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valdomarx · 3 years

Text

Inseparably Entwined

Stargate Atlantis, McKay/Sheppard, bound together, 2k, rated M

Elizabeth pinches the bridge of her nose. "What did you two do now?"

"We. Uhh. We found another Ancient device."

"And, instead of cataloguing it for a hazmat team to investigate, as per protocol, you decided to play with it?"

“To investigate it,” Rodney corrects. “Like the competent professionals we are.” John punches him in the arm.

Elizabeth's lips purse into a thin line. "And then you accidentally activated it?"

John winces. "And then we accidentally activated it."

"Of course you did. And its effects are…?"

"Non lethal," Rodney says, a bit too quickly.

Elizabeth mumbles something that might be don't bet on it under her breath. "Non lethal, but…?"

John shifts his weight and stares at a point behind her head. "McKay and I have to stay within ten feet of each other at all times or we both pass out."

For a moment there is stunned silence. Then the sound of Elizabeth's bark of laughter fills the office and spills out into the gate room.

Carson waves a hand. “You’re both going to be fine. It looks like the bond is only temporary.”

Rodney fidgets. “How temporary?”

“I couldn’t say. A few days, maybe a few weeks?”

“Weeks?” John chokes out. “Listen, doc, we need you to fix this -”

Carson cuts him off. “I’m sorry, son, but I’ve got more important things on my plate right now.” He looks pointedly around the infirmary which is admittedly full of marines being treated for combat injuries, Athosians coming in for checkups, and troops of medical staff organizing vaccinations for off-world groups.

John deflates. “So we’re stuck with each other?”

Carson pats him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

Rodney looks up at that. “Hey!”

“Absolutely not.” John recoils in horror. “We are not sleeping in your room.”

“But all my stuff is in there.”

“Your room is disgusting. If you think I’m sleeping on the floor among half-finished bags of cheetos and bits of drones, you are sorely mistaken. It’s a wonder you haven’t attracted the Lantean equivalent of rats.”

“I’ll have you know the bags of cheetos are almost entirely finished.”

“Rodney -”

“Alright! We’ll sleep in your oh-so-tidy quarters. Military spick and span, no snacks or useful bits of machinery in sight.” Rodney rounds on him, waving a finger in his face. “But if I get an inspired idea in the middle of the night and can’t find a circuit board to test it on, know that it’s your stubbornness that is robbing humanity of another of my great concepts.”

John hides a smile. “I’ll have to find a way to live with myself.”

When the doors to John’s quarters slide open, Rodney’s jaw drops.

“Hey! How come you have a bigger bed than me?”

John shoots him a smug look. “I upgraded after the last attack. Benefits of command.” It was one of the very few benefits of command he was willing to take advantage of.

“Oh, that’s how it is, hmm? We’re living in a military dictatorship here, with all the best perks and boons given to the highest ranking officers? Never mind that it’s the scientists who do all the actual work, who discover new technology and solve the problems, oh no, let’s give out the biggest and comfiest beds to the military guys, as if that’s fair -”

“McKay!” he interrupts. Rodney looks like he’s having fun, gearing up for a good rant, but John honestly can’t take it right now. “Go to sleep, I’m begging you.”

Rodney huffs, clearly saving that rant away for another time. “Fine.”

John is woken up for the third time that night by Rodney fidgeting on the floor and sighing dramatically.

“What is it, McKay?” His voice is testy. He doesn’t love having his sleep interrupted.

“I can’t get comfortable. A sleeping bag on the floor is bad for my back.”

John stares at the ceiling and counts to ten. He looks at the ample space next to him and calculates his best odds of getting some sleep tonight. “Come here and share the bed with me then.”

Rodney eyes his mattress dubiously. “I’ll have you know I require a very firm mattress, for spinal support, not that I’d expect you to understand -”

“For god’s sake, get in the bed. It has to be better than the floor.”

A moment’s pause. “Yeah, alright.”

It’s been a long time since John slept next to someone. His rare hookups have mostly involved sneaking out in the middle of the night, and even when he was married they slept in separate beds most of the time.

Sleeping next to Rodney is, surprisingly, not awful though. Sure, he steals all the covers and moves around all the time and, of course, he snores, but John finds that he strangely doesn’t mind.

John has seen Rodney under fire, seen him at his best, seen him happy and sad and angry and bored. But he’s never seen him first thing in the morning before.

“Whazzat?” Rodney’s eyes barely open. His expression is one of overriding confusion. “Whzz going on?”

John stifles a smile at his resident genius. He’s been up for an hour already, showered, done his laundry, and cleaned his space. He’s also decided to play nice and share his secret.

“Here,” he says, and hands a mug of freshly brewed coffee to Rodney. “Just don’t tell anyone I snuck coffee and a kettle into my personal effects, or the scientists will raid us in the middle of the night.”

“Coffee!” Rodney is still radiating confusion, but he hones in on the cup of coffee like a laser. A blissful smile passes over his face. “You brought me coffee.”

“I did.”

“You’re wonderful.” Rodney takes the coffee and cradles it like something precious and rare.

After a day and a half doing paperwork in the lab because they can't go off-world, John has reached the end of his rope.

"I'm going to the gym," he snaps. "You can either come with me or we'll both end up in the infirmary when I try to go there alone."

Rodney glares and is clearly about to start arguing when Zelenka elbows him. He sighs dramatically but agrees that they can take an hour away.

While they're both in the gym and John needs a sparring partner, he figures he might as well teach Rodney some self defense. The idea of Rodney needing to defend himself makes something unpleasant twist in his gut, but he pushes that away and argues they should make the most of this time and do something productive. To his surprise, Rodney agrees, and they run through some basic drills and defensive maneuvers.

Rodney is bad at this, frankly. He's all elbows and poor coordination, but he's trying.

John is feeling magnanimous, and he knows the value of a bit of positive reinforcement. So when Rodney steps forward and attempts a clumsy hip throw, he leans in and lets himself be thrown.

Rodney looks astonished that actually worked, before delightedly pouncing on John and pinning him to the floor.

"Got you," he says, face pink and grinning wickedly.

John's heart picks up, somehow distracted by Rodney's heavy weight on him and the sharp brightness of his smile. He swallows thickly.

"I guess you do."

“Geez, Sheppard, how long does it take to have a shower?” Rodney’s voice carries through the bathroom door. “I want to run some simulations on the city’s power systems with Zelenka.”

John’s cheeks flush and he tries to tune Rodney out. “Just give me a minute, will you?”

“What are you doing in there anyway, jerking off?”

John goes very, very still.

“Oh my god, you are!”

“Shut up, McKay.”

“No, no, don’t let me stop you. You go ahead and enjoy yourself.”

“I hate you.”

“I’m not judging. It’s perfectly natural. And hey, maybe it’ll help you chill the fuck out for once.”

John scowls, gives up, and shoves his dick back in his pants. “I will kill you in your sleep.”

John is used to having to drag McKay around after him on missions, so in some ways their new situation isn’t entirely unfamiliar.

Tac vests are useful for that; full of hand holds he can grab when he needs McKay to get down under cover or to stop him from wandering off to look at some shiny piece of technology. When Rodney is in uniform, he can grab the collar of his shirt, though Rodney complains that it creases the fabric horribly.

So John finds a compromise. When he has stuff to do and Rodney is dawdling, he grabs his hand and steers him in the right direction. After a while it becomes second nature - whenever there’s danger or something important is happening, he takes Rodney’s hand and they set off to deal with it together.

If any of the marines find it funny to see their commander holding hands with the head of science during a crisis, none of them dares to mention it.

John is carefully, carefully tending to his hair. Just the right amount of product, to spike it just the right amount to look effortless. He tweaks and ruffles, tugs and shapes. This is an art form which requires judicious maintenance.

“Oh, for the love of -” Rodney grabs the tub of hair wax out of his hands. “We’ll be here all day. Let me.”

He steps forward and slides his hands into John’s hair, ruffling it vigorously. His fingers are firm on John’s scalp and he tugs just on the right side of too hard.

Rodney steps back and surveys his work. “That’ll do.”

John glances in the mirror and sees a chaotic, wild mess. He looks like he’s run a marathon, with his pink cheeks and mussed hair, or like he’s rolled out of bed after a night of passion.

“Rodney! I can’t go out like this.”

“Oh, shut up. You look smoking hot, like you always do.”

That’s… What? What does that mean? Why the hell would Rodney say that?

“Come on,” Rodney is saying, already on his way out the door. John has to run after him, cheeks still flushed.

They find a rhythm.

John gets up first and puts the coffee on while he showers. He’s given up on trying to tidy Rodney’s side of the room, so he lets the piles of circuit boards and screwdrivers sprout up where they will. Once Rodney is up they get breakfast at the mess, then he spends the morning doing paperwork and writing reports in the science lab while Rodney works. They meet Teyla and Ronon for lunch, then he spends the afternoon drilling the marines while Rodney taps away at a laptop. Evenings, they bicker over which movies to watch in their quarters and throw popcorn at each other.

Elizabeth even agrees to let them travel to the mainland, and then to go on low-stakes reconnaissance missions.

It’s… comfortable, he realizes. It works.

That thought makes something twist in his chest, and he doesn’t know why.

“Morning, sunshine.” John pours Rodney a cup of coffee.

“Mmm.” Rodney is still sleep-rumpled, but he struggles upright and smiles softly. “Morning.”

As he hands over the coffee, Rodney catches his wrist and holds him there. He looks down at the mug, then back up at John. John notices in an abstract way that his eyes are very, very blue.

“Thanks,” Rodney says, and pecks him on the lips.

Right. Okay. That’s a thing. That’s a thing they’re doing now.

John is still processing as Rodney gets up and heads for the shower. “I’ve got a meeting with Miko this morning,” he says over his shoulder, normal as ever, “so we might have to push our gym session back by half an hour -”

He keeps chattering away while John sits on the bed and has a minor crisis. Did they… do they… but that would mean…

By the time Rodney is out of the shower, John has made a decision.

He doesn’t allow himself to overthink it, he just takes Rodney’s face in his hands and kisses him deeply. Rodney’s arms tighten around his waist and his tongue slips into his mouth and oh. Oh yes. That’s good.

John’s a little breathless, a little dizzy. “Are we really doing this?” he asks.

Rodney’s face scrunches up in amusement. “I think we’ve been doing this for weeks.”

Yeah. Okay. That’s a fair point.

The tense feeling that’s been winding around his chest uncoils, and in its place is nothing but blooming warmth.

“I guess we have.”

EPILOGUE

“Carson.” Elizabeth looks up from where she’s frowning at a tablet and gives him a polite nod. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Any time,” Carson says, and means it. “What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping to get an update on the situation with John and Rodney. We really do need them to get back on full duty soon.”

“Ahh.” He’s been carefully avoiding that topic. He takes a breath. “To be honest with you, the bond between them wore off days ago. They could go their separate ways now and be none the worse for it.”

Elizabeth’s eyebrows fly upward toward her hairline. “And you haven’t told them yet?”

“See, at first they were in the infirmary every day asking for an update. But they haven’t been in for over a week and -”

“And?”

“They seem…” he pauses, contemplating his choice of words, “... happy.”

Elizabeth’s mouth twitches into a quickly suppressed smile. “That may be, but you have a professional responsibility.”

“Aye, you’re right. I’ll go and tell them the effects of the device have run their course.”

“Well…” Elizabeth looks thoughtful. “You have a professional responsibility to give them accurate medical information when they ask for it.”

Carson sees where she’s going with this. “And until then?”

Elizabeth shrugs and gives him a sly look. “They do seem happy.”

#mcshep #stargate atlantis #my writing #sometimes you must write the fic you want to see in the world

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danger-xylophones · 4 years

Text

Major Buir (Plo Koon x reader)

{masterlist}

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Unedited, Plo Koon trying to flirt but not quite understanding how to make the swoon, Wolffe being the embarrassed son, potential second hand embarrassment for the reader because I think that Plo is very sweet but is not well versed in the art of flirting. Clones being dumb and cute. Angry Wolffe, potential fluff overload-I got a little carried away.

Notes: Yeeee it’s my first time writing for Plo-would it be wrong to tag?...I’m gonna do it. @a-dorin , I would like to thank you for inspiring me to write this. I find myself steadily becoming a Plo simp and your fics have only accelerated my downward spiral.

Also, this was only supposed to be about 1.5k words...woops

……………………………………

“From this, we can conclude that the remnants of the Ehterium cluster supernova would provide a suitable route around this Separatist controlled rat’s nest.” You sniffed carefully and lowered the pointer to tap against the ground but it landed on your foot. Swiftly, you moved it again so it actually tapped against the durasteel floor of the briefing room. A few chuckles slipped from the gathered cloned men and Jedi generals currently scanning over your notes on the holomap that had witnessed the little slip-up. “Though I can understand the hesitance-which is why I have also taken the liberty of charting a different course around the cluster entirely. It would take much longer though and would put you in more danger in the long run as you’d be exposed and out of range for too...long.” You trailed off, suddenly self-conscious of the overuse of the word ‘long’. Even though you’d worked for the GAR since the start of the clone wars (and technically before that if you counted all the academy training) you’d never gotten the hang of the ‘intimidating analytics and tactician officer’ schtick despite trying. You were often compared to a little mouse in the academy-even when you were wielding a blaster. But that hardly mattered when you were one of the top tacticians in the army and the Jedi were very kind to you. Especially General Plo Koon. He was incredibly patient with you as you adjusted to life with the 104th after being transferred from the 205th and he gave off this very warm and loving vibe.

And thankfully your new general was among the Jedi present-calmly looking at you with hands clasped behind his back, respectfully silent as the other masters muttered over the maps you’d provided. You met his eyes uncertainly. While it wasn’t like this was your first time pitching a new tactic to a general it was the first time you’d ever pitched an idea to so many people (eight, to be exact) that were so high ranking. The room was currently occupied by yourself, Depa Billaba, Obi Wan Kenobi, Cody, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex, Commander Wolffe, and Plo Koon and while none of them were ever rude to you it was hard to not be intimidated. You weren’t the one that had to go through with this plan-they did. They were the ones in danger. Sure, you could lose your job but they could lose their lives. So, you looked to Plo Koon as he would be sure to tell you what he thought.

Perhaps he was so open with you because he could read you better than anyone else? He always knew what you were thinking and knew exactly what to say to help you. If you were honest, it was no wonder why you two were fast friends. And it wasn’t a surprise when you realized that certain feelings had crept up on you. Although you had resigned yourself to never act on them for both of your sakes there was no helping the admiration that prompted you to value the Kel Dor’s opinion over anyone else’s. And just like so many times before, it seemed like Plo knew this for he offered a single nod to you when your eyes met. The tension fled from your shoulders instantly as a silent sigh of relief slipped from you. Plo Koon approved. You had done good. He knew how hard you had worked on the new plans and could cite several instances where he had stumbled upon you slumped over your desk as the testimony to your dedication. Each time the Kel Dor quietly lifted you to your feet and encouraged you to leave the work for the next day as he escorted you back to your quarters. Once the two of you got there, he’d always, always place a secure hand on your shoulder with a squeeze that just barely made his talons dig into your greys as he bid you goodnight before sweeping away with one last order to get some sleep tossed over his shoulder. It was similar small gestures like those that gave you hope that were your situations different-he being a normal citizen like you and not a Jedi with no trace of war-that maybe something could happen. But alas…

“I must say, Major, I do believe you’ve outdone yourself.” Kenobi was the first among the Jedi to speak with one hand clasping his chin and the other clasping his elbow in typical Obi Wan fashion as he scanned over the details once more.

You dipped your head with a carefully practiced, “thank you, General” as your immediate reply though deep inside, your pride swelled. This was possibly your most ambitious plan yet and one that had presented significant challenges. While you were a good tactician, your strong suits lie in terrestrial combat and not space. It felt great to be validated.

“Yes but…” Depa Billaba began with her arms dutifully crossed over her chest as she scrutinized further, “what are we to do about this asteroid field that cuts through our path?” The Jedi asked calmly and you brightened at the mention of it because you had banged your head against it every which way. The asteroid field was the one thing you couldn’t accurately account for as the data you had received on it initially had been outdated. And you explained as much to her.

“However, I am happy to tell you that I may have found a way to...acount for this hazard.” You cleared your throat and leaned over the console to zoom in on the area in question. “This asteroid field is large, messy, and problematic, and had you asked me how to avoid it earlier I wouldn’t have had an answer. But, I think that the best course of action is to separate-to make it look as though the three of you-” you pointed to the generals you were specifying, “are escorting Depa Billaba till she comes in range with the nearby medical station. That way if any Separatists follow you, you can still maintain the element of surprise because I know that if we can make General Billaba’s starship appear vulnerable that they will go for it. Worst case scenario, you dust off the guns a little preemptively. Best case-” again, you clicked another button that revealed a dotted red path through the holo projection, “you can use the asteroids as extra cover while you navigate through this path.” You paused a moment, eyes shifting to gauge the reactions of everyone. From across the table, your eyes met with Commander Wolffe’s who raised an eyebrow at you. “Clone intelligence has informed me that this path might be outdated as well but we will be active on the comms to offer guidance through the field as you go.” Commander Wolffe gave a firm nod and, again, the Jedi and clones retreated inwards to try and think of any situations that they would need to be prepared for. In the weighted silence that followed, you were keenly aware of Plo Koon drawing closer to you as he methodically circled the console before you. His hands remained clasped behind his back the entire time and you couldn’t help but watch him as he approached.

He came to a stop right next to you-close enough for your arms to brush and for his warmth to seep through the fabric of your greys. Plo Koon remained quiet for a little longer, leaving you more time to fight the instinct that told you to lean closer to him before he moved his arms. His taloned hand brushed the back of your own and his vambrace bumped your forearm as he brought his arms up to cross over his torso. You couldn’t help but dwell on the feeling of even that minuscule contact which almost caused you to miss the compliment he paid your way.

“Uh...th-thank you, General.” You coughed into your fist in a not so subtle way to correct your stutter. “But really, my plan is only good because my data was good. You should really thank your men that got me the information.”

The Kel Dor made a huffing sound that would have sounded like a laugh if not for the heavy overlay from his mask. “Believe me, Major, I will but you do deserve some of the credit.” He stressed, even going so far as to grasp your shoulder very briefly. You could still feel the imprint of his touch when he moved his hand away.

“Anakin, you’re being unusually quiet.” Obi Wan saved you from further implosion as he addressed his former padawan. You and Plo Koon both turned your attention back to the other occupants in the room and you were unsettled to find General Skywalker’s eyebrows furrowed in scrutiny as he glanced between you and the Jedi Master. Perhaps more alarming though was Wolffe’s face. He was staring at Plo Koon with what you could only describe as a bug-eyed look.

“Just thinking, master.” Skywalker eventually answered. Your jaw tensed in uncertainty though the younger man said nothing more regarding the visual dissection of your interaction.

The meeting continued for a few more minutes with you working to finalize the more minute details and to take measures to establish backup plans that would most likely be abandoned by the Jedi at the first sign of conflict and the Jedi began to disperse with their own CO’s. Eventually, that left just you, Wolffe, and Plo Koon. At the first sign that the meeting was adjourned, you began to pack your things up and to log off the computers but instead of leaving you to your own devices like you thought he would, Plo Koon remained with you. He casually waited at the console you had left him at with his hands clasped before his diaphragm, a common gesture for him you’d noticed, while Wolffe awkwardly hovered near the door.

“Was there anything else you needed, General?” You asked, glancing over your shoulder at the Kel Dor. He stood up straight and approached with light footsteps.

