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somewhat-very-insane · 7 months

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questions i am sick and tired of hearing as a chronically ill and disabled person (and why i hate them)

this did wind up a bit longer than i expected it to, but by all means, feel free to add on with any questions you hate to be asked (and why!)

abled people, please do refrain from overtaking this post, and, disabled people, please do refrain from making this post entirely about any one specific condition.

"do you really have to talk about being disabled all the time?"

yes. yes i do. i promise that however annoying it is for you to have to endure the absolute agony that must be me making an offhand comment, or, on occasion, maybe actually talking about something that affects me for more than a few minutes at once, it is infinitely more "annoying" for me to have to actually live with the issues i talk about for every second of every day of my whole life. when i stop talking, you don't have to think about it anymore. but i always have to think about it. you get to put your full focus on something else, or, if the conversation is that annoying for you, you can leave! nobody is forcing you to stay. but talking about my problems is the only way i can get any support for them, and even when i stop, they are still there. i cannot "step away" from the figurative "conversation" with my pain. it is always talking to me, whether it be just a small whisper in the background or screaming at the top of its lungs in my ears, that pain is always there. so, while it's unfortunate that you are getting "tired of hearing about it," please do understand that i got tired of experiencing it a long, long time ago; do not destroy my one way to speak about my experiences solely because you do not wish to be made uncomfortable by them.

"do you really need that pain medication? won't you get addicted?"

in response to that, let me ask you this: do you really need that water you're drinking? aren't you afraid you'll get addicted to drinking water? it sounds ridiculous, i am aware. but i will break it down for you, now (as, in my mind, it is an adequate comparison). every human being needs things like safe, clean water, food, and some form of shelter to survive. however, the majority of humans can survive adequately with a reasonable amount of these items and will be able to function without major pain or other symptoms that detract from their general quality of life. some people, like myself, can have our basic needs of food, water, and shelter met, yet still experience major (or minor) pain, which cannot be blamed on a lack of rest, hunger, or thirst. therefore, in order to function the way society expects us to, and in order to not be quite as utterly miserable as we otherwise would, we may rely on other, stronger medications than the average person would, to manage that pain. these medications are medically prescribed, and we therefore have every right to utilize the resources provided to us. if i were to simply stop taking certain "non-necessary" medications, while my body would technically continue to function with the aid of my "necessary" medications, i as a person would not be able to function. imagine, if you will, the worst headache, joint pain, cramp, or other temporary ailment you have ever experienced. that probably wasn't a very enjoyable experience for you, was it? but you might've been able to use some ibuprofen or acetaminophen, maybe a heating pad, and after a little while it got better. now imagine if you tried to use those same things but the pain did not get better; imagine that pain lasting for months, even years on end, which you simply could not get rid of. a pain which you were expected to simply pretend was not bothering you, and continue to function the same way as everyone else, who was not in pain, was capable of. surely, in this hypothetical, you would want the (perfectly safe, legal, usually non-addictive) medicine that could make that pain even a little bit less excruciating? even if you knew that the pain would never fully disappear, not really, you would still want it to be less. so, i will take my medications, and leave you with the freedom to choose what you put in your body, just as i deserve the same freedom over mine.

"have you tried just exercising? eating healthier? meditation?"

the short answer is, for almost every disabled person i know, yes. though, granted that you've come this far, i'm sure you are prepared for the long answer, too. exercise can, for some conditions, help to alleviate or lessen certain symptoms. the key thing to note here, though, is that the exercise must be safe and selected specifically for the person based on how it may negatively affect them, as well. even activities that most able-bodied people regard as minor, such as going on a walk, can be draining, nausea-inducing, painful, and outright miserable for some people. i cannot, personally, go on a fifteen-minute walk on flat, paved terrain, in very pleasant weather, without triggering dozens of sensations that would surely make any healthy person worry that they were dying. when i tried to pick up an exercise regimen without professional help, i made my health several times worse. taking the advice of people who were, sometimes, genuinely trying to help, put me in serious danger. even when i did have a team of three doctors working on a plan for me, it took several rounds of trying and failing before we were able to determine what activities i could safely do, and which would be beneficial to me. now, being told to "just eat healthier" particularly irks me, because what foods i have to eat to maintain a more "healthy" balance of sugars, sodium, protein, and fat in my system varies quite a bit from that which a healthy person might be told is the ideal. i do understand that, generally, a low-sodium, lower-fat, mainly natural-sugar, high-protein diet sounds healthiest to a large percentage of people, the same cannot be said for myself. i have been told, by numerous medical specialists, that it is absolutely necessary for me to consume high amounts of sodium (think: eating salty food and snacks, on top of an electrolyte drink and salt pill every morning). i also deal with highly fluctuating blood sugar, which doctors cannot yet explain why it suddenly plummets (no, it is not diabetes, yes, i have been asked this dozens of times). as a result, i will often have to eat something "unhealthy," such as fruit snacks or a similar gummy candy, to get my blood sugar back up. is a high-sugar, high-salt intake diet generally what outsiders will see as healthy? of course not. but, as these are things i have to do to specifically manage my symptoms, it is always frustrating to be told that maybe they are symptoms i experience because of my diet. they are not. as for the types of people who insist that simply doing a guided meditation session each day can cure me of my dozens of health conditions, you are simply incorrect. while some people may experience a temporary psychosomatic alleviation of their pain in response to practicing mindfulness techniques, no one should ever urge another human being to substitute life-saving medication with guided breathing and essential oils. the two are simply not on the same level, and meditation does not, cannot, and will not help every disabled person deal with their symptoms.

"aren't you too young to be so unhealthy?"

no. and, while i do wish that people would not press further when faced with such a simple, clear-cut response, some people simply cannot grasp the idea that anyone under forty-five could possibly deal with any sort of health complications. people can be unhealthy at any age; even infants can have heart conditions, after all. while old age certainly has a higher correlation with deteriorating health, it is certainly not a reason to believe that, therefore, anyone who is not old cannot have poor health. believe me, i do wish that whenever someone older told me that i really am just overthinking things and lying to all my doctors and somehow faking things like MRI and X-ray results, those problems simply disappeared. unfortunately, things do not work that way, and by saying things like that not only do you invalidate the experiences of countless ill individuals, you (deliberately or not) paint us as bad people, when all we want to do is survive.

#actually disabled #disabled #cripple punk #angry cripple #disability #disabilities #chronic pain #actually chronically ill #chronic illness #information #chronically ill #//mortal ills #//god's words

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do-not-lick-the-walls · 3 months

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a devil put aside | chapter three - renaissance

masterlist | read on ao3

(gif by @goodsirs <3)

beelzebub x fallen angel!reader

summary: you wash off the blood, and make a deal with the devil.

(she/her pronouns are used for the reader, no description of any sexual characteristics for the reader, no use of y/n)

warnings: non-sexual nudity & being undressed, religious themes & trauma, aftermath of injury, references to slight cosmic horror, some sexual undertones

ineffable taglist: @sarcastic-sourwolf <3

-----

You don't want to go in the bath.

Filthy is an understatement for you right now. Sticky with dry blood, covered in grime, clothes ripped up and hair swept into tangles. It makes you want to crawl out of your skin, how dirty you are. Too many layers made for Heaven's air-conditioned climate stick to your body, soot and ash mix with sweat to cover you in smears of dull gray. It's the third-worst thing you've ever experienced.

But you don't want to go in the bath. Sixty centuries worth of instinct is telling you not to touch molten sulfur, not to go near anything this hot, and certainly not to sink yourself in liquid hellfire. Your brush with death mere hours ago hasn't left you eager for a second try, no matter what godawful sensations you keep discovering.

You don't want to go in the bath. Because if it doesn't kill you, you'll know what you are, and you're not sure that would be any better.

So you just stare at it.

"Yes, you have to."

You shake your head and keep your feet firmly planted on the tile. You do not want to. It's not going to happen.

Beelzebub sighs. "You have to, love. I told them you would."

Tongues of steam-smoke curl around the little room, slowly licking at the air as the fire throws shifting pieces of darkness along the walls. Whirls of yellow sulfur float lazily within the red-orange fire. Dried blood sticks your shirt to your back.

"I don't want to."

They place a hand on your shoulder.

Every time you look away, the swirling patterns of the bath draw your eyes back. It's mesmerizing, in a horrible kind of way. Bright, like you're meant to be. Glowing with the vibrancy of colors found in fine stained-glass windows; the shades of red somebody could cut a depiction of Eve's apple straight from, hues of yellow fit for halos.

"You'll be okay." Beelzebub's voice is gentle, coaxing as they pull your suit jacket down your shoulders. You move to cling to it, but by the time you manage to tear your gaze from the fire, it's already been dropped on the floor, and they're undoing what's left of the knot in your tie. "It won't hurt, I promise."

That's what I'm afraid of.

Your tie follows your jacket, and though your brain wants it back, your body untenses at the loosening of your collar. The air feels cool in comparison to the humidity that's been building between your clothing and your skin, despite its actual temperature.

They peel off the rest of your clothes like that; carefully, slowly. Every button undone lets your skin breathe a little more. It's a relief. It's a deathmarch.

You fall into a detached kind of state, simply exist while your clothes turn into a pile of ruined fabric on the floor. Let time move through you without intervention. Only when Beelzebub holds out a hand to help you into the tub do you return to the active world, and by then your fear has settled into something less frantic. You have to go in, whether you want it or not. The quiet sinking of the inevitable wraps around your hand as you brace yourself on theirs, and step into the bath.

It doesn't kill you. It doesn't even hurt. It is a little uncomfortable when you sink all the way in, but you're quick to start adjusting to the heat, and it's nothing you can't handle. You haven't been smelling the sulfur this whole time, either. The scent is still there, but it's like somebody turned down your receptors to it. You're both thankful and concerned.

Beelzebub sits leaning against the tub, fidgeting with their hands in a way uncharacteristic to the calculated mannerisms you've come to expect. You don't dwell on it; the bathfire is starting to feel good, and you want to get this filth off your body before you explode.

You take a breath, close your eyes, and sink underfire. It's oddly peaceful, not altogether different from being underwater. There's the same bubbling noise, the same semi-floaty feeling. It'll take scrubbing for the blood to come off, but some of it is already starting to loosen while you soak. You wonder if it'll still be you underneath it all.

A tightening in your chest reminds you of your new need to breathe, and you resurface with a gasp and a slosh, fire-soaked hair sticking to your face and the back of your neck. Rivulets of sulfur run down your skin to drip back into the bath, rolling over your face and along your neck like rain on a window. A quick glance to Beelzebub reassures that you didn't splash them.

The cuts and bruises from tumbling around the office seem to have disappeared, though a general soreness remains. It's your back that truly hurts. From your shoulderblades all the way down past your ribs, a deep ache pulses angrily beneath your skin. You decide to save the back and the wings for last. Hopefully the fire will soothe in the meantime. You pick up a cloth.

