it’s the sound that tips him off.
it’s late, half-past hell by his last count, and mactavish knows there shouldn’t be a single soul in the showers this time of night. though he’s sure if he asked, he’d be told a soul isn’t in there.
just a ghost.
he almost chokes on the thick steam filling the locker room; humid and hazy and the perfect cover. or it would be, if the man collapsed in the far stall cared about hiding.
mactavish hates himself a little for the low sigh that falls from his lips. he wishes he wasn't so disappointed; that the promises he's heard over and over and watched be broken as many times hadn't wedged their way into his heart and convinced him that maybe, maybe this could be the time it sticks.
he doesn't know what's worse; the disappointment or the lack of surprise.
he holds his breath through the steam and leans over the limp body; stinging hot water hitting his back, instantly soaking through his clothes and already starting to burn. he flicks the tap enough to take the bulk of the heat out and straightens; a groan startling out of the man beneath him at the sudden lash of tepid water.
mactavish crouches, knees clicking and hooks a hand under his bicep to pull him up straight against the wall. if there was any vomit on his skin, it's been washed away by the pelting stream and he supposes he can count himself lucky for that. he tilts his limp head back and slips his fingers into his mouth; holding down his tongue and ignores the way it lazily jolts under his fingers to check his airway.
clear.
another small victory.
mactavish pulls his fingers out and cups his chin, keeping him tilted up and moves in the way of the water again so he can pull at his eyelid.
the eye he's met with is cloudy, so dilated there's hardly a ring of blue left.
he sighs again; hand falling away and letting his eye fall shut. "god damnit, riley."
riley moans, all his weight resting on the hand holding his jaw.
"aye, 'm talking ‘bout you," he grunts tiredly.
he lets riley's head fall forward to grab his arm, pulling him away from the wall to sit behind him; propping his body up against his chest. he leans his head back over his shoulder, keeping his face out of the water and his airway open just in case he hasn't actually finished throwing up.
he takes the rag riley'd half-managed to soap up and mechanically runs it over him; cataloguing new bruises and cuts and checking if the old ones are healing. sickly yellow fingerprints ring his hips, red splotches paint his ribs; too new to have settled into the deep purple he knows they’ll become.
riley slowly makes more noise as he rubs life into his body; still lying limp against his front but his head's starting to roll restlessly on his shoulder. he swipes between his legs and carefully doesn't think a single thing about what he finds.
"sean?" he rasps and mactavish's hand stills; eyes falling shut. he bites his check, hand clenching around the rag tight enough to shake and breathes hard out his nose.
he doesn't say a word, just forces himself to go back to cleaning.
he's not sure what would come out of his mouth if he did.
riley isn't conscious enough to hear him anyway.
he runs his fingers over his inner elbows for tracks and manages to muster some relief when he doesn't find any. seems to be a pill and booze night; far from the worst condition he's found him in.
he rinses him off, running a curtesy hand over his shaved head only for it to fall back to his jaw; his thumb stroking over the thick scar carved into his cheek.
"you gotta stop doin' this," he whispers.
he isn’t sure if he’s talking to riley or himself.
mactavish gathers up riley's too-light body into his arms and turns off the shower. his head lolls into his throat and he throws a towel over his dripping body and another over his shoulder. it doesn't stop him from tracking water all the way to his quarters but he'd like to see someone try to put in a complaint about it.
he lays out the other towel on the bed and sets riley down; moving his body into the recovery position in an all-too familiar routine. he dries him enough that he won't soak the covers as he pulls them up to his chest and kicks the waste bin within grabbing distance of the bed.
he goes to pull off his sodden clothes when a different noise makes him freeze.
a low sniffle.
mactavish slowly turns back to the bed to find riley's eyes squinting open; glazed with tears as he kneads at the covers.
he stares at him for a moment as he looks around the room and those hazy eyes lock on him for the first time. "cap'n?"
he swallows. "aye; s'just me, riley."
his hand pokes out from under the covers and for all the promises he's made himself - all the “never again”s and “this is the last time”s - at the end of the day, he's weak.
he sits on the side of the bed and takes riley's hand in his; already so cold after nearly boiling himself alive.
