’s it?” she inquired, with a blank tone. “what do you mean that’s it?!?” suguru was being sent into a state of shock. “everyone can tell. it’s kinda uncomfortable to watch.” shoko continued— “any time gojo gets brought up nowadays, you end up being visibly upset.” “but what if-“ suguru tried to chime in, but she just shut him down. “he’s fine. you, of all of us, should know that best. don’t get me wrong, i find him having been gone for so long a little troublesome too, but you seriously need to relax about it.” suguru was calming down a little bit upon hearing her words. “…i just don’t think he should’ve been sent alone on a mission like that.”

“listen, i feel the same. but yaga did say how he’s perfectly well equipped for it. it’s not like it’s a super dangerous mission. otherwise you, or one of our seniors would’ve been sent too. i think we should just be patient, and trust in yaga’s judgement.” when she finished, suguru sighed. he couldn’t argue with her over this, suguru knew she was right, despite how he may feel about things, and about satoru.

“speaking of you and gojo,” shoko started. suguru felt his heart sink into his stomach, waiting for what she was about to say next. “you two have formed quite the bond, huh?” she asked smugly, playfully elbowing him in the side. suguru’s cheeks were already flushed from the frigid, late december air, but upon hearing her teasing, his entire face had turned bright red. he tried to turn away from shoko, to hide his embarrassment. wait, why did suguru find this so embarrassing?

“do you have a thing for gojo or something?” shoko asked, through some laughter. ‘twas no laughing matter for suguru, though. “don’t you fucking dare tell anyone.” he said, through gritted teeth. “are you serious?!” she was already chuckling, but at this point she was crying laughing. “i didn’t haah think you’d actually admit it…” suguru was shaking. the best way to describe him in this moment was: mortified. “just… don’t tell anyone. i don’t want that idiot to find out, and have everything we’ve already got get ruined.”

shoko’s laughter had finally settled down. “i mean, i won’t, for your sake, but you really think him learning that would ruin everything? i think he would just laugh it off and keep borderline acting like your boyfriend.” suguru listened intently, but didn’t say anything. his gaze was fixed on the ground in front of him. he kicked a rock that he was about to step on. they were headed into an empty park, where most of the trees were adorned with sparkling white lights. treading along a paved pathway, suguru finally said something again. “you doing anything for christmas? it’s only… tomorrow now, i guess.” he continued— “i left the house at about 11pm, it’s probably about midnight now.”

“i don’t know, i’ll probably just be at home, doing whatever. you?” shoko was occupied by looking at the christmas lights illuminating the park around them. suguru sighed, speaking in a reluctant voice. “i wanted to do something with satoru, but…” he trailed off. shoko noted how she shouldn’t ask him about his affection any more than she already had.

“you got a light?” shoko asked, shifting her focus back onto the miserable boy next to her. “should we really be smoking here?” suguru asked, as he reached his hand into his pocket, pulling out cigarettes and a lighter regardless. shoko snickered, “there’s no one around us anyways. maybe a smoke will help you relax.” she teased him. “whatever…” he mumbled before taking a long drag. they both knew they shouldn’t be smoking, both for their health and because they weren’t really supposed to in general. but being a jujutsu sorcerer is a dangerous feat. they were smart enough to know cigarettes wouldn’t be the death of them.

“we need to go shopping together sometime soon,” shoko chimed in. “i still need to get some new winter clothes before the weather gets too bad.” he stared at her, sort of dumbfounded. “…is this not already bad enough for you?” suguru was still shaking, though now it was just the cold, not his nerves. “eh, it could always be worse.” she shrugged. it had been snowing off and on all day, but had started to pick up more after dark.

suguru only left his house once the snow had died down again. he wanted to avoid getting snowed on the best he could. they decided to go ahead and sit on a park bench for a moment, though, only after brushing the layer of snow off the seat. “did you hear there’s gonna be some new students transferring in soon?” suguru asked, taking in their surroundings. “yeah, mei mei told me about that. i guess they probably won’t be showing up over the holidays, though..”