Scrubbing the dirt from yourself isn't easy, and the blood's even harder to deal with. Your legs aren't too bad, but from the hips upward you're caked in blood that ran over your shoulders and down your chest, or around your sides to your waist. Your hands are particularly disgusting, bits of dark red-brown are mashed into every line and stuck underneath your fingernails. So the hands go first.

You weren't bloody after the war. Having a full cardiovascular system wasn't really your forte as an angel. When you took an injury, it was always pure light that shone out of the wound, clean and easy to manage until you or someone else could miracle you back to full. And you didn't take blows very often in the first place. But now a beating, bleeding heart's been shoved inside your chest, and you have a feeling it won't be going away. You've been cursed with a heart and lungs and guts. Your wounds will never be beautiful again, just messy and impure.

"Tell me how it happened."

The suddenly-broken silence makes you jump a little, knocking you out of your bitter thoughts. You stop scraping the ash from your forearm.

Some things are hard to say out loud. Hope leaves you lonely when you run out of denial to feed it with, and once the truth is past your throat it's never going back in. Your cardinal sins cannot be unconfessed, to others or to yourself.

When you answer, you answer quiet.

"Pride."

"Yeah," they sigh. "That'll do it."

A silver thread of understanding passes between you. You don't really want to say any more, and they don't push. The silence becomes a little more comfortable. You return to scrubbing the blood and grime off your body, probably ruining the washcloth forever in the process, and things are okay for a minute. As long as you don't think about where and what you are.

Eventually, you manage to get most of the gunk off. All that's left is whatever mess your back must be. The fire's helped the ache some, but your shoulder starts complaining when you move to reach behind you. The other one fares no better, and after a few attempts on each side coming up fruitless, you swallow the pride that led you here. "Um... would you...?"

Beelzebub turns around, and you gesture to your back sheepishly. "I can't reach. My shoulders won't, ah..."

"Oh." They blink a couple times. "Oh. Uh... yeah. Sure,"

You must've caught them off-guard, to get a reaction so much less confident than their usual demeanor. Or maybe you've just been assuming their patterns wrong based on first impressions. This could be how they actually are, and the confident, authoritative Beelzebub could have been the outlier. You don't really know them.

And yet, you have a feeling the truth lies somewhere in between.

They pull off those odd little gloves of theirs, and their sash follows, then their blazer. Your throat catches at the sight of them left in mostly white, then catches again as they roll up their sleeves past the elbow, carefully tucking them so they won't unroll. As you hand them the cloth, your fingertips meet for half a second.

The fire-soaked cloth drags once across your back, and you're about to relax into it, when they inhale sharply. "Shit, angel..."

Their finger runs along the spot where one of your upper wings used to connect to your back. Ah. It must've scarred when they healed you, then.

"Did they...?"

You nod.

Beelzebub sighs, curses under their breath, and continues their work. The repetitive, slow swipes across your back are somewhat comforting.

"I miss the eyes more," the words fall from you suddenly, and without prompt. After all the crying and heavy breathing yesterday, your voice has gone hoarse, but you have an urge to talk again. Your thoughts have been racing around in your head like scattering rats, and you want them out. "I've still got two wings, I'm sure i'll be able to fly eventually, but the eyes..." you trail off, unsure of the right phrasing.

"You've still got two eyes. You can see, can't you?" They pour fire over your hair and start to work their fingers through it, and you lean into their touch without thought.

"No, I--- I meant the other ones. In here." You tap the side of you head.

"Well yeah, maybe you can't see in three-sixty or anything, but you can still see."

You pause, try to figure out a way to explain this to them.

"No, the ones on the inside aren't just eyes, really. They don't just see, they... they think."

"...How do you mean?"

"They're not just extrasensory, they're---" You struggle to find the right words for a moment, "They're a part of my brain. They're on it, they're in it. It's not just sight, it's foresight, it's insight, and now they're all closed, and I can't understand the things I usually do. It's like... like somebody's stapled a part of my mind shut."

The longer you think about it, the more frustrating it gets. You're stuck in the here and now, seeing only in three dimensions, unable to slip into bits of future or past or places far away. You can't see behind you, or through the walls, or what's going to happen. You can't see the answer to infinity, or how to divide by zero. You just sigh again, and stare at the curlicues of sulfur drifting through the bath.

"Do you want me to get your wings?"

You hesitate, then let them out. They fixed your wings themself yesterday, you can probably trust them with cleaning your feathers. You swear you can feel the missing sets unfurl too, but there's nothing left behind. Michael made sure of that. Sliced them clean off, left your upper and lower back flat like a human's. But Beelzebub healed you well. The remaining set feels perfectly uninjured, if a little sore, and all the other damage has been fixed alongside.

Nobody but you has ever groomed your wings before. It's a kind of intimacy you don't find in heaven. Even if you ever wanted to, if you had someone close to you, it wouldn't have been proper upstairs. It's probably not down here either, now that you think about it, but it's not like anyone's watching. The security cameras are all broken or fake. There are dark corners to hide in, dark little rooms to make secrets in. This can be one of them, you think, while their soft hands brush over you. I won't tell anyone.

They're careful not to dislodge any feathers, or bend them out of pattern while they clear away the blood. It's almost contradictory, how gentle their touch is for someone who's fallen so far.

Did their fall hurt just as bad?

A pang hits your chest at the thought. You want to ask, but can't bring yourself to.

How many did you send falling in that battle? How many lost their halos to your spear? How many did you put through this?

You beat the thought back. They're demons, it was justice when you struck them down. And it doesn't matter anyway, because if you didn't get them, someone else would've. It was inevitable for them all to fall. You were doing your job.

When your wings are free of blood and put away, Beelzebub offers their hand to help you out of the bath.

You shake your head. "I don't feel clean yet."

They give you a look that falls somewhere between sad and resigned. "You never will again."

You're dried off and wrapped in a long silk robe. The red looks wrong against your skin, replacing the beiges and whites and soft blues that should be there. While Beelzebub rolls their sleeves back down, you look at your pile of clothes, stained beyond repair, and let yourself mourn them. The last visible trace of angel is gone from you.

Your stockings lie at the top of the pile. They're ruined, of course. But maybe not quite so much as everything else. Maybe, if you could find a way to wash them...

You doubt they're compliant with hell's dress code, and although they've been kind to you, you really doubt Beelzebub wants you hanging onto a piece of heaven. But... they're pretty. And nobody would ever have to know.

You sneak a glance at Beelzebub. They're facing the other way, distracted with pinning their sash back on.

You take your stockings from the pile, and slip them up your sleeve.

Barely a second after you finish, Beelzebub turns back around, pulling on their gloves, and waves for you to follow.

---

Beelzebub's throne room isn't much of a throne room. It's a small, undecorated concrete box with a short platform, a gold-edged old sitting room chair, and as of last night, thanks to you, a bloodstain on the floor. But there's one thing to say for it: it's a lot cleaner than the rest of hell. The huge piles of newsprint and paperwork are tied into neat-ish stacks, likely never to be finished, and although the chair trying to be a throne is old, it doesn't look infested with anything.

Beelzebub flops onto it, throwing a leg over the side, and gestures vaguely to a collection of newspaper bunches stacked like haybales. Seeing no other chairs, and not wanting to sit on the floor beneath them, you follow their suggestion. It's not actually the worst place you've ever sat.

The silk robe moves and falls with you in a way so elegant it has to be borderline sinful. The feeling of it against your skin, too, is horrifically pleasant. Empresses from long-gone dynasties come to mind, in their bright dresses and golden hairpins, or perhaps more similarly the lush dressing gowns of golden-age Hollywood stars. You try not to look at yourself.

"So," Beelzebub starts, "We've got a lot to talk about here, I suppose."

An icy sinking along your spine pulleys your heart up into your throat like a double elevator shaft.

They sigh. "Don't look so tense, love. I'm not going to bite you. Go ahead, relax."

You make an attempt at relaxing into your seat, at first trying to mirror them before quickly realizing that's not going to work with your setup, then fumble around for another couple of seconds trying to find some other position. It feels unnatural, to lean back at a time like this. You're not sure you like it. You must not do a very good job of it either, because they wince, and wave you off. You go back to sitting straight up with your feet together like you're meant to.

"But you just did it in the--- no, not important, actually. We can work on the uh, relaxing thing later. More pressing matters." In a seeming attempt to reset themself, they exhale, and straighten their lapels. "Alright, I'm assuming you know who I am, or you would've asked by now, and I know who you are, or I would've asked by now, so thankfully we can skip that bit, yeah? Good. Okay," they pause, then reset themself again.

"I don't know how a Seraph managed to get the boot after so long. But however it happened, you've joined the Fallen now, and you're clearly not faking it. Making you," they sit up a little, focusing. You're stuck between wanting to break eye contact, and wanting to lean in closer. "An unprecedented phenomenon. And an important one, too."

Still stuck in your throat, your heart flutters.

"Point is," they sit up fully now, resting their elbows on their knees. "You're something special, pet. So,"

Their mouth twitches upward, so slightly that you would've missed it if you'd blinked. Their eyes flash like they're letting you in on a joke. You brace yourself for the words.

"I have an offer for you."

It was always going to come to this. To a deal with the devil. Your heart sinks back down the shaft, pulling the icy dread up again in counter.

"Let me train you."

You blink.

You're not sure what you expected. Maybe a threat, or something more candy-coated, an obvious temptation. Something other than an internship with the Prince of Hell.

Tentatively, you poke at the idea with your foot. "What's the catch?"

"No catch. I'm not trying to trick you into something. Be my apprentice, let me teach you to be a demon. There's still power in you, I'll help you tap back into it."

They look you dead in the eyes, and you almost say yes right then. A sudden want to bury yourself in that obsidian gaze comes rushing through your veins and down to your fingertips, hot, then cold, then hot again. You stare into the void, and the void stares back.

A second passes.

Cut it out, traitor! Your rationality slams you over the head with a laptop full of reasons why you're an idiot. They are a demon. They are Prince of Hell, patron unsaint of the flies that follow them. They are distracting you. Demons are liars, no matter how beautiful, how kind, and you cannot afford to forget that. You are in enemy territory.

You clear your head, and move with caution as you prod at this a little more. "What's in it for you?"

They chuckle. "You, sweet. You're drowning in potential. I'd be a fool not to want you on my side."

They say it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, and you have to look away to avoid being hypnotized again. The idea of being wanted drips into your head, starts to melt into the cracks like honey while your brain tries to scrape it off.

Didn't they just say you're something unprecedented? Important? Whispers the scars on your back. Even missing wings and eyes, they still want you.

"Come on, love. It's a win-win. I get to teach you, you don't get fed to something, everybody's happy."

That sobers you again for a moment, furrowing your brows. There's the threat, then.

"You don't have to worry about it," they take your hands, moving closer, an honesty in their undertone that you want to believe is real. "I'm offering to bring you under my protection. Nobody would ever touch you again, and if they did, I'd kill them."

