#but I just wish the bad things were talked about more (without stigma of course)

[yourlegacysnotyourstosee]

Me when I don’t have an active hyperfixation: *sleeps too much* *barely any motivation to do anything* *feels empty and unfulfilled because there’s nothing to fill The Void*

Me when I do have an active hyperfixation: *loses sleep to research* *grades slip because I’m so focused on the hyperfixation* *has no motivation or energy for anything else* *ignores the growing mess in my room because that doesn’t matter to me anymore* *I only ever think about the fixation* *forgets to eat, drink water, and go to the bathroom regularly* *friends continuously call me annoying and ask me to talk about anything else*

[seijorhi]

Outrunning Fate

As promised (though I am more than a little late for Shiratorizawa Week), the soulmate AU

Tendou x female reader x Ushijima

TW stalking, possessive behaviour, implied non-con

Soulmates were supposed to be a blessing.

It was a fairytale that you’d grown up hearing about. One person who was supposed to be wholly yours.

Your parents were soulmates, even if you hadn’t always understood the concept, the proof of that remarkable, unshakable bond was always right in front of you. It wasn’t in the big grand gestures, it was little things - the soft, adoring look in your father’s eye as your mother passed him his coffee every morning, the way she always sought out his touch when they were together, even if it was just to twine her fingers with his, or the way that they always seemed to be able to sense when the other was upset, and wordlessly found the perfect way to comfort them.

Your father never had to tell you that he loved your mother, but he did, every single day. He told her too, just to see her smile.

It seemed effortless, easy, as if their love for one another was as natural as breathing. How could you be blamed for looking at your bare wrist, waiting for the day that name would appear in scrawling black ink, feeling that excited fluttering in your chest because you knew one day you’d meet your soulmate and have that perfect, fairytale love all for yourself.

Except it wasn’t like that.

Something went wrong.

***

You’re fifteen and barely paying attention in class when your skin prickles uncomfortably. Your heart leaps into your chest as you tug up the sleeve off your blazer, watching wide eyed with bated breath as a name appears on your wrist.

Tendou Satori.

The beginnings of a smile start to curl at your lips, but it freezes in place as more inky black writing appears below the first.

Ushijima Wakatoshi.

A second name. 

And suddenly, it feels like your perfectly crafted world begins to fall apart. Two soulmates aren’t unheard of, but they’re incredibly rare and you can’t deny that there’s a certain… stigma attached to it. 

What kind of a person isn’t satisfied with just one? 

This is supposed to be some magical, thrilling moment for you, but instead all you can focus on is the pounding of your heart and the growing wave of nausea that rises in the back of your throat. Quickly you yank your sleeve back down and before you can even think to stutter an apology to your bewildered teacher, you’re out of your seat and sprinting down the hallway to the bathroom. You barely make it before hurling up your guts. 

After that, you start wearing long sleeves wherever you go.

It’s not that you’re ashamed, you tell yourself as you bite your lip and try your utmost to fade into the background whenever the topic comes up in conversation, it’s just that… other people aren’t always so accepting.

You’ve tried to get used to the disgusted looks, the invasive questions and the insults that follow you wherever you go, but it’s easier said than done. You hate that your cheeks still burn scarlet whenever you catch someone staring at your marks, almost as much as you hate the way you quickly duck your head in shame and race to fix your sleeve.

‘It’s okay, honey. I know it’s not what you expected but… it just means there’s one more person out there waiting to love you with everything they have. You’re twice as lucky as the rest of us,’ your father had told you on that horrible day. You just wished it hadn’t sounded like he was trying to convince himself at the same time.

***

You’re seventeen and the first boy who kisses you tries to shove your hand down his pants because he knows you’ve got two names on your wrist, and that means you’re up for anything, right?

You run home with tears streaming down your face and when you shower that night you scrub at the marks like you’re trying to erase them entirely.

What did having two names mean really? That one wasn’t enough? Would they be content sharing you? Would they even know of the other’s existence?

You could only imagine how horrifying it would be for them, spending months, years waiting for you only to realise that they didn’t really have all of you…

Would they hate you? Could you even blame them if they did?

Sometimes… sometimes you think it might be better if you didn’t have a soulmate at all, instead of this. It’s easier just to ignore it, pretend they don’t exist, pretend that you’re not gonna ruin their lives. Who knows, maybe you’ll be one of those few who never actually meet their soulmates. You can live with that, you think. You have a family who love you, a bunch of close friends who’d die for you - who needs stupid soulmates?

***

It’s the morning after your 18th birthday, your head is still pounding from the alcohol and bad decisions from the night before when your curiosity finally gets the better of you. It’s the modern age, most people live their lives online, you figure you’ll find a facebook page, a twitter account maybe.

Instead, the first item that comes up in your search is a video. It’s a news segment about a volleyball game - some high school team that you’ve never heard of, but you listen to the commentator talk and your heart leaps into your throat because they mention the Ace by name and suddenly there he is. Tall, dark haired and imposing - Ushijima Wakatoshi.

But you don’t even have a moment to breathe, to focus on the absolute beast that is your second soulmate and his terrifying spike because the camera shifts and suddenly there’s another player in focus. Tall, gangly with bright, spiky red hair and a too-wide grin, “-not the only player in the spotlight after today’s match; Shiratorizawa’s middle blocker, the so called ‘Guess Monster’ Tendou Satori-”

You close the browser window and slam your laptop shut.

They’re… friends, or teammates at the very least.

It feels like a bad dream you can’t wake up from. This whole thing is already messy enough, but you can’t get in the middle of that, you refuse to make everything worse for them just because the fates have decided to play a cruel joke on you.

If there were any lingering doubt left in your mind that you’re better off burying your soulmates, they’re well and truly put to bed.

That night, you dream of a cheering crowd, the thwack of a volleyball ricocheting off a vinyl floor and two menacing figures looming over you.

With your final exams around the corner, it’s almost too easy to put the video and your soulmates out of your mind as you throw yourself into studying. Months pass in the blink of an eye and suddenly you’re dressed in black robes and holding your high school diploma. You celebrate with your friends, dancing wildly with a care-free grin long into the night because you know you’re finally getting out of there for good. Tokyo’s a big city, you’ll lose yourself there and nobody, not a single damned soul, will know about the two names that grace your wrist. It’s as close to freedom as you’re ever gonna get - and god that makes you so fucking happy.

Your bags are packed and you’re holding your parents as they sob and then, like that, you’re gone. 

Tokyo awaits.

***

It’s not that easy to outrun fate.

Living in Tokyo ain’t cheap, even for the shitty little shoebox apartment you rent while you’re studying. You manage to find a job at one of the Americanised diner style cafes just down the road from where you live two weeks after moving in. It’s popular with students because it’s open till late, the coffee’s good and the waffles are exactly what the doctor ordered after a long night of drinking with your friends. You’re just happy because the pay’s pretty decent and your boss lets you bring in your laptop and textbooks so you can study when it’s not too busy. You’re not nearly as thrilled about the short, revealing blue dress that serves as your uniform, but you know when to pick your battles.

It’s a little after one o’clock on a slow Tuesday night, the cafe’s almost empty and you’re propped up on your elbows along the countertop, absentmindedly thumbing through one of your assigned readings for class tomorrow when you hear the tell-tale chime of the door opening.

You hastily shove your books aside, plastering a wide if not a little artificial smile across your face, you glance up to greet the customers, only to freeze in place.

Your heart skips a beat.

Of all the cafes in the sprawling city, of course your soulmate has to walk into this one.

With his wild, spiked red hair and easy, sloping grin, Tendou’s unmistakable as he strides through the cafe with two other guys you can only assume are his friends. You suppose you should be a little relieved that he barely spares you a glance as the threesome make a beeline for one of the corner booths, but it’s hard to feel anything other than blind panic at the sight of your soulmate only a few feet away. It’s purely out of habit that you reach for your wrist and the skin coloured bandage hiding your traitorous marks, and you allow yourself to breathe the tiniest sigh of relief when you feel it still in place.

A loud cackle bursts through the quiet atmosphere of the cafe and you dart a glance over to see Tendou with his head thrown back laughing at something one of the others has said. There’s an uncomfortable fluttering in your stomach and your cheeks redden just a touch. It’s not an awful sound (not at all), but your pulse is racing and you think you just might be sick because this is all… too much.

You’d left them in the past along with whatever fairytale fantasies you thought having a soulmate would bring. You… you’re happy being alone and coping just fine without either one of them! They were a dream - a distant possibility you’d long since locked away, you weren’t supposed to ever actually see them!

At least it’s only Tendou, you think you might actually combust if they were both here. Still, there’s a faint tremor in your hand as you brush a lock of hair out of your face and try to regain control of your breathing.

As much as you’d like to run, or preferably, have the earth suddenly open up and swallow you whole, you know you can’t. For one, you’re the only server left until close and your boss might be easy going but somehow you doubt he’d let you keep your job after a stunt like that. More importantly, you have a sinking suspicion that causing a fuss will only draw his attention and that’s the last thing you want. He doesn’t know who you are, your mark is safely tucked away under your bandages, this will be fine.

It’s an hour and a half until close, he and his friends will get some food, eat, drink and chat amongst themselves and then you can kick them out and it’ll all be over. You barely have to interact with him. For all he knows you’re just a server in a random cafe - this will be fine.

Robotically you force your legs to move, carrying you towards your oblivious soulmate. You’re pretty sure that your smile’s a little off and you haven’t quite managed to quell the shaking in your hands as you reach for your notepad, flipping it open.

It’s the best you can do, especially when there’s a voice inside your head that’s all but begging for you to turn around and pretend this whole thing never happened. 

Tendou appears to be thoroughly engrossed in whatever story he’s telling his friends, waving his arms around wildly when you reach their table. Normally you’d clear your throat politely and wait for them to settle down before introducing yourself and asking for their order, but when you open your mouth - nothing comes out. It’s like your whole throat has suddenly dried up and you’re just standing there gaping like an idiot, but Tendou hasn’t even noticed.

The ashy blonde to his left, however, does. His eyes flicker to you and you swear that you can see the faintest trace of amusement as he takes you in. He smirks, quickly shoving an elbow into the redhead’s side and jerking his chin in your direction. 

“Hey loudmouth, pipe down would you?”

Your breath catches as he turns around to look up at you and grins, “Ah, sorry. Didn’t see ya there!” 

The other two have picked up their menus again, but for whatever reason just as Tendou’s gaze starts to slide off of you, something catches his attention and stops him in his tracks. Like a magpie spotting something shiny in the distance, those big, droopy red eyes suddenly widen and zero back in with unnerving interest. Frozen with that fake, half hearted smile painted across your lips you feel strangely like a bug caught under a microscope as Tendou studies you - there’s really no other way to describe it. His head tilts to the side and he makes a low noise from the back of his throat that almost sounds pleased.

He can’t know, there’s no possible way, but if he doesn’t then why the hell is he staring at you like that?

It’s all you can do to remain rooted in place, your heart hammering so loudly against your ribs that you’re sure they have to be able to hear it too. Whatever he’s searching for he apparently finds because his grin widens and he leans back in his seat and chuckles. “Why’d you look so nervous, we’re not gonna bite - promise!” 

The other guy at the table rolls his eyes, “Tendou, don’t scare the pretty waitress, she’s just trying to do her job,” he chastises, offering you an apologetic smile that does little to ease your nerves. “Don’t mind him, he’s an idiot, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

You swallow and hum in faint acknowledgment, and he takes that as a sign to begin his order. 

You were hoping that they were just going to get some drinks and be out of your hair, but as he starts listing off various snacks and appetizers to share and the ashy blonde throws out a few more, it looks like your nightmare is only just beginning.

You nod dutifully, writing it all down. The cook is just going to love you for this, but there’s not a whole lot you can do about it. “Anything else?” you ask in a voice that just barely passes for what your boss deems ‘customer service appropriate’, decidedly not looking towards the redhead who is still staring at you.

He hasn’t looked at the menu once since you walked over, actually you doubt he’s looked at the menu at all, but it doesn’t seem to matter because he pipes up regardless, “Yep, one of those thickshakes, you know - the really good strawberry one, annnd-”

“Y/N, order up!!”

Your soul leaves your body at the exact same moment that Tendou’s pupils dilate and snap to your wrist.

The pen in your hand is shaking, your grip so tight that it’s a wonder the flimsy plastic doesn’t shatter as you turn to glance over your shoulder. The cook is leaning out across the overpass, staring at you with a scowl and vaguely you register the hot plate of food in front of him which can’t have been sitting there for more than a minute at the most. You give a weak nod, earning you a dismissive grunt in response, before turning back to the table.

All three of them are staring wide eyed and open mouthed at you. 

Fuck. 

They know. They have to know.

You should have legged it when you had the chance.

Breathe. Smile. Play dumb. This is fine.

“A-anything el-”

“Somethin’ wrong with your wrist?” Tendou asks slowly, eyeing the bandage like he wants nothing more than to snatch it up and rip it away from you. His fingers flex and you don’t even have time to brace before they’re shooting out towards you-

A hand catches his forearm before he can touch you - it’s his friend, the dark haired one with the crew cut, who’s currently staring down the erratic redhead with a distinct frown. 

It’s the blonde who speaks up, “Sorry, he’s had a few drinks tonight. The idiot sometimes forgets his manners in public.”

The music is still playing in the background, somebody laughs at the table a few down from theirs, but in this little pocket, trapped between the three of them with the tension thick enough to slice with a knife, the silence is oppressive.

And then Tendou’s attention shifts back to you and your stomach flips - it’s like the floor has disappeared beneath your feet and you’re suddenly careening through the empty air with no hope in hell of slowing down.

He looks… well, mad is the wrong word. Tendou is technically smiling, but his grin stretched slightly too wide, his eyes a little too intense. There’s an emotion you can’t name etched across his pale features, and it’s unsettling… it scares you a little, if you’re being honest.

You swallow and take a tiny, shaking breath. “I-it’s fine. I tripped last week and sprained it.”

“Clumsy, are you?” he asks, prying himself free of his friend’s grip.

A laugh forces its way out, grating and too sharp to be believable. “Yeah, I guess. Your food won’t be too long, if you need anything else, just- just let me know.”

You don’t give them a chance to respond as you all but flee the table. You’re shaking and almost in tears by the time you reach the kitchen, the cook takes one look at you, a grumpy admonishment on the tip of his tongue, and falters.

They stay until close, and you avoid them like the plague.

Hours later, lying tucked up in your bed your skin still prickles from the thought of Tendou’s piercing stare. Maybe if you’d kept some kind of a level head through it all instead of acting like a flustered school girl, he might have just passed it all off as a coincidence. 

But you hadn’t, had you?

It wasn’t just that he knew who you were to him (and to Ushijima) but that after all your blushing and stammering, the pitiful attempts at hiding your soulmate marks and the way you all but ran from him the very first moment you could, he had to know that you knew as well. That despite coming face to face with your soulmate, you lied - you rejected him.

You mom once told you that the first time she laid eyes on her soulmate the world stopped spinning and all she felt was joy. Maybe there’s something wrong with you after all, because despite the insistent tug in your heart, you just feel sick. Despite being exhausted after your long shift, sleep that night doesn’t come easy.

It’s two days later that you find yourself back in the cafe, working a rare day shift on your only week-days off from classes. You keep glancing up at the door every few minutes, half dreading the possibility that any moment, Tendou and his friends are going to walk in, but they don’t. 

Ushijima does, a little after the lunch rush dies down.

He looks so out of place against the vibrant backdrop of the 50’s style diner, all serious and stoic, that if he were anybody else you might think he was lost. 

But he isn’t lost, because he’s staring right at you.

You don’t notice one of your co-workers sliding up to you until they laugh and playfully nudge your side. “Ah, I see the eye candy is back. Try and pick up your jaw, Y/N,” they tease.

Back?

Instead of finding an empty table to sit himself down at (and give you a minute to mentally prepare) Ushijima is making his way straight over to the counter, unsmiling and huge. How was he even bigger in person?! He could crush you with his thighs alone!

“He’s been here before?” you ask quietly, unable to draw your gaze away from him. 

Your co-worker snorts. “Yeah, he came in last night, he even asked for you by name. Seemed kinda disappointed when I told him you weren’t on until today. You holding out on me, Y/N? I thought we were closer than that. You know you’re supposed to tell me when you start dating a hot ass dude!”

They slip away with a wink before you even have a chance to respond and you’re left floundering as Ushijima approaches. Your mouth is dry, your pulse racing. Just like with Tendou, you have no escape, nowhere you can run or hide.

He asked for you by name.

Fuck. You should have quit when you had the chance.

Ushijima isn’t smiling. Where Tendou had been beaming with chaotic energy from the moment he walked in, your second soulmate seems almost stony as he stares at you with serious olive eyes. You honestly can’t tell if he’s frowning or if that’s just the way his face is, but it makes your gut twist regardless. 

It might also be the fact that he’s towering over you without even trying to. He has to be at least 6’3” but it’s not just his height that’s imposing - he’s brawny and muscular and, yeah, huge. Briefly you remember the news clip you’d seen of him, the terrifying brute force behind his spike. 

He seems to be waiting for you to speak, so you swallow down the lump in your throat and try to remember how to breathe like a normal person. “Hi, can I get you anything?”

Something briefly flickers across his face, but otherwise his expression remains distressingly neutral. “… I would like some tea.”

You nod - it’s like pulling teeth. “Yeah, sure. We uh, we actually have a few different kinds…”

He makes a rough noise of acknowledgement and then… pauses. Instead of the menu, Ushijima studies you. His lips twitch into the faintest hint of a… smile? You can’t quite tell, but it looks out of place regardless. “I will have whichever you recommend.”

You can’t seem to be able to form words, so you settle with nodding, gesturing for him to take a seat while he waits. 

His eyes don’t shift from you, nor does he make any attempt to mask the fact that he’s staring right at you. When his tea is ready, you all but beg your co-worker to take it to him. 

“Trouble in paradise?” they ask, waggling their eyebrows.

“It’s not like that,” you mutter, but they take the tea regardless, and you busy yourself in wiping down tables and pretending that you can’t see the scowl from the volleyball player burning across the diner. 

It really isn’t. 

Even after tucking any thought of meeting your soulmates away there was always some tiny part of you - a part you were always so desperate to ignore - that wondered how it would feel to meet them, to be loved by them…

But while your heart squeezes with every glance, it’s not warm, dizzying bliss that floods your system and sends blood rushing to your cheeks. You don’t know what the feeling is that curls in your stomach and claws its way up your spine, but it’s nothing good. 

Something went wrong with you, this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Ushijima stays for an hour, finishes his tea and makes his way back to the counter to pay. 

He's wearing a grey hoodie, running gear underneath, and when he hands you the money, passing it directly into hands, his sleeve rides up. There, plain as day, is his soulmate mark.

Your name, written in black ink on Ushijima's wrist, forever marking you as his.

You jerk, flinching away from him, but he doesn’t make a move to cover it. 

