smother me in blankets

Hangover

Levi prided himself on his composure. After all, he’d been around the block many times and was not easily shaken or riled up. He disliked unnecessary drama and preferred to take on each of life’s challenges logically and sensibly. His rationality was one of his best traits, in his opinion.

However, all of that went out the window when he was hungover. Eren would never have believed it if he hadn’t seen the theatrics with his own two eyes.

“I’m dying,” Levi told him one Saturday morning after a night of heavy drinking. It had been Erwin’s birthday and both Eren and Levi may have overindulged on the free drinks.

Levi was curled up in ball under the blankets when Eren rolled over and rested his chin on the man’s shoulder. He had a bit of a headache but a glass of water or two and some breakfast would fix him up.

“Oh, please. You’re not dying, Levi.”

“Feels like it. Put me out of my misery, smother me with your pillow or something,” Levi whimpered, pulling the blanket over his head.

Eren rolled his eyes. “Come on, let’s get up and have something to eat. You’ll feel better in no time.”

Levi threw off the blankets and turned to glare at the brunet over his shoulder. “My stomach feels like it’s full of acid and you expect me to eat?” he hissed.

“Okay, for one, your stomach is supposed to be full of acid,” Eren pointed out, which only made Levi glare harder, “and two, eating something will probably help settle it. I’m gonna go make eggs. You want some?”

Levi rolled back over, making obnoxious barfing noises as he did.

“Suit yourself,” Eren laughed, shaking his head as he left the room. He came back several minutes later with a glass of water and an aspirin.

Levi sat up long enough to take the pill and sip some water before handing the glass back and flopping lifelessly onto the sheets, throwing Eren’s pillow over his face.

“I think this is the first time I’ve seen you hungover,” Eren said casually, placing the water onto the nightstand for the man to drink later.

Levi peaked at him from under the pillow and for the first time Eren noticed he was looking a little paler than usual.

“We drank the same amount and I feel alright,” The brunet went on, a cheeky grin on his face, and after a thoughtful pause, he added in a mock appalled tone, “your age is showing, Levi!”

He managed to duck in time, narrowly missing the pillow that zipped by his head, but caught the second one square in the face. Clutching the pillow to his chest, Eren laughed, knowing he was a safe distance from Levi’s wrath, and the fact that he was out of pillows to throw.

“Okay, I take it back, you’re as youthful and spry as ever.” He finally said between chuckles, meeting Levi’s scowl with a smile.

Levi gave a firm nod as if to say ‘damn right’ and then looked around the bed with a pout, realizing he had nowhere to lay his aching head now. He turned the most pitiful look on Eren and the brunet cocked a brow.

“Really? You’re gonna use the puppy eyes on me? I’m the master of the puppy eyes, I’m impervious,” He muttered, but even as he said it, he gathered the other pillow off the floor and brought them back to the bed, tucking one under Levi’s head. 

He pulled the blanket back up, tucking the older man in and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“I still love you, even though you’re a grumpy old man,” he said with a smirk.

“If you don’t shut up I’ll throw up on you,” Levi grumbled.

“Well, if you do that I’ll call Hanji and get them to come over here and take care of you,” Eren threatened.

Levi’s eyes widened dramatically and Eren bit back a laugh. The look of fear was quickly smothered by a glare and with a “hmph!” the shorter man rolled over and went back to sleep.

You know, it’s true what they say. That you don’t appreciate what you have until it’s gone. And now you’re gone and I’m lost and everything is just shades of black and white and grey. And I know it’s too late and you can’t hear me but I want to say it anyway. I need you to know that I loved you. Wholly, truly loved. I need you to know that I regret every time I prioritized something over you because nothing is more important than the time we had together. My regret is like a blanket smothering me every day and I’m too panicked to get out. I can’t escape this feeling and without you here I never will. I know all this now, I just wish I had known it then.
Yoosung Fanfiction #20: Cold

“Achoo!”

I blew my nose and crumpled the tissue paper in my hands, throwing it into the mountainous pile of more tissue paper in the wastebin next to the bed.

I was down with a flu and a fever. Great.

“I’m back!” Yoosung announced as he kicked the door to our room open. In his arms was a startlingly large pile of blankets that towered above his head. He began marching in a straight line towards the bed, before throwing the pile onto the empty side.

