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kyluff · 1 year ago

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— ↺ Baby Daddies

✎ gojo + geto + nanami + toji + choso x reader !

✦ summary ➠ some jjk men finding out they are going to be a daddy.

✦ warnings ➠ pregnancy (duh), swearing, mentions of sex

✦ note ➠ Also ps the gojo one is kinda cringe ngl but whatever kinda cute, my fave is the Nanami one I think.

✪ Satoru Gojo

— Gojo had been lounging around on your shared bed the whole day. It was one of his odd days off, so he chose to spend it being lazy.

As he was living carefree and innocently, you had just found out you were pregnant. Not that this should be a surprise.

Sure, your period being very late and the puking in the morning should’ve been enough of a sign that you were pregnant. But you didn’t actually think you were pregnant, pregnant.

But that was the reality you faced now in the bathroom of your master bedroom. You knew you couldn’t hide anything from your frost haired boyfriend for too long, so mays well fess up about it quickly.

You took the positive stick with you as you made your way to the room that was connected and that held Gojo. You weren’t too scared to tell him, because he always made it annoyingly obvious to you that he wanted a baby with you. Every minute he got he would make a comment about how nice it would be to have a child running around, how cute you’d look with your stomach swollen, how tiny baby clothes were and he told you how he envisioned his future child in them.

So no, you didn’t feel much fear. As for you thoughts on the predicament, you also had wanted a kid. Though you didn’t make your opinion as aware as he did, you still wanted to have one some day, and that day was this one it seemed.

You waltzed up to him, throwing the stick onto his exposed chest. “Looks like you got what you wanted.”

He threw a confused look your way. “Huh?” He let out the sound, but it died out as he held the object thrown at him and saw what it actually was. “You’re pregnant?!”

You only nodded, readying yourself for whatever celebration that was going to happen soon. Just as you expected, he sprung up and attached onto you to bring you down onto the bed with him.

“Yes! Yes! This is perfect. Thank you,” He planted so many quick kissed onto you face that they interrupted his sentence formation. “Thank you, thank you.”

“You should thank yourself for this, you are the one who always chooses to come inside.” You remarked jokingly, also wrapping your arms around him.

✪ Suguru Geto

— You sat nervously on the bed that was wrapped in white, thin paper to ensure it was clean for any patient that had to use it. And that patient was you. You gripped your husbands hand harder, looking to find comfort in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s going to be alright.” He smiled and brought your hand to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it. “We get so see her this time, isn’t that exciting?”

He used ‘her’ to refer to the growing babe in your stomach, but you didn’t truly know the sex of them just yet. He just hoped for a baby girl, hence the use of the pronoun.

Today was your first official appointment at the doctors that you would actually see your baby. You were both feeling so many emotions right now. You were both excited as well as frightened at the same time. You would be able to see your bundle of joy, but there was also a possibility of the fetus having something wrong with them, like a illness.

The door opened and your doctor entered. “Hello, I’ll be helping you for today. My name is D/n, pleasure to meet you.” She thrusted her hand towards your husband, then you as well.

“To begin, we’re just going to start with you Miss mommy. We will perform some basic health checks, your levels and such. How does that sound?” She was very sweet, always making sure to ask if you were ok to proceed.

“Sounds perfect.” Your husband responded for you politely. You added in a nod too.

“Now, let’s move on to what you’ve both been waiting for.” After your procedure was done, it was time for your baby’s turn. “I’m going to perform a ultrasound, you’ll be able to literally see your baby through this! All parents are overjoyed about their first ultrasound.”

“I’d say I’m more anxious, actually.” You muttered, you didn’t want to be a killjoy but how could you not? There was a big step between knowing you’re pregnant and watching your belly grow and actually seeing your baby.

“And that is completely normal! Many say the same too, if you are worried then that is just a sign you are going to be a caring mother.” She had a perfect response for everything. She must’ve been use to all of this already. “Now, I will warn you that the gel is quite cold, but that’s the worst that’s going to happen for this step.”

“Before I start, I ask all my patients if they would like to know the gender.” You both would definitely like to know, since Geto was so keen on it being a little girl.

“Yes please, my husband wants it to be a girl you see.” You informed D/n.

“And as for you? What would you like the gender to be?” She asked you this time.

“My wife doesn’t care much either way. She almost always corrects me when I say our baby is a girl.” Geto sent a look of admiration your way. Everyone took a moment to chuckle, once the moment was over you decided it was time to get it over with.

“Let’s do this, then.” You let it out as a breath. “You ready, Suguru?”

“Not really, are you?” He was joking, half joking at least.

“Not at all.” You responded, letting the man kiss your hand again.

The professional spread the gel all over the surface of your rounded stomach. Once it was to her liking, she turned on the machine and grabbed the device that had the sensor on the end of it. “Let’s see your baby!”

Except it wasn’t just a ‘baby’ the correct term would be ‘babies’ because there’s was two. “Oh, how lovely, you will be having twins it seems.”

Twins? You thought, what would Suguru think about this. So you tilted your head to your husband that was eagerly sitting beside you on his chair. He was in his own world, not noticing you were even looking at him. He eyes were stuck on the screen that showcased the little white and grey blurbs that were your babies.