“You cannot run from us, Y/N. We are your soulmates, we’re bound together.” His voice is little more than a murmur, but there’s an edge to it, sharp and pointed. Not so much a statement as a fact, as undeniable as your name on his skin, on Tendou’s.

He says it like it’s a promise, staring into your eyes with that impenetrable gaze and for a moment you forget how to breathe.

“Why are you so determined to fight it?”

You swallow, taking the cash from his hand and punching it into the till. “I’m sorry, whoever you think I am…” you trail off, finally raising your eyes to meet his penetrating stare. You’re quietly proud of the way your voice doesn’t shake, even as your heart races like a hummingbird in your chest and your palms sweat. “I’m not.”

The only sign that Ushijima hears you at all is the subtle furrowing of his brow and a distinctly displeased hum from the back of his throat. 

“I hope you enjoyed your tea.” The cutting barb slips from your lips before you can stop them, but there’s a certain vindictive satisfaction you get in watching his eyes widen, the brief hurt that flickers across his face. 

Of course, it only lasts a fraction of a second before his features school into a blank mask and he nods.

“Perhaps I will try another the next time I see you.”

And with a short bow, he walks away.

You leave your apron behind when you finish your shift at the diner, and you don’t come back.

There will be other jobs.

***

It’s not enough. 

They start showing around campus. 

The first time you catch sight of Tendou, you’re running between classing, cursing the ridiculous schedule that has you attending two back to back lectures on opposite sides of the campus. It’s just a glance - a flicker of red in the corner of your eye. The only reason you stop at all is because you're so focused on not being late that you fail to see the crack in the path until you’re tripping over it. The books in your hand go flying as you sprawl across the pavement.

“Huh, you really weren’t kidding about being clumsy, were ya?”

A pale hand stretches out before you, and just like with Ushijima, Tendou doesn’t bother hiding the soulmate mark as he grins down at you with those wide, creepy eyes. 

You ignore it entirely, waving it away as you pick yourself up with a grunt. The skin on one of your palms is grazed, and you’re pretty sure that your knees are too, but all in all it could be worse. It’s more your pride that smarts, that and the fact that of all people to see you trip, it has to be him.

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby. I’m only try’na help you!”

You scowl, snatching your textbooks out of his offered hands. “I’m not your baby, Tendou,” you mutter.

You regret the words immediately. His grin slowly widens and he makes a sound, somewhere between a shudder and a moan - it’s almost pornogaphic and wholly inappropriate and it sends blood rushing to your cheeks, but you don’t have time to think about it. 

“I’m already late, just-” you break off with a sigh, readjusting the strap of your backpack, staring resolutely at the ground. “I’m not what you want, what… what either of you want. Just leave me alone, okay?!”

Tendou doesn’t say a word as you walk away, but just like always you feel the burning stare following you until you’re out of sight. 

Somewhat stupidly, you think that’ll be the end of it. The gloves are off - you might not have said it in as many words, but there’s no point denying it any longer. They are your soulmates and it doesn’t change a thing.

There is something wrong with your bond.

But they don’t see it like that. 

They figure out your schedule, take it in turns to wait outside your classes, ambushing you whenever you’re alone. 

“I have a game tomorrow,” Ushijima tells you on a rainy Thursday afternoon as he follows you home. “I would like for you to come.”

It doesn’t seem to bother him that you walk a few steps ahead (or try to at least - his legs are ridiculously long) with your head bent down, ignoring the steady rainfall that threatens to saturate you. Tendou usually fights for your attention, grabs at your hands, your waist, any part he can reach just to touch you, but Ushiwaka seems content to merely be near - so long as you stray too far.

“I have exams to study for.”

He hums noncommittally, “Tendou will be there.”

All the more reason not to go. 

The silence between you two is heavy.

“It would make me… happy, if you came,” he tries again.

Your eyes squeeze shut for just a moment. You hate it when he does this, when he acts like you’re the one being stubborn. Like you haven’t told him, told them both to stop a thousand times before. Like they haven’t ignored it at every turn, blatantly refused to acknowledge that you don’t want them like they want you.

Shouldn’t ‘no’ have been enough?

You’ve considered reporting it to campus security, or even the police, maybe trying to get a restraining order or something like that, but what would you even say - ‘Please Officer, sir, my soulmates are stalking me’? Yeah, that’ll go down a real fucking treat. 

“Why…” you trail off with a sigh, forcing yourself to stop walking.

This time he does reach for you, taking your hand in his. It’s warm and rough from years of volleyball and hard work, and you hate that it’s already so familiar. His expression is as stoic as ever, but there’s a quiet reverence in his eyes as he looks at you, as if he can’t quite believe you’re really there with him. You suppose in another light, it might almost look romantic, the two of you holding hands under his umbrella, lost in your own little world as the rain pours down around you.

He seems to be waiting for you to finish your thought, so you buck up whatever dregs of courage you still have and try again, “Why can’t you just… move on? I don’t want this- this thing, whatever it is between us.” You sigh, tugging your hand back, “I just want to be alone, why can’t you respect that?!”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment, staring at you, his thumb rubbing back and forth along the back of your palm.

But then he shrugs, easily, as if you’re merely discussing the weather and not their continued overbearing and unwanted presence in your life. “We love you. More than anything, and despite your… reservations, we belong together, what other reason does there need to be?” He pauses, his gaze softening just a fraction, “You’ll come around eventually,” he adds.

A tiny part of you crumples at that. What’s the use in arguing with a brick wall?

***

It’s a minor relief when you walk out of your last lecture for the day the following afternoon. It might be because it’s a Friday and you, for once, have absolutely no plans for the weekend, but realistically it’s more to do with the fact that you know no one is waiting for you outside. Ushijima has his volleyball game, and Tendou will be there with him, cheering from the sidelines. 

You should be happier, really, but there’s a pit in your stomach that’s been there since Ushijima left you at your door last night. 

They’re not going to stop. 

Instead of listening to the professor talk, you’ve spent the last three hours searching university transfers. You love Tokyo University, you love Tokyo - the big, bustling city you’d gladly lose yourself in again and again, but it can’t be your home, not when they’re here too.

There’s a University in Kyoto, it has a similar program to the one you’re already in. It’s a surprisingly easy process to change - your grades are decent enough, all you have to is apply. One simple click of a button. It’ll take a few weeks for it all to go through, which’ll give you enough time to figure out how you’re gonna upend your entire life without them realising - assuming of course that Kyoto university accepts the request.

If you soulmates won’t let you go, you’ll run, and you’ll keep running. Maybe you’re wrong, maybe one day you’ll look back at them and feel that same love for them that you’d seen in your parents instead of that black, cloying unease that twists at your guts, but so long as they don’t give the choice, what options do you have?

You’re not stupid, this… thing that they’re doing, the stalking, monopolising your time, trying to drive your friends away, it’s not the end game. What happens when they get tired of you ignoring them?

“Hey, Y/N wait up!”

For a moment your heart seizes, but it calms almost immediately when you realise the voice isn’t the one you’re afraid of. 

You turn to find one of the guys from your last lecture walking over. He’s kinda cute, in a lost puppy kind of way, and he’s nice, for the three conversations you’ve actually had with him. Honestly you’re a little surprised he actually knows your name (considering you’ve definitely forgotten his) but you smile back regardless. “Hey, what’s up?”

“You doing anything tonight?”

Netflix and crashing early, but you’re hardly about to tell him that, “Not much, why?”

He smiles, and for a moment you’re taken aback by just how utterly endearing it is. He really is cute. “Me and a few friends are having a party tonight, you’re uh, you’re welcome to come. Y’know, if you’re not doing anything,” he says with a laugh, throwing in a wink for good measure.

But his smile fades a little as he catches a glimpse of something behind you. You frown at the odd reaction, turning instinctively to see what drew his attention when a weight drapes across your shoulders and you find yourself being pulled into a sideways embrace.

“There you are, baby! I was starting to think you’d gotten lost,” a familiar voice drawls. “Who’s your friend?”

You can’t see Tendou’s expression as he rests his chin on your shoulder, but from the way your classmate blanches you can imagine that it’s not pleasant. Still you have to give him credit, he only falters for a second before he’s rubbing the back of his neck and offering a sheepish smile, “Oh, hey, uh… yeah, I’m-”

“Punching a little above your weight, dont’cha think?” Tendou cuts him off with a snort, nuzzling in just a little closer. You can feel the warmth of his breath against your neck as he tilts his head to whisper in your ear, “I thought Ushiwaka told you about the game tonight.”

You shiver, although whether it’s from his softly edged words or the kiss he presses against your cheek, you’re not entirely sure. “He did, I-I told him that I had to study…”

Tendou laughs, squeezing you tighter, “Psh, is that all? Baby, we can help you study later. C’mon, or we’re gonna miss the start of the game.”

And like that he’s tugging you away. With Tendou’s arm wrapped snugly around you, you don’t even have a chance to turn around and apologise to the guy. He’s done it purposefully, a reminder you suppose of who you belong to - though for your classmate’s benefit or yours you honestly don’t know. 

Ushijima’s already on the court by the time Tendou and you arrive at your seats (front row of course) but he glances over as you both settle down and his lips quirk into the faintest hint of a smile.

It would make me… happy, if you came, he’d said.

You don’t miss the razor sharp, anticipatory gleam in his eyes, though. 

He destroys the competition. You still remember that brief clip you’d seen years ago of his brutal spike - it seems like time has only served to make it more lethal. The rest of his team is undeniably good, you doubt Ushijima would join a club made up of anything less than the best, but still, he’s in his element and without a single doubt the strongest on the court. 

For every point he scores, Tendou cheers wildly. Halfway through the second set you can see that every player on the other side hates Ushijima - if the scowls and muttered snarls they’re shooting his way are anything to go by. You can’t exactly say you blame them for it either. They’re demoralised and angry, frustrated by the huge Ace and his indomitable force and even though he’s not a part of the team, Tendou revels in it. There’s a song he starts to sing, some inane jig that flows too naturally to have been made up on the spot. You can almost imagine him on the court beside Ushiwaka, singing it after stealing point after point from the other team. The two of them must have made a formidable team on the court.

They still do, you suppose.

You’ve never been one for volleyball, or sports in general, but even you can’t deny the sense of feral anticipation in the air as Ushijima steps up to serve on match point. Tendou has his hand wrapped tightly around yours, leaning forward in his seat to watch the spectacle. You can’t say you blame him.

You might hate him, but you can’t deny that his serves are a sight to behold. Your heart thumps as he throws the balls up, runs and launches himself into the air. His legs are arched, his form perfect and you still can’t quite believe how high he manages to get considering his size -

And then he hits the ball, palm slamming into the leather with a resounding smack - it flies over the net, damn near knocks the poor Libero off his feet as he tries to save it, but even that isn’t enough to stop it. The ball ricochets off his receive, spinning into the crowd and just like that - it’s all over. 

Ushijima roars in victory, and Tendou turns to you, red eyes wild and delighted. You don’t have a moment to breathe, much less prepare yourself before his lips are crashing against your own. 

The deafening cheers of the stadium fade out. 

You can feel his racing pulse as he clutches you close, the unrepentant enthusiasm that pours through him as his tongue dances across your bottom lip, begging for entry. You’re stuck still, frozen in place as your soulmate steals his first kiss.

Somehow when you pictured this moment as a little girl, you didn’t imagine that it would be fear that floods your veins, that the soft, breathless laugh that Tendou gives as he pulls away and rests his forehead against yours would scare you instead of making you feel safe and loved.

They walk you home together. It’s unnerving enough with just one of them, but with both your soulmates flanking you you’re more on edge than usual. 

Or maybe it’s the slightly weird energy you can sense between the two of them. Tendou hasn’t stopped grinning since he kissed you and Ushijima still seems a little wired from his win. He hasn’t said much since the three of you left the stadium, but he’s holding you closer than normal, an arm slung low across your back, his fingers brushing possessively along your hip. 

God, Kyoto can’t happen fast enough. 

There’s a lump in your throat as you reach your apartment. They’d offered to take you out for dinner after the game finished - to celebrate Ushiwaka’s crushing victory over ‘those poor assholes’ as Tendou had put it - but despite the pit of hunger in your stomach, you’d politely refused. The less time spent with them the better.

Surprisingly, both Tendou and Ushijima had taken it in stride without so much as a peep.

But now you’re at the front door, keys in hand and Ushijima still has his arm draped around you. It’s not like they haven’t been in this position before, but despite all their gentle cajoling (well, gentle is relative - Tendou whines petulantly and Ushijhima just seems to hover silently like an overgrown bat) they’ve never actually been inside your apartment. 

It’s your one sanctuary, and you very much want to keep it that way.

“Y’know, ‘Toshi and I’ve been thinking,” Tendou begins, snatching the keys out of your hand before you can stop him, chuckling and swatting at you when you try and grab them back. “Me ‘n the big guy, we really do love you, baby - head over heels, heart racing, butterflies in your stomach kinda love. It’s kinda sappy, actually. You have no idea how happy you’ve made us.”

The key slides into the lock and he twists it, pushing your door wide open. His eyes flash to yours and he grins, bowing as he gestures towards the open apartment. Your open apartment.

An invitation.

You blanch. “Um, I-I don’t think-”

Stupid of you to think you ever had a choice in the matter - Ushijima’s arm is an iron wall against your back, pushing you forward as he crosses the threshold. 

Tendou follows behind the two of you, and the click of the door shutting behind you echoes far too loudly in your small apartment. He tosses the keys into the little dish on the kitchen counter - where they always go when you’re at home - and winks at you.

“I mean we are your soulmates so I ‘spose it’s kind of a given.” He shrugs, leaning back against the countertop, folding his arms over his chest. “But we can’t help but notice that you seem a little… uneasy around us. And I get it, baby, really I do. You’re just a little shy - it’s cool.”

Your heart leaps into your throat as Ushijima’s fingers curl around your jaw and he tilts your face to the side to meet his intense stare, “You’re being unnecessarily stubborn,” he elaborates.

A flicker of amusement dances in Tendou’s eyes at his bluntness. “We tried it your way - taking it slow and steady, trying to ease you in but, well… I think we can all agree your way isn’t working all that great.”

Your eyes snap back to him, “What?”

His grin widens, “So we figured it’s time we try it our way. We’ve been so good, baby! D’ya have any idea how hard it’s been to hold ourselves back?”

Ushijima’s grip is unrelenting, but that doesn’t stop you from frantically trying to fight your way out of it as Tendou pushes off the counter and stalks over to the two of you.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, “Been waiting so long for this. Wanted to fuck you on the tables back in the diner in that cute lil’ uniform of yours.” He smirks down at you, his pupils blown wide and dripping with lust. 

No. No, no, no! You shake your head frantically as he closes in, “Stop, wait! Let me go, LET ME GO! I-I don’t want-”

Your panicked words are cut off as Ushijima suddenly spins you around to face him. His hand cups your cheek, enveloping it entirely, and his broad thumb strokes the soft skin gently. “We’re not going to hurt you, little one. You just need to see - to feel what we feel for you.”

Whatever retort you have is swallowed up as he closes the gap between you and kisses you. He’s demanding - unrelenting - forcing your mouth open so that his tongue can taste yours. Distantly you register Tendou slotting in behind you, the unmistakable bulge that presses against your ass as he attaches himself to your neck. “Shh, baby,” he murmurs between kisses, fingers sliding to the hem of your top. “Let your soulmates take care of you, hm?”

It’s not like you’ve ever had a choice in the matter.

[zafirosreverie]

Hey can I have a request with Agatha x reader where reader is a vampire and drinks off of Agatha. But one day reader was having a really bad day and accidentally drinks to much of her blood so reader feels terrible and takes care of Agatha cause she’s really weak please. I freakin love your work❤️❤️❤️❤️

A vampiress and a witch being a lesbian power couple?! SIGN ME UP!

Once again, i got carried away (listen, you can't mix vampires, witches and lesbians and then expect me to hold myself) so the actual request is going to be on the next part (i hope).

Also, i changed Agatha's trial a little.

Anyway, i hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: a little dark?

Little bird(Agatha x Vampire!reader) part 1

You smirked when you heard the steps getting closer to the tree you were hiding in. They were human steps. More than one human, by the sound of it.

“Excellent, I'm sick of animal’s blood” you thought. 

You were a child of the night. The creature parents warned their children about. A vampire. One of the youngest, you might add, but also one of the strongest. Your power was what made your own kin afraid of you. But you didn’t care. It’s not as if you needed them anyway. 

“What’s happening?” you heard a voice and your smirk widened. You recognised that tone. Fear. One of the people was really, really scared.  

“Oh, poor little thing” You thought and decided to get closer, still hidden by the darkness. 

“Agatha Harkness, are you a witch?” another voice said and you got there just in time to see a young woman tied, many women around her. 

You knew this. It was a trial. A witches trial. Hmmm, this dinner just got interesting. What did the little witch have done to make her own people condemn her? Taking a closer look, you noticed how cute she was. She seemed nice and her cute pink cheeks made an amazing contrast with the ice in her eyes. 

“She must have been the one who’s fear I felt” you thought. 

You saw how the little witch begged for her life. You almost felt bad for her. 

“Maybe I will drink her blood the last” you thought. But then, you blinked when she called the eldest witch “mother”, and you frowned. 

Vampires were known for not caring for anyone but themselves, with a few exceptions to the closer relatives, but witches? You always thought witches were better than that. At least that’s what they claimed themselves.

“I can be good” The little witch said and something in her voice made your heart start to crumble. Why? Why was this witch doing that to you? You didn’t know her, you shouldn’t care for her, you just wanted her blood, and for the few parts you actually paid attention to, she was messing with dark magic…

...Okay, THAT you could understand. Dark magic wasn’t that bad, it was more the stigma than anything. 

“No, you can’t” The older witch said and you watched as the rest of the witches attacked the poor girl.

Her screams were almost too much for you and it was making you angrier. Why were you feeling like that?! You always enjoyed other’s pain! (well...not really, you just didn’t care) So why was this different? Why would you care if she reverted the tables and was stealing the other witches’ magic? why would you- Wait what?!

You blinked and saw how the magic turned purple, taking all the magic and life form the witches attacking her. Well, now that was something special. The older witch stared in disbelief as the younger one killed the rest. You couldn’t help but feel proud of the little witch.

“Teach them how to treat a lady, girl” you thought. 

But your amusement didn’t last long. You saw how the older witch prepared herself to attack her own daughter. And most importantly, you saw that the little witch didn’t just take the magic and life from the others, the corpses were totally empty, which meant no blood for you.

“Hell no, princess, I won't drink more bear’s blood tonight” you thought and decided it was a good moment to make an entrance. 

You were sure the little bird (Agatha, your mind whispered, remembering the name she was called by when the trial started) was able to stop her mother, but you already lost the blood of the others, you wouldn’t lose this one. 

The tiredness in Agatha’s face wasn’t the reason you knocked out the older witch. Of course not. 

Agatha blinked when her mother fell to the floor. What the hell happened? One moment she was about to kill her and the next she was just there, unconscious. 

“Well, well” a voice said but the witch couldn’t see any one, just the darkness of the night.