“Yoosung, you said you were just going to get one extra blanket,” I pointed out, gesturing to the ridiculous mess on the other side of the bed. 

“I guess I did,” he replied sheepishly, “but I figured a few extra ones couldn’t hurt.”

I stared dubiously at the messy heap next to me. “Yoosung, this is overkill.”

“Nonsense, you need all the warmth you can get!” Then he proceeded to pile the blankets over me, layer after layer, not listening to or interrupting any complaints I had bubbling in my throat. By the time he was done, the blankets were all the way up to my chin, and I was already sitting as straight as I could on the bed.

It took only a minute or two for beads of perspiration to start lining my forehead and upper lip.

“There, now you’re not cold anymore!” Yoosung grinned triumphantly to himself. “Now stay here while I get you some porridge for lunch.” Before I could say anything else he was out the room, clearly feeling good about himself.

I sighed. He always went overboard with these things. I was only down with a small cold and here he was panicking and fussing over me as if I was a terminally ill patient. With a huff, I lifted the heavy pile of blankets off of me and tossed it to the other side of the bed, relieved to feel the cool air against my skin once more.

My nose began to itch again and I reached clumsily for a tissue before covering my mouth and sneezing into it. I sneezed a couple more times — because sneezing once is never enough when you’re down with a cold — and unfortunately Yoosung must have heard me because he came running back in anxiously.

From the look on his face, you’d think a fire had just broken out.

“Are you okay? Why did you take the blankets off?” He was about to smother me with them again when I stopped him, raising my leg instead of my germ-covered hand to stop him from getting closer. “I’ll get heat stroke if I have to stay another minute under that,” I replied in an unusually nasal voice since I was pinching my nose to keep the mucus from flowing out. Yuck. “It’s just a cold, Yoosung. Nothing to worry about.”

“Of course I’m worried! You’re not feeling well and I have to do whatever I can to keep you from getting worse. I want you to recover as soon as you can,” he said, leaning down so his face was level with mine. He was frowning deeply, and I smiled as I pressed on the creases on his forehead with my thumb. “Thanks for your concern, Yoosung, but really, I’ll be fine.”

He still looked uncertain, but he seemed to finally realise the absurdity of his actions when he glanced over my shoulder to the pile of blankets on the bed. “Okay, fine, maybe I was going a little overboard—”

“Not just a little.”

“—but I just can’t help worrying about you. You’re just so important to me, and I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt or sick. I just… really treasure you.” Gently, he cupped my face. “You know that.”

I smiled, touching his hand and holding it there against my cheek. “I do. But you don’t have to treat me like I’m some sort of fragile doll all the time. I’ll recover in no time at all, so for the last time, stop panicking so much.”

Yoosung laughed and enveloped me in a hug. “Okay, okay, sorry about that.”

“Nothing to apologise for,” I said, squeezing him in return. “I really appreciate it, Yoosung. Thanks for caring so much, and for taking the day off even though you didn’t need to.”

“Of course I had to. I’m supposed to take care of you, remember?” he laughed, pulling away and sneaking a quick kiss on my lips.

My eyes widened in horror and I backed away from him, my hand reflexively going up to my lips. “Yoosung! I’m sick! You can’t just do that!”

“You said it’s nothing to worry about, didn’t you? And I just really wanted to kiss you… Come back here, I’m not done.”

“But—” I didn’t get to finish my protest because Yoosung simply tugged my arm, pulling me right back towards him and he captured my lips in a sweet kiss. I tried turning away but he kept a firm grip on my chin and held my body close to his with the hand on the small of my back. A few seconds later I lost any resolve to keep my germs away from him and simply allowed myself to melt into his kiss. Yoosung was strong yet gentle as he always was, and it seemed like he wanted to go further, until both of us detected the smell of something burning.

We broke apart immediately and both of our faces reflected absolute horror. “Yoosung—”

“THE PORRIDGE!” He quickly got to his feet and bolted out the door, and then I heard more screaming from the kitchen.

Ah, hell. Where did I put the fire extinguisher?


“I told you it would be a bad idea,” I said, sending the sheepish man in bed a flat stare. He opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a sneeze, and then another, and a couple more following that.

