#listen. i am aware i will one day die in a more or less predictable time range. i get it okay. u've made your point | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gildedmuse · 3 years

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Hey, everyone.

So recently I've (predictably) very not well. Actually, whenever I don't post for long periods, just assume my body is trying to kill me. But I've gotten messages from three people asking if I. Okay, which is super sweet. I am actually trying to work on the next All Hearts, a really long ZoLaw post and two request fics, but mixing chronic kidney pain and capitalist society's mandate to work 40+ hours is not recommended.

But to prove I'm okay and still me, here is some Shanks antics with him being a total slut while Mihawk and Beckman just roll their eyes and go along with it. [Shout out to @jhaernyl who not only listens to me ramble about this stuff, but actively encourages it]. I also have many thoughts on the latest episodes and so many screenshots it's embarrassing. Hopefully, when I'm in less pain, I'll get around to actually posting those. Otherwise I just look like an insane person who literally takes by the second frame shots every time Zoro is on screen.

.... What is that? I look like that anyway? Fair.

Shanks Is A Bad Influence

It feels like Buggy and Shanks split up after Roger's death (the crew was told to, and they are the only ones who went to his execution) and I find it impossible to think Shanks didn't immediately set out and find a crew; like, pirating is the only thing this kid knows in life. This means two things:

He set out from East Blue. Also, he seemed at ease and familiar with the East so it's possible he spent like a year there getting everything together. Maybe he even played around in the other blues for a while before heading back to the Grand Line. I say this because his crew is from all over so either he found and recruited them in the Grand Line or visited various blues. Either way, I'm gonna say it took him about two years before getting a 'proper' start. In that case, he would have started out properly at the age of 17 and we know One Piece likes it's parallels.

That still puts Shanks at 17 to Benn Beckmen's 28. How the fuck did Shanks manage that? I'd call it grave robbing, but let's face it, the little tyke probably got up to some actual robbing of graves as well.

My point being everytime Shanks teases Mihawk about keeping this 19 year old kid on his personal island, mostly shirtless, Benn Beckmen just lifts an eyebrow.

Excuse me, captain, who had prefected the 'opps still don't have my sea legs' trip-and-fall into their first mates lap by the age of 17?

Shanks: Beckmen, you caught me! *Shamelessly nuzzles up* Thank goodness! I could be a devil's fruit user after all and - Ahh!

Benn: *Drops Shanks straight over the side of the ship into the water*

Shanks: *Sputtering* What what that!?

Benn: Checking to see if you had eaten a devil's fruit on us, Capatin.

Benn: You didn't.

Smart ass. But he can't resist Shanks forever. Shanks will wear him down eventually.

Next time Mihawk tracks him down for another match - because you know he gets bored way quicker than he'll ever admit and Shanks is at least amusing a challenge - Shanks makes a big deal out of how Mihawk follows him around, "accidentally" revealing they slept together, sighing about how it's so hard to resist him.

Benn Beckmen is just leaning against the side of the ship, sipping his booze.

Shanks: -and I can't stay for hours like last time!!

Mihawk: Are you quite done?

Shanks: *whispering* Does Benn look jealous?

Mihawk: He looks bored. Much like I am. Is this some strange attempt to get out of my challenge, Akagami?

Shanks: What? No, come on I told you I was game. But, hey, could you do me a favor? Maybe like try and kiss me or something? Like take a swing like your going to hit me but then stop shot and grab me by the waist instead.

Mihawk: .... Trickery is beneath you. Besides, you're absolute rubbish at it.

Shanks: Oh, come on, I would totally help you get laid if you asked!

Mihawk: .... *Sigh* I want a proper match afterwards.

Mihawk: *In a forced, monotone voice* After this I will take you to my lair and have my way with you, Akagami.

Mihawk: ... My lair? Really?

Shanks: *Holding up cue card with quickly scribbled line* What? That is how you talk.

Mihawk: I can't believe I wasted precious hours of light tracking you to this atrociously rural port.

Shanks: See? Now, read the next one.

Benn: Captain? If this is going to take all night, I am going to go join the rest of the men in the tavern.

Shanks: Huh? Wait! Benn! What if Miha really stabs me this time!?

Benn: *Salutes Shanks with his bottle* Sounds like that is his plan captain. Have a good 'challenge'.

Shanks: What? No... *Reaching out hand, like he might die if Benn leaves, looking completely devastated* Not even a little jealous...

Mihawk: You couldn't have thought that pantomime would actually work.

Shanks: Benny, don't leave me.... *Turns to Mihawk, immediately brightening* Oh, well, there's always tomorrow. Hey, Miha, guess whose free all night and horny as a pirate in the calm belt?

Mihawk: .... *Sigh* Very well.

Mihawk might as well get something for the trip he made. Although, he's reconsidering if the sex was actually worth the trouble after he ends up listening to Shanks worry half the night that Benn is shacking up with someone else (after a couple hours of rough and raw fucking, admittedly).

Is it the hat? He likes his captain's hat. Miha, you think his captain's hat is sexy, don't you?

Mihawk: It's utterly ridiculous.

Shanks: ....

Shanks: *Smile* Ahh, Miha, I knew you liked the hat!

Shanks: What do you old Northerns find sexy?

Mihawk: I am only four years older than you.

Mihawk: And silence.

Trying to convince Mihawk to go spy on Beckman for him. Shanks doesn't actually care if he does sleep with someone else, it's more that Beckman didn't immediately turn angry and jealous like Buggy would have that has him paranoid.

Mihawk is going to fuck this annoying red head again just to shut him up.

Mihawk: Maybe he doesn't like red haired boys who don't know when to be quiet?

The next morning Shanks is pacing among his poor crew that's gotten stuck listening to Shanks obsess about Beckman again. IS IT REALLY THE HAIR!?

It's not even a matter of Shanks's age (or obvious immaturity). I mean, Beckman got on board and stayed, didn't he? Beckman just enjoys watching Shanks try so hard to get his attention. Like Benn's attention isn't constantly on Shanks. He had to when his captain is always one step away from disaster.

He only left him with Mihawk because it was clear Dracule is not a real danger to Beckman's captain.

Except maybe insulting him to death. But Beckman is pretty sure Shanks can handle it. He's met Buggy. He's suspects Shanks LIKES it if anything.

It gets to the point where when they dock somewhere and see Mihawk waiting, or come back to the ship and spot his familiar silhouette, most of the crew goes off somewhere for another drink (sometimes the newer kids will stay to watch such an awesome fight, everyone else is like... Look, you'll have plenty of opportunities later. This is not a one off.)

Benn just takes a look around, nods to Mihawk (a silent signal for, "he's all yours, do with him as you please, if anything happens to him I will track you down and make sure your last few hours on this blue world are as painful as humanly possible") and heads off.

Oh, it's just the Hawk boy.

That's fine then.

Benn use to be a sailor on a trade ship between the North, East, West and Grand Line. He's seen it all.

They called him The Gun Slinger BEFORE he joined Shanks's crew and became a pirate.

So this young, broke ass kid from the streets of some near artic northern island trying to pass himself off as a Lower North rich type has a thing for his captain? Not really enough to keep Beckman up at night, no matter how good at swords he's supposed to be

Besides, he's pretty sure for the kid to keep tracking down Shanks, he must be bored out of his skull. He's not going to do anything to endanger their captain.

Not if Shanks is the only thing he can find to keep him entertained.

One day, Mihawk is going to be waiting on the dock when a bunch of Red Haired pirates are stumbling home, laughing and chattering amongst themselves (Shanks's crew always seems to be in a good mood). One of them will catch sight if Mihawk and walk by with a smile, patting him on the shoulder.

The captain's occupied. Seems likely he'll be 'occupied' for a good while, too.

Mihawk won't smile, but he will think "So you finally warmed him up to you, Akagami?" and snort lightly.

Poor Benn, though. Mihawk could never imagine being with someone so much younger than him. Shanks is only four years his junior and already it strains Mihawk to put up with his occasional moments of "youthful whimsy" (aka being an annoying, immature child)

"A young, cocky pirate with strangely colored bright hair"

Mihawk just putting that on his Not To Do List.

That lasted until Roronoa.

(Mihawk just looking at Zoro knowing this is bad news.)

Mihawk: *Takes list from Benn*

*Cross out, scribbles*

*Hands back to Benn*

Do Not Do:

- A young, cocky pirate with strangely colored bright hair a silly hat, who is overly dramatic and in any way, shape or form related to Gol D Rogers.

Ace: Hey what's up?

Mihawk: *Takes list from Benn*

Go ahead, Benn, laugh it up. Mihawk is aware he has a type. Young, pretty, and utterly insane.

After that night where Shanks was otherwise 'occupied', it's over six months before Mihawk sees his friend his rival again. He is, as expected, far too smug and proud looking.

Shanks: Oh, Miha, so sorry you came all this way, I'm-

Benn: Well, I'm off, captain.

Shanks: What!? But we, you, I... Benn, hessoeexyarentyouworriedforyourcaptain?

Benn: *patting Mihawk on the shoulder* Have fun with him. Don't forget to return him by noon tomorrow, we have a schedule. Oh, but if you can babysit him for at least four hours? That would be great.

Shanks: BABYSIT!?

Mihawk: I suppose I can be troubled to do so.

Shanks: TROUBLED!?

Benn: Thanks, Hawkeyes. I owe you.

Shanks: *Fake tears clinging to his lashes* You two are so mean!

No, don't feel bad for him. Shanks is just trying to guilt the two of them into bed at the same time, and they both know it.

Thanks no thanks, they're not into that. But Shanks can be pretty cute when he's trying so hard (Benn) and at least he's not as boring as everything else in this world (Mihawk) so they allow him to keep up the act

Shanks: *looking at Zoro's wanted poster over Mihawk's shoulder* But I feel like you'd gladly go to bed with him and his captain if he asked. That doesn't seem fair to me. You'd never go that far with me and Benn.

Mihawk: *Eyes Benn*

Mihawk: *DEAD. ONLY.*

Mihawk: I have my reasons.

They can and do agree on plenty of things, including reciprocally not being that attracted to each other.

Shanks: Sounds fake to me

Shanks: But guys!

Shanks: This isn't about you

He's gonna need you guys to drop the egos and focus on what HE wants. I.E., being in the middle of two sexy Northern men.

Honestly, so mean to poor Shanks!

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moonbaby26 · 3 years

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Title: Night of the Storm

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: Story set nearer the Viking Age. You were a Greek sea goddess who crossed paths with the god of mischief. Continuation of previous chapter. Weeks after Loki’s last appearance you were finally beginning to give up hope, only to find you’d been on his mind all along as he lures you into being alone with him late one night. His other side shows more of itself as things quickly turn into relieving that pent up physical need.

Warnings: People drowning. Also *here comes the smut.* But the start and finish of it is still marked in red within the chapter if you want to skip that part. I know everyone has their own comfort levels. The only thing in this though that I would even consider slight kink is just a bit of biting and tiny bit of blood from that, like really small. Otherwise it’s just needy gods doing what needy gods do.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @rosaline-black , @lawfeys , @loveableasshole , @insanitybyanothername

My Masterlist

——————————

You had replayed your last words with Loki over and over so many times in your head. Had you been too forward after all? Was it too presumptuous to think anything could really come of such a random acquaintanceship?

The more days that passed, the more you questioned what you really remembered of your brief time together versus what you may have only imagined in your optimism.

The night he left, you remembered feeling so sure that he would return. Maybe you weren’t certain in what way he would want to see you next, but you had at least felt he would set foot in your home he called Midgard again. And that he would call your name to the waves once more.

So when the days eventually stretched into weeks with no further sign of him, you had to accept the possibility that you were very wrong on your assumptions.

As you stared upward now from the deep ocean, the blackness all around was only penetrated by the briefest strobes of white. The occasional lightning’s flash silhouetting the wooden ship hulls rising and falling far above you.

It was so late into the night, but your Father’s anger cared not for time. The captain of the fleet above had committed the sin of hubris. He had declared himself a master of the sea after too many trips safely across, and now your Father’s storms aimed to remind this man of a harsh truth.

Your uncle Hades would surely claim souls tonight, one way or another. That was already decided per Father’s orders. But should they all die, then none of the men could carry on this message, this teaching moment either.

So you waited, and you listened. Who among them would plead for intervention as the waters first breached their ships? Father could show his wrath, but he’d sent you to show the other side as well.

Mercy from the gods. Whichever ship contained the most believers, whichever prayed the hardest, that was the one Father had asked you to spare.

But the rest....you could only watch as their bodies joined you one by one in the darkness. And you knew soon that they would only find themselves upon the banks of the river Styx.

You bid the nymphs to comfort the men as best they could, to accept fate rather than fight it. The ocean above was simply rage, but down in this abyss they would only know peace.

When the chosen surviving ship had emerged in your mind though, you pushed only that one forward. The waves began to miss it, ignore it even as the ship fully righted.

“Follow them all the way to their home shores,” You commanded the nymphs. “Let none from that vessel drown under your guard.”

“Yes, goddess.” They answered, swimming quickly to join the now fleeing ship. These mortals would return home with tales of their brush with death. But they would also remember as their prayers had parted the seas only for them.

Yet you felt no satisfaction, even with your duty to your Father done. Your distraction still lingered as you only sank further away from the storm’s flashes in the time afterward, to the colder depths where you intended to again sleep alone.

Floating, suspended in the blackness as you’d closed your eyes, to any that could have somehow seen you, you would have looked most like a corpse as well. Albeit intact, unmarred, and with that smallest pulse of life as the thin slits on your neck pulled in those tiny breaths.

But after only a little while you’d opened your eyes again into the void. Because you felt that someone was watching you. It would seem impossible, but you were so certain of this fact so abruptly then that you called out, your magic giving your words wide presence even within the water.

“And what being are you that should watch a goddess as she tries to sleep? Do you now judge my actions invisible one?”

You waited, but of course the void would not answer back, could not even as the feeling of some ethereal eye upon you would not leave.

What did it want from you?

“Milady!”

You startled harshly, even the distant voice of a nymph shocking you at this depth. She couldn’t reach you though, so you had to swim back upward to her.

When you neared further back towards the surface a quick moving fish cut across your vision. It circled, panicked, and calling again. A younger nymph who could not yet take on any larger form. “Milady, thank goodness I found you. Loki has finally returned! But he is injured!”

That was the last of anything you had expected. But you ordered her to stay where it was safe, to only join the others once more before you tore off into the darkness to head for shore.

———————————

As you emerged from the waves, they crashed rough against your back. You hadn’t realized father’s storms had stretched this far. The rain stung against your now exposed skin as you walked onto the beach in the downpour. Loki had never come at night before. And for it to be now no less, in this tempest, you breathed as you looked around for him in the darkness. But you heard nothing over the wind and waves.

“Loki!” You called.

At last you saw a shadow somehow darker than the rest, shifting then just within the tree line. You hurried towards it.

“They said you were injured!” You spoke over the storm.

“I’m fine.” He grumbled, though seemingly more agitated at the rain as he looked all like a drenched rat fallen off a moor line now, making you wonder how long he’d really been waiting for you here.

“I know a place, come on,” You insisted.

But even in these circumstances, you hesitated to touch him, yet knowing it would have been far easier to guide him if you could have only taken his arm. But you did your best to lead him regardless, further along the shore until you came upon the cave opening you were seeking.

“Even during high tide it stays dry in here,” You explained, now finally able to speak at a more normal volume with the sounds of the storm muted somewhat as you went farther back into the cavern together.

Yet light would be an issue, as you were already looking around for a way to at least make a fire.

But to your surprise one started from nothing, in the center of the cave now flickering as the light then shown on you both.

Loki lowered his hand afterward, evidently having just used some other kind of magic you weren’t aware of.

But as you turned to him, you could now see the deep bruising on his face even in the firelight.

“You said you weren’t hurt.” You spoke, that tone of concern not hidden.

“It is minor.” He answered, but offered nothing more.

You waited for one long moment, before finally deciding that any notion of privacy he may hold was now overshadowed by the obvious need for some explanation. “Minor enough to come here in the dead of night in the middle of a near hurricane?”

He gave you an odd look, but you didn’t shrink back.

“I only had another large, predictable argument with my brother.” He finally said. “He decided to help solve things in the only way he knows how. I used magic, he used his fists, and here I am.” Loki had already started to try and smooth his wind mussed hair back into place though, some vanity evident there even as he continued. “And this was only one of few places he would not follow me. Brother has no interest in this part of Midgard currently. He at least allows me this.”

“I see.” You answered, though feeling something was still not right here even as you tried to choose your next course of action carefully. “Would you like help drying off at least then?” You asked.

“You insinuate that you can control rainwater as well?” He questioned skeptically.

“Only if it’s made by one of my father’s storms, yes. Which this clearly was.” You replied, raising your own hands as you willed the water to leave him. And it did lift from his hair, from his clothes, even his skin as the reformed droplets floated strangely in midair before you cast them back out the cave entrance with another flick of your hands.

He watched the water leave with the slightest bit of interest before turning his attention fully back to you then.

“And what is your dear father so unhappy with tonight?” Loki asked, adjusting his now at least somewhat dryer clothing. You couldn’t pull out every bit of dampness true, but it was far better than being completely drenched.

“He felt a mortal had lost respect for the dangers of the seas.” You answered plainly.

But Loki actually was silent for a moment at that as only a dark smirk crossed his features. That little knot in your stomach seemed to tighten at the sight.

“And they say I’m petty.” He finally said. “How many mortals did you really let drown tonight, goddess?”

“So it was you.” You said abruptly, accusing him then and there as you neared closer. “You were watching me!”

“No.” He corrected, though looking pleased none the less that you had made the connection so quickly. “Heimdall was. Yet by my request.”

“Why?” You questioned, but not really knowing what to feel as a mix of anger and embarrassment rose in your confusion.

“I wanted to know if your parting words held any truth. And if you’d grow restless the longer I waited to return.” He smiled then, but there was still a cruelty to it. “Yet that show I did not expect. Heimdall can be quite good at relaying details when pressed. And sparing only the mortals that plead for you tonight, letting the rest become food for your sea beasts....ah, and yet with your servants still comforting the damned. It was really quite a finishing touch.”

“So this is the kind of god you are then?” You asked sharply, though still not sure what you’d really expected.

“I am.” He offered. “And I also am not.”

You tensed, patience truly beginning to wane. “There is no point to speak in riddles to me. What is your real intention here Asgardian?”

“Tsk. Now you wound? I am only back to the Asgardian again?” He tilted his head slightly. “No, you tell me. Why did you leave the protection of your seas so quickly at only the word I was wounded, so panicked that you did not even think to bring that spear of yours?”

Your eyes widened slightly, that realization only just hitting you with his question. It hadn’t crossed your mind once to bring it, even now as he stood so near with that growing look of triumph in his eyes.

“You play games with me.” You retorted, even as you watched those fake bruises now fade from his pale skin.

“And now I know what you would do if it were all true,” he answered, yet with that smirk returning.

“I could fill this entire cave and drown you where you stand you know.” You countered.

“You could try,” He agreed. “But you won’t.”

“You presume too much.” He was becoming maddening. Everything you said, he only grew bolder, he taunted harder. And the worst of it all was, you were not really fighting back. Why were you not fighting back?

“You missed me, goddess. It isn’t that hard to deduce. Not anymore. You wanted this.” He finally said. “And if it’s all the same, I share that frustration. I kept away long enough to be sure. But watching you, knowing what you’re willing to do...I wanted to come back and see it first hand.”

And in all these weeks, tonight wasn’t the only night you’d let mortals perish in Father’s name, or even caused it yourself as you’d manipulated the seas on his orders. And was that really what excited Loki tonight? Seeing you use your powers to this darker extent?

“Is this really how Asgardians flirt? Over the bodies of the innocent?” You asked, unable to keep yourself to sane words any longer. It had all gone too far so quickly.

“I am not all Asgardians. And you and I both know there is no such thing as innocence.” He murmured just as his hands first touched you, taking your wrists. The grasp of his long fingers was surprisingly cold. That chill honestly the first thing you noticed, even as you didn’t push him away.

You watched only his eyes for that moment. And in your own awe you realized he was actually still waiting for you to deny him. You were being given a choice here. But you didn’t refuse him. You couldn’t. You’d already thought of this possibility more than once in your many nights alone.

And it was only you who closed the gap first as you took his lips in yours. You felt him tense briefly though, as if he was still somewhat surprised himself before he returned the motion in full force.

****SMUT INCOMING, KEEP SCROLLING IF WISHING TO SKIP

The rock wall of the cave soon met your back as he pressed you against it. It hurt somewhat, but you weren’t made of glass.

As he pinned your arms against the wall as well, his tongue pressed its way into your mouth. But the taste of him was something you only wanted more of then. Yet when your own tongue fought quickly back, you felt him pull away just enough to look into your eyes once more.

His face hovered only inches from your own as he eyed you hungrily. “You realize I won’t be able to stop once this starts. It’s been far too long. Speak now...or be silent save for saying my praises, goddess.”

“Prideful beast,” You breathed, shifting in his grip. “You think I do this each night either? Try closer to never.”

He seemed even more goaded at that, pleased at the revelation, “Then tell me what you want, (Y/N).”

“You.” You answered immediately, reservation shattered as his body pressed further against your own.

“Then I shall enjoy the privilege.” He whispered huskily, and you leaned your head back just as you felt him bite suddenly after, his mouth rough on your neck. You were sure he was testing if marks could be made on your skin, trying to claim it any way he could now as he pressed a little harder and harder with those teeth.

The juxtaposition of a man who would sit with you for hours only reading, versus this possessive creature he was now shifting towards was so very interesting.

And as he released your wrists, his hands only moved to the straps of your dress next. Yanking them from your shoulders, and sliding the thin fabric easily from your chest, exposing your breasts to his groping touch before his mouth moved over your chest.

As he roughly kissed one breast, his hand squeezed the other tightly. In another too fast movement though, his other hand had now already pulled the rest of your dress away. He pulled you from the wall just enough for it to fall around your ankles then as you realized just how quickly he’d rendered you fully nude here before him. All while you’d only been nearly still, too wrapped up in the desperate feel of it all.

After the dress had fallen though, he did pull back not long after, seeming to admire the view for a moment before his hand then went between your legs.

“I wondered how much you’d taste of the sea,” He murmured, licking that slight residue of salt from his lips as his fingers massaged your entrance.

You opened your legs a little more, leaning further back against the wall to help support yourself as those little flicks and movements of his fingers weakened you further.

“You have entirely too many clothes on,” You panted quietly, not caring if your tone sounded more like pleading in that moment.

“You just want me in you already, don’t you, goddess?” He all but growled, taunting you even as he slipped his fingers inside then.

Before you could hope to really answer, he was kissing you again though, his tongue probing nearly as hard as his fingers were pressing below.

You could feel the resistance decreasing though, the more your inner wetness grew and his fingers slid in and out all the quicker. Something he no doubt could feel as well as he broke the kiss once more.

“Beg me then,” He commanded against your ear.

Even in your own need, you were realizing how much he wanted to be in control. Power aroused him, just as he’d evidently been watching you exert your own in all these days, and just as he wanted to feel dominant over you now.

But you also knew how little you cared either way in this moment. You wanted him to be satisfied just as much as you wanted your own release.

“I want you,” You tried again, locking eyes with him once more. But as you tried to reach for his clothing he only caught your hand in his free one.

“Not good enough,” He reiterated, needing more.

It was hard to think in depth though as his other hand only kept moving just enough to keep you stimulated, but not enough to finish you off.

But alright, you could play this game if you had to. You growled a little yourself, “Fuck me, Loki”. That’s what he wanted to hear wasn’t it? You could see that desperate look in his eyes grow and you knew you about had him. In the moment though, you added one more thing, this time being quick enough with your hand to grab hold of his crotch before he could stop you. “Do it, King. Fuck me.”

He let out another sound, somewhere between a growl and a moan as he pulled his fingers out from you before grabbing you by the arms to force you away from the wall entirely.

He released you only brief enough to face his palms towards his own body. The dark green cloak he wore separated at once from his other clothing, it then splaying out across the floor of the cave. And with another motion his black leather unwrapped itself, almost like invisible hands pulling it all from him as he stepped out of his boots. Then at once he was to you again as the rest of his clothing folded itself neatly out of the way.

But you wished time would slow down in that moment, yourself trying to see every detail of his naked form in the firelight before his body slammed back against yours. That vivid white skin, lean, but surprising you with the musculature that had still been hiding there.

In the ocean, you knew well that it wasn’t always the biggest, bulkiest predators to fear the most. Some of the leaner, faster ones could have your throat ripped out long before the others should you let them in too close.

And his mouth met yours just as harshly then, urging you down to lay on your back upon his cloak on the cave floor.

If your back was bruised later, you hardly cared, as you wrapped your legs around him and he laid his weight upon you. Your hands were free now, and you gladly used them, running them through his hair, and up and down his body to feel all you could of him. He was smooth, with that chill to him that was still so unique.

You found his already strong erection as well, stroking it with one hand as your other moved back into his hair. You held the back of his head as he moved down again to suck at your collarbone, his fingers digging into your hips harshly as he thrust against your hand, urging you to guide him in.

And you were more than ready, allowing him to push inside as you angled him as deep as he could go.

He took full advantage at once too, pulling almost all the way back out before slamming back inside as you gasped.