“What do we have here?” you said and smiled at the way the little witch turned around, trying to find you. She was so cute. 

“W-who are you?” Agatha asked and tried to stay calmed. She just got rid of a whole coven, she will take whoever it was.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, little Agatha?” you said and smirked when she gasped.

“How do you know my name?” she asked, her voice sounded a little scared “Show yourself!” she demanded and you laughed, making the witch shudder. 

“As you wish little bird” you said and stepped out of the darkness, appearing right behind her.

Agatha jumped when she felt a hand on her back. Quickly turning around, she lifted her hands, ready to fight whoever it was. You found her defensive stance a little too cute. 

“Who are you?” she asked again

“Y/N Y/L/N, nice to meet you” you said and smiled, allowing her to look at your teeth. The reaction was immediate.

Agatha stepped back and gasped. Your fangs were too long to be normal, and now that she looked closely, your e/c eyes had a string red in them. 

“You’re-”

“A vampire” you finished for her and smirked at the look in her beautiful face “And you’re a witch” you said, walking to her and enjoying how she trembled under your gaze “a witch that played with dark magic” 

“I didn’t break any rules” she said, still trying to appear calmed and strong, but you were making her really nervous. She knew vampires were powerful, much more so than witches. Whatever spell she might know, wouldn’t hurt you. She was defenseless. 

“They just bend to your power” you finished again, having heard what she said to the witches. Agatha nodded. “Which just makes you more interesting, birdie” you said. 

It was true. You knew dark magic was powerful and hard to control. It took a strong being to even begin to learn it, so the fact that this young girl claimed to be chosen by the magic itself, was beyond amazing.

Agatha wished she had learned to disappear. Your eyes were making her nervous and the closer you got, the smaller she felt. Lord, how much she hated feeling small.

“Don’t be afraid, darling. I’m not going to hurt you” you assured her. You had used that line on many of your victims, but for the first time, you actually meant it. 

“And I’m supposed to believe you?” she asked and arched an eyebrow. You giggled. 

“You certainly shouldn’t” To your surprise, the witch smiled. It was small, but it made your heart jump.

A groan interrupted you and you saw the older witch standing. She was too weak, but her gaze was enough to make Agatha nervous. Her mother always had that effect on her. That gaze haunted her dreams, always making sure she understood how disappointed she was in her. 

You felt Agatha taking a step back and you sighed, frowning at the old witch. Why did mothers always have to make their children feel less than a miracle just to feel better with themselves? If they knew how fortunate they were to be able to watch their children grow u- No, you didn’t want to think about it.

“Agatha” the witch said and the younger one tensed. No, you weren’t having it. 

You stood in front of the younger witch, covering her from the gaze of the older one. That got you reactions from both. They were both surprised, but Agatha also felt a little hope, while the other woman felt fear. 

“You won’t talk to her like that, am i clear?” you said, walking to her. She tried to step back but you took her by the neck before she could.

“Let me go, child of the night” she demanded and you laughed. It was a cruel laugh.

“Or what?” you asked.

Agatha was frozen. She couldn’t do anything but watch as you threatened her mother. Nobody has ever stood for her, not her cousins, not her so called friends, no one. And suddenly a freakin vampiress was defending her? Why?!

“Agatha!” the older woman hissed, making her daughter jump. You laughed again.

“Really? You’re expecting to be saved by the woman you tried to murder less five minutes ago? How pathetic” you mocked and tightened your hold on her neck.

“Aga- tha”

Agatha just stared at her, not moving. You noticed it and turned your head to her, without letting go of the witch. 

“Listen, little bird” you said.

Agatha blinked and looked at you, she noticed your voice was smooth and calm, pretty different from the cold one you used with her mother. It made her blush. 

“I came here to eat. I haven’t had anything better than bear’s blood in months, and you dried them completely” you said, pointing at the corpses around you. 

Agatha stared at them and gulped before she looked back at you. Her mother made signals with her hands, trying to make her help her. Agatha smirked in her head when she realised you were blocking her mother’s magic.

“Good, that’s how it feels, mother” she thought. 

“And she tried to murder you just for being more powerful” you said.

“She broke the rules” the other woman said and you growled.

“But that’s not true ” you answered “Is it, Evanora?” you asked and smiled at the horror in the witch’s face. 

Surely, she thought you read her mind, which, for the record, wasn’t true. Vampires can’t read minds as many people like to think. At least not the young ones like you. But for now, it was useful for you that she thought you could. Truth is, you heard some witch say it. But she didn’t have to know.

“This has absolutely nothing to do with the rules, does it? This is you, afraid that your daughter is more powerful than you, afraid that you cannot control her anymore” you accused. 

You really didn’t know if it was true. You didn’t know these “rules” they were talking about, but you didn’t care. You were too familiar with the situation: a parent sensing their child becoming more powerful, trying to control them and, when they couldn’t, destroying them. It was sickening. 

You might be a creature of the night, but you were once a mother, and you just couldn’t understand how someone would murder their child instead of being proud of them being better. And the look on Evanora’s face told you everything you had to know. You hit the nail.

Agatha gasped when she heard you. Sure, deep inside she always knew her mother was afraid of her power, but hearing it out loud hurted. 

“You’re gross” you growled, then turned to Agatha again “Look, hot stuff” lord, her little blush was so adorable “I’m not leaving without my dinner. So, it’s your blood or hers” you said. 

You hated doing that to the poor and cute little witch, but you were starving and you knew Evanora wouldn’t even try to stop you from eating her daughter. It was gross how she hoped Agatha would sacrifice herself when she just tried to murder her. 

Agatha looked between you and her mother. Evanora looked at her with a gaze that clearly said “you’re not worthy, let her eat you and save me. I deserve it, you don’t”. The thought broke her heart but also made rage bloom on her chest. 

“Well, little bird? Who 's going to be?” you asked. She was cute, but you were losing your patience.

Agatha looked at her mother for the last time and closed her eyes before she nodded. You smirked when Evanora gasped.

“AGATHA! NO!” the older woman screamed and you saw tears rolling down Agatha’s cheek. You felt bad for her, but it didn’t stop you from sinking your fangs into Evanora's neck, sucking her blood and taking her life with it.

The witch screamed, kicked, and tried desperately to use her magic on you, but after a few minutes, everything fell silent.

You dropped her body to the ground, wiping your mouth with the sleeve of your dress. You moaned in pleasure at the taste of blood on your tongue. Animal blood helped, but it didn't compare to human blood, magical or not.

Agatha’s eye widened when she saw her mother’s body falling to the floor. She was gone. She really didn’t know how to feel. Guilty because she let you kill her to save herself, sad because she was gone and even after all that happened, she still had some love for her. 

But what she felt the most, was relieved. Relieved that she was finally free. That she would never have to feel her disappointed gaze over her, that she would never have to hear her hurting words. That nobody would ever make her feel unworthy again. 

You turned to see the witch falling to her knees. How could anyone hurt someone like her? Just for power. You truly didn’t understand. You took Evanora’s pendant and walked to her. You carefully kneeled in front of the girl and handed it to her.

Agatha jumped a little when she saw your hand right in front of her eyes. Her mother’s pendant was resting in your palm. She hesitantly took it, not looking up to you. She didn’t know if she could trust you. You said she shouldn’t, but you defended her. And also killed her mother. What if you were lying and would eat her too? She wasn’t even sure it would be that bad. After all, she actually didn’t have anywhere to go. Not anymore.

You saw how confused and conflicted she was and it broke your heart. This woman was broken. Broken by the people that should have protected her, left alone in the world. And yet, she was still trying to hold together as many pieces as she could. It truly amazed you. 

You gently wiped her tears, making her jump again, but she didn’t move away from your touch. You caressed her cheek and saw how her little blush appeared again. It was adorable. She was adorable. 

“Come on” you whispered and stood up, pulling her up with you. When she got to her feet, she looked around again, watching the corpses for a moment.

“I don’t have anywhere to go” she finally said softly, almost crying again.

You took her hand, already cursing yourself for such a risking decision, but you knew you would hate yourself more if you didn’t. Agatha looked at you, confused and you gave her a reassuring smile. 

“Now you do”

[kikis-writing-world]

Bug in the System

Summary: Reader has a complicated relationship with Nathan, living and working with him. They’ve always been nervous to bring up prescription medication, so shit hits the fan when they runs out and their mood plummets.

Pairing: Nathan Bateman x GN!Reader that struggles with mental health.

Word Count: 2k

Rating/Warnings: Mental health - depression and anxiety are expressly mentioned and reader is in a bad low. Talk of medication and ramifications of not taking them. Mention of doctors. Brief mention of sex. Worries of the stigma around mental health. Lots of swearing because it’s Nathan. Unedited/Betaed. it’s almost fluff in Nathan’s asshole way, there’s a happy ending.

A/N: I blame @foxilayde​ that I’m suddenly writing for Nathan... I hated him when I watched the movie and now here we are. Idk, this idea hit me last night while trying to fall asleep and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I had to write it.

You weren’t sure how to define the relationship you and Nathan had. He wasn’t your boyfriend - not only did that feel so juvenile, but also… he just wasn’t. There had never been a declaration of love between the two of you, no commitment to monogamy or even non-monogamy. The two of you lived together, worked together, slept together- it could almost be called a friends with benefits relationship, only… softer. You ate dinners together, danced around the house together, and cuddled together when watching movies. You also spent days, sometimes weeks at a time where you hardly spoke to each other when engrossed in a project. Did this form out of attraction, or emotion, or was it an inevitability when two adults - whose sexualities, attractions and availabilities lined up accordingly - lived together in isolation for an extended period of time? 

In summary: there was no easy way to define what was between the two of you, and you were happy there were no other humans around to ask. You didn’t feel the need to defend what you shared, but you had no desire to try to label it either.

Despite the friendly and casual nature of whatever the relationship was, there were still things that you had yet to admit to Nathan. The dwindling supply of medications tucked safely in a make-up bag inside the drawer of your bedside table felt like a ticking time bomb. You only had so many doses remaining and it wasn’t like you could walk down to the local pharmacy for a refill. Any supplies coming to the fortress of a home had to be called in, ordered, and helicoptered to you. There was no way to do it without Nathan finding out along the way.

You watched the pills slowly empty from their plastic bottles like a reverse hourglass. Despite the effects they had on your malfunctioning brain chemistry, they never quite tampered down the anxiety you had about opening up about your mental illness, let alone to someone like Nathan.

Nathan worked hard and played harder. He strove to be the best him he could be at all times. He accepted nothing less than perfection and no matter what the relationship between you two could be defined as -coworkers, employer/employee, friends, friends with benefits, lovers -  you didn’t want to disappoint him.

You avoided and avoided until inevitably, the last pill came out of the last bottle. It only got worse from there. Without the anxieties in check and the chemicals being balanced, the insecurity flared even worse. Your inner voice told you that you deserved the unhappiness flowing through you, that you should just stay in bed and give up since Nathan would kick you out of the house soon enough: he’d either get tired of your low mood, your falling productivity, or he’d discover your secret and be done with you.

He noticed. Of course he did. You stopped dancing, stopped cuddling, stopped fucking. Then you stopped eating, stopped talking, stopped leaving your room. You felt like you couldn’t get out of bed at all. You spent your time sleeping or curled up under your blankets in the dark room wishing you could sleep more. That or just disappear.

That was where Nathan found you, a month and a half after you’d run out of your meds.

“What the fuck is going on with you?” He barged into your room one morning… afternoon… you had no idea what time it was.

Nathan turned the light on and you could hear him pacing. “Are you sick? Do I need to call in a doctor? Are you even alive under there?! Hello?!”

You sighed, forcing yourself to sit up and prove you were alive, awake, and hearing him. The blankets dropped to your waist, revealing what you were sure was an absolute mess of a human. You knew what you looked like the last time you’d been brave enough to look in the mirror and you were sure it was even worse now.

Nathan cursed and you swear he nearly recoiled at the sight of you. “Are you in here dying on me or something?” He questioned. 

You weren’t sure how to answer, what you could possibly say to him.

“Hello?!” He snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Is anybody in there?!”

You blinked as he crowded you, hysterics growing as you seemingly ignored him. You could tell he was close to grabbing you and shaking you, and you didn’t know if your body could handle that. As it was, your muscles had protested sitting up. Instead, you leaned over and opened your drawer, taking out the zippered make-up bag.

You tossed the pouch at him, hearing all the plastic bottles click together as it landed at his feet. He bent down to pick it up, opening it carefully like he thought some sort of creature might jump out at him. His brows furrowed when he saw the bottles inside and dumped them out onto the mattress.

“Are these all empty? Fuck did you take these?” He questioned, panic rising in his voice. “Are you trying to OD on me or something? Shit.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, about to call for help.

“No.” You croaked. “Well, yeah. I took them… but… they’re my meds.” You gave in. “I’ve been taking them since I got here. I[was taking until they ran out.”

Nathan looked down at the bottles, picking one up as he read the label. “What are they for?”

“Depression mostly. Anxiety.” You shrugged, listing the simple ones.

Nathan was quiet as he read the bottles. You had no idea if he knew what any of them meant. It’s not like the labels read “Take one daily to stop the crazies!” The names, the dosages, the frequencies meant nothing to someone with no experience… but then again, Nathan wasn’t just anyone.

“How long?” He sighed, turning to sit on the edge of the bed.

You would have deflated if you didn’t already feel as low as you could go. Having assumed the worst, you weren’t surprised he couldn’t look at you.

“I was diagnosed in junior year-”

“No, I mean how long have you been without your meds?” He interrupted you, turning to stare  you down.

“A month.” You shrugged. “Almost two.”

“For fucks sakes.” He grumbled, turning to his phone again and typing away.

“I’ll pack my shit. Just, give me a few days and I’ll go.” You mumbled, laying down on your side and facing away from him. You didn’t want to watch him posting for a new assistant or scheduling the pick-up or whatever he was doing. You’d wallow for a bit, probably take a nap, and then you’d pack anything here that was important. Fuck the rest. You didn’t have the energy. You didn’t care.

“The fuck are you talking about?” He asked distractedly, like he hadn’t heard you as his cogs of his brain jumped to life. He did that a lot when he was preoccupied. He would hear your voice, realize you’re talking, but not absorb the words. Sometimes he needed to ask 3 or 4 times until you gave up and texted him instead.

“I’m bringing in a doctor. You need to get checked out before you start back up on anything. You’re not supposed to go off of these without supervision. Says so right here. Black and white.” He chastised you.

You frowned, looking over your shoulder in confusion. You saw him still typing away on his phone, holding one of the empty, orange-tinted bottles in his hand. He set it down, picking up another. He took a picture, looking over the label quickly for himself before setting it back down.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending him the labels so he knows what he’s walking into. Why the fuck would you just stop taking your meds?” He sniped. “Why didn’t you get more? I fucking ask you if you need shit and you just conveniently forget your pills?”

You picked at a thread of the blanket, not wanting to watch him as he grew angrier with you. As soon as you were in good health and his conscience was clear, he’d be rid of you. You were sure of it. It was more than you’d expected to be honest.

You heard the quiet noise from his phone, indicating the email had been sent. That meant his attention wasn’t divided as he rounded back on you.

“Why won’t you answer me? It’s like fucking talking to a wall or something. If I wanted one-sided conversations, I never would have brought you up here. Why didn’t you get more?!”

You took a shuddering breath before answering. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“Know what? That you take medication?” He scoffed in disbelief.

The room was quiet as you didn’t answer, but you could practically hear his brain processing, whirring like a computer with a squeaky exhaust fan.

“Hey, look at me.” He ordered, his voice dropping in volume to a kinder tone, but it was still not a request. It was a demand. You sat up again, looking at him stare at you with dark, angry eyes.

“When a program isn’t working, do you throw away the whole CPU or do you debug it and fucking find the fix?” He asked. You didn’t answer, assuming it was rhetorical.

“Your software is fucked, and these,” he picked up one of the bottles to hold up between you two. “These are the fix. Why the fuck would you be embarassed about shit like that?”

You shrugged your shoulders, dropping your gaze again. “You’re…” you struggled to find the words, but Nathan jumped on your train of thought frighteningly quick.

“Me?! So it’s my fault? I eat brown rice and salad and work out every day so I’m some health nut hippy who wouldn’t understand, is that it?”

He was putting words into your mouth, but he was essentially getting the point. You were scared he would reject you, mock you, think less of you.

He crawled towards you on the bed, cupping your chin a little too tight as he lifted your face. He was clearly done having you look away from him. “I’m a fucking reclusive genius who lives in the middle of ass fuck nature and only lets people come and go with a goddamn keycard! Do you not think I’m self-aware enough to realize that? A fucking prodigy, multi-millionaire by 15, CEO of the most successful technology company in history. The President calls me and I hit ignore. Do you really think I’m not self-aware enough to know we all have our own brand of fucked up?” He laughed.

“If you need these to get through it, to be my little genius-” He released your jaw to cup your face in both hands, giving it a shake. “To keep up with my shit, to live here without losing your mind at the isolation, to be my dance partner and dinner partner and movie date - then fucking take them. Would I be having to tell you this if it was for your blood pressure or a heart condition or something?!”

His phone buzzed and he released his hold on you, leaning back to read the message that had just come through.

“Doc’s gonna be here tomorrow morning. Gotta keep you hydrated until then and you should try to eat.” He summed up the message as his eyes skimmed the screen. He tucked his phone back into his pocket before slapping your blanket-covered thigh. “What are we eating tonight? Your choice.”

“I’m not hungry.” You mumbled.

“Not an option!” He declined as he stood off the bed. “What are we eating?”

You sighed, letting your head fall back as you thought. “Grilled cheese?”

“And tomato soup? Coming right up.” He leaned over to you, cupping the back of your head as he pulled you close enough to kiss the top of your head. “Rest. I’ll bring it in when it’s ready.”

Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl @din-damn-djarin @dinthisisthe-wayson @seasonschange-butpeopledont @kesskirata​ 

[shihalyfie]

What are your feelings on the general tonal direction that the dub was given compared to the original?

I had this general feeling that the dub was always attempting way too hard to be funny. Like, jokes seemed to be shoved in at every opportunity. Establishing shot with nothing but the BG playing. Nope got to have a funny intercom moment about a jelly donut in the pool. Scene transition, nope got to have the kids running in the background call back to the donut.

I dunno. It was something that always seemed to bother me in hindsight. It was amusing, but out of place.

Preliminary point of disclaimer: I am absolutely not saying any of the following as an indictment of people who personally prefer the American English dub for any reason; I'm well aware that there's a lot going on in terms of accessibility, reasons of personal sentiment/attachment, and the fact that legally available subtitled versions of the earlier series range from limited accessibility to downright absent. I also fully admit to having my own attachments from the fact that said dub was what I technically got into the franchise via to begin with; I love the voice actors and I also have certain zinger lines from the dub I personally treasure, so please take everything I'm about to say with an understanding that there's a lot of extremely complicated personal sentiments mixed in with it.

