#and i am not LOSING but GAINING followers again like what kind of fuckery-

[bredforloyalty]

i should be arrested for this btw

[myqueenjudeduarte]

Something Like Trust: Chapter 1

Here it is y’all... the fic you’ve been waiting your whole lives for... a 10k word first chapter of Jurdan BDSM. 

Post-The Wicked King

Tags/Warnings: Slapping (in a sexual context), references to spanking, teasing, orgasm delay, uhh angst and emotional fuckery, BDSM obviously, alcohol, also alcoholism because Cardan is present, kind of exhibitionism, I can’t accurately prepare you guys for this fic so just don’t read it if you aren’t comfortable with BDSM relationships. The later chapters will have a lot more intense stuff so just... be warned. OH also warning for them both being COMPLETELY out of character like honestly y’all this is DISGRACEFUL.

Summary: “I was thinking of an arrangement which would allow you moments of powerlessness. An arrangement in which I would take the control, allowing you to experience the feeling of an utter lack of responsibility, a feeling in which I am in command of all and you have no worries to speak of.”

Word Count: 9,426 I’m sO SORRY

Let me know if you want to be tagged in my fics!

Everyone who knew Jude Duarte came quickly to realize that what she sought, above all else, was power. Control. Influence. That she had long felt powerless, and that she remedied this through a combination of scheming and working to rise to the top.

And rise to the top Jude had.

There were few higher places for an 18-year-old mortal girl to be than by the side of the High King of Elfhame, ruling a kingdom with him. And there were few people more profitable to be close to than the High King himself.

There were times, though, when Jude — though she would never admit it — craved above all else a respite from the power. The control. The influence. Craved, in fact, a moment of return to that place of powerlessness, when the worries of the kingdom had been anyone’s but hers and she was free to rest and roam rather than reign.

And there were moments, now, after nearing 6 months since Jude’s return to Elfhame and eventual semi-reconciliation with Cardan, when Jude imagined herself as powerless once more and still imagined Cardan by her side, not ruling together, but simply being together.

When these thoughts struck Jude she would roughly and with decisiveness shove them to the back of her mind and pretend she had never experienced them. Jude could no more afford a break from her power than she could afford to become emotionally involved with her fellow ruler. These were thoughts she had no choice but to keep to herself, as she did most of her thoughts and all of her feelings.

Until tonight, when Jude was drunk.

Jude was, to be quite transparent, far past drunk. Jude was heavily intoxicated, and, she reasoned, through no fault of her own. She had overheard several subjects of Elfhame debating how, exactly, they were expected to take seriously a queen who was not only mortal, but didn’t even drink. The King, of course, drank his fill — why was the queen so serious all the time? How could she ever expect to fit in with faeries if she wouldn’t even let loose at a revel?

Jude, of course, wanted nothing more than power, and power was a child, born of respect and fear. She rationalized, then, that to fit in in Elfhame more fully would be to earn respect, and with respect, power. She gained from this the idea that she had no choice but to drink.

And drink she did.

Cardan looked on from his throne in bewilderment and something akin to amusement as Jude danced and drank with the people of Elfhame. He wanted nothing more than to join her in her drunken fun, but felt that this was something, strange as it was, she needed to do on her own.

When Cardan was falling asleep on the throne and the sun was beginning to make the day known, Jude finally approached the dais, stumbling and smiling and so, so stunning — at least, that was all Cardan could think of as she draped herself over her throne, positioned beside his.

“Cardan, I danced,” she said. Cardan made a most concerted effort to school his face into seriousness, or at least not to laugh at her. He didn’t want to ruin this.

“Yes, Jude. I watched,” he said in a low voice.

To Cardan’s surprise, he saw a faint blush spread over Jude’s cheeks.

“Did you?” she said, and pushed herself with some difficulty closer to him. “Would you like to watch me further? Perhaps in my chambers, and perhaps wearing less than we are now?” Jude whispered the words, but Cardan was still taken aback. It was rare — unheard of, really — of Jude to be so forward, or forward at all.

Cardan and Jude were no strangers to sleeping together, but Cardan usually initiated it, delivering smirks and pointed remarks until Jude rolled her eyes and almost admitted to having desire of her own. Now, though, Jude was too drunk to care that her want could be used against her as a weakness.

As strongly, though, as Jude’s words and posture affected Cardan, he was loathe to do anything with Jude that she would regret in the morning, or that he would regret as taking advantage of the woman he had begun to admit to himself that he had feelings for.

“I think, my dear Jude, that you have had too much to drink for me to consider your admittedly delightful proposal.”

Jude merely smiled and closed her eyes, swaying slightly. “I love it when you call me dear,” she said softly.

Cardan felt a pressure on his chest, the sensation that his ribs might break and puncture his heart and end his immortal life right here and now.

“And I love that you’ve told me that, but I think I should return you to your chambers before you say anything else you will hate yourself for in the morning.” The words were sad, and so was Cardan as he considered what Jude would likely do to herself for even that small admission.

Jude and Cardan didn’t share chambers, and certainly not for Cardan’s lack of trying. Jude refused to become closer with Cardan than sex and a rare moment of shared silence afterward, than discussing the workings of the kingdom. Cardan had asked — near begged, really — Jude to move in, but she had steadfastly refused to assent.

“Your chambers, today, I think,” said Jude, her voice low. Cardan felt his blood heating despite himself, but pushed the thoughts away — now was not the time to lose himself in his passion for her.

“My chambers, then, but to sleep.”

Jude positively pouted. “You’re no fun. Why are you no fun? I’m supposed to be the no fun one.”

Cardan smiled at that. “Yes, those are our usual roles, aren’t they? But tonight, you’ve had a little too much fun, so I am saddled with the role of the serious.”

Jude continued to pout. “Are you gonna take care of me?” she asked, brightening slightly at the thought.

“For the night,” Cardan said quietly, before standing and offering Jude his hand. “On any other, you would run me through for the barest implication that you needed caring for.”

Jude laughed. “I wouldn’t run you through. You’re Cardan!”

“So I am,” he replied.

“I wouldn’t run Cardan through. I’d miss him.”

Realizing that Jude seemed to have forgotten with whom she was speaking, Cardan led her in silence to his chambers, still mulling over her words. It was nice, at the basest level, to hear that she had no desire to kill him. Even that small mercy took him by surprise. “My ruthless girl,” he thought, and then corrected himself. She was not his girl, after all.

When they arrived in his chambers, Cardan helped Jude into bed before lying down beside her. He may have been unwilling to engage in anything sexual while she was in her present state, but he had no qualms about taking advantage of it to be close to her. The morality of his behavior had improved over the past months ruling with Jude, but he adopted no pretense of being perfect.

To his shocked delight, Jude snuggled close to him, tucking her head against his chest when he rolled toward her. He tentatively placed an arm over her side, and she hummed happily. Jude and Cardan had shared time, shared kisses, shared rule of a kingdom, but they had not shared true intimacy since the night they were married. Until, that is, this moment, a moment Cardan placed quietly into his heart to cherish in the days, weeks, months of cold that were sure to follow this night.

He thought this was the end of the happy moments, that Jude would drift off to sleep and that he would face an angry, hungover mortal the next day, but instead, Jude spoke.

“I know I’ll be too afraid to say this tomorrow,” she whispered. “I’m not so drunk as to forget my own nature.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t—“

“I’m cruel to you anyway, Cardan, wouldn’t you rather hear what I have to say now and face my wrath tomorrow?”

Cardan remained silent.

“Sometimes I don’t want this power,” Jude spoke, slowly, softly. “Sometimes I want to feel powerless again, to feel like the weight of a kingdom doesn’t rest on our shared shoulders. Like we’re kids again, like you’re treating me badly during lessons on warm evenings in the gardens. Or like we’re older, and you’re kinder, and we have time to be away from all of this. Can you imagine if we had the space and time to be powerless, even for a second?”

Jude sighed. “I know it makes no sense,” she said, “I know you think that everything I am seeks power, but there’s something else there, inside me. Don’t forget that there’s something else, ok?”

Her words grew more desperate, and with the desperation, more slurred, as she continued speaking. But Cardan barely noticed her fading — an idea had come to his mind, one he could not release despite its insanity, despite the fact that all would be lost when they woke.

“It makes perfect sense, Jude,” he spoke as she drifted off to sleep. “And I know exactly what you need.”

—

“What is it?” These were the first words Cardan heard upon waking. He had slept until nightfall, they both had, and he could see the rays of the setting sun outside the window, the pink and purple hues of the night-turning sky. For a moment, he didn’t even process the question.

“What?” he asked sleepily, beginning to sit up only to find a hand on his chest pinning him to the bed.

“I asked you what it is,” Jude said, voice nothing more than mildly annoyed despite the harshness of her actions. “What is it that I need?”

“You remember that?”

Jude rolled her eyes. “I may have been mildly intoxicated, but I still remember the morning, Cardan.”

Cardan smiled at what she termed “mild” intoxication. “Do you truly want to know?”

“Yes.” Her voice was solemn now, almost nervous, as if she could sense that his answer would not be an easy one.