“i wonder if gojo might be bringing back some souvenirs… since he was traveling a decent ways out for this mission.” when either of them spoke, they kept their voices down a lot more than they normally would’ve. it felt wrong to mess with the state of the night’s comfortable silence, no matter how many things either of them might have wanted to bring up. they just quietly sat in each other’s presence for a couple minutes.

shoko finally broke the silence that had developed. “i think i’m probably gonna be hanging out with utahime later.” she took a drag from her cigarette. “she was pretty adamant about hanging out sometime this week.” “doesn’t she want you to quit smoking?” suguru asked, swearing he heard utahime bring that up recently. shoko got quiet for a moment, looking up at the deep, cloudy midnight sky. “i’ll think about it.” was all she could say.

after a couple more moments, they decided to go ahead and resume their walk. suguru was trying to think of something else to talk about. “oh, i got this new cd the other day, it’s one of my favorite bands’ new album. i need to show it to you soon.” shoko took her cigarette out of her mouth. “oh yeah? was it that band you talk about that has those, like.. deep, poetic, introspective lyrics?” suguru had to fight back the urge to explain the band and their lyrics more than he already had. “at least she remembered them.” he thought to himself, just nodding at her politely.

they had walked into a more open, urban area. “you should probably go ahead and make the trip back home now, huh?” suguru had stopped walking, turning to properly face shoko now. he put out his cigarette, going ahead and tossing it. “yeah, i was thinking the same.” she turned back to the direction they came. hesitating for a moment, she spoke up one last time. “geto. he’ll be back soon, okay? he’s strong, you know… “

“see you later.” shoko waved him goodbye, before heading on her way.

suguru felt tears well up in his eyes. as they streamed down his face, he didn’t even really know why he was crying. he felt stupid crying about satoru, especially out in the open like this. “god, this is embarrassing.. at least barely anyone is around at this point…” suguru thought to himself. it wasn’t a particularly lively night. he was sort of lucky, in this regard.

he started to walk back home. it felt ironic to him, how this was such a beautiful night, considering the snow and scenery, and yet it was wasted because of his overbearing emotions. suguru couldn’t even remember when the last time he cried was. “why did this have to happen now?” he pulled his scarf up to cover most of his face, both to break the wind, and to hide his current state.

navigating the icy, desolate streets, suguru finally had stumbled upon some more familiar sights. it’s not like he had gotten lost or anything, he just was heading back home on an unfamiliar route. passing by a cafe he likes, he wondered what he might end up ordering next time. suguru might’ve considered going in and getting something, but he wanted to get back home as soon as possible. and besides, they had been closed for hours at that point.

as he continued walking, snow had begun to gently fall onto the landscape surrounding him. because of that, suguru felt the urge to get home grow stronger. he started finally closing in upon his neighborhood. despite having lived in this area for years now, he still didn’t really know his neighbors that well. he just judged his neighbors from their houses, and the very brief interactions he might’ve had with them. there were people in the area he was more interested in chatting with, as opposed to the old couple next door.

once suguru finally got to his street, he walked with his head down, trying not to get any snow in his face, more specifically in his eyes. he just wanted to get back inside, and not be borderline freezing to death anymore. “maybe i should take a hot bath when i get back… or should i just get straight in bed?” the harder he thought about it, the worse the snow falling onto him felt.

as suguru walked up to his house, a wave of relief washed over him. he was about to reach into his pocket to grab his key, when he looked up at satoru sitting on his doorstep, and was stunned. satoru stood up, with open arms. suguru ran towards him, tackling him into a hug. he could already feel tears streaming down his face again, despite how he had just cried a couple moments ago.

suguru had planted his face into the crook of satoru’s neck. everything rude and brash he had wanted to yell at satoru when he got back, just melted away in his arms. “you’re back…” was all suguru said as he cried onto satoru’s shoulder. “of course i’m back. i’m sorry for making you wait so long..” he ran his fingers gently through suguru’s hair, his other arm wrapped around him.

suguru pulled away from him, looking at satoru with his glossy eyes. “i missed you… you don’t know how worried i was for you.” suguru admitted, playfully shoving satoru’s shoulder. they just laughed. “why would you have to be worried for me? i mean, you know how strong i am!” “that’s what shoko said…” “oh? you talked to shoko about me? what did you talk about??” satoru prodded at him, with a giddy tone. suguru didn’t respond. he just looked away in embarrassment.

“but, in all seriousness…” he guided suguru to face him. “i missed you too.” satoru whispered into his ear, giving him a tender kiss on the cheek. if suguru wasn’t warmed up by being held in satoru’s arms, he was definitely heated up now. he stared back at the smiley boy in shock, due to the expressing of his newfound affection. i mean, satoru had always been clingy and affectionate in the past, but this was very different. he welcomed the gesture with open arms, he was just a little taken aback.

“hey, isn’t that my scarf? i was looking for that!” satoru gently tugged on the scarf suguru was wearing. “what? i thought it was mine.” “no, i bought it for myself.” “well, it was right there with my coat. if i thought it was yours, i would’ve gotten my own.” “yeah… you’re gonna have to get your own.” satoru settled things, bluntly. “i don’t know why i thought you might be a gentleman about things this time.” suguru rolled his eyes.

