#levamentum

[feralrunaway]

I just finished reading chapter two of Levamentum. It is so. goddamn. good. I'm obsessed, I love it so much!!!!!

I’m sorry I’m just now seeing this. I never got a notification for it.

Thank you so much! 💗

It means a lot. I’m excited to know you’re enjoying it. The next chapter goes a bit wild, so prepare yourself. 😅

@hauntedelation and I will be posting each chapter on Fridays if you wish to watch for them.

[feralrunaway]

Communion

Levamentum - Chapter 2

Summary: Michael has made the decision to stay. He’s found a new home, new hope. And he may have found quite a bit more.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Mike: Hellraiser

Word Count: 2,030

Warnings: angst, mentions of past trauma, religious themes, romantic tension

Series Masterlist

“You can stay here for the duration of your training. I don’t have much, but if there is anything I can do, my room is right next door,” Walter explained gently. “Are you sure about this decision, Michael? This isn’t an endeavor to be taken lightly. This life, it...it’s not for everyone. It’s a dedication.”

“I’m sure,” Mike said, looking around at the bare room, overwhelm clear in his voice. “I came here for sanctuary. I needed a new way to live. I think I’ve found it here.”

“I will be here every step of the way,” Father Marshall told him with a small, reassuring smile. He admired the young man’s heart. He only hoped he could provide a safe landing for him.

“I’m proud of you, Michael.”

-----

“Again.”

Michael sighed. Can I even do this? This was such a far cry from who he had ever been. Am I even worthy? Will my demons come back to ruin this? Am I putting them all in danger?

“In nomine…”

Walter watched him. The insecurity was seeping from his countenance. His voice shook. His pink lips formed around his prayers delicately, a slight flush on his neck each time he faltered with them.

“Continue. Don’t lose patience,” Walter placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “This takes time. You’re doing well.”

His new charge dipped his chin, grateful for the encouragement, the warm, steady hand at his shoulder. Father Marshall was becoming a source of comfort. His smiles were a font of encouragement and joy, something he looked to earn each day.

Michael didn’t believe he could be worthy of a pious life. Yet, he didn’t know that he already was.

-----

The lights were dimmed. A soft rain pattered outside the window over his desk.

Months of his training had led Michael to learn these were the peaceful moments. After the work was done for the day. The silent, meditative times given over to absorbing the lessons of the word.

He still struggled with them though. Still struggled to believe he would ever erase the taint on his soul. Was he an impostor here?

Father Marshall never made him feel so. He made him feel as though he always belonged. As though there was a light inside him yet. A light that grew with every moment spent in his presence.

A small smile graced Michael’s lips. Father Marshall. No. They were more familiar than that, right? Close enough that he might call him by name.

“Walter,” he whispered to the raindrops.

“Yes?”

Startled, Michael turned to the door. Father Marshall stood there, comfortably dressed, in colors other than his usual uniform.

Michael blushed. Unsure of what to say, he stuttered out his words.

“I uh...sorry…” he rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. “I guess I was just thinking. Is it alright if I call you Walter? When we’re alone I mean? I wouldn’t do that in front of the congregation, of course, I wouldn’t want—“

“Walter is fine. I would like that,” the priest said, cutting off Mike’s rambling. He couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Stepping closer to Mike, he held out his hands.

Mike placed his own hands in Walter’s, reassured by the small squeeze he gave them.

“You’re doing very well, Michael. I…I am enjoying…” Walter paused, thinking. The smile continued to play at his lips without fully forming. His eyes met Mike’s. “I enjoy this. It is a pleasure to guide you.”

Michael wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt a weight to those words. Another, deeper meaning than what was being said. Rather than making him nervous, the thought warmed his heart. He squeezed Walter’s hands back, dropping his gaze.

“Get some rest, Michael.”

———-

Weeks went by in easy company, but Walter could tell that his curate was still holding something within himself.

Michael was often found in silent prayer long after the work of the day was done and the church had emptied out. Walter would steal glances in passing, observing his hunched shoulders, his defeated kneel.

Sometimes he shook with silent tears, hands clenched on the wood in front of him until knuckles turned white.

One such evening, Michael was in the sanctuary much longer than normal. By the time he returned to the hall adjoining their rooms, his face was ashen and his eyes red-rimmed. Walter watched him enter his room and debated if it would be intrusive to question him about it.