It wouldn’t.

Cardan’s smile turned to a smirk as he looked up at her, hair and clothes rumpled from sleep, eyes wide with anticipation. She was beautiful, and he was glad to be telling her this, despite how she would surely react.

“I was thinking, my Jude, of an arrangement of sorts.”

“What kind of—“

“Let me finish, Jude.”

She was quiet.

“I was thinking of an arrangement which would allow you moments of powerlessness. An arrangement in which I would take the control, allowing you to experience the feeling of an utter lack of responsibility, a feeling in which I am in command of all and you have no worries to speak of.”

“You would take charge of the kingdom?”

“I would take charge of you, Jude.”

There was silence for several moments, utter, complete silence as Jude studied him. He expected at any second for her to yell, hurt him, get up and leave, or in some other way snap. It would be worth it. But, to his surprise, she merely said,

“Explain.”

And explain he did.

“I would take charge of you — specifically of your body, and specifically sexually, but your mind would follow, I expect. My every command you would follow, or risk punishment. This could be situational or constant, depending on your level of comfort. That means that we could either have assigned stretches under which these conditions are met — you obey me, I care for you, and the focus is on the sexual — and the rest of the time we would be the same Jude and Cardan we are now, bickering and never once obeying the other, unless forced to do so” (this he said with a pointed look, reminding Jude of their past arrangement). “Alternatively, we could have a constant arrangement, one in which you always obey my commands or you are punished. In this way, you could both have power and powerlessness simultaneously, depending on the situation. Both of these, I assume, sound far outside your comfort, but Jude, I implore you to at least consider what I suggest, even if you do no more. Consider what it would mean for you.” With this last desperate plea, Cardan fell silent, awaiting the stormy anger he expected from Jude. This time, his expectations were met.

“Do you think,” she said in the deadly calm he had learned to fear in their time together, “that I trust you, Cardan?”

“No, but I think that you need to.”

“For this? For your deranged sex idea?”

“For this, for our ruling together, for our marriage, for your health.”

“Our marriage has been a sham since you exiled me,” she spat, bringing up wounds Cardan had never been so bold as to think healed.

“I should like it not to be.”

There was a moment of silence before Jude spoke once more.

“What kind of punishments?”

Cardan felt acutely the whiplash of this conversation.

“Some physical, some lack of privileges, depending on the intensity of the relationship. Some pleasant and playful and some less so.”

“Would you ever hit me?”

“Only with your explicit permission and desire.”

“Hit me. I desire it.”

Concentrating on the effort not to let his shock and his own desire show on his face, Cardan brought a hand up from where it had rested on the bed, reached to where Jude still hovered over him, and slapped her thigh, hard. She still wore her dress from the revel of the night before, allowing his hand to connect with bare skin.

Jude gasped in surprise, then rolled onto her back beside him.

“And what if I did obey?” was her next question, asked tentatively.

“I would reward you.”

“What kind of rewards?”

“Would you like me to demonstrate those, as well?”

Jude’s silence served as assent, and Cardan rolled onto his elbow to hover over Jude’s frame.

“I might start like this,” he said, trailing his hand across the high neckline of Jude’s dress, over her throat.

“And move lower,” he added, running his hand over her chest to cup her breast gently. “Like this.”

Jude bit her lip, rubbed her missing fingertip against her thumb, the tell-tale sign of her nervousness. Cardan continued.

“I might tease you a bit, even when you had been good, because the important aspect of this is that you are subject to my desires. No matter how good you’ve been, if I want to punish you, I may, and if I want to reward you, I will do so at my leisure.” As he spoke, he grazed his fingertips over her breast, studiously avoiding her nipple. She wasn’t wearing a bra — she must have removed it in her drunken sleep, and he could see the peak of her nipple under the thin fabric of her dress.

When, after several long minutes, he finally brushed her nipple with his knuckle, Jude breathed a sigh of pleasure.

“Here,” Cardan said, pausing his ministrations, “I might give you an order. I might tell you to be quiet, or not to move, or both, and if you break the rules...” he slapped her thigh hard once again. “You might find you rather dislike the results.”

Cardan could see the effect he was having on Jude and pushed forward, wanting nothing more than to convince her that this was what she needed. He had never expected to get this far on a subject he expected her to shut down immediately, and he would not sacrifice the opportunity.

“Next, I might move lower...” he slid his hand down over her stomach, felt the softness there that covered hard muscle.

“Down to here, perhaps,” he said as he reached the junction of her thighs. “And since this is a reward, I would likely not make you wait too terribly long for what you would so desperately, desperately want.”

As Cardan’s hand slipped under Jude’s dress, he felt the wetness between her thighs and knew his words and actions had their desired effect.

“I see that this is already what you desperately, desperately want, my dear Jude?”

Jude’s hand darted out and clasped Cardan’s wrist, pulling it out from under her dress. He could never hope to be stronger than her, so he waited in anticipation for what she would say.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly, and Cardan relaxed slightly. “Alright, Cardan. Let’s try. You have tonight to convince me that this is anything other than a horrible idea.” Here she paused, and he saw a shadow come over her face, knew that whatever she was about to say was hard for her.

“I don’t trust you, Cardan, and maybe I never will—“

“Jude—“

“But,” she said emphatically, “I’m willing to try. To see how it goes. And besides, I suppose that I trust you more than most people in my life, okay? That’s something.”

Cardan felt the familiar chest-crushing feeling as he gazed at her in the wake of that admission, one that would have been small had she been anyone but Jude Duarte.

“Does my time start now?” was all he replied, not wanting to get emotional and ruin this moment.

“I suppose,” she said, feigning a lack of care when Cardan could tell she was still flustered from his actions.

Cardan leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Jude’s lips. To his continual surprise, she didn’t pull away- instead, she reciprocated, deepening the kiss slightly. This, if nothing else, revealed how aroused she was, and Cardan couldn’t help but smile at her willingness and desperation.

When he finally pulled away, it was because Cardan had business to attend to before they could truly begin the day that might change everything.

“There are a few things we need to discuss, and they happen to be the type of things that are best gone over with paper and pen.” He moved to retrieve both of those items, and to his delight Jude remained still on the bed, awaiting his return. Perhaps, he mused, she would be more obedient during this whole endeavor than he ever expected.

When he returned, Cardan sat cross-legged on the bed as Jude drew a knee up on which to rest her chin.

“The first item we need to discuss is your limits. These are the things I am absolutely, under no circumstances, allowed to do to you or to order you to do. These can be sexual or not, and this list can be edited at any time as you think of more.”

“I don’t...” and here Jude paused, taking a moment to overcome embarrassment over what she was about to say. “I don’t think I know enough about the things we might be doing to know what my limits would be.”

“And that is utterly acceptable,” Cardan said, rushing to reassure her. “They can be anything. For example,” and with this, he ran a hand down the side of her arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, “you’ve made it abundantly clear that you have no qualms about being slapped. If you did, we would add it to the list. But if it helps you, I can list some things I may do and you can enlighten me as to how you would respond to them.”

Jude nodded, and Cardan steeled himself against his arousal, driven higher by the prospect of listing potential acts, to focus on the task at hand.

“How would you feel,” Cardan asked, “if I made you wait to orgasm for, say, 2 hours as I teased you?”

Cardan could see, feel the change in Jude’s posture as she became more aroused.

“I’m sure I would not feel good about that in the moment,” she replied, eyebrows raised, “but hearing about it, it sounds... appealing.”

“And if I made you wait for a day?”

Jude snorted. “As if you have the time as High King to take an entire day to tease me.”

“Nothing would be stopping me from ordering you to tease yourself when I was otherwise occupied.”

Jude flushed now. Cardan had been trying, to little avail, to help Jude become more comfortable talking about sex. They were doing it, after all, but outside of the act itself when Cardan brought it up Jude often became irate or uncomfortable.

Maybe, Cardan mused, some part of that was to do with the fact that he, as frequently as possible, brought it up loudly and in public.

Still. This conversation was a significant step towards growing Jude’s comfort in the topic, and Cardan planned to milk the opportunity for all he could.

“And if I didn’t have the time?” Jude asked at length, returning to the conversation.

“You might be surprised,” Cardan said, lowering his voice and leaning closer to Jude’s ear, “how easily you can slip out of a meeting and into a closet when the threat of my hand on your beautiful ass looms over you.”

Jude tried to jerk away from Cardan, but he held her chin tightly and pulled her back.

“You forget, I think, that we have already begun. You will not pull away from me, do you understand?”

Jude flushed hotter and grumbled something that resembled, “okay.”

“That was your first and only warning. Back, now, to the limits. Answer my last question.”

“Yes, I think I would accept waiting a day.”

“And a week?”

Jude’s eyes grew wide. “I... would prefer not to, but it isn’t a limit.”

Cardan, alert to the smallest minutiae of Jude’s actions, noticed as she shifted near imperceptibly closer to him. He smiled inwardly. What this small action conveyed to him was that his plan to make Jude desperate for his attentions, both sexual and non, before they even began was beginning to work.

“And if I wanted to brand you?”