“Well, at least I get to be taken care of by you,” Yoosung sniffled, blowing his nose loudly. “Do I get a kiss?” he asked hopefully with a small pout.

Complying, I leaned in slowly. Yoosung perked up, delighted and reciprocated, already puckering up for a kiss.

But once our faces were inches apart I raised my hand and flicked him on the forehead. Hard.

“OUCH! What was that for?” he whined, rubbing at the reddening spot on his forehead.

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me. Well, he did deserve it. Yoosung never learned. “You’re not getting a kiss until you get well. I refuse to get sick again.”

“But— That’s so mean!”

“I’m going to make unburnt porridge now, so stay right here and don’t move, okay?”

“Hey!”

With that I spun around to leave the room, with the sound of Yoosung’s groaning behind me.

Crack

Disclaimer: Star Wars belongs to Lucasfilm.  

A/N: This is a little ditty is a late submission for han-leia-solo’s Hoth Day.  It fits neatly into the Never Will I Ever Universe.  Way late for Han and Leia week, but isn’t it always Han and Leia week?  

The blast door closes with a shuddering thud.  I feel it judder through my bones as if they are made out of ice just like everything else in this frozen world.  I wonder if they will collapse and shatter like the icicles that fall haphazardly from the ceiling.

It is so cold.  No matter how warmly I try to dress, the cold still seeps in.  It finds a seam or creeps in over your collar.  And there is nothing you can do about your face, save wear a mask.  And masks don’t seem to appeal these days.  

There is nothing to do here now.  There was nothing to do before, but it felt better to be near the door.  A little closer to them.

A few of the men linger, looking at me with concern etched into their expressions.  But it all leaves me cold.  I nod, cordially enough, but not inviting any more of their attention.  

I force my legs to move even though I feel an insistent tug from beyond the impenetrable blast door.  With every step it pulls me more, making my head hurt and my eyes water.  

Could I go out there?  

I run the scenarios in my head, just like I have been doing for the last two hours.  

The boy had rushed in and I had almost missed his words.  My head was still spinning and swimming from that awful fight in the hall.  From that awful man.

A tear slips out from under my control.  It races down my cheek and falls to the floor, startlingly hot against my freezing face.

“General Rieeken!” he called, panting and red from his race, “Captain Solo went out after Skywalker.”

I tried to make sense of this.  Luke was on a scouting mission.  Why would Han go after him?  My heart started beating, hitting a bass rhythm against my throat.

“What do you mean?”  It was my voice, hoarse against the pressure in my windpipe.

“Skywalker never returned.  The sun is going down, sir.  We have to close the base soon.  We tried to tell Solo…”

I was out the door before I heard another word, racing to the hanger.

Of course, there hadn’t been anything to do there but wait.  And think about the alternatives.  I am no soldier.  Not really.  I don’t know how to ride one of those things and I knew I couldn’t convince one of the pilots to take me out in a shuttle.  

But…

The more I think about them the more I feel myself retreat.  Away from the freezing cold.  Away from the harsh work lights and the clang of metal and men.  There’s some quiet space inside and I find some solace in it.  I’ll just stay here for a little while…

I feel a sudden rush of pain and fear.  The pain is so strong, it burns across my face.  My face?  And then snow.  Blissful.  Soft.  No…no…don’t fall asleep.  

But the pain and fear are fading and there is a deadly peace.  It smothers me like a blanket.  I try to push it off, but it clings and sticks until I burst away.  

My head jerks and my eyes catch a few curious gazes.  I should care, I should walk away…

But that quiet space is still there, and I feel drawn to it.  A moth to a silent flame.  

Anger, hot and violent, pulses through me.  My fists clench as I fight against it.  It feels like it will consume me if I don’t.  I push, urging it away, wrestling with it, but it only grows stronger.

I struggle against some invisible bond, I want to open my eyes, to cut this off…and yet.  It feels familiar somehow.  Intimidating but not unfriendly.  Why familiar?  I withdraw, trying to understand and it follows, suddenly curious too.  Then…Oh, Gods.  

My heart suddenly hurts.  It hurts so badly, I think it might break.  Maybe it is broken already.  And suddenly all I want is to make it better.  To soothe, to care for it.  Unbidden, I imagine my hands around it, feeling for the break, gentle, tender.  