“And it seems your husband was right about the gender, they’re both healthy, baby girls!” She cheered, continuously moving the wand around your stomach to get new angles.

“You see, I was right!” He pointed out, shimmying closer to your body that was laying down still.

“How do you feel about finding out it’s twins?” You couldn’t help but ask him, anticipating his response.

“I feel that whatever those results would have shown, I would still love you just the same.” He hummed, bringing his hand to your face and brushing your hair out of your face to lay a kiss on your forehead. “I might even love you more.”

✪ Kento Nanami

— Nanami had been at the grocery store, he had to purchase a long list of things. The list contained many things like milk, batteries, lettuce, a pregnancy test or two. Normal things.

Except, this was not normal of course. Nanami especially did not feel normal as of right now, he felt on edge ever since he received the text from you to add a pregnancy test to the grocery list. His phone almost fell right out of his hands at the store when he read it.

And now he was home finally.

You heard his car pull up earlier, so you were already there to meet him at the door once he came through. There was a awkward pause when he laid eyes on you. You didn’t know what to do, you just texted him out of the blue that you needed a pregnancy test. That could only mean one thing, that you were pregnant, or at least there was a possibility of it.

He dropped the bags that he held at the door way of your house where he stood. He quickly sped walk towards you, slightly leaning down to match your height. He brought his hands up to cup your face, he didn’t do anything now, just stare into your eyes. You looked into each others soul, relishing in this intimate moment together.

“You think you’re pregnant?” He asked in a soft voice as not to ruin the moment. You sighed but nodded still.

At this, he closed the gap between your lips and left a intense kiss on them. He pulled back but not too far, wanting to stay as close as he could to you right now.

“Alright.” Is what he said before he left you to return to the previously held bags. He searched through them to find the box that held the stick you needed.

He came back to where you still stood, placing the said box in one of your hands and taking the other in his to hold. “Let’s go the washroom, together.”

You nodded again, following the man that held your hand now. Together, you thought. That single word made you feel warm, it made you feel not so alone in this whole situation.

He opened the door that lead to your bathroom, stilling and letting you in so you could pee on the test in privacy. But you didn’t want that. “Can you stay?” You waited a moment. “Please?”

“Of course.” He kissed you cheek. You sat on the toilet, taking time to just stare at the unopened test before you. Nanami picked up on this, gently taking the box out of your hands and opening the package himself. He gave it back to you now, he hoped that this would send a message to you, that he was there for you no matter what.

You did your thing, peeing on the stick finally. You pulled it back up from underneath you, looking up at Nanami again. “Now we just wait, I guess.”

And wait you did, anxiously to say the least. You had now changed positions. You sat on the counter of the sink, in between your boyfriends legs while he stood. He had been spitting encouraging and comforting words while also rubbing soothing circles on your legs and back. Anything to pass the time and bring you consolation.

The amount of time that was needed had passed. Now it was time to look at the results.

You went to grab the stick but before you could, Nanami grabbed your hand to halt you. “I want you to know that now matter what it says, I’ll still love and support you, ok?”

“Ok.” You smiled up at the blonde, he always knew how to calm you down. He then let go of you so that you could continue with your pursuit of finding out the results.

You flipped the stick over and there it was, two lines that meant you were pregnant. You let a shaky breath out, not sure how to react to this. You looked at Nanami to see how he was handling this, fairly well it seemed. He had a small smile on his face and his eyes looked almost watery.

He took the test away from you, tracing the two lines that went downwards on the tiny screen. He dropped the stick back onto the surface, wrapping his hands around the back of your neck to bring you in for a big, celebratory kiss.

“I am honoured to be able to have a child with you, Y/n.”

✪ Toji Fushiguro

— The black haired man let out a yawn as he rested his feet on the row of benches in front of him. He had his arms stretched across the seats on either side of him too, completely relaxed in his current state. He was watching the boat race today.

This was his favourite hobby by far, he could just laze around the stadium all day and possibly win some money, though he seemed to have bad luck and lose most of it. He didn’t care though, because gambling put him in a good mood, nothing could bring him down. Then his annoying phone ringer went off, signalling someone was calling you. Now that, that could bring him down.

The race was set to start soon, any minute now even. He pulled the phone out of his pocket, your contact lit up the screen. He sighed, there was two minutes left until the boats started racing, he could spare one call with you.

“What, woman?” He drawled out with annoyance evident in his voice. Could you have called at a worse time? He thought internally.

“Get home, now.” Is all he heard on his side of the line before the call was ended by you. Who does she think she is, hanging up on me like that? And only saying three words! Even though he protested in his mind, he got up none the less and made his way to your shared apartment.

After you had ended that call, you immediately felt a wave of anxiety wash through your body. You were in the bathroom on the toilet, positive pregnancy test in hand.

You shouldn’t be surprised really, ever since the two of you started this relationship Toji insisted on having sex without a condom. Now you were forced to face the consequences to your actions, well Toji’s actions really.

You stood up, deciding you should get ready for your boyfriends arrival.

Once Toji arrived, he was met with your figure sitting at the kitchen table. You had your elbows rested on the surface and your hands covering your head. You looked distressed.

He walked up to you, kicking the chair leg you sat on. “What’s up with you? The race was just about to start too and then you had to go and call me all the way over here.”