“Limit.”

Cardan grinned, having known, of course, that this would be the answer.

“And there, my dear, is an example.”

Jude rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry that I needed to make clear that ‘permanent disfigurement’ is off the table.”

“You need to make everything clear, Jude, to reduce the possibility of my doing something that genuinely distresses you. And,” he said, growing serious, “I will allow it for now, but when we are done with writing and discussions and begin in earnest, I will expect a more respectful tone from you than that.”

“And if I don’t, you’ll punish me?”

Cardan could hear in Jude’s voice that her reply was no form of backtalk, but one of apprehension and excitement.

“Yes, Jude,” Cardan said, leaning closer once more. “I will punish you, and you will not enjoy it.”

“And if I do?”

Cardan frowned. “It is... a complicated line, to answer you with honesty. I want you to enjoy all that we do, because that is the main purpose of all of this. My role, above all else, is to protect and care for you while putting you in positions of vulnerability, and to make sure that the things we do while I am in control serve you well. However, a part of your enjoyment and powerlessness will be the knowledge that when you transgress, you will be corrected, and that the correction will make you want to avoid repeating the offense. So while I want you to enjoy the process, I do not expect you always to enjoy the particular instance of punishment. Confirm whether or not that makes sense to you.” This was Cardan’s attempt to help Jude grow used to following orders, and it succeeded as she obeyed without question on this small matter.

“Yes, it makes sense.”

Cardan saw Jude rub her legs together, almost too lightly to be noticeable, and smiled.

“Growing a bit desperate, are we?”

Jude scowled, then realized herself and schooled her face into neutrality. Cardan smiled wider at this indication that she was beginning to behave.

“Are you trying the teasing thing now? Trying to make me desperate?”

“Oh, Jude. If and when I tease you, I strongly suspect you shall know. No, when we finish this,” and he waved the paper and pen, “I will make sure your desperation is alleviated.”

“Then let’s get back to work.”

“Begging?”

Jude scoffed again, then looked guiltily at Cardan. It would take some time to break her of these habits, and Cardan fully expected to enjoy every moment of doing so.

“You are free to try to make me beg,” she replied, opting for a neutral statement that still conveyed her derisiveness.

Cardan smiled. “I love a challenge,” he retorted, “thought I doubt that it will be one after I have brought you to the appropriate headspace.”

“What does that mean?”

Cardan set down the paper and turned toward her for this section of the explanation.

“Sometimes, during arrangements such as the one we’re forming-“ At this, Jude raised her eyebrows, reminding him that this arrangement was far from settled.

“The one I hope to form,” he corrected himself. “During these arrangements, there is a certain state of mind you can enter. I have done it at the hands of others- it is a most wondrous, delightful feeling, as though everything in the world is taken care of and the person in control can do no wrong. I tell you this in advance of its happening because I want you to know that I in no way am provoking this state in you for my own gain, or so that you will think more highly of me. I do it because I want you to feel that incredible feeling, and to feel that you are safe and cherished. Do you understand?”

Jude nodded, but then a shadow passed over her face, as though thinking of something she would rather not.

“How do you know all of this? Who made you feel that way? Have you made others feel that way before?”

The jealousy present in her tone was uncharacteristic, and Cardan couldn’t help experiencing a rush of pleasure as he heard it.

“I have a good deal of experience with the topic, and a good deal of knowledge in how it can go poorly,” he answered with a sad smile. “There was a time when, in search of that feeling, I would entrust myself to anyone willing to help me. Many of them took advantage of the situation to cause me pain, not that I can say I didn’t often deserve it. But this is my promise to you, Jude - I will cause you pain, but it will never be more than you can tolerate, it will never be emotional pain, if I can prevent it, and it will never be for the reason that I want you to genuinely suffer. If I punish you, it is to correct you, and if I hurt you because I want to, it is for both of our pleasures.”

“But to your other question. Yes, I have made others feel this way, but never one who I... cared for, as I care for you. It will be entirely different. I hope you can believe that.”

“Nicasia?” was all she replied, unwilling, of course, to acknowledge the depth of feeling in his statement.

“Among others.”

Jude nodded, apparently satisfied for now with his answers.

“I think I understand the limits now. I would not like to be permanently disfigured,” she said with a pointed look, “nor would I like to be overly disgusted by anything we should do.”

“Elaborate.” He knew this would be a challenge for Jude, to speak explicitly about her likes and dislikes.

“I would not like... spit,” she said, “if that was even an option. Nor would I appreciate an excess of any fluid to touch me. I would like to remain relatively clean. Is that—“ Jude caught herself about to ask if that was acceptable and stopped there, frowning as it came to her attention that she had already begun to enter a place of asking his approval.

“Yes,” Cardan answered, as if she had finished the question. “Very good. Lie on your back.”

Jude tentatively did as instructed.

Cardan leaned over her, bringing his mouth to her breast and pressing light kisses along its top, still working through the fabric of her dress. His tongue moved lower to circle her nipple before he sucked it into his mouth, hard. Jude gasped in pleasure and Cardan hummed against her tender flesh.

He pulled back, but left a hand lingering on her cheek. “When you do as you are instructed, you are rewarded,” he said lightly, before returning to the paper. Jude tried to sit up with him, but he held up a hand.

“I want you in that position until I indicate otherwise.”

Jude lay back down.

“Good,” said Cardan with a smile. “Now. Any other limits you can think of currently? It is completely understandable if not, and we can add more at any time.”

Jude shook her head.

“Then we will move on to apprehensions. What are you apprehensive about going into this?”

Jude thought for a moment before replying.

“Vulnerability,” she said slowly. “Putting faith in someone other than myself, not that I even have too much of that in myself lately.” She turned her head away after speaking, realizing she had shared more than she meant to.

Cardan reached over to take her hand gently. “Keep going.”

“Being without weapons, without defenses. Being in a situation where I need to be protected. Being in a situation where I can’t protect you.” The apprehensions came out of her in a rush now, to Cardan’s relief.

“I’m also apprehensive that I will be bad at this, that I won’t be able to bring myself to be obedient and that you will quickly tire of trying to correct me.”

“Oh, Jude. I will never tire of correcting you, and you never need worry that you will be too disobedient. You have already shown me, given your actions of tonight alone, that you will be good at this, not that there is even a way you could be bad.”

Jude shot Cardan a quick grateful look before continuing.

“I’m apprehensive that this is going to make me seem weak.”

“To me?”

“To you, to the kingdom. To anyone who knows.”

“No one will know without your express permission, Jude. Besides, who would I tell?” Cardan spoke the words with some bitterness, reminding Jude that he had few people in his life besides her. The thought crossed her mind that she should endeavor to treat him slightly more kindly, as he had her.

“Those are all of my apprehensions for now,” was all she said. “What else do you need to write down?”

“You need two words - one which stops everything we are doing completely, and one which signals me to make sure you are okay before we continue.”

“Nicasia and Locke.” She answered without hesitation.

“Fitting,” Cardan said, amused. “Our ex lovers.” He hurriedly wrote down her answers before continuing.

“What shall you call me?”

“Cardan, perhaps?” she answered sarcastically.

Cardan frowned at her.

“A name which denotes respect, Jude. May I suggest ‘My Lord’ or ‘My King’? I won’t make you go so far as to call me master.”

“My Lord,” Jude replied after a brief moment of consideration.

“Good. For the rest of the night and day, from this moment on, you will address me as ‘My Lord’. You will respond to my questions with answers like ‘Yes, My Lord’ and ‘No, My Lord.’ Is that clear?”

“Yes, My Lord.” Jude said quietly. Cardan leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

“Good. That concludes the information I need to gather for now. I will store this sheet safely for future use.”

“You seem quite confident that there will be future use.”

Cardan raised an eyebrow but let the disrespect in her tone slide. “I think you need this, Jude, and I think you will come to realize that by the end of the time you’ve allotted me. Another thing to note is that from this moment forward, I will not take your disrespect quite so lightly.”

Jude nodded once, and Cardan seized her chin in his hand once more.

“Say, ‘yes, My Lord’.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Jude replied, averting her eyes, still unable to believe she had put herself in this position.

Cardan smiled. “So far, you have been fairly obedient, and completed all that I’ve asked of you with a minimum of complaint. Frankly, I’m impressed, and I do plan to reward you.”

Jude shivered.

“But first, I want to address something you said earlier, about my viewing you as weak. Jude, to submit to my control will be the ultimate show of strength. I know what it would take from you, and how bold you will have to be in order to do so. I will never, never think you weak for giving up a small piece of your power. I will see you as all the more powerful for it, do you understand?”

“Yes, My Lord,” she said quietly.

“Good. Then let us begin.” With that, Cardan returned his mouth to Jude’s breast, licking and sucking over the fabric of her dress as his hands inched the bottom upward, baring her upper thighs. He finally pulled back to remove her dress entirely and stayed hovering above her, gazing down at her near-naked form.

“Tell me what you think of your body, Jude.”

Jude blanched, and Cardan could see the panic in her eyes, wondered if he had gone too far. Then, though, she reminded herself of his prior words - that this was strength, power, not weakness and defeat.