He rested a hand silently on the door, listening to the rain pounding on the tiny window of the room. His mind debated with his heart, turbulent as the weather outside. He was a mentor, and Michael was his charge.

But…

He was also a friend.

Walter knocked and opened the door.

Michael froze, midway through changing his shirt, his eyes wide.

“...Michael?”

“Father Marshall, I--”

Walter held up a hand. “Call me Walter, please. We’ve talked about this.”

Mike rushed to grab his clean shirt, shaking hands trying to work the fabric so he could pull the sleeves on. As he struggled, he turned away from Walter, closing his eyes. He finally gave up, allowing the hand holding the rumpled tee to fall to his side.

Walter approached slowly. He placed a gentle hand on Michael’s arm, stilling his movements. He could feel the muscles in Mike’s arms jump, like a rabbit ready to spring away given the chance. Applying pressure to his shoulder, Walter turned him around until they were face to face.

“Come here, it’s alright,” he hesitantly traced a finger down the large scar on Mike’s chest. The touch was light, barely there, but Mike shuddered. “What happened?”

Michael’s breathing became labored, huffed out of his lungs in desperation. Tears gathered in the valleys of his eyes. “I can’t…”

“Michael,” Walter began in a soothing tone, “you can tell me anything.”

“Not this...I...Walter, I don’t belong here. I want to be here, but...some things I’ve been through...some things I’ve done…”

Father Marshall again held up a hand to halt Michael’s protests.

“Michael. Sit down on the bed. I’ll be right back.”

Michael did as instructed. His thoughts churned, burning in his gut as he waited for Walter to return. This place...this man...had become his sanctuary. He was about to lose it all. He knew he wouldn’t lie to the priest, but the trepidation of being turned away sank deeply into his heart.

Walter returned to the room shortly after, a tray in his hands. Setting it on the bed beside Mike, he pulled a chair over and sat down facing him. He placed a hand on Michael’s knee, the other reaching up to tilt his chin until their eyes met.

“Michael. You came to this place for shelter. And you have stayed here for a new life have you not?” he watched as the other man nodded, shadows lurking deep in his eyes.

“And you have dedicated yourself to this endeavor with enthusiasm. I see it in your heart every day that you wish to be here. That you wish to be a good man. That you are a good man. There is nothing in your past that would find you unforgivable. Neither in the eyes of the lord…nor in mine.”

Michael’s eyes filled with tears and a faint glimmer of hope.

“Lay your burdens at my feet. That we may share the load of them. And then we will commune together.”

Michael heaved a sigh. And with a tremor in his voice, began to tell Walter of the wounds he bore on his soul, and the sins he had committed in order to bear the pain of his past.

Walter, for his part, remained constant and silent until Mike’s voice dropped to a whisper and his story came to an end. Never once did he flinch or gasp.

When he finally spoke, his reassurance nearly brought Michael to his knees.

“You are worthy of this Michael. No matter the depth of your sins. No matter the things you’ve been through and the darkness you have seen. You will always belong here...Will you commune with me?”

Mike nodded. The relief at Walter’s acceptance bloomed through his chest. Here, he was safe. With him, he was received, wholly, and without hesitation.

Walter pulled the tray closer. On it lay thin round wafers and a cup of red wine. Walter lifted a wafer in his large hand and held it up.

“Open your mouth for me, Michael,” he said softly. And as his charge acquiesced, he placed the wafer gently on his tongue. His fingers lingered, waiting for Mike to once again meet his eyes as he finished speaking. His voice drew out of his chest, low and husky, the weight of his fingers pressing slightly against Michael’s lower lip.

“This is my body, which is for you.”

Michael closed his mouth around the wafer, and Walter slowly drew his fingers from between his lips, trailing them across the plump flesh and along his tear-stained cheek. Both men’s breath hitched ever-so-slightly at the action.

Walter then reached for the wine, bringing the cup before Michael’s mouth.

“This is my blood, in which you will always find a home, and reprieve from your sins.”

Michael breathed out his reply, eyes caught up on Walter’s own lips while he spoke. “I don’t think those are the right words.”