A finger traces your cheek, like it did yesterday, and your face untenses. Such a violent idea should scare you. Instead, it makes your heart skip beats and tremble in a different way, slowly trying to push the lid closed on your moral compass.

You swallow. "Tell me more."

"I'll train you myself. Teach you to be a proper demon, and keep you by my side while you learn. You'll assist me with things, if I need you to." They pull your hands in so slightly you might be imagining it. "And you won't just be some errand girl. You could have status. Who knows, in time, you could be a Duke of Hell."

You want to say that's not tempting, but so help you, it is. Technically, you fell high in the ranks of Heaven, but not in the way they're offering. Seraphim think, not lead; that's an Archangel's job. God trusted you with higher cosmic knowledge, but what else did she ever give you but commands?

Images flash through your mind: more red silk, jewels and pins, comfortable sofas, ignoring your paperwork. Darkness, depravity, hedonism. The kinds of sin that make your body go hot just thinking of it. Giving the orders instead of only taking them. Wine. Music. Velvet.

Suddenly, you become very aware of the stockings hidden in your sleeve, take another laptop to the face, and frantically shove your visions of grandeur back into the box labeled 'SIN: DO NOT OPEN.' You have to get out of here. You're being corrupted already, and worse, you're starting to like it. God forgive you, you're starting to like it.

But where else is there to go? If you say no, you're getting fed to something, probably over and over for all eternity. And short of an intervention from God herself, you're not getting out of hell entirely.

"So. What'll it be?" Beelzebub drops your hands, then reextends one of theirs, inviting.

Those hands have only been kind so far. Every touch from them has been to help you, to heal you. You want their touch again, that feeling of another that's so rare to find in heaven, their hand on your face, in your hair. You want them to want you.

You have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

You slide your hand into theirs.

They smile.

#fic #good omens #beelzebub #beelzebub x reader #good omens x reader #x reader #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic #good omens beelzebub x reader #beelzebub good omens

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natequarter · 5 days

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possibly useless writing advice:

learn to punctuate your damn dialogue. i don't care how much you hate semicolons, i don't care whatever else you do, you are punctuating your fucking dialogue. i will eat you if you don't.

use paragraphs. you don't need to know exactly how to use them, just make sure you haven't got a block of text and you separate your paragraphs (especially dialogue!) roughly by topic. it will make your work so much more readable.

only use a thesaurus if you need to use the same word a bunch of times, at least for the initial stages of writing. outside of that, you will simply look like a ponce. or an idiot. so if you're describing a room where everything is a different shade of blue, use a thesaurus. beyond that, unless you've forgotten a word, it's generally pointless. thesauruses are better for editing. not a hard-and-fast rule, but a good idea.

don't delete stuff. save parts you can't use now in a discard document. make sure you have backups of all your work, even the cringe supernatural fanfiction from 2011 or whatever. even if you never write for it again, you may find memories or phrases of value.

rewrite stuff. whenever. getting stuck? delete a thousand words. worst comes to worst, you bring it back.

don't worry about word counts, don't worry about having a daily quota. just write when you feel like it, and occasionally when you don't. it is a good idea to write every day, but if you can't, then don't. there's nothing wrong with that. it's a habit, just like everything else, and no habit is perfectly consistent.

keep track of your narrator. if only one person is narrating your story, they should not know things only other people know. if your narrator is omniscient or you have multiple narrators? fine! but if john is the narrator, he should not know what jane had for breakfast. especially don't slip into jane narrating briefly before snapping back to john. it's weird.

don't describe things your narrator wouldn't think to pick up on. this isn't a hard-and-fast rule, especially if you're introducing something/someone your narrator already knows of, but do you think about the fact that your mate has red hair when you say hi? probably not. your narrator is unlikely to do so, either. however, if it's your narrator's first time on page, you'll probably want to. be sensible about it.

just say said! use said! i don't care what you were taught, use said! nobody will notice. i promise you they will not give a shit. use said.

adverbs are literally fine. the most important thing is to be judicial in your use of them. is someone shouting? then don't speak of them shouting loudly; that's implicit. but is someone smiling, grief-stricken? then they can smile sadly. it's fine. who give a shit.

have fun and bite your enemies! they will be in awe of your brilliant writing skills.

#🗡️#writing

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bi-bard · 2 years

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Protective - The Corinthian Imagine (The Sandman)

Title: Protective

Pairing: The Corinthian X Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 1,091 words

Warning(s): harassment [PLEASE READ THIS WITH CAUTION], hints to murder/violence

Summary: After a date goes wrong, (Y/n) finds that they are not alone in this word anymore. They have a protector watching over them.

Author's Note: I had quite a few people ask for more platonic!reader X Corinthian, so here it is.

I don't know if I'd say this is connected to the other Corinthian X platonic!reader imagine, but it could be. It's up to you.

--------------------------------

I had been hoping for a normal date.

I think most people do.

Or, at the very least, a date that didn't leave them feeling like the entire night was a waste of time.

I had not been so fortunate.

I had gone to dinner with a guy. The restaurant wasn't far from my apartment building, so I walked to meet him there.

At first, it was fine.

The conversation was a little bit awkward, maybe a bit slow, but that was to be expected. The first time meeting someone was bound to be met with nerves and a bit of hesitance.

But when the guy got comfortable, he got too comfortable. He hinted at things that would never happen on my first night meeting someone. His conversation topics would not change no matter how subtly or obviously I tried to be. I had asked him to discuss something else, but that only lasted for a minute.

He had never been looking for a date.

The worst part of the night was leaving.

He had to make it an entire spectacle that he had paid and wanted to drive me home. When I said that I was walking, he wanted to walk with me. I had every intention of going home and ignoring him forever, so I refused. He insisted.

I developed a plan.

Go past my place, stop at another building, and then very slowly follow the man back so I can sneak into the right apartment building.

He kept making mentions about coming in for a drink or dessert. He mentioned needing to use the bathroom. He tried wrapping his arms around me, but I pretended to stumble a few steps ahead, so it fell off my shoulder.

"What do you say?"

Had I just completely given up listening to his speech?

I was only focused on the fact that we were close to my building. I was almost free.

"Why don't I come upstairs with you?"

"Listen, I don't do that kind of thing on the first date," I tried to make sure that I was the only one to blame. "It just isn't my thing. I'm sorry."

"You're kidding," he stopped walking, grabbing my arm to get me to stop with him. "I paid for dinner. I've been a gentleman-"

Debatable at best.

"- and now, you're acting like this? Like you're better than me? Listen here-"

His hand was ripped from my arm as he was suddenly shoved into a nearby alleyway. I watched as the man was suddenly slammed against the wall by the Corinthian.

The Corinthian and I had grown quite close over the last few years. I knew about his life as a nightmare. I knew about his eyes. He knew almost everything about me. We were best friends, to put it simply.

I couldn't explain how he had gotten there. I was just happy that he was.

"(Y/n), my dear," I looked at the Corinthian when he spoke. "I'm gonna need you to go upstairs and wait for me there."

I nodded and turned around, running away from the entrance to the alleyway and into my building. I slammed the door shut behind me, slowly backing away from it to get a knife from my kitchen.

I wasn't dumb. I knew how fast things like this could escalate.

I jumped when the door opened.

The Corinthian walked in and held his hands up when he saw that I had a knife.

"It's just me," he promised. He locked the door behind himself as I lowered the knife. "Don't worry. That guy is long gone. You'll never have to worry about him again."

I just nodded, putting the knife down on the counter. I felt overwhelmed. I felt stupid for being overwhelmed.

"Come here."

I walked over to him and let him pull me into a hug.

"There you go," he muttered. "You're alright. See? Everything's alright."

"Where's your jacket," I asked as I stepped back.

"Not important," he waved it off. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Come on, let's make sure that you get some rest."

"You were there in a matter of moments," I replied. "Were you waiting here for me?"

"Nearby," he nodded as he led me to my room. I say led. He more shoved me.

"Why?"

He stopped for a moment. I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled my shoes off.

"I left the dream realm to get a taste of humanity," he said. "You're the only human that I've met that I've cared about. The only one that's worth a damn. I can't let anything happen to you. And I won't."

I grinned at him. "I hope you aren't going soft."

The Corinthian chuckled. "Shut up and get some rest."

He went to walk out just as I spoke up again, "This is a dumb question-"

"I've gotten used to you asking me dumb questions."

"That was rude," I said. He held his hands up for a moment. "Since you're a nightmare... is there any way you'd be able to protect someone from another nightmare?"

His eyebrows furrowed for a moment. "Not without going into the dream realm and stopping that particular nightmare, no."

"Oh."

"(Y/n), are you having bad nightmares?"

I shook my head. "No, no. I'm just worried that after tonight I'm going to. Y'know, how anxiety likes to mess your mind?"

I looked at some random spot on my floor.

"Can't say I do," he muttered. He likely nudged my leg with his foot. I looked at him. "I'll be right outside. If you have a nightmare, just come and find me."

I nodded. He grinned at me.

"Now get in bed."

I chuckled as he walked out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

After I got changed into some more comfortable clothes and curled up under the covers, I stared up at the ceiling for a little while.

I hated questioning him, but this whole event made me think about the Corinthian just a little bit differently. I had always been curious about his "business trips" because what business trip is a literal nightmare going on? But he had been so quick to threaten that guy. And then his jacket was gone. And he was just so dismissive about it. All of it just left me with so many questions. Questions that he seemed to refuse to answer.

Maybe if he wasn't willing to answer, I would have to do a little investigating of my own.

--------------------------------

Masterlist (Includes links to All Writing Challenges)

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

#the corinthian x reader #the corinthian imagine #the corinthian fanfiction #fanfiction #imagine #x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman imagine #dc x reader #dc imagine #dc fanfiction

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ashe-delta · 7 months

Text

Obligatory "experiences aren't universal" warning.

I'm all for transgender self love; it's important, after all, to let people know that it does, in fact, get better.

But it also gets a hell of a lot worse, too.

Hormones will deconstruct and reconstruct your very image, day after day, and the bodies of who you thought you were will pile up fast. You'll catch a glimpse of her, for only a second, only for them to disappear when you hunger for more. And you see him again. Except it's not him either. Too far gone to say hes different, too far away to call yourself her. You're nothing, or, actually, worse, you're something, neither him nor her, but a mix, a glitch?, switching back and forth, desperate for a side to win so that you can either give up or say you won.

This "glitchy" period, different for everyone, mine lasting from around 8 months on HRT to 15 months on HRT, although some personal issues made it last longer than it should, was the worst time of my life. I hated myself more on hormones than I did while not on them. And this makes sense! To say nothing of the fact that hormones will make you more emotional, you have to essentially fight your demons literally every day. You can't run from yourself; I think most transgender people can attest to that, given the nature of the identity.

Hormones are not a miracle drug, although are pretty damned close. Reconstructing your body to be your ideal self requires deconstructing the self you have now—and that fucking hurts! When I say it gets better, and I promise it gets better, it always does and always has, I don't mean that "it's okay to be dysphoric, you'll be fine", because, no, you won't be fine. You're waging a war in your head, one you didn't ask for, or, actually, maybe you did? You took the hormones, after all.