I feel the ship behind me, cradling me like a babe, my knees suddenly weakening under the weight of something new.  I’ve never felt anything like it.  I don’t know what to call it but I don’t want to let it go.  It races around my body, leaving warm trails of tingling pleasure in its wake, filling me until I think I might…

Ben…Ben…

I hear it but don’t hear it, an echo on the edge of consciousness.  I can feel myself, slipping away, almost gone, the side of the ship so surprisingly soft.

But you’re not going the right way.  No.  No!  Turn.  Turn, my love.

Turn back.  Turn back.  That’s right.

My head hurts now.  His head.  It throbs in time with my heart in my throat.

Pain.  Cold.  Soft.

No!

A burst of adrenaline and triumph, sweet relief, the wave again crashing over me, into me.

And then I had woken.  Back into the cold, hard world where no one took any notice of me.

The pulling is too much.  By the time I reach my room, I have to lie down to try and dodge it.  But its insistent.  And part of me wants to close my eyes.  I have the odd feeling that if I just closed them, I would be pulled from this room out into the cold world again.

But I don’t close my eyes.  Rather I stare at the ceiling and shiver in terror.

It’s too much.  It’s all too much.

“Han,” I whisper, into the darkness.  To nothing.  To no one.

The tears start again, this time unchecked.  There is no one to see.  No one to care now.

I can see him, superimposed against the inky blackness.  I can see his face contorted in sarcastic dismissal,  I can see it suffused with rage.  Rage?  No.  But anger.  So much anger.  

My arms have found their way around themselves and I curl up on my side facing the wall.  Like so many nights, I feel a phantom with me, slink into the room, sliding formless arms around mine.  I try to shrug it off but I can’t.  I lean back into him, feel his lips against my hair and my neck, hear him whisper into my ear…

“Leia, Leia…”

Always my name, over and over, like a chant.  

I turn to him and look into his hazel eyes.  He’s smiling now, in a way I haven’t seem him smile lately.  Not since Ord Mantell, not since that painfully beautiful afternoon…

“Found you,” he says, as if playing a game.

“But you weren’t looking for me,” I say, trying to understand the logic.

“Wasn’t I?” he asks, with a slight frown.  

“No…” I breathe, not sure why I say it.  I want him to look for me.  I want him to care.

He shakes his head bemusedly, letting it go in that way he does.  

“The important thing is that we’re here,” he says before kissing my forehead.

I think my heart will break.  I think it will burst from joy.

“We aren’t anywhere,” I say even though I want to say so many other things.

He leans down and kisses my chest just above my heart.

“There you are,” he says against it, his warm breath burning me in a strangely pleasing way.

I move my hands to his hair.  His beautiful, soft hair that I feel so often in my dreams, but have never dared to touch in life.  How could I?

He lifts his head and comes closer.  How can there be any closer?  I feel like I can’t breathe.

“Are you proud of me?”  I can feel his words tickle my lips.  

“Yes,” I say, feeling my heart swell.  He is so brave, so fearless.  He makes me feel so safe.

“Do you want me?”  His cheek is against mine, rough and soft all at once.  I run my hands down his neck, past his shoulders, to his back.  I pull him hard against me.

“Always,” I am drunk on him.  I was hooked on my first sip.  

It seems I am about to take another.  His face is in front of me again, floating in the dark.  

“Do you love me?”  

I pitch forward, suddenly falling, scrambling against my sheets and flailing to regain my balance.  In a moment, I realize I am just on my bed.  The world has not tilted, gravity is still in tact.

But I am not.  

Love.  

I scrub my face with my hands.

Love.  

I crawl under the covers.

Love.  

I listen for the sound of voices outside my room.

Love.  

I hear nothing.

Love.

I shake my head, scrunching my eyes closed, willing myself to disappear.

But there is no where to go.  No where to run from what is in my heart.  I imagine cutting it out, digging in with a spoon and scooping the bloody remnants onto the pure white snow.

I hate him.  I hate him with every fiber of my being.  I hate him so much it almost feels like…

But then I remember the snow.  And the ice.  And the night outside.  There are a thousand ways to die in a night like that.  Which one would he choose?  

I consider each one.  I keep count.  I am up to eight hundred and seventy two when my comlink crackles and a voice pierces the deafening silence.