“I think it is strong, and serves its purpose, but is out of place among those of the faeries. You are all so... well, thin, and I am not. I have always wished to look as you do, despite knowing I never can.”

Cardan nodded, having suspected exactly this response.

“And would you like to know what I think of your body, Jude?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“I think your body far surpasses the beauty of that of any faerie I have ever seen. I think there is nothing more attractive to me than your muscles and flesh. I think that the more of you there is for me to touch,” and he touched her, “kiss,” and he kissed her, “and caress the more I will be satisfied. And I think that your body gives you life, and that is the most beautiful thing of all. After the undersea, when you had so little flesh on your bones, I was terrified. I would never want to see you like that again. I am grateful for every day that you have enough to eat, and I count myself lucky to share the bed of someone strong enough to snap my body in a heartbeat.”

Jude laughed at this. “I meant what I said, though. I wouldn’t kill you.”

Cardan put his hand over his chest and said with mock sincerity, “and you have no idea what that means to me,” but they both knew it was far from sarcasm.

“Thank you,” Jude said softly, “my lord, for what you said.”

“I speak only the truth, unlike some,” he replied, touching her face lightly. “Anyway, Jude, would you like me to return to the task at hand?”

“Very much so — my lord.” He heard her stumble, forget herself for a moment, and resolved to push her deeper into the headspace she so desperately needed to enter.

He started by kissing his way down her stomach, running his tongue along the bones of her hips, the line of her pelvis. He nipped the skin of her inner thigh gently, causing her to yelp, and grinned against her.

Finally — finally — he attended to her burning need, pulling her remaining underwear down her legs and situating himself between them. He heard her give a sharp intake of breath as she realized what he was going to do, as she did every time they did this, and smiled once more at the familiarity of the situation.

With one hand, Cardan spread Jude before him, as he pressed his tongue against her folds.

“Spread your legs for me, Jude, dear,” he muttered against her, and she squirmed even as she did as he asked. Demanded.

When she had obeyed, he resumed his actions in earnest, licking and sucking with vigor, trying to bring her to the edge as quickly as possible. He entered her with two fingers so suddenly that she gasped in surprise, and he pulled back to grin up at her and gaze at her flushed cheeks and half-closed eyes.

“Your nipples. Touch them,” he commanded, and she did as instructed, pulling and rolling them between her fingers, moaning lightly at the sensation and more loudly as he curled his fingers inside her, still watching.

“You are stunning,” he said simply, before resuming the work of his mouth against her. He flicked her clit with his tongue, slowly at first, but increased speed with his tongue and fingers until she was on the edge, crying out that she was about to go over it.

He stopped all motions, pulled back, and said, “hands at your sides.”

“I thought this was a reward,” she said, anger flashing in her eyes even as she obeyed.

“It is,” he replied. “The reward is the fact that I’m touching you at all. And I don’t appreciate your attitude. Spread your legs.”

She had snapped them closed in the wake of his motions ceasing, but opened them again now. Cardan pushed them farther apart roughly.

“In the future, know that it is my right to stop touching you at any time, and that you have no leave to contest my decision. I won’t fully punish you now, because this is a first infraction, but I will give you a small reminder of your place.”

With those words, he slapped her directly on the junction between her legs, one of his many rings hitting her clit. While he congratulated himself on his excellent aim, Jude cried out in shock and pain.

“Car— My—“ she sputtered, trying to find something to say that wouldn’t provoke another slap. Cardan merely raised an eyebrow, waiting for her decision.

She stayed silent, biting her lip against the desire to protest and the residual stinging between her legs.

Cardan looked down at her. “Next time, your punishment will not be so easy to bear. And before I forget, there is a rule I want to set for the future- you ask me, rather than tell me, when you are close to orgasm. Do you understand?”

Jude closed her eyes briefly before responding. “Yes, My Lord.”

Cardan could see the struggle in Jude, sense the way she worked to control the impulse to resist him, and found himself impossibly proud.

He lay down beside her and began steadily stroking a finger in circles around her clit, so slowly that there was no risk of her coming from the stimulation. Jude bit her lip and moaned.

“Normally, at a time like this, I would be waiting for you to beg,” Cardan said conversationally, as if discussing the weather in Elfhame. “But, as circumstance has it, begging will do nothing for you here. I plan to let you come—“ with those words, Jude’s wide eyes shot to his, but he continued with a small smile “but not for some time.”

Jude’s face fell, but lacked the spark of anger it had earlier held. Good. That meant she was beginning to accept that she had no choice but to allow Cardan to do what he would with her pleasure.

He continued his gentle ministrations on her clit, listening for small moans and breathy sighs as she wished for more stimulation, for several minutes. Then, without warning, he rose.

“Get dressed,” he ordered.

“Why?” she asked, even as she stood from the bed.

Cardan raised an eyebrow by way of answer, and Jude paled.

“I will, My Lord.”

Cardan knew that Jude was likely still allowing this sort of behavior from herself by rationalizing that it was only for the night, but it still pleased him to see signs of her growing obedience.

Jude had dresses in one of the many closets contained by Cardan’s chambers, for those times when hers became rumpled and dirty and she didn’t want anyone to know what she had been doing or with whom. She pulled one on now, not bothering to search for a bra, knowing Cardan would likely stop her anyway. She did, however, pick her underwear back up from where Cardan had carelessly discarded it earlier, but he tsked and plucked it from her hands.

“Not tonight,” he said decisively, and she had no choice but to obey.

When she was dressed and had smoothed down her hair enough to be presentable to... wherever it was they were going, Cardan led Jude from the chambers and into the halls of the palace. When they reached the throne room, a horrible thought occurred to Jude. Surely, surely, Cardan didn’t expect her to spend hours on the throne as she usually did at night, watching revelers and hearing complaints from the citizens of Elfhame. Surely he wouldn’t be so cruel, when she could still feel the wetness between her thighs and knew her clit remained as swollen as ever.

But he was so cruel, and in they went to settle on the twin thrones, side by side, perhaps an inch of space between the two seats.

“Bring a table,” he ordered loudly to the room, “with a cloth.”

Cardan was quickly obeyed, and a table was set before their thrones on the dais, covered in a white cloth that reached to the floor. To Jude’s shock, Cardan actually thanked the faeries that delivered the table. He was clearly on his best behavior in an attempt to convince her that this was a worthy arrangement.

Jude had no idea why Cardan would request a table when, again to her shock, he did not appear to be drinking. His reason soon became apparent, though, as his hand slipped across the space between their thrones and under her dress once more, blocked from the sight of the room’s revelers by the cloth on the table.

She realized at that moment that Cardan planned to keep her on the edge of orgasm for the entire duration of their time in the throne room, and closed her eyes as a flush began to rise on her face.

“My lord,” she said, too quietly for anyone but Cardan to hear her. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You can,” he responded, “because I know your limits, and because I am telling you that you can, and because you want to please me.”

Jude was surprised to find that she did, indeed want to please him.

“My lord,” she started again, “you aren’t drinking. I was just wondering why.”

Cardan’s face grew serious. “As greatly as it pains me to go a night sober, I don’t believe in engaging in this sort of... activity while intoxicated. One of my main responsibilities is to ensure that I can read you well enough to know your limits, and I can’t easily do so with an alcohol addled mind.”

Jude nodded, touched and realizing for the first time that Cardan’s role in this was as difficult, if not more so, as hers.

“So, in the hypothetical and far from plausible situation that we made this arrangement permanent...”

“I would still drink on occasion, but any rewards, punishments, commands, or otherwise would wait until my sobriety.”

Jude found herself slightly disappointed. She wouldn’t admit it to him, but she worried about his drinking, about the fact that his drunken state seemed the only time he even bordered on happiness. Not that she did much to help with the misery he experienced in life.

All thoughts shattered in Jude’s mind as Cardan brought her nearly over the edge once more.

“My Lord, can I-“

He pulled away.

Had they not been in the middle of a room full of faeries, Jude might have cried out in frustration.

They passed the next hour in silence, Cardan bringing Jude to the edge again every time she got far enough from it to be comfortable. She spent the hour in misery, near writhing in her seat from the arousal. She knew she would have a damp spot on the back of her dress when they finally left the throne room, and couldn’t bring herself to care. She couldn’t even care, in fact, that all of this was happening publicly, and that someone could rise too high on the dais and see what Cardan’s hand occupied itself with at any moment.

“Alright, Jude,” Cardan said loudly, finally taking pity on her. “Let us retire for the rest of the night.”

Jude sighed in relief and stood, following Cardan out of the throne room. When they reached his chambers, Jude had no time to react as Cardan pinned her to the wall, holding her wrists above her head.

“You’re mine, Jude,” he said, stroking her wrists with his thumbs. “I love having you as my own, to do what I will with. You have no idea how deliciously appealing you looked on the dais, sitting in your throne and letting me touch you like the slut you are quickly, beautifully becoming. Tell me - are you enjoying yourself?”

“No, My Lord.”