He is dying. He is crying for help and begging for mercy and wondering where it went wrong. And it's not her or his fault for it, either. He was just not meant to be. And in this battle of the minds, a clash so long it spans months, when he begins losing his grasp on you, you can feel the scars he left on you. But scars does not a person make. And when you look in the mirror, and see her, for only a moment, and lust for more, know that she had not disappeared on you. Shes fighting the same fight she always had, and when it's all said and done, she will be waiting for you. When you can finally say you're fine.

The thing about wars is that they're bloody. There is death and decay, angst and agony. But there is one comfort to war, one most forget. War ends. Whether you have to spite him, or kill him yourself, remember that it will be over, if you give her time. It will get better. It's all you'll hear from your community. Those words will sound false and ring dread to you, thinking that you might be the 1% who loses. But the secret is that you can't. You can't lose. Winning is the natural conclusion of waiting. The only way to lose is give up. So simply don't surrender. Your body is a battlefield and it is doing incredibly strange, sexy things to you, and you cannot see it until the dust has settled. So promise me this, that you'll wait for her. I know I am.

#personal #trans #this is a bit of an open letter to my girlfriend admittedly. Hence the last line.#But really it's more meant for everyone. I think it's important. It's something I wish people emphasized more

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noaltbruh · 1 year

Note

Congrats on 200 followers!!! <3 😊💭🍫 for Giorno and Fugo pls?

Thank you! :>

Link to main event

😊 Do they like to be vulnerable around their S/O? Or do they always try to show them their best side no matter what?

No, Giorno despises the thought of being vulnerable. Don't take this the wrong way, please, it's not that he doesn't trust you, he really really does.

He's just...Scared. He struggles a lot with abandonment issues and has a lot of attachment issues as well. This boy is convinced that if he cannot always be perfect, if he can't live up to the majestic-like aura that surrounds him...You'll leave.

He wouldn't hate you if you did, he'd just...Blame himself and believe that it's his fault if things turned out like that. Through kindness and understanding, you might be able to show him that this isn't going to happen, although it'll take time for him to show you his "weak" side too.

But it will be worth it, I promise.

~~~~~~

Fugo dislikes beings vulnerable too, although his reasons are a bit different from Giorno's. He is afraid of losing his partner for sure, but he mainly acts like this because...He doesn't exactly like himself very much.

Thus, he's convinced that if he showed you his true feelings, you'd either end up hurt, scared or weirded out by who he really is. He's not very good at hiding his worries though, and it pains you to see him walking on eggshells around you, when he doesn't need to.

He will be surprised if you were to encourage him to open up more, do you...Not like him even at his best? He won't be able not to express his true feelings for much longer though, especially after what you said, since he can get quite emotional. When that happens, stay by his side and remind him that you don't think less of him for this.

💭 How do they imagine their future with their S/O to be like?

Giorno often finds himself thinking about his future with you. He wants to make sure that everything is programmed and he always thinks ahead of things.

With that being said, he likes to imagine that the two of you would live outside the city, but not too far way, in a huge, elegant villa just for you.

You wouldn't be forced to work if you don't want to, since his job could easily provide for both of you, but he would always support you in any career path you might decide to take on.

He knows that he won't always be by your side, which is why, in his idealistic view, you would spend every minute he's not busy together. All he knows for sure, however, is that he wants a future where you're safe and happy.

~~~~~~~

I have a feeling Fugo would also reflect a lot on the future of your relationship. The thing is...Him, being an overtinker, probably ends up imagining all the worst case scenarios known to existence, even when perhaps he was just planning on thinking about what kind of house he'd like to live in.

However, when these...Ideas don't get in the way, I can't help but think that this boy simply dreams of spending the rest of his life with you in peace, in calmness and quietness, enjoying small things like reading a book together on a Sunday Morning, while cuddling in bed.

I have a feeling he'd prefer to retire to the countryside where there are less noises and things are a bit simpler. But most of all, he wishes for a life where his anger issues don't get in the way of your relationship, and you genuinely believe that he's a good husband.

🍫 Are they more reserved about their feelings or wear their hearts on their sleeves?

Giorno? Wearing his heart on his sleeves? That's one funny joke for sure.

Absolutely not. It's not that he doesn't want to show you how much he loves you, but he's been taught that showing feelings, any type, is a weakness. He may also appear a bit cold public due to living in fear of someone noticing you're a couple and using it to black mail him or, even worse, hurt you.

So, if the two of you are with other people, he may do little gestures like perhaps holding your hand or giving you a small kiss on your lips, but nothing more. In private things will be a bit better and he'll let some walls down, but still, not entirely.