I will say that, first of all, which dub we're talking about is important. There's a pretty huge difference between the Adventure/02 dubs and the Tamers/Frontier/Savers ones, and then of course the one for Xros Wars (although I think the majority of the fanbase is pretty critical of that last one, given that the "but my childhood" bias is out of the picture). There's also a mild difference between the Adventure and 02 ones, since the latter is probably the most aggressive in terms of how off-the-rails it could get with its changes (and I am confident in saying that I fully believe this is the case even outside my own bias for 02 as a series). I honestly never really had much to gripe about with Tamers through Savers; I think they were still fairly aggressive with the added jokes, but it wasn't to the level that I'm particularly bothered (even though I generally prefer watching with the Japanese version these days anyway). It's probably a matter of taste. The second 02 movie and the Tamers/Frontier movies were also dubbed during this era, and I have the same to say about those.

Adventure and 02 are a completely different story, and especially in regards to 02. I think added jokes are okay to a certain extent -- again, probably question of taste -- but I have problems when the desire to be funny starts actually cutting into characterization or story integrity. That definitely happened way too many times for my liking in Adventure and 02, and I have a lot of personal misgivings about it, especially since its definition of "funny" often overlapped with "these characters start insulting each other for no reason" to degrees that stop feeling like "comfortable friends" and more just "needlessly malicious". Certain characters (Mimi and Daisuke come most to mind) are very different to the point where I couldn't make sense of their intended character arcs, and actively disliked their characters as a kid for being rude, condescending, and obnoxious before I watched the Japanese version and realized how different they were. (I give my regards to everyone who saw the potential in them with the dub only, of which there are many, but please understand that I am not the only person in this camp, and that I feel the changes most certainly led to a statistical increase in people disliking them.) In the case of 02, I also think the insistence on being reckless about the changes adversely impacted the story and character arcs overall because a lot of things that were meant to be consistent in Japanese stopped making sense, a lot of the emotional depth and range of the characters got stripped out to make said jokes -- hard to believe Daisuke's nearly as emotionally pained and impacted at times when a joke has to be added in there, especially when most of his lines in the first half involve him dunking on others and others dunking on him for comedy purposes -- and in general, I'm not against adding jokes per se, but there are times I just really wish it could have learned to hold it back just once during some very important scenes that have vital story and character importance. I am personally very positive that this only contributed further to the stigma of 02 being a poorly written series with inconsistent character and story writing, especially when there was a lot of nuance lost in said character arcs.

I'm not a localization purist. I don't think changes are inherently bad. I'm fully aware that things were very different back then, and at the time it was considered that making those changes may have been necessary to reach the Anglosphere market. I don't personally know if it was actually true; nearly every other country got a significantly more accurate dub and they seem to be fine (and they're currently side-eyeing the Americans for being so weird about it, and I can't say I blame them for it, especially when Anglosphere fanbase denizens have this awful entitled attitude about acting like other dubs are lesser and that somehow "but my childhood" only applies if you've seen in American English, never mind that other people have childhoods too and the Southeast Asian English dub also exists). I wonder if it's really a good thing in the long run for Americans to be pinned as people who can't enjoy something unless you add a million jokes. I'm also disturbed by the fact a lot of people gave and still give passes to some sentiments that often feel like downright anti-Asian motives when it comes to dub changes, just because "my childhood". I completely understand that localization means that you have to alter certain cultural things lest they become difficult to relate to or understand, I cannot say I'm on board with the fact these kinds of dubs were and are often so aggressive about it that they feel like they're pathologically trying to scrub out the Asian scourge. I don't have any particular grudges against the dubbing staff for what they did on an individual level because, as someone who doesn't work in the localization industry, I don't know what pressures they had or what they had to consider in marketing this product, I think everyone has the right to judge which version of the product they prefer for themselves; I just am really uncomfortable with what kind of sentiment fuels the idea that these changes were necessary in the first place, I dislike the fact that I can't voice my concerns without being treated like I'm insulting a sacred cow, and I'm a bit frustrated that the "the dub didn't change anything significant" is still such a pervasive sentiment in this fanbase after 20 years, making discussion of this issue difficult and discussion of the series itself unproductive when we keep running into two people "arguing" about what's actually two very different things.

[spaceorphan18]

Can I vent a little on Chris interview? I love Chris, I adore him but I was a little baffled when he said that thing about being able to show kids what someone "like him" could achieve. We need to be honest with this. He got a huge chance because he was in Glee, he was a name, and for that reason someone gave his stories a try. But unknown talented people "like him" will send stories that will pile up some editor's table and never get that chance. I felt what that he said was misleading.

Me again. I just want to stress that I really like Chris, I'm a huge fan, but I've seen so many talented writers not being given any chance. When you have a name to back everything up, it's easier to bet on you. Most editor companies don't bet on emerging writers at all. Of course, 18 books, woah that takes talent, you need to keep up with the quality, but still, he got that first chance, because his situation was extraordinary. Can't be taken as an example for other people "like him".

That's absolutely fair, Nonny. And I actually do agree with you.

And, of course, I'm going to preface the following with... yes, of course I love and adore Chris, I wouldn't be having this conversation if I didn't, so calm down as I point out that Chris is human and has flaws.

I do think that Chris a lot of times doesn't realize how he comes off. I remember for a long time, while the show was airing, a lot of us wished he'd get a PR person - because he'd just say things that were kind of out of step with reality. (Oh, I don't remember -- things like, the only people who liked Klaine were 12yo girls - and he did get push back about that finally, when a lot of LGBT fans wrote to him to stop saying that.)

I think Chris kind of went from being a sheltered kid from a small town, to a sheltered person working in the bubble of Hollywood. And sometimes I don't think he realizes how he comes off. Even without the help of Glee -- he is a white male. He has a lot of privilege that he's not acknowledging.

That said - if you pointed out to him how it comes off, he would feel bad that it came off that way.

And I do think his heart is in the right place. I think he does want to be a positive role model for the LGBT community, and for awkward and weird kids everywhere. I think, also, you have to remember that Jimmy Fallon's audience isn't kids who are struggling to be heard -- but probably parents of kids who might be more lenient of their child's ambitions after hearing this 'safe' looking kid talking about going for it.

And I will also add, in Chris's defense, it was a gamble of the Glee creators to hire this kid who had no prior work and very little previous experience. I think that's a story worth saying -- well, there are other avenues to get to where you ultimately want to be.

**

Just some other related thoughts I was having...

I do find it fascinating that he still (somewhat seemingly) has a stigma about calling himself gay on a huge national stage. It's kind of funny that he's joking about phallic symbols and talking about being hit on by men - but straight up identifying as gay to the massive media still has him holding back a little (this is not a criticism - it seems more like code switching, stemming both from how he was raised, to navigating fame with a general audience).

He's been so much more open lately in more queer related spaces -- such as the podcasts he's been doing, and that's so cool, because I feel like we're seeing the real Chris emerge for the first time since early Glee, and that's fun.

But Jimmy Fallon is a safe choice for late night tv because he's all games and UFO stories, and won't get into the heavier topics that even other late night hosts will get into. Chris wants people to buy his book, and on national tv, on a national stage, he's more closed off.

Just an amusing thought I had while watching the segment.

[sketchy-saram]

Hey everyone! I realize Pride Month just ended, but I wanted to talk about Asexuality for a minute, so I hope you'll indulge me since I have no idea what day it is normally and missed the obvious chance xD 

So my discovery that I was Ace happened when I was in Korea circa 2016, although I'd heard of it a few years before, from the Girls with Slingshots web comic! Both of these things occurred long after I was already an adult, however, and its existence is something I sorely wish I'd known about as a teenager. Hence, I'd really like to spread information about Asexuality to those who might not know anything, so you can be more comfortable with the idea, more informed, and perhaps pass that information to others around you who might be confused and questioning themselves! Pass it on, save a life! (Or at least a LOT of heartache and confusion!) If you already know stuff, great! You’re awesome! <3

So what IS Asexuality? Is it like, budding? Haha, funny joke. (Not really.) Asexuality is simply the lack of sexual attraction to anyone. It is an umbrella term for a lot of different classifications of Aces, but that's the basics. Allosexuals would be what is considered 'normal'--people who do experience sexual attraction. And yes, this is completely different from ROMANTIC attraction! But we'll get to that a bit later!

Why are Asexuals considered part of the LGBTQIA+ rainbow? Well, it's right there in the letters! The A never stood for ally--it always meant Asexual. We've been there since the very beginning! The Queer community envelopes all people whose gender and sexual identities fall outside the norm--so when our society, and humanity as a whole, so idealizes sex and sexual relations, I think not feeling those urges more than qualifies us! And if that weren't enough, Asexuals experience plenty of stigma and harassment--even gatekeeping from within the community, which is extremely unfortunate. In fact, in online social spaces, ESPECIALLY tumblr, Asexuality went through a major witchhunt about 5 years ago, where the waves of anti-Ace rhetoric were so bad that they basically eradicated the community and forced aces back into the closet. Things are better now, but the ramifications are still sorely felt. Aces also have a much higher chance of unstable relationships, as sex and the desire to have sex plays such a large role in romantic relationships. If you are allosexual, imagine being in a relationship where your partner never wants to have sex, and trying to understand that that doesn't reflect at all on you or how much they love you. It's hard, right? I'm not saying that Ace/Allo relationships can't happen, but it takes a LOT of work and communication!! (Uhm, and also plenty of allo people just have a low libido, so please remember not to be forcing your partners into unwanted sexual activities!!)

So let's talk more about the specific wording. 'Sexual attraction'. Simply put, that is the feeling when you look at someone, and you KNOW that you want to have sexual relations with them. Your body has reactions that might let you know this, like an erection, and you could imagine yourself doing those things. Aces aren't like that! We don't have those urges. I could go the rest of my life happily not having sex--and I've never looked at someone and wanted to do that. Now, like I said, there are quite a few umbrella versions, but that is the general description. Important things to note however: Asexual people CAN CHOOSE to have sex! If you're an Allo who has ever done it with someone you weren't exactly turned on by, then you can understand what I'm talking about. Some Aces can even ENJOY the act of sex! The two aren't necessarily related--remember, we're just talking about lacking the basic spark of sexual attraction. On the flip side, some Aces are so sex repulsed that the very idea makes them sick. If you know an Ace person, you should ask their opinion on sex before you talk about it with them--it might make them EXTREMELY uncomfortable! On that note, plenty of Asexual people are in the kink community, and enjoy BDSM. How can that be, you might ask? Well, for one, read above again about Aces and Sexual relations. But also, if you aren't in those communities, you may not realize just how much power plays into that. Some people enjoy the power play more than the sex!! So if your knee-jerk reaction to finding out someone is Ace and has sex is to think they are 'faking it', please...don't. You can't know what a person's internal workings are like.

So, why would an Asexual person want a relationship? How would that even work, anyway? Isn't it just like being friends? Well I'm glad you asked! Remember earlier when I said that Asexuality is only about the lack of SEXUAL attraction? ROMANTIC attraction has its own categories! Aromantics are people who aren't ROMANTICALLY attracted to other people. I won't get into that here, but suffice it to say that Aces can be as romantic and loving as anyone else, and many want a happy relationship! As for being like friends--imagine your partner or spouse. If you suddenly couldn't have sex with them, would it feel like the two of you were 'just friends'? No, of course not! Romantic attachment forms bonds that are completely different from platonic friendship. Lack of sex isn't the only thing that keeps your friendships from being 'romantic relationships', and if it is, you, uh...might want to reevaluate some things!!

A few other common items I want to mention before I bring this quick Ace 101 course to a close: Is being Ace just like being celibate? Not at all! Choosing to remain celibate is just that--a CHOICE. Someone who is celibate still has all their natural sexual attraction, they are just choosing not to act on those feelings for whatever reason. Aces don't have those urges, or that natural sexual attraction! 

Can you become Asexual through trauma or other reasons? The long and the short answer is: Yes. One of the great things about the LGBTQIA+ community is that you should be free to come and go as you discover more about your own truth. That is also why gatekeeping is so dangerous--you shouldn't have to 'register' as Gay or Ace or Trans, or present as those things in a way that suits other people. If you, in your heart, find that one of these labels suits you, then that is what you are for now! Gender and sexuality are a journey most people aren't encouraged to discover until they're older. If you realize you are Ace at 70, you are just as valid as someone who found out earlier, or someone who underwent severe trauma and now no longer feels sexual attraction. If YOU are comfortable with where you're at, that's the only thing that matters! But if it is something that causes you distress, then please look into it. Sometimes lack of sexual attraction IS caused by physical or psychological factors that can be reversed. (Although again, more often than not it simply causes lack of libido, not necessarily lack of attraction.)

Last but not least...what's the thing with the cake? Haha! Good question! When Aces were beginning to find one another and set up their own communities, several inside jokes began to emerge. Imagery of ace playing cards, dragons, 'space ace', and of course cake, sprang up as quirky ways to reference that. The idea being that you would rather have cake than sex!!

I really hope I didn't miss anything obvious, but I'm just writing this on the fly because realizing my Asexuality was such a huge stepping-stone on my path to being more comfortable with myself, and understanding myself as a whole. I spent my teenage years terrified of and yearning for a relationship--the reason being, of course, that in my mind, dating and sex went hand in hand, and I wanted the one but was terrified of the other. So many people take sexual attraction for granted, without realizing how alienating that can be for people who DON'T feel that attraction. It's pervasive!! It's everywhere! And then to be treated as though that expectation isn't as all-encompassing as it is, or that it actually doesn't exist at all, is cultural gaslighting. 

Anyway! I hope everyone had a wonderful pride month. <3 Hope to see you for the next one! Have an awesome July as well, what the heck! And if you have any questions about Asexuality, my messages are always open. I aim to inform. (And feel free to share this if you want!! Knowledge is power, but making things that seem awkward to talk about less taboo is ALSO power!)

[aspergerasparagus]

Some Alone Time

Did I write Sniper Mask nasty fanfic? Yes. I apologise in advance.

Letting out a long sigh, Sniper Mask collapsed onto the bed, the soft sheets beneath him cushion his fall. It had been another long day, not just for him, but everyone. Running from the other Masks, trying to gather more supplies, listening to a bunch of teenage girls talking incessantly about who knows what. He might have tried to zone out of their conversation after about a couple of hours of it. Don’t get him wrong, he enjoyed the company, even if he wouldn’t show it outwardly but still. It was exhausting after awhile. He had never been a “people” person if you could call it that, preferring his own company most of the time.

Letting out a small yawn he tossed his hat onto the bed beside him before he ran a gloved hand through his hair, tousling it slightly as he relaxed back into the plump pillows that covered the head of the bed. The girls had long since gone to bed. Well hopefully they had. He had gone into check on them only to find them playing some sort of high school sleepover game well after they had wished him goodnight. He let out a soft chuckle as he thought about them. Even after all they had been through and the powers they had all gained, they were still just 16 year olds at heart and in their down time it really shone through. Ah the ignorance of youth.

He could feel a smile tugging on his lips as he folded a hand behind his head, the other absentmindedly fiddling with his belt buckle as he attempted to settle himself down. He really should try and get some rest himself, after all they’d be up early the next morning. Wasn’t safe to settle down somewhere for too long in this world. But even with that thought still in his head, he wasn’t able to let sleep take him yet. An invasive little thought had been lingering in the back of his head for sometime now. One he had been pushing to the side and burying given there were more important concerns at the present time. However now that he was alone, relaxing in his own room and bed, the idea wormed its way back up to the surface like an annoying parasite. He was really horny.

It was his hormones he told himself. He was a young adult male, and he had… needs. Especially now that the mask had been cracked and its coding dampened by Kuon. It was something he had been trying to ignore, but on nights like this where he still had some left over pent up energy it was hard to deny them. Letting out a groan of annoyance he glared up at the ceiling. This wasn’t the best place to really indulge himself. Imagine being caught by a Mask or worse one of the girls halfway through the act. He grimaced at the thought and brought a hand up to his masked forehead trying to dispel the thought. Yeah that would be enough to get him to throw himself off one of the buildings even without the masks suicide code input.

Letting out another sigh he glanced down at his body, sprawled out on the bed, his hand still fiddling with his belt. His eyes darted to the door, assessing the situation. From what he could hear, the girls talking had finished a while back and now he could only hear their soft breathing coming from the room adjacent to his. They were all out for the count. And even if one of them did stir, he’d hear it the moment they did. Dragging his eyes away he hesitated slightly before cautiously running his fingers gently over the front of his trousers. Maybe… maybe he could get away with it. As long as it was quick. Just something to help him get to sleep. Chewing the inside of his cheek he weighed up his options before muttering a soft “fuck it” under his breath as he began to palm himself through his pants.

It really had been far too long since he did this. His body immediately started to respond to his touch as he felt himself hardening up nicely under the teasing touches. Letting out a breathy groan he rolled his hips slowly against his palm, savouring how his trousers restricted his movements slightly, tightening around his hips and groin as he rocked against himself. There was a certain thrill he’d never admit, but getting off while still dressed had always appealed to him. The nicer the outfit, the more he got his rocks off. A lady in a gorgeous expensive evening gown would set him off, but a man in a tailored made suit was in a whole different ball game. His hand hesitated slightly at the last thought as he silently cursed himself. Burying his head against the pillow he shut his eyes trying to push the thought away but still it remained.

Sniper Mask knew he liked women. Of course he did, he was a man after all! But as he had gotten older he had found his gaze… wandering. Wandering over to members of the same sex. He had come to the realization sometime during his teens that maybe he wasn’t entirely straight. Bisexual was the word he had heard mentioned once, that was probably what he would call himself. Not that he’d voice it allowed, hell he even struggled to say it to himself now. It wasn’t bad, he knew that, but something akin to a stigma still hung around the word for him. The idea of liking both sexes was still a new concept to him, something he still had yet to fully explore. Something he would probably never explore now that he was stuck in this damn other dimension. Fiddling with the sheets with his free hand he eyed his obviously tented pants before letting his finger gently trace over the shape. He could maybe entertain the idea tonight. Just for tonight.

Working his hand over his crotch again he let out a soft moan as he let his fantasy play out in his head. He imagined it was a well dressed man touching him. Expensive suit, accessories that would cost an arm and a leg to afford, gently touching him, working him up into a frenzy as he spoiled him. He’d give Sniper everything he wanted and more, just wanting to see the other man enjoying himself in the throws of passion. Another soft swear escaped Sniper’s lips as he groped himself roughly through his trousers, fuck that was a hot idea. He could almost see them, kissing every exposed piece of skin he could, all the while whispering praises which Sniper would return in earnest. But the touching wouldn’t be enough, he’d need more.