“Not particularly, Major, but I would like to congratulate you once again on another excellently thought out plan.” Plo Koon’s voice was as calm as it ever was but there was something there-a slight lilt you weren’t familiar with or maybe it was better described as a squeak? Slowly spinning on your heel, you turned to face him.

“Well,...thank you, General. It...It’s my job.” A part of you swore at your inability to take a compliment properly while the other parts were all focused on Plo Koon. Sure, he’d complimented you on your plans before (he did during the meeting) but he had always reserved the more serious praise for after the missions and the debriefings. He’d never stayed after the preliminary meetings.

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer if you called me Plo Koon-it feels far too impersonal to be addressed as ‘general’ outside of meetings.” The Kel Dor explained with a raised hand to stop you from saying anything else till he had said his piece.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Before eventually sliding your gaze over to Wolffe who had a hand clasped over his eyes. That gesture only added kindling to the confused fire as you returned to the man in front of you. There didn’t seem to be anything amiss-his mask looked in place and to your knowledge, he hadn’t been in the medbay recently. “As...whatever you wish...Plo.” You swallowed, his name-something you’d said in your head thousands of times before-felt foreign on your tongue. “You can of course call me ‘Y/n’...then.” You offered uncertainly.

“Of course,” he echoed with a nod. “I’ve always thought your name fitting.”

“Thank you…?” You asked uncertainly.

“I just mean that it is a strong name and you bear it well.”

“...” Again, you couldn’t help but look over at Wolffe who had taken his face in his hands in what could only be described as a picture of absolute mortification. His helmet was awkwardly squished into his chest as he shook his head from side to side, lips moving as he formed words you couldn’t hear from where you stood. “I...uh...I like your name too, Plo. It’s gentle…?” You tried as you returned your attention to the Kel Dor and raised one shoulder in a half-shrug.

He brightened, back straightening up as he continued to regard you. “Thank you, I’m rather fond of it myself.” A silence fell over the two of you-horribly tense and laced with an awkward air you had no way of dissipating anytime soon. Averting your eyes from the Jedi, you rolled your lips in and bit them as you fished for something else to say.

“Is...are you sure there wasn’t anything you needed, General?” You finally asked after shifting on your feet for the third time.

Plo Koon shook his head, less in a form of denial and more like he was trying to shake himself out of a stupor before answering. “I’m positive but while we’re on the subject of names I feel it is important for me to inform you of the new one circulating amongst my men.”

You raised your eyebrow at the Jedi, not missing the way Wolffe froze entirely. “A new name for me or…?”

“For you.” Plo nodded. “It seems as though they’ve taken a liking to calling you ‘Major Buir’.” There was something in his voice that told you he was smiling (or the Kel Dor equivalent of smiling) beneath his anti-ox mask.

“Buir?” You questioned as your mind raced to dig up a definition for the Mando’a word you’d heard assigned to the Jedi on multiple occasions. “As in what the Wolfpack calls you?”

“Indeed. Are you familiar with Mando’a?”

“After fighting alongside the clones?-of course, but I’m afraid most of the terms I know relate to fighting, tactics, or swearing.” You explained promptly with a glance to Wolffe at the mention of his language-the clone in question looked frozen in his spot and it seemed like he was no longer alone as you could swear you saw the familiar red hair of Boost and the silver of Sinker ducking behind the doorway.

Plo Koon suddenly leaned forward, getting closer to your height as his voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Buir is Mando’a for ‘parent’, Y/n.” Immediately, it felt as though someone had locked you in carbonite-your heart was still warm as it surged with affection for the men of the 104th yet at the same time your body felt the familiar frozen tingle that so often accompanied the sensation of treading through uncharted territory. You were keenly aware of Plo Koon’s proximity and the way your heart sped as a result. In an attempt to combat this you took a deep breath to steady yourself and regain control over your vocal chords. But that was a mistake as Plo’s natural scent infiltrated your senses. He smelled of leather and fresh air, of tea tree and some other piquant scent you couldn’t name that you knew was the remnant of one of the contraband candles he had hidden aboard the ship. It was so him-something the standard issue GAR soap couldn’t hide-that it overwhelmed you in an instant and you found yourself leaning closer. He, a flame, and you, a moth.

Your lips parted slightly as your face relaxed and you swore that you’d never felt calmer. It felt like someone was wrapping you in a hug; you felt safe, wanted, and adored. “But...if they call you that and are now calling me that…” you began through the sudden dwam your mind floated in. The pieces were starting to fall into place. “Then...General Plo Koon,” your voice suddenly became firm as you forced yourself to step back, “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

Plo Koon straightened up, his hands finding their usual resting place crossed in front of his stomach. “I am. Was it not obvious?” He asked, his held tilting to the left just slightly.

You briefly thought back to the somewhat strange string of compliments he’d paid you that lead up to this. “Uh...no, not really.” You explained quickly, eyes now flickering around the room in an attempt to come up with a reply to this revelation.

“Hmm.” Plo Koon hummed. “My apologies then. Boost encouraged me to be forward-perhaps it was not enough?” You blinked up at him, gaping like a fish-if that was Plo being forward then you wouldn’t have stood a chance if he had taken a subtle route.

Before you could say anything though, Wolffe’s explosive voice cut through the briefing room as he rounded on Boost. “You told him to do what?!” The commander barked at his red-headed brother who had long since abandoned hiding behind the doorway and was now standing tall with his chest slightly puffed.

“Oh come on, Vod, we both know the General likes ‘em! And Major Buir wasn’t going to pick up on it anytime soon. I was just trying to help!” He huffed back, practically getting in Wolffe’s face.

“Meddling isn’t helping, Boost!”

“I dunno-seemed pretty effective, Commander.” Sinker chimed in.

Wolffe wheeled on him next. “Don’t tell me you were in on this too!” The one-eyed clone seethed. “If you weren’t my brother I’d-”

“Boys!” You snapped, having heard enough. The three brothers stopped immediately and turned to you; each one bore a similarly sheepish grin. With a shake of your head, you turned back to Plo who had watched on in amusement. “Plo, I’m flattered but...what about your code? I know attachments are dangerous and I wouldn’t want to be the reason you-”

The Jedi master raised a hand. “My dear, attachments aren’t dangerous. It is how they can be used against a Jedi that is.”

“I don’t follow.” You tried only for Plo to shake his head.

“Yes, you do.” The Kel Dor dropped to your height again. “Y/n, if attachments themselves were dangerous Jedi would also be forbidden from being compassionate.” You were stricken silent, painfully aware of the three pairs of eyes currently fixated on the two of you. “But even if they were, I’d still find you worth the risk.” Your heart melted, a soft ‘Plo’ slipping past your lips that made the Kel Dor incline his head. “I know you care for me too, Y/n, so...are you willing to be with me?”

You bit your lip in thought, a smile creeping across your face as you looked up at the Jedi. “I’m guessing there’s no talking you out of this?”

“You may try but my feelings will persist.” Plo countered immediately-a lightness to his voice you hadn’t heard before.

You chuckled briefly and let your gaze slide over to the three clones now curiously peering at the two of you. You took in their identical faces and the imploring looks each one was giving you. When had the Wolfpack wormed their way into your heart? Probably around the same time their general did. You turned back to Plo Koon. “I say...of course,” You smiled and slipped onto your toes to wrap your arms around the Kel Dor’s neck. He returned the embrace with a low hum, his arms slipping around your waist, “ner Jetti.” You could hear whooping and hollering from the entrance to the briefing room.

……………………………………………………..

The barracks were dark and crowded later that night-many of the men from the 104th had all crammed into one room to watch the holofilm you’d smuggled onto the starship. It had been about three weeks since the fateful meeting that led to the union of you and General Plo Koon and each day had brought a new development in your aliit as word of your relationship spread. For the most part, none of the men were surprised-some even commenting on how Plo Koon was apparently unable to tear his eyes off of you during meetings, holocalls, or your brief but frequent trips to the base on Coruscant. But there were a few who weren’t expecting it at all.

But everyone you’d told had been supportive. And now as you sat curled into Plo Koon’s side with clones draped all around you as most dozed off in the peaceful barracks you could safely say that you’d found where you belong.

A tug on your arm pulled you away from the nearly impossible to hear holofilm (the few soldiers that were still awake had turned the volume down so they could let their brothers sleep) and to the clone currently barely awake with his head on your lap. “What is it, Boost?” You asked in a whisper, keenly aware of the sleeping Sinker and Wolffe on Plo’s other side. Still, your voice managed to catch the Jedi’s attention as he turned his head towards the two you.

The red head stared up at you blearily, a yawn interrupting him before he began speaking. “I just wanted to say that I’m happy you and general buir are together now. And that I’m glad I could help.”

A breathy laugh escaped you that Plo helped quiet with a hand over your mouth. He dipped his head to gesture at Wolffe who grumbled and curled closer to Sinker in his sleep. In retaliation, you batted his hand away and rolled your eyes at the Kel Dor before looking back at the sleepy man. “I am too, Boost. Thank you.” You answered fondly, letting your head fall against Plo’s shoulder.

“Like I said-” he cut off to yawn, “happy to help...major...buir.” Boost trailed off as his eyes closed and he wormed his way closer to you.

You smiled. “Thank you, ner ad’ika.” As Boost officially fell victim to dream land you turned towards Plo who had watched the exchange carefully. The same feeling of being hugged, of being safe, wanted, and loved infiltrated your senses but you now recognized it as Plo’s signature. Still bearing that soft painted smile, you pressed your forehead to his. A final whisper of thank you slipped from you as you resigned yourself to stay in that moment forever.

#plo koon x reader #plo koon #star wars #clone wars #star wars: clone wars #tcw #wolfpack

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ithinkilikeit-reactions · 4 years

Text

His lip was sore and he had a headache, but the sense of pride in his chest was what kept him up on his feet. Stumbling to the locker room, with people clapping a hand on his back in congratulations. His head was pounding.

Undergroundboxer!Johnny had just won another match and even though he could barely stand up straight, he was riding a high. However the locker room was quiet, no one else except for him and the physical pain was starting to set in. He stumbled, sitting down on the bench in front of the lockers and blinking. He hoped the headache would go away, or the numb feeling in his joints or even the soreness in his busted lip.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, allowing his head to fall into his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. This was worth the money. Right?

His headache was so intense, he hadn’t even heard you enter the locker room. You stood a good few feet away from him, taking in the sight of him and clutching the first aid kit. It broke your heart into a million pieces. Seeing him hunched over, clutching his head as his tattooed chest rose and fell rappidly. You had seen the whole fight and yes Johnny did win. But he had gotten hit, hard.

“Johnny?” You spoke softly, not wanting to scare him. He looked up slowly, blinking a bit to focus his vision. “Hey.” He smiled, wincing at the pain of his busted lip. You approached him slowly, now standing inbetween his legs. “Oh honey.” You mumbled to yourself as you looked his face over. He was blinking, desperately trying to focus his vision on your face.

“You probably have a concusion.” You said, noting the way he looked at you. Johnny appreciated the fact that you didn’t congratulate him. He knew you didn’t because you didn’t approve of this. You knew how damaging he was being to himself and you weren’t going to congratulate that.

“Wouldn’t be the first one.” He said and swallowed thickly. The way the circular light shined behind your head, it really made you look like an angel from his point of view. “It should be the last one.” You commented and he laughed only to clutch his stomach in pain. “Ow.” He mumbled and you had to look away, fighting tears.

How he could be so careless to his own state, it really hurt to watch.

You distracted yourself by opening the first aid kit to grab disinfectant for some of his cuts. Hoping that he didn’t notice the tears that managed to slip.

Johnny moved his hands to your hips, holding you as you got it all ready. He watched your movements carefully, noticing the tears but not saying anything. It was his fault and he knew that. “I’m lucky I have you to clean me up after this.” He forced a smile, not wanting to acknowledge any of the pain head on. “Yeah, I’m a real combat medic.” You joked around, following his facade.

The grip on your waist tightened as you disinfected his cuts, the stinging being a bit much. “Fuck that always hurts.” He said and leaned forward to press his face into your stomach. Your fingers threaded through his hair and your tears started to flow even harder.

“When are we going to stop faking it?” You choked out. You had been together for years, you had seen him get beat up for years. It was killing him, it was killing you both.

“It hurts to see you like this. I don’t want to see you bleeding, I don’t want to joke around with you about how many concusions you have.” You said and Johnny was really starting to feel that the high from winning was wearing off. He looked up at you, his own eyes starting to fill with tears. “We don’t need the money that bad.” You added on, feeling your knees weaken slightly. But he held you up, no matter how in pain you were, he held you up.

“Don’t leave me.” He said softly and held you against him. His words were something you had heard a lot before and as much as you had thought about it, you could never. You loved him too much for that.

“I won’t. I can’t. You know that.” You said and sunk down onto your knees. He was sat infront of you, hands cupping your cheeks now. He was wiping the tears away the best he could, trying to make ammends with small actions.

You grabbed his hand and started undoing the wrap around his hand. Johnny hated that you were breaking but still trying to take care of him. “I love you too much to leave you.” You said softly, avoiding eye contact in fear of the tears coming back. He wiped away his own tears, not wanting to crack like this but it was inevitable.

Johnny opened his mouth to speak only for the door to the locker room to open, his friend walking in. “There you are. We gonna celebrate or what?” He asked, not finding the need to read the energy of the room. You couldn’t even bother turning to look at his friend, just looking up at Johnny. He wasn’t smiling, he had the love of his life who was broken in his arms because of him, of course he wasn’t going to go celebrate.

“No man. Not tonight.” He said softly and his friend shrugged it off. “Fine, I’ll drink enough for you.” His friend said before leaving again, the door slamming behind him.

You found your arms wrapping around his waist, tucking yourself further inbetween his legs and pressing your face into his bare chest. He allowed his hands to stroke your hair and hold you close as he swallowed thickly. Johnny had tears rolling down his face, guilt filling him. He imagined himself in your shoes, watching you get beat up almost everyday and patching you up every time you bled. He realised he wouldn’t have able to do it for so long, he realised how strong you were.

Johnny’s head was still pounding, his vision was still blurry, but his thoughts were clear. Tilting your chin up to make you look at him. “I’ll take care of this, I’ll take care of you. I’ll get a real job or try my damndest too.” Johnny tried not to let you see him cry to often but he didn’t care anymore. You cupped his face gently, moving up and kissing his lips gently, not wanting to hurt his busted lip further. You moved some of his hair out of his face as he searched for the words to say to you.

“I want a family, I want you. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I want you always.”

A/N: I wrote this and cried idk why. I got really in my feelings out of nowhere and have been majorly depressed ever since dinner and it’s now midnight so yeah idk. Enjoy this angsty Johnny blurb inspired by the ‘Punch’ concept.

Feedback is kind!!

#nct #nct reaction #nct 127 #nct 127 reaction #johnny seo #johnny suh #johnny seo reaction #johnny suh reaction

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kpopfanfictrash · 5 years

Text

For Me, It’s You

Member: Jimin (BTS)

Prompt: Song!drabble, inspired by For Me, It’s You by Lo Moon

Rating: R

Genre: childhood friends to lovers!AU (THANK YOU @underthejoon for this amazing header, ur the best)

Warnings: angst, estranged parents, references to former underage drinking

WC: 4,015

↳ part of my 30K milestone drabble game

You should not have come home this weekend.

Honestly, you knew better but allowed yourself to be swayed by the guilt of your siblings. There were the ones who insisted your parents wanted you here, who said things would not be the same without you and you fell for their lies – hook, line and sinker. Never mind that, when you texted your plane flight to your mom, it took her nearly a day to respond.

In complete denial, you chalked this up to timing. It was not. As soon as you arrived from the airport, you sensed the chill in the air. Your little brother – Dean’s list, summa cum laude, McKinsey consultant, Henry – was welcomed in with warm hugs and cookies. You barely received a terse smile and ‘welcome home.’

Even so, you deluded yourself into thinking things would be fine. You would lie low, make it through the weekend and return to the city unscathed. So long as you did not bring up your job, or the argument, everything would be okay. Sadly, you underestimated how disappointed your parents were. It took only two glasses of wine at Thanksgiving dinner for your mother to let you know exactly how she felt.

“When do you have to be back at work, Henry?” she asked, accepting the vat of potatoes.

“Monday,” Henry said, setting down his glass. “Working on a big client of ours right now – unfortunately, can’t take much time off.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” Your mother beamed as she replaced the spoon in the bowl. “It’s nice to see you hard at work. Unlike some people your age.”

Everyone around the table stiffened. It was not necessary for your mother to say your name in order to make her feelings known. The point was clear in the way she set the bowl down, looked your way and waited a beat.

Refusing to take the bait, you looked down. You had not been hungry before but, upon hearing her comment, lost all appetite entirely.

“Let’s not talk about that right now,” said Jia, your sister. Hastily, she shot a pleading glance at your dad. “It’s the holidays.”

“That doesn’t diminish the reality of the situation,” your father said sternly. Turning your way, his brow furrowed. “So, Y/N. Have you found yourself yet?”

Cheeks slowly heating, you pushed your plate back from the table. “I’m working on my drawings, yeah. If that’s what you’re asking.”

He made a dismissive noise in his throat. “All that money towards college – wasted.”

“Dad,” Jia said. “It wasn’t wasted.” She scowled, looking between your parents.

Jia chose to become a dentist; a perfectly respectable career path in their opinion. Still, she had always been protective over you and Henry. When you were younger, your parents often worked in the evenings, and it often fell upon your older sister to help.

“Let’s just eat, okay?” Henry glanced around the table. “It’s Thanksgiving. Let’s be glad we’re all here.”

The table was quiet for a few minutes, everyone digging into their respective plates. Then, your mom sighed and said, “I suppose I’m thankful two of my children followed our example to form steady careers. At least I can sleep knowing I won’t be in the poor house when I’m old.”

“Mom!” Jia blurted out, looking appalled.

Henry jumped to your defense, too. “That’s not fair, mom –”

“I’ll tell you what’s fair,” interrupted your father. His voice somehow drowned out the rest. “Wasting all your hard-earned money on a fancy college degree, only to throw it away. Living disrespectfully, coming back to our house and having the nerve to –”

“I bought my own plane ticket, dad,” you interjected. “My website is doing really well, and I’m working on illustrations for this book, and I –”

“Don’t interrupt!” he exclaimed. “This is exactly the lack of respect your mother and I are talking about.”

With a loud screech, you pushed your chair away to stand up. “I’m done eating,” you announced. Stiffly, you looked at your mom. “Doesn’t sound like anything’s changed since the last time we spoke. Thank you for cooking. I’ll clean up after myself.”

With that, you turned around and strode into the kitchen. The arguing continued after you left, with Jia jumping in to combat your parents. Even Henry was angry, protesting he and Jia wanted you there, but you were no longer listening. It did not matter much, either way. You should have known better than to think today would go well.

The last time you spoke to your parents was in the spring, the day you told them you were quitting your job to pursue illustration full-time. They were not happy, simply put and after the initial, blow-out fight, you did not speak at all. Obviously, they still had a lot to say.

Retreating up the stairs to your childhood bedroom, you slammed shut the door and collapsed on your bed. Being in this room made you feel like a child and in many ways, you still were. It did not matter that you had been able to drink for four years and vote for seven. In many ways, you were only just beginning to progress on your own.

Downstairs, you still heard the debate raging on. It was always like this, when you were little. Even when you were not the one arguing, there was another fight to be had. You could not blame your parents for that, not really. It was the only way they understood discipline – loud voices and the overbearing idea of respect.