He lifted up onto his elbows enough to look you in the eyes as he pulled out again, before repeating the second harsh thrust, then a third, and a fourth.

It ached, yet somehow you couldn’t imagine this any other way tonight. He wanted to claim you now, as hard and thoroughly as he could.

And you could take it as you breathed his name. You wanted him to let out all his frustration as your hands moved to his back and your nails dug into his shoulders with each faster thrust.

He bore his teeth with a hiss of pain as your nails finally broke his skin. But he liked it you knew, even as he bit down on your shoulder in return.

You felt the pressure, maybe a little stinging, but your back only arched into him as his hips continued to slam against you mercilessly.

As his mouth let go of you again though, and he lifted up, manhood still inside you, you could see that slightest bit of gold ichor on his lips. The blood of the Olympians. Your blood.

He smiled, knowing full well what he’d done in his haze of lust. “Is that what the remnants of ambrosia tastes like?” He whispered, licking his lips.

Contact with ichor could kill any mortal outright, and here he was playing with it. Yet you truly had no idea what its effects could be on an Asgardian. “You do take risks, don’t you, King?”

He made a pleasured sound, still thoroughly enjoying that word out of your mouth as he grabbed your breasts again, thrusting hard once more. “Only when the odds favor me, goddess.”

Your muscles were tensing though, as he squeezed your breasts and changed his angle slightly to rub more against that sensitive bundle of nerves at your entrance as his cock slid in and out.

You couldn’t know what you really looked like to him right now, sprawled out on your back beneath him, laying on his own cloak as he fucked you like he’d never have the chance again.

But you could see his own expression, and his eyes were so intense, like under a spell of euphoria as his breath grew more rapid.

Would he pull out you wondered? Did you even want him to?

“Loki,” You spoke, raising your hand up to the side of his face gently, even though you realized his own red blood now dotted your fingernails.

He surprised you when he only turned his face enough to kiss your hand though, still watching you even as you felt him jerk inside you abruptly. You saw him shudder as that orgasm went through him, and you felt his seed pulsing out deep inside you.

But even as he came, his hand went back to your entrance, bidding you to do the same as he tormented your clit. You’d been on that edge for so long, it was easy to finally let go as you trembled beneath him, getting your own release then.

And even then he still didn’t pull out. He only tugged you so that you both rolled onto your sides on his cloak, still facing one another.

You were both breathing rather hard now, and you truly wanted to close your eyes to rest for a moment, but you felt his fingers edging along the side of your face as you opened your eyes again.

He kissed you once more, and you could taste that sweetness that you knew was indeed the leftovers of your own blood.

****SMUT DONE, CAN KEEP READING HERE

“Have you been sated?” You asked, reaching up to run your thumb across his bottom lip.

He grinned slightly at the touch. “To say yes would only be another lie now wouldn’t it? I am never sated, dear. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t thoroughly enjoy this.”

With that he reached out enough to touch his hand to the cloak beneath you. You felt the material shift before the sides of it suddenly extended, wrapping around you both like a blanket in the cool cave.

More of his own magic no doubt, but there were no complaints from you as you just rested your head against him, closing your eyes again. He allowed it, so you supposed he was also too tired to do anything differently.

You weren’t sure for how long he would actually stay this way. But for now you would only take comfort in this rarity of intimacy as best you could, breathing in his scent, and savoring the feel of his skin still against yours.

———————————-

It was only the extremely persistent calling of seagulls that finally woke you. Groggily you yawned, only startled as you realized yourself fully naked and for one chaotic moment could not remember how in Gaia’s name you got that way.

You sat up abruptly as the green cloak fell away from your bare body. But the silky feel of it brought you back to reality as you ran your hand out across it.

The sunlight was shining brightly into the cave. The fire long gone, and Loki along with it as you now sat alone here. All his clothes that had been stacked against the wall were also gone. Though with some bit of humor you realized your dress was now neatly folded beside the edge of the cloak for you to find. Quite far removed from its original point of just being piled beside the wall last night.

Though with him gone it was interesting that none of the nymphs had yet joined you. Perhaps they had just been too polite. But when you saw those same annoyingly loud gulls with some now walking up and down nervously at the cave entrance, you realized them for what they were.

You pulled Loki’s cloak back around yourself before laying back down, even while calling out. “You can come in, girls! I’m awake!”

With that a flurry of seagulls immediately flew into the cave, landing all around. And in moments they were all beautiful sea nymphs again, staring at you expectantly.

“You cannot tell my father, okay?” Was the very first thing you said as they all nodded highly enthusiastically.

But when you didn’t say anything immediately more, you could tell they were all about to explode in anticipation. “Yes, we coupled. Yes, I’d do it again.” You finally said.

They all squealed, no doubt realizing as well how badly you’d wished for his return in the last weeks. Yet that was also when the questions came.

“But was he better than an Olympian?”

“Was he tender, or rough? Did he try to please you, milady?”

“Was he big? I’ve heard everything is bigger up north. Aren’t they from the north?”

“My gods, girls, I don’t know. It’s not like I do this all the time.” You grumbled a little, curling up further into his cloak. It still smelled like him you realized. A rich scent, likely whatever it was that the royal quarters in Asgard smelled like.

“Oh we know! But it’s just, oh this is so exciting! You’ve finally taken a lover!”

Though as they continued to chat away, you did think of something you could actually ask them in return.

“When did he leave anyway? Did you see him?” You questioned.

“Oh,” They considered this for a moment. “Before sunrise surely, but we were um, asleep...most of us. We roosted outside the cave to wait for you, goddess.”

“I followed him!” Another one said. “But he told me to leave him be and go home.”

“What form were you in?” You asked, surprised he would so quickly recognize a nymph if in another form.

“Oh...well I was a seal.”

You blinked, imagining the ridiculousness of a nosy seal trying to inconspicuously waddle behind Loki all the way back up the beach and hillside last night.

“You should have been a small shorebird, and stuck to the trees to watch from a distance.” You commented.

“Ah, yes, that probably would have worked well.” They agreed.

You sighed a little, but it didn’t matter much regardless. As much as you still wanted to savor last night, Loki was already gone again. Which also meant that once again you could only wonder when, if ever, he might see fit to see you once more.

He’d already showed his capacity to fake his own injuries just to lure you in faster. So there was always the possibility that everything, all of it, had just been some elaborate scheme to bed you. And with that pleasure won, he may only be off to his next challenge far away from here.

You would have to accept whatever the Fates allowed, because what other choice did you have? But there was still no question. If you could see him again, you would gladly do so.

——————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

#loki fanfic #loki smut #loki x reader #loki x original female character #loki x oc #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki #loki odinson #loki odison x reader #loki imagine #loki laufeyson #loki fandom #loki of asgard #loki layfeyson x reader #loki layfeyson imagine

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finn-ray-nal-beads · 3 years

Text

The Time Of The Season

A/N: Hey guys! I finally felt slightly good enough to post this and hopefully, it does this story some justice. The wedding is coming up and a surprise or two is in store before this whole craziness wraps up! All of the love from me to you and thank you for being patient with me!

Warnings: Fluff, smut, tw: slight somnophilia, tw: slight choking, tw: daddy kink, tw: breeding kink, tw: unprotected sex, creampies (because I'm so predictable), oral sex (F receiving), all kinds of warm fuzzies (because again I love these two), squirting

(PLEASE for the love of Satan let me know if I miss a tag or TW, I try to be so hyper-aware and I miss tags all the time, I am so sorry)

The light shone through the cream curtains once again in your soft bedroom. The rays of sunlight bathing the cotton sheets as you woke up to the sound of his breath panting on the back of your neck.

The baby hairs standing in goosebumps as the hot air ebbed and flowed over your soft skin. He stirred slightly, pulling you into him like a stuffed animal, forcing his morning wood to bury itself into the crevices of your asscheeks. You laughed slightly, eyes still shut, bathing in the morning sun as you listened to the morning sounds. The birds chirping, a lawnmower in the distance stirring, along with someone hammering something down the road. It was another lazy Sunday.

Flip didn't have work, and it was the only day out of the week you both truly had for the two of you together. And you both made the most out of it doing the simple tasks you loved of course, on top of planning a stressful wedding, to which you both shoved aside for this day and this day only.

It was perfect, the feeling of him tightening his grip on your waist as he began to stir awake as well. His gruff moan in between your shoulder blades hid his tired eyes to the morning sunlight. He pecked the skin with his lips, rubbing up and down your midsection as you melted into him.

“Good morning, cowboy,” you whispered, running a small hand through his bed head as he gruffed a reply back.

“Mornin’,” he rose from behind you, laying a head between your neck and shoulder as he pushed into your head massage, “how did you sleep honey?” he whispered back, kissing and licking on your earlobe.

“Mmm, so good,” you said with a slight gasp, feeling his big hand knead your naked tit, hearing his graveled voice moan in his throat as he felt your ass push back on his pelvis.

“Is my butterfly all wet?” he groaned, his cock stiffening even harder as he heard your pretty voice sing for him, “did I not do my job last night?” smiling as he trailed kisses down your neck, running his other hand to cup your cunt in his grip, your folds completely slicked with arousal.

“Jesus, honey,” he growled, inhaling your sweet floral scent as you moaned, your hips pushing into his digits as he circled your bud with his middle finger slow and steady.

“I’ll always need you, Phil,” his tip twitched hearing your gorgeously shrill voice whisper his name.

“Just say the words, Y/N, I’ll make ya feel good,” inching his cock in between your warm thighs, his eyes rolling back in his head from the touch of your supple skin on his aching member.

“Fuck me, cowboy,” gripping his cheek from behind in a searing kiss, his hips pushing his dick deep into you with a single thrust, the feeling causing the both of you to groan in pleasure as your tongues touched each other.

“So, fuckin’ good for me,” he grunted, picking up the pace as he gripped your hip in a fervor, “I love you so much, Y/N,” panting as he kissed up and down your neck, bathing your mewls for him.

“I-I love you m-most,” you gasped, his tip gliding over your walls in the most tantalizing of ways, causing you to grip at the sheets in bundles while your mouth fell open in absolute pleasure.

“T-that’s it butterfly,” he cooed, picking up his pace again, slightly, to rub even faster on that spot he came to know very well, “you cum all over this cock,” he growled, bringing his free hand to grip your throat.

Your eyes rolling back in your head as the oxygen supply was depleting. Your moans and writhing only spurring his ministrations faster as he rubbed the spot to stoke that fire to a full blaze.

The feeling was euphoric. Your release came over you in a cascade of sparkles behind your closed eyes. The waterfall began from your crown to your toes as it washed over you in a stimulated haze. His words and actions only prolonging the high as he felt your velvet cunt clench around him.

“Jesus f-fucking,” he punched in once more, the hot gravy releasing into your hole in a flood as he gritted his teeth, his head resting in between your neck still while you pet his matted hair.

“Such a good boy,” you cooed, kissing him in bliss as you felt his cum coat your walls, the warmth from the sun no match as you reveled in his release.

“Mmm, I’m glad I could help,” he panted, kissing you again, this time more sweetly as your breaths timed downward, and the highs subsided slowly.

“What are we up to today honey?” gripping your ass cheek as he slid himself out of you, making sure to stuff the dribble back up where it belonged, loving the little moans you released as he did so.

“What we usually do,” stretching yourself out while he hovered over you, kissing every inch of exposed skin and whispering pretty little things as he did so. You gripped his face after the tenth kiss on your stomach, bringing his handsome features to strike your soul as you rubbed his cheeks with your thumbs.

“I just love you,” whispering as he lowered himself to kiss you ever so softly, “so much,” your noses touching as your eyes closed in unison, taking each other in as best you could, his hands coming to rub your cheeks too.

“I love you the most,” he barely whispered, kissing you again, the feeling of his mustache tickling your upper lip in the best way.

“We should take the dogs to the market with us today,” he sat up, rubbing the side of his neck, his muscled back tensing as he groaned from the soreness.

“I think that’s a good idea, cowboy,” sitting up to bring your delicate hands to his shoulder blade, rubbing circles slow and steady as you felt him relax from your touch.

“Did you sleep on this wrong?” hearing him wince and moan as you rubbed the knot out from the muscle.

“Possibly,” he chuckled, “I’m just gettin’ old,” laughing out loud as he grunted up from the bed, heading to the bathroom to get the shower started for the two of you.

“Psh,” you threw the sheets off yourself, your naked form glowing in the sunlight with a warm glisten of sweat and beauty, “you’re anything but,” finding your way to the bathroom too.

_____________

Spring in Colorado was magical. The wildflowers were blooming everywhere you turned, the smell of the crisp mountain air, the slight bite in the wind as the clouds rolled by. It was all as if it had been in a storybook. And the city was booming with the end of Winter. Shops opened up their doors, restaurants had outdoor seating, and the most anticipated market had come back into the streets as farmers and salesmen alike showed off their wares and the people flocked from all over to get a taste of the local goods.

Flip and you loved to go on Sundays. The crowds were lesser as people were in church or doing something else for the day, and the produce was fresher and easier to spot than on any given Saturday. The flowers were also to die for; the array of colors cascaded in bright pinks, blues, indigos, and yellows all over the landscape.

The babies tagged along, clad in their sweaters to keep them warm in the breeze, and in booties to which Flip insisted as their feet needed to be protected from possible injury. They smelled the flowers, sat next to the booths with their daddy while mommy browsed through the picks of the day.

The deal always was to visit every booth regardless of a purchase or not. Your theory was that maybe you’d find something you didn’t even know you needed, to which Flip always rolled his eyes at being the bag carrier.

“Honey,” after the millionth booth it seemed, “the dogs are tired and I’m starving,” he almost whined, the babies sitting at his feet with their tongues hanging out, the bags everywhere as his hands got tired of carrying the loads.

You came out of the mecca of flowers, carrying several bouquets, “which one babe?” showing him the array you had in your arms.

“Butterfly,” he whined again, sighing as you waited for a response, “just pick one I don’t care which one it is... I just want a fucking hamburger,” watching you roll your eyes at his childlike attitude.

“Honey, please just tell me which one, I can’t decide between them,” begging him to answer with something as you were starving too.

“Fuck,” he grunted, adjusting himself so he could see them better, “I like those,” pointing at the bouquet with peonies all over them.

“I knew I loved you,” smiling ear to ear as he’d picked the exact one you wanted him to, skipping to the cashier to purchase the blooms.

He took the load to the car while you took the baby’s potty, making sure they were okay before deciding on a place to sit down and eat.

You both decided on a small bistro that had outdoor seating. A less popular one so you could sit and hear each other speak while letting the dogs lay under the chairs.

You both ordered drinks and skimmed over the menu items, settling on stuff to share rather than getting separate entrees. You loved the intimacy of having similar palates, reveling in the flavors together while you discussed details about the day, the week coming up, and just being in each other’s company.

Flip had been wound a little too tight lately. Well, he always was, but it had been elevated since this big murder case came across his desk. It was a string of them, all seemingly connected, but with no real evidence to link them together.

This frustrated him to no end, tracing back and forth on the same details, trying to find any sort of linkage, and coming up with only dead ends. The most aggravating part had to be that with every step forward in the case, there happened to always be another assault or murder stringing up to cloud the evidence in more confusion. It had to be coincidental, you kept telling him when he came home smelling of heavy cigarette smoke, there had to be a piece to this puzzle.

He always got his man. That was why he had been promoted to homicide. He was a good detective, looking through every shrivel of evidence until his eyes crossed. Not leaving any stone unturned. And if this killer was to be caught, he had to be the man to find him come Hell or high water.

But today wasn’t the day for that kind of talk. Today was the one day he found solace in being in reality. That reality, of course, being you and the life he had built out of nothing so suddenly.

He silently reveled in your musings, loving the sound of your voice as you spoke of wedding details and such. He still couldn't believe that this was his life. That you were here, changing it in all the best ways. Making it worth living and worth all the struggle it took him to get there.

He drowned in your laughter, your gestures, the way you sipped on your wine, the way the lights glimmered in your eyes and the sun shined on your skin. How the curves of your body hugged the dress you chose, the supple skin on your chest peeking from the fabric, how your eyelashes batted in the light, the way your hair flowed in the light breeze. You were mesmerizing. And you were all his… Forever.

The shimmer of that diamond on your finger stoked it all for him. The whole drama that had led up to that Godforsaken proposal. It made him shudder to his core. But in the end, it settled your lives into one. You had all the strings attached, and now they were falling into the culmination of the union. And hopefully more in the future.

He stared into your eyes, hoping and wishing that you’d want more after the vows had been said. Wanting to give you everything and more to make you the happiest forever. He never had pegged himself to be a hopeless romantic, throwing more caution to the wind as he settled night after lonely night in his bachelor pad, which had now been renovated to meet your needs on top of his.

He loved his life now. Never wanting any of it to change for the worse, and he was determined to make that perfect, even if everything else wasn’t.

“You okay honey?” gripping his free hand and rubbing the palm as you kept sipping your wine, “where’d you go?” your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you watched him snap out of his thoughts.

“Just lookin’,” He smiled, his dimples coming out to make your heart melt as he put both hands to clasp yours, bringing them to his lips to kiss the soft skin.

“Why are you so perfect?” you cooed, his smile lighting up the entire outdoors seemingly as his teeth showed.

“I’m not at all,” he laughed, rubbing your skin in his to warm your hand up from the sun setting chill.

You huffed a laugh, putting your free hand under your chin while you cocked your head to the side, melting at his preciousness.

He was your perfect match. The other half of your soul. The light and darkness, the Alpha to your Omega. And he was perfect… To you.

“You are,” whispering just above a breath, “you’re everything,” the tears threatening to spill as you reveled in the adoration from him.

“You’re my everything,” his voice matching yours as he leaned over the table, meeting your lips with his in the slightest of kisses, only to be broken by the faint whimper of Waddles.

“I think we need to get them home, honey,” he chuckled, looking at the exhausted pumpkins pawing at his boots.

“Agreed,” taking a huge swig while he gestured to the waiter for the bill.

____________

Flip had insisted on bringing every bag in, putting the contents away just how you liked them, taking the dogs out to go potty, and putting them in bed for the night, so you could get ready to relax. You tried to convince him that you could and were capable of helping, to no avail as his sternness only made it into a fight you knew you’d never win.

So you trudged upstairs, getting yourself all pampered for bed, wearing a silk slip, and putting your hair up in a messy bun while you lotioned yourself up for the evening.

You took down the sheets, the cotton feeling so soft and serene as you flipped on the salt lamp in the corner of the bedroom, making the ambiance calm and collected while you flipped some quiet music on to set the mood.

Time Of The Season softly wafted from the record player, settling you into the welcoming bed with your book while you waited for your man to slide in for the night.

You heard his heavy footsteps come up from the living room, revealing his exhausted frame as he sighed upon seeing you all ready for him.

“Are they okay?” putting your book down on your lap as you pat the side of the bed for him to lay on.

“Just fine honey,” he grunted, pulling his boots off and unbuttoning his flannel to reveal his rippling pectorals in the soft light of the bedroom.

“That’s pretty,” he huffed, seeing the slitted silky dress you’d chosen and how it contrasted with the white sheets, “I mean you look pretty in anything, but that’s…” he trailed off seeing you push your legs up and outward to reveal your bare cunt to his eyes.

“What now honey?” you moaned, snaking a finger to open up the dress more and play with your pussy in front of him.

He immediately got down to the foot of the bed, moving his head to meet within inches of your fingers, marveling at the delicate touches you made on your lips.

“So… Pretty,” eyes growing wide as he watched your hole suck your fingers, begging to be fucked by him.

“I’m so wet for you, cowboy,” shoving three fingers in as far as they could go, feeling his hot breath ghosting your thighs while he sucked hickeys on them.

“I bet those fingers aren’t big enough for you, huh, butterfly,” squeezing a huge bruise on your left inner leg, the feeling making your head fall back as he did so.

“Not even close,” you gasped, feeling his thick hand pull yours from its spot, your cunt grasping at nothing as he marveled at your hole.

“Didn’t think so,” smirking as he sucked your digits dry, moaning at the taste of you.

“Daddy will take care of you, honey,” he cooed, blowing some air on your aching clit to watch your legs shudder from the breeze.

“I’m gonna suck this cunt until your cryin’,” spreading your folds open as he latched his vacuum suction on your bud, the cry you let out reverberating on the walls of the room as your hand found the back of his head, shoving his face further into your supple cunt.

“Mhmm,” he moaned, the vibration from his throat causing you to audibly scream as he assaulted your pussy. His other hand finding your hole as it sucked two fingers in deliciously, the squelch of your cunt making his dick harder and harder as he kept going.

“P-Phil!” literally crying as he ate you out like the animal he was, the feral noises under your slip sending you in hoards of pleasure and euphoria as he sucked your clit fervently.

Your thighs twitched and shook as he kept going and going, the grip on his head tightening as he felt your walls close in on his fingers in the best way. The damn broke then, letting out a stream of cum from your cunt as you cried endlessly on his movements.

“P-Phil holy s-shi-!” his suction breaking to open his mouth to the stream of spend that coated his face so beautifully.

“I fuckin’ told ya I’d make ya cry,” he growled, pulling himself up to meet your face, “you taste so goddamn delicious,” kissing you so hard the spend dribbled down your throat too, sending you into another stimulated haze as he rubbed his tip with your gaping entrance.

“You want daddy to fuck you?” lining himself up to watch you beg for his cock, your pretty moans and eyes signaling how badly you wanted him inside you.

“O-oh f-fuck,” your mouth falling open again as he buried himself in your sweet pussy, the warm feeling coating his cock in the best way.

“God d-dammit h-honey,” he managed to grit out, speeding up his movements after he had hooked your legs to meet his chest, pushing them towards you in a pretzeled fashion as his large frame loomed over your sweat-stained bodies.

“You’re s-so fuckin’,” he strained, the muscles in his neck along with their veins protruding in the sexiest way as he shoved himself into your guts more and more.

“Use y-your words c-cowboy,” you managed to choke out, feeling your second release creep up the more he pounded into your open womb.

“T-tell me what you w-want,” grabbing his inky locks that had since become soaked, his muscles taut as he plummeted further into you, your bodies becoming one as he breathed heavily and grunted with every stroke.

“G-god I l-love you Y/N,” he said, making searing eye contact as he watched your gorgeous face conjure in absolute pleasure underneath him. He could live in this moment forever. Get lost in your perfect screams and moans for him. The way you gripped his arms to pull him even further into you as he fucked your insides raw. He loved this. He loved you like this.

“I-I love y-you P-Phil,” you managed the words, feeling your release hit you like a freight train. The warmth of his cock gliding over your walls completely overwhelming your senses. The stars blinking behind your eyes as you melted into his body, your limbs releasing just enough for him to push your legs to meet the rest of your body and the mattress below.

“F-fuck,” he grunted out, feeling your body convulse under him, his grip above the bed frame tightening as he split you completely in half, your velvet cunt fluttering around him as he came closer and closer.

“I-I’m gonna fuck a b-baby into you h-honey,” the feral groan escaping his lips going straight to your cunt as you opened your eyes again. Your big mountain man, completely falling apart over you in a sweat-covered pile of muscle and brawn.

“Y-you want that?” egging him on as you pulled him closer, your foreheads touching as he came so close.

“Mhmm f-fuck yes,” he moaned, feeling you pulse around him, loving how he mewled for you, “I-I want you so f-full of me by this time n-next year I-I won’t be able to t-take my h-hands off you,” gritting his teeth so hard at this point.

You cunt fluttering as the sinking feeling in your lower stomach came from his words. The thought of being the way he imagined, full of him, making you want it so much more than you’d ever thought before.

“What are you waiting for daddy?” you moaned, feeling his dick harden even more as he came to the edge, “knock me the fuck up,” voice above a whisper as you stared into his eyes, seeing his release as he dumped his hot seed into your core.

“M-mother of G-God,” trying not to break eye contact as he filled you with him, the hot spend feeling so good as it coated your fertile walls to the brim.

He held you both there for a few moments, spurts of cum exiting his tip as he watched your gorgeous face smile back at him, petting him and egging his release on and on.

“Such a good daddy,” whispering to him while he caught his breath, kissing your hands as his dick softened in your pussy.

“I was serious,” he looked back at you, feeling him slip out of you in a gush of spend, only to be plugged by two fingers as he sat back on shins.

He grabbed a pillow, forcing it under your hips while his digits still were lodged in your cunt.

“You’re gonna be knocked up by next year,” the smile on your face a clear indication of how you felt about the premonition.

“I can’t wait,” a low chuckle leaving his chest as he removed his fingers, lowering himself over you to kiss your perfect lips, caressing your side, and then circling over your stomach to the point of it slightly tickling.

“I can’t either butterfly,” he whispered on your lips, kissing you again and again.

_______________________

SPOILER ALERT: SARA IS A WHORE AND THIS IS GONNA GET WORSE LMAO...

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#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip x you #flip x reader #kiss the sky #tw: somnophilia #tw: breeding kink #tw: daddy kink #tw: unprotected sex #tw: choking #flip zimmerman x female reader #flip zimmerman fluff #flip zimmerman smut #adcu fanfiction #adcu community #adcu

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vegalocity · 3 years

Text

So bc everyone's really enjoying that Protag Swap AU with Red Son I've been thinking about it myself quite a bit and so now here i am

Here's a scene from The Beach Car

The cat's pod was... minimally challenging to fix. no more complex than his Inferno truck. He knew there was a heavy enough chance that the cat was lying about having connections to the conductor, but if her only payment was fixing up her travel pod for her and a lightning protection charm, then it was worth taking the chance. (Though she had tried to have him sell OneOne to her, it seemed like legitimate magic was far more interesting for her. And it made sense to have a lightning charm, who knew when her pod would malfunction again and electrocute her)

“Tomcat, tell me something-” The cat poked her head into his line of sight and Red Son raised a brow.