He prefers to be smooth and court you rather than explicitly tells you how or what he's feeling. Wouldn't he be come off as too cheesy or desperate if he did? It's better to be passive, still making sure you get the message and don't feel like he doesn't love you.

~~~~~~

Ok, Fugo desperately wants you to understand how much you really mean to him, he's just...Incredibly bad and awkward at showing it he's just like me fr. He's a smart boy, but very dense when it comes to feelings and emotions, especially considering that he gets shy quite often actually.

He wants to hold eye contact with you, yet sometimes finds himself just looking away no matter what. He tries to use a pickup line or compliment you, but probably messes up the order of the words. Heck, maybe he just means to smile at you, but it somehow doesn't look genuine.

He definitely beats himself up for this and probably practises in front of the mirror for what he's going to do or say before one of your dates. He doesn't know how to "speak with his heart" but he's trying to improve as fast as he can. He's an an amateur with relationships, but he thinks that learning to express himself for you will be of great help to his inner self as well.

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decepti-thots · 1 year

Note

I was in the tumblr tf fandom for a hot second a few years ago and i just wanted to ask, is it still really aggressive here? because back then there was a lot of shipping drama, there were a few callout posts going around (can't really remember about what) and just...a lot of bad stuff. I personally had someone tell me to kill myself because I liked one of the villains. guess I'm just wondering if, in your opinion, things have chilled out? Cuz I'd like to get back into it but I'm a little hesitant;;;

I'm going to try and give the fullest answer I can in the best faith to this! For context, this blog is a couple years old now, I have enough followers that I get a lot of active engagement on my posts etc, I am very active in TF fandom here, Twitter, and IRL, and while I did not used to be active I have been lurking in TF fandom as long as I have been on Tumblr.

There is absolutely still some toxicity; all fandoms have their bad faith actors, their drama hounds, their shipping Diskhorsers TM. I have gotten hate mail, I know folks who have issue with weird anon haters who are persistent, whatever. But no, it is not as bad as it has been in the past, IMO, not at ALL, and it is 100% possible to have an active, sociable and nice time in this fandom so long as you curate your engagement, with basically no drama at all. Many of the worst folks burned out and left when the fandom got less active and their shitstirring paid lesser and lesser dividends, IME.

People sometimes ask how I maintain such a vocal presence without falling into the still-there drama, and I have some advice that I promise you will mitigate like, 99% of the possible issues you could encounter:

Block whenever you feel like blocking. If you get a bad vibe, if you just don't personally like someone and don't wanna see them, if you see them throwing what looks like a temper tantrum you don't want in on, just block 'em. Remember: blocking is nothing personal towards the person you are blocking. It is not insulting and doesn't need to be 'earned'. Block every single person you think not blocking might even just theoretically cause stress or drama. (I am blocked by several people for reasons no more serious than 'I hate your OTP', and I commend every one of them for doing it and having a better time on this site!)

Delete any and all anon hate. Block anyone and everyone who sends you hate. No exceptions. No witty comebacks. No takedowns. Nothing. You see it and the actual literal second you do, you block and delete. None of it is worth one second of your time. Deprived of the oxygen, they will leave. And you won't be tempted to re-read it and stress out.

In that same vein, if it causes issues, just turn anon off! Turn it off. Personally I keep it on because I simply do not care about the odd troll, but if you care even slightly? Fuck 'em, turn it off, anon is a privilege your followers need to earn by acting in good faith.

Find people you like and follow them, ignore blatant shitstirring in the maintags (again: block people!) and try to curate content and follows and mutuals based on what you do like and not what you don't. Curate positive engagement; do not rely on the general fandom slurry, find what you like and hang out in your own corner of things that bring you joy. If the maintag stresses you out: don't check it. Check the blogs of folks you know are cool instead. Stuff like that.

Fandom should be fun. Fandom should be finding people you like and sharing good times with them, not stressing about avoiding folks you hate, or who hate you. Tumblr lets you moderate how you engage, when, and where more than almost any current social media site; now you can even turn off reblogs and oh my GOD is that a lifesaver function btw. If you want, you can make your blog unsearchable! It means you will need to be more proactive in making friends. But TF fandom is pretty tight knit these days, and folks want to talk a lot of the time. You'll still be able to engage with cool people.

There's way less aggro losers around these days, but more to the point, you can absolutely avoid the ones that still insist on being annoying and starve them out without much effort, tbh.

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schumigrace · 2 years

Text

At My Worst I Worry You'll Realise You Deserve Better (and at my best I worry that you won't) - MV1+CL16

A Lestappen fic that's been sitting on my brain for a while and I finally managed to write. Totally fictional. Not proof-read.

Part two

The two had never been considered conventional. Long-time rivals, fighting on and off track since they were both old enough to sit in a kart. A simple glance at the other's eyes was all that was ever needed for the internal roller-coaster to begin, an overwhelming wave of every emotion - anger always at the forefront, followed by an unwavering irritation. The adrenaline of simply being near each other enough to turn hurried glances into lingering stares, their bodies feeding off of the heavy atmosphere like a lifeline. The promise of the other's presence shifted inconspicuously from an irritating pain in the back of their heads to an addicting itch at the forefront of their minds.

They never really spoke about it, about how public shoves turned into private pushes. How angry wrist-grabs caught on camera turned into wrists held above heads. How the prying eyes of the media shifted attention away from childhood rivals to he totally just stared at his lips for far too long for it to not mean anything. No, they just accepted it, accepted that it must just go hand-in-hand with their unconventionality. It's not like they were friends or anything, they didn't do conversation, so where would they find the time to talk. Their days were spent behind the wheel of their respective cars - whether that be practising in two separate countries or side by side (a little too close for comfort) - or they were spent pressed against a wall or between sheets with hands wandering to places they shouldn't be (again, a little too close for comfort, if they really thought about it).

And maybe that's why they don't think about it, Max wonders, maybe that's why they don't speak about it. Because if they did, they'd realise how wrong this whole thing was. I mean, they hate each-other, right? It was only ever hate, a way for the both of them to take out the daily frustrations that came with their job, the promise of a back against a wall and legs around a waist was simply a way for them to get through the race without literally forcing each other into the barriers. At least that's what they told themselves.

Max figured now probably wasn't the time to dwell on it, anyway, as he lay in the Monegasque's bed, facing the (only-just) younger man's naked figure, as the other caressed his arm with the back of his hand. He hoped he wouldn't have to dwell on it, at least, but when Charles lips curled around a mumbled "what're you thinking so hard about, Verstappen," without even having to open his eyes, Max knew this wasn't a conversation that the other man would let him avoid.

Max knew he wasn't entirely off the mark when he considered this hate-sex as just that. So why is he realising now, after having spent the past week in the Monegasque's apartment (when his own is a mere five minute walk away), that he was scared of talking to the man. Of admitting that, okay maybe I don't like you, but my god I do like spending time with you, and I don't think I can ever let whatever this is end. The realisation that he can't mask his feelings behind talks of testing and simulators and track limits forever hits Max like a brick wall, and if it wasn't for the firm yet soothing touch from Charles and the fact that he had shifted closer to Max, to the point where they're breathing the same air, and Charles' toned arms fit so damn perfectly in the curve of Max's waist, Max would have jumped a mile and ran from those feelings until he was practically coughing up a lung. But Charles' green eyes have taken on a hint of concern behind their usual happy-go-lucky glisten, and Max decided then and there that he wouldn't have minded if the two never moved again. If they shared their breaths until there was no air left, and their limbs had fused into one, until the two had become an unrecognisable mountain of flesh and bone surrounded by white sheets and sunshine and giggles and an unrelenting history and - shit - love.

If Max was scared of this conversation before he was fucking terrified now. How, after this many years, is he supposed to admit to Charles fucking Leclerc of all people that he has actually gone and fucking fallen for him. He realises that if he admits that this is something he wants, that Charles is someone he wants, then there is a chance the other man won't be on the same page. That he'll realise that they aren't ever going to be conventional, and they'll probably fight too much and fuck too much and Charles deserves so much more than that, so much more than what Max can give, so instead he shuts an imaginary door the whole thing. He's good at compartmentalising, you have to be, to be a racing driver. He mentally puts the whole saga in a drawer and slaps a confidential label on it, and decides that social media's description of them as emotional support rivals will just have to be good enough for now.

"Nothing, Leclerc," he whispers. "Go back to sleep." Schatje nearly slips out at the end there, and he outwardly winces, mentally kicking his imaginary drawer again just to make sure it's firmly closed. Charles doesn't seem to notice, however, pushing his face back into the Dutch's chest, and Max thanks every single God ever that Charles Leclerc is the most oblivious human being on this damn planet.

#lestappen

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furiousgoldfish · 1 year

Note

I found your blog last year and I have been reflecting a lot on your posts, when it comes to my own memories.

it was last year that triggered me to remember some things that I'd disassociated completely on purpose. and even accepting those led to a landslide of remembering many more other incidents. I live with my parents and I can usually convince myself that we are fine as a family.

but I'm not able to do that anymore. I keep thinking and remembering and questioning all of their behavior. but they don't really do that anymore. my mother still yells at me occasionally but my brother doesn't hit me and my father doesn't yell at me or taunt me like he did when I was a kid. my brain often tells me that I shouldn't get so sensitive over the past but what im feeling is simply horrible and doesn't go away. does it still count? even if we have a better relationship now?

It counts, yeah. These are all things that happened, and they have affected you permanently. You'll never be able to have a family that didn't hurt you in the past, in fact, they still do hurt you, just to a lesser extent. You're having to actively dissociate from certain memories just to be able to still live with these people. You learn from the past, the experiences they've put you thru have taught you that they're not safe, that you can't relax, that you have to always be careful and monitor what they do to you, that you always have to be ready to absorb more abuse.

Usually families stop the worst types of abuse when the child is a bit older and capable of telling, capable of reporting it, recognizing it, memorizing it, and holding them accountable. It's not because these people 'changed' or 'want a better relationship', they realize now that some acts of abuse would have consequences for them, so they only do the ones they can get away with – that being yelling and more subtle type of abuse that you can't so easily recognize and prove.

That feeling you have is correct, these people did hurt you, and are expecting you to just be okay with it and forget it, and the pressure is so big, that you're here wondering if even thinking about it makes you 'too sensitive', even though it was so bad you actively had to suppress memories of it in order to keep living with those people.

It's fairly common to have this type of situation, where day-to-day, you can convince yourself it's all normal, but inside you're festering with painful and traumatic memories, and these go neglected, unacknowledged, and you're supposed to be okay with the fact that nobody cares about what they put you thru, they only want you to shut up about it and act like it didn't happen. They're supposed to care what your experience of childhood was. They're supposed to provide you with love, safety, connection, care and happiness. Not only they failed, but they put you in a state where you have to watch your own reactions and your own feelings, not to show how badly they traumatized you, and you're forced to blame yourself and find things on yourself that you can blame (likely it's them who suggested you were 'too sensitive' in the first place.

I'm so sorry anon, I know this must be hard. It's ultimately up to you how far you want to think on this, and if you want or can do anything about it. It's okay to just forget it until you're ready to deal with it, we often need to do this in order to function. Maybe you didn't want an answer that would make things more chaotic and painful for you right now, and if that's the case, please disregard it. Only know that you are not too sensitive, that your experience matters, and that feeling the way you do is normal considering the situation. Your feelings are important too, and you're right to say them and to want to talk about it. I can't promise that the horrible feeling will go away, but one day you will be able to figure out why it's there, and how to deal with it.

#suppressing memories #dissociation #trauma #child abuse #abusers changing behaviour to escape consequences #hushed up abuse #victim having to keep secrets and suffering due to a past nobody takes accountability for