Walter pressed the cup to Michael’s lips and tipped it forward, allowing him a long swallow of the sanguine liquid before whispering, “Those words are for you alone.”

He pulled the cup back and placed it on the tray without looking. His eyes remained trained toward the bottom lip on which a single drop of wine shivered in the heavy force of an exhale before caving to gravity’s will to trail downward.

“For us alone,” he breathed, and crashed his own lips against Michael’s, his hand trailing from his shoulder to the back of his neck.

Mike braced a hand against Walter’s thigh in surprise but briefly pressed his lips back. A small hum escaped from his throat, the sound a delight to Walter’s ears.

His other hand drew up to cup Michael’s ribs, his thumb brushing slightly at the edge of the hellish scar, and he pressed his tongue against the seam of his lips in silent request. Plush pink lips parted to allow him entry, and his tongue darted in to taste the dark wine on Mike’s own, which tentatively pressed back against his.

At Michael’s acceptance, Walter leaned in, deepening the kiss. The movement prompted Mike to throw his hands to the bed for support, causing the wine cup to tip and fall to the floor with a loud clatter.

The moment broken, Mike pulled away with a gasp, shock clear on his face, cheeks and chin pinkened from the rub of Walter’s scruff.

“I...I need to go,” he whispered, quickly standing and brushing past Walter to the door.

Gutted, ashamed, Walter stared down at the rivulets of red liquid spreading over the oak floor. He had let his desire drive him too far. He hadn’t meant to.

He knew himself, was aware of his own disposition with such things. He hadn’t been certain of Michael’s, but he had thought…

Here he was, trying to reassure the man, convince him to stay, confirm his worthiness, and he had pushed too far.

Minutes passed, and Walter began to clean the spilt wine and tray, hoping that he hadn’t pushed Mike right out the door. Perhaps he could find him another preceptor. One who would keep him safe and continue to guide him in the work of the church. Perhaps—

The door creaked open, and Walter snapped his attention to the silhouette of his young curate standing at the threshold. Michael took a tentative step into the room.

“Michael…,” Walter began, unsure of how to word his apology. The emotion on the young man’s face was unreadable, but he didn’t see any hurt. “Listen, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

But Walter wasn’t able to finish, as Mike swiftly stepped across the room, placing his hands to Walter’s jaw and pulling him in for a fierce, desperate kiss.

Tag List:

@beck07990 @magdelen69 @rn7rocks @tinylittlebluebird @inthenameofcavill @gearhead66 @oddsnendsfanfics @cavillhavoc @pterodactylterrace @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @mary-ann84 @fuckoffbard @its–fandom–darling @kmuir1 @thelastsock @henryobsessed @eldarwen333 @definitelydenisse @inlovewithhisblueeyes @shy-violet-soul @seriouslygoodlookinggents @coffeebreathy @hope-to-hell @summersong69 @faithiee @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights @emyearns @cavillryarchive @bellening @agniavateira @maizyistrash @wiccanmetallicrose @the-soot-sprite @geralt-of-baevia @harrysthiccthighss @luclittlepond @critfailroll @brandycranby @october505 @buns-of-steel @worshipping-skarsgard​ @biblioworm @littlefreya​ @zealoushound​ @luna-aestas​

[feralrunaway]

Sanctum

Levamentum - Chapter 1

Summary: 25 year-old Michael has spent the last few years running from his past.  But it is starting to catch up to him.  Where will he turn when he needs to be saved...from himself?

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Mike: Hellraiser

Word Count: 994

Warnings: substance use, angst, allusions to past trauma, religious themes

Series Masterlist

*takes place after the events of Hellworld* -------- “Mike.”

“Michael...”

“MIKE!”

He jolted upright, confusion quickly taking over his half-lucid mind, a tiny bit of drool still present on his lower lip. His blurry, burning eyes strained to focus.  Immediately his head began to pound.  

“Ma, what the hell?” he managed to croak out, nausea churning in his gut.

His mother pulled away but remained standing in his line of sight, a stern, immovable expression on her face.  He tried to get his bearings but everything was still fuzzy.  He was lying on the floor, empty bottles littering the space around him.  

“Michael, this is the last straw.  I’m done.  I want you out of this house.”

“What?  Ma, come on!  I’ll clean it up.  Promis--” he cut himself short as he retched.  This was going to be one hell of a hangover.  