“Don't call me that.”

“Why did your parents choose such a... literal... name for you?” The Cat continued as though he hadn't spoken. “out of all the names in the world, why did they look upon their child and say 'ah yes, 'Red Son' will be perfect for our red haired son? Why not something less descriptive? Isn't it also a naming custom to affiliate your child with what you hope of them? Though I admit I wouldn't know.” The cat primly began to groom herself. “Never had any kittens of my own.”

“None of your business.”

“Red Son!” OneOne chimed in rolling up to his work area “How tall are you?”

“172 centimeters, why-”

“What is your hair? Is it fire? Is it hair?” “Is it a reflection of your inner turmoil bubbling to the surface?”

He felt his hair spark to life at the surprisingly pointed commentary. “That's none of your-!”

“Why DID your parents name you after your hair color?” OneOne interrupted again.

“Ugh! Why does that matter?”

“The orb is rather talkative Tomcat, you sure you don't want me to take him off your hands for you?”

“OneOne isn't for sale fleabag.” The cat gasped in mock affront.

“how rude! I was only trying to take such an irritating thing off your hands!” She was enjoying this. He could see the amused glint in her eye as her tail swished back and forth.

A wire darted across his hand and with a prick of pain he was now bleeding. Red Son let out a shout of frustration and rolled out from beneath the pod. He had some small bandages he could use to patch up his hand but he was flustered and it was making his hands shake.

“Fine. You both want a story so bad?”

“Frankly I could care less, Tomcat.”

“Story!” OneOne scurried up and made themself at home in Red Son's lap.

“Well it's not much of one-...” then again father did love to tell it when he was young, every year on his birthday, the exact time right down to the minute. And whenever allies would come over and make some idle comment about his strength, his father would launch into the story with the premise of 'My son has been a fighter from the moment he was born'

He wondered if father would tell it any differently now that Red Son was a disappointment.

“Technically they named me Red Boy, I changed it to Red Son myself when I became of age and thus was no longer a boy. But as my father tells the story, I came out... Early. Very early.”

His hands had stopped shaking, so he began to apply the bandages to the sluggishly bleeding wound. “Back then a premature birth was gravely dangerous for mother, but a death sentence for me. Healers had long since known there was no point in working in favor of the child if it wouldn't last a week let alone the customary month, So they prioritized mother's life instead. Which s it turned out, didn't matter because I was born anyway. And I didn't die. When I'd first come out my hair was black like mothers, though I didn't have much of it. I was alive, but I wouldn't stir. I wouldn't open my eyes or cry or een give the smallest twitch on my own. The healers informed my parents I wouldn't live to see the sun rise.

“Father couldn't stand the idea of any offspring of his perishing without a fight, so he ordered the servants to make the fire in the room burn as hot as they could possibly get it, as he thought I would fight harder if my surroundings better resembled the womb I left too soon. But I don't think he truly believed I would survive, he just wanted me to last longer than the healers predicted. It was a somber affair, So I've been told, the two of them waiting for the end. Mother recovering from her injuries in a sweltering room and my life slowly fading, father the only one in the room whole and hale enough to be acutely aware of the fact that one or both of us would perish."

“Oh my!” “Did you die?”

“No OneOne, I didn't die.”

“Sure enough the sun rose, and I was still breathing. Mother was resting still, and Father was feeling restless. He felt as though he had to stay awake to ensure that should I slip away I would do so with one or both of them there to send me off. And in a state of restlessness took to tending the fire himself.

“At the time even when he was shrunk to the smallest size he was comfortable with I was still small enough to fit in a single hand. Or so he told me.

“So he had me in one hand and tended to the fire with the other. Then the wood gave an unexpected crack, loud as a catapult he told me; cinders and embers went everywhere, and a few landed on me. But when father went to check me for wounds, he saw me do something I had lacked the strength for previously. I stirred. And for just a moment, I'd opened my eyes. “Immediately he shouted for mother to awaken and barked orders to the servants to throw the bassinet into the hearth, Mother thought he'd been thrown into a fit of rage and wanted all of the things they'd set up for me to be destroyed and began to insist that such an action was a waste of furniture, but the bassinet was already burning by the time she did so, and father placed me inside.

“The fire was all around me, and so the story goes, I stirred in the heat, opened my eyes to the warm glow, I breathed in the smoke-” he lit his fist aflame, careful to keep it far enough from OneOne that he wouldn't damage the little guy. “And I screamed. Father considers that the moment I truly was born.” He remembers waking before the sun in his childhood eager to begin his days, and just as the sun began to raise over the horizon on a certain day his father would pull him aside and begin on the story. “They uh- they left me in there chucking more and more bassinets into the fire until they were sure I'd grown strong enough to survive without it. And by the time that had happened a few months later, my hair had turned red like black coal turning to red embers. So they called me Red Boy.”

“That's a mighty ability tomcat.” The cat chimed in, striding forward and leaning as close to the flame as she was willing to risk. “You say your father realized that ability was yours simply on the fact that you weren't burned by the fire?”

“You were a very brave baby. You already knew what you needed to live but since you were a baby nobody listened to you” OneOne chimed, their cheerful voice surprisngly somber, before the dour voice came in “I can relate, Nobody listens to me either.”

“I didn't know what I needed OneOne, I was a baby. I didn't know anything.”

“I bet you were cuuuutteeee” OneOne chimed again, far closer to their normal tone. Red Son felt his hair spark to life again, his face burning in turn. The cat chuckled.

“Settle down Tomcat, don't want you burning my pod up much like your numerous bassinets before you can fix it.”

#lmk Red Son #Samantha the cat #IT OneOne #Lego Monkie kid #Infinity train #protag Swap #the perennial boy #crossovers are neat

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captain-aralias · 3 years

Text

Life stuff

this feels kind of weird, because i’ve never used my tumblr like this, but i would have written something on my livejournal, and i want people to know - i just dont want to have to tell people about it, or really talk about it at all.

but i also wanted to write this, idk.

(TW: impending death of a parent)

my mum has cancer.

it’s a rare form of cancer, called peritoneal cancer, which is similar to but different from ovarian cancer - i think it mostly gets diagnosed (like my mum’s) when it’s too late to do anything about it. all the treatment has been palliative only i.e. letting her live as long and as comfortably as possible.

she was diagnosed in september last year - about a year ago, a few months after running the ‘virtual’ london marathon on the isle of wight, where she lives, and obviously deep in lockdown.

as someone undergoing chemo, she was deemed extremely vulnerable to covid, and so she spent most of the early pandemic isolating. she also said she didn’t see any point in my brother and i visitng her, particularly given the risks, because we could talk via facetime - which is fair enough - all of which meant my brother and i didn’t go to visit her until May this year, after she’d done the first lot of chemo and was already doing much better again.

a few months after that, we found out that while she’d responded really well to the chemo, her cancer wasn’t responding at all to the maintenance drugs that were suposed to stop it coming back, so she came off the drugs completely. medical advice was basically chemo is as effective whenever you do it, so you might as well enjoy your life for a while, we’ll monitor it every month, and when things start to get too bad, we’ll put you back in chemo.

it’s friday tomorrow - so two fridays ago, i saw my mum in london after she’d just seen hamilton with her partner, graham. both of them loved hamilton. her hair had grown back, she seemed pretty normal. about a week later, she was in A&E - and she’s been in the hospital all week. she’s got a total bowel obstruction, which means she can’t eat and hasn’t eaten since last week.

now in a weird situation where there are a few tricky, difficult options (including being moved off the island back onto the mainland to a bigger hospital) that will mean that she stays alive long enough to get the chemo, which will probably get her back to hamilton-watching strength, or ... she could die really soon. like, in a few days.

we can’t visit. her partner can’t visit because covid - there’s this really sad-making photo of him looking happy on the phone through a window to my mum, also on the phone, inside the hospital.

i feel...

???? :( :( :( ....

i guess this is the main point of the post. i’m not writing this crying, i’m writing it pretty neutrally - because my brain isn’t really processing it right now, and mostly doesn’t process it.

i did cry earlier today while on the phone to various people, and then i went back to work. i hate crying, i hate being sad, and i dont like people comforting me, because it makes me realise that i have something to be sad about.

i’ve known she had cancer for a year. i haven’t been able to hang out with her most of that time. i would say, we are fairly close, although not nearly as close as some families. we don’t talk every week, but we talk regularly, and have seen each other regularly.

i’m so incredibly privileged that nothing that bad has ever happened to me, even though i’m 35. i’ve never been to a funeral, which seemed like a major life win and now i think was a mistake, i should have gone to funerals for people i card about less to help get used to it.

the literal only comparison i have to how i feel is when my cat Anton died suddenly about 3 years ago - i handled it with a mix of not thinking about it, being intensely sad for as brief a period as i could, and probably by thinking about how sad my girlfriend was about it, and sort of sidestepping my own feelings in comparison.

i remember when my last remaining grandparent died - and i was about 14 or something - i wasn’t sad for myself, i was only sad for her my dad being sad. for ages, i worried that i was not going to be sad enough about this - and i still sort of am.

but i also passionately hate the idea of being sad and i know i’ll look to avoid it as much as possible, and try and get on with my life.

i know my mum dying isn’t about me - when people write after death it’s about the person who died, obviously. that makes sense. but this post isn’t about my mum, who is a very cool person, much cooler than me - it’s about me. because i am self-obsessed and this is going to wreck my life for a while.

it’s weird, because i can see it on the horizon but it’s not happening yet. and i dont know whether that’s good or bad - i feel like it’s good, in a way. someone ages ago told me that the grieving period starts when you get the news. that seems very true to me - but also, i know that it’s going to ramp up, and so i’m like in the expectation of true grief right now.

it’s sort of like she died, but also is still going to die, but also i can magically still talk to her. which is really nice, in a way, it’s like a second chance, because i know i didn’t reach out enough before she had cancer. and i’m aware enough of my own actions that i know this is what’s been going on in my head the past year - i should reach out more, because she has cancer, but i dont want to make it seem like i’m reaching out because she has cancer, even though she knows i know she has cancer....... and also, i’m busy writing this fic. /o\

the fact that she seemed to recover (even though my mum insisted on saying ‘i am not recovered, i’m going to die soon’ like several time as a day as a disclaimer) also totally messed with my head, because i knew logically - ok, it’s happening. but also, things seemed so normal when we speak. even when i called her today, and she hasn’t eaten for a week, it seemed normal.

btw - i realised this week i had no idea how cancer killed people. my mum is a scientist and has looked up all kinds of things about what’s killing her; i’m clearly a simon snow and didn’t want to think about things i can’t help. if you’d asked me, i’d have said like... it poisons you or something, or blocks bloodflow to your brain. not what i think will actually do it which is.... starvation. or being too weak to survive being pumped full of the poison that is intended to kill the cancer. (that one i guess i could have predicted.) man - cancer sucks. i mean, we all knew it.

(i failed to get into cambridge university at interview stage, many years ago. the man who interviewed me gave me some extremely memorable feedback, which is that i needed to dial back the ‘defensive irony’ - which i thnk in that context meant i put myself down and tried to make a joke of everything. i remember when i got the phonecall to say Anton, my cat, was dead, i literally did not know what to do with my voice - because my instinct was to try and make the vet feel better, and also to present myself as bright and capable, and yet this unexpected and devasting news had just come through. rainbow wrote something sort of similar because she’s a good writer, for shepard as he tells penny about his curse. i feel like that.)

what else did i want to say?

i thought i had more time. ‘hamilton’ will probably always be tied to this moment in my mind, because of how much i’ve spoken to my mum about it in the past few weeks (i sent her the remix - she liked it, she listened to it in hospital while trying to drink more than 100ml of fluids) but yeah - this is basically a line from hamilton here. whatever. don’t make me feel my own feelings, let me just quote things. i dont like my own feelings. (no, i dont want to go to therapy - they’d make me talk about my feelings all the time, i’m british for god’s sake.)

i’m 35 - my mum is 68. i didn’t think she’d die this early or that i’d have to deal with this yet. but then i also don’t think bad things are ever going to happen to me - because mostly they haven’t, see above. i wear a mask and am double vaccinated because i’m not an asshole, but i dont really believe i’ll get covid because bad things don’t happen to me. i didn’t think my mum would die - maybe ever, but definitely not yet. she’s been retired a decade after teaching (science) and has enjoyed it.

i thought i had time to not have kids yet - which is the other thing (like hamilton) that this moment is really tied up with for me. i feel like 35 is getting quite old, but also not that old to still not have kids, but intend to maybe have them. my feelings about kids were basically like - up until like 25, i thought, yes, definitely. i mean, before i had a realtiosnhip (22-ish), i just assumed i would probably have a het marriage and have kids etc, like people do, but after that we were still talking, yes, children at some point.

didn’t prioritise it for a few reasons - none of my close friends had children until quite recently, so it just didn’t seem like an urgent thing in the way that it probably does for people with different friendship groups. waiting to be settled enough in a job to be able to take maternity leave without it feeling like a rip off for my employer. waiting for a good time in erin’s PhD writing cycle. and then pandemic. and then a few years ago, maybe as i turned 30, i thought - maybe we won’ have kids, because we still haven’t - and i vocalised that to erin.

also, i know a lot of people are gay and have children, so it’s not like it’s a thing that is impossible at all, but it’s much much harder if you have to leave your home and your relationship in order to get a child. it has to be a very very conscious decisions. i have friend who are men who have good genes, but we’re not so close i want to ask them for their sperm/to be involved however remotely in making a child - and (i was surprised to discover) (what a lot of things i dont know anything about) you an’t really just buy sperm, it’s not truly legal except through a clinic. and it’s extremely expensive to get inseminated in a clinic, and the NHS don’t really do that, so you do have to pay it. i thought kids would be expensive after they were born, but not before. and i REALLY wanted a house, much much more than - i think even today - i’ve ever wanted a child. i REALLY wanted a house - and now we have a house, and it’s pretty good. but - that’s where the money went, until the pandemic - thanks pandemic - so now we do have some disposable cash at last, because i didn’t commute.

but now erin is worried about climate change - and wheher it’s right to bring more children into the world, and other things. and.... i think i do want to be pregnant, it’s what i’m planning for - don’t leave this job (which admittedly i also really like, and pays me well - i dont thin i need to leave) because next stop maternity leave, but.....

i don’t know whether i am thinking, time ot have kids because my best friend just had a baby (the baby’s name is horatio - for real, i actually love this name) (i also haven’t seen her or the baby except over skype, because anna - my friend - is, like my mother, also scared of pandemic) and my brain is like - ok, well, if anna is doing it, i guess the time is here

AND - i know there’s a large part of me that was like, gotta be pregnant and ideally have the baby before my mum dies so she gets to see that she had a grandchild. my brother and i are both queer, btw, in case you were wondering - he’s considering whether he wants to transition right now (but is still happy with he/him pronouns) and - you may find this astonishing, but i genuinely don’t know whether he’d consider himself ace, or has been in relationships. he’s very private, he has OCD and is in therapy - but anyway, he’s probably not having kids anytime soon (i think!) and graham - my mum’s boyfriend/partner of 10+ years. -has grandchildren, but my extremely middleclass white (but definitely not conservative voters, always 100% not-tory) parents ended up with me and my brother.... and i don’t know, as i say, i don’t know whether my brain is saying ‘have kids before it’s too late’ - although i know by now that it will be too late. even if my mum recovers from this, this time, i don’t think i can produce a child before she dies - and she isn’t asking me too, she’s not like that, but i would have liked her to be there. i thought she would be.

so - i’m thinking about that. also, about getting a dog. i really want a dog - although i don’t want to upset the three cats (one we’ve had for eight years or so, the other two we got after Anton died). it’s ALSO really hard and expensive to get a dog. you’d think with all these ‘a dog isn’t just for the pandemic, a dog is for life’ type adverts around, that it would be easy to adcidentally get a dog - i’ve looked! you ccan’t get a dog unless you have no cats and you’re super experienced and can take a dog with lots of trauma or medical problems, or you’re willing to pay thousands of pounds. like - even for a regular not even pedigree dog - at least a thousand. pedigree dog - several thousand. i dont want a puppy either - i want a dog.

and - this is embarrassing to admit, but i’ve alrady told erin - i genuinely had a phase of being super annoyed when i’d read fics where someone just ‘got a dog’. it’s not that simple!!! it’s fiction, it doesn’t matter - chill out. the baby thing too - although weirdly not fics where magic meant it was possible to get a baby, weirdly it was smut. i had a brief week or so of crazy (and i don’t think i am that crazy) where i’d read about fictional semen and just be like - wtf, it’s so hard to get hold of that shit. (it’s not real, this isn’t real semen being wasted, calm down - and i dont even really know if i want kids, i might just think i do.)

the other thing about the bad thing being soon but not yet (but also being all the time, but not if you dnt think about it) is that i’m thinking - should i prioritise writing my remix now, in case my mum dies and i’m too sad to do it, and then i didn’t do my remix? i was definitely thinking this while writing classroom politics (i hope my mum doesn’t die becaue i dont want to be too sad to miss the deadline) and in the run up to AWTWB .....

today i wrote a list of things for work that would need to be picked up if i have to unexpectedly stop working, either because i’m too sad, or because i have to do funeral stuff, or .... i guess legal stuff about settling the estate. (i guess this happens to a lot of people, too, but it’s also a bit of a mindfuck that my brother and i will inherit her house and a bunch of cash when she dies - i’m pretty well off, my brotehr does virtual reality theatre stuff so really isn’t - we’ve talked about how much easier both of our lives will be with a huge injection of cash, and how we dont know what to feel about that) (great news, dogs and kids are really expensive! time to find out whether i really wanted to spend my money on those.) told people i like at work that it’s coming, and that i dont want to talk about it. and mostly just... carrying on with life, really. until it happens.

it’s so weird how easy it is to carry on most of the time.i know my mum’s partner is not doing nearly so well - he has to cope with an empty house and he’s retired. i’ve had periods - including right now - where i wake up every morning and check my phone to see whehter someone called me or texted me to tell me it’s over. but most of the day i’m actually really fine. i even had an ok day today. and i don’t know whether i want that to be the case, or whether i shouldn’t let myself do that. i dont know what i should prepare for in terms of where i’ll be - will i want lots of stuff to distract me (this is my guess) and work is very good for that, or i will want to clear time and space because i can’t operate and dont want people to offer me comfort. (FYI - this post isn’t written to make people say anything to me, i definitely dont want to talk about it, so please don’t feel you either have to comment or check in on me - i don’t really want you to. it’s enough to have written it, in my own time, in my own space.)

i think i wanted to write this post in a way because i thought i probably wouldnt want to write it after my mum died - because i probably wouldn’t want to say anything about it at all, for a few years.

my mum keeps telling me about the show ‘jane the virgin’ - which she’s half way through. shhe asked me to give it a try, so i did (she often tells me about shows on radio 4, which i rarely listen to. i thouht i had more time.) i’ve watched an episode (because she has cancer, i should listen to her recommendations)(but i dont want her to know that’s why i did it) and i do quite like - it’s light and frothy and well cut together (although about kids and artificial insemination, of course). i guess in a worse case scenario where i’m too sad to work or write, i will probably watch a lot of this show - which is incredibly not sad - and feel sad about how my mum never finished it.

BUT ALSO SHE MIGHT BE OK. for a while.

i dont know how i feel, blargh. anyway. this was a long post. i think i wrote it mostly for me. feelings are weird. covid really sucks and so does cancer.

going to order some chicken and watch inuyasha.

#my content #tw: death #tw: death of a parent #tw: death of a loved one #personal #tw: cancer

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hangrypa · 3 years

Text

s/p first year as a PA

I was hired as a hospitalist primarily for the transplant service. However, in the setting of the pandemic and staffing shortages, I am all over the place now and work in almost everything non-pediatric and non-surgical.

In my first few months as a PA, I was incredibly overwhelmed. I went from being a learner who switches specialties every month to a fully-fledged provider making life-or-death decisions on an hourly basis. Oftentimes I’d find myself in the room of a patient actively crumping, surrounded by the patient’s family and multiple nurses awaiting instructions on what to do to save the patient. I thought that I faced a lot of pressure in school, but it was nothing compared to this.

And just when I started to get a hang of it all, the pandemic hit. What a nightmare. As mentioned above, I was hired to work with with transplant patients. Prior to the pandemic, my transplant colleagues and I were masking and gowning for almost every patient: 1 surgical mask and 1 gown per patient and per patient encounter. But once COVID hit, we were rationing PPE. 1 N95, 1 pair of goggles, and 1 face shield for the pandemic. 1 surgical mask per week, and 1 gown only if a patient had Cdiff or a history of MDRO bacteremia.

What did the pandemic mean for our transplant patients?

Our patients are on immunosuppressant medications to prevent transplant rejection. Unfortunately, this makes it difficult for them to fight infections.

Our department did what it could to prevent COVID. We'd test patients on admission for COVID, regardless of symptoms or exposure history. If they were positive, they went to the COVID team and quarantined on their unit for a period of time and had to test negative before returning to our unit and being transplanted. We took many other measures to reduce COVID risk to the best of our ability.

People still died. To see someone get transplanted successfully and then die of a virus is horrifying. Unfortunately, despite our admission tests, sometimes patients contracted COVID within the hospital. Patients would be happily FaceTiming their family one moment, telling them all of their plans for once they were discharged- then the next day they'd be intubated. We tried Remdesivir, Dexamethasone, prone positioning, etc. But the virus moved through them quickly, and these efforts often were too late. No amount of hoping and praying brought them back.

As a first year PA, I learned to go to an empty conference room, close the door, and remove my mask before calling to the family of the deceased. This way, as they gathered around the phone in their homes, the family could hear me unmuffled as I delivered the news. Also, this way my tears didn't ruin my mask for the rest of the week.

I learned a lot this year. It's been a mixture of crying and laughing. There are times that I question why I ever became a PA, and then there are times when this career feels like home. In addition to transplant, I’ve also been working in the ED, IMC, ICU, inpatient hospice, clinic, and infusion center these past 6 months. I’ve learned quite a lot along the way.

Lessons learned as a first year PA:

1. Check your pager hourly: This is in addition to checking it whenever you get paged. Sometimes I’ll get paged while I’m rounding, read it, and then forget about it. Now I go through my pager at every hour to ensure that I already responded to all my pages and then answer ones that I missed/forgot. On a semi-related note, a while back I wrote about good paging etiquette.

2. Let people know when you're out: I work a rotating schedule. As a result, it’s hard to predict when I’m in or out of the hospital. Sometimes I’ll come back on service and find urgent emails or texts that are a few days old. Now I leave an away message with my return date and my supervisor’s contact information on both email and hospital text. If someone really needs to get a hold of me, my supervisor has my personal cell phone number.

3. Be conscientious of what time you consult: I generally try to get all of my nonurgent consults done before 3pm. Many services have only 1 resident covering after 3pm, so I try not to page/call unless I have an emergency.

4. Call the nurse if something needs to be done urgently: Being a nurse means being the ultimate multitasker. Room 5 is due for his IV Amphotericin, Room 2's Foley is supposed to come out prior to void trial with Urology, Room 1's infusion completed and is beeping, and Room 4 is a bit altered and yanked out her PICC. Now I’m placing an order for Room 3 to get IV Lasix due to concern for pulmonary edema. However, the nurse may be preoccupied with Room 4 and not see the order in the computer for some time. If I really need to the patient to get the Lasix right way, I’ll place the order through EMR and then call the nurse and see what their situation is. If they’re crazy busy with Room 4 and likely to be unable to get to the Lasix within the next 15min, I ask whether they’re okay with me asking another nurse to give the Lasix now. Usually the answer is yes.

5. Value your nurses: Nurses know the patient best. They’re the ones answering call bells, giving meds, doing dressing changes, etc. Unfortunately they oftentimes bear the brunt of everyone’s frustrations, from patients to patients’ families to attendings to managers. Not to mention, they’re the ones doing the dirty work. Bedside nurses are the heartbeat of healthcare, but they also are high risk for burnout. Always support your nurses, whether that’s volunteering to answer a patient’s family member’s 17th phone call of the day or responding to a patient’s call bell yourself.

6. Know how to get a hold of someone quickly: It’s less than ideal to page someone repeatedly. At my hospital, if I need to talk to an attending urgently, I call the operator and ask them to connect me directly to the attending’s cell phone. If a patient is crashing and we’re not in the ICU, I dial the emergency number and call a rapid response, which sends people running into my patient’s room.

7. Plan your discharge meds from Day 1: The goal of every admission is to treat the patient and then discharge them safely. Send medications early for prior auth and call the pharmacy to make sure that they have medications in stock. (One time a patient’s insurance didn’t cover Levofloxacin, of all things.)