“Are you lying?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Cardan smiled. “It’s not nice to lie, Jude.” He slapped her in the face, hard enough to sting and take her by surprise but softly enough not to leave a mark. Jude exclaimed in surprise.

Cardan knew he had taken a risk, that face slapping was something they had not discussed and something with which Jude might be wholly uncomfortable, but she said nothing, merely looked at the floor in guilt.

And she did feel guilty — guilty for lying to him about her enjoyment in one last, desperate attempt to pretend this wasn’t exactly what she needed, that she couldn’t already feel a glimmer of the feeling Cardan had described, that she wasn’t close to total surrender.

“Look at me,” Cardan said softly.

Jude looked at him, biting her lip gently, willing him to forgive.

“There’s something important which I neglected to tell you.” He continued stroking her wrists in small, reassuring circles. “After I have punished you for whatever infraction you’ve committed, it’s over. I harbor no more negative feelings about it, and you have no more repentance to do unless I explicitly tell you otherwise. A punishment is an absolution.”

“Yes, My Lord,” Jude said, lifting her head in an attempt to push the conflict from her mind. “I will not lie again.” She meant the promise.

Cardan bowed his head. “Noted and appreciated,” he said, before looking up at her, sternly but with mischief on his face.

“Now. Get on your knees.”

Jude dropped to her knees immediately, growing more and more eager to please, and reached up to undo the buttons of his breeches.

“No,” he said, and stilled her hands. “Take off your dress.”

She obeyed, sliding it over her head eagerly and casting it aside, leaving herself naked before him once more.

Cardan cast his own shirt over his head and undid his breeches himself, much to Jude’s disappointment, before sliding off the remainder of his clothes.

“Start slowly, and using only your mouth.”

Jude obeyed, leaning forward to kiss her way up and down the length of him, pausing to give particular attention to the head before moving back down. Cardan braced a hand against the wall behind her.

“Lick me. Stay slow, but be thorough.”

Jude did as instructed once more, licking and gently sucking her way around his cock, over the head, pausing to swirl her tongue around his balls.

After several minutes, Cardan gave his next order.

“Pull as much of me as you can into your mouth. You may use your hands now, and do go a bit more quickly.”

Jude smiled, hearing the effect she had on him in his voice, and proceeded to do as told, sucking him into her mouth and blowing him in earnest.

Cardan’s sounds were like a reward, as they always were on the rare occasions that she did this, and she smiled as she worked on him, desperately wanting to bring him over the edge, desperately wanting to please.

“Jude,” he groaned, “yes, yes, like that.”

Quickly, Cardan went over the edge, spilling come into Jude’s mouth which she swallowed diligently before wiping her face with her hand. She smiled up at him when she finished, a mixture of sweetness and wicked pleasure on her face.

“Evil, talented girl,” was all he said before pulling her to her feet and pushing her across the room, onto the bed. “It’s my turn now.”

Jude did not point out that Cardan had, in fact, taken many turns already, merely lay on her back awaiting him. When he arrived, he quickly got back to the task at hand, spreading her legs and using his tongue to work her clit, alternating speeds to keep her from coming to the edge too quickly.

Still— after hours of torment, it was a matter of moments before she was at the edge, legs trembling hard beneath Cardan’s hands.

“May I come, My Lord, may I come?” she pleaded, close to begging, desperation evident in her voice.

“Yes,” he paused just long enough to say before resuming his ministrations.

He didn’t stop, nor even slow down, as she came, crying out and tangling her hands in his hair, chanting his name and “my lord” and “god, god, god” intermittently. Nor did he slow down when she came a second time, writhing beneath him. By the time she neared a third orgasm without a break, Jude had tears of pleasure and overstimulation in her eyes and was pleading with Cardan alternately to stop and keep going. He chose to continue, and she came four times before Cardan finally slowed to a stop and pulled back to look at her.

Cardan moved to the top of the bed and pulled Jude into his arms, head resting on his chest. She let out a slight whimper of protest, a part of her uncomfortable with this level of intimacy, but was too spent and needed to be held too badly to resist.

“Are you in a space where you can listen to me, my darling Jude?” Cardan asked, so heartbreakingly gentle in voice and touch that she felt as though her chest was cracking.

“Mm hmm,” she said in assent.

“Another important thing to remember about what we’re doing is that you must allow me to care for you. This is undeniably important. This sort of... play, if we might call it that, can only happen with the knowledge that I will care for you afterward. You cannot protest when I pull you into my arms after whatever we’ve been doing, whether punishment or pleasure. You cannot prevent me from tending to any injuries I may have caused or ensuring your safety, health, and wellbeing. If it is my responsibility to correct you, and to keep safely your power, then it is also my responsibility to care for you, and I take it quite seriously. Do you understand?”

“Yes, My Lord, I understand,” Jude tried to say, but it came out more like “hmmlord derstand.”

Cardan smiled tenderly down at Jude, and knew in that moment that he was much farther gone than he had ever suspected when it came to his feelings for the woman he held.

Jude, for her part, was terrified. Since her return from exile, she had never allowed herself this kind of intimacy with Cardan, and she was shocked by how desperately she desired it. She was mentally and bodily exhausted and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep in his arms, but her mind would not allow her that, setting off all the warning bells of the danger she could be getting herself into by allowing this, and with him.

But she had promised to be honest, and knew that he would consider keeping her thoughts a secret when they needed to be shared a lie of omission, so she spoke.

“I’m afraid,” she said.

“I know,” he replied, and for a moment they were silent. “I don’t want to put pressure on you, but if you’ll give me the time to do this right, I’ll prove to you that you have nothing to be afraid of.”

Jude opened her eyes. “I want to,” she whispered, as though saying something shameful. “I don’t want this to end, but I don’t know if I can do it.”

“I do. I know.”

“Where did this resounding faith in my strength come from?” Jude’s words were teasing, but her sentiment was genuine.

“I’ve had it for a long time, I think. Since I’ve known you. I was cruel to you in part because it was easier than acknowledging my feelings and in part because I saw strength in you where in myself there was only weakness, and I hated you for that.”

For reasons Jude could not understand, the reminder that Cardan had ever hated her nearly brought tears to her eyes at this moment, but she remained silent as he continued.

“I now see that hating you for your strength was the solution of a child. You have my apologies and my regret.”

They both were silent, unspoken emotion crackling between them, for several minutes.

“Why can’t this be easy?” Jude said at last.

“It’s not too late,” Cardan whispered, and kissed the top of Jude’s head, the mortal curve of her ear, the tip of her nose. “Jude, admit that you need this.”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean I get to have it when it feels like giving up all that I’ve worked for.”

Cardan closed his eyes in frustration. “You’re giving up nothing, Jude! You would only be gaining a new form of freedom. You lose nothing by surrendering.”

“I lose the war between us.”

“What war!” Cardan exclaimed, raking his hands through his hair. “The war of children? The war of two people who have been horrible to each other and now have a chance to be good? There is no war for me, Jude - not any more.”

Jude was choking back tears now, impossibly distressed at having gone from the sweetness of a few moments ago to the harsh reality of their situation and of Cardan’s frustration with her.

“I’m sorry,” she started, but then Cardan was there and he was holding her again and comforting her and kissing her temples and oh god, Jude had never been so overwhelmed by emotion and sensation and desire.

“No, Jude, do not apologize. It was my responsibility to keep myself calm after putting you into that emotional place and I failed. The responsibility is mine, and I am truly sorry.”

Jude didn’t cry, not any more, but she came close now, squeezed her eyes shut to hold back the tears, and finally, finally assented.

“I don’t know what I can commit to, and I don’t know that I won’t back out at any moment, because I’m terribly, terribly afraid. What I do know is that I want this, and I’m willing to try.”

“That’s more than I expected from you, Jude,” and she could hear the grateful tone behind his words.

“We can try it all the time, if you still want to.” The words came out of Jude in a rush of nervousness, and Cardan took her trembling hands in his own.

“I would love to, Jude. Go get the paper and pen from earlier.”

“Yes, My Lord,” she said, already relieved to be back to this, showing her just how badly she did need this arrangement.

She returned with the paper, which Cardan quickly signed at the bottom.

“Sign this when you’re truly ready to begin,” he said. “I won’t rush you. You can take all the time you—“

With decisiveness, Jude signed the document.

[sunagitsunee]

Achilles Heel

Hurt / Comfort, Levi Ackerman x Hanji Zoe

POST 115 FIC

ALSO IN AO3

The patterns of the exposed beams of the ceiling were suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

Levi had been past his major self-loathing stage, one that immediately kicked in after his stupor post the explosion. He’d been through despondency and helplessness after realizing the mishap took out parts of him that were necessary for battle. Denial was there, too, with the fact that he was a diminished version if himself after the accident—that he might not be the strongest one anymore.

What was eating him away was the guilt: survivor’s guilt. Or more so, having to bide his time until he could fully recover just so he could return to the battlefield.

Basically, he had to stay put, bathe in peace, while their allies were dying by the minute. 

To him, it was an indirect murder by his hands, because he failed.