You didn’t respond verbally, only pulling out a little stick and slamming it on the table in front of him.

He raised an eyebrow, picking the unknown object up and inspecting it. Oh shit, he thought. And that’s what he said out loud too. “Oh shit.”

“Oh shit? That’s all you have to say, really?!” You were starting to get angry now, what kind of response is that to such important news.

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, this was a genuine question. He wanted to know what you wished for as a response, did you want to keep it? Or didn’t you? He needed to know.

“I want you to say,” You breathed in. “I want you to say you’re happy, to say you’re happy to have a baby with me.” You whispered.

He wasn’t the best with sharing his emotions, you know this, but he showed it now in his own way. He dropped down to his knees in front of your chair, grabbing each of your hands and bringing them to his lips.

“I wanna have a baby with you.” He mumbled against your hands and kissed them.

✪ Choso Kamo

— Choso sat on the couch while watching the tv play in the living room. The two of you had cooked up some breakfast, it was early in the morning, but it was the weekend so you both could just relax and spend time doing what you want.

You were doing your morning routine in the bathroom, or at least that’s what Choso was told you were up to. Instead, you were nervously awaiting for the results of the second pregnancy test you had used. The first one was positive, so if this one was too, then it had to mean you were pregnant for sure.

You knew Choso had wanted a child ever since you met, he had told you almost every time you fucked. But for some reason, you still felt scared for his reaction once you told him.

Choso, finished his breakfast by now, had begun to feel worried. You have been in there for quite some time now, too long for your usual routine, and he knew how long you usually took. He had witnessed it almost every morning for the past two years. Plus he had to use the bathroom anyway, so he decided to go to you.

He placed his bowl in the sink, wiped his hands and went to go see what was taking you so long. Once he reached the door, he knocked on it. “Hey, Y/n. Everything alright in there?”

Your heart stopped, the white sticks almost dropping from your hands. “Uhm, ya! Almost done!”

“Can I come in, I have to pee really bad.” He giggled, gripping the doorframe in an attempt to hold his piss in.

You let a breath out, trying to ground yourself. This is Chose we’re talking about, he’s wanted a baby forever, and he loves you. He’ll be ok with it, you told your self. You threw one of the tests in the garbage and kept the other, holding it behind your back.

“Sorry, I lost track of time.” You said as you opened the door, allowing your boyfriend to come in.

“It’s fine.” He rushed past you, not without laying a kiss on your cheek though. He placed himself in front of the toilet, ready to unzip his pants, but stopped as he looked your way. You looked suspicious, you were standing by the sink and staring at him. The most interesting fact was that you had your hands behind your back, like you were hiding something.

He stopped in his tracks and came closer to you. “What you got back there?”

“This.” You said when you shoved the test into his chest. You had a smile on even though you were afraid, but you knew Choso would be excited. “You’re going to be a daddy, Choso.”

He brought the stick to his face, he was surprised to say the least, but a good kind of surprise. He had wanted this with you for a long time.

He grabbed you, picking you up and flinging you around in celebration. “I’m going to be a dad!” He laughed out.

“And I’m going to be a mom!” You laughed along with him. Placing kisses all over each other’s faces.

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bemusedlybespectacled · 8 months ago

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I don't understand the chevron law thing, could you explain it like I'm five? Should we be working towards fixing whatever the courts just fucked up?

So, okay, I am condensing like a semester of a class I took in 2017 into a very short explanation, but:

It would be really annoying for Congress to individually pass laws approving every new medicine or listing out every single poison you can't have in tap water, so instead there are agencies created by Congress, via a law, to handle a specific thing. The agencies are created by Congress but overseen by the executive branch (so, the president), which is why we say things like "Reagan's EPA" or "Biden's DOJ" - even though Congress creates them, the president determines how they do the thing Congress wants them to do, by passing regulations like "you can't dump cyanide in the local swimming pool" and "no, you can't dump strychnine, either."

However, sometimes people will oppose these regulations by saying that the agency is going beyond the task they were given by Congress. "The Clean Air Act only bans 'pollutants,' and nowhere in the law does it say that 'pollutants' includes arsenic! You're going beyond your mandate!" To which the experts at the EPA would be like, "We, the experts at the EPA, have decided arsenic is a pollutant." On the flip side, the EPA could be like, "We, the experts at the EPA, have decided that arsenic isn't a pollutant," and people would oppose that regulation by being like, "But the Clean Air Act bans 'pollutants,' and it's insane to say that arsenic isn't a pollutant!" So whose interpretation is correct, the government's or the challengers'?

Chevron deference basically put heavy weight onto how the agency (i.e. the government) interpreted the law, with the assumption that the agency was in the right and needing pretty strong evidence that they were interpreting it wrong (like, blatantly doing the opposite of a clear part of the law or something). If there was any ambiguity in how the law was written, you'd defer to the agency's interpretation, even if that interpretation was different depending on who was president at the time.

(Note: there are other ways of challenging regulations other than this one, like saying that they were promulgated in a way that is "arbitrary and capricious" – basically, not backed by any evidence/reasoning other than "we want it." Lots of Trump-era regulations got smacked with this one, though I think they'd be better at it if Trump gets a second term, since they've now had practice.)