Eventually, things would calm down. You knew they would. Eventually, Jia would help your mom clean up and Henry would play piano in the next room. For a few hours, maybe, they would be like a family – except you would not be there.

Not this time.

Unable to replay the events any longer, you roll out of bed and unlatch your window. Prying it open, the cold air hits your face. Shivering, you stare into the night and reach out for your sweater. Your childhood home was built with a small, wrap-around porch over the front.

When you were a child, you often climbed out here to escape. When you were in your teens, you came out here to drink, or smoke, or journal about how your parents were ruining your life. It has been a long time since you remembered that part of yourself.

Glancing away, you see lights on in the Park house. They must be finishing Thanksgiving dinner as well, hopefully not in as dramatic fashion as yours. You cannot imagine it is, since the Parks adore their two sons – Jimin and Jiwoo. Besides, both of their children adopted traditionally successful career paths. Jiwoo is in medical school and Jimin recently passed the bar.

Exhaling, you glance again at the rooftop. The fighting can still be heard downstairs and so, pulling on your sweater, you climb out on the porch. Quickly shutting the window, you find yourself ensconced in blessed silence. No disappointed parents berating you. No siblings rising to your defense. Only silence, the wind and far-off sound of cars on the highway.

Settling onto the roof, you lean against the side of the house. The sky overhead is clear, a silver crescent of moon hanging above your head. As you breathe in and out, your breath frosts in mid-air. It is chilly enough you are glad for your sweater and still, your hands stiffen with cold. Pulling your sleeves down, you relish in the silence.

“Y/N?”

Head jerking sideways, your heart nearly stops when you see a face looking back. At the edge of the overhang, clinging onto the roof is a familiar – well, now unfamiliar – person.

Jimin.

“Is that seat taken?” he breathes, face red with the exertion of climbing. “Because it’s been a while since I’ve done this, and god knows how much your parents take care of this trellis.”

“Shit,” you blurt, realizing his predicament and scrambling onto your knees. Grabbing Jimin’s hands, you haul him onto the roof.

Jimin tumbles beside you, dusting dirt from his pea coat. You wince at the gesture, since the fabric looks expensive – probably is, given his new job. Collapsing against the siding, Jimin adjusts his grey beanie and looks sideways at you.

“Hey,” he greets, as though he climbs up on neighbors’ porches all the time.

Trying not to laugh, you smile back. “Hey.”

When you say nothing more, Jimin arches a brow. “Surprised to see me?”

“You could say that,” you say, glancing down at the cul-de-sac. From up here, the world seems more manageable. It always did. “It’s been a while since you came by.”

“Could say the same.”

Glancing at him, you see a small smile on his face. Jimin is quiet for a moment, staring out at the world and you cannot help but layer this Jimin with ones past. When you were younger, this was your place – he and you. Whenever your parents were too much, or you were mad at the world, you would climb out here to escape.

Jimin would see this and know it was his signal to come over.

It has been a long time since then, though. The wood of the house is cold on your back.

“So, why are you out here?” He asks this calmly, as though this were another Tuesday.

You shrug. “The usual.”

It has been seven years, give or take, since you two last talked. Really talked, that is – in the way that friends do. All throughout middle school and high school, Jimin was your best friend. Even Jia was wary of you. She did not understand the way you acted, the way you purposefully pushed your parents’ boundaries to understand all their lines.

Jimin was not like that. Jimin did not break rules, but Jimin understood. He saw you out here, night after night and grew curious. Eventually, he climbed up to meet you and what happened next cannot be explained. You became the unlikeliest of friends.

Subtly, you glance sideways.

Glasses are perched on the end of his nose. Jimin used to need glasses in high school but insisted upon contacts because of his dancing. When he quit dance for college, you heard a lot of things changed, but you never imagined his glasses to be one of them. The frames suit his face. You have always thought that.

Of course, you cannot say for certain this change took place during college. That was when you began drifting apart – it was not either of your fault, really. You two tried to keep in touch, you really did. There were phone calls, e-mails, but there was always something else demanding more urgent attention. Eventually, phone calls became texts, which turned into long bouts of silence where you forgot one another.

Maybe the silence was a bit purposeful on your part. Maybe you were running from feelings you deemed ultimately, fruitless.

“You haven’t been home for the holidays in a few years,” Jimin comments, still casual. His foot is stretched out before him, clothed in an Italian loafer which must be worth twenty of your commissions.

“Not really, no,” you say, surprised he noticed.

“Why not?”

“Ha.” Leaning your head to the house, you close your eyes. “I don’t know. It felt like a lie every time, you know? Coming home and seeing them. Pretending to be happy. It was easier just… not to come.”

Jimin is quiet for a moment. “You weren’t happy?”

“Wrong job.” You open one eye. “Wrong life, really. But it was one they approved of.”

“And now?”

Suddenly, you look at him. Jimin stares back, gaze soft in moonlight. It makes your heart skip a beat, a phenomenon you thought died a long time ago. It is maddening, how quickly he does this to you.

When you were in high school, Jimin was the golden boy. The dancer, the honors student, the friendly type who knew everyone – even the weird, quiet girl who drew fantasy landscapes in the margins of her notebooks. Once upon a time, you were in love with him.

You even dreamed of him loving you back, but those dreams never became reality. Jimin loved you, of course, but only as a friend. He had a strange sense of protection for the girl on the roof. You realized this not in one moment, but in a thousand little ones all strung together.

You realized it when watching him with his first girlfriend – a bubbly, cheerleader type much like himself. The stake was hammered in further with his second girlfriend, whom he left the first one for. It was obvious when he took you to parties, leaving you talking to his friends in the corners. Obvious when his group booked a limo for prom and you were not invited.

These moments crushed your hope for anything more. And yet, here you are, back on the roof and wishing something more existed.

“Now, I’m happy with my career.” Not looking at him, you exhale. “They hate it, though. They think I threw everything they gave me away.”

Jimin snorts. “Bullshit.”

“Yeah?” You smile before you can help it. Jimin was always protective when it came to your drawing. “I don’t know it is. I had a good job, a stable job. The type of job they wanted so badly to have but couldn’t. I get why they’re mad.”

“You weren’t happy, though,” Jimin points out, rearranging himself on the roof. Somehow, his hand falls closer to yours. “And your drawings are amazing. I’ve seen your website.”

“Oh.” You pause, uncertain how to respond. Strange butterflies take flight in your stomach and you wonder what else he has seen. “Yeah, well. I don’t think they really care about that. Not like your parents do, anyways.”

Jimin’s smile turns bitter. “I guess.”

Now, it is your turn to look at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

Shaking his head, Jimin ducks his chin against his chest. The pea coat bunches around his shoulders, making him look more like old Jimin – your Jimin. The high schooler who feared his future, who did not want to quit dance but did, because he had to.

“I mean,” he tries again, frowning. “My parents are proud of me on paper. The love listing my accomplishments to their friends, but when it comes to me…”

He trails off, leaving you to draw your own implication.

“Oh.” Your words soften, glancing away. “I get that. I think that’s how Henry feels sometimes. He likes his job, he really does – but with my parents, it’s not about that. It makes the success feel kind of… hollow, somehow. You know?”

“I do.”

Looking at him, you hesitate. “Jimin… why’d you come up here?”

Jimin is quiet for a moment, rolling the corner of his pea coat with his fingers. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, some of your usual sarcasm seeping through. “Maybe because we haven’t spoken in like, five years.”

Jimin’s lips quirk. The gesture disappears almost immediately, replaced with something which could almost be called sadness.

“I heard you moved into the city,” he says quietly.

Your stomach plummets. “Jimin, I…”

“Yeah?”

“I – I didn’t know you knew,” you say, finishing lamely.

“Really?” His laugh is hollow. “Even if we didn’t follow each other on social media, you really thought my mom wouldn’t tell me?”

Shifting uncomfortably, you fail to meet his gaze. “Well. I moved to the city last fall.”

“I know. Why didn’t you look me up?”

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. Avoiding eye contact, you pick at your sweater. “It’s been a long time, I guess.”

“Too long.”

“Well, why didn’t you reach out?” you demand, looking up. To your surprise, you find Jimin has moved closer.

He stares at you determinedly. “What happened to us, Y/N?”

“What happens to most high school friends?” you stammer, still trying to be casual. “We moved, drifted apart, lost touch…”

“No.” Reaching out, Jimin takes your hand in his. He feels much warmer than you do. “I – oh. You’re cold.”

“N-no shit,” you say, teeth chattering. “I just grabbed this sweater.”

Jimin shifts closer, his right thigh pressing against yours. “Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

He stares at you for a moment, warmth finally tangible. After so many years without him, the smell of his cologne is almost too much to bear. No longer does he drown in it. You remember the year his mom gave him that for Christmas. The first few weeks of January Jimin fairly bathed in it, until his mom pulled him aside and told him she would throw it away – no matter the cost.

Remembering this makes you smile.

Jimin’s expression remains serious. “Why’d you leave… that night?”

There it is. There is the memory between you which you have been pointedly trying to ignore. The night Jimin kissed you and you ran away. It happened here, on this very rooftop. The night before you left for college, Jimin stole wine coolers from his mom and asked you to celebrate.

He was an absolute lightweight.

Jimin did not drink in high school, unlike you and so, after one wine cooler, he was already giggly. Laying back on the roof, you traced the stars with your fingertips and somehow rolled into his side. His arm slid around your waist, stable and warm.

Softly, he looked down – and kissed you.

It lasted only a moment. A brief miracle before you forced yourself away, leaping up on the roof and flinging open your window. You hurried in, shutting the blinds and ignoring his pleas. Jimin stood there for nearly twenty minutes before you heard him leave. He knew what your parents were like – knew what would happen if they heard him and caught you.

“I don’t know,” you say quietly, still looking at him.

“Bullshit.” Jimin says this in the same tone he used to describe your parents.

Stiffening, you sit up. He still holds your hand in his. Despite the sternness of his tone, Jimin continues to trace your fingers through the sweater. He stares, biting down on his lip and you know he does this when he is nervous.

It is surprising how easily you remember. Surprising how easy it is to slip into who you used to be, the dreams you used to want. Perhaps they never really left at all.

“I was scared,” you finally say, barely audible.

“Of me?”

“No,” you say, before you can help it. “Never of you. Of what… I might do to you.”

Jimin’s brow furrows. “You do to me? I don’t understand. How could anything you do be bad?”

The aching sweetness of this reminds you why you loved him. Or, why you love him. It is all so confusing with him here in the moonlight, with you here beside him, remembering ghosts of the past. Turning to face him, your knees graze each other like children.

“I didn’t make sense with you,” you explain. “Everyone knew it in high school, even if they wouldn’t say it out loud. You were always the bright one, the brilliant one – and then there was me.”

“Yeah. And then there was you.” Jimin speaks fiercely. “Grounded, real. Always telling me what you thought, not letting other people get to me for too long. You were the only person who really believed in me. No caveats, just belief.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” he insists. “God, Y/N. How could you think you were bad for me?” Reaching out, he tenderly tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. Pulling away, his fingertips graze your jaw. “For me, it’s you. It’s always been you.”

“Don’t say ridiculous things,” you say on reflex.

Jimin’s brow furrows. “Did you honestly not realize? The entire time we were friends – you didn’t know I was in love with you?”

Your breath catches at how easily he says this. “But…” Mind spinning, you sift through the memories. “You dated other girls. Took someone else to prom. You didn’t say anything until you kissed me!”

“I know.” Jimin’s expression is tortured. “I only dated those girls though, because you said I should! Don’t you remember? I’d describe my ideal girl to you – describe you – and you’d point someone else out. When I took you to parties, you’d talk to my guy friends. And you accepted someone else’s prom invite before I could ask!”

“What!” You blink, since this is news to you. “What are you talking about?”

“We had a pact.” Despite himself, Jimin nearly smiles. “Remember? We were ten, watching Footloose in my basement and you pinky promised to be my prom date.”

“We were ten,” you say, although you also find yourself smiling. “You didn’t really think –”

“I was planning to ask you the next day,” he interrupts.

Words die on your lips and you can only stare for a moment. “What?”

“Peter Graff asked you on a Friday.” Scooting closer, Jimin takes your other hand in his. “I remember. I remember stopping by your locker and hearing you talk about prom dresses, limo colors, what boutonniere you should buy. I… I had been planning to ask the next day.”

“Jimin, I…”

“I was planning to stand in your yard with a boom box,” he admits, lips curving into a smile. Dark hair falls into his gaze. “You know, like in Say Anything. Except not creepy. And on very low volume, so I didn’t wake your parents.”

“Good call.”

“I thought so.”

It is strange to hear your friendship described in this manner. Because you remember those moments, but through a very different lens. You remember the day Jimin described his ideal girl. You remember crying that night, feeling you fit none of the description. He is right – you were the one who pointed out his first girlfriend, telling him he should really ask her out. It seemed more logical than any other version of the truth.

“When you kissed me…” Swallowing, you force yourself to continue. “It was perfect.”

“Yeah?” Jimin bites his lip. “Then, why’d you leave?”

“You’d been drinking. I was leaving the next day. I thought maybe… you’d done it out of pity,” you whisper, finally voicing your fears from the night. “I thought you knew how badly I wanted you and it was just your way of saying goodbye. I… I wanted to keep that night the way it was. Perfect.”

“It wasn’t pity.” Jimin catches his breath. “Never.”

“Jimin…”

Lifting his hands to your face, he gently strokes your jaw. “I missed my shot that night,” he determines. “I’ve been a coward lots of ways, my whole life. I didn’t go after you like I should’ve. I haven’t stood up to my parents a million times. But I’ll be damned if I fuck this up again.”

Before you can respond, he kisses you.

His lips are soft, warm despite the bitterness of the night. He tastes like vanilla Chapstick and wine and you only hesitate a moment before kissing him back. The kiss is nothing like your first. That was a moment between teenagers, too scared to ask for what you both wanted. Now, you know what you want.

Greedily, your lips part as your hands wrap around his. At the first brush of your tongue, Jimin releases a groan. You kiss like this for a while, gently exploring the new boundaries between you. Whatever once was is shattered but something new exists in its place.

Finally, you drag yourself away and open your eyes. “Is this why you came here tonight?” you whisper, the world somehow seeming brighter. “To kiss me again?”

“Amongst other things.” His lips quirk when he laughs, shaking his head. “No. I came out because I saw you on the roof.”

He does not need to explain what it means. You only come out on the roof when you are upset. Unthinkingly, your heart starts to swell.

“You still remembered?” you ask, thumb brushing his neck.

“I meant what I said. For me, it’s you.”

#btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet #jimin fanfic #bts fanfic #jimin angst #bts angst #jimin fluff #jimin drabble #bts drabble

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unholyplumpprincess · 3 years

Text

Nude Wars

A commission for @chloe-gayzer with this old headcanon post as the inspiration! It’s just very cute and sexual, no real plot involved except for the fact they’re sending nudes to each other and gotta bone?

Reblogs and comments > Likes

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bangalore/Lifeline

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Trans gal Lifeline with verbiage for her bits being cock/dick/etc, digital lovin via two gals sending each other nudes, otherwise p tame kink wise, oral is performed on both parties but NOT penetration, just very fluffy and lovey.

Words: 3.6k

It takes three weeks into their relationship before Ajay opens up about sexual ideas.

Ajay made a small error having mistaken Anita’s confidence for something more than just what it was. Anita had coughed on her water, freckled cheeks burning and a look in her eye that screamed embarrassment. It had taken everything in Ajay to not coo at her face or pinch her cheeks, and to actually talk to her openly about the idea- and even if she would be INTO that sort of thing. She was the more teasing of the two, after all.

Ajay finds herself gradually more and more open with her girlfriend as their relationship grows. Whether that meant showing something a little more, or getting to know her more than the person Anita showed herself to be on the battlefield.

She quickly finds out how Anita reacts well to selfies, then upgrading to a little more…revealing images had been the icing on the cake. After, of course, making sure that she was into something a little more. Anita’s reactions were always over the top, or matched with a similar revealing selfie, a small battle. A small way of opening up more in vulnerable ways that involved slivers of flesh that made Ajay whine with the need to bite.

But it was a battle, nevertheless, that Ajay loved to keep up with.

~Rest under the cut~

Their relationship had been a surprise to a few of the other legends. Makoa had laughed when he figured it out, clapping Ajay on the back in congratulations and nearly knocking her smaller frame right over. He’d been gleeful about the situation, considering it finally put an answer to the question of what was making his close friend smile at her phone so often and shy away from his poking, playful questions. Or her acting strangely in the arena as if she was looking for something.

Now, more open about their relationship, interviewers switched from asking them about their matches to about each other. What their inside life was like, who asked who first- the tamer questions were met with answers and a big smile from Ajay who loved to talk about her girlfriend, especially seeing as it got her red behind the scenes. That didn’t mean that she wouldn’t gently switch the conversation over to more on topic of her fight- and champion position- in the ring.

However, Anita was closed, almost flustered to talk about her girlfriend. Though a few times she could be heard quietly chuckling to an interviewer asking questions such as who asked who first. “Don’t really matter, now does it?” She’d say with her smoky tone a bit higher than normal, but Ajay would know why.

Because she didn’t want to let anyone know she turned dark red when Ajay had blatantly told her she liked her and wanted to take her out to eat. Not to mention the fact she’d pointed her manicured finger into Anita’s chest and told her that she’d seen the way she looked at her- especially on the field. Caught red handed lusting after the combat medic that had saved her ass countless times.

It was cute, endearing, really.

Now about six months into the relationship, Ajay would like to say that her tall girlfriend has gotten used to her teasing and poking. Enough to tease and poke back, but never as much as Ajay would.

Ajay’s attention is soon pulled from memories when she hears the soft notification from her phone. She’d been sitting at her desk, reading emails from various people wanting to sponsor her work in the games as well as bringing her doctoring into light with new charities opening up for the local hospitals.

She lets her eyes scan the screen as her hand pats to her right, taking three tries before securing her phone to drag over. She tucks a strand of her loose hair behind her ear, flipping open the notification before pausing when the name pops up. ‘Anita’ with a red heart emoji on either side of the name with ‘image attachment’ written right beneath it.

She’d been gone to the gym, last Ajay had checked. Anita had texted her to let her know she’d be on her way to her place after her routine- something of which she looked forward to.

“I swear if it’s anotha dog…” She muses aloud, sounding tickled at the memory of Anita eagerly texting her pictures of a dog at the gym with its owner. Ajay sighs fondly, flipping open the image only to pause and lean forward in her chair as her eyes take in the view.

Anita sent an image of herself. Clearly mid workout. Gray sweatpants rest low on her hips, only amplified for viewing pleasure is the fact she has her black tanktop pulled up to just beneath her chest. It exposes her solid abs as well as the sharpness of the muscles in her hips, creating divots of a V that make Ajay bite her lip. Her flesh is shiny from sweat, more well defined from the work out causing them to appear tighter. Ajay can see Anita biting the bottom of her tanktop, the image cut from below her nose to about upper thigh, enough to show her smirk and some people behind her to show she’s doing that in the public area.

Oh, that brat.

A sucker for pictures like that, and knowing the game Anita’s trying to play, Ajay quickly runs to the full body mirror scaling her closet door. Her hair was down, lightly waved and curling over her shoulders with her fringe pushed to the side. On her body was a large, black hoodie that was Anita’s she’d stolen, having the Apex symbol over the left breast with the hoodie itself coming to about mid-thigh on her shorter frame. Underneath were just some cute black panties with a red lace trim that did wonders for her ass.