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fanmoose12 · 2 years

Note

Addition to the previous ask. What if Armins is confused on why Hanji has become sick in the mornings and could not come to early briefings. Historia hearing what happened to Hanji immediately knows what is wrong and tells Armin which sets up the whole, Hanji is pregnant? Who is the father?

The 104th kids finding out about Hanji being pregnant and confronts her is she's alrighr and if she needs anything. Hanji is surprised but thinks she could be pregnant based on her symptons. When asked how she could be so calm about this, she tells them that's just normal for married people.

Hence, another confused shouts of her being married. Hanji trying to calm them down. Levi somewhere in the city trying to buy tea leaves when he feels a chill down his spine.

It is only morning but the weather is warm already and the outside world seems so blissfully sunny that it is almost criminal, at least in Armin's opinion, to have him spend it inside his small and stuffy office in the capital.

He'd rather spend it in their apple orchard, getting drunk on the aroma of peonies and Annie's sweet perfume. She's still by his side, so soft and pliant, snoring so adorably into his chest. Armin smiles, as he pushes one blonde lock away from her face. He allows himself nothing more - his usually serene Annie can become a beast, if her sleep is disturbed, and gets off their bed.

Immediately, she snuggles into the pillow that still holds his warmth, and once again Armin laments that he has to leave. Definitely a crime, he decides when he exits the bedroom; he'd have to speak with Historia about it, maybe implement some sort of punishment. Working on such a fine day is definitely an offence worthy the worst kind of penalties.

But someone is coming to the capital, for the first time after being away for almost a year, someone hardworking and brilliant, and being absent from his dear fiance for a few hours is definitely a price Armin would pay to receive a chance to converse with Hange Zoe again.

The thrilling prospect gives him enough motivation to brush his teeth, take a shower and get dressed in his best suit - blue in color, since Annie insists that it brings out his eyes. He's in the process of brushing his hair, when she herself emerges from the bedroom: wrapped in a blanket and still blinking sleepily.

"Good luck," she mumbles, before pecking him on a cheek. "You'll do great but- wipe that creepy grin from your lips."

Armin checks himself in the wardrobe mirror - his smile is actually a bit too wide, but Hange is coming to town! He simply can't help it! For Annie, though, he tries his best to dim his expression. "Better?" he asks, placing a hat on his head.

Annie fixes it, with a critical look on her face. "A little. Keep it in mind, though. Oh, and-" she straightens his lapels - "don't forget about cinnamon rolls. You know, the ones from the bakery near Queen's residency."

Armin makes a mental note about that, Annie absolutely adores her cinnamon rolls and her face - covered in powder and with a blissful smile on her lips - is absolutely the sight he would die for.

"I'll be home by six," he promises and then kisses her on the lips - her morning breath be damned. "Say hi to Pieck if you see her."

Then he is gone, a briefcase clasped securely in his hand, excited spark lightening up in his eyes. Hange Zoe comes back to town - and Armin rushes to her, like a schoolboy runs to his favorite teacher.

---

When Armin arrives, he's almost late; at least - compared to the others. Jean, Connie and Sasha are already waiting near the entrance to Historia's quarters, leaning against the concrete wall. Jean holds a cigarette in between his fingers, puffing it slowly. Armin doesn't approve - the smell is atrocious and it looks like Jean doesn't even enjoy the process, just indulges in the vice to keep up with an appearance of a cool guy, but Armin doesn't scold him either; Jean puts out the cigarette as soon as Armin is in his vicinity, and, in the end, it's his own life and health.

"So?" Armin nods at his friends; barely contains his excitement. "Is she here?"

"Has been since early morning, or so the guards tell me," Jean says.

Sasha claps her hands together, all but jumping with happiness. "Let's hurry then! Oh, I can't wait to see Hange-san! It's been so long."

Connie seems just as thrilled. "Do you think we'll see Captain Levi as well? I mean there are no barracks for us to clean so seeing him..."

"Will be a pleasure," Armin agrees, waits for Jean to throw the cigarette butt away, then lets his friends go inside the building first. "We need to go on the second floor. Fourth door on the left."

Sasha turns to gawk at him, now walking backwards. "They let Hange-san have her own office?"

Armin shrugs good-heartedly. "She used to be a Commander of Survey Corps. And, technically, she's the one who brought Marley and Paradise to work as one. That, at the very least, warrants a separate office."

"I'm actually surprised she got out of it," Connie chuckles. "I always thought that our Hange-san will quit working only in case of death."

"She still works, I heard," Sasha scratches her chin. "Something- um, something related to the maurine fauna?"

"That, or microscopic creatures? Something that excites her anyway," Jean says, and Armin makes sure to commit that piece of information to memory - everything Hange studies is worth his attention. Then Jean adds, "by the way does someone know - Captain still lives with her?"

Connie hastens to get in front of the group on the stairs, and says, "I'm pretty sure he still does. I mean-" he rubs at the back of his neck - "someone has to look after him, right?"

"Just don't mention it in front of him, dummy," Sasha chastises, slapping Connie on a forearm. "But I've heard about it too - Captain Levi does share the house with Hange. They're like Connie and I!" she brings him in for a quick hug, despite his abundant protests. "Together till the grave!"

Jean raises a sceptic eyebrow. "And what about Niccolo?"

Sasha huffs - so indignant, as though a mere doubt hurts her to the core. "Niccolo is my heart!" she declares proudly. "And my stomach- maybe. But Connie!" she smooches his shaved head. "Oh, he's my soul!"

"Maybe," Armin tries, all too quiet in comparison to his companions. "Captain Levi is all that for Hange-san?"

The trio laughs at him - almost in unison. After a second, Armin chuckles too, joining on their fun. Captain Levi and Hange-san? Together? What could be more ludicrous?

---

They wait until Historia and Mikasa arrive on a balcony on the second floor. Sasha and Connie had just started a surprisingly competitive game of tug and chase, almost pulling Jean in it, when Mikasa shows up.

Jean immediate straightens, like a soldier on a parade, and puts on the most bored yet handsome face Armin has ever seen. He has to give him credit for that, and - maybe - also ask for some advices later. Or give some himself, because surely, if he ever tried something like that on Annie, she'd be chuckling about it even on his deathbed.

Mikasa smiles too, just briefly, and when the Queen, at last, makes her entrance, shockingly - without her baby, she leads them to the door of Hange's office, knocking on it decisively.

The muffled 'come in!' sounds instantly, and Armin has but a second to pull himself together and remember - wipe that creepy grin - before he tumbles inside, propelled forward by impatient Sasha, and finds himself in tight clutches that he quickly identifies as Hange Zoe's famous suffocating hug.

"My dears!" she all but gushes. "Come here, come here. I missed you all so, so much."

Armin did too, as he is sure did all of his friends. The island's been too quiet without Hange's shrill voice.

"If you missed them so," comes a deep and gruff voice that Armin too recognizes instantly, despite not hearing it for almost a year. "You should have come back much sooner."

"Levi," Hange huffs, stops her smothering of Connie to admonish him a tired look. "You know that my work is important."

"More important than people who care about you? Or your own health?"

This feels like an argument that's been steering for too long, and discussed almost daily. Armin nearly bursts into laughter as he looks over Sasha's head and meets Mikasa's eyes.

"Some things never change, eh?" Jean remarks dryly, and now all of them - except Captain, of course - break into giggles. But even he shows a smile - small and quick to disappear, but Armin's keen eyes pick up on it all the same.

"It's good to see you," Levi says, as he rolls his wheelchair forward and shakes everyone's hands. "Although, you all are so big I don't think I can even call you brats anymore."

"Aw, you absolutely can!" Sasha assures him with a wide smile. "By now, it's actually endearing."

Levi shares a look with Hange then, as though telling her, "Look what weirdos we raised up," and Armin is hit by a huge wave of- of something - of affection, nostalgia and gratitude that it was those two exceptional people that helped him become the man who he is today.

"How have you been?" Historia asks, dragging Jean, Sasha and Connie to take a seat at the sofa in the corner of the office. Armin and Mikasa occupy the two chairs that stand by Hange's desk.

"Oh, you know," Captain makes a vague gesture. "It's almost the same - I look after the house, make sure that this weirdo over here," he jerks his thumb at Hange, and she makes a face at him in retaliation. Armin hides a smile. "Doesn't die from something stupid and easily avoidable. Although, I do have to say that cleaning time has reduced severely, now that I only have to clean our shit."

"Just you two in the house then?" Mikasa asks, and it doesn't escape Armin - that look she shares with Sasha.

"Just the two of us," Hange replies, with a sigh - almost dreamy? Content? Armin catalogues it for later. "But now that we came back-"

"The boring ones stay with four-eyes. And everyone else is invited to have a tea with me and catch up."

"I'm not boring. I'm fascinating." Hange turns to Armin, her gaze adopting a puppy-eyed look. "Am I not right?"

"You're right, as always," he answers truthfully, and Hange absolutely beams. She sticks her tongue at Levi, and he sighs warily, but relents quickly and pats her head affectionately.

And that- that familiarity, that flawless back-and-forth, easy banter and certain knowledge of each other's boundaries - Armin knows it. He and Annie have all of it, but- but, Annie and he are together, romantically involved. They are so far away from Hange and Levi are. Maybe, it's years and years of knowing each other then, that makes their relationship appear so comfortable.

After all, they've always been the same way. It's only Armin's new perspective that now shines a different light on it all.

It's their Hange-san and Captain Levi, in the end. Them being in love? What could be more ludicrous?

---

He and Jean are the only one who stay behind with Hange, everyone else has moved to the Queen's living room, but Hange-san- doesn't seem to be insulted by it in the slightest. On the contrary, her eye shines brightly, as she shares with Armin and Jean her latest discoveries.

And it's- invigorating, she pulls them into her orbit so swiftly Armin barely notices it. She's brilliant - in every way, one of the few people who can interest him and not only keep up with him in a conversation, but actually pose a challenge to his intellect.

But it's all too soon, unfortunately, that the others come back. Armin is nearly devastated that their conversation was cut off too short. And his surprise is enormous, when he learns that they've been talking for almost two hours.

"There," Captain Levi is by Hange's side in an instant, eerily quiet despite his wheelchair. He puts a cup of tea before her, and pushes it closer insistently. "Your throat must be dry like sand, from all that talking."

And that tiny moment - Armin knows it too; Annie always brings him coffee and cookies, when he has to deal with paperwork for too long. What does it mean, he thinks, that his relationship with Annie resembles that between his ex-superiors so much?

Hange thanks Levi with a small tap on his shoulder and quiet smile, grateful but not surprised in the slightest, like that same scene between them had replayed a dozen of times before.

It had, now Armin he remembers it swiftly: the many-many nights he had spent in the office of Commander Hange and Captain Levi, who despite his own numerous duties, had always found the time to ensure that their brave leader remained sated and healthy. And even now it doesn't seem to change, even though duty doesn't bound them anymore.

This loyalty- is inspiring, if nothing more. And begs for a few questions.

Is it - just friendship and loyalty? Or is there something bigger that they up until now has been oblivious to?

"Forgive me, my dears," Hange's gentle voice cuts through his convoluting thoughts. "I would love nothing more than to stay and chat with all of you for a little longer, but there are others who, I'm sure, have missing us even more. And though I'm quite positive they are in no hurry," her smiles wobbles, ever so slightly, and Captain presses a finger to her forearm, offering his silent support. "I'm as eager as ever to talk to them."

"She'd bore Berner to the second death with her lectures," Levi snorts, and his joke, as deadpan as it is, lifts the mood in the room once again.

"You have my full permission," Hange huffs lightheadedly, "to request the kids' help and drag me back home."

"Don't think I won't do it, four-eyes," Captain warns, and Hange laughs, as she stands up.

And Armin notices instantly - something's not right. Or, more precisely, something is not the way it used to be. Before Hange stood with her back straight, and only in moments of deep concentration or awful exhaustion could she allow herself to relax her posture and put a hand on her hip.

Now, though, she stands with a hand on her side, prepping up her back, and her stance- is not exhausted, not exactly, but it's not utterly relaxed either. Hange carries herself strangely, as though her own body has grown unfamiliar to her.

As though she is dragged down by a weight that wasn't there before.

Armin knows, he's not seeing things, everyone noticed it too and now all of them wear the almost identical lost expressions. Silence over the rooms, drags on forward, wedges on a side of being uncomfortable, almost tense, but-

The day is saved flawlessly, by their amazing Queen.

"Don't forget to come over for tea," Historia says, and Armin blinks, shifting his intense (creepy, Annie's voice chides in his head) gaze from Hange's stomach. "The little one can't eager to meet you."

"Oh, we won't be strangers, don't worry," Hange puts on her hat, then helps Levi with his. Armin watches it keenly, something akin to revelation brewing inside him. "Armin, Jean and I yet have much to discuss, and I'm sure-" she giggles, patting Levi's shoulder. "Our shorty will undoubtedly find some errand for the others to run with him."