Chevron deference wasn't all good – remember that the sword cuts both ways, including when dickholes are in power – but it was a very standard part of the law. Like, any opposition to a regulation would have some citation to be like "Chevron doesn't apply here" and every defense would be like "Chevron absolutely applies here" and most of the time, the agency would win. Like, it was a fundamental aspect of law since the 80s.

The Supreme Court decision basically tosses that out, and says, "In a situation where the law is ambiguous, the court decides what it means." That's not completely insane – interpreting law is a thing judges normally do – but in a situation where the interpretation may hinge on something very complicated outside of the judge's wheelhouse, you now cannot be like, "Your Honor, I promise you that the experts at NOAA know a lot about the weather and made this decision for a good reason."

The main reason it's a problem is that it allows judges to override agencies' judgements about what you should do about a thing and what things you should be working on in the first place. However, I don't think there's really a way of enshrining that into law, outside of maybe adding something to the Administrative Procedure Act, and that would require a Congress that isn't majority Republican.

I will say that kind of I expected this to happen, just because IIRC Gorsuch in particular hates Chevron deference. IMO it's a classic case of "rules for me but not for thee" – Scalia and other conservatives used to rely on Chevron because they wanted their presidents to hold a ton of unchecked power (except for the EPA), but now that we've had Obama and Biden, now conservatives don't like Chevron because it gives the presidents they don't like unchecked power.

#askbox #personal #Anonymous #bb is a lawyer #bb had a whole flow chart for admin law finals that is now moot #chevron deference

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luvhughes43 · 1 year ago

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is it over now? | jack hughes

part two of the beginning

au masterlist⭐️

note: i switched to first person pov for this story just to test it out. Inbox me if you’d want to go back to 3rd person.

warnings: pregnancy, birth

word count: 4.7k

the doctors waiting room is cold and uninviting. i stare up at all the pregnancy posters that litter the walls, and soon my gaze falls to all the mothers and all the fathers. they all sit, talking quietly amongst themselves. the women are gorgeously radiant, and if this were any other time i’d compare their beauty to mine.

instead, i linger on the way they interact with their husbands, boyfriends, whatever. small touches, whispers, and smiles all burn into my mind like a useless cd.

“y/n l/n?” a nurse in all blue interrupts my thoughts, she gestures for me to follow her and i do.

like the waiting room, the small room i’m brought into is cold. i wonder briefly what jacks doing right now. if he had gotten my message or if he’s still asleep. i try to imagine his reaction but i can’t bring myself to conjure up an accurate depiction of him. everything is off - and i fear if i keep trying to imagine this man who’s not my jack, that i’ll somehow forget the real one.

“we’re just going to do some tests, all very basic things. i need to know your medical history, and i’ll have to do a complete physical assessment,” a doctor walks into the room, clipboard in hand. she doesn’t look at me as she speaks, but I absentmindedly nod to her words anyway.

“Okay so, is this your first pregnancy?” the doctor asks.

“Yes” i nod.

“And, do you have any medical history I should be aware of? Past procedures, family history, etc” the doctor looks up from their notes and i pause.

“Uh, i -” my cell phone buzzes in my purse and i quickly reach for it. Its a notification from sephora, something about how there’s a last minute sale and that i should buy some overpriced body spray.

“I had my tonsils taken out when I was five, but other than that i’ve had no other procedures” my words come out shaky, as if i’m confused. i turn my phone over again, willing for another notification to pop up. It’s 11:40am, and jack is definitely awake by now.

the doctor calls a nurse in to prep for the examination. everythings a blur as i lean back. the nurse, short with reddish-blonde hair, has to ask me to lift up the bottom of my shirt twice.

“And if you look over here, this is where your baby is,” the doctor is confident in her speech as she shifts the little wand around my stomach.

the appointment was nightmarish.

the nurse sent me home with a little packet of information sheets, all different colours and all about different things. i don’t want to look at them, so i shove them into the bottom of my purse when i get out of the office.

⋆ ★

vivienne always made sure to wake up an hour before jack. she liked to make herself a fancy coffee with her espresso machine, and she liked to plan out her events for the day. she had decided that they’d go to the grocery store sometime before noon, hit the mall for an outfit to wear to dinner, and then of course dinner with viviennes friends at 7.

after her coffee, Vivienne tiptoed her way back into her bedroom. she was proud of the fact that Jack liked to stay here. she made sure her bedding was always fresh and clean when he was over, and she made sure to spray a little bit of her perfume on his pillows so he’d get used to falling asleep to the scent of her.

Vivienne grabbed a hold of Jack's phone on his nightstand, and slowly slid it off the side of the table and into the palm of her hand. she turned it over, bombarded with the amount of notifications that littered his phone screen. she slid up, quickly typing his passcode. she had to be mindful of her next moves. she didn’t have long to do her routine digging.

“It’s not really fair for you to be with vivienne if you still have feelings for y/n”

“will you drop it? you were the one who told me to go for viv”

“Jack-”

“No! Dawson, you were the one who begged me to move on. I am. What happened with me and y/n-"Jack cuts himself off. “what happened.. It’s done now. leave me alone”

Vivienne recalled the conversation she overheard a few weeks ago and she couldn’t shake it from her mind. So, she did what any girlfriend would do and searched the girls username on instagram.