Her hair is a bit of a mess and she looks about ready for sleep- which she was. But, she hums, posing herself and sending one right back.

The image is cute, a little saucy. Of her standing in front of her mirror, pulling her hoodie up above her chest to reveal her slender, smooth form and small breasts. She practically stands on her tiptoes in the image, her wide hips cocked to the side for eyes to wander freely over her freshly shaven flesh. There was a time in her life where she might have tried to hide between her legs, but Anita made her feel…safe. Safe and seen and understood.

The picture shows her from head to toe. Her hand holds the hoodie up to her mouth teasingly to hide her smirk, but her sharp shaped eyes are narrowed in amusement.

When she hits send, she adds a caption right after, “Be careful with what you start, baby girl.” With three heart emojis right after.

“Yes ma’am.” Is the reply back to her near instantly, never ceasing to make Ajay’s cheeks warm and a small smile to make its way to her face.

Emails could wait till tomorrow.

Moving to her bed, Ajay flops down onto it and eagerly waits for the next image. Which comes a few minutes after.

Anita is fresh from the showers. Her tight black boyshorts frame her beautifully with a towel hung around her shoulders, the very edges hiding the generous swells of her large breasts that make Ajay squirm where she is right now. Ajay was normally a tease, but not when it came to nudes like this. She liked for Anita to whine about her body, clear and exposed for her.

But now all Ajay can do is helplessly stare at the image, biting her full lower lip as her eyes scan over the water droplets gracing her thighs and abdomen, wanting to lick them up and force her onto the bed so she could mark her territory wherever she pleased.

If Ajay were more prepared for this situation, maybe dressed in something cuter, maybe she’d be harder to react. But now she’s already half hard in her panties, huffing and squirming a bit and mad at herself for already getting this excited over a few selfies.

But, that’s what happens when your girlfriend is smoking hot.

From there, Ajay relents to dirty talk. Telling her what she’d do to her once she gets her, how she’d make Anita cry and beg for her, how she’ll mark up her throat so high up she can’t hide them. Her fingers are merciless as she types, watching the Read symbol pop up again and again, feeling satisfied every time Anita tries to type only to stop when she receives a new text.

The final blow is when she sends Anita her final picture. Lying on her back, eyes half lidded, two fingers splayed in front of her mouth and tongue lolled out to reveal the stud on her tongue, the image going all the way down to mid-thigh to show her cock peeking out the top of her panties with a flushed red head with beading pre-cum.

The reply of ‘Fuck’ is all Ajay needs to know she’s won- cheating by dirty talking, of course, but still a win.

Then comes the waiting game of Anita coming home.

–

When Anita does finally come home, Ajay is quick to pounce on her at the door. Literally. Leaping into her arms just as Anita is able to kick off her socks and shoes. She pulls herself up into Anita’s arms, hooking her legs around her hips and arms around her neck.

“Hello to you too-” Anita can barely breathe out before her cheeks are being cupped and she’s being kissed. Her gym bag slides off her arm with a bit of a shimmy needed before she can hook an arm underneath Ajay’s ass to keep her afloat. She weighed practically nothing to her, easy to hold, but her muscles were sore from her workout so it was a bit of a struggle.

Her grunt only makes Ajay smile against her mouth, stroking her thumbs across Anita’s cheekbones as she guides the kiss to something deeper. Parting her full lips in a rhythm Anita matches so she can slide her pierced tongue along her girlfriend’s who makes such a pretty sound when Ajay licks into her mouth.

An exhale rushes from Anita’s nose, and Ajay is briefly aware of her back brushing the corner of the doorway in a small bonk that makes her part from the kiss with a breathy laugh. “Bit dizzy, baby?”

“You try carrying a whole person after a workout routine.”

The quick snark back makes Ajay beam brightly, showing the dimples on her cheeks that Anita absentmindedly presses a kiss to as soon as she can. Which becomes after they cross the threshold of Ajay’s bedroom door. She almost trips on the cute pink, fluffy rug Ajay has on the floor, but manages to only knock herself forward and drop her girlfriend onto the bed. Who is quick to hook her legs so Anita is forced to fall with her.

There’s laughter bubbling out of Ajay’s chest in a way that makes Anita’s heart swell, moving blindly until her lips can find the ones curved upwards into a blinding smile. The noise she’s rewarded with is a soft, delighted hum before Ajay’s cupping the back of her neck, pushing her nails up along Anita’s scalp to lightly press at her head to urge her to kiss deeper.

And just like that, they’re back in motion.

A moan blossoms from Ajay’s chest when Anita starts kissing down her neck. Open mouthed, hot, and making her shudder when she finally seals her lips to begin sucking a bruise. “Ah- do ya know how temptin ya looked out there?” Ajay manages to breathe out, her breath quickening when Anita pulls back to give her a half lidded look.

Always so hungry for her attention, her voice, her everything. Anita was such a good girl, always made Ajay feel…wanted. She finds herself briefly smiling, cupping her cheek and feeling her heart jump when she leans right into her palm, turning her head to press a kiss to the middle of Ajay’s palm affectionately.

Calloused fingers tuck under her hoodie and when Ajay nods it’s eagerly pulled up and above her chest to reveal her flesh. Anita’s breath catches as she leans over her, scooting a bit down on the bed so she can rest her weight partially on Ajay and let her lips press to her collar, lower to between her two perky little breasts and skimming over until she finds a nipple to latch onto.

Ajay’s hips press up into her, her sigh coming out shakier than intended as she cradles Anita’s head to her chest. A sensitive area, especially when her teeth scrape ever so gently across the sensitive bud. It triggers the need to be vocal near instantly.

And oh, could Ajay talk.

“Hnh- thought aboutcha- about fuckin ya in the showers,” She starts breathlessly, waiting to her the telltale sound of Anita’s breath hitching and her tongue stilling briefly before continuing. “Ya would let me, baby, wouldntcha? Wonder if ya’d- hhhs- be loud enough to let others know that ya were a good girl.”

Anita whines low in her throat, moving down lower, ghosting her lips over Ajay’s abdomen and sinking between her thighs. Her eyes are pitch black as she looks up at her from under her lashes, nosing at where Ajay’s cock peeks out from her panties at the top of the rim and following the shape of it with her tongue.

Ajay lets herself groan low in her throat, eagerly tilting her hips up and letting her girlfriend pull them off her. Due to the E, Ajay had lessened in size and it was a bit harder to get hard. Thankfully in times where you could dirty talk your girlfriend no matter the distance, it made things a little easier to start up. She was about five inches now in length, a good handful of girth around.

But, it wasn’t the size that mattered, it was how Ajay Che was the best fuck around and lived to see her girlfriend curl up and gasp like she was dying when the expert combat medic hit her in just the right spot.

And now? She lived to see Anita nose at her cock, fluttering kisses and whining because she knew not to proceed until Ajay told her to.

Reaching down, Ajay sinks her fingers into Anita’s short curls, pulling her up a bit so she could reach down again to take her cock in hand. She pulls back the foreskin to reveal the shiny head, smearing it across Anita’s lips just to watch her eyes lid and how her lips part just the smallest bit in the hopes she could taste her. Ajay’s lips flicker up into a small smirk, “You’re droolin, baby.”

Anita’s response is to shakily whine, parting her lips a bit more just to show how badly she wanted it. And well, you can’t really expect Ajay to tell her girlfriend no, right?

Gently pulling her forward, Anita eagerly takes the initiative at her command. Wrapping her pretty lips around the head and watching Ajay’s hand that had been holding herself come up to her mouth and form a fist. Her head tosses to the side, loose hot pink hair moving with her as her breath hitches and a soft moan escapes her. Sensitive, even now.

There’s a momentary pause where Ajay doesn’t speak, letting Anita take her time taking her. But then she’s making this sound, patting Anita until she pulls up and starts to ask what’s wrong. But she gets her answer when Ajay whines out, “Take off ya clothes, ya bein’ selfish. Lemme have a taste.” In this bratty tone that both makes Anita’s ears turn pink as well as making her laugh.

“My apologies, your highness.” She teases back, sitting up to begin stripping as told. Always an act that makes her smile as Ajay watches her with the excitement a child might have on Christmas. As Ajay brings her hands up to her cheeks and beams brightly, despite herself being quite flushed and aroused, and despite the fact she’s seen her nude countless times. Countless. Of times.

Doesn’t fail to make Anita feel…adored.

“Your highness, huh?” Ajay replies after a moment, biting her lip as she watches Anita pull her sweatpants down with her boyshorts to reveal the thick patch of hair between her thighs and the glistening wetness that leaves a small string of slick connected before snapping at the distance. Fuck. “Could get used to that.”

“Is ‘princess’ not enough for you?”

A cheeky grin makes its way to Ajay’s face and that’s enough to make Anita laugh and roll her eyes. With the eagerness of Ajay reaching for her, she lets herself be moved until her muscular thighs are resting on either side of Ajay’s head. Anita needs to slightly curl herself in to be able to be more size accommodating for how short Ajay is to reach her cock, but not like she minds.

Hands appreciatively grab Anita’s ass, spreading her apart and making her cheeks burn red when Ajay groans behind her, able to see the way her cock jerks at the very sight of her. “So wet for me, an’ just from touchin’ me? Ya spoil me, baby.” Her tone is appreciative, dripping with lust before her arms hook around her girlfriend’s thighs to jerk her down.

The first, wet, flat lick over the flesh of Anita’s cunt makes her jerk, but Ajay’s arms keep her in place. The lick is followed by a low moan from Ajay, her hips pressing up without thinking as if trying to hump the air. She always loved giving oral, something Anita found out first before anything, and that she was damned good at it. Well, when she wasn’t tracing her fingers agonizingly slow across Anita’s more sensitive areas and telling her what each medical term was.

Anita doesn’t even notice that she’s shaking and hunched over still, her breath ghosting over Ajay’s cock that jerks and drools with pre-cum helplessly as her girlfriend eats her out. The teasing, long stripes eventually settle on her engorged clit. Ajay had always appreciated its size, a little mouthful and bigger than an average size, and oh so sensitive. She’s eager to suckle on it, sealing her full lips over and stroking her tongue along the underside, mindful of the almost painfully sensitive tip.

That’s when Anita cracks, her first low groan before she finally remembers to take Ajay in hand and sink her cock past her lips.

Ajay squirms beneath her, nails pressing to the backs of Anita’s thighs with her whines reverberating through the both of them. Her suckles and licks becomes sloppier, panting over Anita’s opening and nosing at her, almost like trying to rub her slick on her face. The idea is filthy, yet, still makes Anita whine and lift up her hips only to have them possessively yanked back down.

One hand holds the base of Ajay’s shaft, squeezing as Anita focuses her time on the head. Sloppy, open mouthed kisses, to harder sucks to make up for lack of sensitivity. Just barely scraping her teeth or allowing herself to tongue the drooling slit.

It’s Anita that cums first, her thighs locking up and having to pull off to shakily sigh into Ajay’s thigh. She shudders as she cums, never too loud as her voice only shakes and shudders with every greedy lick from beneath her. Ajay holds her tight, whining and raking her nails down her thighs, as if eating her out harder would make herself able to cum.

It’s after a moment of over sensitivity does Ajay finally relent, pushing Anita off her and rolling her onto her back. Anita only whines faintly, bleary eyed and briefly aware of the pressure sinking onto her chest. She lets her eyes flutter open when a hand gently grabs her jaw, a thumb pressing at her lower lip until she opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue obediently.

“Good girl,” Ajay whines, wrapping a hand around her cock and resting the head on Anita’s tongue, stroking herself in quick jerks as her body naturally begins to jerk and squirm atop her. Anita’s rough hands grab at her ass appreciatively, squeezing and letting one hand pull a little too hard to spread her open- and that does Ajay in.

Her cries are music to Anita’s ears. Ajay’s face screws up beautifully, biting her bottom lip as her brows knit together, shakes zipping through her body as her cum paints Anita’s willing mouth and lips. The noise she makes when Anita seals her lips around her to suckle the head is almost pained. A hand is quick to rest atop her head, yanking her curls back, only serving to make Anita grin in success after she swallows, opening her mouth to stick her tongue back out to show it to be clean.

“Ugh-” Ajay whines, almost a scoffing nose and patting her cheek fondly as she rolls off to flop next to her. Her hoodie is the only thing left of clothing between them, yet she still rolls over with it pulled up, pressing her bare body to Anita’s and nosing at her neck affectionately. “Next time ya decide ta be a brat, I’m gonna fuck ya throat on the floor.”

“Is that a promise, princess?”

A pillow is Anita’s answer, met with her muffled laughter underneath.

#bangaline #lifelore #bangalore #lifeline #trans lifeline #apex legends #apex lemons #nsft #lemon #commissions #princess writing

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transgenderteensurvivalguide · 5 years

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Do y'all have any suggestions for long term dysphoria? Like episode management is nice but I don't have any way to get HRT for years and I have a super masculine body so it's becoming a huge problem day to day and I don't know what to do handle it Any help or advice is seriously appreciated

Ren says:

My circumstances are likely very different from yours, anon, but I’m also dealing with long-term dysphoria, and I can try to share a few thoughts on how I deal with it.

First of all, I want to ask (although I know it might be repetitive): have you been able to check out our dysphoria page? There are a lot of links there that might be helpful to you. Specifically, there’s a masterpost of dysphoria solutions for transfeminine folks here and a list of self-care dysphoria solutions here.

I share these links not because I’m certain you haven’t seen them yet (I hope you have!) but because I think they’re relevant to coping with long-term dysphoria. Episode management is important, but you’re right - over a stretch of years, it kind of feels like you’re patching up a badly broken bone with a tiny strip of band-aid.

For me, managing dysphoria long-term has been a combination of a few things. (Sorry it’s long - browser users can press J to skip the post on their dashboard!)

Identify the greatest risks during a dysphoric episode and have long-term solutions in place, ready to address them. I personally tend to gravitate towards self-harm behaviors during an acute episode. I’ve communicated what those behaviors are to the people who live with me, so that they can help me avoid them, or in a real bad situation, potentially help me recover from the ramifications without having to seek medical attention. I also take steps to make sure self-harm tools aren’t readily available to me, although since not everyone’s SH looks the same, this might not be reasonable for you.

Identify the things that help you to recover quickly and effectively - and keep them accessible to you. For me, it helps to talk about the worst of it for a little bit - just to get it out of my system - and then move onto shifting my focus. Listening to music (I have a dysphoria playlist full of songs that both validate my anger / frustration / sadness while also pushing me into a more positive headspace) really helps me, and distractions like video games or engaging videos are really important too. Most importantly here, try to put these resources in a place where you can easily look to them in a time of crisis! It can be all too easy to forget what to do when you’re in the thick of it.

What I’m emphasizing here is access. When dysphoric episodes are happening to you over and over again, over long stretches of time, they can feel less and less manageable and can get more and more harmful - but all this time passing means you have a lot of opportunity to evolve your strategies and make them easier. Make use of the time and experience you’re having with these episodes, and streamline your response to them so you can become a pro at nipping them in the bud.

Combat dysphoria with art. A huge way to push back for me (and so many other trans people!) has been to make or engage in art. Ever notice the sheer number of trans musicians, comic creators / illustrators / animators, or video game creators - amateur or otherwise? (There’s a distinctly and proudly transfeminine tradition of music-making and video game art, in particular.) Bandcamp, youtube, and itch.io (among many other places) are great places to seek inspiration from and share feelings with your community, and maybe even places for you to share what you’ve made. Making art isn’t as hard or inaccessible as it might seem - there’s tons of free programs for art-making of all kinds that give you lots of tools to work with, and there’s a growing pool of tutorials making all kinds of creative work accessible for newcomers. It’s a great distraction, and a great way to make sense of complicated feelings that can be otherwise hard to communicate.

Talk about your dysphoria. It really, really helps to find people with similar experiences and talk things through with them. Trans people all have different experiences and different ways of understanding them, but in the end, we’re speaking the same language in ways that cis family members and therapists might not be able to. Share your feelings with people who have been there - you don’t have to ask for advice, it’s okay to just vent. Getting your feelings out there and having them be heard by people who get it really does mean a lot - and being able to lean on the support of our community makes a huge difference in our quality of life and our ability to handle the bad parts.

Learn to recognize the signs of falling into the Pit. I know by now what it looks like when I’m starting to fall into an episode - and I’ve learned how to distract myself to keep myself afloat. Figure out what works for you, and start making it a habit to push yourself away from the pit before it can claim you. It’s always better to keep yourself at “background noise” level than “episode” level!

That’s where this self-care link comes in - there’s a lot of suggestions here for little things you can do over time to make yourself feel good and feel affirmed in your gender! Find a few things that help you, or brainstorm a list of other options, and make them habits in your day-to-day life. It won’t solve anything at a physiological level, sure, but it can reduce the background noise, and can help remind you who you are (and why you’re fighting to be that person).

Learn body neutrality. You don’t have to feel great about yourself, but just feeling “not bad” might be within reach. You can also think about non-body-related things that you like about yourself (or even just that are okay), like things you’re good at or enjoy, or qualities that make you feel good about who you are. Figure out little ways to continually remind yourself of these things, whether it’s engaging in those joyful things more often, putting up a list on the wall of things you like about yourself, making art about the things you like (or can tolerate) about who you are right now…

The key here is making habits. Help yourself to something small that makes you feel better multiple times a day, make the good feelings accessible and available to you even if you forget to seek them out, and you’ll genuinely start feeling better. You’ll be stronger, and better able to combat the horrible feelings that dysphoric episodes create. You might even have times where you genuinely feel good about yourself!

I know this is long, but all of these techniques are things that, over time, have durably reduced my dysphoria. I still have episodes, but they’re less frequent, less serious and less dangerous, and a lot easier for me to recover from - and in the meantime, I feel pretty much OK about my body and about who I am as a person.

Followers, are you dealing with long-term dysphoria? Have you formed any helpful habits or gotten into new hobbies that help you manage the background noise? How about ideas for little euphoria-inducing self-care habits?

#caps #dysphoria #Anonymous

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fuzed-hostage · 5 years

Text

RainbowSix l Siege

Montagne is injured in a firefight and Doc feels responsible for putting them both in an unnecessary amount of danger. [ Montagne/Doc ]

Rated: M [ Mild Gore, Blood, Lil ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), Hurt + Comfort ] Music Inspiration: Do You Feel It, by Chaos Chaos Words: 4,513

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

“Montagne’s down! Montagne’s down!” Doc’s voice shouts on the radio, cracking halfway through the call for help, “We need help, second floor, lobby!”

He can still hear the gunshots and the screaming, both sides locked in fierce combat in a government building that had only just been remodeled. All of the new carpet, polished marble, and beautiful paintings were a mess that still had police tape tied around every nook and cranny. No matter how hard he squeezed his head, covered his ears, the scene relentlessly played out as if to torture him. One wrong move, a single mistake, was all it took and a well controlled situation erupted into chaos.

It was all his fault.

“Stay with me Montagne!” His hands are feverishly cranking down on a tourniquet wrapped mid left thigh, bullets whizzing past his head, “I’ve got you, come on!”

Sure Gustave was shot too but that didn’t matter much. It would heal just fine and he’d not lose any function in the afflicted arm. His companion, however, teetered on the edge; pale face, drained, eyes squeezed shut. The sight of such a strong man reduced to a weak heartbeat on a hospital monitor stung like a hot knife piercing his throat. He dared not look at it, didn’t want to confirm the whispered number that hung upon the tip of his tongue.