“oh, and suguru, do you mind if i stay at your place for the night? i had to take the train back home, and… well, it’s cold and snowy and your house is closer to the station…” suguru just stared at him, dumbfounded at the switch-up in satoru’s behavior during this reunion. “…yeah, i guess you can stay here for the night. if you’re sooo delicate, to the point where you can’t make the loooong trek back home.” “hey! i’m tired, okay?!”

suguru started to love the snow. even if he only did for that one night.

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romance-rambles · 1 month

Text

IN WHICH HE HAS (ALMOST) NOTHING TO HIDE (ANYMORE)

Years after you settle down near New Godheim, your sons take part in a scheme to distract their father before the big surprise party. Unfortunately, Alkaid is observant—and his sons take after him.

— pairing: [background] [godheim] alkaid mcgrath x little painter/you

— word count: 1.4k

— tags: post-canon, birthday surprises, really domestic stuff with slight angst, children of characters

— notes: this one doesn't even have mc in it i'm crying. don't really have that big of a reason to name the twins after stars, just thought it was cute. also showing my green name-ness by making his longer than ayn's

return to lbc masterlist | series: an eventful first meeting

ALKAID IS TENDING TO HIS garden when the door to the quaint house he shares with his wife and three children creaks open.

Hushed whispers descend upon his blossoming garden, but he remains deliberately immersed in cooing over the flowers. His gloved fingers hover over, but never touch, the stems of the purple flower he once brought to life for his wife—back in the snow-buried Godheim he once called home.

Whatever silence his sons can scrounge up lasts only until someone starts shoving—from the yelping, he can guess it's Leo, the older of the two. They sort out the argument between them quickly, then wordlessly set out further into his garden.

And this is, apparently, how some siblings act, particularly if they're close in age. You've vouched for the statement with anecdotes of your school life, but even almost thirteen years later, he finds it hard to wrap his head around it.

He and Ehlonna were never so rough with each other—or at all. But then again, they could only ever dream of the only kind of childhood his sons know.

This is only another difference in a terribly long list, one he hopes will only grow longer.

"Hmm?" Alkaid pauses in his act, pretending to have only just noticed his sons' arrival. "Who is it?"

Silence greets him in return. He waits. A second becomes many, but they do not keep him waiting for long. Instead, they join him by the flowers, almost solemn in the way they gaze at his hard work.

And the way their eyebrows pinch together reminds him of you.

"And what brings the two of you here?" Resting his hands on his knees, he cranes his neck to greet them, one by one. A hint of amusement trickles into his tone. "Will you not be helping your mother this year?"

The two attempt to glance at each other. He leans back a little, disguising his short laugh as a polite cough. The remnants of a smile, however, linger long after his gloved hand retreats. Pressing the back of his bent fingers against his lips, he allows it to return to its former glory.

Behind his back, they converse wordlessly. He pretends he can't hear the rustling of their clothes as they gesture at each other.

"No," Leo huffs out. Forest green eyes narrow at him, carefully gauging his reaction. "There's no point in trying this year."

"Yeah," Sirius grumbles.

Unlike his brother, he's nearly the splitting image of his mother. The title is out of reach only because of the occasional reminders that Alkaid is his father—in the color of his eyes. In the thickness of his hair. In his love for gardening, and in his quiet perceptiveness, one that would leave him wise beyond his ears if he had been born into any other life.

"You always know what we're up to for your birthday."

Indeed, Alkaid thinks privately, settling down onto the ground, with his hands back on his knees. Without delay, his sons mimic him. Today is no different. But he'll pretend it is, though it remains to be seen if his youngest son will buy it.

"Oh," he utters instead. "You didn't get me a present?"

"Not a physical one," the blond says quickly. His words take on a biting quality at the end—the message is clear, both to his brother and to Alkaid, though it's aimed at only one of them. Say something. "We're going to do whatever you want to do, Father."

Turning his head to Leo, Alkaid pretends to think, "Well, I did plan on spending more time on the garden."

"Urk." His next words slip out through gritted teeth, not quite an affirmative, but neither is it a denial. The blond leans forward, unamused gaze pinned on his snickering brother. "Ahem, it's your birthday, Father. You should relax for the day. Somewhere far, far away from here."

"Your mother once did something similar," Alkaid says wistfully, obliviously. "How nostalgic."

In unison, with an ease that suggests much practice, the twins gag at his words. They cap it off with a bland, but insistent, "We know," having perhaps grown tired of hearing the same things over and over again.