“Princess Leia, Skywalker and Solo have been recovered.  They’ve just arrived.”

My body shakes as I inch into a sitting position.  I rise so slowly, I almost give up and fall back.  But I grab for the door and it supports me enough to allow me to stand.  My head aches.  Everything aches.

But, the pull is back.  And it is so strong.  It draws me from my room, it drags me through the passage, it makes the chilly mourning wind rush by me as I streak through the hanger.

Luke looks bad.  So very bad.  He is silent, leaving me feeling empty inside, reaching for nothing.  Then they take him away and I am almost glad.  I can’t look at his empty form.

It takes me a flick to realize what I’m seeing now.  He’s straight across from me, standing in a snow jacket, chest heaving, hands on his knees.

I’ve never seen him like that.  Usually he is so cool.  

I imagine, in one dizzy moment, taking those hands and putting them on me.  Pushing myself against him until I can’t tell where he ends and I begin, losing myself in him and never resurfacing.  I can feel what it would be like, a sea of something warm and lovely.  I can almost break the surface, feeling very little resistance…

Then he smirks and I burn.  I burn so hot I feel like I might catch on fire.

I am walking to him, seeing red, needing to touch him so badly that I…

CRACK!

anonymous asked:

asthma sucks. do you have asthma? bc if you do, you'll understand the pain that is overwhelming my sick (probably bronchitis) ass at my grandma's house where they smoke and there's a thick layer of dust on 8/10 surfaces. put me out of my misery, mom.

Aww sweetheart. Let me smother you with long distance love and affections. *gives you extra blankets and a warm soup of your choosing* I don’t have asthma but I hope you feel better soon.

all the olive branches fell away with time and exposure to too much sun. ripped apart by people just in a rush to get to class or to get home to their wives. broken in the street i lay with all the trees with branches torn and the foghorns that Gabriel has come so close to blowing. i lay on the dark pavement whose coolness smothers me like a blanket too hot on a summer night. i lay looking at the moon knowing that she will fly down to meet me soon. i lay looking at the sky wishing that i had more time to say goodbye.

16 | indian

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every day i am told to keep my mouth shut when i begin to get heated about race. by white people. by white teenagers who don’t want to face the reality of the fact that in an english class, i am one of three people who is not caucasian. i am the only person who is even a shade of brown. i am told to shut the fuck up when i begin to speak about racism and how it has affected me as if they’re trying to smother the demon in a blanket of “oh, everyone feels this way, honey, it’s a teenager thing”. would they think the same if they were the only indian girl in a whitewashed town? would they really believe that racism does not exist and that their peers are progressive and flawless? i wonder. would they be able to see it if they’d been picked on for years, internalizing comments of, at age 9: “oh, you’re indian? i know this indian restaurant down the road, do you know the owners?” at age 16: “you did badly on that test? oh damn, then i KNOW i failed. you’re so smart.” at age 8: “why does your mom talk like that? can’t she speak english normally? you can.” at age 6: “ew, what’s the smell coming from your clothes? what are you eating? that looks so grosssss”. over a decade and a half of generalization and whitewashing, i no longer know what i am. all i want now is to fit in. i wonder if they’d see the racism if they lived through my years of shame for my chocolate skin. i still close my door when my mother cooks so the smell doesn’t get in my clothes. i wonder if the person i am is really me or if she’s the bleached version of me. i can’t tell the difference anymore. is it just a coincidence that i like black and white pictures of myself more than the color versions? 

The flu sucks. Utterly and completely sucks. And Emma was its next victim. She was kicking herself for refusing to get that flu shot. Everyone had tried to convince her, but she was her stubborn self and decided she was strong enough to fight it off if she caught it. Boy was she wrong. Oh so wrong.

Currently she was smothered under a cloud of blankets while some daytime soap opera was on the tv. Dirty tissues cluttered the bed, and she felt like death. But like hell was she going to stay here all day. This was the third day of bed rest, and she was losing her sanity. She decided to sneak out and make a break for it after Henry left for school.

She gave herself about 15 minutes after yelling her goodbyes, then threw off the sheets. She began putting on clothes, but the dizziness got to her and she slowed down. A process that took her normally 10 minutes was now bordering a half hour. She finally made it to the door and slammed into a black clad pirate.