8. Keep social work and care coordination aware of all needs from the start: Does your patient looks unsteady? Place a PT/OT consult and let social work and care coordination know that the patient might require home therapy services and/or DME so that they can start looking at services and companies that may be covered by insurance. Does your patient have a central line? They’ll likely need a home health service to teach them how to care for it daily at home. Do they seem to require frequent transfusions? They’ll probably need labs on discharge. Is the patient’s living situation safe (no heat/AC, possible abuse at home, financial difficulties, etc)? They may need alternative housing.

9. The attending is not always right: Generally speaking, the attending has the last say on how the team manages a patient. However, I’ve come across situations in which an attending’s decision put a patient in more danger. Sometimes asking them about their decision can help steer the care plan toward better patient care. Other times you just have to stand your ground and be okay with being on the receiving end of an attending’s misdirected rant. Report these instances to your manager and to other higher-ups.

10. Always have gloves in your pocket: You never know when you’ll find a mess. Or which part of the body someone asks you to examine. Or how hygienic a person is (or is not).

11. Verify weird vitals: I was very new when I walked into work, opened a patient’s chart, and promptly bolted down the hallway when I saw a patient’s O2 sats recorded as 15-20s. I found the patient sitting up in bed, eating breakfast, and bewildered by me bursting into the room. Turns out that overnight someone mistakenly recorded his respirations as the O2 sats.

12. Remove whatever tubes you can: Anything entering the body is an infection risk. Does your patient still need that Foley placed by the surgery team? No? Yank it (don’t actually yank because ouch). Is your patient A&O and able to eat without aspirating? Remove the NG tube. Does your patient have good veins and require infrequent transfusions/labwork? Pull their central line.

13. Take a buddy with you to emergencies: Two heads are better than one. Even if you’re a seasoned provider and well-equipped to manage an emergency, you might need another body to help with performing CPR, making urgent calls, grabbing supplies, etc.

14. Ask your patients about premeds for procedures: We all have different levels of pain tolerance. A procedure goes far more smoothly if your patient is comfortable. Note: if you’re going to premed with Ativan or an opiate in the outpatient setting, make sure they have a driver.

15. Be good to your charge nurse and unit secretary: I don’t know how they do it. If I had to manage the unit’s signout, patient complaints, calls from other floor, being yelled at by providers, verifying paper orders, and finding beds for incoming patients- all at the same time - I’d lose my mind.

16. If your patient is mad, just shut up and listen: There are many things that you can’t control: the time it takes for a patient to get a room, the temperature of hospital food, the dismissive attitude of your attending, etc. And oftentimes the patient knows this. My reflex is to want to apologize for things and overexplain why different things are happening. But sometimes the patient just needs to rant. Take a step back and just listen. That can make all the difference.

17. Fact check your notes: The framework for your progress note often is the note from the day prior. It sounds obvious, but make sure that you go through the note and make updates and changes accordingly. If today is 01/15, there’s a good chance that the Fungitell from 12/31 is not still pending.

18. Try to learn some nursing skills: This is one of the areas in which I most envy my NP colleagues. If a patient’s IV pump is beeping or their central line need to be flushed, I oftentimes awkwardly step out of the room and look vacantly into the distance for a nurse. I’ve finally figured out how to spike a bag (albeit I do so very slowly, and it certainly makes the RNs giggle some). I talked to our unit’s nurse manager, and she’s willing for me to learn some nursing skills from the staff during a slow day- we’ll see when thing slow down!

19. Be kind: Generally speaking, being in a hospital is stressful. Patients are feeling out of sorts, and staff are working with constant dinging in the background. I rant plenty on this website, but I’m kind to everyone at work (with few exceptions) because it makes things more comfortable for everyone. Additionally, if you are always kind to your patients and colleagues, your reputation will speak for itself. One time I was walking down a hall with poor reception while on my ASCOM with a notoriously standoffish nurse from another unit. My phone cut out. She called my unit’s nurse manager to complain, and the nurse manager told her that I would never hang up on purpose. My interactions with the nurse going forward were always more pleasant in nature.

20. Support your team: The best colleagues are not the smartest colleagues; the best coworkers are the ones who have your back. Whether it’s a medical emergency or just a strange situation, it’s important to be supported and to give support.

I know that I’ve learned a lot more than this, so I’ll likely be adding to this throughout the year. Happy Snow Day, all!

#hangrypa #PAblr #physician assistant #PA-C #PA

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laguera25 · 3 years

Text

An Open Letter to Richard Z. Kruspe on the Occasion of His 54th Birthday

When I was born, ten weeks prematurely and weighing a scant two-and-a-half pounds, the doctors told my parents not to bother naming me, as I would likely die very quickly, and even if I were to survive, I would likely be blind and helpless and profoundly retarded, unaware of, and unable to engage with, the world around me. Best to leave me be and let nature take its course. A few days of benign neglect, and it would all be over. If they were fortunate, there would be other, better children.

Fortunately for me, my parents gave the double-fingered salute to that bit of medical advice and took me home to do the best they could with very little money and no one to guide them through the strange and terrible country of life with a disabled child. I survived because my very country grandmother chucked out the baby formula that I wasn't digesting and fed me the cow's milk the doctors so solemnly swore would kill me.

There was so many milestones I missed, and of which my parents were deprived. I didn't sit up by myself until I was two. I never walked, never ran, though there are a few faded photos of me gamely pulling myself upright on chairs and the edges of coffee tables, trying to do what my brain said I ought, but my body too weak and miswired too obey. No play with other children, who were stronger and more rambunctious and would have bowled me over in all innocence. And as I grew older, no first dates or driving tests or prom dresses. No thought of an independent life.

What there was was endless rounds of physical and occupational therapy. Hours and hours on a brown vinyl mat, trying to lift my leg or raise my ass off the ground or make my hand write the words in my head. Hours and hours putting change into a slot or trying to tie shoelaces or forcing my hands into uncomfortable plastic splints for a chance at a fraction of more bodily control. While my school friends were out playing in the sun, I was inside beneath fluorescent lights, learning to button my shirt and comb my hair and brush my teeth. To hold a pencil. No time for joy, for peace, for figuring out who I was beyond this collection of aches and pains and deficiencies, just the endless tedium of learning to "be normal" and less of an imposition on the world around me.

And I did go to school. Despite the doctors' dire predictions, I was neither blind nor idiot. I was perfectly aware of the world around me, and smart. So much so that when I was nine, the school ordered an intelligence test. The score was so high that they thought it an error and made me take it again in front of witnesses. When the same score came back the second time, they wanted to move me two years ahead, but my mother, afraid it would both isolate me further and give me airs, refused. So, I stayed, face in the mat and hands in splints, learning advanced history and English, yet forced to put blocks into holes and put colored rings on a stick.

And so I lived this strange paradox for my entire childhood, the genius child that my mother crowed about to all her friends and anyone who would listen, and terrible burden who still had the coordination of a toddler, and who had ruined her dreams of ribbons and curls. When I was nine, she was convinced I could be made "normal"--or closer to it--any road, with a surgery. And so, the surgeons detached the muscles and ligaments in my legs from the bones and stretched them in an effort to relieve the spasticity. The surgeons were doing a kindness to relieve pain; by then, the muscles were so tight that when I was stood on my feet and held up, my feet rolled onto the instep and my knees pointed at each other. It was a measure of dignity.

To my mother, it was supposed to be a miracle, the cure that gave her the daughter she deserved.

I woke up screaming. The muscles and ligaments were unhappy with their new positions and weren't afraid to register their protest about this new state of affairs. They tried to administer morphine, but the levels needed to control the pain were dangerously high for a child, and so I was left to ride it out. I screamed and screamed and screamed. For thirteen hours.

My mother. who was so sure she had found her miracle, was taken into another room by an exhausted surgeon who had done the best he could, and told that at most, I might be able to walk across the room on a walker and take myself to the toilet. She screamed, too, then, at this man who had been on his feet for nine hours, trying to undo the mistakes of the hands that had formed me from the dust of the ground, and who would try to make me laugh every day when he came to check my progress. She called him a liar and a bastard and a son of a bitch, and family lore has it that she would have hit him had my father not intervened.

They tried to tell her. Kindly and patiently and incessantly, but she would not listen. God had told her I would be cured, and dammit, I would be. The day they cut my casts off and sent me home, they told her not to push me too hard, that my muscles needed time to adjust and build endurance. She said she understood, but when we got home, she ordered me to walk uphill to the house. I tried, I truly did, but it wasn't long before I hit muscle fatigue and started to cry. I want to stop, wanted my wheelchair.

And my mother, this woman who had once told the doctors who would have let me die to go fuck themselves, picked up a stick and started to beat me. "Be normal! Be normal!" Screaming and sobbing and flailing with this stick, and me screaming and begging and trying to stay upright. I don't know how long she would've kept going, but eventually, my stepfather appeared, wrested the stick away and threatened to beat her with it, and carried me into the house.

Here I must give my mother a sliver of credit even if I will carry the memory of that beating for the rest of my days. She was right, after a fashion. I did do more than walk across the room with a walker and take myself to the toilet. For a while, I even graduated to forearm crutches and quad canes, which might not sound like much, but when you were expected to do nothing, that's like climbing Everest in your underpants. My wheelchair gathered dust for years, but soon I had to choose between the demands of my education and the demands of my body. The latter simply lacked the energy to fuel both my mind and my muscles to the best of my their abilities, and since school was the only area of life in which I had ever excelled, there was no choice at all. Back into the chair I went. By the time I graduated high school, I could no longer use crutches, and by my third year at uni, even the walker was too much. These days, I cannot move myself without help, and arthritis has set in. I made my choice, and now I pay its price.

I tell you all of this to illustrate that whatever the fool doctors might have said as they clucked and tutted over my incubator, I was keenly aware of the world. Of everything I was missing while my mother insisted I just bootstrap myself out of my disability and be normal. Of her seething resentment of all that I was not. Of her wish that I was someone else.

There were two bands that got me through, kept me sane and kept me moving when all I wanted to do was just lie down and not get up. The first was Metallica, whom I discovered at thirteen, and who told me it was all right to be angry about my circumstances, to kick and scream and argue with God and call him a rotten bastard--as long as I kept living, kept getting up in the morning and trying to inch down the road. I didn't have to swallow my anger for fear of upsetting God and hurting my mother's chances of getting into heaven(my mother believes that I am a test she must pass in order to get into heaven; therefore, my suffering is irrelevant and should never be questioned, lest it anger Him. Don't ask; I don't get it.)

If Metallica was the band that gave me permission to be angry as long as I kept trying, it was Rammstein that told me it was okay to want more from life than an endless regimen of therapy and prayer and gratitude to a God that had, or so it seemed to me, sent me into the world with a ramshackle body and precious little armor or defense against the assholery of my fellow human beings and yet still expected me to praise His holy name allelu. To want joy and friends and human contact. To have a libido and ogle whatever flipped my switches. To, in short, be human, and more than just a symbol of all my mother's broken hopes.

I discovered the band through a book, believe it not. I found a copy of Tom Reynolds' <i>Touch Me, I'm Sick</i> in a Barnes and Noble I had gone into to browse and hide from a cataclysmic thunderstorm, and in it, he began to talk about a band called Rammstein and a song called "Heirate Mich." The more I read, the more gloriously improbable it all seemed, and the harder I laughed. By the time I got to the line, "As the music pounds like a collapsing factory...", there were tears streaming down my face, and I was having trouble breathing. The saleslady must've worried I was having a stroke.

And so it was that I found the key to everything that would come after. From the book to my creaking dial-up Internet(don't laugh, it was what I could afford as a broke-ass cripple on the government dole) to the CD shop, where I blew my food budget on Rammstein CDs and lived on Hamburger Helper for weeks. This is a terrible dietary choice, by the way, but at least I had Rammstein music in my ears all day, every day. A few weeks later, I put another dent in my food budget buying all the DVDs. Ah, the vigor and stupidity of youth. If I tried that foolery now, I'd be semiconscious on the floor in a day and a half. Back then, I had a more stalwart constitution.

I knew by the second song I heard that Rammstein was going to be special to me. My German, which consisted of a year of study in high school and a disastrous two years in college, was pretty poor, but thanks to snooping around Internet forums and squinting at grainy videos, I knew much of your catalogue dealt with taboo subjects. I didn't care. For all its dark subject matter, the music made me want to dance. It made me feel something other than apathy and a persistent wish for this whole mess to be over and my soul to be recycled into a body that didn't make me want to scream until I was too tired to do anything but sleep.

And I did dance. Constantly. Seldom in public because dancing in a wheelchair often looks like the Devil is trying to stick his finger up your ass, but often at home, just shimmying away until the chair developed some alarming creaks and the bolts needed adjustment. Rammstein made me happy. It made me curious. It made me want to see just how much was out there.

And, if I am honest, it made me want to see those silver MC Hammer pants for myself. The combination of those pants and the diaper rash cream in your hair was a striking look for you, if I may say so, though perhaps not so grand as the black spikes and the lion pants you wore with such swaggering panache on the Reise, Reise tour. Alas, this was not to be, as I suppose you had wearied of slathering ass cream for infants in your hair. I can't blame you, though I suppose it must've been a sad day, indeed, for the ointment companies. Still, those Hammer pants and their Reynolds Wrap, space-age splendor will always hold a special place in my heart.

Stymied in my hope to witness for myself the wonders of those Hammer pants--and those lion pants as well, as it turned out, oh, unhappy hour, long may they reign in the storage closet--I nonetheless wanted to see a Rammstein show. Not much chance of that, the morose American fans assured me. The band hadn't come here since they foolishly took the American commitment to freedom of expression at face value and Till and Flake landed in the Puritan pokey for playing Loose the Dachshund into the Badger Burrow in front of delighted fans. Besides, the band's management had scant interest in repeating that little experiment.

Even so, I held out hope. I hung out on message boards and kept me ear to the ground. You can imagine my delight when the MSG show was announced. I wasn't so foolish as to think I could attend, mind you; New York might as well have been the moon for someone who cannot safely fly, but it was fun to indulge in a bit of wistful what-if? What if I could find a way to get there that wouldn't give me a lethal clot? What if I could score tickets? What if I could afford a hotel in Manhattan where the rats and roaches wouldn't kill me in my sleep or carry me off to be devoured in the sewer system? These were all very big ifs for someone who lived in the boonies and was only supposed to spend money on medical expenses and basic bills. Besides, MSG was going to sell out before I could gimp my way to the phone.

Knowing all of this, I took to my blog to whine and moan and feel sorry for myself. It wasn't fair, I whinged to the ether. I had wanted to see Rammstein for so long, but it just wasn't possible. It was too expensive and too far and too haaaaard. And woe is me.

And then...

And then a bossy German lady dropped a punk alarm in my inbox.

I don't remember now how or why she came to my blog. Maybe she was drawn by an unconventional perspective on life and fandom and moving through the world, or maybe she just wanted to snortle at my friend and I's discussions of your sartorial splendor and the ridiculous dramas going on in the Rammstein fandom at the time. Either way, she'd been been watching my sulking and stropping for a few days, until she'd reached her limit and this woman, who had never said an unkind word to me in years, called me a coward. Just straight up said that I could either find my spine, stop pissing and moaning, and try my hardest to see Rammstein in New York, or I could keep being a coward and making excuses. But make my choice and stop sniveling because she was tired of hearing about it.

At first, I was stunned. Of all the things I had ever been called, a coward was not one of them. Then I was mad. How DARE she call me a coward when she had no idea how much pain I was in most of the time or how difficult it was to move around a world that had never been designed for me and been but grudgingly retrofitted by handymen who thought that grab bars fixed everything!

So I stewed and pouted for a few hours, but the longer I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I hadn't tried very hard to research my options. I hadn't checked hotels or called the venue or gotten my finances in order. I had claimed Rammstein was so important and meaningful to me, but I hadn't shown it. I had assumed defeat before I'd even started the charge up the the hill and wallowed in self-pity. Sure, maybe I was right and I wouldn't be able to go, but I'd never know if I didn't square up and try.

Before I proceed, a word about the tried-and-true deutscher Fuss zum Arsch(not another aside in a letter full of them, I hear you cry as your eyes begin to glaze. I know, Mr. Kruspe, believe me, but if you speak to the world through your guitar strings, I speak through my keystrokes, and so I beg your patience. We're almost there.). If a German you have gotten to know puts their foot up your ass and calls you on your bullshit, they are not doing it to be a prick, and it's not done with the intent to create hard feelings or demolish your self-esteem. It's harsh, man, is it harsh when you're used to American doublespeak and soft-pedaling, but they're doing it because they see something in you and are trying to stop you from making a dumbass or a jackwagon of yourself. They're doing it because they want to keep being your friend.

So.

Punk alarm duly dropped and head dislodged from ass, I started making phone calls. To the banks do get my money in order. To bean counters to make sure I would have access to it. To Amtrak to discuss their booking options. I went to disability websites and forums to discuss precautions to take in case my health or my equipment gave out on the road. The best hospital for the broke-ass should I get mown down by a taxi while trying to cross the road. Emergency numbers and insurance forms and blah blah blah. A raft of bureaucracy and safeguards and double-checking, all for a concert I might not get tickets for.

But I did, because for once, my disability worked in my favor. MSG sold out in twenty-five minutes, but that venue, bless its heart, doesn't put disabled seating up for general sale. You have to call the disabled patron assistance line, and they don't release unsold disabled seats for general sale until three days before a show. So I called the magic line, and a very amiable fellow talked me through the process. Two weeks later, the tickets were in my mailbox.

I am not ashamed to tell you that when I opened the envelope and held the tickets in my hand, I screamed like a debutante that sat on an upturned spoon. It was really happening.

And yes, my German friend gave me a giant "I told you so!" But she was right, and she'd earned it. Besides, she was happy for me, too.

So I did it. I got on a train(where I soon learned that accessible or not, I couldn't use the toilet because the train swayed too much for me to keep my balance), and I went without eating, drinking, or urinating for twenty-two hours(I do not recommend this to anyone, by the by. It hurt, and it was dangerous)to get to New York. And when I got there, I stood in Penn Station and simply stared because I was somewhere I never thought I'd be. It was simultaneously everything I thought it would be and nothing like I'd expected.

There were still obstacles, of course. There always are when you have two hands and four wheels and see the world through asses and elbows. Clutching my luggage while my trusty and ever-present companion pushed me over the cracked sidewalk with one hand and dragged the rest of the luggage behind him. Finding out that the "accessible" hotel room was, in fact, not all that accessible and wrenching my knee every time I used the toilet. Being accosted by my first sidewalk screamer within ten minutes of being in the city. Meeting my first hustler.

Freezing my ass off outside the venue for four hours before the show and called not fan enough by other fans because I didn't do it for fourteen, because hey, if you were really a fan, you'd risk pneumonia to see the show, even if it would kill you. Being shunted and shuffled to four different doors by event staff because no one could agree on where the disabled fans were supposed to enter. Being let into the building to warm up by an MSG employee, only to be booted out by event staff three minutes later. Whee! Aren't the logistics of being disabled fun?

But Mr. Kruspe, it was all worth it. I've never felt an energy like that before. Whatever snitty elitism some of the fans might have been nursing outside, inside MSG, we were all fans, all people who had waited and wished for this for a very long time. The primal roar from the crowd when the band began to break through the wall raised the hairs on my nape, and you'd better believe that I joined them with all of my energy.

From the first note, I forgot my pain. It was still there, mind, waiting for me, black-toothed and patient as the grave, but I was beyond it, in a state of suspended euphoria. No pain, just joy. I watched everything as best I could despite my near-sightedmess and my rather distant seat. I soaked it all in--the music and the unapologetic bombast, and the pageantry of the fire. It was all so starkly, darkly beautiful, and according to my companion, who has all the sentimentality of pavement, when he looked over at me during "Ich Will", I was "radiant." He, who had known me for thirteen years by then, said he'd never seen me like that before, and that he would never forget it.

It was not without price. These things never are. There was another train journey and another twenty-two hours without access to a toilet, and by the time I got home, I was so strung out from lack of food, water, and sleep(because trufax, it is hard to sleep when your bladder is trying to pop out of your skin from the pressure)that I cried like a toddler on the drive home. And then I went home, peed forever, drank, ate, and collapsed for seventeen hours.

But it was worth it. It was so worth it that on the band's next go-round, I took a cross-country roadtrip to Vegas, during which I peed much more often, thank God, but I also fought ants and roaches in a hotel room in Texas and stayed in a room so gross I slept in my clothes and threw them out when I got home. But it, too, was worth it, just as it was worth it to get in the car and drive to Florida and Atlanta on the next tour after that.

I told you ALL of these things, Mr. Kruspe, to tell you this. I saw your interview in that documentary about depression in 2010. I heard you say you felt worthless unless you were creating.

I don't know what you're worth to anyone else, but to me, you are priceless, and always will be. Without you, there would be no Rammstein, and for me, there would have been no reason to try, to spread my wings and take a run at that hill. Without you, I might have given up, might have let my mother win, and maybe now, I'd be sitting in some care home, stewing in my own yellowing stink and getting a bath once a week and a monthly outing and rotting from the inside out. Without you, I might never have taken the chance, never pushed myself.

But you were, and are, and because of that, I did. Because of that, I saw New York, and moved, however briefly, among that anonymous throng. Because of that, I met the sidewalk doomsayer and the exasperated hustler. Because of that, I tried New York Pizza(and yes, I saw a rat, but he minded his business, and I minded mine). Because of you, I heard a Cajun patois in Louisiana and watched out the window of the car as the Texas plains unwound around us. Because of you, I saw the night sky on the outskirts of Vegas and was escorted back to the Strip after the show by two Native dudes who walked far out of their way and called me little sister. These are gifts I got from you because you were, and are, and they have sustained me ever since. They sustain me now that my world has been reduced to the four walls of my house as I ride out the pandemic in a country that believes people like me are an acceptable sacrifice.

I know this won't change things for you, won't quiet that awful voice in your head. Depression doesn't work like that, and even if it did, I am just a stranger you will never meet. But maybe it will give you something to hang on to, something to think about on the bad days. Christ knows you kept my head above the water when all I wanted to do was let it go under.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Kruspe. May it bring you joy and all that you need.

Guera

#rammstein #richard z. kruspe #emigrate

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magioftheseas · 4 years

Note

Damaged vocal cords and KamuKoma for the bad things happen bingo?

I’m back to writing these, and I’m still making them short (1K) to try and make writing in general less intimidating! This is also for the @badthingshappenbingo with this prompt taken from here. Also cross-posted to Ao3 here. (Btw for the bingo card: ones I still need to do are hand stomp, survivor’s guilt, and lotus-eater machine. I’m gonna try and get to them soon!!! Sorry!!!)

Warnings: Violence and instability. It’s despairverse after all! There’s only some sexual content towards the end but it’s mild.

When Owari turned to him with a drooling grin and striking bloodlust in his glare, he knew he was faced with a bout of bad luck. He wasn’t going to die, of course, but to say he hadn’t been a little afraid when she tackled him to the ground... Well, it had been difficult to think when her hands wrapped around his throat and squeezed. Constricted, like a snake around its prey. He even flailed and struggled, vision burning and blurring as Owari laughed and laughed and laughed.

He remembers what it had been like in the wreckage of the plane. How it had hurt even to breathe, how he felt his skin aflame even though he hadn’t been charred like several less fortunate victims. How he had still been sobbing when pulled into the paramedics.

Kamukura Izuru separated them, flinging Owari back as if she were nothing. And he couldn’t help but sob as Kamukura gathered him into that strong embrace and carried him away. It hadn’t been with euphoria that he cried. He really, really had been afraid, and between gasping for breaths with broken whimpers and whines, he begged for his parents to help him.

He had passed out soon after.

“The bruises are severe,” Kamukura drones, rubbing at his throat with ointment. Despite the gentleness of his caretaking, his expression remains ever cold and inhuman. “You cannot speak. There is no point in denying it.”

“I,” Komaeda croaked. He winced, curling in on himself. He settled for shaking his head.

“You tried to scream and that further strained your vocal chords,” Kamukura explained drearily. “However, your Ultimate Luck remains. You will recover in ten days with treatment.” His head tilts, but his face doesn’t change. “Fortunate, but predictable. How boring.”

“Sorry,” he mouthed meekly. His cheeks felt warm. A warmth completely unlike the scorching agony of before. He manages a smile, clapping his hands in delight. An expression of adoration and gratitude. One that Kamukura regards coldly.

He’s disappointed. Owari-san must be disappointed as well. Aah, she would still consider getting me to shut up a victory. The former Class 77-B will celebrate tonight. How distasteful. Kamukura-kun, however...

He runs his hand along the thickness of Kamukura’s bicep. He takes in a shuddering breath, gazing up at the other with a watery gaze. Kamukura stares back. Still cold.

“Please take good care of me,” Komaeda whispers hoarsely, ducking his head submissively.

“Avoid speaking for now,” is Kamukura’s response. If Komaeda didn’t know any better, he might mistake that dull tone for snappish. “Do not further strain yourself.”

There’s nothing to do but nod helplessly. What else was there to expect?

Not much time passes, however, before the silence gets to him. It’s not Kamukura’s fault, of course. Kamukura Izuru was the kind of person who only vocalized when necessary, which was obviously understandable. He wasn’t wasteful, least of all with words. Not like others. Especially not like Komaeda himself.

Komaeda, who hates loud places, but can’t exactly say he finds silence relaxing. He keeps itching to wrap his own fingers around his throat. To crush what Owari couldn’t finish due to Kamukura Izuru’s interference. He still can’t speak, not really. Rather than voice, the words come out in nothing more than hideous rasps.