“You can clean that up before you go.  I’m already going to have to air out the space after chasing that filthy, no-good tramp out of here this morning.  If you can find and keep a job long enough, you can pay me back for the money that I’m pretty sure she stole on the way out. I love you son, but unless you turn your life around, I don’t want you here. I don’t run a hotel and I’m not spending my free time cleaning up after a grown man.”

He couldn’t even be angry.  The hint of tears in his mother’s eyes just made him feel worse. She didn’t deserve the burden he placed on her by being here. He couldn’t blame her for wanting him gone. He didn’t want to spend time with himself either. He was a wreck. Drowning himself in pills and drink every night. It was all he could do to escape.  The only way he knew to numb his mind to the memories. Ever since-

No.  

Not even going to think about it. 

She’s right though, he thought as he trudged through the motions, his throat raw and his skin prickling with the reminder of chronic dehydration.  I can’t keep on like this.

He knew he couldn’t, but he also didn’t know what else to do.  His life had become a blur of escapism.  He didn’t feel like a real person.  Just a shell of a human.  But what was a person like him supposed to do with himself after…

Enough.

-----

Mike shivered as the cold spring wind kissed his neck. He wasn’t even walking anywhere with a purpose, simply moving around, shoes scuffing the empty sidewalk to occasionally add percussion to his morbid thoughts. He was painfully sober and the only thing keeping him from calling a friend to remedy that was the soul-deep gnawing of guilt. Was this who he had become? A ghost? Maybe he had survived, but the demons had won if this was what his life was to be. A living hell. 

After traipsing the streets for half the day he was tired, sore, and feeling more miserable about himself than ever.  He would soon need to find somewhere to sleep for the night, but he had no idea where to turn.  If he called up old friends, he would simply repeat old habits. It’s what he always did. But something felt different today. Maybe it was just anger, mostly at himself, but it had the unusual stirrings of determination buried beneath it. He wanted change. He wanted to be different. He didn’t want to lose to his past...he wanted to heal.

Where could a lost, traumatized man go for rest?  Where could he turn to ease his burden, if for a short while until he could figure out a new path?

He needed reprieve from his past and present alike, in a place where he didn’t feel like he had to constantly run from himself.  

He needed a sanctuary.

-----

In the dark, he found himself still hesitating outside the doors of the large cathedral.

Could a man like him be welcome in such a place, after…

Maybe he would burn upon entering.  Be smote down in front of the altar of everything less sinful than himself.  Was it wrong to desire it?  To hope that there may be an end to this constant fear?

With trepidation, he pulled open the large wooden doors to the sanctuary and entered, allowing the serene silence to wash over him.  His footsteps echoed heavily on the old oak floorboards between the pews.  He stilled when he reached the end of the rows, his view trained on the ornate windows, fabric-covered altar, and extensive statuaria.  He drank in the pious sight, his lips slightly parted in awe.

He sat himself into the front pew, allowing his eyes to drop down to his hands in his lap. Well, he was seeking something different, and this place certainly was that. The silence settled heavily on his shoulders, but, oddly, he didn’t feel alone. Maybe someone was listening after all. Perhaps the contrasting entity to those that had hooked his soul into this misery in the first place.

“Uh...”

His own voice echoing in the chamber felt hollow, wrong.

“Um...I don’t know how to do this.  I’ve never been in a place like this before…” he paused, feeling stupid and unsure if he should continue.

“I think I need help..” his voice cracked with shame.  “I need to find a better way to live…”

He fell silent and looked around once more.  No answer came from the empty, cavernous walls of the holy building.  Sighing, Mike laid himself down in the pew and closed his eyes.

Just outside the chamber, Father Walter Marshall stood listening.  He had come out of his room at the sound of someone entering the sanctuary but stopped short at the echo of the lonely confession.  His heart wrenched for the young man.  He listened until the sound of a soft snore broke the silence, and then went out to bring the broken man a blanket.  

--------

Tag list:

(If you would like to be added or removed, please let me know. I have removed those who didn’t specifically request to be on the list and crossed out those whose tags do not work.)