"y' mad a' me?" he sniffs.
mactavish runs his tongue over his lip and slowly shakes his head. "no, i'm not mad at you."
"prom'se?" he pushes.
he reaches out and caresses his temple with his thumb. his hand almost covers his head and it cuts like a knife to remember just how small riley is. "aye," he says, hushed. "i promise."
riley's eyes fall shut, voicelessly murmuring 'promise’ to himself over and over.
"I’ll ge’ bett'r," he slurs and between one breath and the next, he's out.
mactavish sighs, running his hand in a final pass over his head and stares at a face that looks so much younger in sleep; bruised and sallow skin hidden in the shadows. "i know you will."
he presses a slow kiss to his forehead, shutting his eyes against the grief that wells in his heart and gets up to pull a chair over to the bed; settling in for another long night's vigil of watching his broken lieutenant sleep, ready to tilt him over if he throws up, eyes locked on the slow rise and fall of his chest fearing tonight may finally be the time it stops.
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I woke up this morning with a random thought in my mind.
In S3 I want a Wilmon intimate scene in Wille's room, in Wille's bed, but with the boys positioned with their heads towards the window (I'm going to elaborate, give me a minute).
We know that Wilhelm sleeps with his head on the window's side. But each time he is with Simon, both in S1 and S2, they lie in bed in the opposite way (their heads towards the door of the room).
In S1 I thought it was just for logistic/cinematic purposes: August wouldn't be able to see and film Simon's face if they were lying on the regular side: from outside the window he would only see their feet. In order to shoot that scene they needed to lie the other way round. But then they repeated this in S2 and it started to feel like a pattern.
I remember some analysis posts where a symbolic/metaphorical meaning was suggested. Something about them breaking the rules. In pursuing a queer relationship Wille does the exact opposite of what is expected from him, of what his role would impose him to do. Just by being in love with a guy and acting on his feelings, he defies the whole system on which monarchy and tradition are based. The two boys being positioned in a reversed way, then, could be the visual representation of their actual circumstances.
We don't know for sure if this was the authors' intention or it's just us, the fandom, reading too much into it, but I loved this interpretation and sticked to it. Given the level of attention to details in yr, however, chances are that the choice was intentional.
In that perspective, in S3 I would really like Wilmon to be intimate and happy together lying in the 'regular' position, as a metaphorical statement about their relationship being equal to and having the same validity and dignity as any other (and by 'other' I mean straight), as well as the representation that something has shifted in their dynamics (as it actually has, with them now being together and out).
That said, I will gladly take any intimacy scene they give me, in whatever context, place, and position. Just let them be happy and carefree for a split moment!
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Yall Danny pretends to be a dead mermaid just to fuck with people who don’t know anything about ghosts
People seeing his ghostly trail and calling it a tail. Maybe some dudebroblondechick asks “so do we all loose our legs when we die?” And hes just shocked for a moment before realising the gold he has struck. “I am a dead mermaid whos tail was stuck in trash floating the in ocean.” Maybe hes really acting it up “I couldnt escape and died” as he wipes a nonexistent tear.
Well enough people have asked about it that it’s a whole thing on the web. People claiming no hes not a mermaid look heres a photo with legs and then people saying that the leg photos are doctored by the government to hide the mermaids from the public. The mermaids we are clearly at war with because why else would our government keep letting us pollute like this. It’s clearly a war tactic to basically enlist people without having them know but having them consume so much plastics.
The attempt to remove plastic straws? Clearly a cry for help from the mermaids reaching out to humanity on California duh.
Sam loves it because now more people are becoming aware of their own part in polluting the world. But she also hates it because most of the crap going around is borderline flat earth esk theories. “Why did it take the illusion of having a big naturals mermaid bf to get people to start cleaning up the oceans”
Anyway long story short the most popular theory is that Phantom has both legs and a tail and is actually a catboy alien ghost cover up.
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