He only attempts when Kamukura Izuru is not in vicinity, but he’s not so foolish as to think Kamukura doesn’t know about this. Kamukura knew everything, even if he didn’t do much of anything.

He still saved me. Because we both share Ultimate Luck.

He listens now to Kamukura preparing a meal in the kitchen. He wonders where the ingredients came from? Grown? Stolen? Given by Hanamura? The last one makes his nose wrinkle in disgust, especially when he thought about the licentious remarks the so-called chef was prone to.

Even if it’s Hanamura-kun’s character, to look at Kamukura-kun like that...

He halts his thoughts when Kamukura brings him his food. He gets flustered and has half a mind to blame Hanamura for it—except he knows it’s his own wickedness that’s the problem.

You mustn’t look at him like that. It’s more than just indecent.

He does offer a gracious smile all the same, eyes watering up preemptively as he took in the meal. It was just daikon, shredded into a lukewarm soup. Something simple and easy on the throat. Such consideration—as expected of an Ultimate Caretaker.

Although why Kamukura-kun cares is anyone’s guess.

Kamukura watches him as he eats. Watches him as he snuffles from the wonderous taste and blows his nose. Watches as he idly rubs his throat and sips more of the soup. Ever the intense and powerful, with a gaze that any man could lose himself in.

Komaeda throws the bowl at him, and Kamukura is gone in an instant. He tries to scream, but what comes out is like static.

Kamukura is holding him down. His stare is the same as before, and then it blurs all together.

Aha. I’m crying.

He chokes on a sob, twisting so that he could turn away from Kamukura’s cold stare. Pitiful gasps clawed their way out of his throat.

“K... K... Ka...mu...” His voice is gone. What remained was wretched static. “H... Hic...”

“I suppose,” Kamukura murmured, so softly that Komaeda thought he imagined it at first. “I should have expected this outcome.”

“S... S... So...rr...”

“Your apology is accepted.” Kamukura gets off him, but he remains laying there. “An emotional outburst was not surprising.”

Was it boring, then? He covers his face with his arms. He’s aware that he’s still trembling. Kamukura’s still staring. I wish I could scream.

“I see,” Kamukura droned. “So even you get frustrated like this.”

Even me? What are you even saying?

“I am saying that you are human, despite what is often claimed.”

With his limited understanding, Komaeda Nagito couldn’t begin to comprehend the words. His mouth shuts, his eyes darting all over. He flinches when Kamukura leans down and kisses his neck.

“It will hinder your recovery,” he murmurs, and his hand has already begun creeping up under Komaeda’s shirt. “But you need not let you lack of a voice keep you from expressing yourself, Komaeda Nagito.”

I made a mess of things.

He can’t help but snicker, hysterical. Kamukura peppers his heaving throat with more soft pecks.

I’ve made a huge mess.

#Magi answers #Magi fics #anonymous #KamuKoma #bad things happen bingo #bad things bingo

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shinycorvidae · 3 years

Text

How Vic and Hiro Ended Up Sharing a Brain Tapeworm

(cowritten with @smilepal)

Part 6 of 6: In Which We Piss Off Our Pseudo-Father Figures

"Please proceed to insert the jack below the ear, although not too deep"

"... auxiliary neurosockets..."

"If I hit a vein by mistake..."

"...end up like Deshawn...fucking try me..."

"I think I have it."

"V! We're at viks, just..."

"... cannot...need...rest"

"Misty!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(I got stuck writing this for two weeks and I want to get to the rest of the story SO HERE HAVE SOME BULLET POINTS ✌️)

Vik taking V from Hiro's arms. He moves right into surgery and leaves a blood soaked Hiro to pace and listen to Delamain tell Vik that she’s going to die. Misty tries to convince him to go wash off the blood he’s covered in. Like hell is he leaving till Vs stable. She instead sits him down within eyesight of V and wraps up his torn palm. It’s cyberware, the best she can do is stop the leaking.

Hiro uses his anti-anxiety medication for the first time since he was a teenager. He doesn’t have time for panic attacks, he needs to be sharp, he’s got multiple people to protect.

Vik finally manages to stabilize V. He forces Hiro out of the clinic, V will be fine tonight, he needs to go home.

Hiro goes home to an empty, silent apartment. Watches V’s blood wash down the shower drain.

He doesn't sleep that night.

Hiro returns the next morning with three coffees. He’s not optimistic enough to bring one for Takemura or V.

Not that he’d bring one for the corpo anyway.

Vik is tired. There are dark circles under his eyes and he's slumped over on his stool staring into the distance. Hiro’s gut sinks, and he reflexively checks that V’s still breathing.

That’s Vik’s bad news face.

Hiro hands Vik the coffee and they sit in silence for a while. Watching V breathe.

Vik puts down his coffee and sighs.

“Do you want the good or the bad first?”

“Just tell me Vik”

“She’s stable. I removed the bullet from her head and she’ll recover fully from the wound. She’ll have a nasty scar and nothing else.”

“...but?”

“It’s hard to explain kid.”

“Vik.”

“The item V and Jackie were sent to filch? It’s a biochip, a Relic. Arasakas “upload a dead person” magic trick. But this one’s different, a prototype. Somehow it got slotted into Vs head.”

“What? Why would she do that? That...that makes no sense. Vic’s an idiot sometimes but...she wouldn’t do that.”

“Might not have been a willing choice kid. Might have been a desperate action. Maybe she was just reckless. I don’t know. Doesn’t change the end result. There’s a biochip in her head and I can’t get it out without killing her.”

“What? You can’t just unslot it?”

“When Deshawn shot her, she was dead. Just for a minute, maybe less. Then the nanites in the chip booted up and brought her back. That Relic is the only reason she’s breathing on that bed right now.”

“Fuck. Fuck, she...never mind, keep going Vik. Tell me all of it.”

“There’s only bad news left Hiro.”

“Keep going. Please.”

“...alright. That reboot, the bullet to the head? It activated the construct on the biochip. The virtual psyche of the person written on that chip. Johnny Silverhand.”

“...the rocker?”

“The terrorist more like. He’s...he’s overwriting V. He’s-It’s going to scoop out everything that makes her V and replace it with Silverhand. She has a couple weeks before there's nothing of her left, maybe a month at best.”

“How do we fix it?”

“There’s...-kid there’s nothing I can fix. I can slow it down a little with some medication, keep her a little more comfortable. But I-I can't fix this.”

The floor drops out from under him. No. Not now. She lived, she survived a bullet to the fucking head. A little piece of tech isn’t going to-

Fuck. FUck. Not another one, please not both of them, he cant-

And V. V who hates any loss of control, who’s so sure of who she is. Getting erased...he can’t think of a worst fear for her. A worse torture.

He leans against the counter heavily, the only thing supporting his weight. He can’t even look at her. He failed her. HE failed them both.

Vik's hand falls on his back. He can barely feel it. Barely hear him talk.

“I tried kid. I worked through every possible solution. Nothing works. The closest I got was splitting the engram but its not going to-”

Hiro will take anything. Any deal, any bargain to keep her here.

“Split it. How would you split it.”

Vik just looks at him. Keeps his mouth shut for a beat.

“Hiro-”

“NO! Vik, I refuse to- we won't lose her. We can’t, I can’t-. You aren't going to hold anything back from me, I swear-”

“Fine! Fine. If you split the engram, you might, MIGHT alleviate the load on Vic’s brain enough that she can fight off the engram, partially. Enough so she keeps control. It's a slim chance. More likely it will just buy her time, a couple months, and doom the second host to the same fate. And it might just outright kill her and the second host. I'm not going to take someone off the street and subject them to that. And I don't know anyone who'd do it willingly.”

“...I will. Use me. I’ll be the second host.”

“No.”

Viktor’s no is immediate. He's both horrified and shocked that Hiro would even offer. He watched him fight to survive as a teenager. To see him gamble his life on the slight chance to save Vic...

He won’t. He practically raised the kid, he’s not going to kill him on his own operating table.

Hiro gets right in his face, desperate and angry.

“We have a chance Vik! You're just too scared to take it!”

“It’s a fool’s chance! At best you buy her a couple months-”

“You said there's a chance it’d cure her completely.”

“A tiny one! It'd be like betting on a five year old in a one-on-one with Razor Hughes. Its suicide.”

“If V’s that five year old I’m taking that god damned bet.”

Vik just stares at him. He’s completely serious. He knew Jackie's death was affecting him, but he hadn't realized he'd lost his mind.

“Hiro-”

“I am BEGGING you Vik. I will get on my knees if that makes a difference, PLEASE. If you have an ounce of respect for me you'll do this, its my body, my fucking choice”

Hiro ups the ante at the sliver of weakness of resignation in Vik's face. He’s terrified and it’s making him desperate, making him mad.

“If you don't I will never forgive you, I fucking swear. You will never see my face again. You can’t not give me this chance to save her,-”

Vik's face goes hard. Stony. If the kid is going to guilt him with that, fine. He's an adult and obviously he doesn't care anymore. Let him risk his own damn life.

And. Hiro’s desperate enough, Vik KNOWS, he just knows that Hiro won't give up. He’ll find a different ripperdoc, one willing to do it. And they’ll fuck it up. No one willing to do that would be good at their job. He has to do it. Or put Hiro at even greater risk.

A little part of Vik hates Hiro for it. For backing him into this awful corner. For forcing him to be complicit in Hiro's death. In V’s.

“Alright. Alright. Go change into one of the scrubs, the sooner we do this, the better. For you and for V”

“Thank you-”

“DO NOT thank me for this Hiro. Do not. I don’t want to do this. It’s wrong and I’m pretty sure V would-”

“V lost the right to an opinion when she slotted this thing in her fucking skull in the first place.”

Vik performs the surgery. They both live. He makes sure Hiro is comfortable and asleep before opening up the scans of their brains. Of the Relic, still nestled in Vs head untouched. His stomach drops.

His prediction was mostly right. V isn't cured. Hiro bought her a couple more months, maybe 2 or 3. He's only delayed her death. Stretched out how long it will take Silverhand to devour her. Hiro has connected himself to her and the Relic but in a stroke of luck not her death. The relic isn't trying to scoop him out, but it will put stress on his synapses. He’ll have migraines, nausea, even possible seizures at the end of V’s life but when her final thread of self snaps, the bridge between their brains will collapse. He may be left with some permanent effects but he’ll live. Thank god he’ll live. He mourns for V but selfishly, awfully he's so grateful Hiro lived and will live. He will never say it out loud but he'd sacrifice V, a good friend, if it meant Hiro could live.

Hiro wakes up the next day. He refuses to believe Vik's final diagnosis. He’s bought V time, they’ll find some way to fix this.

He spends the week at Vik's, recovering and waiting for her to wake up. He tries to help around the clinic, but his relationship with Vik has been severely strained. Any conversation is awkward and stilted.

V wakes occasionally, short periods of not full awareness. Murmuring words, clenching her fists, eyes barely opening.

The first time she does it, Hiro's sitting right next to her bed, fiddling with the dismantled pieces of a shotgun to keep busy. He happens to look to his left. He’s shocked by the sight of V’s yellow brown eyes, staring at him lazy and warm.

“Hiro...”

“Hey V. Go back to sleep. It's too soon for you to be waking up.”

“K. G’night.”

A surge of deep want goes through Hiro as he pushes Vs hair back. He wants her.

Ohhhhh fuuuuuck he wants her. Not just as a friend. Or a roommate. Or a want for her to be safe. Oh no. oh nooooooo.

Apparently he’s not gay??? At least not completely. MAybe it's just men AND V. like an exception? Fuck this is bad. This is bad AND weird.

But he definitely wants V in his bed. He wants to know what her nails feel like on his back, her teeth on his lip. The playful look in her warm eyes as she drags her hand down his chest-

NOPE. NO. He’s not doing this right now. V is sick, V is DYING, he’s not- nope we aren't thinking about that.

It takes a couple hours for his ears to stop being bright red.

V wakes up late on the 6th day, Vik is sitting right there. Waiting for her to wake up.

V takes the news quietly. She's tired and obviously weak but her voice only wavers a little. She only begs Vik for a solution once, when she learns she’ll lose everything she is. She doesn't tear up or panic but examines every option she has. Looking for a way out. She can break down when she’s alone. Vik looks like he’s struggling with this enough. He doesn’t need to see her pain and fear too.

Hiro watches the whole thing from across the clinic. In a dark enough corner that V wouldn't immediately notice him. He watches her push down her feelings. Comforting Vik about her own fate for fucks sake.

He shouldn’t be here. Now that she’s lucid she probably hates him for not coming with them. He shouldn't creepily watch her be vulnerable without her consent. But he can't manage to drag himself away either.

Vik shakily wipes his face and delivers the final blow

"Hiro bought you sometime so you have a couple months instead of weeks. But you’re still dying V-"

"Wait Hiro? What did he do? Where is he?"

Fuck. Well now he really can't just sulk in the corner anymore. He comes out, walking up to her bed silently. He has no clue what to say to her.

V doesn't leave him drowning for long. She gives him a small smile, tired and pained but happy to see him anyway.

"It only took me dying to get you to learn to be sneaky, huh?"

A small choked laugh, suspiciously wet, escapes him. Only she would pull a laugh out of him right now, the brat.

Misty helps Hiro move her to a wheel chair so he can bring her home. Vik explains the meds to him too. He can tell her later. When she's not fast asleep in a wheelchair.

She's snoring and her hair is stuck around the handle. She's an idiot. She’s adorable.

Fuck.

#hehehe #HIRO CAUGHT FEELINGS #Vs doing...k.#just k #viktor vektor #hiro oda #victory delvin #cyberpunk 2077 #there you go kids.#we did it #There will be an epilogue thing and an extra tho

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sebsmetal-arm · 4 years

Text

Queen of Everything || Steamy JudeCardan

Disclaimer: These characters and world are the sole intellectual property of Holly Black. I claim no right to this property, this is a work of fan fiction. Any use of known quotes are there as a purposeful callback. I tried my best to stay true to Holly’s writing style and characterization but any difference in character aspects or dialogue is intentional. Please do not copy or repost my work. Hope you enjoy!

This work is NSFW!! This will also be posted to my Ao3 (sebsmetalarm) and my Wattpad (writingsinspiredby). Inspired by an art piece by honey.and.velvet on IG.

Vivienne,

I hope you and Heather are well. I’m writing to inform you that Cardan and I will be visiting again at the next full moon. He keeps insisting that we should visit regularly, especially now with so much of our family gone from Elfhame. Although, If I’m being honest, I think he just enjoyed himself during our last visit more than he’s willing to let on.

I asked Taryn if she wanted to accompany us, but now that she is farther along she doesn’t want to risk traveling. She sends her love.

See you soon.

Jude

I drop my quill into the inkpot with a sigh, leaning back into the ornate desk chair. I know the sun is likely preparing to peek over the horizon to chase away the night, because from deep within the heart of the hill the sounds of Elfhame’s revelry are beginning to die down.

As I make to pick up the parchment, I hear the almost imperceptible sound of the bedroom door snicking open behind me. The change in air pressure sends a gentle breeze fluttering the tendrils of hair around my ears. I knowingly smirk, making myself look busy by beginning to roll up the letter and tie it off.

There are two things I am grateful for at this moment.

One; my dagger, which lay on the desk in front of me, is shielded from his view. Placed there for the purpose of cutting the string of course, but certainly advantageous.

Two; Cardan was a creature of habit.

We’d been playing at this game for weeks now, ever since we got back from Vivi’s. He would try to sneak up on me to practice what The Roach had taught him, to best me at my own game. I’ll admit, his technique had improved with every attempt. His footfalls had grown softer and less clumsy, but his approach was the same every single time. He was predictable.

I grip the handle of my dagger, gathering the string in my left hand with pretense. Just as expected, I feel him approach from behind, his restrained exhales grazing the right side of my neck lightly as he prepares to pounce. Before he can make a move, I gently thrust my dagger up and to the right, catching him just under the chin. I hear his breath catch in his throat followed by a long, disappointed sigh.

“You’re getting better.” I say mockingly, turning in the chair to face him while keeping the dagger pressed to his neck, “But you’re going to have to try a lot harder if you want to catch me unawares.”

He peers down at me, his face a mixture of surprise and frustration. “I was certain that I had you that time!” he spits, his body tense with apprehension.

“Cardan Greenbriar, leaving a party early? I never thought I’d see the day.” I tease, taking note of the disheveled, black hair framing his face and the crown atop his head, slightly askew in the usual fashion.

He purses his lips at my jest. “After you left, the party became rather dull. Every creature from here to Insweal was requesting an audience, it was utterly vexing.” He grouses, accompanied by his usual melodramatic gesticulations.

“You are aware you’re the King, yes? It’s part of the title, you know, to listen to your people.”

He scoffs in an almost childlike manner, his shoulders slumping. “Talking grows tiresome when it’s others that are speaking.”

“Cardan, just admit that you enjoy hearing yourself speak.”

“I mean, of course I do. Have you heard me speak? I’m delightful.” He says, perking his eyebrows.

“Delightfully exasperating is what you are.”

He snorts, wrapping his hand gently around my outstretched arm. “Now, Jude, my love. Do you plan on keeping this dagger trained on me all day or-”

Interrupting him, I stand, keeping the blade at his throat and his hand falls away. “That depends if you still keep your part of the bargain.” I say, leading him across the room and stopping in front of the bed, “I presume you remember what comes next?” I question, fashioning a playful smirk.

He rolls his eyes, “As if I could forget your perverse demands. You can be quite bossy, you know.”

I exhale a laugh, stepping closer as I dig the point of the blade into his skin. “And you talk too much sometimes. Now…” I remove the blade from his skin, but keep it aloft and pointed at him, “Kneel.”

He begrudgingly drops to his knees in front of me and I take a step back, seating myself at the edge of the bed. Unbuttoning his silk doublet, he strips himself of the luxurious, green material followed by the white, cotton undershirt. He inches forward on his knees, positioning himself between my legs.

“Good.” I say, the dagger still held aloft between us, “Now, I want to hear you speak the words again.”

His eyes flash with darkness, fueled by hatred or desire I cannot tell, but it edges me on further.

“My Queen,” he says derisively, gripping my ankle and lifting it towards him, “My wife,” he preaches, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of my ankle, “By you, I am forever undone.” He says, his tail whipping around excitedly behind him.

“Cardan, you’re being given away.” I chide, clicking my tongue playfully. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were enjoying this.” I mock, with a devious grin, the corner of his mouth curling into a seductive smirk at my words.

“My Queen,” he repeats, kissing my ankle again, “My wife,” he kisses higher on my leg, “By you, I am forever undone.” He croons devoutly, before dragging his tongue up the length of my leg, making my eyes roll with pleasure.

In the moment my eyes are closed, Cardan seizes his opportunity. He whips his tail around, circling it around the dagger and jerking it out of my hand and into his before I can even react. With surprising precision, he angles the blade up and under my dress, gripping the fabric as he slices up through the skirt and relaxed bodice.

With the sudden movement, his face is now level with mine. His eyes bore into mine, his mouth upturned with primal desire and victory as he stabs the blade into the mattress next to me. For once, he had bested me.

“I enjoy chasing my prey just as much as I enjoy feasting on it.” He drawls, his voice oozing with desire. At his words, heat pools at my core and as his free hand grips my waist I realize that I am now laid bare to him.

His gaze flickers from my eyes to my lips several times, calculating his next move. I make to speak but he crashes his lips down on mine, his hands pushing the now ruined dress off my shoulders. His hands rove over my skin as he kisses me, his tongue melding with mine as he moans into my mouth.

He moves down my body, his lips trailing kisses down my skin. When he reaches my abdomen he comes to the realization that I had been completely bare beneath the dress and looks up at me hungrily. He pushes my thighs farther apart, before repeating his script of devotion once more.

“My Queen,” he whispers against my skin, tracing his tongue up the inside of my thigh, “My wife,” he repeats, trailing his tongue again on the opposite leg, “By you, I am forever undone.” He says, his lips mere inches from my core, his voice almost a guttural moan.

Before the final utterance can leave his lips, he presses his mouth down upon my center, his tongue flat against my sensitive clit. His fingertips dig into my thighs as my head tips back, every languid swipe of his tongue sending undulating waves of pleasure through my body. I revel in the beautiful haze of my own pleasure, my mind and body bleary and numb with self-indulgent ecstasy.

The sudden absence of his tongue breaks through the haze like the sun’s rays ripping through the clouds, and looking down I see him staring up at me. He is gently biting his lower lip, on which my arousal is evident. He speaks, his words quiet and contemplative.

“These are the moments, Jude, in which I find myself most enamored with you; when you don’t realize anyone is looking. Your face softens… your walls fall away, and there is a lightness about you that could chase away even the darkest parts of myself.” He says curiously, his brown eyes glazed with his own ecstasy.

“I didn’t take you for a poet.”

He shrugs. “We all have our hidden talents.”

“Well,” I say mischievously, plucking the crown off his head and setting it atop my own, “if a poet’s lips can weave words into passion, then make mine your next masterpiece. Or else, you’ll soon discover another hidden talent of mine.” I threaten, spreading my legs wider for him.

He licks me teasingly. “Is this what you want?” He swipes his tongue up my slit again. “Is this what makes you go mad with pleasure? Seeing your King on his knees, bowing to your every whim?”

He leans down to tease me again but before he can speak another word, I lace my fingers through his onyx hair and pull his mouth to my center with fervor. And a masterpiece he does write as his lips caress my own; and his tongue, dancing figure eights, leaves me tense and breathless with unforgiving pleasure. I cannot help the breathy moans that escape my throat, nor the way my body begins to tremble. Then comes that familiar tightening in my abdomen, the sensation that I have come to crave more and more.

Sensing my impending climax, Cardan pushes two slender fingers into me - slowly and deeply - while his mouth continues its ministrations. He reaches his free hand around my body, pulling me closer to him. The muscles in his shoulder tense as he picks up his pace, his fingers thrusting in and out of me faster. With a few final swipes of his tongue, the building sensation at my core becomes blinding and then explodes, sending waves of pleasure coursing through my body. I grapple for something to hold onto, my hands finding his hair again. My grip is tight enough to make him wince, but he doesn’t let up, determined to see this through. After the pleasure wracking my body subsides, I collapse onto my back as the immediate exhaustion consumes me.

He withdraws his fingers and I hear him fumble with his trousers before they drop to the floor in a hush. He climbs onto the bed, his lips trailing kisses back up my body and to my own lips, parted in a pant. After a few lazy kisses, I feel his fingers at my lips.

“Here, taste.” He says plainly. I part my lips and he slides his fingers in, letting me suck my own taste off of his fingers. He groans at the sight, “Sweeter than any everapple I’ve ever tasted.” He muses, “and just as addictive.”

He leans down, his nose grazing my skin as he kisses my neck tenderly. I feel his hands slide under me and he begins to lift me from the bed. In the haze of my sex addled stupor, I can do nothing but cling to him as he moves up the bed. Sitting down, he brings me to my knees so that I am straddling his legs.

Brushing my hair over my shoulder, he continues peppering tender kisses over my neck and collarbone, his tongue occasionally flicking out to caress my skin. He makes his way down to my bare breasts, circling his tongue around each pert nipple before taking them between his lips one at a time.

I graze my hands down his abdomen, one hand about to reach for his hard length when his tail lashes out, coiling around my wrist. He pulls my hand away, tut-tutting at me like a child, “Ah ah ah, not so fast.” He chides, before resuming his torturous assault on my breasts.

I make an attempt with my other hand but his fingers grip my wrist unforgivingly.

“What exactly are you doing?” I demand, my body trembling with need.

“Well, I’m taking care of you of course.” He says matter-of-factly. He continues kissing and licking and sucking every inch of my skin.

I lean my head back, basking in his devotion for a moment, letting him believe I am distracted. When I sense his attention is solely on my body, I seize the opportunity and rip my wrist from his grip. Reaching back, I pull the knife from the mattress where it had been left and nock the tip of the blade just under his chin, sending his hands flying up in surrender.

“I appreciate the sentiment Cardan, but I don’t need you to take care of me like I am a fragile petal.” My voice is edged with frustration, “What I need,” I pause, pushing at his chest until he is flat on his back, leaning down until my face hovers inches from his, “is to be filled to the brim by you and ravished until I am senseless and incoherent with satisfaction.”

He contemplates me for a moment, before reaching up and brushing his thumb along my swollen lip. His heady voice is laced with arousal when he says, “Then, by all means.”

With his permission to take what I want, what I need, I reach below me to grip his already hardened length and position myself above him. I lock eyes with him, his dark eyes swirling with delicious anticipation. I sink down onto him, taking him deep within me, and his eyelids flutter as his eyes roll into the back of his head. He gives a throaty groan and I begin rhythmic movements, up and down around him.

My head falls back as I move, gyrating my body down onto his. A blurry fog of euphoria begins pervading my every sense, each crack of skin on skin becoming an echo in the distance. The warmth of his fingers wrapping around my wrist brings me careening back. Seemingly, my hand holding the blade had begun to drift. The same hand which he was now guiding back, training the weapon on himself once more. I eye him warily, my eyebrow perking up in a question.

“Do not think me strange when I confess this, but I find myself yearning every moment for your attention. Even if it means I must stare down a blade of forged steel, I would meet with a thousand more and risk my own blood just to spend eternity in your gaze.”