Protocol and common sense demanded that he shoot back before rendering care but those precious moments would have killed Giles. The evidence was soaked into his uniform, laying in a heap on the ground, discarded only after Marius had pushed for him to change. It was kind of him to bring the workout clothes that had been folded in Kateb’s locker, but no thanks had been uttered through gritted teeth.

“Don’t leave me, Giles. I need you!” He’s hauling the larger man onto his shoulders, hooking him into a modified fireman carry. It took all the strength he had to rise up and not give into the searing pain in his shoulder. “Just hang on a little longer!”

A few other operators had stopped by to visit, though none of them stayed long. He vaguely remembers Oliver whispering a prayer or two, placing a firm hand upon his shoulder, and slipping his rosary in between Doc’s clenched hands. It remained there long after the younger man left, raised up slightly as Gustave leaned upon the side of the hospital bed with his lips pressed to his fingers, tears streaking down his cheeks.

Nurses worked around him with ease; checking vitals and administering medication as needed. He knew he was in the way, yet there he remained, afraid that if he did go, Giles would not recover. To think, the night prior their bodies were pressed against each other with the ferocity of two lovers who were having the time of their lives. Palms exploring skin, sweat dripping from their backs, and kisses that were drowning in deep groans and wild moans.

I love you, Montagne had said, And I love you too, was the response as they both lie side by side. God he wished he could go back to that evening and not face this nightmare. Each day that passed, his chair moved around the room but remained as close to the bed as possible. Every so often, someone would bring in coffee and food (the latter was largely ignored). Closing his eyes was mentally agonizing and keeping them open a chore in of itself.

He’s charging forward, not moving nearly as fast as his soul wanted him to. Montagne’s weight coupled with his own made it feel like Doc was trudging through thick molasses. Behind him he could hear Rook and Twitch pointing out their targets, coordinating, all the while the medic blindly ran for the nearest exit.

By the fifth day, Gustave Kateb was an absolute mess. He needed a shower, needed to eat more, and his neck was locking up. Leaning back in his seat, dark eyes traced the rosary quietly and held it with care. With a small sigh, he set it atop the windowsill and turned to observe Montagne’s face. To his surprise, and overwhelming relief, once closed eyes were fluttering in their attempt to focus.

“Giles...” He whispered, standing up and cupping one of his companion’s cheeks gently in fear that one of them might shatter. A small smile confirms that his love has returned to the waking world, recognizes him, and even reaches up with a hand of his own. He guides the extended hand to his lips and kisses Montagne’s knuckles. “I thought I was going to lose you.” A sob is choked back, “Fuck, I’m so sorry. I love you, Giles, I love you.” All Montagne does is smile, smile and rub his thumb over the fingers that hold his hand.

“I love you too.”

#Rainbow Six Siege #Montagne/Doc #Montagne #Doc #Twitch #Rook #Lion #Jager #Fic

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atombombbagel · 6 years

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Hello! Can you describe skills or hobbies that the companions may have been teaching Sole in their free time? I like to imagine sole taking an interest in weight lifting, so danse had been picking up plates and other equipment and hauling it back to their settlement so they can practice together. Thanks ❤️

So, I’ve made itromance companions because they are hella cute…

Cait: “Keep doing it like that and ye’ll hurtyerself,” Cait jested, moving from her place standing in the doorway to Sole’sside, “Don’t tuck in your thumb, you don’t want to get it broken,” Cait grabbedSole’s hand, showing them how to ball it into a fist properly.

“Sorry, I just want tolearn how to defend myself,” Sole admitted, feeling a little stupid, they hadno idea how to do this, they never thought they’d have to.

“I’m more than happyto teach ya,” Cait offered, “There’s some equipment in the Combat Zone, I hatethe fuckin’ place but we could practise there,” Sole nodded with a smile ontheir face.

The Combat Zone

“Don’t worry I’ll go easy on ya,” Cait winked as she lungedtowards Sole, hitting them in the face, “Aww c’mon, you’ve gotta block it,”Cait laughed as Sole rubbed the side of their face, where Cait had hit them.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” Sole shot back jokingly, “Okay,”they took a deep breath, “I’m ready.”

Curie: When asettler had gone down during an attack, Sole had felt useless, not being ableto do anything to help them. They didn’t know CPR or how to treat peoples’wounds and it frustrated them. Sole had voiced their concerns about it toCurie, who was more than willing to jump to the task and teach them all thatshe knew. She was happy that Sole wanted to learn first aid.

“Place your hands, one on top of the other, on the person’schest,” Curie ordered, pulling out a CPR dummy.

“Where’d you find that?” Sole asked, as Curie placed it onthe ground. Curie shrugged.

“In one of the houses I think,” she answered quickly,“You’re going to want to push hard and fast when performing the CPR, but nottoo hard, you don’t want to crush their rip cage,” Sole nodded, placing theirhands on the dummy, “That’s good! Now, tilt the head back slightly and pinchthe nose shut, that’s when you place your mouth over theirs,” Sole followed herinstructions, “Very good! You are a natural at this.”

Curie spent the rest of the day with Sole teaching themvarious medical treatments and what to do when someone is shot, stabbed, burnedetc.

Danse: Dansestood as a spotter as Sole carefully lifted the metal bar holding heavy weightson each end. When he noticed Sole falter, he was quick to grab the weight,lifting it off Sole and back on the support.

“The trick is to not push yourself to hard,” Danse saidhanding Sole a can of purified water. Sole wiped the sweat from their brow,opening the can and downing it in seconds.

“Its harder than it looks,” Sole admitted, hunching over andtaking a few deep breaths, Danse sat down next to them, putting his hand onSole’s knee.

“It is, but it will be worth it at the end Soldier,” hestood back up, “Spot me?” Sole nodded, standing up and moving so Danse couldlie back. Sole stood in awe as he lifted the weight with ease, their eyesshifting to look at his muscles contract and retract with every lift.

“Thanks for helping me out,” Sole said, rubbing their handdown their arm. Danse put the weight down, sitting up and turning around. Hereached up, pressing his mouth to Sole’s.

“You’re welcome,” he said in between kisses, “now get downand give me twenty,”

“Yes sir,” Sole saluted with a smirk.

Deacon: Solestood in front of the mirror, tilting their head as they studied themselves.They smiled at Deacon through the reflection as he snaked his arms around theirwaist, leaning his chin on Sole’s shoulder.

“How’s this one?” Sole asked, an unsure look upon theirface, “Oh c’mon its not that bad is it?”

“As an expert in the subject, you’ve got to sell it more,”Deacon laughed, receiving a light nudge in the gut from Sole.

Deacon had been teaching Sole how to properly use disguises,changing their voice, putting on accents, outfit choices. They were getting thehang of it, not as good as he was but who is. Deacon turned picking up anewsboy cap and putting it on Sole’s head.

“There. A masterpiece,” he winked at Sole, pecking theircheek, “Though your face is getting a bit old, might need a new one,” Sole shotdaggers at him, causing him to lift up his hands in defence, “I was totallykidding, my beautiful Sole.” Deacon backed out of the room before he gothimself in anymore trouble.

Hancock: Sole hadbeen surprised when they walked into Hancock’s office, seeing him sat by hisdesk, scribbling in an old sketch book. They’d watched from over his shoulderas he shaded in a part of his drawing.

“That’s beautiful,” Sole announced, startling Hancock. Hehadn’t realised they were behind him. He pushed his chair back a little, givingSole enough room to sit on his lap.

“I had inspiration,” he rasped, bringing a smile onto Sole’sface. Sole flicked through the pages of the sketch book, mesmerised by thedrawings in there, “wait,”

“Oh my god,” Sole burst into laughter as they’d seen thedrawing of them, naked, sprawled across the pages of his sketch book, “theseare amazing, teach me?” Hancock looked up, his dark eyes meeting Sole’s, henodded, leaning up and pressing his lips to Sole’s for a brief second. He reachedinto the draw in his desk pulling out another pencil. Sole was terrible tostart off with, but Hancock helped them improve over time until they were asgood as he was, maybe even better.

Nick: (I totallysaw this headcannon from @viewfromthevault )

“You have moves,” Sole said, sucking their lip between theirteeth as they stood in the doorway, their eyes fixed on Nick’s.

“Yeah, Nick must’ve known a thing or two about dancing,” Solemoved forward, turning up the volume of the song on the radio.

“You’ve got moves, show me them,” Sole demanded playfully,holding out their hand. Nick chuckled, reaching forward, taking Sole’s hand inhis own, pulling them towards him.

Musical beginning toundecided plays

Nick twirled Sole in his arms before pulling them back in,holding onto their waist, swaying them about. Sole burst out into laughter whenNick twirled them again, dipping them before planting a sweet kiss on theirlips. When they were alone they’d be dancing to various songs on the radio,Nick nearly always taking the lead.

MacCready: MacCreadyhas been living in the wasteland since he was a child, teaching himself how tohunt and use a sniper rifle. He’d noticed that Sole struggled with hunting, constantlystepping on twigs making their dinner run for its life, MacCready would stayback, chuckling to himself as Sole cursed at the Radstag running off into the distance.

“Would you quit laughing at me?” Sole whined, pouting at MacCready.He chuckled some more, walking towards Sole.

“You’ve got to watch your footing, if you’re too loud you’llnever be good at this,” He held his finger to his lip as he noticed anotherRadstag a few feet away, chomping down at the grass. He crouched, gesturing forSole to do the same. He moved behind them, wrapping his arm around them as hesteadied the sniper in their hand, “You’ve got this,” he whispered, his fingerlooming over Sole’s, on the trigger of the sniper.

A loud gunshot rang out through the air along with thecrying sound of a dying Radstag. Sole and MacCready hurried towards it.

“Nice shot,” MacCready noted, pulling out a combat knife andcutting the Radstags throat.

“I learned from the best,” Sole mused, kneeling down next toMacCready, “How are we going to get this guy back to Sanctuary?”

Piper: “My momgave me my first camera when I was young, she��d found it whilst outscavenging,” Piper leaned back on her bed, flicking through the photos on hercamera. She’d been teaching Sole how to take good pictures. Sole leaned over,looking in as Piper showed them various pictures of Piper’s family and of thewildlife in the Commonwealth.

“You have an eye that’s for sure,” Sole said, teasinglypulling the camera from Piper’s hand.

“Blue!” Piper shouted playfully, trying to snatch the cameraback from their hand. The flash going off as Sole snapped a picture of Piper.

“Beautiful,” Sole laughed with a cocky smile on their face,Piper covered her face with her hands.

“You’re such a goof,” she groaned as Sole tried to pry herhands from her face.

“But I’m your goof,” Sole said plastering Piper’s cheek inkisses, laughing as she tried desperately to swat them away from her.

Preston: “Youfixed this all by yourself?” Sole asked holding the once broken radio in their hand.Preston nodded sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down, “that’sso awesome, where’d you learn to do it?” Sole flicked the radio on, smiling asit sprang to life, playing classical music through the speakers.

“My dad taught me a bit and the rest I learned from Sturges,”Sole looked from Preston back to the radio, “I could teach you if you want?”Preston offered smiling as Sole’s eyes lit up. They vigorously nodded theirhead.

“Yes! Please,” Preston laughed at Sole’s enthusiasm. Theystarted out by fixing small things, like an old toaster and a couple of lamps.But in the end, they’d both fixed up an old motorcycle, neither of them wereactually willing to drive it so they gave it to Hancock, who was ecstatic withhis new toy.

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secretlystephaniebrown · 7 years

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take me out to the black

One year ago today the dear @sroloc--elbisivni sent me a message reminding me that we’d brainstormed a vague outline for a Firefly AU. I said “oh yeah that’s right!” and we talked about it for a bit. Then we came up with a different twist on it which inspired me to write about 7k of it in one week. I’ve been sitting on this for a long time, but I finally have part 1 ready for you guys.

Who’s up for some space cowboys?

Summary: Captain Carolina Church is a turncoat, a browncoat, and the captain of a Firefly Class ship called Valhalla. But every captain needs a crew.

Pairings: Tuckington, background docnut, implied Yorkalina pining.

When Carolina had been a child, living in the Core she’d looked up at the blank, orange-tinted night sky, and dreamed of stars.

Now she stares out the big bay windows of the cockpit, staring out at the vast and endless stretch of space before her, and it’s the first time she’s felt at peace since the early days of the war, when she’d been so sure she was fighting for the right reasons.”

“This isn’t enough,” Wash says, beside her. “We’ll need a crew.”

Carolina runs her hands along the pilot’s dash. Neither of them are really good enough at flying to handle it long--just enough to get them away from this planet, get them to place where they can start hiring. “I know,” she says. She’s oddly buoyed by the idea, of filling this ship to bursting, of people who look at her and don’t know what her last name means, don’t know her service record or her history, don’t know why Wash has those scars on his wrists.

She sinks into the pilot’s seat, and carefully continues to steer them.

“What’s her name?” Wash asks her.

“Vallhala,” she says.

Wash gives her a long, knowing look. The coat he wears is as brown as hers.

“Right then,” he says, and there’s nothing more they need to say.

Captain Carolina Church is a turncoat, a browncoat, and the captain of a Firefly Class ship called Valhalla.

Her second in command is a traitor, a browncoat, and a kid from the Rim.

Carolina once had been a Sergeant. She had led a squad, until one night when Connie died and Wash had gone missing and she had ripped through layers of security to get him back. She had taken him and ran, ran so hard and so fast that she had practically collapsed at the doorstep of the Independents’ and bargained for sanctuary.

She had not begged.

The first hire is Lavernius Tucker. He’s a pilot, a good one. Too good to be interested in a ship like hers, which is how she knows he’s hiding something.

He wears colorful shirts and has a mustache that make Wash make a face behind the man’s back, letting Carolina know exactly what he thinks of a man who willingly lets one of those grow on his face. He tells crude jokes. None of those are disqualifying qualities, nothing to stop a man who can fly a Firefly class with the delicacy of a shuttle from flying for any of the major companies.

She expects drugs, or smuggling, neither of which she can afford on her crew, not with the Alliance still breathing down her back. Her pardon for betraying the Alliance, for freeing Wash, is tentative and dubious. But she also can’t afford to pass up a pilot like Tucker.

He’s the one to bring it up, shockingly. They’re almost done with the interview, Carolina having brought him up to the cockpit. “I have a kid,” he tells her abruptly. “He has to come along. It’s a dealbreaker.” His chin goes up, strong and firm.

Carolina flinches. Children. She can’t afford to smuggle, not yet, maybe not ever if the way the Alliance keeps coming after them, keeping an eye out for the runaway and the turncoat, but she knows that even if she can stay clean, stay legal, there will be violence. There’s no way there won’t be.

She tells him this.

“He needs to stay with me,” Tucker says, something desperate in his eyes. He needs this job as much as she needs a pilot, she realizes. “This is what I’m good at.”

Carolina looks around the ship. “How old is he?” Maybe they’ll be lucky and he’s a teenager, barely need looking after.

She should know better than to reach for luck. She hasn’t had luck on her side for a long, long time. Things never go smooth.

“Four.”

Carolina swears, under her breath.

In her mind, she begins to calculate additional child-rations, child-proofing the rooms, making sure that weapons aren’t just laid out in the open.

She doesn’t give Tucker an answer yet, but she already knows what it will be.

Wash grows up on the Rim.

It’s a tiny little planet called Iowa. He grows up with three sisters and a brother, the oldest of them all, and when he gets the scholarship to military school, he takes their photograph in his pocket, his father’s blessing, every coin his family can spare, and his mother’s lucky pistol.

They take the pistol when he gets to basic training, and he never sees it again. The coin goes quickly; Core living is expensive.

He loses the photograph in the war, when they come for him in the night.

The Alliance and the Core is inherently different from Iowa. They change his name because they can’t pronounce it, and Wash learns to adapt, even though he hates it, hates the way that the smooth syllables of home are butchered in the mouths of these Core-worlders, who don’t know what it feels like to stand in the dirt and look at the sky and smile. Wa-Jonathan, son of Jonathan, smoothed and disturbed over time and time again, until the name is Washington, harsh and biting in the voice of his drill master. And he feels further still from his siblings every time they said it, until one day Wash was bleeding from the mouth on the ground, and he looks up into a set of eyes as green as fresh leaves.

“Fighting again, Wash?” Carolina asks, and she holds out her hand.

Wash doesn’t know it then, when he reaches up and takes it, but he now has another sister. A sister in battle and blood, as real and important as any of the ones he left back home.

She graduates before him, but when she gets her own squad, she calls on him, and Wash goes, eager to follow his sister into combat.

Their squad is good at what they do, but then one day Connie leans close and whispers in his ear.

“We can’t trust them, Wash,” she whispers. “We can’t.”

The next day, Connie dies, and Wash doesn’t know what side the bullet comes from.

Wash starts to look for answers on his own.

He never does find them.

All he finds is the inside of a strange white room and the sounds of his own screaming when the stick needles into his eyes.

Wash is the one to bring back Grif and Simmons. Grif can fly a shuttle even better than Tucker, Simmons dabbles in mechanics, and is a decent field-medic, and both are steady shots and decent at listening to orders in a fight.

Neither of them fought in the war, she learns. Their skills are those of people who lived on the Rim for so long, not the product of any schooling or training.

Grif is the one who tells Carolina the stories of the Reavers for the first time, and his eyes are haunted enough that Carolina knows better than to ask if he’s ever seen one.

Epsilon curls up in her lap and purrs until she stops thinking about what it is that someone could see, out in the blackness of space, that could turn a human being into something like that.

Simmons wants to be the mechanic, but he’s never worked on anything bigger than a Mule, and it shows. Carolina almost hates to do it, but she pulls him off and hires the first mechanic she can find who has a recommendation.

In retrospect, she should have realized that Doc’s ship was a bit too eager to be rid of him.

Carolina desperately searches for another mechanic, loathe to risk flying a ship as old as Valhalla without one, but she keeps turning up dry until she walks into the engine room to find Doc having sex with a man named Donut, who turns out to be a thousand times more competent than Doc.

She keeps Doc on as a medic, because Simmons can do stitches and that’s about it. Doc’s still not good as a medic, but he’s better a medic than he was a mechanic, and Carolina’s learning to live with that.

Wash is a bit preoccupied when Donut comes onto the scene, because Tucker just shaved off that awful mustache, and Wash has been staring at him moony eyed, too distracted to barely even acknowledge that Carolina’s hired a new person.

Then of course, he comes into the dining area one day, and yells, “Frank?” Far too loud.

“David?” Donut yells back.

It turns out Carolina managed to hire Wash’s brother, from their old backwater homeworld. He’d decided to go see the ‘verse after the war.

Carolina listens to them listing names of people she doesn’t know and places she’ll never be, because Wash is avoiding his home world the same way she’s avoiding the Core, and goes to her bunk, staring at the photo sheet she has, of the last time she saw her brother.

She opens up the program, starts writing.

Church,

I realize it’s been a while

I’m sorry I had to save him

I didn’t mean to

I was right

Are you okay?

Frustrated, she throws it across the room and closes her eyes. He’s the one who broke contact, she reminds herself. He doesn’t want to talk to her. He hasn’t forgiven her for betraying the Alliance.

Maybe he would, if she could tell him. Tell him about Connie, about Maine, about what they did to Wash, in that awful room.

But she doesn’t dare. Her pardon is tentative enough as it is. They’re above the board, barely, and she needs to keep it that way, because the Alliance will grab Wash and lock him away again if they so much as step over the line.

Her ship is clean, as much as that strains the funds. No smuggling, no robbery, no crime. And because of that, Wash is safe.