She landed on her rear, and the hallway started spinning. It was a huge hit, and the next thing she knew, she was being picked up and put under those damn sheets. “Dammit Swan…” Is the last thing she heard before falling into a deep sleep.

—Later—

She woke up to a glorious smell. It was a smell of rosemary and chicken, and it made her stomach growl. She padded her way down the steps and saw Hook standing over the stove, humming to himself while cooking. The big bad pirate was cooking. She smiled to herself and then the coughing attack came. She hacked and he stopped what he was doing and raced to her side. “Swan? Darling, I know I’m fun to watch, but you should be in bed right now.” She gave him a glare and mumbled, “Don’t you dare make me go back in that bed.” He cocked an eyebrow and smiled. “Beds aren’t all that bad… I could make it worth your while?” And then she smacked him. Playfully, of course.

“Alright love, back to bed, come on.” He escorted her to the bedroom, and she focused on the hand he had on her lower back. How comfortable she felt with it there.

He helped her into the big bed, tucking her in, and then moved to drape the blankets on her. She groaned out loud and he paused. “What?” She pathetically said, “The blankets smother me. I had a nightmare last night that they strangled me.” He chuckled under his breath and leaned into her. “Emma, dear, I doubt that you would ever let a blanket hurt you. You’re far too stubborn for that.” She rolled her eyes and rolled on her side.

He left the room, and it was about 5 minutes before he came back in the room. She saw him back into it holding a tray. He made her chicken soup and had a glass next to it. “You made me food?” And that’s when she noticed the crimson red color creep up his neck and into his cheeks. He stammered, “It’s a recipe my mom made me when I was little. I had chronic colds, and this always made me feel better.” With that, he placed the tray on her lap.

“Now promise me you’ll stay in bed and focus on getting well.” He stared deeply into her eyes, maybe a little too long because before she knew it she blurted out, “As long as you promise staying.” A silence fell between them and she felt like crawling deeper under the sheets. Why the hell did she say that? Did she mean it? Hell if she knew, she decided she’d blame it on the meds. “Sorry, I’m drugged up on Nyquil, I have no idea what I’m saying–”“Yes.” He cut her off. His face was sincere, filled with concern and love. And it made her stomach flip. She swallowed, and apparently he caught on because he started covering for his answer. “I mean, of course, on one condition.” She sighed, here came the innuendo. “And what would that be, Captain?” “You better change the channel because I don’t think I can stand this horrible display of acting.” A huge smile tugged at the corner of her lips, and she let out a laugh, and of course it turned into coughing. Damn flu.

“Why did you come here?” She asked after the coughing subsided. Hook shifted, taking a seat in the chair next to her bed. “Your father wanted me to make sure you didn’t escape or do something crazy like try and get out of bed.” He gave her a pointed look and she shook her head. David knew her like the back of his hand. “But I was already on my way.” Her head snapped up at this, and she smiled. “Yeah?” He nodded, locking eyes with her. She smiled even bigger and then took a bite of the soup in front of her.

She had a couple of meals that made her make a noise that was close to being unladylike. Only a couple. And this soup just added to this list of foods. It was divine, salty, and delicious. She could taste the hint of rosemary, and it opened up her sinuses and let her breathe. Beside her, Hook’s eyes went wide at the noise that came out of her mouth, and she quickly covered it. “Oh god. Sorry. Uh, that–let’s just–” “Emma, I’m just disappointed I wasn’t the one directly responsible–” And then she chucked a pillow at him, and he caught it laughing.

The two spent the rest of the day talking, laughing, and getting her mind off the horrible illness she was grappling with. For the first time in three days, Emma forgot she couldn’t breathe or smell properly. It was a glorious distraction that she didn’t know she needed…

—-NEXT MORNING—-

She woke up feeling better than she had in the past couple of days. She leaned over and felt a hand around her waist. She turned and saw that Hook was still there. And his nose was nuzzled in her neck. He had fallen asleep after she made him watch all the Terminator movies, and she insisted he feel the wrath of the blankets from hell.

A slight panic came up through her core. She should flee. Get up, throw off his hand. But instead of fighting it, she decided to fall back asleep. Because of course, her health comes first, right?