@beck07990 @magdelen69 @rn7rocks @tinylittlebluebird @inthenameofcavill @gearhead66 @oddsnendsfanfics @cavillhavoc @pterodactylterrace @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @mary-ann84 @fuckoffbard @its--fandom--darling @kmuir1 @thelastsock @henryobsessed @eldarwen333 @definitelydenisse @inlovewithhisblueeyes @shy-violet-soul @seriouslygoodlookinggents @coffeebreathy @hope-to-hell @summersong69 @faithiee @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights @emyearns @cavillryarchive @bellening @agniavateira @maizyistrash @wiccanmetallicrose @the-soot-sprite @geralt-of-baevia @harrysthiccthighss @luclittlepond @critfailroll @brandycranby @october505 @buns-of-steel

[808repost]

Listen to Levamentum (Feat. Mykrobe) by Enioki Drumstep track that I made with my local friend/producer Mykrobe! We put our best into it. Please follow us! *Follow me on Twitter! I Follow all of my Followers back! Twitter.com/EniokiOfficial Soundcloud.com/mykrobeofficial Facebook.com/EniokiMusic Please Like, and Share if you are moved by this track in any way and don't forget to let me know what you think in the comments! -Enioki

[border010]

(Tipping Hand) Track 11 off Somfay - Levamentum [Aqua Regia]Out now on Digi & 2LP

[thelevamentumproject-blog]

To address some issues:

Here at The Levamentum Project we do our best to make our customers as comfortable as possible. We have noticed a recent... Developement... About our trans* feminine products and we would like to address these issues with some answered questions. 1)The V string is repulsive and offensive. Why on earth would you carry such a product?? In our early days we only carried breast forms and pocketed bras. We had numerous requests to sell a product that was like the trans* feminine equivilant of a trans*masculine "packer". One customer requested the V String as a suitable bottom prosthetic for trans*feminine persons. After that we received alot of positive feedback about the product, as well as some negative. Some people may not like the item, that is your opinion, but there are many people who want/need an item like that. Unfortunately there arent 40 different variations as there are with packers, there is only one bottom prosthwtic for trans*feminine people and it is the V String. So we will stand by our decision to carry the product, despite some negative ideas on it. why are youre bras so over priced? Why cant you just use a cheap bra from a regular department store? We do not sell regular clothing. All products that are clothing are specifically made for trans* people. Our packing boxers have specific inserts designed to hold ones prosthetic penis. This makes them more expensive than they would be as just a regular pair of boxers, for obvious reasons. Similarly, our bras are pocketed, made to hold prosthetic breast forms specifically, which then makes them a bit more expensive than just a normal bra. We will not sell regular underwear. 3) why do you only have "costume" breast forms? The goal of the levamentum project is to sell Low cost transition gear. Packers that we sell are originaly created as "gag" toys or dildos. Although they are not specifically deaigned for the trans* community, they are a cheap alternative that we offer to the community. Same goes for our breast forms. We offer low cost breast forms, though they are not specifically designed for trans* people, they do the trick and are a low cost option. Just as we offer a more expensive higher quality packer, we also offer a higher quality breast form. why on earth would you sell cleavage tape? Dont you know the dangers of ace binding? Of course we know the dangers of binding. The information we received about this product led us to believe it was not like an ace bandage. But rather like medical tape. One of our translady friends compared it to how some transmen use something like panty hose as make shift binders. A much safer alternative to an ace bandage. If this is incorrect, just let us know. this company is by far one of the most degrading companies to trans* women. How dare they? First off, id like to remind you all that everyone has a different idea of transition, gear they like and dont like. Some transmen think that packers are "degrading" in their own ways, where as others think their the best thing ever. We are proud to offer some options for our trans*feminine customers, if the gear we offer isnt something you like, just remember theres someone out there who does. Secondly, it is our goal to make our customers feel comfortable. We have asked numerous times through our tumblr if there are any products or changes that YOU the people, the community, would like to see us make. Yet we have never had a trans*feminine person contact us, tell us the problems, then work with us towards a solution. We are always looking for customer feedback. If youve got a problem let us know! Wed love to find a better way todo things, but unless we hear from you guys whats wrong, then we never know. The only way we even knew about these issues is from scouring the internet and finding some rants. None of which ever showed a way to fix the problem. If you have solutions, let us know! We are more than willing to listen to what you have to say. -TLP Team