His tender admission leaves me fumbling for words and I duck my head, a rose blush creeping up my cheeks. My mind wars with itself, searching for all the right words but finding nothing but a labyrinth of uncertainties. My head jolts up and I can feel the accusation in my eyes. His face contorts into one of concern, his lips parting under my contemptuous gaze.

“You- you are insufferable, you know that? You say these things that muddle my brain into nothing and everything all at once! I cannot deduce which I loathe more… the fact that I love you so much- so much that it pains me” I say, my voice breaking, “or the fact that I hate you for making me love you.” I grind out through clenched teeth. “You make me feel weak and vulnerable… and I despise it. When I first realized I was no longer repulsed by the sight of you, I plotted your demise over and over. I dreamt of gutting you from neck to navel just so I wouldn’t have to face... feeling.” I lament, my piteous confession arousing those feelings of self-loathing that I had been afeard to confront.

He reaches up, grasping the back of my neck and pulls me down to his face. He places his other hand on top of mine, wrapped around the hilt.

“If the day ever comes in which you can truly no longer stand the sight of me, make good on your word.” He demands, tightening his grip around my hand with intent. “But until then, Jude Duarte, hate me, love me, be disgusted with me, or sing my every praise - it matters not. As long as you feel something for me, I will consider myself King of more than just Elfhame. And if spending every night in this bed makes you feel vulnerable, then I will spend every moment thereafter helping you build your wall back up, stone by stone.” He grips my neck once more, his thumb brushing my cheek. He reaches up, softly brushing his lips against mine, letting his tongue dip into my mouth for a moment before pulling away.

“Aren’t I just disgusting?” He jokes, his breath tickling my skin.

“Positively vile.”

He turns my head, gaining access to my neck and as he plants a tender kiss to my throat, he lifts his hips, sinking his erection deep inside me. The sudden contact is all-consuming, making me moan. With a swift movement he flips me over on to my back, maintaining his position within me. He places one of my ankles on his shoulder and the other I wrap around his back, urging him closer. A tickling sensation encircles my thigh as his tail wraps around it possessively.

Leaning forward, he props himself up on his forearms, his hands grasping my breasts. He pushes his hips forward, circling his thumbs around my nipples with each thrust. He groans, his jaw slackening with his growing arousal. His lips find the inside of my knee, peppering lazy kisses up my thigh.

“You feel- gloriously devine wrapped around me.” He grunts between breaths, his voice rumbling against my skin.

I cannot find the words to reply, so I simply squeeze my leg around his back in desperation. He takes the hint and his pace quickens, the slap of our hips echoing off the stone walls of the bedchamber. His sensual movements are a ravenous assault upon my mortal flesh that I welcome greedily. Feeling that coil deep within me begin to tighten, I exhale a rattling breath. He, too, recognizes his release within sight and his body tenses slightly, his brow beading with sweat as his hands grasp my breasts hungrily.

My fingers find their place in his hair again, grounding my soul to keep it from leaving my body. My gasps become erratic, that delicious sensation tightening more and more. He begins trailing his tongue across my bosom, dropping a kiss here and there. After a moment, he stops and when I look down he is staring at me, his eyes dark with delight. He frees one of his hands, reaching down between us and his fingers find my clit, rubbing in small circles as he continues to slide in and out of me. The sensation makes me gasp, my back arching off of the bed. I can still feel his eyes on me, observing me as his tongue continues trailing lazy swipes across me, his breath fanning over my skin.

My fingers leave his hair, my arms flailing out as I grip the bed sheets. I feel myself begin to topple over the edge, that coil releasing inside me in a powerful wave of pleasure. As if Cardan can sense it too, I suddenly feel his teeth sink into the soft flesh of my bosom. The sharp pain mixes with the pleasure, intensifying my release and I let out a strangled cry as my body shakes uncontrollably. Cardan slows his movements, each thrust deeper and harder than the last and he groans loudly into my chest as he finds his own release, the vibrations making my skin tingle. As if his body can give no more, he collapses on top of me in a sweaty heap. My body is buzzing, my chest heaving with exhaustion. A few moments pass, nothing but the sound of our satiated pants filling the room, before his voice rumbles against my sternum.

“Lest we forget your accusation of my own narcissism, I must infuriate you with another confession.” He says, before lifting his head, folding his hands on my stomach and propping his head atop them. He ponders for a moment, steeling himself before speaking, his voice quiet with uncertainty, “I know you were once Queen of nothing. I know you were exiled to the mortal world at my command with no hope of ever coming home, under the impression that I had betrayed your trust. I- I would never wish that hopelessness on you again… not even in the moments that I hate you. So time and time again, until the light of this world snuffs out, I will kneel before you and try to make you feel like the Queen of everything.”

I cannot help the slow smile that creeps across my face coyly, nor the heat welling in my cheeks. I swallow down the lump in my throat, refusing to let him break me down completely in one night, but I brush a hand through his hair in recognition of his admission. A nagging question pops into my mind and I am suddenly grateful for the distraction. Propping myself up, I look at him intently.

“Might I ask why you bit me?” I question, feigning anger of which he doesn’t seem convinced. He simply smirks, takes my hand, and presses a kiss to each fingertip before deigning to reply.

“I told you that one day I would hear you scream.” He said, his voice laced with arrogance. I let out an incredulous gasp, but he silences me with his lips. His tongue finds entrance as he kisses me into another stupor, and I soon forget my anger as I let myself drown in him once more.

( Thank you for reading!! :D )

#fan fiction #the cruel prince #judecardan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #yafantasy #yabooks #fanfiction #elfhame #high king of elfhame #by you i am forever undone #why is it spicy #steamy #spicy

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babysizedfics · 4 years

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Back at it again with a couple more HC prompts, which imma just dump in one, and you can pick which ones you want. Puddles with the kiddos, family baking sessions when both are regressed, Ro wanting attention whilst Logan is reading, so climbing all over his book, how their reactions to new stuffies differ, regressed versus non-regressed birthdays.... Etc... 👍

okokokokok buckle up everyone

Puddles:

this is the only one where i have to be like .. i don't think so :0 see virgil can get very nervous when it rains because he's so anxious about 'is it gonna storm? will there be thunder? will we be hit by lightning? will there be a flood? what if one of us slips and hurts our head??' that he just cannot relax enough to be able to jump around in puddles because 'WHAT IF I SLIP IM GONNA DIE' and the wetness on his skin sets off the wrong sensory feelings so jumping in muddy puddles is a no for him (as much as he loves peppa pig)

and roman is a fussy little thing, he may not care as much for his appearance when he's small but i think he will still be conscious enough to notice if he gets wet hair and muddy clothes - plus i feel like roman's mood is quite tied to the weather, on dark days he tends to fee a little more gloomy, ao again not sure about this especially if he wouldn't have his baby brother there with him

Baking:

OH BOY so roman is a great cook okay? like chef level he has honed his skills so that he can make romantic meals for handsome princes, but baking? nu uh, too technical, he ain't got time for that. Patton is the baker of the house and makes cookies and cupcakes way too often for Logan's liking (but secretly he loves them of course, he's just concerned for everybody's teeths) but both CGs will cook dinner when the boys are little

When the boys are regressed they're not allowed much in the kitchen anymore. after roman tried to make breakfast in bed for his CGs and started a very small but very real fire he has lost some kitchen rights (ficlet coming to you at some point perhaps) and is not allowed in the kitchen without at least one CG. even if he can switch so quickly between headspaces, he ends up either 1) too stubborn to come out of little space, or 2) a kittle bit clumsy when he comes out of it

but to make up for roman being upset by this slight loss of independence (he is a big kid after all) patton and he do weekly baking sessions! and there's always a theme. most recently they had animal crossing themed cupcakes, a little mermaid themed jello (not technically baking but roman wanted to but little fish gummies in the jelly), and... the next one is a secret because i might put it in chapter 7 (: in fact chapter 7 will feature the first instance of this tradition!!

virgil has pyrophobia (fear of fire) and so is never keen to be in the kitchen while there's food preparation going on (but he was allowed to help with the under the sea jello!!) so roman and pattons baking sessions are an excuse for mama and baby bonding time! the tradition didn't start until after virgil's separation anxiety from patton had eased up a little so luckily there's barely any tears

mama baby bonding time consists of but is not limited to: sitting on mama's lap, doing puzzles together, (vee trying to suck on a puzzle piece and crying when he's told not to), mama reading baby books to vee, vee touching all the textures and flaps in the baby books, snuggles

Ro wanting attention while Lo is reading:

this is 1000% canon!! later in the series logan will often be at work in his room and have the boys with him because patton is busy with something or another. they realise they really do need to keep working for thomas' sake but manage to integrate the boys' littlespaces into it. Eg. logan dangling baby plastic keys from one hand to amuse girgil while he's typing with the other

but when it's quiet time, when patton is in virgil's room because the baby is having a nap and papa wants to watch over him, when roman hasn't been little because he's been working or simply not in the mood earlier that day, when logan is just chilling, just reading a stephen hawking book in the living room, when he's literally just vibing, roman can and will launch himself into logan's lap sending the book flying and logan isn't allowed to tell him off because 'I'm little now! i want attention now!! hi mom!!!!'

New stuffies:

AHHHHHHHHH this this this is so so cute!!

roman never used to care much for soft toys before okay? before he was ever a little sure he appreciated disney action figures (he used them to block out scenes he wrote for theatre productions and screenplays and fanfiction) sure he always had a soft spot for Mrs Fluffybottom his childhood toy, but she always just sat on a shelf, he never fet the need to cuddle her or play with her

but when he realises he's little, when he starts playing with vee, when he sees how much vee cares about his soft animals, when patton and logan buy him a present to welcome him to the littlespace family and it's a golden teddy bear (soon to be named Aladdin) with big brown beady eyes and a satin crimson bow around its neck? yeah big kids love stuffies too

and now whenever roman is gifted a new toy (soft or otherwise) he essentially gets the zoomies!!! his brain is going a million miles a minute with all the game possibilities and with the excitement of NEW PRESENT!!! and with the happiness that his caregivers thought about him and he's been a good enough boy to deserve gifts?? yeah he's so so so excited he canNOT stand still he runs around the house for a whole hour flinging his new toy around (yeah he's a bit rough with them and there's been more than one torn limp or loose eye but he doesn't care it just shows how much they're loved!)

Now virgil: this boy is very very very emotionally attached to his stuffies. when he was a "dark side" he couldn't have much soft stuff because it just went against everything the household stood for and he couldn't risk the others finding out about how not-scary he really was, but he allowed himself a single stuffed rabbit that was easy to hide and that he loved with all of his being. it was his security blanket and his one item that could offer him comfort in a oanic attack and his only posession that he felt was true to him and not true to the scary facade he put up to scare thomas and the "light sides" into listening to him

without spoiling anything, that bunny was left in that house when he moved to the "light sides"

and in his new home virgil started collecting soft toys whenever he needed comfort. everytime he felt unwanted, every time he had an anxiety attack, everytime there was a thunderstorm predicted for the next week he would get himself a new soft toy because that was the only way he knew to comfort himself. needless to say he's got a pretty big collection now. you might think he became desensitized to new toys because of how many times he had gotten himself a new one, and you might be partly right.

that is until for the first time ever he is given a stuffie by someone else... when logan buys him a soft toy in apology for accidentally revealing his regression to everyone ((yes i am writing this fic!))

it wasn't really logan's fault, virgil should have been more aware he should have been more careful he should have hidden it all better but the logical side was guilt-ridden nonetheless. virgil hadn't expected much to be honest, the sincere apology was enough for him

but when logan blushed and shyly opened a box and handed him a black cat stuffie? virgil had to fight very very hard not to outright sob on the spot. he simply took it, thanked logan shakily, and prayed that logan didn't point out the fact that tears were falling onto the fluff of his new stuffed friend Jiji

now whenever he gets a new toy it's different than before - it's not because he's upset and needs comfort, it happens less often now but it's more special, it could be for a holiday or as a way of saying he's been very sweet or just because patton simply couldn't resist this one because look at its cute lil eyes! but each and everytime he knows when he is handed a new toy by one of his family members it really means 'i love you'

and he buries his face in its softness - it used to be to hide his tears, but now he just can't help but squeeze it tight and close and let the feeling of love wash over him

Birthdays:

yknow that episode of steven universe where steven wears a regal cape and a golden crown? yeah that's roman whether he's little or not

seriously this kid is very much the 'it's my birthweek!' type

lots of singing, lots of 'but i'm the birthday boy!!' to try to get thtings he really shouldn't be getting (like a third cookie) (and yes patton caves every single time) (patton is eventually banned from making decisions on romans behalf during his "birthweek")

there's not much difference at all between little romans birthday and big romans birthday, he's just an excitable boy whether he's a kiddo or not - this may or may not make the caregivers question whether maybe he actually was a little before virgil's regression was revealed

(irrelevant but patton definitely makes the pun 'you're a little? a little what? finish your sentences silly billy!')

virgil hates his birthday. hates it.

too much attention, too many things that could go wrong, too much pressure on it being a good day. what if his anxiety is bad that day? what if he doesn't want everyone watching him open presents? what if he's genuinely terrified that people think walking towards him with a big grin, singing at him, and carrying a cakeful of literal fire is a somehow a fun activity??

when he first moved into the house he made it very clear that he does not have a birthday so don't even try to throw him a party

naturally roman and patton were devastated, but after a failed attempt at getting virgil to enjoy his birthday they obeyed logan's request that they not try to push the idea on virgil any further

but the first birthday after they become a little family, it's a bit different

they don't push it, not at first, but virgil does wake up to patton already in his room and cooing at him adoringly , immediately sending him into his regressed headspace

then he's given a new soft toy. that wasn't so bad

then roman let him choose what disney film they watched. that wasnt bad either

then logan cuddled him for an hour and they might have fallen asleep together not noticing the smell of vanilla coming from the kitchen

then there was a new paci, a new rattle, another new soft toy, and cake cut up into tiny squares so he could nibble on it with his fingers

there was no loud singing no big surprises no bright lights or fire or anything else that he hated about birthdays

there was only love and toys and comfort. so virgil really didn't mind birthdays much after that

#wowie wow wow wow that was a lot i hope this is ok??#long post #all caps #food tw #pyrophobia tw #little/big concepts #agere virgil #little virgil #little roman #cg logan #cg patton #asks #anon #agedre roman

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monstercu · 4 years

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Elias will die

The more I think about the themes and story for The Ancient Magus Bride the more convinced I am that Elias will eventually die in the end game. I might be wrong (and I hope I am), but hear me out.

*also forgive my english*

We've constantly seen Chise sacrificing herself and nearly dying every time she does (almost always willingly) while Elias is always seen doing the almost polar opposite. He's always trying to figure out how to keep Chise alive and with him and doesn't want her out of his life, to the point that he would willingly sacrifice someone else (someone whom he was jealous of and Chise cared for) to do it.

Elias' selfishness and Chise's selflessness are their beginning arcs. And in the beginning Chise had always been (well, mostly) open to Elias (at least to the best that she could) about what she wanted and her feelings on certain things, and especially about how much more she wanted to know of him. Meanwhile Elias was the recluse, who kept a lot hidden as well as his feelings and intentions. Basically out of the two, it was obviously Chise who was the most human.

However, in recent chapters it seems as if something's changed. I might be jumping the gun when I say this, as there still hasn't been that many chapters yet, but it feels as though Chise is becoming more distant and closed up than before. She's making more friends, yes, but that's a given when you go to a school. But as I read the recent chapters, I felt Chise becoming more vague and with the addition of Rahab telling her that it was okay to keep secrets and lie, I can only imagine how much more that will affect Chise's current character. But for now it remains something to be further seen.

Which then brings us back to Elias. I wouldn't be exaggerating when I say how proud I am right now of Elias' progress. As someone mentioned before, he's come so far from the dark and vague recluse to the person he is now. In the recent chapters, he is actually seen reaching out to others for advice and expressing his thoughts to them rather than try and process everything himself.

He never had willing interaction with other characters like this, but now we can see him establishing a relationship (of some sort) with everyone he would have cared less for before. He even went to Simon one chapter to seek advice and help him and another from an attack. ("not friends", yeah right. You mean 'not friends YET')

He is more aware of others around him and is even showing (dare I say it) care for others. Maybe he hasn't reached that level where he would outright sit down with someone and ask about how they're doing and willingly have tea together, but he is starting to take into account what others want or why they would do something. He is more thoughtful and open than he ever was in the beginning. (And that's beautiful)

Which brings me to the point of all this.

Elias is becoming more human. And not just that, I think he's becoming more human than Chise is, and I'm beginning to believe that is the direction their character arcs are going.

As Chise becomes a greater mage, Elias becomes the more human.

That gives me the worry that something terrible is going to happen in future chapters. Something about Chise and Elias.

I know Elias fears doing anything that Chise would dislike now, and would believe anything Chise would tell him. Combine that with the idea that Chise might start lying to him or keep secrets, I have great fear for how the manga might end.

The fear that someone might die, and that someone being Elias.

(Especially as the author is known to enjoy torturing her characters, apparently)

As Elias continues to develop as a human, I believe that we will see him go through all the stages of life any human would. Joy, friendship, pain, loss, etc. But that is why I also expect that he will die.

Dying is a part of what a human is. Someone who would continue to live forever would be considered something not human. A mage could live forever but Elias in all his life have always been fascinated by humanity. He had even sought Rahab after parting with Lindel because he wanted to learn human mannerisms.

It would have so easy for him to despise humans after the villagers attacked him and Lindel. Yet he had wanted still to live among them, to be accepted by them, to be them. To be human.

And that's why I believe Elias' final act as human would be his death. Maybe he will sacrifice himself, maybe it will be an effort to save someone. Maybe it won't happen at all. But Chise dying instead would have been predictable from the start, as that is what we are told over and over again. But Elias dying is something that is so unimaginable that it would make sense. And if he does, he would have done it. He would have finally been human.

But all in all, this all speculation, and there is still a lot more chapters to go. And maybe I'm wrong. But I want to thank the TAMB / Mahayome group chat for bouncing my ideas and making all this analysis possible! Thank you for reading, and have a good day!

What I was listening to while writing all this

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chemtrailsovertheclub · 3 years

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old poems v1.

here you go. dated august-september 2019 or so.

my brain is a conglomeration of suffering it is everything it's all in my head though. by the time it shows on the physical, the damage is done, the war has been won and i am not victorious, maybe i won a few battles but ultimately i gave more than i gained from all the agonizing pain it's all in my head though.

i don't have a sense of identity and i don't have very much empathy because i feel so much to begin with how am i supposed to take on your problems too? i don't want to hurt you that's the last thing i ever wanted to do but so i push you far away and i don't say the things that haunt me because i know you feel so much empathy i can't have your hurt be because of me so i push you away

it's all in my head though. it's not a real problem. i'm perfectly fine. and i live a lie.

you make my heart beat go faster and the time goes slower and i feel my heart get closer and it melds into yours for hours that seem like years so when you go and i'm left alone my heart craves you my mind misses you my body is cold our love grows old and i worry it'll never be renewed

you are my drug, my medicine, my addiction my confliction of interest, of distress, of wondering what will come next my love, my joy, my shining light, my star so bright, those lakeside nights, those neck side bites, those streetside lights, those endless nights, those endless nights

i don't know what you want from me i don't have any sympathy for your self made misery

i don't know what world you live inside, all you seem to do is hide maybe you should step outside

into the light i promise it's not too bright i promise it's not a fight i promise if you'd just try you'd see just why life isn't just suffering until you die.

it's fine, pretending you're divine, that life is great, you feel no hate, there's no need to do a thing did i mention life is great?

it's a shame there's no one to blame for all the ways you bleed from your very own knives what a surprise! you take so many lives, why not your own? when you're finally all alone, when everyone you ever cared for is gone, when you've pushed them all away, i promise i won't say i told you so don't you know?

it's fine, pretending you're divine, that life is great, you feel no hate, there's no need to do a thing did i mention life is great?

black like mold the staleness you bring to the air gets old darkness and decay only leave so many words to say statements of agony proof you're not okay, proof that there's no way, you're ever going to change

i like the way you make feel at home like i do when i'm all alone i like the way you love me with all of your fragile heart like it won't get broke, like what all i said was a joke i knew it from the start, and every, day and night, it tears me a-part

i like the way you make me wanna run, away, never to be seen again by anyone of any concern, it's like i never learn, but they're my bridges to burn, it's my turn

it's not too hard to disappear, if you live your life running in fear if all you ever wanted was right there

i like the way i sing this song so soft and distraught when i let out my thoughts

i can't maintain my composure it's over exposure it's vulnerability it's me showing me for all the world to see and i can't take criticism very well and i didn't think this would go so well go so well can't you tell can't you tell? i burn my bridges before anyone can cross them but you must have swam, you must have swam because you made it across and what happens now? all my defenses are down. fire at will.

i want to bleed out every single ounce of my soul let it leak out of my body through each and every pore i crave liberation from my whole i would much rather be a piece of the puzzle than the whole fucking picture but here we are and the light, the light is blinding, and the darkness is consuming and the love is gone the love is gone. i am not at home in the one vessel i have for my spirit. can i get a replacement? is there a warranty on the carrier of my essence? dance with me and sing with me and drink with me and smoke with me and numb your feelings numb your pain numbness is satisfaction and as a matter of fact, satisfaction smells like worms in the rain.

i am a person for equality i am of a nationality that presents me with an easier way across the street, a paved path to walk on, the white privilege meant i could easily defeat, anyones suspicions, all your nonsense superstitions, all your tired inquisitions, all your conniving accusations, declarations, the satisfying sensations that you leave dripping down my throat

i feel everytime i forget to wear a winter coat, it is a message from you, a dream in the way it is afloat, it will never actually be perceived as more than glasses that need to be cleaned but no one told me the world wasn't this messy, i grew up in a world that's so numb to their feelings it's depressing. and the weather, it gets colder than i planned for, my jacket still probably lying on the kitchen floor, i am getting older and the blasphemous ones wear sheep's clothing, my mom is in the basement crying in the basement cause she's insecure, she's not sure she's worth anything, not a price at a bargain store, please close the door, oh please no more, i do implore have some sympathy for my dystopian society it's not predicted (but it is) it leaves me conflicted (i start to hiss) it leaves me afflicted (with all your sins) and i will not repent, for the message is best sent through a "i'm disappointed" by your closest parent.

i will not listen nor will i give in, when the chorus comes in, when the guards come in, when the cops come in, when the lights go out, when the last bit of tension building inside my cranium as your fingers instrument a destruction of the last thing you have finally learned to call home, for when you are alone who is there to judge you for not conforming when you are the whole, you are 100% of whatever you want to be and if one day you can wake up and finally see the reflection that stares back at me from the awkward first compliments to the snarky half-assed arguments that ended with my sticking out my tongue at you and kissing you and forgiving you because no one is perfect and i am sorry, i am sorry i created a pedestal for you in my head, you know some days i'd rather be dead, or at least just in a coma something to give me a moment i got my highschool diploma like you said i was supposed to you said, nothing.

i didn't really plan to live this long. how could the world have done me so wrong? trying to teach me a lesson? but here i am just stressin? my fight or flight reactions actin up, i think i'm coming up, i think i've had enough, i think i'm kinda fucked up, someone get me off this ride i can't decide for the life of me why i get no sympathy, like the simple fact of my humanity, negates my value as a human being. i am seething, soon no newborn babies will be teething because the majority of people i ask on the street, seem to agree that this world ain't so organized and neat, and the people here all be trying to compete, trying to delete, any trace of their origins or else how are they supposed to make their fortune releasing an autobiography with insights the one and only, the prized show pony, the don't leave me i'll be lonely, the if you could see me maybe you'd tread slowly, maybe you'd consider the possibility that you are not everything a human can be, sure it is possible, but you sir are making me rethink making me wonder making me more aware, more scared, more fear, more here, less beer, more liquor and it's getting quicker to take a shot or two or three down my throat and the warmth has finally become an expected gift, it's not something i try to shift away from my body, it's not naughty to want to feel comfortable in your own flesh, you are some combination of all your physical features but most importantly you are a culmination of your choices, of every single one of the voices that you decide were worthy of being heard for a change, i know they may sound strange when they first start on the stage, but look at them, they are acting their age they are being vulnerable they are feeling satisfied without eating till they're beyond the limits of full, they are complete before you two even meet and if you refuse to give her the heat, the intensity, the devotion, the endless flowing fountains of emotion, she gives you all of hers if you just would pick her a pretty flower.

so what if, we were to develop a place where the motif, the reason for the season, the blinding sheet in which they are not told they are a project, no for once, they are not simply something someone has likely forgot, can't you see how i'm falling, desperate and distraught death is sometimes a thought, quite a lot. but instead i make a scrapbook, i get a pretty one, i make it fun, i try to make unburdening all the weights others put on my back a thing i do everyday but it's so much easier to say, to delay, to just offer "how much do i need to pay", what feminine figure of weakness do i need to portray so you can save her? every page has effort and time put into it and just because you're not as into it as that little girl fantasizing about that imaginary world doesn't mean you can't for one second for one, humble, moment, for one silent showing of hands, of all those who have demands from the dead, they must be read, we do not judge nor hold any grudge for the ending will be the same, no matter what personality we choose to play the game today.