Eyes snapping open Sniper let himself catch his breath for a moment as he came to a realisation. He needed more. His hand wasn’t enough this time. He needed to get off to this fantasy, it really was too good of an opportunity to miss. Turning his head he eyed up the numerous other pillows surrounding his head. Was he really going to stoop to this? Throwing what little shame he had left to the side he quickly snatched up one of the pillows. Before he had time to reconsider he rolled over to his knees and positioned himself over the pillow, propping it up against himself as his cock ached painfully inside the confines of his trousers. Wasting no time he ground his crotch against the fabric, letting out a louder than intended moan as he pushed the pillow harder against himself. Yes, this was exactly what he needed. It would just be enough to get him off good and hard, plus it just added more to his little fantasy. It wasn’t a pillow in the fantasy snuggly buried between his thighs, it was his fantasy man. Both of them were moaning each other's names as Sniper got them both off. Being the more dominant one fit his persona better, so having his current lay begging under him while telling how good it was was really appealing to him like nothing else. Fuck he wasn’t going to last long at this rate.

What would the other think if they found him now, desperately humping a pillow as he moaned and grunted as he imagined that it was another man beneath him. Sniper felt a wave of shame roll over his as his hips hesitated slightly but he shook his head, dispelling the thought. Who gave a damn right now what they thought. He just wanted to finish, and finish hard. He could deal with the shame and regret after he had cum.

Panting now, drool dripping down the side of his mask slightly as he continued to fuck himself against the pillow, he knew he was getting close. He could feel the damp patch staining the front of his trousers now, as his cock begged for release. Maybe he could tease this out for longer? Edge himself and not let himself finish for another couple of minutes, just so he could revel in the delicious agony of denying himself only to get lost in the intense pleasure that was sure to follow. Maybe if he found a partner like the man in his fantasies he could really entertain the idea. Sniper had to bite his lip as another pathetic noise escaped his mouth. Fuck, oh fuck imagine. He bet if he found someone like that they’d work him up into a pitch only to pull away at the last moment, not out of cruelty but just to cater to his every fantasy. Crying out, Sniper snapped his eyes closed as he picked up his pace, cock rubbing against his trousers as he humped the pillow even faster. He couldn’t last given that last thought and with a broken moan he climaxed, spilling himself into confides of his trousers as he desperately rode out his orgasm.

After a minute or two he flopped forward onto the bed, completely exhausted and panting softly as he came down from his post orgasm high. That had been intense and it had taken everything out of him, finding himself rather sleepy now finally. However the bliss was soon overshadowed by the creeping realisation of what he had done. Groaning he rolled off the pillow and cringed as he noted the obvious wet patch on both the front of his trousers and the pillow. He really couldn’t believe he had done that, and to that fantasy of all things. Covering his eyes he swore softly to himself before sluggishly pulling himself off the bed, taking the pillow with him. He needed a shower. A very hot one. Something to help wash away the memory of what he had done and just how good it had made him feel. As he headed into the bathroom he stopped by the closet and threw the soiled pillow as far back into it as he could. Out of sight out of mind as they say. But even as he closed the door to the mess he had made the memory of his fantasy still lingered in the back of his head, making his cheeks heat up as he replayed it over and over.

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 12 paragraph viii

Only here’s what I really, really want someone to explain to me. What if one happens to be possessed of a heart that can’t be trusted—? What if the heart, for its own unfathomable reasons, leads one willfully and in a cloud of unspeakable radiance away from health, domesticity, civic responsibility and strong social connections and all the blandly-held common virtues and instead straight towards a beautiful flare of ruin, self-immolation, disaster? Is Kitsey right? If your deepest self is singing and coaxing you straight toward the bonfire, is it better to turn away? Stop your ears with wax? Ignore all the perverse glory your heart is screaming at you? Set yourself on the course that will lead you dutifully towards the norm, reasonable hours and regular medical check-ups, stable relationships and steady career advancement, the New York Times and brunch on Sunday, all with the promise of being somehow a better person? Or—like Boris—is it better to throw yourself head first and laughing into the holy rage calling your name? It’s not about outward appearances but inward significance. A grandeur in the world, but not of the world, a grandeur that the world doesn’t understand. That first glimpse of pure otherness, in whose presence you bloom out and out and out. A self one does not want. A heart one cannot help. Though my engagement isn’t off, not officially anyway, I’ve been given to understand—gracefully, in the lighter-than-air manner of the Barbours—that no one is holding me to anything. Which is perfect. Nothing’s been said and nothing is said. When I’m invited for dinner (as I am, often, when I’m in town) it’s all very pleasant and light, voluble even, intimate and subtle while not at all personal; I’m treated like a family member (almost), welcome to turn up when I want; I’ve been able to coax Mrs. Barbour out of the apartment a bit, we’ve had some pleasant afternoons out, lunch at the Pierre and an auction or two; and Toddy, without being impolitic in the least, has even managed to let casually and almost accidentally drop the name of a very good doctor, with no suggestion whatever that I might possibly need such a thing.

[As for Pippa: though she took the Oz book, she left the necklace, along with a letter I opened so eagerly I literally ripped through the envelope and tore it in half. The gist—once I got on my knees and fit the pieces together— was this: she’d loved seeing me, our time in the city had meant a lot to her, who in the world could have picked such a beautiful necklace for her? it was perfect, more than perfect, only she couldn’t accept it, it was much too much, she was sorry, and—maybe she was speaking out of turn, and if so she hoped I forgave her, but I shouldn’t think she didn’t love me back, because she did, she did. (You do? I thought, bewildered.) Only it was complicated, she wasn’t thinking only of herself but me too, since we’d both been through so many of the same things, she and I, and we were an awful lot alike—too much. And because we’d both been hurt so badly, so early on, in violent and irremediable ways that most people didn’t, and couldn’t, understand, wasn’t it a bit… precarious? A matter of self-preservation? Two rickety and death-driven persons who would need to lean on each other quite so much? not to say she wasn’t doing well at the moment, because she was, but all that could change in a flash with either of us, couldn’t it? the reversal, the sharp downward slide, and wasn’t that the danger? since our flaws and weaknesses were so much the same, and one of us could bring the other down way too quick? and though this was left to float in the air a bit, I realized instantly, and with some considerable astonishment, what she was getting at. (Dumb of me not to have seen it earlier, after all the injuries, the crushed leg, the multiple surgeries; adorable drag in the voice, adorable drag in the step, the arm-hugging and the pallor, the scarves and sweaters and multiple layers of clothes, slow drowsy smile: she herself, the dreamy childhood her, was sublimity and disaster, the morphine lollipop I’d chased for all those years.)

But, as the reader of this will have ascertained (if there ever is a reader) the idea of being Dragged Down holds no terror for me. Not that I care to drag anyone else down with me, but—can’t I change? Can’t I be the strong one? Why not?] [You can have either of those girls you want, said Boris, sitting on the sofa with me in his loft in Antwerp, cracking pistachios between his rear molars as we were watching Kill Bill. No, I can’t. And why can’t you? I’d pick Snowflake myself. But if you want the other, why not? Because she has a boyfriend? So? said Boris. Who lives with her? So? And here’s what I’m thinking too: So? What if I go to London? So? And this is either a completely disastrous question or the most sensible one I’ve ever asked in all my life.] [That little guy, said Boris in the car on the way to Antwerp. You know the painter saw him—he wasn’t painting that bird from his mind, you know? That’s a real little guy, chained up on the wall, there. If I saw him mixed up with dozen other birds all the same kind, I could pick him out, no problem.] And he’s right. So could I. And if I could go back in time I’d clip the chain in a heartbeat and never care a minute that the picture was never painted. To try to make some meaning out of all this seems unbelievably quaint. Maybe I only see a pattern because I’ve been staring too long. But then again, to paraphrase Boris, maybe I see a pattern because it’s there. [Do you ever think about quitting? I asked, during the boring part of It’s a Wonderful Life, the moonlight walk with Donna Reed, when I was in Antwerp watching Boris with spoon and water from an eyedropper, mixing himself what he called a “pop.” Give me a break! My arm hurts! He’d already shown me the bloody skid mark—black at the edges—cutting deep into his bicep. You get shot at Christmas and see if you want to sit around swallowing aspirin! Yeah, but you’re crazy to do it like that. Well—believe it or not—for me not so much a problem. I only do it special occasions. I’ve heard that before. Well, is true! Still a chipper, for now. I’ve known of people chipped three-four years and been ok, long as they kept it down to two-three times a month? That said, Boris added somberly—blue movie light glinting off the teaspoon —I am alcoholic. Damage is done, there. I’m a drunk till I die. If anything kills me—nodding at the Russian Standard bottle on the coffee table—that’ll be it. Say you never shot before? Believe me, I had problems enough the other way. Well, big stigma and fear, I understand. Me—honest, I prefer to sniff most times—clubs, restaurants, out and about, quicker and easier just to duck in men’s room and do a quick bump. This way—always you crave it. On my death bed I will crave it. Better never to pick it up. Although—really very irritating to see some bone head sitting there smoking out of a crack pipe and make some pronouncement about how dirty and unsafe, they would never use a needle, you know? Like they are so much more sensible than you? Why did you start? Why does anyone? My girl left me! Girl at the time. Wanted to be all bad and self-destructive, hah. Got my wish. Jimmy Stewart in his varsity sweater. Silvery moon, quavery voices. Buffalo Gals won’t you come out tonight, come out tonight. So, why not stop then? I said. Why should I? Do I really have to say why? Yeah, but what if I don’t feel like it? If you can stop, why wouldn’t you? Live by the sword, die by the sword, said Boris briskly, hitting the button on his very professional-looking medical tourniquet with his chin as he was pushing up his sleeve.]

And as terrible as this is, I get it. We can’t choose what we want and don’t want and that’s the hard lonely truth. Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it’s going to kill us. We can’t escape who we are. (One thing I’ll have to say for my dad: at least he tried to want the sensible thing—my mother, the briefcase, me—before he completely went berserk and ran away from it.) And as much as I’d like to believe there’s a truth beyond illusion, I’ve come to believe that there’s no truth beyond illusion. Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic. And—I would argue as well—all love. Or, perhaps more accurately, this middle zone illustrates the fundamental discrepancy of love. Viewed close: a freckled hand against a black coat, an origami frog tipped over on its side. Step away, and the illusion snaps in again: life-more-than-life, never-dying. Pippa herself is the play between those things, both love and not-love, there and not-there. Photographs on the wall, a balled-up sock under the sofa. The moment where I reached to brush a piece of fluff from her hair and she laughed and ducked at my touch. And just as music is the space between notes, just as the stars are beautiful because of the space between them, just as the sun strikes raindrops at a certain angle and throws a prism of color across the sky—so the space where I exist, and want to keep existing, and to be quite frank I hope I die in, is exactly this middle distance: where despair struck pure otherness and created something sublime.

And that’s why I’ve chosen to write these pages as I’ve written them. For only by stepping into the middle zone, the polychrome edge between truth and untruth, is it tolerable to be here and writing this at all. Whatever teaches us to talk to ourselves is important: whatever teaches us to sing ourselves out of despair. But the painting has also taught me that we can speak to each other across time. And I feel I have something very serious and urgent to say to you, my non-existent reader, and I feel I should say it as urgently as if I were standing in the room with you. That life—whatever else it is—is short. That fate is cruel but maybe not random. That Nature (meaning Death) always wins but that doesn’t mean we have to bow and grovel to it. That maybe even if we’re not always so glad to be here, it’s our task to immerse ourselves anyway: wade straight through it, right through the cesspool, while keeping eyes and hearts open. And in the midst of our dying, as we rise from the organic and sink back ignominiously into the organic, it is a glory and a privilege to love what Death doesn’t touch. For if disaster and oblivion have followed this painting down through time—so too has love. Insofar as it is immortal (and it is) I have a small, bright, immutable part in that immortality. It exists; and it keeps on existing. And I add my own love to the history of people who have loved beautiful things, and looked out for them, and pulled them from the fire, and sought them when they were lost, and tried to preserve them and save them while passing them along literally from hand to hand, singing out brilliantly from the wreck of time to the next generation of lovers, and the next.

[arokaladin]

Can we talk about the pressure on people with less well known or ‘newer’ identities to represent *specifically* that identity and the shame that might come with questioning?

The idea of being an ‘ex-gay’ is something that’s considered to be pretty fringe, and would be mocked even by most decently educated straight people. But ‘detransitioner’ is a label that even queer cis people will use quite seriously (often incorrectly, aka to mean they used to identify as trans, rather than to mean they have medical transition regret, and in a way that adds further stigma to real trans experiences). And of course there are people whose entire personality is based in how they used to think they were asexual. 

(I had to ask tiktok to stop showing me videos from this one girl who seems to be quite popular because most of her content from what I can tell is about how much she hated being ace and how she has all this supposed inside gossip about the ace community being cultish and lesbophobic because she ~used to be one~ but god. lets not get into that ok?)

All of this, along with the fact that ‘obscure’ labels are targeted even more by the ‘just a phase’ argument, even within the queer community, makes things so much harder for people who are re-questioning or even just using a different label under same umbrella. People can be hesitant to talk about their experiences out of fear of proving the stereotype. I think I’ve seen a few people touch on this. However the other effect is that when you are comfortable in a label with this kind of stigma, there’s pressure to be really loud about how comfortable you are, and constantly be reaffirming your identity to outsiders. You kind of have to be aro/enby/bi/whatever else before you get to be queer, because you feel a responsibility to be a role model for this specific part of yourself that is least represented. 

Personally, I started this blog when I was what? 16? I was barely confident in my own aromanticism, still working on unlearning a lot of things, and was inspired to start posting here so I would have a space to vent and work through those feelings. I was always open about my age and the fact there were plenty of things I didn’t have answers for, but nevertheless I got absolutely tons of asks from people wanting advice. My community was so small that I was simultaneously a baby aro, and being cast in the role of community elder just because I was out of the questioning stage. 

As well as an overwhelming number of people wanting advice, I also regularly got asks (and even direct messages) from people who were venting, a lot of the time obviously depressed, and often not even asking a question but just using me as a place to send negative feelings. It got so bad that a few times I had to make posts asking people asking people to stop. People did this to me because our community was so tiny and lacking visibility that some teen’s inbox was possibly all they had, and I was well aware of that. 

I think in part this is why I started many projects within aro activism that I never continued with (aside from my executive dysfunction and the aforementioned fact I was 16). I felt like I had to be the one to bring certain resources into being, because most of the time nothing of the kind existed. 

Nowadays I’m the least certain of my identities I’ve been since I originally questioned. I genuinely think I am still aro, but I’ve been pretty shaken up all round recently and it’s made me realise how upset I would feel if that did change (even though I still wish feel ashamed of my aroness sometimes and still fight the desire for a ‘normal’ amatonormative life) I’m honestly pretty terrified of losing community were my labels to change too much, even though logically I know my friends wouldn’t drop me if I turned out to be a slightly different kind of queer, let alone just a slightly different type of aspec. And I think this is probably in part because of how outwardly adamant I’ve had to be about my identity for years. 

I guess it’s worth noting the role of the ‘Discourse’ in this: being constantly under attack has meant the aro and ace communities specifically have had to become pretty isolated. A lot of us don’t trust even other queer people, for good reason, and a lot of us again keep to even smaller subsets of the community to avoid other bigotries. And the way the internet is encourages the urge to divide yourself up and put the parts in boxes. But I think the pressures I’ve talked about would exist even without those factors. 

I’m not sure if I have a conclusion to this, because I’m still thinking about it a lot. I’m not sure how we fix a problem like this because I’m not sure there’s technically any problem to fix. A lot of it is just the growing pains of a small community. I would like to start a dialogue, however. Does anyone else feel this way? How do we accept possible future re-questioning without telling ourselves this might be just a phase, or rolling back our progress accepting our aromanticism? How do we create spaces needed to vent, and discuss difficult topics, without burning each other out or creating a crab bucket? How do we vent about burnout without depicting the aro community as toxic? What do we do to fill the absences left by non-existent elders? I don’t know but maybe we can figure some things out. 

[bodywyrcs]

Mental Health 2021

And so, its mental health awareness week again. And after one of the toughest years for our collective mental health I wanted to share, without judgement, my own experience and thoughts on the abundance of kindly shared hints and tips that our social media screens become overwhelmed with each May.

About 8 years ago I went to the GP and broke down at him about how low and awful I felt. His response was to tell me I needed a holiday. I mean, I love a holiday but even I could see that this wasn’t something a week backpacking along the coastal path was going to sort. And how sustainable is taking a holiday every time you feel depressed? And considering I was super skint at the time it wasn’t helpful advice at all. I left the surgery feeling embarrassed and ashamed that I’d wasted his time and that I was overreacting. I decided that there was no other option for it. I would have to fix myself.

My first stop was YouTube where I decided meditation was the thing I needed to do. I pretty much forced myself every day to do a 10 minute guided meditation. It was difficult to start with as I couldn’t stop the negative voice in my head and most sessions ended with me more angry than I’d started. But gradually I saw a change. I started to enjoy the moment of peace in each day and thought I’d found the answer.

But then the next life obstacle cropped up, the surface cracked and all that meditation-y goodness soon melted away, as I’d fall back into a horrible fuzz of self-loathing. I had not fixed myself after all.

This pattern repeated itself numerous times over the years. I tried everything. I developed an interest in mindfulness, even gained a qualification in it. I dieted, I took probiotics and brewed kefir, I popped supplements and obsessively exercised because I LOVE WALKING IN THE MOUNTAINS. I thought that inflammation was the problem, then found a new vocation and decided that massage was the solution. I found the high of cold water swimming exhilarating but it never lasted long enough after drying myself off. And eventually I tried counselling (I have a great recommendation if anybody feels they need someone, based in Llanrwst and she can work via zoom too.) She really helped me a LOT and the sessions absolutely lightened the load and helped me rationalise things.

However, they did not fix me.

You see, the problem was by now I had spent so many years trying to fix myself that each time something ‘failed’ I would hit another new low. Not only was I still broken, I was also a failure because I couldn’t make the latest ‘cure all’ work for me. And while it’s easy for me to write this now, when you’ve got what feels like a bloody Tasmanian devil whipping up a storm in your brain its easier said than done. I couldn’t see that I was just chasing my tail in a constant effort that only ever brought more disappointment and made me feel like simply existing wasn’t worth the effort anymore.

Then along came the mild inconvenience of ‘the shop’ nightmare with debt piling up, a global pandemic and a big old lockdown.

Oh, and I broke my leg. Which ironically was the thing that made me decide I needed to try the GP again. Through talking with a friend, I realised that during my immobilised time on the sofa I felt the most light-hearted I’d felt in a while because here I had this physical impairment that showed people I was broken. I didn’t have to try and explain it, unlike the mental illness that was invisible. I had an ‘excuse’ for feeling the way I did (see: lockdown/pandemic/broken ankle) Plus, the prospect of phoning the GP was a lot easier as it meant no face-to-face appointment and I could hide my shame.

But this GP was fantastic. She was awesome. I gave her the abridged version of the above and her response was ‘Blimey, you’ve definitely tried everything haven’t you!? Let’s give medication a go’.