"We'll be honoured," Jean slightly bowes, and Hange smiles at him one last time, before helping Levi with making their exit.

A bit of silence follows, before Connie asks, as unsure as Armin himself feels, "So Hange-san... she's eating well?"

"Connie!" Sasha shrieks and slaps him on the arm. "You can't say things like that!"

"But he's right," Mikasa says quietly. "Hange-san does seem..." she falters, not quite finding the suited word.

"A bit chubbier?" Jean comes to the rescue, wincing as he does so. "Plumpier?"

"She must be eating something real tasty..." Sasha whispers, her eyes lightening up almost fervently.

And he's the one with a creepy smile, Armin shakes his head. At imaginary Annie in his head and at his friends too. They're wrong, Armin thinks, Hange got more round, that's true. But that's not the core of the problem, that's not what has changed. Then what exactly has changed?

"You dimwits," Historia chides softly. Her eyes twinkle brightly, like she knows something they don't. Perhaps, she truly does. Armin waits with a baited breath. "Hange-san isn't fat. She is pregnant."

Again, the silence follows. But this one is broken by Connie's loud yell.

"What!"

And accompanied by Jean's disbelieving. "Hange-san? It can't be!"

"No, no," Sasha shakes her head. "Historia might just be right. I remember when mom was pregnant with my little bro. She looked a lot like Hange-san does now, at least, in the beginning. Oh no," she draws a hand across her face, takes a deep breath, "she really is pregnant. We are going to have a little brother."

"Or a sister," Jean objects.

"Or maybe both!" Connie finishes merrily.

They all share a smile that diminish, when Mikasa, innocently sipping on her tea, asks, "Who do you think is the father?"

Jean chokes on his own tea, and Armin too is shocked to the core by that seemingly logical question. Of course, if Hange-san is pregnant, then someone else must be involved in the process. It is perfectly logical, natural. But somehow just thinking about it gives Armin a whiplash.

"So..." Connie drums his fingers against the table. "Drinks at our place?"

They all nod eagerly.

---

Opinions were passed around the table, along with the alcohol.

"Maybe, it's Onyankopon?" Historia offers, thanking Connie for pouring her a glass of sweet wine. "They used to be pretty close..."

"Wouldn't he come with her to the island then?" Jean reasons. "Onyankopon seems like a good man, and a good man would never do that. If I ever got someone pregnant," he declares, and even tipsy, Armin doesn't miss the look of longing Jean sends Mikasa's way. "I wouldn't abandon them even for a second."

He makes sense, ruining Historia's theory, and they all drink to that, each staring into their glass.

"Then..." Sasha tries. "Hange-san met someone during her travels?"

"Why didn't she introduced them to us?" Mikasa questions. "Besides," she softly chuckles, playing with a rim of her glass. "I think Captain would have had that someone else's head, if they treated Hange-san so negligently."

Armin takes another sip of wine as he mulls over it. Would their Captain, who is famous for looking after oftentimes careless scientist, really let someone get so close to her? Armin tries to imagine it, along with a scene of Captain giving that someone the good old 'if you ever hurt her' speech. He is not a proud man, and he admits readily that if he were that someone, he'd probably shit his pants. As Captain would have called it.

But if it's not someone new...

"I've got it!" Connie yells out suddenly, slamming a palm on the table and startling everyone around it. "It's Flegel!"

"Flegel?" everyone mouths the name in confusion, and only Historia seems to know the man behind that name. She makes a face at the mere mention, a quiet whine slipping from her lips.

They all - almost simultaneously - turn to look at her.

"He's a son of that bastard Reeves," she says, and both her and Armin take a gulp of wine, washing down unwanted memories. "He's a nicer man than his father, though. And I know he's very fond of Hange-san, but ugh..." she shakes her head. "He's such a bother! Comes to my office almost daily, requesting permission for this and that."

"He's- fond of Hange-san?" Sasha asks, the rest of Historia's words flying right through her. "He is the father then! Hange-san must come to the island to reunite with him."

Armin has a dozen - or even more - arguments against this particular claim, but all of them are just on the verge of being past tipsy, so when Connie proposes to go and talk with that Flegel, no one finds the words to protest.

---

The evening already rolls around, the setting sun throwing red beams on the walls, when they finally reach Flegel's home in the capital. It is not just a house, though, Armin notes. It looks more like a mansion, and that observation- gives him a pause.

He can imagine a child playing in that pretty garden they pass through on their way to the front door quite clearly, he can even see Hange-san, elbow deep in the soil, getting out only to write down some notes. But he cannot, for the love of him, picture Hange-san and her baby - almost identical ball of energy - existing in this giant house that is as grand as it is soulless.

The little cabin he knows Hange shares with Captain Levi seems so much like her. Does she really love that Flegel then?

The light in the house is on, when their group approaches, and Sasha quickly glances over at Connie, before she knocks on a door.

The man opens it after a moment, smiling expectantly. A butler, Armin guesses, although this one is dressed far more casually than the one that works for Historia.

"How can I help you?" the man asks. His eyes scan their group, until finally- they find its target. His smile grows tenfold, as he cries out, "Your Majesty! It is such an honor!"

He opens the door wider, letting them pass, and frets over Historia's outwear and her drink of choice, before he darts away, calling out Flegel's name.

They all hold their breathes, waiting for Flegel to emerge and hoping - that he'd do so with Hange by his side.

When Flegel comes out to greet them, he really isn't alone. A hand is wrapped around his waist, but it's not Hange's, it's- the butler's that actually isn't a butler.

Some sigh, some shake their heads, disappointed, Connie actually curses out loud, and Flegel watches them with growing confusion, stuttering out a quiet, "M-my Queen?"

"Forgive us for interrupting your evening," Historia recovers swiftly and smiles, the literal picture of grace. "But I've been just telling my friends about your wonderful wine..."

"Not another word!" Flegel raises a finger. "I don't have much at my place, but the best bottle yet is in my cellar, I'll have it brought to you in just a moment."

He turns to his servant, barking orders, and im meanwhile Historia shrugs and looks at her friends.

"At least, we got more wine," she mouths.

It is a disappointingly small conciliation, but- good wine is hard to come by. Hopefully, it'll be just sweet enough to wash away the bitter taste of their disappointment.

---

The bottle of Flegel Reeves' best wine expends fairly quickly, on a bench near the oak tree. Connie is just finishing the last drop, when he starts swinging the bottle around, and yells out, "That Flegel! Old bastard! Jean, me and you," he pulls Jean in by his shoulder, and hard as he tries to resist his friend, Jean simply is not strong enough to do so. "We should have beaten him up, for our Hange-san! How dares he-"

"Connie, Connie," Sasha shushes him, and carefully takes the bottle away, passing it onto Mikasa. "You realize that Flegel isn't the father? He isn't cheating on Hange-san."

"Oh..." Connie's eyes round up. All his anger melts instantly. He tilts his head, looking up at Sasha. "He's not?"

"No, you blabbering idiot," Jean smacks him on the head, now finally having strength to pull away. "We're back to square one, with no clue who is the father."

"Maybe, we can just ask?" Mikasa says simply. Everyone gawks at her - despite the simplicity of her solution. To add to their flabbergasted state, she adds, "Actually, I'm pretty sure that Hange-san will tell us everything herself."

Mikasa is a genius, Armin decides, and all of them are bunch of idiots. What mystery are they even trying to solve, if in due time, it all will come out anyway?

"You are our guiding light," he whispers to her, presses a kiss to her hand, and, while Mikasa is blushing prettily, Jean is getting lost in watching it, and Historia is bickering with Sasha and Connie, he leaves their ranks, to head to the bakery that is just a street away.

He might come home late, terribly drunk and embarrassing, but at least, he'll come home with the cinnamon rolls his fiance had asked him for.

He tries to be swift as possible about it, not wanting to leave his friends alone for too long, but by the time he comes back, he finds them all back on their feet, moving away from that bench they were sitting with clear intent in their stride.

Hugging the package from bakery to his chest tightly, Armin catches up with them, and at his question that comes out, accompanied by a heavy pant, Connie answers, "Historia got us a hefty discount. We're going to the best restaurant in whole Sina!"

"Hey!" Sasha kicks him, and Connie quickly corrects himself, "Best restaurant in whole Sina, after Niccolo's, of course."

Armin hums, and follows after them contently. Of course, he'd be just - if not more - content to go home to his Annie, but it's so rare when all of them gather together like this, and even rarer when the cause for it is something so lighthearted.

The restaurant is packed, naturally, but after just one smile from Historia, the stuff find them a table and swear to bring their orders in almost no time.

Armin twiddles his thumbs, half-heartedly participating in a conversation with Jean and Historia, and looks around the room. The guests here are dressed so much better than him that he almost feels embarressed. One couple, however, stands out of the crowd, their fashion actually very similar to Armin. He squints his eyes, trying to get a better a look at them, when-

"Guys!" Connie outpaces him, attracting everyone's attention. He motions them to get closer, his voice hushed and excited, as he says, "It's them! It's Hange-san and Captain Levi! They're here!"

Instantly, all of them turn their heads in that direction, and become witnesses to Hange feeding Levi her soup. The mere act of their stoic Captain having someone to spoon-feed him is startling enough, but then, as if previous deed wasn't enough, a small drip of soup trickles down his face, and Hange-san, with no hesitation at all, licks it away and then presses a kiss to the same place.

Their table is engulfed in silence, as they stare at the scene, eyes getting rounder and rounder, because Levi - their Captain Levi, who made them clean toilets if he noticed a single speck of dirt on the floor - doesn't slap Hange's hands away, doesn't hiss and curse, barely chastices her. And then they carry on, with whatever conversation they were having. As if nothing have happened.

"My god..." Sasha mumbles, barely above a whisper. "So Captain and Hange-san- are they together? He is the father?"

"Looks like we're getting an actual sibling," Connie jokes, but no one laughs, too shocked to do so.

Armin is bewildered himself. It makes sense, he supposes, they live together, after all, they've been by each other's side even before he got to know them, but somehow this simple truth... appears too fantastical to be true.

Hange-san and Captain Levi, they were together for so long that the fact that they are, in fact, together sends them all in turmoil. But it's quite logical, on the other hand. They were just too blind to see.

"Should we let them know that we know?" Historia asks, leaning over the table. "Congratulate them or something?"

"No need," they all jump in their seats, when that voice appears. How can he remain so quiet, even on a wheelchair will be forever a mystery to Armin. "You brats are just as loud as you always were."

"But they've grown more observed," Hange says, and when Jean notices that she too has approached, he scooches over to let her sit down. She does, with a heavy sigh. "We were going to tell you tomorrow," she says, her hand quickly, seemingly without her even realizing it, wrapping around Levi's. Another hand falls on her stomach. "But I'm glad you've figured it out yourselves."

"Saves us the trouble," Levi grumbles.

"And makes me proud for raising you that way," Hange adds, smiling softly.

"So..." Historia begins cautiously, but practically brimming with excitement. "When is the wedding?"

"The wedding?" Hange and Levi share a look. Both seem utterly confused at the question. "We don't need it."

"But it's the wedding!" Sasha urges on, even though the rest hang their hands in disappoinment. "Surely you need it - to celebrate you, get rings and..."

"Oi," Levi raises a hand, halting her. "We said we don't need it."

"What's the point in a second wedding anyway?" Hange laughs, and everyone's jaws touch the ground.

"What!" Sasha all but shrieks. "What do you mean a second wedding? Was there a first one?"

"Naturally," Hange nods. "A long time ago, of course..." she tugs on Levi's hand. "When we had done it?"

"Just after Maria fell."

"Oh, right, I almost forgot," she shakes her head, minutively tilting it to give Levi a wistful smile. "Too much tragedies for our lives, I'm afraid."

While two adults bask in their affection, Armin drags his gaze away from the scene and stares at his friends in confusion. Captain Levi and Hange-san are married, have been way before they even joined Survey Corps? How is that possible? How did they not notice, not a single sign of it?

"And you've said they're sharp," Levi tuts, noticing their long faces. "We'd be shitty soldiers," he explains to them, "if we shouted about our feelings."

"And it became even more complicated when I was outranking Levi... Reputation and all that, kids," Hange chuckles. "Really important, even in the army."

"So you two..." Armin stummers, in disbelief. "All this time?"

"I'm surprised you haven't figured it all out." Hange says. "We weren't exactly subtle."

But all of them were too blind to see. Now that he knows the whole truth, though, certain moments take different shapes.

"Well, it's been fun," Levi announces, as he pulls on Hange's hand. "But as all of you now know, someone needs to rest a lot."

"Yeah, we'll be going," Hange agrees, standing up to wrap her hands around the handles of Levi's wheelchair. Jean jumps up to offer his help, but instantly, Hange waves him off. "Go and have fun, my dear, I'll take him home just fine. I mean-" she laughs, and the sound is so merry that everyone joins in. "What kind of a person can't take her husband home? Have a good evening. And," she fixes Armin with a look, "Hangover or not, I expect you in my office next morning."