She hadn’t thought y/n would be any type of problem in hers and Jack's relationship. That was until Jack and Vivienne were laying in bed, with Jack wanting to show Vivienne a picture he had taken a while ago on a roadie. He was scrolling past his photo albums when she saw it. The “it” being a photo album titled “❤️” filled with pictures of jack and y/n at art galleries and whatnot.

Ynuser: 1 dm request

Accept | Delete

Vivienne clicked onto the dm, and when she saw the words pregnant and yours her blood ran cold. She angled her body away from Jack, and with his reassuring snores clouding her mind, she reread the dm again.

Jack, I don't even know how to tell you this. It doesn’t feel right. But, I took a pregnancy test and it came back positive. I’ve booked an appointment with my obgyn for tomorrow and they’re going to confirm the test for me. You're the only person that I've been with since we’ve gotten together so it’s for sure yours. If you need a paternity test or anything at all just let me know and we can sort it out. Please reach out and we can talk about this in person. I’m sorry.

“Fuck” Vivienne cursed as she clicked Jacks phone off. She turned around and stared at the man in question while debating her options.

Letting Jack find the message on his own was the most obvious answer but… would he still want to be with her when he found out about the baby? If it even is his, Vivienne rolled her eyes at the thought.

The next logical option was to delete the message and block the girl. Jack would never have to know, and Vivienne would just have to be the perfect girlfriend for the next little while. She’d make him his favourite foods, dress extra hot, and do everything in her power to make sure he forgot about his ex.

Vivienne turned Jack's phone on again, and without a second thought, swiftly declined the message request before blocking the girl.

To make sure her tracks were completely cleared, she searched the girls name up in his contact list and blocked her there as well.

And, just as quickly as Vivienne had picked up her boyfriends phone, she had set it back down.

⋆ ★

After the appointment, I was stuck in meetings for the rest of the day with no opportunities to check my phone. During my appointed bathroom breaks, I was too anxious to check. My hands trembled as I hovered over the instagram app, too nervous to see if he had read the message.

I thought about the next message that I would send all day. Would I send the doctors confirmation? My next appointment date? The reason why I found out about the pregnancy so late?

When I got out from work, I decided to walk the 45 minutes home instead of taking the Subway. I hoped that the semi-fresh air would clear my mind.

By the time I unlocked the front door of my apartment, it was 6:45pm. Jack would have gotten out of practice, and he would probably be at home grilling himself a piece of chicken while his rice cooked.

I pull my boots off and wander into my bathroom. i shut the door behind me, giving myself some privacy from my own space. When I close my eyes, all the memories of Jack and I flicker through my mind like one of those plastic children's cameras.

I take a deep breath, before finally pulling my phone out of my pocket and turning it on. I click into instagram and my stomach drops.

jackhughes

No posts yet

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what the fuck was i going to do.

⋆ ★

“Claudia!” my voice was hoarse from crying as I pounded on my best friend's door with my fists. I had run all the way to Claudia's apartment, and luckily someone was walking into her apartment complex so I didn't have to buzz in.

Claudia's door swung open, and she immediately pulled me inside and into her arms. “What's wrong?” she practically cooed, not a stranger to my breakdowns.

“J-jack he-” I couldn't stomach the rest.

“Babe, slow down… breathe..” Claudia stressed as she started doing breathing exercises for me to copy. I followed her movements, and when I was deemed calm enough she moved me over to sit on her couch.

I take a few minutes to recover before explaining what happened.

“I’m going to kill him” Claudia sneered after I had explained the pregnancy, the message, and how my ex boyfriend-turned-baby daddy had blocked me.

“What am I going to do?” I was crying again. I was bordering on exhaustion as I leaned my head against the back of Claudia's couch and wailed.

My hand found its place at the top of my stomach, where the faintest baby bump had begun to form.

⋆ ★

vivienne just added to their story!

vivienne

liked by jackhughes, trevorzegras, alixearle, and others

vivienne mr nhl man

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user01 VIVIENNE HAS A BF??

user02 viv baby who is it

user04 vivnation lost

user05 jack and trevor liking ohhh wow…

user06 is it jack?

user07 i thought jack has a gf?

user06 he was seen out with a girl a few times months ago but that was it lol

user08 the nhl girlies lost

⋆ ★

ynuser

liked by claudia, and others

ynuser my baby🤍

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claudia im a proud honorary aunt❤️

user00 congrats!!

user01 Congratulations on your pregnancy sweetie! We have to get together sometime soon😘❤️

⋆ ★

the pregnancy was lonely. It was all long hours at work, quiet doctor appointments, and late nights binge sessions watching gossip girl with whatever craving plagued my mind.

I tried my hardest to stay away from social media, my heart cracking a little more every time jack came across my feed with his rumoured new girlfriend. of course, i knew it wasn’t a rumour, which just made everything more miserable.

“Do you want to know the gender?” the ultrasound tech asked as she shielded the sonogram screen away from my view.

I nod, “yes, please”

Claudia squeezes my hand. “Are you sure? I can throw you a gender reveal party if you want? Or we can do something with just the two of us?”

I didn’t want to hurt Claudias feelings, but it wouldn’t be the same without jack.