#mine #for you know who #content... is heavy

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queenpersephonesgarden · 4 years

Text

the heart wants what it does not have

Wangxian Week Day 1: Family

In the daylight the thought comes and goes, infrequent but so predictable it’s almost laughable.

There are times when he can ignore it, convince himself it was just nostalgia and old flights of fancy coming back to haunt him like lingering smoke from a bonfire. He gets better at not letting it sneak up out of nowhere to hit him unexpectedly, learns to anticipate it more often than not.

But it still stings, whether he expects it or not.

Jin Ling’s loud, cheeky banter with Jiang Cheng that echoes through whole rooms with both aggravation and affection so interwoven it is hard to tell apart.

Lan Sizhui’s quiet, respectful nod to Lan Zhan as he joins him for guqin practice every afternoon, his wide smile and Lan Zhan’s peaceful expression making for a perfect complement as they played.

Young married couples flitting through the streets of Caiyi with a small child in tow, both tiny hands clasped firmly by one hand of their mother and father as they are led wide-eyed in between stalls brimming with colorful toys and sweets.

Wei Wuxian sees these things, and he wants.

Can also be read on AO3

He wants so, so badly, half-formed dreams of a man leading a stubborn donkey along a winding road by the reins as his husband and child rode along after him, cheerful laughter ringing in the sunlight melting into the waking world to be splayed beneath his fingertips.

He could…. He could have that.

He could, if he would just open his mouth and ask for it.

Just having the option was enough to make him breathless, make his heart race like he’s run a thousand miles with still no end goal in sight.

Wei Wuxian watches a man on the side of the street scoop his daughter up and deposit her laughing into his wife’s arms, and wants.

“Lan Zhan!” he spins right around to face his husband determinedly.

Lan Zhan focuses on him instantly like he always does when Wei Wuxian opens his mouth, and he has to fight down the immediate flush that tries to crawl up his neck. “Lan Zhan, I’ve been thinking-”

The words are right there.

All that’s missing is a little one.

Such simple words, they’d been so easy to say before-

‘Wretched, ungrateful thing,’ some deep, insidious voice that he shamefully refuses to admit is just the slightest bit reminiscent of Madam Yu hisses in his ear. ‘You have so much more than Jiang Yanli, than Jin Zixuan, than all the Wens you let die, and still you dare wish for more?’

A bright flare of pain erupts in his heart, dulled only the slightest bit by time but no less agonizing. His eyes sting, but he refuses to let any tears truly form.

The vitriol isn’t anything he hasn’t thought of before, but it still manages to trap the words behind his teeth once more, grinning widely in the face of Lan Zhan’s questioning look when the silence stretches.

“Ah, it’s nothing. Nothing important!” For a moment he dares to think he may be able to get away with it, that it really will remain a subject to discuss in the distant nebulous future that he simply never has to bring up again.

But then he catches Lan Zhan’s lips pursing out of the corner of his eye, and he knows there’s no way they won’t talk about it now.

He manages to stall the conversation for the rest of the day, though he is self-aware enough to know this is only because Lan Zhan recognizes this as a subject best saved for the privacy of the Jingshi.

Still Wei Wuxian does everything he can think of to avoid the inevitable, taking extra long in the bath after dinner, scrubbing exaggeratedly at his skin until it’s worn pink and wrinkled from the water, all the while keeping up a stream of nonsense chatter as it comes to mind.

“-and the time delay could probably be extended if I added another stroke in the opposite direction-”

“Mn.”

“-I’ll have to ask A-Yuan and Lan Jingyi if they’d be willing to help me test it-”

“Mn.”

“-course, we’ll probably have to find a bigger target range this time in case it catches fire again-”

“Wei Ying.” A towel appears draped over the privacy screen, right where it normally would be if Wei Wuxian had not purposefully left it behind to be cause for a bit of distraction once he stepped out of the bath, dripping wet and naked with nothing to cover himself with.

Wei Wuxian grins sheepishly even as he sinks a bit lower into the lukewarm water. “Ah, gege is so attentive today,” he lets his voice go sly and teasing at the end. “But is he sure he wants his husband to cover up? I thought he might enjoy a little show once I finished-”

“Wei Ying. The water is going cold.” The man manages to radiate disapproval even without looking behind the screen.

The confident smirk he’d been trying for slid off of Wei Wuxian’s face like rainwater.

He wraps himself in the towel and empties the tub in silence, listening to the distant shuffling of footsteps and fabric as Lan Zhan readied for bed across the room. Wringing his hands while his husband changed felt too strange, too- too distant, and Wei Wuxian did not like it at all, so he clenched his fingers and circled around the privacy screen, padding across the room in determined silence.

The Jingshi feels simultaneously too large and too small for the quiet, the shadows at the corners of the room stretching into silent nothingness as his footsteps bring him to the bedroom.

Wei Wuxian finally slips into bed and feels more nervous than he has for a long time. It takes him one moment, two, before he can raise his eyes to his husband.

Lan Zhan’s gaze was unwavering. “You are unhappy.”

Sudden panic jolted Wei Wuxian into blurting out, “No! I’m never unhappy with you!”

Lan Zhan’s entire face softening infinitely at the quick rebuttal was so unexpectedly endearing Wei Wuxian couldn’t help smiling helplessly, nerves abruptly melting with the force of his joy. Winding his arms around Lan Zhan to press close as he whispered softly, “How could I ever be unhappy when er-gege loves me so much? When I love him so much?”

A shaky breath that could have been a laugh as arms wrapped around him in turn, before lips pressed softly to his temple. “You are… upset,” Lan Zhan gently corrects.

Wei Wuxian hummed noncommittally, then cringes guiltily when the arms around him tighten minutely.

“Not… exactly, but I guess I am, a little.”

“Why?”

Wei Wuxian sighed gustily, a great, explosive breath as the same want from the marketplace surged through his ribcage and rather impatiently forced its way out of his mouth:

“It’s just…. This is more than I could have ever asked for, in a life. You, and A-Yuan, and Jin Ling and all the other juniors, Lan Xichen; even Jiang Cheng when he’s in a good mood! We already have a wonderful family. I wouldn’t change it for anything! I just-!” Here he bit his lip hard, relieved that the tears from earlier don’t resurface even as his heart clenches painfully.

“I would- love, love to have another child with you. To raise one with you, properly this time. Not that A-Yuan isn’t proper! He’s the most Lan-ish Lan I’ve ever met! You did an amazing job with him! But- just-!”

“To raise them with me,” Lan Zhan said quietly, and Wei Wuxian bit his lip even harder.

Nodded fiercely with his eyes squeezed shut.

“How many?”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes popped open. “Hah?”

“How many would make you happy?”

Fond surprise lit up his heart, before exasperated amusement berated him for being surprised at all.

Wei Wuxian hummed in exaggerated thought, gaze fixed on a certain point on the ceiling and ignoring his husband’s steady gaze; he knows if he meets Lan Zhan’s earnest, determined gaze now, he’d likely start either laughing or crying.

“A dozen. No, two dozen. Boys with your eyes and my smile. Girls with steady calligraphy like yours and loud laughter like me. Uncouth hellions that run carelessly through the Cloud Recesses and give your uncle a few new gray hairs before he reaches seventy. Dozens and dozens of little ones to equal the horde of rabbits you have stashed away in the meadow.”

Grinning far too wide at the images his words painted across his mind, Wei Wuxian chanced a glance down at Lan Zhan’s face. “Aiyo, but too many at once would probably send your uncle into a qi deviation. I don’t think my happiness would be worth that.”

“Wei Ying deserves to be happy,” Lan Zhan says, matter of fact, and though Wei Wuxian had meant it to be a joke, Lan Zhan’s voice was so serious that suddenly Wei Wuxian’s eyes were stinging again.

“Lan Zhan. You know you can’t just suddenly say things like that!”

Lan Zhan huffs in amusement, and Wei Wuxian cannot resist hugging him again.

“Would… would raising a child with me make you happy?” he asks, just to be sure, because Lan Zhan is far too often in the habit of focusing on Wei Wuxian’s happiness before all else, and this was a bit too huge of a decision for just one of them to make.

There was no response for a long moment. Wei Wuxian reluctantly pulled back from the embrace, just enough to look at his husband’s face.

The small, awed smile lighting Lan Zhan’s face is utterly devastating.

Wei Wuxian’s jaw goes slack when Lan Zhan offers a wordless, joyful nod, and for a moment they’re both too overwhelmed for words, foreheads pressed together and breathing the same air in a different, softer quiet than before.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes. Silly imaginings of a little one with two parents and a donkey wandering the country no longer seem so silly.

It’s only a long time later that Lan Zhan’s eyes spark in the half-light, pale gold shining in a way that most people would believe to be far too devious a look for the illustrious Hanguang-jun to wear. The man who had married him knew him far too well to be surprised by it.

Wei Wuxian squinted in suspicion. “What is it?”

“Hmm.” Graceful fingers cupped Wei Wuxian’s jaw in a familiar soft gesture that had him instinctively, foolishly sliding his eyes shut at the painful warmth that touch awoke in his chest. “I was simply thinking that we should get started, then.”

Honest confusion made Wei Wuxian blink his eyes open and stare. “Hah? Started?”

Only the slightest tilt of Lan Zhan’s lips suggested his amusement when he said, “On the little ones. I’ve been led to believe they take time to make.”

Startled laughter burst out of Wei Wuxian’s mouth, only to be half muffled when Lan Zhan covered his lips insistently with his own. Still, even amidst such an onslaught of affection, Wei Wuxian felt the need to try and point out the obvious flaw in this logic. “Aha Lan Zhan, unlike most couples, we’re not going to be able to do this the old-fashioned way- ah! Ah!”

A/N: Mo Dao Zu Shi broke into my home and beat my writer’s block over the head with a mallet. It feels good to be back. ~Persephone

#Wangxian #Wei Wuxian #Wei Ying #Lan Wangji #Lan Zhan #Mo Dao Zu Shi #MDZS #MDZS fanfiction #my writing #Wangxian Week

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allmidaddies · 4 years

Text

party favors for you.

There was a soft wooshing sound and then a small piece of crumpled up notebook paper bounced off of your glasses, falling onto the table in front of you. Before you could ask any questions there was another woosh of air and a second piece of paper hit your nose.

Mat’s snicker gave him away as you lifted your head, glaring at him and lamely attempting to throw the paper back at him.

“Stop it.”

“But I’m bored,” Mat pouted in protest, leaning back in his chair. He had his feet stretched out so that they could rest against the chair that was beside you, wilted autumn leaves stuck to the bottom and now all over the floor. You had tried to get him to move his feet so you could put your backpack there but he was a stubborn pest. And it was really hard to argue with him when he looked as cute as he did. His hood was tugged up around his neck and the joggers he was wearing had fit maybe a size smaller than he should have purchased but you were not complaining.

The straw in his hand was undoubtedly the tool he was using just a few seconds previous. In fact, he was loading it up again as you watched him.

“You should really study, our midterm is on Friday,” you said, reaching out and snatching the straw from his unsuspecting fingers.

“Hey!” Mat began to protest, reaching over the table to grab it but the stern look he received from the girl sitting just a table over from the two of you in the library made him sit back in defeat. You smiled proudly, throwing it in the trash can that was just within your reach.

“You,” Mat said, a grin on his face, “Are no fun.”

His fingers came to run through his soft hair as it fell over his forehead.

“I don’t think that’s true,” you hummed, turning your attention back to your laptop, reaching blindly for your coffee. It was a bit late in the day to be having an iced latte but you needed it. You were copying the notes you had taken in class into an organized study guide, attempting to give yourself a chance at passing the upcoming exam. Which, by the way, Mat was also supposed to be studying for but instead he had been making tiny spitballs for the last thirty minutes.

You and Mat had met only a few weeks ago. The first day of fall term he sat himself down in the empty seat beside you in your 8 am business law lecture, later on nominating himself to be your partner for the term long project.

“Is this seat taken?” A low, rough voice to your left asked. It belonged to a tall, tired boy who had a coffee cup dwarfed by his large hand, tufts of dark brown hair sticking out from the hood he had tugged over his head. He startled you, your mind still foggy as your own coffee hadn’t quite kicked in yet.

“What? Yeah, no-” you stumbled over your words, “Sorry, I meant, no, no one is sitting there. It’s all yours.”

The boy standing over you grinned, chuckling to himself as he dropped his backpack onto the ground. You didn’t miss the logo that was printed on it: UVIC Hockey 13. Interesting. You didn’t know any hockey players. To be quite honest you didn’t know any student athletes at all. Sure you recognized them but personally you couldn’t call any of them friends.

“Coffee hasn’t kicked in yet, eh?” He asked, nodding towards your drink. You smiled, laughing softly,

“No. And I’m not entirely convinced that this is going to be enough.”

“Mat, by the way,” he stuck his hand out to you by means of introduction.

“Y/N.”

His hand was warm and calloused, engulfing your own as he shook it firmly. His eyes lingered on your face for a moment before he pulled his attention away to retrieve his laptop. You couldn’t help but peer over at his screen to see that his background was a picture of him and a few of his teammates, dressed and ready for a game.

“So hockey?” You asked softly. You were well aware that there were not many students in the classroom yet and you didn’t need anyone eavesdropping your conversation.

“Yeah,” Mat said and for a moment you didn’t think he was going to say anything else but then he looked over at you again, a bright smile on his face.

“You a fan?”

“I try to keep up but if you asked me to name five players on my favorite team I couldn’t tell you,” you admitted. That was the thing you hated about men who liked sports. They always wanted you to pass some sort of unspoken test before you were deemed a legitimate fan.

“I won’t make you do that,” Mat laughed, “But I will ask who your favorite team is.”

“I know I should say the Canucks since they’re the closest team but it’s actually the Islanders,” you confessed, mindlessly opening your laptop and creating a new folder for your class.

Mat started laughing, it was muffled as he pulled his hoodie over his mouth to silence himself but it earned your attention.

“What? Are you going to tease me for my team choice? I know they haven’t made it to the finals in like two decades but I am loyal to my team,” you defended.

“No,” Mat spoke through laughter, “You just-you must really not keep up much.”

You furrowed your brows, feeling slightly offended.

“I was drafted by them,” Mat said. There was no cockiness or ego behind his words, only humor from the situation. You were an Islanders fan and yet you had no idea that you were sitting in your 8 am lecture with their first round draft pick.

“Oh my god you were!” You exclaimed, your voice carrying and receiving looks from the other students in the room.

“Sorry,” you mumbled against your palm as you covered your mouth, “Sorry I guess I didn’t recognize you. Your hair was shorter...and you had less facial hair.”

You gestured towards the faint stubble he had going on, his hand subconsciously coming up to scratch it.

“Well it’s been a few years,” he shrugged.

“I’ll be able to tell my dad I sat next to the Mat Barzal in my lecture and I let him borrow my laptop charger,” you said. It was Mat’s turn to look confused,

“Laptop charger?”

“Your laptop is going to die,” you said, nodding towards the icon that showed he only had about a 9% charge.

“How do you know I don’t have a charger?” Mat asked, eyeing you closely.

“Do you?” You challenged. Mat frowned, his voice dropping,

“No.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head, and digging for your own,

“You men are so predictable.”

II.

The past few weeks had been nothing but cold and wet so when the sun decided to come out for the weekend you had suggested to Mat that the two of you go grab coffee and breakfast. It was already three weeks into the term and you were anxious to get started on the project you had been assigned in your shared class.

On the second day of lectures your professor had asked everyone to pair up so that you could get started on the case study project he was assigning. Mat had leaned over and asked which case you wanted to do before you even had the opportunity to glance around the room. Not that you were opposed to working with him, you just hadn’t expected him to choose you to work on the project with. Given the fact you had only known him for a few days.

It worried you a bit that he had such a busy schedule with hockey games and practice, not allowing the most flexibility for working on a big project. So, he had told you this weekend he didn’t have any games and just a few afternoon practices. Your suggestion for a breakfast study session had been met with much resistance on his part but you were not taking no for an answer.

Despite his unwillingness to be up before ten am on a weekend, he was early to pick you up. And now the two of you were sitting on the sidewalk downtown, each with coffee and breakfast sitting before you.

Your nose was buried in your laptop, unaware that Mat was staring at you. He had his laptop open, a pen between his fingers that he was mindlessly twirling around as he admired the way the sun was hitting your face. The bun you’d thrown your hair into tilted to the side, baby hairs blowing across your forehead in the breeze.

It amazed him how motivated and studious you were. He was motivated when it came to hockey but he struggled to remain focused on his school work for more than an hour at a time. And he always saved everything for the last minute. When he had chosen you to be his partner for this assignment he hadn’t done so with the intention that you would shoulder most of the work but with his busy schedule he couldn’t help but fall short more often than not.

It made him feel bad because you were so nice and so sweet, assuring him that it was not a big deal and you didn’t mind.

“So,” you spoke up, snapping Mat from his trance. He blinked twice, running his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think of that?” You asked, speaking slowly and looking at him inquisitively. Mat blushed,

“I wasn’t listening.”

“Mathew,” you frowned. He gave a sheepish smile,

“I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

“Excuses, excuses, Barzal,” you teased, sitting up and reaching over to flip open his textbook.

“I was just saying that we should do something like this case study,” you repeated. Mat nodded, watching your fingers dance across the page as you spoke. He was listening this time. Everything you said sounded so intelligent and he didn’t understand how you could absorb and interpret some of the information so easily. He could read the same passage a hundred times over, only to feel more confused as he went while his eyes begged to fall shut. But you, he could listen to you talk about piercing the corporate veil all day long.

“Honestly,” Mat chuckled, “You know better than I do. I don’t know how you understand any of this stuff.”

You laughed, taking a sip of your coffee,

“The same way you can look at the plays your coach tells you to run and understand what the hell he’s talking about. And then execute it. It just takes patience and practice.”

Mat rubbed his hands over his face, sitting up straighter,

“Okay. Explain it to me again. Like I’m twelve.”

“Like you’re twelve...or like you’re four?” You grinned, earning an eye roll and a laugh from Mat as he threw his napkin at you.

“I’m not that stupid,” he pouted. You smiled, looking at him for a moment. His hair was falling over his forehead, the sun making it look shinier than usual. Even though it was a little chilly, he was still in just a grey t-shirt but it complimented his skin tone and fit across his shoulders like a dream.

“I didn’t say you were stupid, Barzy,” you said, “Because you’re not. You’re just wired differently. Maybe business law isn’t your calling, but hockey is. And that’s why you got drafted, and that’s why you’re going to play in the NHL once you’re done with your time here. And until you go, I’m going to help you pass this class.”

After only knowing him for a few weeks you still felt a punch in your gut every time you thought about him leaving for New York. He said he didn’t know when he might call his college career quits and you dreaded the day it came. Even if he was a pain to study with, and you were doing most of the heavy lifting on this project, you enjoyed spending time with him.

And when you watched the smile spread across his face you couldn’t help but think he enjoyed spending time with you too.

III.

You were planning on pulling a late night at the library. There was no upcoming deadline for anything but you wanted to get ahead on some classwork. With Halloween the next weekend you didn’t want to have any homework preventing you from having a fun weekend of dressing up with your friends and going out to the bars.

And just as you were settling into your market analysis coursework your phone started ringing. Obnoxiously loud for the quiet floor of the library.

“Sorry,” you whispered to the students who glared in your direction. You scrambled to silence the ringing before looking at the name that was flashing across your screen.

Mat Barzal

Confusion crossed your features. Didn’t he have a game tonight?

“Hello?” You answered quietly, getting up and moving away from the tables so as to not distract the other students.

“Hey can- why are you whispering?” Mat asked, a quiet laugh falling from his lips.

“I’m in the library,” you said. Mat almost rolled his eyes. He should have known. You were always at the library. He told you every day that you studied too hard, to which you always retorted that he just didn’t study enough. And while Mat couldn’t exactly argue with that he did believe you spent too much time with your nose buried in your studies.

“Oh…” Mat trailed off.

“Why? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for a game?” You asked.

“Yeah but I left my airpods in class today and I need them so I can go do my thing. You didn’t happen to grab them, did you?” He asked, his tone hopeful.

“Oh! Yeah! I figured I’d give them back to you tomorrow,” you said, “But I have a feeling you need them now?”

“Uh…” Mat hesitated, “Yeah… but if you’re studying I don’t want to interrupt, it’s okay.”

“Mat,” you laughed, “I can bring them to you. I’m not going to let this superstition be the thing that makes you guys lose tonight.”

Mat laughed, thinking back to a few days before when he had explained, in great detail, all of his superstitions. One of them being his ritual of sitting on the bench and visualizing for at least twenty minutes before every game prior to getting ready.

“You’re an angel,” Mat sighed. Your heart fluttered at his words but you pushed the feeling away,

“Just tell me where to go. I can come now.”

The cold October wind pierced right through the UVIC hoodie you were wearing as you walked to the arena. In all honesty you weren’t sure you had ever been to a hockey game apart from the one you had come to with your dad during Family Weekend your freshman year. Long before you knew Mat.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs that led into the basement, towards the locker rooms, you found Mat. He was leaning against the wall, waiting for you. There was a hat covering his hair and he already had KT tape running up his thighs, which were largely exposed by the compression shorts he was wearing.

“You are a lifesaver,” Mat said, wrapping you in a hug as you handed him the small, white charging holder. Your arms found their way around his waist, feeling his hard muscles beneath your fingers.

“I tried catching you after class but your legs are much longer than mine,” you teased, looking up at him. He still hadn’t released you from his hold but you didn’t mind. He smelled good, and his hoodie was soft against your cheek.

“I really appreciate this,” Mat said. He paused like he might say something else. You leaned back to get a better look at his face, eyebrows raised.

“What?”

“Well,” Mat said slowly, “I was just thinking since I already interrupted your studying you should just stay for the game.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. It was a long walk back to the library. And there was less than an hour until the game started. If you texted your roommates you were sure at least one of them would come and sit with you. They had listened to you gush about Mat for nearly two months now and you were sure they were dying to see him in person.

“You don’t have to,” Mat said quickly, noting your hesitancy. It made his heart drop just a bit but he tried not to let it get to him.

“No, it’ll be fun,” you assured him, catching the hint of sadness that flashed through his eyes.

“And if you hang around after the game we can get food or something,” Mat said. You couldn’t fight the smile on your face as you nodded.

“Okay.”

“Is that all it takes?” Mat laughed, “A promise for food?”

“Maybe,” you grinned, leaning into him once again. Mat hugged you tighter for a second before releasing you.

“Okay, well I need to go...do my thing...but I’ll see you after?”

You nodded, backing away slowly until you hit the door,

“Good luck superstar.”

Mat laughed, shaking his head,

“Thank you.”

It had been a long time since you had watched a hockey game in person. When you were growing up your family would go watch the Canucks whenever the Islanders came to town. College was certainly a different experience but you were so focused on Mat you hardly noticed anything else.

“Will you stop drooling?” Maria laughed, bumping her knee against yours. Two of your roommates had come to your rescue, accompanying you for the game so you didn’t have to sit alone.

“I’m not,” you hissed, glancing over your shoulder. You didn’t doubt that there were other girls around who couldn’t keep their eyes off of Mat either. Someone as attractive as him surely had no problem getting laid so it wouldn’t surprise you if you weren’t the only girl there to see him.

Even though most of Mat’s free time was spent with you, you didn’t know what he was really doing when he claimed he was busy. And you tried not to let it bother you. Especially since you were just friends, project partners really.

“He definitely left his airpods on purpose,” Kate said, leaning over you so that Maria could hear her too.

“He did not,” you scoffed. The thought had definitely crossed your mind. How did he even forget them? They had been sitting right there on the table when he said bye to you after class. And how did he not notice they were missing all day? Your lecture was at 8 in the morning. These were all questions you had been running through since you sat down on the hard bleachers.

Kate and Maria shared a glance but they didn’t say anything more. They didn’t get the chance because you were practically jumping out of your seat when Mat scored a goal, allowing UVIC to take the lead.

And you swore you saw him look up at the stands, his eyes searching for you, a smile spreading across his face when he spotted you, just as his teammates attacked him with hugs.

“Definitely on purpose,” Kate mumbled.

After the game Kate and Maria slipped off, telling you they’d see you at home. “Or not!” Maria had shouted as you started to make your way back down to the hallway Mat had told you to meet him in.

You tried to tell yourself that him asking you to stay for the game meant nothing, but there were butterflies in your stomach at the prospect of getting food with him afterwards.

“Hey,” Mat’s voice startled you, just as it had that first day of class. He had just emerged from the locker room, back in his suit he had been wearing before the game.

“Nice goal,” you smiled, accepting the hug he pulled you into. The entire thing felt so domestic and you wished you got to do this all the time.

“I had extra luck in the stands tonight,” Mat grinned, his eyes scanning your face. For a moment it looked like he wanted to kiss you but his teammates burst through the doors.

A chorus of “Good game Barzy!” ruined whatever soft moment the two of you were having. Mentally you cursed each of the shaggy haired boys that came through the hall but you didn’t miss the looks they were all giving Mat as they passed. He kept a protective arm around your shoulders, as if he was afraid one of them might try and steal you away. Gently you curled your fingers around the material of his suit jacket, earning his attention once again.

“So what’s that for?” You asked, nodding towards the object he was holding in his free hand. Mat’s cheeks flushed, and it wasn’t the post game glow.