"Yes!" Armin cries out, forgetting himself for a moment and almost giving Hange a salute. But then he remembers something else, a moment from a long time ago, and gathers the courage to ask aboit it, before Hange exits the room. "Oh, and by the way, Hange-san? Remember that time when a table broke in your office. Was that-"

"Oh yeah!" she throws her head back, laughter carrying all over the restaurant. "Levi fucked me real good then."

They leave without saying another word, but Armin and his friends stay, digesting the information. They first stare dumbly at the table, then look up to look each other in the eyes.

It is Jean who breaks the tense silence.

"Another bottle?"

"Oh god, yes," comes an instant reply.

#levihan

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becauseicantthinkwritings · 1 year

Note

Chelsea, love, help. Eddie is stuck in my brain

Imagine him having kept the first ring he ever got, it's a simple band with drawings engraved on it, looks good but it's a bit small for him now, so he keeps it away in his bedroom

Then you two get together, after a while he gives you this ring, as a promise of some sort, he jokes and tells you it's to make you a bit more rock but really he is a big softy, for him it makes you his

The problem is, it's just a tiny bit big on you, so if you are not careful it will slip and you'll lose it, so you wear it on a chain around your neck

That's where things get spicy

Corroded Coffin gets a bit more known, more people come to see them play, and you are happy for them, you really are ! But you can't help but feel a bit jealous of the girls coming to see them, and more specificly those coming to see HIM. When you talk about it to Eddie he just laugh and calls you his silly girl before slipping his finger up your skirt to make you come on his skilled fingers

"C'mon princess, you know you're the only one I see"

Then his eyes lands on the ring around your neck and his smile widen, you prepare yourself for the worst. You whine when he takes his fingers out of you, he simply shush you, but you grab his wrists when you feel him takes the chain off. In your foggy state it makes you panic having him take it away

"Wh-what are you doing ?"

"Tut-tut princess, you trust me right ? I'm going to make sure you never forget how much I love you"

You eyes widen when you see him takes the ring lower and lower, and gasp when you feel him sliding the ring into you, the chain dangling out of your cunt. He put your panties back and gives a firm pat on it.

"Better right ? Be good now"

He kissed your forehead before being called to go on the scene and play. You stay the evening sat on a chair, doing your very best not to squirm, feeling the ring moving in you at every move, it's even worse watching him in his element. You've seen him play many times before, but you don't know if it's the ring up your pussy, or if it's just him, but you feel like he is playing better than ever and being hotter than ever, with his sweat dripping down his body or the muscles of his arm flexing on the guitar. When they're done the crowed is cheering for them, and he gives you a wink, the bastard knowing perfectly well how your are feeling.

This time when girls are coming to him at the end of the show, you do not feel a ounce of jealousy as you have to force yourself not to moan when you stand up.

BUT NOW IMAGINE HIM TAKING YOU AFTER THE SHOW

Sliding the ring off you by the chain -slooowly- for you to feel it travel out of you, and fucking you into oblivion for being such a well behaved good girl and because of the adrenaline of after-show, and going so so hard, making you have orgasms so powerful, muffling your screams with his big hand, that you can't even walk the next day

From that point on, he put the ring in you at every concert, saying it's his new found lucky charm. And it does work.

Anyway I slept well

-🌧️

😱😱😱

Goodbye my soul has left my body

#ask #eddie munson #joe quinn #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #🌧 anon #🌧

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wonderlandleighleigh · 2 years

Note

midge/lenny angst — maybe a relapse or her helping him get clean after Carnegie (i love pain apparently)

"I have a question."

They're lying on his bed, both of them freshly showered, listening to the rain outside of his window. He's mostly lucid now, after forty-eight hours of withdrawal, having struggled through the worst of the shakes and the dizziness and the rage and sickness.

"Yeah?" he asks.

She turns to him, curling in on herself a little. "Does it always rain in LA, or just when I'm here."

Lenny grins a little and gazes at her. "You brought the weather."

She sits up and leans over him, looking him over as she brushes at his messy hair. "You look better. More color in your cheeks."

"I'm not dead yet," he quips lightly.

"Maybe you'll be able to eat something later today," Midge suggests.

"Yeah," Lenny nods, sitting up slowly, feeling a little lightheaded. "Midge."

She looks at him curiously.

"You didn't have to do this," he tells her. "Come here."

"You called me," she says simply.

"Yeah, but-"

"You called me and you said 'I'm sorry. I love you,'" she reminds him gently. "And those aren't words someone says in the same breath when they're okay. So I came."

"Four jokes about the other kind of coming just flew through my brains."

Midge laughs softly. "You are feeling better."

He nods. "So you can go home soon."

She hesitates.

"What?"

"What happens when I leave?" she asks softly.

"Life, I assume," he shrugs.

"You know what I mean."

Lenny takes a breath. "I wish I could promise...I want to promise..."

"Come home with me," Midge says.

He wrinkles his forehead. "What?"

"Pack up Kitty," she urges. "Come back to New York."

"Midge..."

She smiles sadly. "Wishful thinking, I guess."

"I'll think about it," he tells her. "That I can actually promise."

"I'll take it," she says, kissing his cheek.

#fic #au #angst #Midge/Lenny #Midge x Lenny #tmmm

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djino04 · 1 year

Text

Injury 2

Author's note : Someone asked for the sequel to "Injury", here it is. I'm not particularly a fan of this chapter, but nothing better came out of my head.

POV Farah

It's finally summer vacation and I've been alone at school since this morning. The students have of course gone home. Ben, Terra and Sam have gone back to Rose, as they do every year. And I managed to persuade Saul and Sky to go away together for a few days. I hope this little trip will give them a chance to work things out. They're both hurting from the current state of their relationship, but I know he's not yet ready to forgive his foster father. Maybe the change of scenery will do him good.

It feels strange to be alone here. In 18 years, it's rarely been like this. And besides, since my return, the students have been very clingy. And when it wasn't them, it was Saul or Ben.

Every few minutes I look up at the door, expecting one of the fairies to knock and then I remember that they all went home. I really thought I could finally get on with the paperwork, but I was wrong. I guess I might as well go to my quarters and relax.

I quickly put the papers away on my desk when I hear my phone ring. I frown as I see Saul's satellite phone number. He already called me 30 minutes ago to complain about Sky's behavior. Although in real life, I know he did it mostly to see how I was doing. At this distance, our connection doesn't work very well, so he needed that to reassure himself. I can't even imagine how he felt the moment I died. What I do know is that his protectiveness has increased tenfold since my return. To be perfectly honest, I don't mind so much that it's coming from him, although I will continue to grumble for the sake of it. Which I do, by the way, as I pick up the phone:

"Saul, I'm past the age of needing a babysitter."

"Aunt Farah..."

It's not Saul on the other end of the phone but Sky, a very concerned Sky from the sound of his voice, not to mention the fact that he hasn't called me by that nickname since he became a student at Alfea. I then fear the worst but try to stay calm as I ask him:

"Sky, what's going on? Where's Saul?"

"He's hurt. The wood stock collapsed on him. I think he has a concussion."

"Is he conscious?"

"He was when I left him. But now I don't know, I'm at the car."

A plan of action quickly begins to form in my head and I explain it to Sky:

"Okay, join your dad Sky, keep him conscious and don't move him for now. I'll get the supplies I need and come through the portal, okay? Everything will be fine, I promise."

After assuring him again that I'll be there soon, I hang up. I could have stayed on the phone with Sky to reassure him, but it would have taken me longer to get everything ready. On top of that, I want him to focus on Saul to keep him awake. It only takes me about ten minutes to get everything I need and create a portal to the hunting cabin. It's a good thing my specialist took me there a few years ago, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to do it.

As I walk through the portal, I immediately feel Saul's pain through our connection. I am reassured that they are not too serious and that I should be able to deal with the injuries without Ben. Despite the rain and wind, I run to what's left of the cabin. Once there, I hear Sky's voice but also Saul's as they both talk. The younger one looks up at me when he notices my presence and simply says:

"Aunt Farah."

I see Saul trying to straighten up and I put a hand on his shoulder as soon as I'm beside him:

"Just lie there while I check to see that you didn't do anything bad this time. You'll have to tell me how you manage to find trouble even on vacation."

He lies down again without protesting and answers me:

"Maybe this wouldn't happen if you agreed to go on vacation with us."

I simply reply with a smile. It is true that I often let the two men go together and sometimes join them later. Sky needs to have Saul all to himself from time to time. Which happens more and more rarely now that he is a student and no longer sleeps in his foster father's apartments. And I'm sure Saul really appreciates this time alone as well.

I use my magic to scan his body and assess the damage. I'm reassured to see that other than the concussion, he's not hurt badly. He has some bruises, a few cuts, and he's going to be stiff for several days, but it could be worse. Most importantly, we'll be able to move him safely. We are all soaked and there is no point in us adding a cold or worse to the list of problems.

I quickly explain my findings to the two men:

"Other than the concussion, I didn't find anything serious. We're going to be able to get into the house and out of these wet clothes. I brought a potion that should help with your head and some things for the cuts and bruises. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

Saul starts to straighten up and I can see a slight grimace of pain appear on his face before he hides it. I know he's not going to want to let me take his pain so I don't even offer. Sky gets on one side and I get on the other and we help Saul get up and then walk towards the house and to his room.

Once we arrive and Saul is sitting on the bed, I turn to Sky:

"Sky, go change, take a hot shower if you're cold. I'll take care of Saul."

I can see that the boy hesitates for a few seconds. He glances at Saul. The latter gives him a reassuring smile:

"I'm fine now. You did a good job, thanks. Now go get changed like Farah told you."

Obviously, this is what Sky needed to hear because he quickly exits the room. I then turn to Saul, potions in hand:

"To us both."

I hand him a vial, which he takes with a suspicious look:

"It's not that I don't trust you but uh, are you sure about this?"

"Just because I missed a potion once doesn't mean it'll happen every time. And anyway, it was Ben who made it so there's no risk."

Once, just once, I messed up making a healing potion like this. Andreas and Saul were sick all day and then neither of them would ever take one of my potions. What they don't know is that they've drunk several since then. The dark-haired guy looks at me for a second longer before drinking the potion straight down with a grimace. But even though it's not good, its effect is almost instantaneous. I hear him sigh with relief and feel the pain recede.

"See, there was nothing to worry about. Come on now, let's hit the shower too. I'll take care of the rest afterwards."

I don't even ask him if he's able to shower or not because I know he'll say yes anyway. He has a slight tendency to underestimate his injuries. After finding him passed out twice in the bathroom, I have learned to assess his condition from our bond. More importantly, I use it to monitor him throughout his recovery, no matter how slightly or severely injured he is. When Saul figured it out, he started blocking his part of the bond in those moments and I think that was one of the only times we really argued. If he can't be honest about his injuries, I need a way to know how he's doing. He eventually figured out that I wasn't doing this to invade his privacy and has left the link open every time since.

I am brought out of my thoughts by Sky coming over and sitting next to me. I can see that all of this has upset him. It's not surprising, especially with everything he's been through this year, including Andreas' death. I put an arm around his shoulders and he comes to lean against me. I ask him:

"How are you doing?"

"You know I'm not the one who got hurt?"

I smile gently at him:

"You know, you don't have to be physically hurt to not be okay. I know the last few months have been hard on you. And what just happened may have messed you up."

He shrugs:

"I'm not a kid anymore."

No, he's not really one anymore because of Rosalind. These kids have been through war in the last year. And Sky had to kill her biological father with his own hand to protect his adoptive father. There is a lot to be upset about, child or not. That's why I say to him:

"You don't have to be a child to be upset about things. It's perfectly normal to be scared when you see someone you love being hurt. I was scared when you called me and then when I saw Saul lying on the floor."

He looks at me with a raised eyebrow:

"You seemed very calm though."

"Being scared is not the same as panicking Sky. It's in the moments of fear where you have to step back and think so you don't make the wrong decision. That's what you did, you called me and Saul is fine because of you. But you know being an adult is also about dealing with problems by talking things through instead of letting your anger out. "

Our conversation is stopped by Saul stepping out of the shower, shirtless. I can quickly see that I was not mistaken, there are some bruises and cuts that deserve a balm but nothing too bad. After a good night's sleep, he'll be almost as good as new and he'll be fit enough to finally have a good conversation with Sky. That is, if he is ready.

#saul silva #sky of eraklyon #farah dowling #fic #fate: the winx saga #fate the winx saga

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