Now, medication is not always the best option and the first month of taking it was pretty gnarly for my body and mind. But this is my story and nothing more, I’m not telling anyone what to do here. I had felt the stigma so hard around mental health and medication, GPs and putting on a brave face, that I had completely forgotten what it was like to feel content. I found myself appreciating stuff that I hadn’t even noticed in such a long time, as I’d been constantly trying to justify my worth by maintaining the façade of being hap-hap-happy! I hadn’t realised what an absolute effort everything had become and of course each small or large inconvenience that life threw my way was simply the straw that broke the camels back (over and over again).

Anti-depressants have not fixed me though. They have given my brain the capacity to think rationally and to bring me back to a state where I can process all the day-to-day stuff without collapse. They have not numbed me to life, but have allowed me the opportunity to enjoy it and I haven’t felt this good in years. Yes, I still get sad and yes, I get angry, but I can cope with it and I can see those emotions as something passing by and not here to stay.

I suppose the thing I think when I’m writing this down is that I wish I had seen a GP earlier who had understood mental health better in the first place. How different the last 8 years might have been. I was put in a position where I thought I was solely and entirely responsible for things that were happening in my brain that I could not control – that I could somehow choose to switch on happiness if I truly wanted to.

The problem is that people living with mental health struggles can feel vulnerable and they might be more susceptible to suggestions – which in turn makes me wince when I see posts making outrageous claims regarding depression and anxiety. And don’t get me wrong, I’ve definitely been guilty of sharing the 5 Ways to Wellbeing as if it’s a magic spell and I’ve wanged on about mindfulness as if it will transform you into a higher being. But please know, I did these things as I was struggling to work out my own stuff and at the time, I fully believed I was fixing myself (ps. I was not).

I suppose my summary is that I don’t have an exact summary. There is no fixing people, we’re all messy and weird and wonderful. But sometimes what is happening inside us is chemical and there is medical help for that, and sometimes we just need the confidence in ourselves and our self-worth to push a little harder to get the treatment we require.

As for all the stuff that has been ‘proved’ to improve our mental health, just remember, what works for me won’t necessarily work for you and vice versa. And while I still love, love, love cold water swimming and practise mindfulness most days, I can safely say that kefir and diets can go in the bin (sorrynotsorry). For me mental health awareness is talking to friends about our experiences and being able to empathise with each other. It is understanding that sometimes we will feel happy without trying, sometimes we will feel happy because we are doing something we love, and other times happiness will elude us completely. But most importantly happiness is not the be all end all – us human beings have such a wide range of emotions and we spend a lot of our time trying to avoid them. Running off a bad mood, drinking away our sorrows or posting on social media about our totally excellent lives while wishing someone knew how we actually felt. Mental health awareness for me is sharing stories and being able to laugh at ourselves, wallowing under the duvet when I’m sad, ranting with a mate when I’m angry and having a little weep when I’m frustrated and trying not to end every sentence with ‘but I know there are people with far worse problems than me in the world’.

X

[superhero--imagines]

A/N: If you ask to be tagged, I’m just going to tag you for the whole series.

<--- Part 2 Here!  /  Part 4 Here! --->

* Ben has always thought of himself as a lonely child

* Even when he was surrounded by people, he still felt lonely

* He wasn’t quite sure why, he had a blessed life

* Loving family, a group of extended unrelated aunts and uncles that doted on him, and a clear path for his future

* So why did he feel so alone?

* Perhaps it’s the giant shadow his family casts, his mother a princess and fearsome general, father a war hero, his uncle the last Jedi

* They cast a shadow so large, he feels like he’s drowning

* For most of his childhood Ben smiles without feeling happy, he doesn’t want anyone to worry about him

* This will pass

* “I’m worried about him Luke” He overhears his mother say, late one night

* He isn’t supposed to be up, he isn’t supposed to hear this

* “I think, maybe we should start his training early”

* He understood it then, his future had already been set out for him

* He had heard the stories, of how he would levitate things as a baby, without meaning to

* How it was impressive he could use the force at such a young age

* Of course becoming a Jedi was the natural path for him

* Ben’s always felt lost, but for the first time he feels trapped

* It’s the first time he hears it, the darkness

* “Why stand by those who would not stand by you?”

* “Betray them and seize your future”

* But he can’t do it, he could never betray his family

* He’s at his lowest point, when he meets you

* Your this, tiny little thing, that Holdo brought back from her diplomatic mission

* Bundled in blankets and shivering, terribly malnourished

* You must be about 5 years old

* He hears it from those around him, you were a slave, abused and starved

* Holdo brought you back, claiming you as her daughter now

* But children are cruel, and no one will play with you

* He watches you, sitting by the lake, on that beaten brown dock

* You’re wearing a bright yellow tunic, the smallest size, and it still engulfs you

* A belt wrapped around your waist to keep it in place

* You’re just this small, fragile, thing

* You stare out into the cerulean blue water, you came from the desert, you’ve probably never seen this much blue before

* You look so lonely, as lonely as he feels

* “Can I join you?” He asks, you turn to him. And for the first time, he gets a good look at your face.

* You look at him, it’s not the beauty he hears of at love at first sight

* But then you smile, broad with your teeth showing

* He’s filled with a rush of affection

* He has to protect that smile at all costs

* The rest is history, Ben’s never alone after that

* You follow him everywhere

* He still hears the voice

* “Push her down, make her cry”

* Never, he could never hurt you

* But he can’t help but wonder, how genuine you are in your affection of him

* “Hey, what did you think when you first met me?” He asks you one day, you’re sitting on the ground as he tinkers with lightsaber parts

* “What do you mean?” You ask

* “You know, were you disappointed?”

* Discovering he wasn’t a hero like his family, he was just a boy

* “What’s there to be disappointed about, Ben is just Ben!” You say with a giggle

* His hands stop tinkering with the lightsaber, and warmth floods through his chest

* Of course

* You don’t see Leia Organa’s son, or Luke Skywalker’s nephew when you look at him

* You just see your best friend Ben

* He’s so happy, he doesn’t even notice how you start to float until you start giggling

* He’s scared for a second, but your smiling face eases all his worries

* For a moment it’s just the two of you, laughing on the beach, just pure joy

* “Drop her, she is your weakness”

* The voice catches him off guard, a shiver running through him

* It’s just a moment, but he loses focus and you fall

* He doesn’t remember much, just that he saw blood, he remembers feeling numb as he carried you home

* And the droids patched you up

* He remembers being worried that you would never wake up, as he sat by your bedside

* Everything changes after you wake up

* He can’t quite explain it, in a lot of ways you’re still quite the same

* Still as clumsy as ever, tripping over air. Still the same scrawny body.

* But there’s this way that you carry yourself, there is this fire in your eyes

* “It’s possible to have a sight personality change, she did hit her head” His mother tells him, and he nods

* You’re still the person he cares about the most, that won’t change

* He still has to protect you

* Though, as the years go by, it’s hard to say who’s protecting who

* “Say that again!” You shriek, a bruise already blooming on the tender skin of your knuckles, but your eyes are fierce

* Ben sighs, even though you’ve lived on the base for years now, the stigma still stayed. You were a slave after all, it’s a hard fact for society to forget.

* “I said that someone who hangs out with trash, is trash too” the boy who says it is much bigger than you, you would be dumb to hit him again

* But that’s what you do, right in the crotch

* “Ben’s not trash!” You yell, hitting him some more with your small body

* Ben tries to pull you away, but ends up getting pulled into the fight as well

* You both end up sporting matching bruises and cuts

* “Why’d you do that?” He asks after the very long lecture he gets from your mother

* He sighs, his Dad will probably go easy on him, his Mother will be angry though

* “I don’t like it when people say bad things about you.”

* Warmth blooms in his chest, and his hand moves so it rests over you own

* “Thank you”

* When his mom finally finds out about to extent which he can use the force, it’s not the worst thing

* He’s known this was coming for a long time, even with your constant warmth

* In all honesty that promise he made you, to keep it a secret, it was self serving

* Because the longer they didn’t know, the longer he could be with you

* He isn’t at all surprised to learn you stowed away on the ship to follow him

* “It hurts” you wine, rubbing your aching back

* A normal person would have stowed away on the ship, not hidden in a bag

* Still as reckless as ever, he can’t help but grin

* He is a little surprised you got rid of all his underwear

* He’s a little excited, it’s like a sleepover that will never end

* He expects to sneak you half of his meals, do your laundry, and watch guard while you bathe

* It’s exhausting even just to imagine, but he’s happy to do it

* It’s always been his dream to take care of you

* To his surprise you’ve already made spears and knives out of rocks, you’ve even hung up laundry on the clothesline outside

* “How was training?” You ask with a grin, stirring a large pot of broth over an open fire

* “It was fine” he says with a sigh

* Well there goes his dream

* He’s not at all surprised when you get caught

* It was only a matter of time after all

* “Because the force told me! Ben is my prince and I’m his knight!”

* He is surprised by that little phrase though, is that why you don’t sleep at night?

* He decided it was best not to ask

* Sometimes you would get this strange look on your face, when he mentioned the smallest things, like a new recruit, or if someone was rude to him

* It was like you were a star collapsing in on yourself

* He doesn’t ever ask you about it

* In all honesty, he’s scared to hear the answer

* When you leave, he can’t help but feel lonely

* Your presence, your aura, lingers all over his hut

* He knows the force telling you things is a big lie, you would have told him by now if it were true

* Still, he wonders how you know what you know

* “The force connects with us in different ways.” Luke tells him,

* “She may be, what the texts call, an oracle”

* Ben nods, he’s heard of the oracle before, someone who isn’t always force sensitive but can see visions of the future. 

* “What is that girl to you?” Luke asks him, in all 13 years of life, he’’s never seen Ben care about anything this much

* He opens his mouth, you’re his best friend, of course

* But then he closes it, it’s more than that though isn’t it?

* “She’s my light”

* And it’s true, you’re the light that chases away even the darkest of times

* Luke doesn’t say anything, he just nods

* Years pass, and Ben isn’t allowed to go home, not yet

* “It will be a break in your training”

* He hates this, he turns in his bed, he wants to see you

* It’s been so long it’s hard to imagine the exact shape of your eyes, he wonders if you’ve been eating enough, you were always so scrawny as a child

* He just wants to see that you’re okay, just once

* He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, you’re there

* Your backs to him, sitting on something

* The dock, you always loved the lake

* Your hair is tied up, and your clothes fit you well, no longer the malnourished child he remembers

* You turn over your shoulder, facing him

* His heart stops when your lips curl up into a smile

* Can you see him? Or is this just a dream? His wildest fantasies sending his heart into a frenzy

* You turn away from him, looking at your side, and someone else comes to focus

* A boy

* He’s well built, with a clean straight nose, and deep hazel eyes

* He’s handsome

* “She doesn’t care about you anymore”

* That’s not true

* “She’s replaced you” it whispers

* Had you really replaced him?

* He watches on as the boy beside you leans back

* “How come you’re always here?” The boy asks, and he watches the sparkle in your eyes

* “My best friend and I used to come here all the time” You tell him with a grin

* Ben’s heart skips a beat, you still think of him, even after all this time

* “I thought I was your best friend!” The boy beside you says, mocking hurt, he’s flirting

* You just laugh and shake your head

* “My best friend is training to be a Jedi”

* That smile chases away the darkness, after that the voices he hears have no effect

* Not when it comes to you

* His heart still stirs when he thinks of that boy; talking to you, touching you, seeing your smile

* He wishes he could make it so you only smiled at him

* “Monopolize her”

* It’s an appealing thought, to keep you beside him at all times, to trap you in a place only he can reach. But then, you would never smile again

* “That’s not an option” He says out loud, to no one in particular. 

* For the first time, Ben wonders if these feelings that keep him awake at night are just from friendship and gratitude

* He shakes the thought away, he just wants to protect you

* You’re his precious friend

* It’s not long after that Luke gives him his first mission, to protect an ambassador from a nearby galaxy

* “It’s someone you’re familiar with” He says with a small smile

* Imagine his surprise when he see’s you, in all your glory

* He was expecting his mother, who would smother him in affection

* Instead it’s you, elegant braid pulling your hair back. A long red gown, hugging your curves.

* You look so pretty

* He’s surprised when you throw your arms around him

* Not giving a second though to the king and queen, or the shocked maid staff behind you

* Tears fall from the corners of your eyes, as you hold him tight

* He holds you as well, it’s so good to see you, so good to take in your warmth and scent again.

* You move back, touching the braid that adorns all padawan’s. 

* “Ben this is not a good look for you”

* He has to contain his laughter as he glimpses at the shocked expressions behind him

*You’re still as reckless as ever

Tags: @ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark​ @treestarrrrrrrr​ @treblebeth​ @lokilover-39​

[lia-jones]

Growing Pains - Chapter Two - Victor, not Sir

After the meeting with the CEO, I got a call from Goldman to inform me of the department I would be assigned to: the financial department. As a part of my internship, and as investigation for my thesis, I was assigned three French companies to assist with the investment. Besides that, I would help in any way I could, taking someone’s work if they were absent or just assist my supervisor.

They assigned Ted Kasey as my supervisor, one of the top people in LFG investment team. He and the CEO were usually on good terms, having regular lunches and meetings, and it was obvious he had Victor’s consideration. Ted Kasey was a charismatic red headed guy, with a hearty laugh and a slightly prominent beer belly under his suit, hinting at how he enjoyed drinking socially. Probably in his forties, he was a genius in investments, only matched by the CEO himself. And because of that, and also because everybody loved him, he was deeply respected.

Victor Lee’s reputation in the company was very different. He was also respected, but the kind of respect you conquer from fear. He was known to have very little patience to those that didn’t meet his standards, and for being incredibly standoffish, not letting anyone come close to him, at risk of being insulted.

Every morning he arrived to the office he would mutter a quick “Good morning” and head immediately to his office, unless he had to scold anyone in the room. In that case, he would drop an angry “In my office immediately”, and whoever he summoned would come out red as tomato and barely speaking. Fortunately, the CEO had yet to speak to me since I started working in LFG. My first day started with introductions over coffee and a welcome cake, and I found on my desk a personalized mug with my name and LFG logo and some company stationary. That day, the CEO spent all day in his office, not bothering to come say hi. Goldman made excuses for him, but I couldn’t care less. If what people were saying was true, if he was that ruthless and overbearing, I’d rather keep him as far as possible from me.

For that same reason, I was more than happy when Ted offered to present my first report on my behalf. And it sort of became a habit, Ted going to talk to Victor every time I was summoned, claiming it was his responsibility as my supervisor. I couldn’t be happier with the arrangement. I didn’t have to deal with the vicious CEO and I didn’t have to interrupt my work, so that suited me just fine.

Two months had already passed, and I seemed to think of Daniel less and less, the memories fading along with the pain. It still hurt sometimes if I focused too much on the subject, but the fact that no one there knew what I had been through made things incredibly easier, since I didn’t have to deal with the shame. I could be just me, without the stigma of a fate I did not chose for myself.

To be honest, the moment I decided to move to Loveland for the internship was the moment I decided I would leave Portugal for good. My savings were enough to make a deposit to rent a beautiful one room apartment in the most traditional part of town and to get myself a used car to commute. I immediately made friends with my front door neighbor Levi, and I learned he was a Krav Maga instructor, so I started taking his classes. I also had Diane as a friend, a co-worker in the same department that was a domestic account manager. One day, in the coffee room, I made a joke about Goldman being the bravest person in the world for working that closely to the CEO, and Diane overheard me and just poured her heart out. It turns out she had a major crush on Goldman, and judging by the number times Goldman would drop by her desk, always with a feeble excuse, he was crushing on her too. We became good friends right there and then, united as girls often become when they start talking about their crushes.

I had friends, hobbies and a good job. I was well settled, and life seemed pretty good. I was on my way to happiness. I could feel it.

But, of course, no good deed goes unpunished, and no rose is without its thorns, and all the things people say when they have a good thing going but it starts to go sour, so it wasn’t really surprising when my car decided to break down in the middle of Loveland’s main avenue, on my way back home, at 8 pm, under pouring rain. I managed to pull it to the curb, and opened the hood from inside, talking myself into getting out and get heavily rained on to take the usual precautions.

The umbrella I took with me outside didn’t help a bit, the wind blowing on it and turning it inside out. It took me less than two minutes to get drenched, while I tried to signal that my car was parked there and needed assistance. Distracted by the conversation I was having with my insurance company, trying to have my car taken to a mechanic, I didn’t even notice the black sedan that stopped right in front of my car.

When I turned to face the road, I was startled by a tall man in an expensive suit, standing right beside me, holding an umbrella. I jumped back with the scare.

“Do you need help?” The arrogant cold voice gave away his identity even before I had a chance to look at his face. It was LFG’s CEO, Victor Lee. I sighed loudly in relief.

“No, Sir, I just need to call a mechanic. I got it, don’t worry.” I said, trying to be polite while I wished for him to go away fast. I didn’t need to cuddle the CEO on top of my predicament.

“You shouldn’t be alone this late, especially with this weather. And in any case, it will be very hard to find an open shop at this hour.” He spoke like I was stupid to want to fend for myself. “Get in my car and warm yourself, while I make some calls.”

I nodded sheepishly and went inside my car to get my purse, cursing the Gods for putting me in such a situation. Seeing he had a bad temper, I avoided the CEO like the plague, wanting my work to speak for me more than myself. I sat on the passenger front seat of his car and fidgeted awkwardly, while he turned up the heater.

“Take your blouse off.” He asked. I blinked at him, horrified. He looked at me, offended. “This is not a seduction tactic, I just don’t want you to call in sick tomorrow because of a pneumonia. You have a top underneath, you’ll remain decent.”

I nodded, dawning on me that now that my shirt was wet, he could see through it. And with the heater, my top and skin would dry faster without a wet shirt of top of it. I removed my shirt awkwardly trying to move the least possible, not wanting to bother him. But to my dismay, he was getting more aggravated by the minute.

“Why are you moving like that? Did you leave your motor skills at LFG?”

I took a deep breath and finally removed my shirt, unable to avoid a wet sleeve to slap his nose.

“That’s what I was trying to avoid.” I said, my voice flat. He turned to retort, but his eyes fell on my hands and widened, and he quickly turned his face the other way. I immediately looked down to see what made him turn away so fast. And I could dig a whole, crawl there and die. My nipples were hard from the moist and the cold, and were perfectly noticeable under my wet top. I immediately crossed my arms in front of my chest, the sudden movement seemingly noticed by him and making his cheeks blush slightly, by the little I could see from his face.

As I prayed to God to send a lightning to strike me, or a hurricane, or perhaps a nuclear bomb, he removed his jacket and put it over my crossed arms.

“Here. You look cold.” He said, his poker face back on. And the embarrassment was such I almost whimpered in agony. “Let me make that call.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to forget where I was and what just happened, while he spoke with what seemed to be his insurance company, basically ordering them to come get a car that they didn’t insure and take it to their mechanic. He finished the call abruptly, and remained silent, staring at the rain hitting furiously on the windshield. After a minute, or maybe less, his phone vibrated. He picked it up immediately.

“Yes? (pause) Yes. First thing in the morning. (pause) Then make it happen. (another pause) Good.” He hung up and turned to me. “Give me your car keys.”