Once more he was unsuccessful in fulfilling his promise to his previous commander, just because he was being uncharacteristically reckless. And to make it worse, his current commander was stuck nursing him back to health instead of watching over the poor kids left to finish what they had started.

It was all fucked up.

No—scratch that. It was beyond fucked up.

Levi had already faced all kinds of defeat ever since his memory had afforded to remember. And he thought losing his mother, his dearest friends, his own squad, and even Erwin, were already the peak of the damnation of his existence. He was clearly mistaken.

Because this time, he had lost a little more than himself, and gained back one thing he had forsaken a long time ago.

Well, he had spent the last decade redeeming himself from the clutches of the underground. Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, that was what everyone called him. He walked and talked the reputation. He devoted himself to his host and to the cause of saving humanity that the supposed burden became his second skin, to the point that his emotions got in the way—so he got rid of it.

As they say, they had to become what they wanted to kill. And he, including several other members of the original Survey Corps, became monsters to eradicate other monsters. Living with the armor of ferociousness for so long made him forget what it was like to feel despair. People had died left and right and tears came out reservedly, away from a mere human being’s gaze. No big deal.

Before the accident that rendered him catatonic for days, he had the impression that he would outlive everyone, so he had no problems of thinking about who would die next. Normally, his soul would be crushed and be forced to move on the next second because everyone counted on him to carry on the will of the dead.

However, the brush with good old death had changed things drastically.

He can die, alone and powerless. The truth was cold and unforgiving. It hit him like a brick wall. And he hated it.

Years and years of bravado and confidence had led up to this point. And the biggest problem was, who will carry on his will and those who died before him once he is gone? Who was strong enough to bear all the weight he carried in his back? All the lives which were sacrificed, if he couldn’t let them live on through someone else, would they have been wasted all for naught?

Who would care to remember him if he was to suddenly disappear, and no one else was around?

That was not even the worst.

The most fucked up thing that ever happened in that incident was being in the brink of oblivion, almost fading out, but then meeting the gaze of someone else that was filled with terror and sadness over the fact that he was, in fact, perishing.

It stung so bad, that it made him cower at the thought of biting the dust just like that.

He had never thought about it before, to be honest. But back then during his last breaths, when he had the sliver of chances to look upon the face of the person who was calling him back to reality: he saw that expression. Anguished was not even enough to describe what he witnessed. Fear, confusion, resolve, despair, longing… hundred more waves broke through his savior’s—Hanji's—facade while they held him gently, while he clung to that warmth as if it was his lifeline.

Which was stupid. Because they aren’t normally like that. They’d laugh and shout but not once did they throw those sentiments at him without holding back. They were strong like him. They’d lost people too, but they stood up and fought on.

So why, why did the glimpse of their face in sorrow made his wounds ache a thousand times more than they should?

Pathetic. Levi had convinced himself over these past few days that it should be the last time that he’d let them go through that. He wouldn’t go out like that. He’d never want to see Hanji’s eyes, the most vibrant pair he’d ever met, be clouded again in his dying moments.

He would have to make do of what’s left of him to push through, no matter how lamentable the outlook seemed.

 “Knock, knock.”

As if on cue, his rumination was disrupted with the voice that retrieved him from the underworld. The door revealed Hanji’s resigned frame, and light steps against the wood followed after as they approached his rigid figure in the tub.

Levi slowly turned his head towards them and took note of their sullenness behind the pretentious but affable smile.

“What? Don’t tell me you wanna take a bath with me?”

“Maybe. But I suck at doing it. You blasting me with water is still the best way to do it.”

Scoff. “It’ll be a different experience since I have less fingers to blast you with.”

He watched how they winced for a split second, probably a knee-jerk reaction after being reminded of his current setbacks. Hanji finally let out a sigh after holding their breath for several seconds before setting by the floor, absentmindedly playing with his bath water by dipping an entire arm.

“I talked with our hosts. The Azumabitos are displeased with how we are doing. Understandably so. But they are willing to hide us until you’re fully on your feet. Thanks to them, I’ve sent a coded message to Mikasa for our current status.”

“Yeah. And are they still all alive?”

“Presumably. Eren was dead for some time, but as expected of shifters, they can transfer consciousness and heal.”

“Fuck those shifters.” Good thing the kids were still kicking, but man, fuck Zeke and his existence. He spearheaded all this fuckery. And he’s still out there thanks to him.

“Our forces have withdrawn for the meantime… They have control over our new recruits, and most of our leaders have been transformed to…titans… I’ve instructed Jean to gather our remaining allies and rummage for whatever is salvageable. I'm—”

Hanji paused and bit their lip before punching the edge of the tub with their other hand, so hard that he felt the tremors from the impact. Levi knew them all too well, they were frustrated, more so with themselves rather than anything else.

“Damn… We’ve lost so much. I was never suited to be this. I’m such a fucking mess. Erwin would have pulled a miracle out of our asses by now. You know that. I’m sure you think the same way.”

NO! Obviously! Erwin was gone, right? And Levi chose it to be that way. He still doesn’t regret the choice of letting him rest, keeping him safe from this abhorrent world. Except that seeing Hanji at the end of their wits was every bit of torturous for him, too. But still…

“You said it before, Hanji. Outcomes aren’t determined by a single choice. Don’t take all the blame.”

Another fist hit the keg. “But I am at fault. I failed to draw a good gamble, and I got you injured by a flaw in the weapon that I made. I’m… I’m sorry, Levi. I’m not even sure if that amounts to anything anymore….”

Jeez.

Hanji was at it again. His guilt was already a thing, but theirs were like a second punch in the gut. They needed to be coherent as soon as possible for all their sakes, and Levi was one of the handful who could knock some sense into them.

“That’s the fiftieth goddamn apology you’ve managed to spew, and as far as I know, you aren’t supposed to be a deprecatory ass.” He spoke a little louder, making sure to emphasize every word. “Maybe if you stopped gambling and living in Erwin’s shadow and be precise like you used to be, those words would actually bear something.”

They went silent for a while, with only the drops from the faucet accentuating the stillness. Hanji was crouched away from his sight, probably pondering on their shortcomings, wallowing on the hurt from his statements, or perhaps repeating his harsh preaching like a mantra until they were consequential.

In the first place, they were the only person who could read between the lines no matter what foul words he spat out.

What he meant, anyway: Hanji had always been the better person, and if there was anyone who could get their stride back, it was them. They just had to get out of their slump, and they need to be back to their usual self. That he trusted them, and that he would do anything for them.

His speech seemed fruitful, much to his relief. When they straightened up, there were less shadows on their face, albeit the weeks of sleep deprivation and stress made the frown lines seem permanent.

Hanji tapped the surface of the water, purposefully splashing on his body, and some, hitting his face.

“Asshole,” they said. Levi kicked lightly and the ripples overflowed until they got into their clothes, too. He got a stifled gasp as a response.

“That’s the shitty glasses that I know.”

They chuckled but stopped abruptly to move closer until their faces were the same level. Their chin rested against the tub and their fingers hovered on the new scar that adorned his visage.

Caressing without touching, that is. For some reason it relaxed Levi; it was as if they were accepting his impairments instead of intruding upon him. It was their usual dynamic, one that went off-track when the war had started.

A thorn got dislodged from his heart knowing their thing was finally back.

“I’m sorry, Levi. Just this once, I say not as your commander. I truly am sorry.”

He shifted fully to his side so their good eyes could meet. There was something thick building up in his throat; he could have ignored it but decided against it. If he didn’t say it on the spot, he may never have the chance to do so.

“Thank you. And this is personal. You could’ve left me there. A dead man served no purpose to your goals, but you ended up putting your life on the line as well. You’re that dumb, but you saved me. I owe you. Everything.”

Hanji smiled and let their touch graze his jaw, right where the gash ended.

“I will admit, I was being selfish in that one. I could have let you rest, but I was scared. I… couldn’t let you go in the end.”

His chest drummed at their words and how they rolled off from their tongue.

“Scared, huh.“

He was, as well. Openly. For the first time. And if the situations were reversed, he’d risk his life to save them, too. Maybe the fear of losing them was a big part of his weakness now, but it’s a weakness he’d have to live with moving forward. "Maybe we are humans after all…”

“Yeah, you monster… I… just realized I needed you. Only humans do that kind of thing, I guess…?”

Needed. By the way the russet in their eye glinted, he knew they meant it in every sense of the word, and he too, felt the same way. More than they could both comprehend. More than the bonds of the dying breed that they share.

It was needing in a much, much, intimate level. And it took that recent trip to demise to bring those feelings bursting to the surface.

Levi’s hand met theirs, and he immediately appreciated the familiar warmth in contrast with the cold water. He held it down by his neck and rested against their palm. Hanji lightly squeezed on his skin.

“Hey… Don’t die alone, Levi. Don’t die before me. Get our freedom in my stead if I go. Promise me.”

He could feel their breath grazing in his face, and it nearly wanted him to breach the small distance that kept them apart and catch their lips. But no, this was not the time for it. It was unfair. War had no space for such ties.

He decided he would do it when they’re finally free, only then, since they deserved the whole of him. They’d start a new life together, that was his new resolve.