"Have I mentioned it before?" he inquires innocently. He hasn't, by the way. Nor has he mentioned the ending, where you did manage to surprise him. Such a trick can only work so many times. "I must've forgotten."

"It's possible," Sirius agrees amiably, having recovered in remarkable time. His fingers lightly caress the soft petals of Alkaid's flowers. "It only shows how much you care about Mother. You make her tea whenever she wants and you've been growing these flowers because they remind you of her."

Less amiably, Leo grumbles, "And you've told us so many stories that we could recite them in our sleep. You and Mother both."

Alkaid smiles faintly. If that is the worst of his sins, of their sins, then surely, they're doing something right. That he has to listen to his children complain is a small price to pay.

"So, when are you going to give them to her?"

"I'm not sure," he admits.

It is the sense that he's being watched that spurs him to glance back at the kitchen window, but the curtain remains drawn, void of any silhouettes that would give the game away. He thinks of his wife, of the awkwardness that's settled into their home—a genuine mistake they don't feel equipped to fix, one that isn't even their own, not entirely.

But they should've expected it. They should've realized that people would carelessly bring Ehlonna up in front of the twins. They should've known better than to try and hide her sacrifice, her—

In that moment, the dark-haired boy nudges him, pulling his attention back onto the flowers. Carefully, a smile slots back into his pleasant expression. Alkaid unclenches his hand—and when had he done that?—and resolves to focus on the current matter at hand.

"Then, do the two of you have any ideas?"

"You'd know better," the younger blond mumbles, his spirits having noticeably dampened at the direction the conversation is taking. "You've known her for a long, long time. Longer than us, since before—"

As expected, Leo was—is—the bigger problem. And Alkaid understands it. He does. But he's allowed to hope that, one day, Leo will realize he has nothing to compensate for, even if he is a bit more withdrawn than his siblings.

A lot more withdrawn, actually.

Perhaps oblivious to the slight tension in the air, though that seems unlikely, Sirius interrupts him without a care. "Give them to her on her birthday!"

A sound option, but—

Alkaid glances at his oldest son. Lips jutting out into a pout, he glares at the unsuspecting flowers in front of him. Under the sun's warmth, his hair takes on a more golden hue, as if it was gold spun into delicate strands.

Brushing the boy's bangs out of his face, Alkaid asks, "And what about you?"

"Isn't it your birthday today?"

He holds his forehead and scowls. At his father's words? At his actions? The older blond remains uncertain. Scarlet blooms acroas the boy's cheeks, the color intensifying as his brother snickers.

Gently, Alkaid offers his younger son a rebuke.

"You're right. Why don't we change the subject then?" He chuckles, tapping his chin. A hint of amusement slips into his words; his next words come out almost song-like. "Now, what shall we talk about?"

"Anything else."

"From before you met Mother!"

As requested by his boys, the topic shifts. The garden soon forgotten, they talk about his childhood.

He talks about Zack, who he'd reunited with shortly after New Godheim had been established, who they knew as "Uncle Zack". He talks about Ehlonna, focusing on the happier memories—on stars, and how he thought she might appreciate the company.

He talks about the Archmage last, telling them close to everything but the period in between, where their relationship grew distant. Wording his sentences carefully, so that they won't look unkindly upon his mentor. Focusing on the happier bits, like the time he and Ehlonna threw him a surprise party, even though they—and the emperor, as well—knew nothing about the day of his birth.

And in the garden they remain, until the ringleader behind this surprise birthday operation comes to fetch them herself, when Alkaid utilizes his best acting skills to be nothing less than thoroughly caught off-guard.

They don't really believe him, but that's okay.

There's always next year.

#fics by aya #lovebrush chronicles #for all time #lovebrush chronicles x reader #for all time x reader #alkaid mcgrath #alkaid mcgrath x reader #lovebrush alkaid #lovebrush alkaid x reader #lbc alkaid #lbc alkaid x reader #rambles from here on ->#i worry about godheim alkaid sometimes. like. did you get to properly mourn your sister? did you?#not to the same extent of the other alkaids because uh. yeah.#this ended up being...not very fluffy...but it's domestic!!#i knew i wanted one twin to be emotionally constipated and one to be not—but leo got way more screen time rip sirius #the title is almost an artifact title because i didn't realize how much he really had to hide but like also #*looks at lars and clarence* relatively little to do with mc's circumstances (mostly common ending shenanigans)#ehlonna in hindsight sticks out as a sore spot like how do you cope with being told your aunt died for you to even be born?#and they say it so happily too like her dying was something noble!! death is death it's sad!! especially for family #sirius copes with it better because he compartmentalizes it; leo gets consumed by the thought

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