She has to keep it that way.

“So, what’s the story with you and the cap?”

Wash looked up from the potato he was peeling as Tucker plopped himself down on the counter. Their pilot of three months' mustache twitched as he waggled his eyebrows. “I mean, I know you fought Independent together and all, but you seem, I dunno, really close."

Wash went back to the potatoes. “We survived one of the bloodier battles of the war together. That sort of thing tends to make some pretty strong bonds. Where’s Junior?”

“Napping. C’mon, spilllll. You two have some kind of history together.”

Wash sighed and grabbed a new potato. “If I explain, will you cook dinner tonight?” For once, they had fresh produce, and if he tried to make anything with it, it would come out a charred mess.

“Sure, dude.” He settled into the table and looked at Wash expectantly, so much like his son when he wanted a story that Wash had to chuckle.

“We were in military academy together.”

“Shit, the Browncoats had a military school? I didn’t know that.”

“They didn’t.”

Wash kept his eyes on the curl of the peel away from his knife, but he still knew when Tucker figured it out.

”Shit.” And it was in a tone of voice Wash hadn’t expected—a little bit awed and a little bit impressed and a lot sympathetic. “Are—were you from the Core, too?”

Wash didn't think Carolina had told Tucker about her past, but he was never able to bring himself to tell her that for all her hard work, her background was still there for anyone with good perception to notice. It was surprising that Tucker, of all people, had noticed.

“No.” And because surprises seemed to be the theme of this conversation, Wash let himself tell a story he hadn’t in years. “I was born on the Rim. Earned a scholarship to go to a fancy Core military school when I was sixteen. That’s where Carolina and I met. When we graduated, we were split up for a couple of years. After the war started, she earned herself a commission as leader of a special squad, and requested I join it.”

And because Tucker still hadn't cut in with a dumb joke or comment, just sat there with a listening face on, Wash let himself remember.

“One of the other members was a friend of mine. She was smart, smarter than the rest of us, and she didn’t like the war. Didn’t trust it. She told me one night that she’d been doing some research, learned some bad things. The next day, she was killed in action. I never figured out which way the bullet came from.” He kept up a steady motion of his knife, scraping every bit of skin away before picking up another potato.

“I started doing some research of my own. Wanted to figure out what she was so worried about. And then, one night…”

The knife stilled as Wash stared into the middle distance, barely seeing Tucker.

“I was outside. I know that much. Then I…wasn’t. And I really don’t remember much of anything else for a bit, except pain, until I opened my eyes and saw Carolina’s face.” With the fingers of the hand holding the knife, he rubbed absently against his other wrist.

“She tells me I went missing, and she went looking, and she found me tied up and screaming. They told her I’d been arrested for treason. She didn’t believe them. Lucky for me.

“The rest of our squad was either dead or reassigned, we were getting orders that made less and less sense, and I was drugged out of my mind and in transport to some unknown location. That was the last straw. Carolina grabbed all the information she could take with her and took us both over to the Independents.”

Wash blinked off the memories and went back to peeling the potato.

“We were both pardoned, after the War, but. We try and avoid the Core now. Mostly brings trouble.”

“Hey, you picked me up in the Core!”

Wash gave Tucker a flat look. “And you’re trouble.” Something occurred to him. “Why are you asking, anyways?”

“Speaking of trouble—I think Carolina’s got the hots for our new renter.”

“The Companion?” Well, that was a surprise.

Tucker dropped himself into the chair next to Wash. “Well, I dunno if she gets the hots, but she doesn’t act with him like she does with anyone else. And I wasn’t sure if you two were, you know…” He waved a hand in the air. “And I wanted to make sure no one got hurt.”

“Really.”

“Really! I don’t want to lose a job because the captain and only sane person on the ship started to fight all the time. Shit’s annoying. ‘Sides…”

Wash looked up from his potato to find that Tucker’s face was very close to his.

“I may have had a, uh…personal interest, too.”

He grinned at Wash, big and bright and kind and wonderful and—

oh. shit.

Wash stood up so fast Tucker almost toppled over.

“I don’t kiss anyone with a mustache,” he blurted out before dumping the potato on the table and walking—at an entirely reasonable pace, thank you very much—to his quarters.

They pick up the old man on a distant moon on a distanter-still planet. He’s a grizzled old man, with big eyebrows and a white beard, but there’s a gleam in his eye that puts Carolina on edge. He’s a shepherd, he tells them, but if that’s his first job Carolina would eat her coat. The only names he gives them are “Shepherd” and “Sarge”. But he pays his rent and doesn’t preach too loudly and makes good tea.

He brings with him Caboose, and Caboose is definitely worth taking on a passenger, even a wandering shepherd. Caboose is strong and tall and broad, with a big goofy smile and hair that falls into his eyes more often than not. He can carry more than the rest of the crew put together and he’s shockingly good in a fight. There’s no rhyme or reason to him; he’s loud and cheerful and ocassionally dumber than rocks, but he has moments of brilliance that Carolina doesn’t know to do with. And he talks to the ship.

But Carolina figures it’s not the strangest thing to happen on Valhalla, so she takes it. She can hardly begrudge the man a few eccentricities, not with Epsilon in her cabin.

She found Epsilon when she went back to Valhalla. The valley, not the ship.

She gets off the shuttle, tokens for the dead in her pockets. She’s not much for religion, but she’s got sticks of incense and a few flowers to leave at the memorial.

She turns her face to the sky and waits, listening for the voices of the dead that she knows she won’t hear.

Instead, she hears meowing.

The cat is small and scrawny, with matted blue-grey fur and bright blue eyes. He’s hissing, his back arched, and Carolina doesn’t know anything about cats but she knows he doesn’t want her to come near.

Carolina knows the feeling.

She reaches into her pockets and takes out the small fishcake she brought to offer up to Maine’s ghost. He’d loved these things. But he’ll understand her giving it to a cat.

When she goes back to Valhalla (the ship, not the valley), the cat comes with her.

Wash opens his eyes and groans, clutching the side of his head as another headache spikes.

Tucker, sprawled across his chest, pushes himself up onto his elbows and glances at him. “Headache again?” He mutters.

“Yeah,” Wash says in reply, screwing his eyes shut. “They’re happening more lately.”

Tucker takes Wash’s wrist in his hand, carefully running his thumb along the scar along the inside, from where the IV had been attached, before Carolina had ripped it out, not caring about proper procedure in her rush to get him away. “Think it means something?” Tucker asks, and his other hand pushes Wash’s hair off his sweat-streaked forehead.

Wash winces as it spikes again, and the only reply he is capable of giving is a groan.

“Nevermind,” Tucker said, dropping his hand. “You stay here, I’ll get you some of that soothing tea that Sarge has.”

Wash shivers, suddenly freezing. He burrows into the covers, almost distracted from his migraine by the sudden, desperate need for warmth.

His eyes sink shut.

“What do you see? What do you feel?” The chair is hard and uncomfortable, and the straps are digging in against his skin.

“What do you know?” There’s blood, so much blood, the taste of it clear in his mouth.

“If you just cooperate, Corporal, this will end,” the man’s accent is grating but his eyes are familiar, and Wash opens his mouth to scream again.

“Wash!” Junior is on his chest. “Wash!”

Wash let out a gasp, and sat up. “Junior?” He says, groggy with sleep and disoriented by the memories.

“You were screaming again,” Junior says. His small face is very close to Wash’s own, his big brown eyes concerned.

“Sorry,” Wash rasps. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I did,” Carolina says, and Wash groans.

“What is it, Boss?”

“We’re taking on passengers, Wash,” she says, looking annoyed. “I came to check on you, see if I need to have Donut play host instead.”

“I’m fine,” Wash says. Indeed, his headache has dissipated. “Where’s Tucker?”

“He had to run to the pit,” Carolina says, handing Wash the mug of tea. “York’s flying in.”

“So soon?” Wash cradles the tea, savoring the scent. None of them know how Sarge makes this tea, but it’s one of the few luxuries they have, out here in the dark.

Carolina shrugs. “I didn’t ask.”

“I’ll be there,” Wash promises. “Who do we have?”

“A businessman on his way to visit his family on a colony, and a woman who says she’s a new colonist. Pretty sure she’s a merc,” Carolina adds, her expression dark. “Too many scars otherwise.”

Wash pauses, halfway out of bed. “Trouble, boss?”

“I don’t know.”

“What side, do you think?”

“Can’t say,” Carolina reaches down to pick up Junior. “I’ll let you get dressed.”

“Thanks,” Wash says.

“See you on deck, Wash.” Carolina climbs up the ladder, leaving Wash alone with his thoughts and his tea.

Wash puts on his clothes and finds his gun, holstering it at his side as usual.

The headache is still there, pounding in his temples, but it’s manageable. It’s odd, they usually don’t last this long. They usually just spike, painfully but briefly, then fade away. This is constant, and he doesn’t like it. It’s putting him on edge.

He puts on his wedding ring, and briefly runs a damp comb through his hair to tame it enough to make himself presentable.

He goes down to the cargo bay, and he examines the two people there. One’s a man with an impressive mustache, already laughing at something Donut’s said. The other... something about her makes Wash’s skin crawl. Blonde hair, muscles, all in black, and she’s wearing dark glasses, standing in front of a tall, metal crate with a blank expression.

“Welcome to the Valhalla,” Wash says as he makes his way down towards her. Carolina was right, she’s covered in scars. She’s either very bad at being a merc, or very good. Either way, Wash wants her off the ship as soon as possible. “I’m Wash, the second in command. What’s your name?”

Her eyes dart across him, not even pausing on the brown coat he wears, and shrugs. “Call me Tex,” she says, placing a hand against the side of the crate.

“That’s it?”

“It’s not like I’ll be staying around.” Her eyes are challenging. She isn’t wearing a gun openly, but Wash didn’t doubt she was armed.

Wash nods, then turned to talk to the other man.

He hates taking on passengers.

#The Firefly AU #Steph Writes #Agent Carolina #Agent Washington #Donut Siblings #Red vs Blue

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adkinemi06 · 5 years

Text

Blog Post #26- *Insert Life Lesson Title*

Current Mood: Sick

Currently listening to: Nothing

Current verse of choice: “Repent, then turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord…” Acts 3:19

Once again, it’s been too long since I have blogged…about a month and a half to be exact. I guess it could be worse. My life has been nonstop since the middle of April, and a lot of things have happened. My cousin got married, I went to my mini 2-week Navy boot camp, Collin turned 25, and I started truly looking into what I want to be when I grow up.

In terms of boot camp, I learned so much, and I met some really incredible people. A typical day there looked like this…Wake up around 3:45-4:30, be on line by 4:35, plan of the day announced, work out/march to breakfast (depending on the day), class, march to lunch, class, march to dinner, practice marching, study, iron your uniforms, study more, sleep around 23:30. It wasn’t exhausting because it was physically hard or we worked out a lot-it was exhausting because we got close to no sleep for the entire two weeks we were there (which made the workouts hard). The dorm rooms we stayed in were gross, hot, and old…and we got yelled at a lot. However, the people that were leading our class (Class #19070 ECHO company to be specific) were really cool, and they truly did respect us as naval officers even though most of had no idea what we were doing. The amount of information that I didn’t even know that I didn’t know was incredible. I was constantly trying to retain all of this information all while I was doing whatever I could to stay awake. I drank more caffeine in that two weeks than I ever have in my entire life. It was so severe that I was drinking Coke Zero for breakfast just so I could make it to the 10 o’ clock coffee break! My personal “job” there was a 1st Lieutenant, which meant I took out the trash and helped clean up everyone’s messes. I learned about Naval warfare, how to march, how to salute, who to salute, when to salute, how to eat at attention, how to stand at attention (for an hour), how to make a military bed (in 6 minutes), how to maintain military bearing (which I was really bad at…imagine that), different words to refer to things on a ship (ie: head=bathroom and scuttlebutt=water fountain), Navy values, Navy culture, what it truly means to be a part of the US Navy, and so much more. It was not fun, BUT it was an amazing experience which I am so thankful for the opportunity to have had. It was very inspiring and encouraging. Bottom line is this: I am a United States sailor. I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States of America, and I will obey the orders of those appointed over me. I represent the fighting spirit of the Navy and those who have gone before me to defend freedom and democracy around the world. I proudly serve my country’s Navy combat team with Honor, Courage, and Commitment. I am committed to excellence and fair treatment of all. (And no-I did not have to look that up on Google).

In terms of work, pretty much just the same old, same old to report. There is one pretty funny story, and then there is one super emotional experience I had with a patient. Let’s start with the funny. Rarely do I work in our Cardio-thoracic ICU, but I got floated there one day and got my butt kicked-it was so busy. One thing that the CTICU does is recover heart surgeries straight out of the OR (We refer to these cases as “hearts”). Hearts can either come out of the OR super stable or super unstable, so you always have to be prepared for the worst; also, if it something you don’t do all the time, it can be extremely intimidating. Anyway, I got this heart case, and it was this cute little old lady that was pretty stable. When I was waking her up from anesthesia, I was leaned pretty close to her face. I am not allowed to tell you her name due to HIPPA, so I will name her Tina in this blog. I said, “Hi Tina. You just got out of surgery, and you’re waking up. Everything went well. My name is Emily and I will be your nurse today.” Her eyes pop wide open, she looks at me, and she says, “Wooooooow....you are an angel.” I just chuckled and proceeded with my assessment. She continued to call me an angel for about 30 minutes, then fell asleep. When she woke up, she didn’t even remember who I was! Those pain medications we give are pretty heavy duty.

Moving on to the heavy story…I got report on this 92 year old woman that was emergently coming to the surgical ICU due to a perforated bowel. When I get a report like this, I can’t help but feel sad because I really don’t want this 92 year old woman’s last moments to be spent in the OR with her abdomen cut open and people pounding on her chest while she is bleeding out…it’s just so uncomfortable to visualize, but it is unfortunately what would happen about 90% of time in this situation. Anyway, this adorable woman arrived to the ICU and I instantly fell in love with her. She was super hard of hearing, so I had to scream every time I said something to her and it was like 3 AM….so I’m sure everyone else on the unit really appreciated that. She was so sweet and so funny-I could tell she was trying to maintain her charm, but it was getting more difficult as the pain was getting worse. The doctors went in, assessed her, looked at her scans, then went to the waiting room and basically told her family that her perforated bowel was so bad that they were not even going to offer her surgery. Her family explained that she made the decision to go forward with the surgery herself and that they tried to tell her not to do it. At this point, the doctors and I go into her room and talk-well, scream-to her about it. The conversation went something like this:

Doctor: “Ma’am, you know if you have his surgery, you will most likely not make it back to this room. Do you understand that?” (This doctor didn’t have the best bedside manner I have ever seen).

Patient: “Well, yes. I really just want the pain to stop.”

Doctor: “We can make you comfortable with medication and take the pain away.”

Patient: “I am just having second thoughts about the surgery now.”

Doctor: “Okay, we are going to go get your family and bring them back to talk with you.”

I then went up to her bedside, held her hand, and said, “Is your pain a lot worse now?” This woman looked up into my eyes and said, “You know-I really just need my family so that I can pray with them.” In that moment, I swear I saw right into that woman’s soul…I am actually tearing up right now just reliving it while I am typing this. I told her I would be right back with some pain medicine, and I went straight to the break room and shed some tears. When she looked in my eyes, we both knew that she was going to die that night. Her family came back and she prayed individually with each one of her children-she had them lay their heads on her chest and she prayed for God to protect them and for them not to feel sad because she was going to finally be free. These were grown men and women, laying on their moms chest in the last moments of her life, just praying together…if that doesn’t tug at your heart, then I don’t know what would. It was THEE SADDEST 4 hours I have ever had as a nurse, but also one of the most beautiful images. I pray that is how I get to die someday-not in pain, but surrounded by generations of my family all praying and worshiping around me.

This is where I usually write about a life lesson I have learned recently and relate it to scripture, but this blog is already long enough. But, stay tuned…because I have a good one for next time.

Random thoughts: I can smell football season around the corner…I am loving the summer weather!...I didn’t realize that it has almost been 2 years since I started this blog, so does that make me a semi-experienced nurse now?...I am going to Europe in August-pretty pumped about it.

#Navy Nursing ICU Pray Family Summer

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kilshade · 7 years

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Li-Li has been demanding my attention tonight so I went through a bunch of old prompts and let him answer them.

Under a read more so y’all can ignore me indulging him, and because it’s really long.

http://www.thebookoflife.org/self-knowledge-questionnaire/#

INDEPENDENCE

You don’t set out to be different for its own sake; you are more easily guided by what interests and moves you. You are more concerned about what is right for you than about the pressure to fit in. In sex you are more aware than others of impulses which are not entirely conventional. You know the value of selective irresponsibility, of forgetting occasionally about being ‘good’.

SENSITIVITY You have delicate, sensitive perceptions; you can be deeply moved by appearances – the right light in a room, or good food, or the texture of a piece of clothing. Expressive, intelligent language has a powerful hold on you; your mind works better when it is inspired and provoked by vivid imagery. It can be sad to live in a world which is often so ugly and not properly looked after. But you know that things can be otherwise, and you have the ability to appreciate the world at its best.

PLAYFULNESS You are good at seeing what’s funny, at relaxing and finding the pleasure of the moment. Play is random, whimsical, fantasy-driven behaviour which releases internal tension. Because it is detached from some pressures it allows you to act on weirder, perhaps neglected, parts of yourself. The downside is that it is no help in sticking with things that are not much fun but which need to be addressed. So it is well complemented by its opposite, Stoicism.

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

https://en.shindanmaker.com/219278

----------------------------------------------------------------- GUILTY VS INNOCENT

Rules: You can only say guilty or innocent. You are not allowed to explain anything unless someone messages you or asks you. Asked someone to marry you? - Innocent Kissed one of your friends? - Guilty Danced on a table in a bar or tavern? - Guilty Ever told a lie? - Guilty Had feelings for someone whom you can’t have? - Guilty Ever kissed someone of the opposite sex? - Guilty Ever kissed someone of the same sex? - Guilty Kissed a picture? - Guilty Slept in until 5pm? - Guilty Fallen asleep at work or school? - Guilty Held a snake? - Guilty Been suspended from school? - Innocent Worked at a fast food chain/restaurant? - Innocent Stolen something? - Guilty Been fired from a job? - Innocent Done something you regret? - Guilty Laughed until something you were drinking came out of your nose? - Guilty Caught a snowflake on your tongue? - Guilty Kissed in the rain? - Guilty Sat on a roof top? - Guilty Kissed someone you shouldn’t? -Guilty Sang in the shower? - Guilty Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? - Innocent Shaved your head? - Innocent Slept naked? - Guilty Had a boxing membership? - Innocent Made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? - Guilty Been in a band? - Innocent Shot a gun? - Guilty Donated blood? - Innocent Eaten alligator meat? -Guilty Eaten cheesecake? - Guilty Still loved someone you shouldn’t? - Innocent Have/had a tattoo? - Guilty Liked someone, but will never tell who? - Guilty Been too honest? - Guilty Ruined a surprise? - Guilty Ate in a restaurant and got really bloated that you can’t walk after? - Innocent Erased someone in your friends list? - Guilty Dressed in a man’s clothes? - Guilty Dressed in a woman’s clothes? -Guilty Joined a pageant? - Innocent Been told that you’re beautiful by someone who totally meant what they said? - Guilty Still have communication with your ex? - Innocent Cheated on someone? - Innocent Got totally drunk one night and you have an important exam tomorrow morning? - Guilty A total stranger treated you by paying your fare? - Guilty Got so angry that you cried? - Innocent Tried to stay away from someone for their own good? -Guilty Thought about suicide? - Guilty Thought about murder? - Guilty Actually murdered someone? - Innocent Thought about mass murder? - Innocent Actually committed a mass murder? - Innocent Rode in a stranger’s vehicle? - Guilty Stalked someone? - Guilty Had a girlfriend? - Innocent Had a boyfriend? - Guilty Gotten totally drunk during a holiday? - Guilty ------------------------------------------------------------------------

-------------------------------------------------------------- https://www.qzzr.com/c/quiz/314581/which-film-noir-archetype-are-you

Result: the femme fatale

key characteristics: mysterious, self-destructive, charming, subversive

you are capable of using charm, beauty, and wit to work for your own gain. you understand people's desires easily and know how to use them. you may find yourself relying on others too often, and have difficulty extracting yourself from a situation once it has begun. you may one day find yourself accused of something unjustly, but if you take a moment to step back from the driving force within yourself you may avoid destruction.

film recommendations: double indemnity, out of the past, murder, my sweet

[This result is killing me! LOL]

---------------------------------------------------------------------- Bold all that apply. Italicize leaning or former.