“It’s a puck,” he said, “I saved it for you. You know, for your first hockey game.”

He handed it to you tentatively and you let your fingers brush over his as you took it from him,

“Thank you,” you smiled up at him before a teasing grin took over your features, “But this isn’t my first hockey game. I thought you knew that.”

Mat rolled his eyes playfully,

“I know. But, it’s your first game coming to watch me play.”

You had no argument for that and your body felt warm as you brushed your thumb over the face of the puck.

“Is this the one you scored a goal with?” You asked quietly. Mat opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, though the blush in his cheeks and the way he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly told you that it was. Before he could muster up the words his coach came out into the hallway.

“Good game tonight Barzal,” he said, his eyes falling to you for a moment. There was a question in his expression but he didn’t say anything, simply giving a nod and a goodnight to you both before he disappeared and the two of you were alone again.

You decided to save the awkward conversation for another time, glancing up at him again,

“Let’s go get food, yeah?”

IV.

After your unofficial post game “not a date” date with Mat you didn’t see him for a while. He was on a week-long road trip to some schools out of the conference on the east coast. It didn’t mean, though, that you weren’t still in touch with him every day.

Mostly it was you sending him snapchats, complaining about how boring the lecture was without him making side comments the entire time. Even though your notes were much more thorough without his distractions.

But, it was also him begging to FaceTime late in the evening after games because he couldn’t figure out how to do the homework. Oftentimes it wasn’t even for the class you were taking together. His accounting class was giving him a major headache and he turned to you for help rather than taking advantage of the athletic tutors he had access to.

“Mat you know there are people who are paid to help you right?” You teased, propping your phone up as you sat at your desk. Mat rolled his eyes,

“You could be one of those people, and then you could get paid to hang out with me.”

“But I would also have to put up with other people who are not you and I don’t want to do that,” you said. It was a silent confession but you weren’t sure if Mat picked up on it.

“So I’m special?” Mat grinned. It was your turn to roll your eyes,

“Don’t get a big head on me now, Barzal.”

You half expected him to text you to hang out or study when they got back into town on Saturday but when he didn’t you let your roommates convince you to go out to the bars with them. As bad as your crush on Mat had become, you needed to see what other options there were in your college town.

Which is why you were now donning a lace bodysuit and jeans, leaning against the bar as the ice melted in your now drained glass. The pickings were...slim. All you’d had a frat guy come occupy the barstool beside you for nearly twenty minutes, explaining to you the importance of brotherhood, and it wasn’t until his girlfriend came and dragged him away that you could get him to leave you alone.

She had apologized profusely, saying he tended to talk too much to strangers when he was drinking. You told her not to worry about it.

All you really wanted was for Mat to be the person you came out with on the weekends. You had a strong feeling he was a good time when he was drinking.

As if you had manifested his presence into your life, a figure moved into your peripheral that looked all too familiar.

“So you have a life outside the library,” Mat’s voice was low and teasing in your ear, sending chills down your spine. His hand was pressed against your lower back and you leaned into him, turning your head so you could look at his face. His skin was glowing from the heat of the bar and the drinks he had undoubtedly consumed before running into you.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to find me,” you smirked, finally turning and pressing your palms against his chest. The t-shirt he had on did little to separate your hands from his hard chest. The thought of what he was hiding beneath his clothes had you squeezing your thighs together. Especially when his hands dared to travel lower as he brought you into him further.

“Let me get you a drink,” he said, nodding towards the bar. You nodded, glancing back towards your friends to see them giving you thumbs up. You flipped them off before turning all of your attention back to Mat, falling into conversation with him.

“So, your coach finally gave you guys the night off?”

“About time,” Mat groaned, running his fingers through his hair.

“Well I’m glad you’re out, I’m starting to think you spend more time inside that rink than I do inside the library,” you teased.

“Which is saying a lot,” Mat pinched your side playfully. The bartender set down your drinks but before you could even swallow the sip you took of whatever he had ordered you a hand gripped Mat’s shoulder, yanking him to turn around.

“Hey Barzal!”

Some drunk guy stumbled in front of him and Mat faced him as you watched over his shoulder.

“What the hell?” Mat asked, stepping back to avoid being crashed into as the guy’s body swayed heavily.

“You’re a stupid son of a bitch!” The guy said, pointing a finger at him. Your brows furrowed and you made a move to say something, never one to hold your tongue when you were drinking, but Mat caught your waist and pulled you back behind him protectively.

“You fucked my girlfriend!” The guy said, “I know you did and you think you’re gonna get away with it but you’re just some stupid hockey player and I could kick your ass.”

You tried to ignore the feeling of jealousy that crept into your chest at the thought of Mat hooking up with someone who wasn’t you. But you highly doubted Mat would ever be a home-wrecker. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Maybe you were naive to think it but you had a pretty good idea of who he was, and it wasn’t that.

“I didn’t fuck your girlfriend,” Mat scoffed. He wanted to say he hadn’t been fucking anyone since he met you but he wasn’t about to announce that to the entire bar.

“I don’t know if you’re been smashed into the boards too many times but you did you toolbag,” the guy said, giving Mat a sturdy shove to the chest. Mat was very obviously taller, stronger, and broader than the guy in front of him but the alcohol in the man’s veins was not allowing him to realize that.

“I don’t even know who you are or who your girlfriend is,” Mat laughed, “But I promise I didn’t screw her. I’m not that desperate.”

“Excuse me?” The guy chuckled darkly, “What did you just say?”

“I’m not so desperate to get laid that I need to fuck girls with boyfriends you idiot,” Mat said, rolling his eyes. It was clear this guy wasn’t going to let it go even though Mat knew he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Your eyes went wide as you watched the drunk guy shove Mat again. This time Mat retaliated, nearly knocking him on his ass with a single push. Mat turned to take your arm and guide you outside but just as his fingers grazed your wrist your eyes went wide.

“Mat!”

A beer glass connected with the side of his head, the contents spilling all over your shirt and jeans before shattering on the ground at your feet. Mat reached up to touch his cheekbone, his fingers coming away bloody. His eyes went dark and he turned back towards the asshole who had thrown it. With no warning Mat swung, knocking the guy to the ground.

“You better consider yourself lucky that this is all I’m handing you tonight,” Mat said as he leaned over him, “Don’t try to start shit with me again unless you have your facts crystal clear.”

“Mat,” you tugged his arm, pulling him back and ushering him towards the door. There was blood running down the side of his face where the beer glass had broken the skin. It was already beginning to bruise as he took the bottom of his t-shirt and dabbed it gently.

“Don’t touch it,” you tugged his hand away from his face. There was irritation in your tone and Mat came to a stop.

“I’m sorry,” he said. You halted, turning to look at him. You’d made it to a street corner, the noise of the bar now in the distance. All that illuminated the area around you was a single street light but you could make out the guilt in his eyes.

“Mat it’s not your fault,” you said, softening your tone.

“But I shouldn’t have done that,” Mat nodded back towards the bar.

“Maybe not,” you shrugged, “But he was the one who threw a fucking beer glass at your head. What were you supposed to do? Give him a hug?”

Mat laughed softly, stepping towards you again and draping his arm around your shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s go back to my place and I can clean that up for you. And we can come up with a cover story to tell your coaches.”

Once you got back home you pulled Mat into the bathroom across from your room. Your roommates were still out so the house was quiet as Mat leaned back against the counter. He stripped himself of his t-shirt, complaining about how the beer had made it sticky.

“Sorry about your shirt,” he said quietly. You barely glanced at him, afraid seeing him shirtless would be too much to handle.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you said again. Mat sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“Seriously, Mat,” you said again, setting the hydrogen peroxide on the counter, “You don’t need to apologize for something you didn’t do.”

Mat was quiet as you stood between his legs. His hands ghosted over your waist, chills spreading across your arms as you tried not to think about how close you were standing to him. You dabbed at the cut gently but Mat still hissed in pain all the same. Out of reflex, his grip on your waist tightened. The pads of his thumbs brushed over the exposed skin of your midriff causing your breath to catch in your throat.

Mat glanced down at you, an overwhelming urge to kiss you beginning to take over.

“Thank you,” Mat said quietly.

“For what?” You asked, dropping the cotton ball in the trash and putting neosporin on a bandaid.

“For everything,” Mat sighed, “I feel like you’re always helping me when you don’t have to.”

You stared down at your hands, the admission on the tip of your tongue. You wanted so badly to tell him how you felt but the fear of scaring him away and losing the friendship that you had held you back.

“I don’t mind,” you said, finally looking up at him. Gently you placed the bandaid over the cut, your eyes meeting his for a second. He wanted to say something, you could tell. But he didn’t. Instead, he simply placed his hand on the back of your neck and brought your forehead to his lips, leaving a soft kiss there. Your eyelids fluttered closed for a second before you pulled yourself away from him,

“I’m going to go change. You can stay here tonight if you want.”

+ one

You were pacing nervously, fingers tapping against your chin as Mat watched you closely.

“You’re going to wear down the carpet,” he teased gently. You stopped, turning to face him. It was clear in your expression that you were not in a laughing mood.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. The two of you had been in his room for the past hour, writing up what you were going to say in the final presentation. You had put together the powerpoint slides with some help from Mat a few days earlier and now it was the night before the presentation and you were an anxious mess.

“I can’t do this presentation, Mat,” you said, fidgeting with your hands.

“Why not?” He asked.

“Because,” you said, your voice cracking, “I’m so bad at presenting. I get nervous and I forget my words and I just go blank. I feel hot and nauseous and like I’m going to pass out.”

Mat nodded, sitting on the edge of his bed with his elbows on his knees,

“So it makes you anxious?”

You nodded. It felt stupid. You were in college and you still couldn’t stand in front of a group of people and talk about something you had spent the entire term becoming an expert on. There wasn’t a thing you didn’t know about this case but as soon as you stepped in front of the room you knew you would forget everything. And not just everything about the project, everything you had ever learned in your life.

“Just look at me,” Mat said, “Don’t look at the class. So we lose a few points on eye contact. I don’t care. The rest of the project is so good it won’t matter.”

You laughed dryly,

“See that’s the problem, Barzal.”

Mat furrowed his brows. You rolled your eyes,

“You make me nervous.”

“Oh.”

Mat looked at you again. There was panic in your eyes, both from the presentation and from the confession.

“How about I just do the presentation? I don’t care. You basically did the entire project and I don’t mind standing in front of the class and presenting,” Mat shrugged. There was a small sinking feeling in your stomach when he didn’t address your comment but you decided to deal with that later.

“Really?” You asked, “Are you sure because-”

“You just write up what you want me to say and I can do it,” Mat assured you. A huge weight lifted from your shoulders as you sat down beside him again, pulling his laptop into your lap and opening a new word document.

Mat watched you closely, vaguely listening to the words you were speaking. Had you just confessed that you like him? As in...you reciprocated the feelings he had been hiding for nearly ten weeks now? He wanted to ask you about it but the last thing he wanted to do was give you more anxiety right before this presentation.

Later, he promised himself, later.

A heavy arm draped across your shoulders as you stepped out into the brisk December air. Frost covered the ground, causing you to pull your coat around your body closer.

“Good job,” Mat said, smiling down at you.

“Thank you so much for doing that,” you said, mirroring his expression.

You had just wrapped up your business law class, presentation now complete. Mat had taken the lead, giving you just one easy slide so you could get credit for being there. It may have been cheating the system a little bit, since all you did was introduce yourself and the case, but you didn’t care. You spent the rest of the presentation watching Mat, feeling proud at how well he did considering just a few months ago he was afraid he wouldn’t even be able to pass the class.

Granted, you had written the majority of the presentation, but he still managed to answer all the questions your professor had asked with ease and the same amount of detail you would have given.

“You’re more than just a pretty boy, Barzy, I’m impressed,” you teased, wrapping your arm around his waist and giving him a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know what excuses I’m going to use next term to get you to hang out with me,” Mat sighed dramatically. You laughed, rolling your eyes.

“I’m always open for study dates, even if they aren’t for the same class,” you said. Immediately after the word date left your mouth you wanted to take it back. After Mat had said nothing of your small confession the night before you didn’t want to scare him away.

“Oh!” Mat said, breezing past it, “That reminds me.”

“Hmm?”

“I owe you, you know for practically carrying this project all term and sitting through more hockey games than you probably wanted to,” Mat said, referencing the fact that after that first game you had found yourself going to home games more often than before. If just to see Mat for a few minutes afterwards when he walked you to your car.

“Mat I told you I don’t mind,” you said.

“Then you won’t mind me buying you a coffee before your next class,” Mat said easily, “You have time.”

This was true. You had a final at 11 but it was only 9:16, presentations having wrapped up quickly.

“Don’t you have practice?” You countered. Mat shook his head,

“Not until tonight. Schedule is different during finals.”

“Okay,” you conceded, letting Mat lead you to the shop just off of campus.

You ended up sitting in the shop for longer than you intended. Time seemed to disappear whenever you were with Mat. He had been telling you some dramatic, ridiculous story about their last away game, laughing until your sides were aching. It made you want him even more. But you were starting to think that maybe friends would have to be enough.

You glanced down at your phone, realizing you only had thirty minutes until your final.

“I have to go,” you said, interrupting Mat. His face dropped.

“Does this mean I’m not going to see you until after the Christmas break?”

Fuck. You hadn’t even thought of that.

“I don’t know, I leave on Friday,” you said. You gathered your things, feeling your heart sink as Mat set both your empty cups on the dish tray.

“I don’t leave until next week,” Mat said, “We should do something.”

You tried to resist the smile that toyed at your lips. It was a good sign that he wanted to see you even though your project was over.

“You can teach me how to ice skate.”

“You don’t know how to ice skate?” Mat laughed as he pushed the door open, holding it for you.

“In my defense my parents never took me,” you said, holding your hands up in surrender.

“Lucky for you I have the keys to the rink so I might be able to arrange a lesson,” Mat said.

The rest of your walk back to campus was quiet, both of you deep in your thoughts.

Mat didn’t want to leave for Christmas break without telling you how he felt. And if you didn’t feel the same way it wasn’t like you still had to finish your project together. But, if your lingering gazes and the hockey hoodie of his that was in your closet were any indications, he had a pretty good feeling that you felt the same way.

Just as you reached the business building again, snow started falling from the sky. It was catching in Mat’s hair and on your eyelashes so he pulled you underneath the covered walkway. You still had a few minutes to spare and the last session of classes wasn’t out yet, leaving the two of you alone.

A palpable tension formed between the two of you as you rested back against the brick wall, watching him shake snow from his hair.

“C’mere,” you laughed, tugging his wrist so you could run your fingers through his hair and dust the snow off. Not that it mattered much since he would have to step out into it in a few minutes. Your eyes lingered on the faint scar he had just below his eye. It was almost completely healed and the bruise was mostly gone. Mat watched you closely, his chest nearly brushing yours as he stood with his feet on either side of your legs.

He felt that overwhelming urge to kiss you that had come over him the night after the bar. Jis eyes were trained on your face, admiring every detail. He reached up gently, brushing the snow that had caught on your brow. His thumb grazed over your cheek bone and he felt you lean into his touch ever so slightly.

As soon as your hands dropped from his hair, Mat caught your chin between his forefinger and thumb and leaned in to kiss you. Though you were already practically chest to chest you melted into him further, palms coming to rest against his chest. Your fingers curled around the lapel of his coat, wanting something to hold onto. Something to ground you in the reality that this was actually happening.

Mat pulled away first but he rested his forehead against yours, not wanting to go far,

“Tell me if I’ve got this all wrong, but I really, really like you. And it’s not just because you help me all the time. I just like being around you. And I can’t help but think that maybe you like me too.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his words,

“Why do you think I’m so eager to help you, Mat? I’m a nice person, but I wouldn’t do these things for just anybody.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’ There’s not a lot of people I would walk all the way across campus from the library to the arena for, just to give them their headphones,” you laughed.

“Are there a lot of people you would say yes to a date with?” Mat asked cautiously.

“Depends who’s asking,” you teased.

“I’m asking,” Mat said. You tugged him down to you by his coat, lips ghosting over his,

“For you...anything.”

Mat grinned, closing the gap. This time his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, tangling with yours as he pulled you into him even more. Your arms draped around his neck, tangling in the hair at the back of his neck.

When you pulled away you were both breathless, wide smiles on your lips.

“You should go take your final,” Mat said.

“It shouldn’t take me long,” you said, “Will you wait for me?”

Mat didn’t have any finals left to take and his practice wasn’t until 7 that night. If you were willing to spend the rest of the day with him he would gladly take you up on that offer.

“Okay,” he smiled, “I still owe you a few favors.”

You breathed a laugh, shaking your head,

“You don’t have-”

“But I’m going to,” Mat interrupted, “I plan on making them all up to you. And then some.”

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ariainstars · 5 years

Text

Why I Don’t Want Ben Solo to Die

Look, I am aware that Kylo Ren is a widely unpopular character with Star Wars fans. And that seems only legitimate, after all he killed his own father.

But reading and listening to fans’ comments, I come across the same judgement all over again: he is simply hated because he’s not badass.

The moment he destroys the ship’s console in a fit of rage it was already clear to most fans: what a baby.

When he took off his helmet so we could see his vulnerable features: that is supposed to be the villain?! He’s neither ugly nor beautiful enough! He looks normal!! (How awful.)

Kylo Ren / Ben Solo after the patricide, obviously traumatized. What a sissy. He did not enjoy the terrible thing that he did. He’s in pain and sorrow because his father is dead by his own hand, which means that he did love him.

A villain who loves someone? Who doesn’t enjoy the terrible things he does? My, my, how uncool is that. What a bad example to kids watching the show.

Ben watches Rey leave with the Falcon, tears on his face. He’s more miserable than ever, kneeling on the ground, literally having hit rock bottom.

But he’s the Supreme Leader now, folks!! Wasn’t that what he wanted all along? Why isn’t he triumphant?!

Ben Solo / Kylo Ren, like Anakin Skywalker / Darth Vader is a split personality. Many fans have never seen Ben behind the mask, not even in his interactions with Rey, because hey, if he was secretly a hero, he ought to be badass. And Ben is not badass, the son of Han and Leia is vulnerable and timid. So there can’t be a good guy in there somewhere, am I right?

Sorry, but I can’t help wondering how people can be so blind. It has been staring us in the face from the start that this man is not the story’s villain, that he is on a painful but ultimately successful way to redemption.

And by “redemption” I don’t mean coming back to the Light, but finally finding and sharing the balance the Force and the galaxy so desperately need. It wasn’t for nothing that he had promised his grandfather that he would finish what he started.

A guy I know claims that the wide-spread sympathy for Kylo / Ben (mostly coming for females) springs from the fact that for some unexplainable reason the role was given to Adam Driver, and that the actor’s personal charisma is leading fans to unhealthy and illogical conclusions. He never wondered why Disney gave Driver of all people this role in the first place, and that there actually might be a very good reason for that.

It’s easier to pretend that the saga is ruined, that Lucas has lost his magic touch and Disney is defiling the saga’s miserable remainders, than to sit down and try to think about it for just a minute. To listen, instead of believing to know everything by breaking down a 9-film-3-trilogies story to “it’s always black against white, ka-boom, the white ones win, the end”. Maybe, just maybe, Lucas had a good reason for telling the prequels the way he did and for selling the rights for the sequels to the Disney studios of all places.

One of the things that annoy me most is that so many fans keep calling Ben “Kylo Ren” and simply refuse to accept that actually they are speaking about Ben Solo, the son of Han and Leia and the nephew of Luke. Hence, also, the stubborn and unrelenting “it will turn out that Rey is a Skywalker / Organa / Solo / Kenobi”, even if in the first three cases these fans would actually be expecting her to kill her own cousin or half-brother.

Many of us have grown up with and loved the Star Wars original saga. I can understand that a lot fans are irritated by both prequels and sequels because used to stuff like Jaws, Rocky, Rambo, Alien etc. they of course expect a diluted and warmed-up rehash of the original story and not a development of themes and characters.

But these antis never seem to consider that Ben dying, and dying unrepentant, is the very worst service the saga could do to the original story. It has been said and shown over and over that Rey is a nobody from nowhere. Ben is, thus, indeed the last scion and heir to the heroes from the original trilogy. If he “gets by his deserts”, all that his family suffered and went through was in vain.

His father sacrificing himself - for nothing.

His uncle - ditto.

But to these fans, Kylo’s miserable death would be the only thing that could still halfway reconcile them with the allegedly disastrous, or at least very unsatisfying, sequel trilogy. If they were “real fans” like they claim, in my opinion they rather ought to pray day and night for Ben’s redemption. If they would dare to look beyond their noses, they would realize that Ben has his uncle’s learning, his father’s slyness, his grandfather’s protectiveness and his mother’s empathy and that these qualities are only waiting for the right spark to ignite inside of him and light the galaxy.

I have my own, personal reasons why I’m hoping for Ben Solo to be redeemed, and I’m going to admit that they are pretty personal.

Yes, I like Ben Solo and I like Adam Driver: not because of their pectorals and arm muscles (although they’re nice to look at 😊) but mostly because I identify with them. I want Ben to change and be happy and I hope for Adam to make a marvelous job of this role. I know he and the rest of the crew won’t be capable to convince everyone, but I do hope that they will make Ben Solo’s character, life and development understandable to as many viewers as possible.

I don’t want Ben Solo to fail and die miserably, unrepentant.

Nor do I want him to become Rey’s pet, only good enough to have kids with her so that she will finally have her own family.

I don’t want Ben Solo to die “because that whiny sissy deserves it”.

I don’t want him to die because he’s sensitive and “a real guy isn’t sensitive”.

I don’t want him to die because “he’s done so much evil and doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.”

I don’t want him to die by Rey’s hand because she’s badass so whatever she does, it’s ok.

I don’t want him to die because “he’s not good-looking so he can’t be the hero”.

I want the last scion of the Skywalker saga, the oversensitive, doubtful, patient, emphatic, funny-looking Ben Solo to prove to the world at large that you can be a hero and find your place in your own place, as a man, even if you don’t come up with any of the common prerequisites for a hero in the common sense of the word.

I want him to show the galaxy and the audience at large that it’s never too late, that you can change, grow beyond your wounds and weaknesses, find your own place among humanity and a happy ever after.

I want him to be a role and an encouragement for everyone like me who is introverted, insecure, thoughtful, sensitive and overall not badass.

For the same reason, I was happy when I saw that my theory that Rey would take a plunge into the Dark Side was founded. Rey is being mistaken by most fans as the true heroine of the saga because we see the story unfold mostly from her point of view, so we tend to identify with her and to overlook the arrogance, stubbornness and aggressiveness that were already hinting at her personal development.

I hope that Episode IX will finally make abundantly clear down to the last fan that even the most pure and intelligent and well-meaning heroine can still go down a dark path. (Louder for the people in the back: Anakin and Ben had all chance to be heroes and they were turned evil by the events around them.)

I want the Star Wars saga to end on the note “you don’t have to be badass to save the world.”

I want Love to be the triumphant end note.

I want vulnerability and empathy to be portrayed, in this action science-fiction world-wide known saga, as qualities that do not necessarily make you weak but can make you strong if you’re in the right place and employ them in the right way, instead of denying them and secretly admiring who has no qualms with going over corpses.

I know that many, many fans will never have compassion for Vader or Anakin. For some reason, if someone is frightening, they are likely to bow down before him and to think he’s right with everything he does, even killing and torturing.

Most fans hated the prequels’ depiction of Anakin Skywalker because he wasn’t a fearsome person like Vader but so desperately human.

They similarly hate Kylo Ren and wish him to end in the most horrible way because he’s conflicted and suffering instead of “enjoying” his crimes.

I know I’m being mean now: but I really hope that the expectations of these fans for “the badass wins” will explode in their faces when Episode IX comes out.

I predict that countless viewers all over the world will howl to the moon in frustration, claim that Disney ruined the franchise for good and sign petitions to start everything all over again.

But I hope that viewers who are less prejudiced will listen with their heart and find confirmation for what, in Lucas’ own words, the saga is all about: compassion and family.

And I also hope that future generations who will watch the saga on the whole, in particular boys and young men, will grow up with the message that you don’t have to be canonically handsome, formidable, violent and cruel in order to be a hero, but that loyalty and belonging to something bigger than yourself are more important; that a true hero is not someone who saves the world all by himself but who overcomes himself and creates a better place for other people and together with other people.

I don’t need to watch the lonesome hero, the cowboy riding away into the sunset. There are more than enough action films like that. Let Star Wars be a glorious exception for that cliché. I want it to give encouragement to people who, like me, are not cool and badass but for this are not useless, weak and have nothing to give to the world. If the saga ends the way I hope, I will assuredly not sign petitions for some of its chapters to be removed from canon but send George Lucas personally an enormous bouquet of flowers together with a card offering him all of my admiration and gratitude.

Do it for us, Kylo, Ben, Adam, George, please. Show the world that it’s always love that ought to win, not violence. Prove in a convincing way to whoever watches the saga that emotionality and doubts are not weaknesses but virtues, and that you can be a worthy and happy person without being cruel, vicious and creepy. I’m right here rooting for you and waving your flag.

See you in December. 😊

#bendemption #ben solo #kylo ren #save ben solo #episode IX #star wars #rey #han solo #luke skywalker #darth vader #disney #read more

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