I must have took too long to answer though, because the ultrasound tech looked at me with pity filled eyes as she said, “i’ll put the gender info in an envelope for you to take home”

All i could do was nod.

⋆ ★

“Im sorry, blair.. But you lost the baby”

“where’s chuck?”

“B, he lost a lot of blood, and he never woke up”

Gossip girl season 5 played in the background as I picked at my newest pregnancy craving, strawberry cupcakes from a bakery off seventh ave.

i sighed heavily as i continued watching the show. this has got to be the saddest episode… i thought as blair started praying for chucks survival. As the scene went on, tears pricked my own eyes as i thought about the past five months.

i was almost done with my 2nd trimester, and i was still refusing to acknowledge my pregnancy. I felt as if i were walking through water, i was restricted in all of my movements and my mind was cloudy like i had just spent all day in the michigan summer sun.

The episode finished, with blair telling chuck that she loved him but that she couldn’t be with him and that she couldnt tell him why.

When the screen turned black and i was faced with my reflection, i started sobbing.

Heavy tears rolled down my cheeks and fell onto my duvet, which turned the cream coloured blanket into spots of grey.

Without thinking, I rolled out of bed and threw on a thick sweater that I found strewn against a chair backing. I wandered out into my entryway, shoving on a pair of my mini uggs as I searched high and low for that stupid little envelope that my tech gave me.

It was in my purse, hidden behind a hundred other little things. Once the envelope was grasped firmly in my hands, i ripped open my door and rushed down onto the street.

I didn’t have a lot of time to think this through. If i placed the order now, everything would be okay and fine...

Truth be told, i was afraid that if i didn’t order a gender reveal cupcake that i would be doing my baby a disservice. I promised to myself that i would be able to do this without jacks support, and yet here i was crumbling under the pressure of motherhood.

The bakery shop chimed with my arrival, and then i was in the small line up to make an order.

“Hey, what can i get for you tod-”

“Can i get a gender reveal cupcake? Or one of those little cakes?” i ask, thrusting my envelope into the guy at the registers hands.

He looked taken aback before responding very politely, “i’m sorry, you’re going to have to make an order online”

“Oh,” my shoulders sag in disappointment. I hadn't thought far enough ahead.

the guy stared at the crumpled up envelope in his hand, and then back at me. “Why don’t you go sit down and i’ll figure something out for you,” his voice was kind as he noticed my dishevelled state.

I nod, and then move to an empty seat in the corner of the bakery. Another employee was sweeping the floors, and i realize that the store must be due to close soon. I need to pull myself together…

About ten minutes later, the guy from before walked over with a little white box in his hand. On top of the box sat my envelope which was now cleanly cut into.

“It’s not the prettiest thing in the world,” the guy chuckled as he placed the small box in front of me, “but it should work”

“Thank you,” i stutter, pulling a crisp $10 bill out of my pocket and handing it over to the guy.

At first he shakes his head in an attempt to decline the money, but I insist he takes it anyway.

back at home, i get comfy at my kitchen table where i finally open up my box. It was a vanilla cupcake with white vanilla frosting.

I take a deep breath before taking a small bite, and when i swallow, i see the remaining pink icing that filled the inside of the cupcake.

“we’re having a little girl,” i whispered, tears sliding down my cheeks as i rub my bump soothingly.

⋆ ★

Jack Hughes was stuck. He felt bad for Vivienne and he felt bad for himself. It wasn’t Viviennes fault that his attention was elsewhere because on paper, Vivienne Aiden was probably who most would consider his perfect match.

Vivienne was gorgeous, she had an online career going for her, and her apartment did smell amazing… but something just wasn’t right.

When she fell asleep beside him, Jack would pull out his phone and scroll through his photo album full of pictures of his ex-girlfriend. He would wonder what she was doing, what new journalist piece she was working on, and most importantly, if she was happy. He couldn’t bear searching her up online, for fear of seeing she had moved on (which, let's be honest, is very hypocritical of him), so Jack settled with his photo album.

When Jack finally closed his eyes for the night, he imagined the sleeping figure next to him was his y/n. Vanilla scent was swapped with coconut, a windy spring turned into an endless summer, and the lingering emptiness felt like coming home after a long roadie.

And in the morning, when y/ns lovely green eyes woke him up, he would blink to find Vivienne staring back at him, and whatever relief he had accustomed himself with in sleep came crashing down again.

⋆ ★

ynuser posted on their story!

jackhughes posted on their story!

Vivienne posted on their story!

⋆ ★

Vivienne wasn’t an idiot. she could feel the small shifts in Jack's behaviour. He was slowly distancing himself from her and she wouldn't allow that to happen.

Therefore, she sent him a teasing photo, planned a romantic dinner at her apartment, and took care of business.

Create an Account

User: user257483475

ynuser

Dm Request

User257483475: how does it feel knowing that you’re going to be a single mom?

User257483475: must be tough knowing that the daddy doesn’t want it

User257483475: if i were you i wouldn’t even try

Read

⋆ ★

“I can’t believe you're having a little girl!” Claudia squealed as she met me at the front of a baby store. I was now 6 months along, and I hadn’t done any of the necessary baby shopping yet.