Instead, Levi smiled and brought his handicapped grip to nestle on their cheek.

“Don’t be stupid. If you go down, I go down. If you live, I live. So do your damned best to survive, and I would keep at it too. That’s what I can promise.”

Hanji turned their head to press their lips longingly to his palm before speaking.

“Of course… that seems fair to me.”

[vorpalmusings]

Beast Boy Can’t Catch a Break, part the second

So, Dan Abnett has basically turned Beast Boy into Hulk Lite for his Titans series. 

THERE BE SPOILERS AHEAD. If you don’t care, take a look:

As an aside, the inclusion of the black into the uniform just isn’t working for me. looks like Gar has borrowed one of Nightwing’s togs, here. 

The conceit for this is that apparently something happened to Gar back in Colu and, since then, he has been unable to control his powers- which is kind of news to anyone who saw him last during the crossover:

Nightwing convinces Gar to join this new Titans team because “he can help people who feel lost” because of this transformation, while they also work on finding a cure.

What?

The added icing to the cake is that now, apparently, Raven does not like Gar and she expresses misgivings to Grayson about recruiting him.  

Again- What? While I am not a fan of the Gar/Raven pairing that often seems inevitable since the cartoon, this really doesn’t follow. Raven is disgusted by Gar because of his current condition- a lack of control over his powers that is making him far more bestial than usual (and makes him Hulk out, which... yeah)  This would make sense if Raven had been anything other than the daughter of basically Satan, a girl whose powers served as a conduit for his influence, and who couldn’t control her powers until a time travel episode severed her connection from Trigon*. Jesus. If anyone in the Titans would feel compassion towards someone finding difficulty in controlling their powers, it should be Raven. She has been there.

Donna, apparently, has taken to the bottle. To be honest, I would too if my  origin story had been nothing but a can-can of fuckery after Marv Wolfman (with the New 52 and the subsequent Rebirth reboot just adding more fuckery.) Poor Donna.

The issue I have with this arc set up for Gar is that it feels lazy, just like the NEVRLAND arc in Percy’s run felt lazy. Something outside of Gar makes his powers unreliable and out of his control- hooray.  We’ve been here before. Many times before.

Like in New Titans, 1993, where Gar was tortured with the Mento helmet:

And in the cartoon show, the episode “The Beast Within” in 2004, where a chemical compound causes Beast Boy to Jekyll and Hyde:

And, of course, Percy’s lazy  arc in 2018, where a chip was used to manipulate Beast Boy’s powers so he was, essentially, reduced to being a weapon used against his own team so that Damian Wayne had to save the day.

Before I am accused of being a curmudgeon, and of ignoring precedent, the first time that Gar’s powers began to act erratically was during Wolfman’s Teen Titans run in the 80s. Admittedly, this was past the book’s best years post Judas Contract. Even if Wolfman’s writing for the book had degraded some, the inclusion of Gar’s increasingly more disturbing transformations was used to indicate to the reader that Gar’s grip on reality and his internal emotional state were both fraying thanks to the ‘return’ of Terra:

This was, at least, a good way to explore the character’s inner world- Gar is a child of abandonment and he carries a lot of trauma that he needs to work through. We saw this side of Gar earlier in Wolfman’s run, when he confronted - and killed - Mme. Rouge:

This actually makes sense for the character. By the time these things happened in the run, the readers had stuck by Gar for several years, his origin and backstory had been explored and people knew that behind the clowning demeanor, Gar was a tragic character:

 When Wolfman did it on the first round, it was tied to Gar's psychological trauma. The second time around he did it, it was because Gar had been injected with a Trigon Seed during one of Raven’s all-too frequent trips to OhHelloIAmEvilNowVille* - those two instances were fine, for the purpose of those stories (even though the Seed of Trigon story was quite poor and, by the nineties, the Titans had degraded in quality.)  The problem is that now it apparently has become a trope that Changeling/Beast Boy must lose control of his powers, just as much as Raven seems predestined to go on an evil demonic rampage.

I would even excuse the loss of control in a new continuity if it were tied to Gar’s psychology- the loss, the abandonment issues, but Nightwing is quick to inform Gar that he knows what did this to him on Colu, and that they will work on a ‘cure’ for it. 

So, once again, we get a rehash of “The Beast Within”, which is a shorthand way of appearing to give a character some development, but without the inconvenient bit of having to touch a character’s psychology and trauma. It is, quite frankly, annoying, because in these instances Beast Boy is used as a plot device to prop other people up- I can predict that the focus here will be on Raven learning to deal with her disgust of Beast Boy’s condition, and while Beast Boy may learn to help others going through the transformation, what does he gain at all, when it comes to the green elephant in the room? His backstory has only been barely mentioned, his issues have never been explored since the reboot, so we don’t know what parts of the old continuity is still relevant. 

in short- when will our favorite green boy get to be something other than a prop for the writer’s favorite character to save, or to become a prop in someone else’s journey of growth? Abnett’s run is about to start, and it already leaves me with little faith in his understanding or future handling of the character.

Beast Boy just can’t catch a break.

*At least, that was her story as recent as the New 52, I have not read anything in Rebirth that seems to retcon that, since Raven didn’t get an actual arc in it. Yet.

**Another recurring gimmick that needs to stop being so frequent.

[violetsystems]

#personal

I didn't go much of anywhere for the holidays. I definitely didn't celebrate New Year's with anyone. It's been eerily quiet and solitary which is more normal to me than anything. I think people sometimes worry about how alone and disconnected I might become. But then again people forget I've been alone on the planet for quite a long time. I am an only child. I keep close contact with both my parents although they are now divorced. Neither speak to each other. My birthday is next month. Nobody in the last few years has celebrated that at all. A couple years back I went to New York fashion week alone on my birthday. I think I did that two years in a row. Then Covid hit. I've been pretty much derezzed ever since. When I was possibly more depressed about it all I felt doomed. I live in possibly the third largest American city by myself. For all the space I've lost around me in various ways, I've gained a lot more internally. My closest friends that I still see from time to time are through music and magic. That's really only two people. Everybody else in my life just kind of ghosted. I can still hail them on linked in for a job reference but it goes cold soon after. The great thing about another year behind me is that it's also convenient to reassess where your future is headed. In this respect, I'm sort of stuck in the worst kind of sisyphean struggle. It's kind of like when you get your hand caught up in your cat's paw. The more you struggle, the worse it hurts. So I've resigned myself to struggle less with things I can't change. This is pretty much most if not all of the outside world. And it's gotten so up close and personal that it's like a street level mix of Thunderdome and the catwalk. Every sidewalk I have to make sure my posture and my fit is updated and imposing. It's not hard covered up in a full parka crunching over salt and snow. I cleared most of it on the property before the maintenance got to it. Nobody was going to come out on New Year's Day. And I had the tools and the time to spare. People don't like to acknowledge anything out here. They're afraid to compliment for fear of losing power. Nobody has power out here. It's a complete sinkhole of machine politics and money. People power in the streets is very delicate and nuanced. Everybody is fearful. Everyone second guesses each other. It's like the Thing at times. And I've pretty much lived that movie for five or six years enough to know how to be the protagonist. It's easy enough when you can shut the door, cuddle up with your cat and a good book and write to your real friends every week. Especially when there's some sort of revival to this space. I would call it a retreat. Cottage Core becomes disaster shelter core as we compartmentalize the things we trust. Sheltering our dreams for another day. How many years we've been saying that down here.

If it sounds gloom and doom for me, it isn't. As usual, I can't ever really explain any of it in detail. I'm sure over the next year I'll hint at it just the same. The things I want to move away from are all the pranks and fuckery. Which is to say I don't really feel like moving away from where I'm at at the moment because the four walls keep them at an arm's length. This is unless I get a job offer to go somewhere out of the country. Even then I live on a block that connects to the world in impossible ways. As alone and misunderstood as I seem, I find evidence in the real world that this is not the case. The Metaverse for me is reality not some corporate wormhole. It's how the things I do and say over the years coalesce on the internet and follow me around like a ghost or shadow. For a long time, people dismissed me. They explained me away in various ways. They still do in plain sight. It's just more people see it. And more people in real life start forming their own opinions about what I've done next to other people the evidence is that I've done way more. That's the spoiler alert. And yet people's egos are bruised and looking for a punching bag. I'm conveniently easy to spot. A history that everyone seems to know. I've never spoken to anyone in the last few weeks in public other than the cashier at the bodega with the Chanel mask. How does everyone seem to know everything about me? My motivations? My goals? My dreams? I guess I communicated it in some way or another. The value of what I say and post has a half life beyond the meta. Sounds institutional I know. I did work at an art school for twenty years of my life. Not quite working for the CIA. People are bored and full of shit most of the time. More so now. Nobody wants to look at their own problems. All the furniture they stack up and hoard on my porch like it's a fucking episode of Sanford and Son. I look at them with a sort of guarded empathy. I like to dumpster dive myself. My real front door is an alley. I picked an ottoman and cat perch and lifted them by myself into my house. The other day there was a light cooler. I was afraid my neighbors would lift it and stack it so I moved it to the alley where the homeless people and gang bangers hang out. I can't change the things outside. And the troubles are perched literally right outside my door. I can't engage it. I can't change it. It's all a big trap to cause conflict. And yet if you upset that balance you risk sabotaging the delicate balance of freedom you've created for yourself. One that people are insanely jealous of they don't get a cut. People seem to know enough about me only to get under my skin. Like I'm some stress relief to take out their grievances on. I've never been like anyone. This should be understood at this point for however many years I've been doing this. And yet the disrespect is always there. A hurt that festers that I keep at bay just by pretending I don't fuck with anyone.