I handed him the keys as quickly as possible. He took his umbrella from the back seat and went outside. In a matter of seconds, the headlight of a motorcycle was visible in the night, stopping near my car. Victor handed him the keys and quickly returned. He turned to me again.

“Your car is being taken by the mechanic shortly. You will have it fixed tomorrow, first thing in the morning. I’m taking you home.” And with that, the CEO started the car and we drove away. I was dumbfounded at how quickly he solved my problem, but what confused me the most was the fact he was doing it in the first place. If he just kept driving, instead of stopping to help me, he would be having a fine meal at his luxurious home, dry and pristine as he always was, possibly surrounded by concubines that looked like supermodels. But here he was, looking like a drowned rat, his coat wet and starting to wrinkle due to my wet top, taking me home.

We drove without a word, until he broke the silence.

“Are you… enjoying your work at LFG?” He asked, like he didn’t care much about the answer, just making small talk to stave off the awkwardness.

“Very well, Sir, I’m learning a lot.” I answered, happy to think about something other than my hard nipples.

“Enjoying your life in Loveland? I see you made friends already.” His voice was still stern, but a bit softer. As if he was glad I was making friends.

“People are very friendly here. It wasn’t hard.” I answered shortly.

“Just pay attention to the people you interact with. You’re alone, don’t have any family here… It could be dangerous.” Why did he care? I shrugged it off, probably the polite thing to say to a girl living alone, I thought. The comment didn't sit well with me though.

“You don’t need to worry, Sir. I can take care of myself.” I said, trying not to be rude.

“Good.” He swerved the car to the right, stopping at the curb. “We’re here.” I noticed we were near my building’s entrance.

“Wait, how did you know this is where I-“

“Can you please get inside so I can go home?” He interrupted me, annoyed.

“Thank you, Sir.” I said, closing the door and running to my building. I heard him from behind.

“It’s Victor. Call me Victor, not Sir.” He shouted through the open passenger window.

I turned and nodded in understanding, and went inside immediately. It was only when I was already inside my apartment that I noticed I was still holding his jacket. And how the hell did he know where I lived?

[spectraspecs-writes]

Korriban - Chapter 99 (Jolee, Juhani)

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 98. Chapter 100.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma @strangepostmiracle thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

———–

I find Jolee in the port side quarters, shaking rocks out of his boots. He senses me before I’m even in the room. “You’re not here for more old man wisdom, are you?”

I scoff. “You, wise?” I tease, “Get real.”

He grunts at me. “I feel like all I’ve done since I joined you is fight things and reassure young Jedi,” he says, then he looks at me. “Never get old and carry a lightsaber,” he says, “It’s far more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Thought you weren’t handing out wisdom today.”

“Well, that’s all you’ll get,” he says, and he slides his boots back on. “Got something on your mind, do you?”

“Yeah, I do,” I say, and I pull the crystal out of my pack. “I found this in the tomb, near a Jedi’s corpse. I have a passing familiarity with the Jedi, but it’s the crystal I’m curious about. I felt like it… called out to me, it’s weird.”

He takes the crystal from me. “Well,” he says, “lightsaber crystals draw on the Force just as a Jedi does, so I’m not surprised you felt something.”

“But this isn’t the first time I’ve been around lightsaber crystals. I’ve never felt called before,” I say, “I figure you have more experience with crystals than I do, since you obviously had more than a month of Jedi training. Is there anything special about this one?”

He takes a closer look at it. “Hmm…” he says thoughtfully, looking deeply into it. After a few moments, he looks back at me. “Let me give you a brief lesson about Kyber crystals,” he says, “The ones you’re used to seeing just change the color of the blade. In terms of the Force, they’re neutral. They don’t have any specific strengths, but they don’t have any weaknesses either. And then you have neutral crystals that do have certain abilities - they may increase the lightsaber energy output or change the energy, giving the weapon different properties. And then you have crystals that lean one way or the other. This crystal is connected to the Light Side of the Force. Its energy has dulled somewhat for sitting so long in such a dark place, but it probably called out to you because it felt something like itself in you.”

“Like we’re… kindred spirits?” I ask, “Why? What did it see?”

“Damned if I know,” he shrugs, “I just tell it like I see it. I would use the crystal if I were you, however. It should make fighting any Dark Jedi much easier, and you’ll need all the help you can get against Malak.” Well, that’s certainly true.

“Would a crystal in touch with the Dark Side work the same way?” I ask, “Would it help a Dark Jedi fight a light Jedi easier?”

“Depends on the crystal,” he says, “I can’t speak for a crystal I haven’t seen. It’s theoretically possible.”

“I wouldn’t feel a Dark Side crystal calling out to me,” I say, “so who’s to say Malak doesn’t have a crystal like that? Would it cancel out any advantage or would it depend on the strength of each crystal?”

“Rena, I’m not an expert on crystals by any means,” he says, “You asked what I knew and I told you. Anything else is pure speculation.”

I sigh. “I know, I know,” I say, and I shake my head, “I’ve just got a lot on my mind, I guess. There’s only one Star Map left until we can get to the Star Forge, so that fight with Malak is coming up fast, faster than I’d like.” I scratch the back of my neck. “I don’t feel ready, I don’t feel like I know enough.” I’ve got this vague bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, and maybe it’s just because this hasn’t been the best day for me, but I have no idea where it’s coming from. “Maybe you know something that can help me. What do you know about the Sith?”

“Bad, bad men,” he says simply, “Women, too, to be fair.”

“Come on, I know you know more.”

“Oh, indeed,” he says, “They make a fine sandwich, also.” He chuckles. “But don’t tell the Jedi Council I said that.”

We must have met different Sith. “Really, Jolee,” I say, “do you know anything important about the Sith or not?”

He sighs. “And just what gave you the impression that I know anything more about the Sith than you do?”

“You did,” I say, “You said you fought them.”

He looks through me for a moment. “Oh…” he says, “… that’s right. Damn the ears of the young! I was expecting you to be your usual inattentive self when I mentioned that.” A reasonable expectation, but not the case here. “So it's true, yes, I fought plenty of Sith. That was during the time of Exar Kun… oh, forty years ago now? Has it been that long?”

I hadn’t really thought about the fact that it was so long ago. When I imagined Shaela Nur, Guun Han, and Duron, I always imagined them like it was a few years ago, or a few centuries ago. Either within my lifetime or very far removed from it. But no, they weren’t so far removed. There could still be people around who knew them. Hard to know with a war, though. First the Mandalorian War, now this one. “Are these the same Sith that we’re fighting now?” I ask.

“No, no, of course not.” I wouldn’t say “of course not,” it’s a reasonable assumption. “The Sith have come and gone for ages. They were not called Sith many thousands of years ago, perhaps, but the Dark Side was always present without a doubt. Oh, sure, occasionally the Light Side comes close to vanquishing the Dark, but the Dark always returns.” Of course. If it was gone, what would the Light be? “The fact that Exar Kun was defeated didn't mean the Sith would never return, as they obviously have now. Everyone knows that.”

“I’ve heard of Exar Kun, but I don’t know anything about him,” I say, “What was his deal?”

“Ah. Exar was a Jedi who was… corrupted… by ghosts of the old Sith,” he says, “Or so they say. He attempted to conquer the Republic and create a new Golden Age of the Sith.”

“Which obviously didn’t happen,” I say, “He was killed, then?”

“Better to say he was defeated…” Does that mean he’s still alive? What? “… but essentially, yes. The victory did not come easily, however.”

“What did the war teach you about the Sith?”

“A Sith believes he commands the Force, but it is the Dark Side who commands him. You know this, there is little I could truly add.”

“So, what happened during the war with Exar Kun?” I ask. There's something still in there, bothering him.

“That…” he says slowly, “… is not a pleasant time to remember. After Exar Kun fell to the dark side, he attempted to recruit other Jedi to his cause.” As they tend to do. “What surprised us - what took us completely unprepared - was how utterly successful he was. Many Jedi joined him and became Sith, themselves. Why they did I… I will never truly know. But they did. Battle broke out throughout the order… pupil against master, we fought ourselves…”

“That must have been difficult,” I say.

“Yes,” he agrees, “More than difficult… next to impossible. How do you fight against someone you love?” I… can’t even imagine that. In… that nightmare on Dantooine, seeing Carth’s eyes blood red, seeing him join Malak… if that ever happened, I have no idea what I’d do. If I could… do my job as a Jedi. “Bah!” Jolee exclaims, “I dislike such memories. It leaves a taste in the mouth that… It is a sadness I thought I had put aside long ago.” He had to kill his wife, didn’t he? Here I’m wondering if I could do it… and he actually did. “Ask me again about the war some other time. Just… not now. I would prefer to be by myself for now.” Either his wife or someone else close to him. But he said before he left the Order as a Padawan, so he wouldn’t have had one himself. Or a wife for that matter. But something tells me they were one and the same. Even if they weren’t, if he had a secret wife, I don’t see why he wouldn’t have a secret Padawan. “If you’re through with your deductions,” he says suddenly. Right, the Force.

“Sorry,” I say, “I’ll… leave you be.” He nods his thanks and I go.

I’ve got to get out of these Sith robes. I look good in black, I guess, but it’s just not my style. But I’ve got some normal Jedi robes back at my bunk. I can turn this robe into rags or sand shields, if nothing else. Or maybe Bastila or Juhani could get some use out of them. It’s just not me.

When I get close to the starboard quarters, I hear Mission and Juhani talking. It’s good to know Juhani’s making friends with everyone. She always seems so distant. Mission’s a good friend to start with. She can be a bit exuberant but they have a homeworld in common. I open the door, and both turn to me. “Hey, Rena!” Mission says.

“We were just talking about Taris,” Juhani says, “Thank you for suggesting I speak to her. Mission has been a great help in easing my pain.”

“I thought she might be,” I say, “You guys had different perspectives on the planet, but it was still the same place.”

“I don’t think I would have liked Taris as she knew it, though,” Mission says, “I mean, Taris wasn’t a day spa or nothing, but it sounds like it was way rougher when you were growing up.”

“The Lower City was a horrible place to have to live,” Juhani says, “Living for years in a place with no sun, living off the trash dropped from the upper levels, and the meager pay doing back-breaking labor.”

“It probably would have been easier if there were other Cathar there,” Mission says, “At least you’d have some shared culture to talk about or something.”

“I wish you had been there,” Juhani says to her, “Both of you. The stigma from humans and non-humans only made a bad situation worse.” I pull out my brown Jedi tunic and sit near them, swapping out the shirts. “My family and I struggled each and every day to make something of our lives, but we could only go so far. Taxes from the corrupt government, more fees from the gangs controlling the streets, and whatever was left paying for what food and medical supplies we could afford.”

“This must have been before Gadon took over the Beks,” Mission says, “I’d expect that sorta thing from Brejik, but Gadon was always a good guy.”

“I can’t see how such a corrupt government could last,” I say.

“It did not,” Juhani says, “But only because of the Jedi who came. It was very bad. With no money to spare for any amenities, even the Enclave on Dantooine seems like a paradise in comparison. And of course there was the constant bigotry and hate from the more affluent and human citizens.” Mission rolls her eyes - clearly this was something that hadn’t changed. “Lording their wealth over us living below. Every once in a while a rich human would come down through the lower levels with his droid entourage just to see how the ‘wildlife' lived… and laughed at the mockeries that were our successes.”

“Those guys sucked!” Mission says, “But they were always good marks for a scam. I guess money can’t buy smarts.”

“I used to think all humans were like that,” Juhani says, “But I have come to meet many decent humans in my travels since those days. Indeed, some of the greatest people I have ever met are human.” She pauses and looks down. “The… the Jedi who encouraged me to join the Order, the one who was with the group going to fight the Mandalorians, she was human.” She looks at me. “I… I suppose I see something of her in you when I look…” But then she stops. She blushes and shakes her head. Whisking the thought away. “Sometimes I curse the day my parents fled to Taris. But then again, if they had not, I would not be where I am today.”

A comm unit chirps on Mission’s wrist, and her face lights up. “Awesome! It’s done!” she says, and she springs to her feet. “HK downloaded a sharpshooter program from the base on Korriban, he said I should try it out!”

“Bought or stole?”

“Like I’d buy anything from the Sith!” she says with a scoff, “Anyway, the download is done, so I’m gonna go check it out! It was great talking to you, Juhani!”

“She’s a good kid,” I say, looking at the door after her.

“I much like speaking with her,” Juhani agrees, “She fills the silent moments and keeps me from spiraling into despair.” Despair? Geez, are you okay? She shakes her head and smiles. “I am glad you came in. I have been thinking about you a lot lately.”

“Oh yeah?” I say, “Good things, I hope.”

“Not precisely.” That would mean bad things. And if it’s bad things why do you seem glad to see me? “Do not mistake me, it is just that even though we have traveled together for a while, it seems I know next to nothing about you, personally.”

Oh, is that all? “What do you want to know?”

“We have been travelling together since Dantooine, but I know nothing of you before that. Would you… would you humor me and tell me a little about yourself?”

I shrug. “Sure. Uh, where to begin…”

“Your job?” she offers, “Your childhood? Your life? Your… family?” She looks for a while at my face, then backpedals. “I am sorry if I am making you uncomfortable. I will fully understand if you choose not to answer.”

“No, no worries, it’s fine.”

She smiles. “I greatly appreciate you taking the time to talk to me,” she says, “How did you come to be on Dantooine? Besides the obvious, of course.”

That’s a good place to start. “It’s actually interesting how that started. I was on a Republic base world, waiting for my next assignment to come in - I had my fingers crossed for the Outer Rim. But when it came in, I was assigned to the Endar Spire, a ship in the fleet. Which made no sense to me, but hey, I go where I’m told. The Spire was sent to stop the Sith from invading Taris…”

She stops and sighs, her face dropping. “Taris…” she says forlornly, “It always seems to come back to Taris for me…” She shakes her head suddenly. Trying to focus. “I am sorry… I get distracted. What did you do before Ta… before that? You said you were waiting for an assignment?”

“Right, yeah. I’m a scout by trade,” I say, “An ecologist. I was working for the Republic, they had my contract. The last place I expected to be called was the fleet - an ecologist doesn’t really belong with a bunch of soldiers.”

“Yes, a career in the army would not be my choice, either,” she says, “We Cathar cannot seem to adjust to regimented organizations like the military. But… in a way it does seem to have its own romantic appeal. Defending the galaxy from evil. Much as we Jedi do.” She smiles at me again. “In a way, I suppose, we are more alike than not.”

Is… is she trying to flirt with me a little? If she is, it’s not in any way I’m used to. She seems too nervous to follow through. Like she wants to but she’s very anxious about it. And just like that she backs down again. “But again, I seem to be wasting your time with my carrying on. I apologize.”

I scoff. “You’re not wasting my time,” I say, “I just came in here to change my clothes. There’s not much to do before we get to Manaan.”

“I suppose not,” she says, “If you don’t mind, though, I would like to take this time to rest. I… did not sleep well last night.”

“Anything bothering you?”

“No,” she says, “I simply could not get to sleep.”

I certainly understand that. “I’ll let you rest, then. See you later.” She nods at me, and I leave. I want to put this crystal into my lightsaber anyway. I put it together in the first place, shouldn't be too hard to get another crystal in there.

[lezliefaithwade]

Thin Ice

Before I read “Harriet The Spy” I used to carry around a small notebook into which I wrote little tidbits about people I saw on street corners or at the mall. I was, and still am, obsessed with watching people. I’ve always been curious about their lives and how they tick.  City buses were particularly good hunting grounds for quirky characters. Every day on my way to school I would wait to see what group of misfits the bus would collect and then in detail I’d write things like:

Friday -

The lady with the strange hat gets on at Ferry Street with her large mesh bag and shuffles to her regular seat behind the driver. Even though she’s four seats away from me, I can smell garlic and rose petals. She wears stockings that sag at her ankles and reminds me of elephants. I wish I could follow her. I wonder where she goes and what she puts inside that large mesh bag. 

This habit of documenting events and people soon found its way into everyday life. It was, I see now, the equivalent of the cell phone. As long as I was engaged in my little book, I was safe from being noticed. Inherently introverted, I was never comfortable in large groups of people. High school parties were just painful reminders that I wasn’t pretty enough, or funny enough, or tall enough, or skinny enough and so I learned to hide. My notebook and pen became my shield of armour protecting me from engaging with the world.  But even Superman has his kryptonite and mine was a boy named Richard. 

Richard figure skated every Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday at the same arena where I took lessons. Inspired by the artistry of Toller Cranston, and Oksana Baiul I was obsessed with the idea of speed and grace on ice. I wasn’t a great figure skater, but I was good enough to manage basic skills. No one paid much attention to me as I attempted camel spins and axels and spread eagles.  The arena divas who shouted at you to “MOVE!” as they came flying into the corners got all the attention and I was just fine with that. I didn’t skate for anyone but myself. 

My father, who paid for classes from his small paycheck, told me that I could only take lessons if I agreed to pass the CFSA (Canadian Figure Skating Association) tests. He figured that the acquisition of badges justified the expenditure. Perhaps he also thought that failing to achieve the badges might convince me that I didn’t have a future in skating. Either way, that was the deal. So, along with three lessons a week on jumps, spins and flips, I spent an hour every Wednesday on what was known in the skating world as compulsory figures practiced on a piece of clean and shiny ice called a Patch. I hated patch. It was dull, boring, useless work trying to trace circles and curly cues going forward and backward using the different edges of your skate blade. I was horrible at it. Impatient and bored I counted the minutes until it was over; and so it was that on one particular Wednesday, while attempting to trace a circle…I fell. It’s one thing to fall attempting a lutz or an axel. That signals a certain amount of intestinal fortitude.  Falling on patch is practically unheard of. Imagine a stack of books falling in a library? Or a tin pot crashing onto the floor in a monastery where the monks have taken a vow of silence? That is what my crash landing was like at patch. Everyone stopped, stared and laughed. This was the ultimate humiliation for someone who did not want to be noticed. What was I to do but pick myself up and continue.

The rest of my session was agony. I couldn’t go home. Wasting hard earned cash was unheard of in my family. But I didn’t have the heart to skate. All my confidence had been sucked out of me. I imagined everyone wondering what I was doing at the rink. I didn’t belong. I set a bad example for the club. I didn’t even have a mother who could help me stake my claim on the ice, like all the other girls. Even in the change room, I only took up as much space as was absolutely necessary. Without my notebook to hide behind, I was vulnerable and afraid.  As I shoved my skates into my bag and grabbed my coat for the long walk home, Richard stopped me. 

“Nice fall on patch,” he said, not unkindly.

“Whatever,” I mumbled attempting to squeeze past him to the door.

“No,” he said, “I mean it. I hate patch. I always think I’m going to fall and now, I don’t have to worry. You’ve broken the stigma. Thanks.”

“Glad to be of service,” I smirked.

Richard was an excellent skater. He was strong and lean and his lines on the ice were lovely. Being only one of three male skaters at our club, it was hard not to notice him. He had ginger coloured hair, not unlike mine, and freckles. He had that boy next door look that reminded me of a less popular Ron Howard.  I was not in his league. 