We walked into the store, light pinks and blues and purples clouding my vision. “I can't believe it either! A little girl…” I smile, picking up a little onesie.

Claudia gets a basket, and we start to make our way through the store. “Have you thought of any names yet?” she asks as she holds up what might've been the cutest baby dress i’ve ever seen.

I placed the dress in the basket. “I’ve been toying with a few names but it just feels strange” I pick up another little dress and put it in the basket as well. “I’m sure once I see the nursery all together it’ll feel a little more real and i’ll be able to pick something out”

Claudia smiles at me sympathetically before taking the shopping basket out of my hand and guiding me towards the furniture section.

“I was thinking-” my phone buzzes causing me to pause. I pull out my phone, only to see a few instagram notifications.

User257483475: viviennes so pretty, i bet you're real jealous huh?

User257483475: jack didn't even want to post you publicly and now he wont even acknowledge his baby… he never loved you.

User257483475: i wish you the worst xx

Read

“y/n? What were you thinking?” Claudia asks, immediately noticing my pause. She walks over to me, one hand on my shoulder as she tries to gauge my facial expressions. “Are you okay?”

I don't want to speak, and so I thrust my phone into Claudia's hands.

She gasps when she reads the first message from a few weeks ago, and I can feel her tense beside me as she lets her hand drop from my shoulder.

“What the fuck!” she seethes as she stares at all the messages littering my phone.

“How do they know the baby’s Jacks? How do they even know I'm pregnant? My account’s private!” I utter as I close my eyes.

“Who’s Vivienne?” Claudia asks as she switches out of my dms and onto the search page. I watch her type in Vivienne's name.

“She’s Jack’s girlfriend,” I reply just as Claudia presses on her instagram account. The newest picture on her feed was of her and Jack at some cafe… I felt nauseous.

“Well, she’s obviously the one sending the messages” my best friend states firmly. Great I thought. Could my life get any more fucked up?

That night at home, I easily verifiy that it was Vivienne behind the account. For all the scheming she liked to do, she wasn’t very good at covering her tracks.

First, I used my laptop to try and log into her main instagram account. When I got the password wrong, I clicked the option for instagram to send a code for password resetting via email. The email, half unblurred, showed up on screen. Then, i moved onto the account who’s been sending me nasty messages. Repeated the process, and wouldn’t you know! Vivienne Aiden didn’t doesn’t know how to make a fake email for her fake account, that she uses to harass her boyfriend's ex! Nice.

With that little confirmation, I blocked both her and the account she’s using to send me messages.

⋆ ★

My baby’s nursery is painted a soft pink. Her crib is a beige wood, and there’s white flowy curtains with a blackout curtain set underneath. flower prints decorate the walls, and my baby’s name is highlighted on a beautiful homemade blanket which was gifted to me by one of my coworkers.

“Are you ready, baby?” my mom asks to which I nod. I watch her silently as her hands weave between different sets of baby clothes.

She’s helping me get the nursery finished for babygirls birth next month.

“I’m nervous, but i’m ready,” I smile, waddling over to the blush pink rocking chair that sits in the corner of the room.

⋆ ★

“i’m not ready! i need jack!” i cry, squeezing my eyes shut tight as pain overtook my body. i could hear the nurses faintly in the background of my own thoughts, shouting something about an excess of blood.

a group of nurses stand around me, all shouting different orders to one another. “ma’am you’re bleeding-“

“i need, i just need-“

a sweet looking nurse cut me off. “sweetie, you’re going to be alright. just breathe, i’ll be right here with you this whole time!” she grabs ahold of my hand to which i squeeze tightly.

the room spins and my whole body feels cold. I could tell that the nurses started going about their business from all the pinching and poking that was going on, but i couldn’t figure out where all the pain was coming from.

⋆ ★

“Mommy?” I whispered. My mom whipped her head in my direction upon my words.

“Oh sweetie,” she coos, tears lingering in her eyes as she sits on the edge of my hospital bed. she grabs ahold of my hand.

“Is…” I start to ask about my daughter but a cry falls from my lips.

My mom grabs my hand tighter and brushes my hair out of my face. “She’s in the NICU, but the nurses say she’s doing well”

“Can I see her?” my voice is hoarse. My mom jumps up from the bed and fills an empty paper cup with water. She passes the cup to me, and I gratefully drink its contents.

“I’ll go get a nurse, okay? She’ll tell you everything you need to know”

I had been asleep for roughly ten hours after my daughters birth. The doctor told me that the pain I woke up to last night was from blood clots, which is the reason behind all the blood and the premature birth. Luckily though, I was pretty close to full term, and I got to the hospital at the perfect time therefore babygirl would only have to stay at the NICU for a few short weeks to monitor her development.

“what’s her name, sweetheart?” my mom whispered softly to me while her hand ghosted across hairline.

“Leighton Rowe LN,” I replied sleepily as I stared at my baby in my arms. Leightons sweet face suddenly made all the pain worth it.

my mom brushed my damp hair out of my face. “that’s beautiful,” she cooed, and when she gestured towards the baby I tiredly nodded.

as my mom took my baby out of my arms to coddle, i let my eyes close and then i softly drifted off to sleep.