I spent two paragraphs illustrating that. It's not worth fucking with anyone out here. If anyone could prove this to anyone it's me. I've flown all around the world by myself. I've tried to explore life with genuine and open eyes. I'm also a very genuine and singular soul. I've spent so much time trying to connect to scenes and movements only to be a footnote or a joke. And yet every time I walk out my door there's people I don't even know who attribute me to things that are beyond my comprehension. That I'm somebody. And in the past, I've felt more imposter syndrome. When I surrounded myself with people that didn't care because I was afraid to walk alone. People who wanted to roast your success out of you and drink it's juices. It's never easy to walk alone. But the people who do it relentlessly over time don't need to be questioned by whatever social justice inquisition is in power at the time. This is what I grew up thinking anarchy was really about. Self sufficiency. Holding your own against things that try to impose their will on your freedom of choice. I never came across as nice that respect even if I spent years volunteering, helping people emotionally or just even listening to a counter argument. I definitely have enough evidence of where I'm wanted and where I'm just a wallet. I've definitely felt sadder about it when I thought there was something I was leaving behind. I'm stuck on a floating chunk of my past waiting for the next lillypad. And the lily pad ends up being the space in which I've staked my claim. I drew the fucking line in the sand last year. I stood up to things I cannot explain. Things that nobody wants to confront or bother listening to. And I've learned you just have to continue that fight alone. You need to get tougher. At the same time you need to protect the sensitivity within you. One that gets worn away by populist arguments and feel good conversations. The reality is so bad nobody wants to face it or live within it. They want to paint a happy picture of fractured, tribal utopias where you can play a role that isn't yourself. And so we drift back to our online silos and hope it will all pass. I was in the center of Covid in New York on my birthday in February 2019. It got worse. It destroyed large portions of my life that were probably best severed. It still tries. It will keep trying. And it will get worse. The question I have for everyone is this? Is the culture you are creating within yourself enough to stand against it alone. Love is a great start in answering that question. Always love yourself. If I'm asking any hard questions this year it's this. Which flavor of Jumex am I going to try at the bodega next? <3 Tim

[maevelin]

Despite everything that has happened with TVD, The Originals, Klaroline, and all the characters, was watching the show and getting invested in the fandom worth it? Is the fic, art, gifs, etcs worthwhile despite what the writers did?

Totally worth it! I have not regretted it even for a second and this is whyI am still part of the fandom and still write and read fanfiction and my blogstill features Klaroline so heavily.

The writers own the rights of their work and creatively they can do whateverthey want with their shows. I never objected to that. I criticized what I waswatching because I was a consumer of an entertainment product that targetedfans like me to entertain and in entertainment people have the right tocriticize any work of art that once is published should be open to criticism. And that is something that applies for every similar project. Books, movies, songs, architecture, sculptures, photography, any form of art etc.

Some people have -insanely- tried to cultivate a mentality where criticism equals hate. That came from the writers and stans and it created a toxic environment for many people to the point where people had to speak up against bullying and to defend themselves for simply liking a ship or for expressing criticism over a character or the show or a ship. At that point you should not let that kind of fuckery stand. You need to speak up. Letting others shame you or make you feel bad or censor you for simply liking something in fiction is not right.When adults and bullies target even teens and young people for liking something fictional or for not liking something fictional then you must not keep quiet. Not when we are talking about common sense and basic human decency. So I get that when this situation seems to get out of control why many would assume that I (since I can speak only for myself) would regret getting in such a fandom that is not always rainbows and roses and unicorns and sunshine. It did get out of hand (from all sides involved) but personally I have learned in my life to not let go of the things I love and like because other people are disrespectful or have lost their marbles or because hate is raging. I either focus on the positive (as I still do with Klaroline) or even if I step back I will keep the fond memories and never regret liking something that made me happy at some point of my life.

And both the show and Klaroline and certain characters at some point were making me ecstatically happy and excited and they still do since I connect with them through fanon these days. My criticism over the show had not always been negative. Sometimes (many times) my opinions were in favor of the show. People tend to focus on thenegative stuff but for three years prior to the mess the fourth season of TVDhad been (and prior to what followed after that too) I was praising the ships Iliked and the plots that intrigued me and most of all the Originals as characters.I was stanning the hell out of the show and characters I loved and I was alwayspositive and supportive even though I was still trying to give constructive criticism because I wanted the show to become better and not lose its steam. Interactive communication with the producers and writers can be tricky but it can also help them keep their shows afloat and their momentum going if they actually pay attention and connect with their audience. Shows like TVD are also commerce. It is TV. You need to see what gains traction and what the fans like. You need to balance your artistic vision with what sells. And many times when people like something very much they get passionate about it. I was passionate about TVD too. Something that I do not regret because I think that up to acertain extent it was well earned and it was something I was doing with goodwill. Nonetheless I am not a person that in any departments of my life I will fanaticallyand blindly follow something. Once the quality in TVD started deteriorating Icriticized it and when eventually TVD and its spin off became things thatoffered me no entertainment I simply stopped watching.

However the fact that the writers own the rights of the show does not changethe fact that once they publish their show and offer it to people then it doesnot solely belong to them in essence. It becomes a breathing organism thatmakes people create other things and dream and form communities and fandoms andweb circles and connections between REAL people and the writers have no power or control over that. THAT does not belong to them. So it has nothing to do with them oreven the shows after a point despite the fact that it stemmed from them and hasties with the tv universe. So there is nothing to regret for forming ties withpeople and fandoms. If it is something that makes you happy despite a show orbecause of it then it is a personal thing to do. And even if you decide todetach yourself from a show (not my case obviously) then it is still something thatinspired you at some point so it would be best in my opinion to keep the goodmemories and cherish those with no regrets.

On a personal level (when it comes to the attitude of the writers) since thedisrespect of the writers extended beyond the shows and targeted fans even on apersonal level which was bullying I spoke of it but in truth that had nothingto do with the shows but it had everything to do with the attacks some peoplebelieved had the right to do against fans and teens that their only fault waswatching their shows or/and a ship of that shows and speaking about them. The level of ingratitude and disrespect was astonishing really. Thatkind of attitude should never be tolerated. You need to speak up and not letothers drag you down no matter who the others are. Respect is everything. It isabout human decency that has nothing to do with third rate shows and cheapproduced products of light entertainment. It is as I have said before a matter of common sense andbeing a human being.

As far as the shows goes now…The fact that the quality of the writing inside the show (and I am onlytalking about TVD here because I never watched the Originals) deteriorated doesnot change the fact that once it was a show that entertained me and thatthrough the connection I had with the show and the characters and the ships Igot into a fandom from which I gained more important things than simply afavorite ship and some characters to stan. I gained memories, excitement, theability to write stories that inspire me (and work on my writing skills and the English language better), to read stories that make me dream.And aside the fun positive fandom stuff I also got to know some great people.The Klaroline fandom is basically a big community. There are bad apples in itas they exist in every community -big or small- either it is in the web or anywhere elsereally. But I do not bother with the assholes because they do not deserve my attention.And this is why I was always able to focus my attention to the positive goodhearted people that are so many and so diverse and are always so welcoming and are always sokind. The fandom for me has been a big hug in times I needed it the most. Surelythere were bad moments and haters and toxicity is the TVD/TO fandom in generaland crazy stans and every disrespectful shit the writers did -inside andunfortunately outside the narrative- but all that do not even register in comparisonwith all the brilliant and incredible people that create the Klaroline fandom(and I am speaking about the Klaroline fandom here because this is the onefandom I personally got to know in depth).

I talked with some amazing people in this fandom and I got to know them on apersonal level and I will keep my communication with them far beyond the reachof any show. I made friends which I now know some of them for almost five yearsand I am talking with them and laughing with them and sharing things andthoughts with them on a personal level aside shows and fandoms. They have comfortedme and supported me when I needed it them most and I would like to think I havedone the same with them. On the other hand I am still meeting new people fromthis fandom. Beautiful positive people and even a good word and a hello andsome common excitement over a ship and a common interest -no matter how smallor silly might seem to others- is something very very important that can makeyou smile and make your day. Especially when we are talking about introverts or shy people or people that want so much to reach out and be understood even if it is about aship or whatever else. Klaroline is just the stepping stone when it comes toconnecting with wonderful people.

That is something priceless really and this is why I would never regretwatching the show in the first place and getting into the fandom. I would do itall over again and would not change a thing. No regrets at all.

P.s: Sorry for the long winded word vomit…you are a hero if you read all that lol!