[ WEALTH ] $ Financial : wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty ✚ Medical : fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged ✪ Class or Caste : upper / middle / working / transient / slave / unsure ✔ Education : qualified / unqualified / studying / other ✖ Criminal Record : yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no /

[ FAMILY ] ◒ Children : had a child or children / has no biological children / wants children / has adopted children ◑ Relationship with Family : close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased ◔ Affiliation : orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s) / not applicable

[ TRAITS + TENDENCIES ] ♦ extroverted / introverted / in between ♦ dis-organised / organised / in between ♦ closed-minded / open-minded / in between ♦ calm / anxious / in between ♦ disagreeable / agreeable / in between ♦ cautious / reckless / in between ♦ patient / impatient / in between ♦ outspoken / reserved / in between ♦ leader / follower / in between ♦ empathetic / unempathetic / in between ♦ optimistic / pessimistic / in between ♦ traditional / modern / in between ♦ hard-working / lazy / in between ♦ cultured / uncultured / in between ♦ loyal / disloyal / unknown ♦ faithful / unfaithful / unknown

[ BELIEFS ] ★ Faith : monotheist/ polytheist / atheist / agnostic ☆ Belief in Ghosts or Spirits : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✮ Belief in an Afterlife : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ✯ Belief in Reincarnation : yes / no / don’t know / don’t care ❃ Belief in Aliens : yes (He is one) / no / don’t know / don’t care ✧ Religious : orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious ❀ Philosophical : yes / no

[ SEXUALITY & ROMANTIC INCLINATION ] ❤ Sexuality : heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual ❥ Sex : sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable / naive and clueless ♥ Romance : romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favourable / naive and/or inexperienced ❣ Sexually : adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious ⚧ Potential Sexual Partners : male / female / agender / other / none / all ⚧ Potential Romantic Partners : male / female / agender / other / none / all

[ ABILITIES ] ☠ Combat Skills : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ≡ Literacy Skills : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✍ Artistic Skills : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none ✂ Technical Skills : excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

[ HABITS ] ☕ Drinking Alcohol : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ☁ Smoking : trying to quit / never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ✿ Other Narcotics : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ✌ Medicinal Drugs : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ☻ Indulgent Food : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess $ Splurge Spending : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess ♣ Gambling : never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

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

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 1. HOW OLD ARE THEY? 26

2. WHAT IS THEIR ETHNICITY? Twi’lek / Tukian

3. WHAT ARE THEIR PRONOUNS? He/Him/His

4. WHAT IS THEIR SEXUALITY? Homosexual

5. HOW TALL ARE THEY IN FEET AND INCHES? 6’

6. WHEN DO THEY USUALLY GO TO SLEEP AND WAKE UP? When the cantinas close, and sometime around mid afternoon.

7. DO THEY LIKE LIGHT OR DARK COLORS? Dark, vibrant colors

8. DO THEY HAVE ANY PHYSICAL DISABILITIES? Deaf in his right ear. He wears a thin cybernetic that looks like a comm earpiece to hide it.

9. DO THEY HAVE ANY MENTAL DISABILITIES? Some may say he does, covered by many coping mechanisms.

10. OPTIMISTIC OR PESSIMISTIC? Optimistic

11. DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE? (THIS QUESTION DOESN’T HAVE TO BE SEXUAL!) Submissive

12. THREE THINGS THAT CALM THEM DOWN. Booze, Spice, Sex. He very rarely needs to be calmed down, he’s a calm dude.

13. THREE THINGS THAT SET THEM OFF OR MAKE THEM ANXIOUS Violence, explosions, Sith

14. ARE THEY RELIGIOUS? No

15. WOULD THEY BE CLASSIFIED AS AGGRESSIVE, PASSIVE, OR ASSERTIVE? Passive /assertive. Depends on the situation

16. DO THEY LIKE THEIR PARENTS? No

17. DO THEIR PARENTS LIKE THEM? No

18. HOW DO THEY VIEW THEIR CHILDHOOD IN THEIR EYES? Torture

19. DO THEY FEAR THE FUTURE OR LOOK FORWARD TO IT? Neither.

20. WHAT ONE THING WOULD THEY CHANGE ABOUT THEMSELVES IF THEY COULD? He’d get rid of his scars.

21. ARE THEY INSECURE OR HAPPY WITH THEMSELVES? He’s very happy with himself.

22. OPINION ON ROMANCE? Fun while it lasts!

23. OPINION ON SEX? Yes please!

24. WHAT IS THEIR IDEAL DATE? Dinner, Dancing, a shared bath/shower, waking up together the next day. (If the date went well)

25. WHAT IS THEIR IDEAL ROMANTIC PARTNER? A guy he can be his absolute self with.

26. DO THEY HAVE ANY PHOBIAS? Being enslaved.

27. DO THEY HAVE ANY SMALL THINGS THAT FRUSTRATE THEM? People who freak out over small things.

28. WHAT IS THEIR FAVORITE SEASON? Summer!

29. WHAT IS THEIR FAVORITE MONTH? the Summer months!

30. WHAT IS THEIR FAVORITE COLOR? Bright red and pink

31. WHAT’S THEIR FAVORITE FLAVOR OF FOOD? (SPICY, BITTER, SWEET, SALTY…) Sweet and salty

32. WHAT WAS/IS THEIR FAVORITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL? Robotics and first aid

33. WHAT WAS/IS THEIR LEAST FAVORITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL? Everything else

34. DO THEY HAVE ANY TRAUMA? IF SO, WHAT? He ran away from home at a young age and lived on the streets until he was taken in and given a job and education

35. WHAT IS THEIR BIGGEST, DARKEST FEAR? Same as his phobia.. Getting a shock collar slapped on him and forced into slavery.

36. ARE THEY MONOGAMOUS OR POLYGAMOUS? Polygamous. No one’s asked him to be their one and only.

37. WHAT IS THEIR BODY TYPE? DO THEY LIKE IT? Thin and muscular, Fit. He loves it.

38. DID THEY DO WELL/ARE THEY DOING WELL IN SCHOOL? He did awful in school, save for his favorite subjects. If he’d passed everything, he’d likely be a doctor.

39. DO THEY HAVE A JOB? IF SO, WHAT IS IT? Captain of his own ship and purveyor of illicit goods. (and part time medic if paid enough)

40. HAVE THEY EVER BEEN IN LOVE? Not really

41. HAVE THEY EVER BEEN ARRESTED? Yes

NOT AN ASK, NSFW QUESTIONS FROM HERE ON (OPTIONAL) IF THE REBLOGGER SPECIFIES THEY WANT NO NSFW IN THEIR INBOX, RESPECT THAT! (NSFW STUFF )

42. WHAT’S ONE THING THAT TURNS THEM ON? His lekku being played with

43. WHAT’S ONE THING THAT TURNS THEM OFF? Violence, pain, being harmed during.

44. ARE THEY KNOWN FOR BEING A FREAK OR MORE VANILLA? Freak

45. ARE THEY A VIRGIN? No.

46. ARE THEY INTO ANYTHING ILLEGAL? Not that he knows of.

47. ARE THEY TURNED ON OR FREAKED OUT BY BSDM? NEUTRAL? Neutral

48. HAVE THEY EVER MASTURBATED ON THEIR OWN? Yes

48. WOULD THEY EVER WANT TO BE INVOLVED IN SEX THAT INCLUDES MORE THAN TWO PEOPLE? Absolutely.

#This has been a long post #maybe he'll leave me alone and let me write now #oc: Li'ok

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tykimikknuggets · 7 years

Text

longing for now

dgmfanworks2k17

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Day 3: Domestic/Home/Comfort

Lavi and Lenalee have long since made a habit of bathing together when they can, but things are a little different after they come home from the Ark.

“The mission wasn’t too bad, though. Short, at least. I thought Krory would be in some real trouble, when that Akuma cornered him –“

“He did look pretty shaken up when I saw him.”

“Yeah, he was pretty out of it the whole trip back. Pass the shampoo, will you?”

She reached up and out, rising up onto her knees in the tub as she did - Lavi definitely wasn’t distracted for a moment by the curve of her back and bum as they emerged from the water - and he continued, swallowing hard. “—but Allen was able to finish it off just in time and save the Innocence, and –“

Lenalee interrupted him with a startled cry that made Lavi’s head snap up just in time to get a faceful of water. As he spluttered, water trickling from his hair and nose, she clapped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and sparkling with poorly-suppressed amusement.

“Sorry! Sorry, I slipped— it was an accident—“

Lavi splashed her back, grinning widely, and she froze, gaping at him. When she finally managed a reply, her voice was low and threatening.

“Oh, you’re going to regret that.”

He didn’t have more than a second to process that before she was on top of him, eyes alight with mischief as she sent wave after wave over his head, leaving him gasping and thoroughly drenched. He tried in vain to shield against the assault with one arm, covering his eyes with the other. “Lena,” he managed to blurt out, holding back laughter. “Lena, hold up-- can’t breathe--”

She paused, and Lavi took advantage, grabbing her hands and slipping around and on top of her. He was rather gratified by her outraged shriek, which was cut off as he dunked her into the warm water. Lenalee came up pouting, and Lavi grinned triumphantly.

“You’re adorable,” he informed her.

She spat a mouthful of lukewarm water in his face.

Blinded, Lavi couldn’t defend himself as strong legs hooked around his own and he was maneuvered beneath her again - by the time he had rubbed the water from his eyes, she was sitting triumphantly on his thighs, gripping the sides of the tub. “Give up yet?” she taunted, a broad, challenging grin spreading across her face.

Lavi struggled and twisted beneath her, but couldn’t throw her off. Her thighs were firmly clamped around his own - which was giving him some very interesting ideas that he would absolutely be revisiting later - and when he tried to grab onto something for leverage, she leaned forward and pinned his arms, too. “Okay, okay, I give!” He laughed, trying to will away the flush that he could feel spreading from his cheeks to his ears, turning them almost as red as his hair. “You win, okay, just let me up--”

Instead, Lenalee flopped down on his stomach, resting her forehead gently against his. Her breathing was a little heavier than normal, but her grin never faltered.

Lavi stared up at her and smirked. “Hey,” he said with a little grin, leaning up to just barely brush his lips over hers.

Her responding giggle was light and a little breathless. “Hey,” she agreed, shifting backwards to let him up. Once Lavi was more comfortably seated in the tub, he grabbed his girlfriend around the waist and pulled her back against him, nuzzling into her neck. “I’ve missed this,” he murmured against her skin. “It’s been way too long since we had time together.” Lenalee let out a little hum of agreement, reaching down to take one of his hands in hers.

“You’ve been on one mission after another since we got back, haven’t you?”

“Busy is good, I guess. It means we’re making progress.”

She sighed, but squeezed his hand lightly. “I know. I’m just so tired of being on medical leave. I feel useless without my legs working properly - and I’m fine now, it’s just my brother being overprotective. I’m as strong as ever, right?”

“Of course,” he reassured her - it wasn’t a lie, even if Lavi couldn’t help wanting her to stay out of combat for a little longer.

He instinctively reached up to run a comforting hand through her hair, but froze as his fingers encountered empty air where the long locks used to be. His eyes met hers, and there was a moment of awkwardness as he slowly, gently rested his hand on the back of her neck.

“Um, right,” she mumbled, ducking her head. “Is it—is it weird?”

“A little,” Lavi admitted, curling his fingers into the short, soft hairs at the back of her neck. He wouldn’t, couldn’t lie to her, not anymore, but he felt a sharp pang of guilt when she tugged her hand from his, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry,” he added, letting his free hand wrap around her slender waist.

She frowned up at him, then looked away again. “You don’t have to pity me, Lavi. It’s just hair, it’ll grow back.”

“But it’s bothering you, isn’t it?”

It took her a moment to respond, and when she did, her voice was quiet. “It feels wrong. I know it’s stupid, but I don’t feel like myself, looking like this.”

This time it was Lavi who had to take a few seconds, thinking. “It’s natural, though, isn’t it? It’s a big change, and if it’s reminding you of…”

She hunched her shoulders slightly, and Lavi stopped.

“...of what happened,” he continued lamely, “then of course it’d upset you.”

She still looked glum, so he hurried to continue. “I mean, the psychological ramifications of a fairly traumatic event that lead to severe injury and the loss of a comrade you had come to care about, coupled with a constant physical reminder of said event, would be--”

“No offense, Lavi, but I don’t need explanations right now.”

Lavi blinked and snapped his mouth shut. “Ah. Okay.” He floundered for a moment, and his uncertainty must have shown on his face, because she snorted.

“Look, can we just...pretend things haven’t changed?”

“Things haven’t changed,” Lavi pointed out, but obediently poured a dollop of shampoo right on top of her head and started massaging it in. It felt strange, somehow, not having to separate it out and wash it piece by piece, not to have silky hair cascading over his hands and fanning out in the water around them - but it wasn’t bad. It was certainly more efficient - her hair was already drying from their impromptu water fight, and Lavi had to fight back a snicker at the way it stuck up at odd angles. “It’s kind of fluffy,” he remarked, pulling a soapy hand free and watching the short locks spike up.

Her lips twitched.

He ran his hand through it a few more times, spending a few moments toying with the soft baby hairs at the base of her neck and watching how Lenalee stiffened. “Does that feel okay?”

She nodded mutely, and he continued, massaging her scalp gently until nearly all the tension eased from her shoulders. When Lavi deemed her sufficiently relaxed, he turned the water back on, gently rinsing it out. It was strange, how quickly it went - normally washing her hair took at least half an hour, but he supposed he’d get used to it in time.

“All done,” he announced, breaking the silence and ruffling her hair in emphasis. The cheer in his voice might have been a little bit forced, but he hoped she hadn’t noticed.

She had probably noticed, judging by the way she looked deliberately away, so Lavi dropped the act with a sigh and took her hand once more.

“And for what it’s worth…” Lavi gently tilted her chin up, silently urging her to look him in the eye. “I like your hair whether it’s long or short, up or down, when it’s perfectly brushed out or when you’ve just woken up, or when it’s tickling my nose and making me sneeze when we’re cuddling.” His voice was serious, but his lips were curving into a small, warm smile.

She snorted, and Lavi counted it as a win.

“So, yes, it’s a bit weird to see you looking so different. I’m still getting used to it - we both are. But you’re still the most beautiful, brave, wonderful woman I’ve ever known. If you haven’t noticed, Lena, I happen to like you a lot.”

“Flattery,” she grumbled, but didn’t resist as he pulled her tight against his chest. They stayed in that position for a long time, her fingers tracing soft patterns over the pale scars that decorated his arms and chest. She’d long since familiarized herself with them, and he with hers - no Exorcist survived as long as either of them had without bearing the proof upon their skin.

“We should get out,” she finally said, reluctance dripping from every word.

Lavi groaned, craning his neck to plant a few kisses on her neck, then the sensitive skin behind her ear. She was not to be dissuaded, though, and pushed him away gently, reaching up to cup his cheek with one hand. “Lavi, I’m serious.” Her voice was light and filled with mirth, though, and a sly little grin spread over her face. “Wouldn’t want Allen to walk in on us again. He looked so horrified last time.”

“I’m telling you, I locked the door! He picked the lock! That kid’s a sneaky little monster, Lena!”

Her bright, tinkling laugh echoed off the walls, and Lavi leaned in to kiss her on the forehead, unable to keep the smile from his face. She looked up at him, a hint of confusion marring her brow.

He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, as though it were the most precious of secrets. “I really love you, y’know.”

Lenalee didn’t answer, but the newly returned light he saw in her eyes as he pulled away told Lavi all he needed to know.

A/N: Inspired by @letspleasuretogether’s lavilena headcanons. I was absolutely enchanted by the idea of them bathing together, and was suddenly struck by the idea of Lenalee being self-conscious about her shorter hair and Lavi reassuring her (and discovering how much fun it still is to wash and play with, even minus the length).