“Listen,” he added, “I was wondering if you would be interested in going with me to my grade 12 formal?”

To this day I will never quite understand what Richard saw in me or why my disastrous fall inspired a guy I didn’t know to ask me out for the first time in my life. I was so in shock that before I knew it, I had said “yes.” Later I would come to realize that Richard had actually seen me before. The only female chess member in the Niagara region, I had beat my male opponent during a match at his school.  

As the formal grew closer and closer, I began to have second thoughts. I’d never been on a date in my life but I had some idea of what might be expected, especially at a formal. I didn’t go to his school. I barely knew him. What if he tried to hold my hand? What if he tried to kiss me? What about dancing? What about slow dancing? I was overwhelmed with fear. This would not be the first time in my life that I said “yes” when I wanted to say “no”. It would take me many years to gain that kind of courage. 

As the formal grew closer and closer it began to consume me. I took up an entire English class with my dilemma, soliciting the advice of my teacher and fellow students. I summoned up the courage to call Richard on the phone with the plan to cancel, but he insisted he’d spent a lot of money and guilted me into going through with it. With each passing day, I found myself disliking him more and more. At one point he called to make sure I was still going. 

“Do I have a choice?” I asked him.

“Not really,” he said. And that was that.

Back at my own high school, I was becoming the centre of unwanted attention as everyone started to weigh in on my dilemma. One classmate took it upon himself to warn me of all the things Richard might try to do. 

“If he reaches over to do up your seat belt, look out,” he warned. “If he locks your door, be careful.”

My head was spinning. 

On the day of the formal I got dressed and was ready by 6:30. Richard picked me up at 8:00. In my journal I wrote: He brought me a corsage of roses. I don’t really like roses, but of course if he’d taken the time to get to know me, he would have discovered that. The moment I got into his car he did up my seat belt and locked my door. I swallowed hard, held my housekeys in my fist and girded my loins.

There was a dance, and dinner and more dancing. Richard was not particularly popular but he was respected. I don’t remember a lot of kids talking to him. Mostly he was just congratulated for winning every award at his school and a scholarship to McMaster. We did have one thing hugely in common – we were both nerds. 

The thing I dislike about parties is that I never get to do what I really want, which is to talk. School dances were always an excuse to test sexual waters under half lit gymnasiums with mirror balls.  If Richard and I had gone off to a stairwell to discuss current events, I think the evening might have been a huge success. But the pressure to be romantic was palpable.  At one point he tried to hold my hand and I said I needed it to hold up my dress. I wrote in my journal that he danced so close to me that I could feel his knee in my stomach. THAT is how naïve I was. He tried to kiss me but I wouldn’t let him and eventually, finally, the night came to an end and he drove me home. I was almost out of the car when to my utter amazement he asked me out again. In so many words, I said, “No.” Not an actual “no” but one in so many words.

Richard wasn’t a bad guy. He just hadn’t paid attention to the fact that we were better suited as friends than something more. I would have liked it if we could have occasionally competed at chess. Intellectually matched, we could have discussed Turgenev or world religion or shared our adolescent poems in the park or songs on the guitar sitting cross-legged in a family room. And if I’d been better adjusted, more confident, I might have been able to suggest this alternative. But I wasn’t. I spent a long time feeling very guilty about how I’d behaved. I felt mean and selfish for having ruined his prom. I wondered if at any point he understood how terrified I had been?

The following Monday as I boarded the city bus, relieved that the ordeal of dating was over, I pulled out my little notebook ready to remark on the misfits on the bus when I realized that I was one of them. I wasn’t like everyone else, but then again – who is? Sooner or later I would have to face the music and dance and notebooks, skating lessons and chess club, no matter how solitary was not going to protect me forever from being noticed. This was not a bad thing, just something new to consider.

[realityhelixcreates]

Beta, Theta, and Me Chapter 8: Civil Disobedience

Chapters: 8/?

Fandom: Thor (Movies), Avengers (Movies) Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG

Warnings: Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not right now),

Characters: Loki(Marvel) Additional Tags:  A/B/O, Sorta, More Of An Exploration Of Life And Self Expression Within An A/B/O Framework, Loki Does What He Wants, But Loki Does Not Actually Do What He Wants, Antagonistic Bosses, Loki Has A Throne Now, But It’s Not What He Wanted

Summary:  In direct defiance of Loki’s orders, you make life easier for him.

“Like he got mad that you were asking questions?” Stark asked over the phone. “If he starts getting like that, you don't have to keep asking.”

“No, not like that at all!” You exclaimed, back to the door, trying to speak over the sound of cursing and thumping from the penthouse outside. “He wanted to tell me! He was trying to, but it was like something clamped his mouth shut, and he couldn't get it out. Looked like it really hurt.”

“Damn. That's way worse than just withholding the information. What the hell is even with this guy? If it's not one weird thing, it's some other weird thing. Okay, well don't put yourself in danger if you don't have to.”

“Yeah. I'm just...hanging out now.” You said nervously. The crashing was still going on. “Gonna be fine though.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah! It's fine! Talk to ya later, boss!” You hung up the phone. You didn't want Stark to hear the disturbance. You definitely didn't want him sending anyone up here to 'calm things down'; that would only end badly for everyone involved, but probably Loki most of all.

He was still injured. And this tantrum couldn't be helping, with all the expended magic, and undue stress on his neck.

And you didn't actually want to leave yet. You knew this wouldn't last forever. Logically, you knew. Loki would heal, and you would move on. It was inevitable. Nothing stayed.

But you didn't want it to be over yet. You didn't want him to be carted off to the hospital or jail just yet. You didn't want to be relocated or let go yet. There were other factors at play now. The territorial desire for a place to call your home. The pride that wouldn't allow you to admit failure, even if you hadn't actually failed anything. The burning curiosity. Now, more than ever, you wanted to know what had happened to him! But obviously you couldn't just come out and ask him about it.

The shouting and crashing had died down outside your door, replaced by coughing. You cracked your door and peeked out.

You could just barely see Loki, red-faced and clutching his armrests tightly. His teeth were bared in a gritted snarl, but the coughing was a rhythmic sound repeating itself as though he was laughing. After a moment you realized that wasn't it. He was sobbing.  

He had told you-ordered you-not to come back today.

But you were out in the hall anyway, grabbing up a box of tissues on your way to him.

“Insubordinate fool.” He gasped. “How dare you defy me?”

“Mhm.” You began carefully blotting up his tears.

“I could kill you. Instantly.”

“Any second.”

“And still you disobey! I should punish you most severely for this.”

“Yeah. You should really bring out your worst.”

You found yourself in his lap somehow; it was really the only position you could be in, in order to reach his face and stroke his hair, offer him the comfort he had obviously been craving for so long.

“You cannot imagine the frustration!” He raged, and you clucked, and cooed, and agreed. You probably didn't really understand. Something had obviously been done to him that was far and away from the trauma you had experienced. So you continued to caress his cheeks and let him get his ranting out.

“I deeply wish you had not seen that.” He admitted, once he had a better grip on himself.

“I'm a servant, right?” You said. “I don't really have any impact on your reputation. Besides, I'm your omni-servant, aren't I? She who does all? Didn't you have, like, councilors on Asgard?”

“Of course. But it was...unseemly...for someone of my station...and then it was too late.”

Sheer force of will kept you from rolling your eyes. Of course there was a stigma against him getting the help he needed. Because he was a prince, or an Alpha, or a man. It was just one more stupid flaw of Alpha-run societies. It was just the same here on Earth.

“How is your neck?” You asked. “Do you need any painkillers or anything?”

“Uncomfortable, and no.” He answered, letting you stand once again. “Your drugs are useless to me. And we do not profane our bodies with such anyway. It's an insult to our physical purity.”

“Oh my god, Loki. Are you an anti-vaxxer?”

“A what? No, it's just that Asgardians are impervious to viruses, and so am I. And there is no pain so great that I cannot endure it. Think me weak, simply because of this?” He gestured to his neck brace. “My pain is pure. I do not need to do anything about it, save endure.”

“Not weak, just that there's nothing wrong with-”

“I do not require that kind of sympathy.” He interrupted. “Your comfort was a gift, but you need not press it further.”

“All right, all right!” You said. Was this some kind of Asgardian thing? “No painkillers, I get it. How is it though? Is it still broken, or is that even what happened in the first place?”

He stared at you with the wariness of a wild animal. “It was...” He paused. Nothing happened. “It was broken.”

“How?” Who could do that to a god?

He hissed in pain.

“I mean, how did you survive?” You amended swiftly. Whatever had done it must be tied to whatever was enforcing his silence.

“I...I...was in space. In a sort of torpor. It has happened before. So too, was my brother. A ship came, ostensibly in response to our distress call, but more realistically to salvage any valuables from the wreck. They found Thor, and something possessed them to bring him aboard. He woke there, and for once-for once-he refused to leave me behind.

Their captain came out to find me. He is human, and a sentimental fool, like all your kind. When he saw that my neck was wrong...I do not know what it is about your people that drives them to do such things without even thinking about it...like some kind of strange instinct...he straightened my head. Damn fool has phenomenal luck. He got it just right. I woke up right out there in space with him, mostly unable to move. He went back immediately to get me an old style of space helmet; it was so thick and bulky that it acted as a makeshift brace just long enough for them to put together a real one.

The whole crew of that ship is irrevocably insane, lunatics, all of them. But I owe my life to human sentimentality.”

“So we aren't all bad, huh?” That was a heck of a story, if you'd ever heard one. He was right though; that was incredibly lucky. How easily he could have died.

“You are exhausting. Well. You specifically are not. But that crew was. Whoever heard of an Omega captaining such a ship? He was such an odd one. Already claimed, of course, not that he was my type.”

“How long do you think it will take to heal? Did a doctor look at you when you got here?”

“Yes, a human doctor saw to me. Tried to pierce my skin with a needle. Tried to give me a dose of something called 'morphine'! I informed him of his impertinence when the needle broke. Idiot. His tools could do nothing. To injure me took the power of an inf-fi-fff-AHG!”

He broke off, gagging.

“Loki! Loki, Loki, shhh, shhhh, I get it, he couldn't help you. Okay.”

A few moments passed while Loki caught his breath.

“The nature...of my injury...slows its healing. As does my use of magic, as does my distance from Asgard, as does the constant strain of just living my life.” He wheezed.

The nightmares. The curse, or whatever it was that hurt him when he tried to talk about it. All of those stresses must be constantly re-injuring him, keeping him from healing properly.

“What can I do?” You asked. In the back of your head, you were yelling at yourself not to get any further involved, not to offer any more of yourself, but you didn't take it back.

“You? You can do nothing, what do you think you could possibly do?” Loki scoffed. “You already take some pressure off. I do not have to use as much magic with you around.”

“Is there anything else I can do? So you can use less magic? Is there anything left of Asgard that can be brought here? Do you think, I dunno, lullabies or warm milk before bed would help with the nightmares? I can learn to sing better!”

He stared at you, expression severe and hard to read. Maybe you had overstepped again.

“I'll think about it.” He said. “For now, I am tired...warm milk? Really? Am I an infant?”

“No milk? Not even with cinnamon?”

Loki's lip curled. “Disgusting.”

“Man, you really are a picky eater.”

He had you leave him by the fireplace with is books, and prepare dinner. You went with pot roast this time, dumping all the ingredients into a slow cooker, and washing the prep dishes, while thinking to yourself.

You were so done with suffering. It had been all around you for so long, inescapable, the greater portion of your lived experience. There had to be something else. You'd caught tantalizing glimpses of another way of life, like peeking through the slats of a fence. But every time you thought you had found a way to slip through, somebody boarded it up. Even now, when the sun was out, and things were looking up, you couldn't help but look at this man, and see the rich, velvety layers of misery he was swaddled in.

Perhaps it was just another symptom of the human sentimentality he so scorned. To see someone in pain, and instinctively want to alleviate it. It was so integral to the core of humanity that your people had to be bombarded with a constant blitz of propaganda designed specifically to erode your compassion and empathy, just so you would stop. But it didn't stop you, not all of you. There were still protests, and strikes, and mutual aid, and community action. The urge was still there; it could not be stripped from all of you.

You returned to his side while waiting for dinner to cook. It would be a few hours yet, in which you didn't have much to do, so you sank down on the cushion he had taken to leaving near the fireside for you. Loki was staring into the sparks, as if trying to glean meaning from their dance.

“Would it offend your sensibilities overmuch to help me dress?” He asked. “It would reduce my magic use by a small amount.”

“Yeah, I could probably do that.” You said. That wouldn't be so bad, especially since he was mostly wearing robes during his convalescence. The underthings would be a challenge, simply because of the basic embarrassment that nudity always brought on. But if you could get past the awkwardness, it shouldn't be difficult.

“Are you certain? You will be exposed to certain things that could dishonor you.” He said.

“Dishonor?” You snorted. “What's there to dishonor? You already said you weren't gonna do anything to me.”

“Ah, but I do not wish to make you suffer the temptation.”

“Not gonna be a problem, trust me.” You said. Embarrassment, maybe. Temptation? Never. It was an advantage, you told yourself. Over and over again, you told yourself. At the back of every man who walked out your door, you told yourself. It was an advantage. The pheromones didn't effect you. It made you free.

But Loki frowned slightly. “Very well.” He said, slightly miffed. “You can bathe me as well, if it means so little to you.”

And there it was again. The pride always bruised like an overripe pear.

“I probably can, yeah.” You said, holding on to feigned nonchalance. That was somewhat more difficult, because it meant you would have to be physically touching more of him than you would by just dressing him. But cleaning himself probably took a lot more magic that getting dressed did. And the touch would just be kind of inconvenient, and then there was the brace...

“What do I do about the brace?” How would you wash his hair and face without getting it wet? How would you wash his neck?

“Unfortunately, I will have to use a little bit of magic to keep it dry.” Loki admitted. “Still, it will be less than before. Are you truly sure about this?”

“Never know if I don't try.” You said.

“Strange little thing. To be so cavalier. Well, we shall see how brave you are when the time comes.”

                                                                          ******

The time had come, and now you knew why Loki's tub was so damn big. It was built to accommodate his incredibly long legs, as well as any helpers he might require.

And probably a bit of debauchery as well. You couldn't discount that possibility, unlikely as it was that he would have partners over any time soon.

You stood in hot water just up to your thighs, wielding a soapy scrubbing pad, while Loki lounged submerged nearly to his shoulders. Things were going well so far.

Stripping him down hadn't actually been so bad; the man was built like a Geefs sculpture, like a statue of the Devil so beautiful it had to be removed from the church. He had done almost nothing to hide his privates from your view, almost challenging you, but it didn't matter. That wasn't what drew your eyes.

No, your gaze was held by the roadmap of scars that meandered across his torso, around his back, over his shoulders. A hundred human lifetimes of cuts and stabs, of burns and gashes. A cicatrix as long as your hand just to the side of his sternum caught and trapped your attention. What could do that? What could do that to him? It had a brother, a twin less than an inch from his spine. It must have been a blade. It must have severed ribs.

“It was an abomination, since you are wondering.” Loki had said, catching your horrified stare. “Like legends of old, we became each other's demise.”

“But...”

“Does it disgust you? Am I so ugly to you now that you have seen all of me?”

“No! You're just...” Like an exaltation of form that had inspired artists for millennia. An expression of beauty that could be appreciated so much farther than just the carnal. Even the marks that scrawled across his body like a cuneiform tablet only added to the story of him. The tantalizing story of a being ages old and aeons away.

He'd sunk slowly into the water with an appreciative moan, shameless, ruling the moment like the prince he was.

He'd given you a different uniform for this activity. It was basically a one-piece bathing suit, but it retained the aesthetic of your Asgardian uniform. How did he just have these things? It wasn't an immodest garment by any means, but you felt almost as revealed as he was while wearing it.

The soap was definitely something special; luxurious and sudsy, it was actually moisturizing, and smelled like a forest in Autumn. You kept your little exfoliating pad frothy with it, and used it to limit the amount of physical contact with him. He wasn't making it easy; he kept stretching out and posing, leaning into your touch, moaning at your gentle ministrations. You were being gentle, even though you just wanted to scrub him off and get this over with, but he was clearly in a roguish mood.

He flicked water at you in playful little splashes.

“Why are you trying so hard to stay dry, you prim little thing? There is plenty of room. You can relax too, just as long as you do your job.”

You shied away from the water droplets. “It's bad luck to mix work and play. Always comes back to bite me.”

“I don't bite that hard, do I?” He asked.

“Don't want to find out. You already threatened to drink my blood once, remember?”

He gave a fake frown. “That was before I realized how sour you were. No respectable bloodsucker would be able to stand two drops of you.”

“Then I'll keep my precious blood to myself. Now show me your back.”

“With pleasure.” He stood up to turn around, deliberately giving you a view of his marble ass. You were tempted to give it a hard pinch. After all, if he was going to act like an exasperating child, you might as well treat him like one. However, you also felt it was more likely that you would break your fingers squeezing before he even felt the slightest sting.

He paused a moment before sitting back down, just making sure you got a good eye full. What a brat. Was he like this as a kid? You couldn't imagine what kind of royal terror he must have been, with his tempers and his tricks. He didn't seem terribly hard to please though.

You set about scrubbing his back, taking note of the many scars there. Many of them seemed similar to each other, as if they had all been inflicted by the same awful weapon. Long, thin, and criss-crossed. You didn't know what could have caused them, but he flinched the first time you touched them, quickly regaining control.

“Does that hurt?” You asked. They didn't look fresh, but that didn't mean anything. “What made these?”

“Lash.” He said, but cut you off with a sharp hand gesture when you started to ask more questions.

Was it related to the things he couldn't say, or just another bad memory? A whip? There were so many of those marks.

You carefully washed his hair, probably the least stressful part of the whole affair, though you did watch his face carefully for any signs of discomfort regarding his neck.

You were just about to declare him clean and step out of the tub, when his hand shot out and caught you by the wrist.

“Aren't you forgetting something?” He asked. You noticed the suppressed mirth in his voice and didn't know if you liked it.

“Don't think I am, no.” You said. He gestured to the water. Specifically, he gestured to the water that was currently covering his crotch.

Oh, it was going to be like that? A challenge? Bratty to the last.

“How could I have possibly forgotten?” You drawled sarcastically. You reached down into the water and grabbed him without any ceremony or gentleness. He went instantly hard in your hand.

Perhaps this had been a bad idea.

But as you held up the rough scrubbing pad and saw the merriment drain from his expression at the realization of what was coming, vengeful satisfaction settled in your soul. He barely had time to protest before you plunged the pad underwater and gave the whole area the cleaning he'd demanded.

When you were done, and his muffled yelps had subsided, you tossed the pad aside, and climbed out of the water.

“All done!” You announced with fake cheer.

Loki glared at you, his lips pressed so tight, they almost disappeared. There wasn't any anger in his gaze, but you slipped out of the bathing room quickly, lest the heat of it bore into your back.