I wrote like half of this before realizing that it makes no sense with the timeline SO let’s just pretend that lavi’s innocence wasn’t damaged in the Ark arc and go with that. Yeah. It’s like….sometime after they got back, while Lenalee’s legs are still injured (o b v i o u s l y)

Also thank you to @tykipomme for the title!! you’re wonderful and amazing and thank you for putting up with me screaming about my fics all the time

Anyway, these babs are cute and I love them, that is all

#dgm #dgmfanworks2k17 #lavilena #lavi #lenalee lee #this is on time idk what you're talking about #IT'S STILL WEDNESDAY #this is just one giant bath scene #so much fluff

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imascientistofmusic · 7 years

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Im a huge fucking nerd

final LYRICS FOR ENDOLPHINS AND MC FOUCAULT EP Welcome to Kirby’s Memeland (MILLIPEDES FOR THE MOLEMEN) Got it so hot y'all give me standing ovations while I'm spamming the squat[1] like my whole family's Croatian if my dad's Jackie Chan[2] am I Hispanic or Asian? please understaånd this equation ()[3] me no panic just blazing at any random location i’m your romantic liaison killa Beys in formation[4] the doctor's[5] now handling patients I put the wots in tarnations[6] I put the spots on dalmatians I move the block with my cadence Now time just stops when i say shit But the beat goes on cause i made it Alex Strong[7] in the paint and Singing So Long[8] to fake friends We can roll out the Save ends[9] Y'all kittens tryin my patience I need to find an oasis Pass me that blunt and i'll face it Why y'all stuntin so basic? Im kinda something like LASIK[10] take your quirk and erase it[11] If there's something to say then I'm Malcolm Little and Dakin[12] Welcome to Kirbys Memeland[13] Im a giant herbing with green hands[14] Defiantly serving up steamed hams[15] Yo shuhei hold up i got remands[16] Misery[17] in the moment Missouri in the mornings[18] Mysteries in the motions Miss her seas in this ocean[19] (oh shit) ALL AT ONCE (HOW HARD JAMES HARDIN GOES WHEN HE GOES HARD IN THE PAINT) One day i’ll kill all the white men take back the land we’re missin[20] Im Diego's street art and they're banksy's vandalisms[21] Like the second coming of yeezus[22] and he's risen Built a religion for giant robots[23] called it animism[24] My flow is so fucking preposterous Patrol the land rarer than rhinoceroses[25] Get your heads out the sand yall lookin like ostriches Didn't kill the cat[26] but we checked it into hospice I know yr feeling that and baby one i got this My boys swing the bats like my last name was ausmus[27] Best rappers who aren't black you know i top the list prophets foretold my path (my birth) it was an (heavenly) auspice Imagine how hard james hardin[28] goes when he goes hard in the paint Well i go harder than that On my level you ain't I'm smart as The Bat[29] I'm like double your rank I just started to rap But the devil remains In the details im valued retail theyre resale[30] i'll continue my never ending quest to impress you[31] I’m obsessed with the things that pens do Allah bless this mess because i swear i intend to Decompress and recollect about fucked things that friends[32] do Parenthetically my memes are better than y’all’s Im aesthetically[33] hiding in vectors too small Interjecting my dreams while dissenting all leans[34] Exquisitely dining on minds here at the end of all things [35] We bout those movers and shakers We bustin loose of the matrix[36] I get my fruit at bodegas Im bound to move to NEW VEGAS[37] Matthew McConaughey (HARRY AND THE HUMAN CENTIPEDES) Another space time anomaly[38] An Interstellar[39] odyssey Alright alright alright Im Mathew McConaughey Im unfuckingstoppable the impossible possible The whole world's my hospital not a gd thing is inoperable[40] Credentials are laudable Essentially i got it all Took a look at the d And then called an audible[41] Obliterate any Obstacle Precipitate like waterfalls Instigate a kinder cause Evicerate a haunted ghoul[42] When i fucks with physics the laws get more lax my words carry weight like the world's biggest snorlax[43] Come at me son yr gonna need more VATS[44] carried this town[45] for So Long[46] im getting a sore back their love for me like a tree to the Lorax[47] My lyrics paint pictures so i call them a Rorschach[48] my bones are telling me bad weathers on the forecast a storm is rolling in this is the calm before that Past five centuries all of them regrettable[49] Just like entropy i am inevitable[50] I was meant to leave my head it was full Fundamentally i'm so far ahead of these fools Down five hennessy's trying just to deaden this pulse[51] Iron sentry's lining the edge of the mall[52] 100% dying to dismantle this wall[53] Johnny five empathy no disassemble this bot[54] Quintessentially im X at the head of this school[55] Intermittently you slept in my bed it was cool incidentally we had sex in the end of the pool Human centipede[56] that ass it was my edible[57] G.O.A.T. (NIETZSCHE DIDN’T KILL GOD, I DID) Like JD[58] I’m the GOAT[59] Billy[60] hashtag Swag[61]gert[62] Worlds most accurate fact checking rapper This is a game to me Chutes and ladders[63] Here's where the bangers[64] be girl you know i had ‘er My flow the yangtze[65] i spit venom black adders[66] Opposite of banksy[67] or some bullshit “all lives matter”[68] Fuck the president[69] that dude cant get any badder[70] Cooking up some poppy tea[71] mix it up like cake batter HEY DON'T LOOK AWAY DON'T LET IT GROW ON YOU IT'S NOT OK Engrave the following on my headstone: “They[72] died getting head stoned peepin Tombstone[73] While eatin a tombstone pizza[74]" I’ve gone full blown nietzsche[75] said hello to the abyss "it was good to meet ya"[76] Behind this mask's a terrifying creature[77] Who would gladly cook you up and eat ya Every track i’m on mc foucault's the feature Threat level dragon[78] when im hittin the road again Like shang tsun out here looking for some souls to bend[79] Other rappers words are last years memes im so over them Like neil in the 80s its the weight of the world im shoulderin'[80] Tho ive been there once couldnt tell you where denver starts and boulder ends[81] Rockin california fishes like them pennsylvania colder pens[82] I spit fire like dylon[83] and i left the studio smolderin Sitch is Dire like sylons you used to know as older friends[84] Minds expired with prions[85] when i take theirs skulls and open em Im entirely high on the spirit taking time up and folding it[86] unlike battery acid im so hella caustic[87] Such flattering assets with a tongue so toxic Made saturn's rings spin on a cosmic cross stitch My staggering spit it god agnostic[88] [1] “Why do Slavs squat?” is a satirical catchphrase associated with imageboards and forums discussing Eastern European people and cultures http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/why-do-slavs-squat-slav-squat [2] My dad and jackie chan are aging to look like the same person [3] I use medical marijuana to treat anxiety [4] Beyonce - Formation https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDZJPJV__bQ [5] My initials are DRB and so many folks call me Doctor or Doctor B [6] “What in Tarnation?” is a rhetorical question meaning “what in damnation?”, which is often associated with Americans living in the Southern United States expressing incredulous bewilderment. http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/what-in-tarnation [7] Drummer of Endolphins and one of the progenitors of this particular beat [8] So Long is my queerpop band SoLongNaota.Bandcamp.com [9] A saving throw in D&D http://dnd4.wikia.com/wiki/Saving_throw [10] Corrective laser eye surgery [11] Boku No Hero Academia character Shota Aizawa “eraser head” who’s special power is erasing others’ special powers http://bokunoheroacademia.wikia.com/wiki/Shota_Aizawa [12] Church of The Three Cats is at the corner of Malcolm X (born Malcolm Little) and Dakin in Lansing, Michigan [13] Gamboy title Kirby’s Dreamland but with memes [14] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_Giant but with Weed [15] Simpsons shitpost classic http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/steamed-hams [16] Once I beat magic the gathering hall of famer Shuhei Nakamura in a Grand Prix with a timely remand [17] The first Endolphins release was called North of Misery as a nod to their being in Iowa [18] In 2015 I toured with Endolphins and had two amazing mornings in St Louis, s/o to KPAX and calcifer [19] Sometimes you meet someone who forever changes the way you think about things like water, and then you drown in thoughts never actually able to grasp anything completely again [20] im native as fuck http://www.corteidh.or.cr/tablas/24777.pdf [21] Artist Diego Rivera vs Banksy [22] Kanye West's ego messiah and eponymous album [23] giant robot anime trope for example: neon genesis evangelion, flcl, gundam... [24] Animism but with Anime https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Animism [25] Rhino’s are near extinct everywhere https://www.savetherhino.org/rhino_info/rhino_population_figures [26] Slang for giving a person with a vagina multiple orgasms [27] Detroit Tigers skipper Brad Ausmus [28] James Hardin is a professional basketball Superstar [29] Comic book protagonist Batman [30] Price you get for selling an item new (retail) vs used (resale) [31] A certain person who since i have met has inspired most of my creative endeavors [32] See directly above [33] in a way that gives pleasure through beauty [34] biases [35] Comic book character Galactus, Eater of Worlds https://marvel.com/universe/Galactus [36] 1999 science fiction film The Matrix [37] 2010 video game Fallout: New Vegas [38] My favorite Star Trek trope [39] My favorite Matthew McConaughey film [40] See note #5 [41] In american football a quarterback will notice something about the defense and change the play at the line of scrimmage, this is called an audible [42] These are hearthstone cards [43] Snorlax is a very large and heavy pokemon that can only be moved by playing a special flute [44] Vault-tec assisted targeting system in Fallout video game franchise, the more skill points one has the more they can do in combat before an enemy reacts [45] I have been a pillar of the diy community in lansing michigan for 20 years [46] So Long Naota/Collective see note #8 [47] Dr Seuss character who is the protector of nature [48] The Rorschach test is a psychological test in which subjects' perceptions of inkblots are recorded and then analyzed using psychological interpretation, complex algorithms, or both. [49] Since Europeans have arrived on the shores of North and South America they have brought only misery and genocide [50] The second law of thermodynamics requires that, in general, the total entropy of any system can't decrease other than by increasing the entropy of some other system. Hence, in a system isolated from its environment, the entropy of that system tends not to decrease. [51] Drinking is a mostly self destructive behavior for myself and I tend to only do it when i wish to self harm [52] Episode 3 of the 1997 anime Beserk [53] Fuck borders fuck walls freedom is not possible when they exist [54] 1986 film Short Circuit about a robot that gains sentience and learns of death the term for which is dissassemble [55] Professor Xavier from the X-Men comics who runs a school for Mutants [56] 2009 Dutch body horror film Human Centipede tells the story of people sewn mouth to ass [57] Analingus [58] The Mountain Goats frontman John Darnielle or JD aka thrashkitten member of the sooper swag project [59] GOAT (Greatest Of All Time) is a term used in hip hop to talk about the best rappers ever [60] A billy is a male goat [61] #swag is a song by rapper GMCFOSHO who is a friend of mine [62] Jimmy Swaggert was a televangelist who was defrocked for multiple prostitution scandals [63] Chutes and Ladders is a metaphor for life. As such, it is arguably the most philosophical of all children's board games. Based on the ancient Indian game Snakes and Ladders. The historic version had root in morality lessons, where a player's progression up the board represented a life journey complicated by virtues (ladders) and vices (snakes). [64] Banger is a term for a particularly moving composition [65] The Yangtze is the longest river in Asia and the third-longest in the world. The river is the longest in the world to flow entirely within one country. [66] A venomous snake that lives in europe and east asia, also a nod to the lyric earlier about chutes and ladders (snakes and ladders) [67] “Some have criticised the "obviousness" of Banksy's work, and accused it of being "anarchy-lite" geared towards a middle class "hipster" audience.” [68] A slogan used to silence the #blacklivesmatter movement [69] Donald Trump [70] 1998 Arcade game Bad Dudes vs Dragon Ninja later ported to the Nintendo Entertainment System known widely for its intro cut scene in which the protagonists are asked if they are bad enough dudes to save the president [71] Poppy tea is any herbal tea infusion brewed from poppy straw or seeds of several species of poppy. For the purpose of the tea, dried pods are more commonly used than the pods of the live flower. The walls of the dried pods contain opiate alkaloids, primarily consisting of morphine. [72] I am non-binary and use they/them pronouns [73] 1993 Western Tombstone starring kurt russel and val kilmer [74] Very cheap frozen pizzas of dubious quality [75] Nietzsche claimed the death of God would eventually lead to the loss of any universal perspective on things, and along with it any coherent sense of objective truth [76] Nietzsche once said: “Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.” [77] Nietzsche also said: “All great things must first wear terrifying and monstrous masks in order to inscribe themselves on the hearts of humanity.” [78] 2015 Anime and Manga One Punch Man’s shout out to Neon Genesis Evangelion describing a monster that is a threat to multiple cities [79] 1992 Arcade Fighing game Mortal Combat’s main villain who stole people's souls [80] Neil Young's sleeper Weight of The World from his amazing foray into new wave on his criminally unheralded album Landing on Water [81] I visited colorado for the first time on tour with Endolphins and tho enjoyable it was mostly mountains and urban sprawl and legal weed [82] The 2016 battle for Lord Stanley’s cup between NHL’s Pittsburgh Penguins and [83] Chappell show sketch about Dylon who thought he was the GOAT because “dylon spit hot fire” [84] Battlestar Galactica plot twist [85]Kuru is a very rare, incurable neurodegenerative disorder that was prevalent among the Fore people of Papua New Guinea. Kuru is caused by the transmission of abnormally folded prion proteins, which leads to symptoms such as tremors, loss of coordination, and neurodegeneration. Most people who develop it are cannibals [86] The quantum physics theory of time travel [87] Acids are corrosive and bases are caustic [88] God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it? — Nietzsche, The Gay Science, Section 125,

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kettlequills · 7 years

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soulmark pt 1

inspired by this post about polyamorous soulmates. Polydiamonds, part one, Yellow Diamond/Blue Diamond. Art kindly provided by @papersketch, used with permission.

Yellow is born seeing in shades of gold, with buttercup yellow eyes and three soulmarks. The marks are young, of course - there’s a blue splotch on her skinny chest, a pink blur on her right ankle, and a phrase, sometimes words, printed on the back of her neck in a neat, stylish hand, all in grey.

She is too young to understand the muttering of the doctors as they rush back and forward over her cradle, snapping photographs and running tests on the marks developing clearly on skin too young for scars. Her mother looks worried, asks about defects, is quizzed about drugs she took while pregnant. They stay in hospital for over three weeks. On her medical file there is a pitying note written by a nurse who went home and cried about a doomed child who looked in the physical pinnacle of health.

Three is so highly unusual to be almost never heard of; everyone is sure that she is broken, that she will never find her proper life companion. The soulless are seen as creatures of abject pity and fear.

To Yellow, the marks are the only indication of colours other than her namesake that she has. She looks at the pink blotch on her foot and compares it against the endless wheat coloured grass, flowers all the colours of sunflowers and dandelions, as if the whole world has been dripped and slathered in honey, oversaturated, bright, brilliant. She imagines whole skies the colour of the blue mark on her chest, sometimes a wobbly splotch with undefined edges, sometimes a child’s portrait of a cat, sometimes a messy handprint, like her soulmate has just stamped a hand in paint just underneath Yellow’s skinny neck.

She is five when she discovers that having three soul marks makes her different, because everyone else in her new nursery only has one. In fact, Yellow is only allowed to spend half an hour there before one of the nursery teachers notices the words peeking out above her T-shirt’s neck, marching obliviously up to the child’s innocent hairline.

“We do not tolerate profanity from pre-schoolers,” the nursery teacher scolds Yellow’s mother furiously.

Yellow stands nearby, head down, not looking at the other kids gathering round for the show, the back of her neck raw and abraded from when the nursery teacher had scrubbed relentlessly at skin. The words were still there, of course, harsh and black and angry, sunken into her skin like poisonous claws. No one apart from the nursery teacher knows French, but the words have the anger of a curse, and Yellow can feel the despair, like an ache, sinking into the bone.

‘Fucking kill me,’ one of her soulmates has written, across space and strangerhood, into her flesh.

“It’s her mark, it’s one of her marks,” Yellow’s mother tries her best to explain, “this one has always been the most developed – it didn’t say that when I brought her here this morning, look-“

“One of her marks?” The nursery teacher exclaims.

Like all good mothers, Yellow’s keeps a careful photo diary of her soulmarks’ progression. Unlike most mothers, she doesn’t share hers. She brings up the appropriate photo on her phone, only three days old. Clearly visible, the mark is in the shape of a snowy white hawk, lovingly drawn, deeply detailed, in all shades of monochrome.

Yellow is still removed from the nursery. She holds hands with her furiously embarrassed and humiliated mother, sweating under the heat of the scarf wrapped thickly around her neck, wishing she could go back to the cool nursery, with the sandpit she’d only just got the chance to investigate. She pulls towards the park as they pass, gazing longingly at sunny children playing behind gold bars.

“Please?” she asks, quietly, “park, mummy?”

Her mother looks down at her, probably wanting to get home and put the embarrassment behind her. But her usually rambunctious child is quiet, still somewhat shamefaced from a telling off that she doesn’t understand, and her mother cannot bring herself to say no. They go inside, and her mother pushes her on the swings, back and forth, soaring higher like she is untethered to the ground, like the hawk one of her soulmarks had been only that morning.

The thought makes her want to get off the swings, but there is a sandpit nearby to explore.

And, off-puttingly, a child, screaming.

She has fallen off the climbing frame, facedown with hair in the darkest shade of yellow that she can see falling around her face, and the diagnosis hasn’t happened yet, but it is for the same reason that lands her in a wheelchair years later. Huffing, Yellow goes to see what the matter with her is. It’s rather difficult to play in the sandpit with somebody bawling for their mother right next to her.

She turns the little girl called Blue over and sits her up.

There’s a strange, funny feeling in her chest, and suddenly her eyes ache and her temples pound and now they’re both crying, drawing the attention of the adults.

Then they go silent, breathless, watching colours swirl around them. Blue sees buttercups shining bright gold and a yellow painted climbing frame, Yellow sees the deep turquoise of the sky, the chipped and flaking paint on the park bench. And together, they can see the verdant spread of the emerald green grass.

When their apologetic mothers collect them, their eyes have turned bright, hard green, and they are clutching onto one another and staring with the dazed, blissful expressions of those seeing something wholly new.

“Oh, thank God,” says Yellow’s mother. “Does she have all three too?”

The mothers, nearly teary eyed with relief, adjourn to a nearby Americano café, small and neatly-kept with zinc-topped tables and a smiling blonde waitress. Blue and Yellow must be fussed, of course, and bought cakes and hot chocolate to celebrate the Finding. When the two children are adequately placated, staring alternately at each other over steamy mugs of hot chocolate with the innocent curiosity to the young, then at the wide, suddenly colourful world beyond the fogged glass of the cafe window, the mothers are free to talk, pouring out words in hushed whispers hoarsened by relief.

“I thought that Blue would never know-“ Blue’s mother stops, because Yellow’s mother has taken her hand, perfectly able to understand a mother’s fear that her child would never know something she considered a great joy.

They exchange contact details, and haggle over free weekdays for regular play dates. Each mother leaves satisfied, convinced that she has worn down the other into a better deal, half-yanking their child along when they stop too frequently to stare in intense and enrapt amazement at the light shining through a veined leaf, a yellow bumblebee’s iridescent wings, the deep murky blue of fountain water.

As Yellow grows, her childhood is spent split double, half in her own life, half in Blue’s. They have sleepovers that last over four days, their own mugs in each house, using clothes (Blue steals Yellow’s combat boots, Yellow borrowers with no intention of returning her sweltering hoodies) and toothbrushes interchangeably, living inside each other, like wearing in comfortable shoes that never break. Yellow comes to look on Blue’s mother like a stepmother, her second family.

It is Blue who approaches Yellow’s mother and tells her and Yellow both that Yellow is dyslexic. They work on strategies and techniques together, in between visiting Blue at hospital, finding ribbons and spray paint to decorate Blue’s new wheelchair’s rims.

They do everything for the first time together, learning to ride a bike, watching the sea coming in colours they can both see, watching films through special tinted glasses, swapping books with the text printed in Braille, shopping for clothes by texture rather than colour. Yellow comes to look at her life as an addendum to Blue, they are inseparable, parts of each other – she is convinced she can feel Blue’s patient amusement as she struggles through a timed essay, her pride when Yellow argues with her science teacher.

Blue kisses her for the first time when they are thirteen. They are sat on Blue’s bed, Saturday sunlight streaming through the window, highlighting the glossy darkness in Blue’s hair, the liquid shine of her eyes. She is leaning close, applying wobbly eyeliner to Yellow’s eyes. She leans back, to survey her work. Then, in that matter-of-fact way that Blue sometimes has when she is most nervous, Blue puts her small hand on Yellow’s cheek and her lips clumsily on Yellow’s. They both pause there, uncertain of what to do next, until they are interrupted from an untimely quarter.

Blue winces, Yellow grimaces. The grey soulmark is burning as it changes shape. United, they move apart, and Blue shifts her leg so that they can see the soulmark altering on the inside of her left thigh, bared by her shorts. Yellow’s legs tangle with hers, so it looks like the vivid pink mark on her ankle (in the shape of a wobbly child’s drawing of a ratty doll missing one leg) is the shadow of the grey mark on Blue’s thigh.

The soulmark shapes itself into words, and without needing to be asked, Yellow Googles a translation. She hesitates a bit before saying what it means.

“I’m nothing without you,” Yellow translates.

Blue looks at the soulmark on her thigh, then pokes the broken pink doll on Yellow’s ankle. “Do you think they’re okay? Do you think we will ever meet them one day?”

“I think if I have you, I don’t care,” Yellow told her honestly, slumping back on the bed to reply to a text.

“Mm,” Blue agreed, and lay next to her, her head a pleasant weight on Yellow’s shoulder, the sunlight moving in dizzying patterns across the ceiling as the screen of Yellow’s phone scattered reflections.

#inkwrites #steven universe #soulmates #yd/bd #bellow diamond #papersketch

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