⋆ ★

It was a few months later when it happened. claudia was at my apartment, watching leighton while i ran around the city to get some much needed errands done. i stop at my favourite coffee shop, a place that i hadn’t been to since jack and i broke up.

i order my usual, a mocha to go, and when i turn to leave jack had just opened the door. I stumble back, not prepared to see jack in the flesh. He looks familiar and yet completely different.

“y/n,” he greets me, his tone uncertain as he takes a step towards me. How dare he.

“If your girlfriend sends me one more fucking text i swear i’ll ruin her life” i start, my words threatening as i let the weight of viviennes words fall onto my shoulders. for months shes been creating new accounts and messaging me, and despite hitting the "block all and future accounts" feature she still managed to harass me.

“I get that you don’t want to have a baby, but she’s here, and I'm capable of doing it without you. I have been doing it without you. So get your girlfriend to stop harassing me or i’ll press charges,” i spit out, pushing past a shell-shocked jack and storming out onto the street.

⋆ ★

“I have a baby!” jack shouts angrily, kicking one of vivienne's wooden dinning room chairs. “You hid my baby from me!”

Vivienne stares, glassy eyed as she watches her boyfriend stomp around her apartment. “Jack, i didn’t mean for it to go this far i-”

“You what? What was the plan here?” he shouts again, running a hand frustratingly through his hair. Jack stops, whipping around to face vivienne again. “Show me the messages.”

“What?” she cries.

“y/n said you were sending her messages. Show me them” jack repeats, causing vivienne to jump up in alarm. If he saw even half of the things she sent…

Jack storms up to vivienne who immediately pulls her phone out of her pocket. She switches onto one of her many burner accounts used to send y/n messages.

Jack sat on the couch, hunched over while he read through every single message. He felt sick.

he hates you

It must suck knowing that your child's dad doesn't want her

Jacks going to be the best daddy to our future baby… its too bad he didn’t want that for you.

“Jack we can fix this, i swear i’ll do better and-”

Jack stood up abruptly, letting viviennes phone tumble to the ground with a loud thud. “We’re- we’re past done. I don't even know what to say to you,” jack stutters, tears falling steadily down his cheeks.

“Baby, i’m so sorry” vivienne cries. she tries to reach out to jack, be he swats her hands away.

Jack backs away, and without another word he leaves viviennes apartment with the slam of a door. he had to make this right to y/n and his... baby.

part three

#journalist au!#jack hughes x reader #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #nhl blurb #nhl fic

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literaryvein-reblogs · 5 months ago

Text

Writing Notes: Detective Story

References (Elements; Subgenres; Tips; Some Vocabulary)

Detective story - one whose plot hinges on a crime that the characters investigate and attempt to solve.

Also called “whodunnit” stories or crime stories.

Most detective stories are written from the point of view of a detective.

5 Basic Elements

A Detective

Usually featured as the protagonist.

Spend time thinking about your detective’s personality, their motivations, their background, their strengths, and their weaknesses. You’ll want your detective to be unique among the other detectives out there.

A Crime

Most detective stories revolve around a central crime or string of related crimes.

Since the crime will be the catalyst of your short story or novel, it should be interesting, memorable, and seemingly unsolvable—that way, readers will be so tantalized by the mystery of it that they’ll need to keep reading.

A dead body is a very common crime in detective fiction, but there are plenty of other options—from robberies to disappearances.

Suspects

Many detective stories include an array of suspects that could have committed the crime (either they have weak alibis or have a history of lying).

Your suspects are a vital part of your detective story; they serve as red herrings (or distractions) that will direct readers’ attention away from the true culprit.

Some mystery novels don’t have any suspects—this is a deliberate choice by crime writers that serves to heighten the tension in the story, but if your story doesn’t have any suspects, find creative ways to keep the case from going cold.

An Antagonist

The person whose goals are in direct conflict with the antagonist’s.

Traditionally, the antagonist is the true culprit for the story’s crime (or crimes), but that’s not who your antagonist has to be; the antagonist of your story could be a police officer who wants to solve the crime first or someone who knows the identity of the culprit and is trying to cover it up.

A Setting

The setting is a very important part of any detective story because the action in most detective stories takes place on the streets of its location.

Therefore the stories are inextricably linked to the time and place they are set in and are memorable because of those details.

5 Subgenres

Here are just a few subgenres that fall under detective stories

Police-department procedurals. Focus on police work and often feature homicide investigators and other departments of a local police force.

Cozy mysteries. These have a lighter tone than traditional detective fiction and avoid explicit depictions of the murder. They are often set in a small town and focus on puzzle-solving rather than suspense.

Hardboiled detective stories. These stories are usually dark and explicit, featuring a veteran detective who treats violent crimes matter-of-factly.

Thrillers. Emphasize suspenseful storytelling, often featuring chase scenes or murder sprees that the detective must stop before the time runs out.

Locked-room mysteries. Feature crimes that, at the outset, appear impossible—for instance, a murder taking place in a seemingly locked room with no other way in or out.

5 Tips for Writing a Good Detective Story

Interesting Motivation

The motivation of the culprit is one of the most crucial and prominent parts of detective work—what readers want to know even more than who committed the crime is why they committed it.

Nothing spoils a good detective story more than an uninteresting or unbelievable motivation (for instance, a serial killer who is just “pure evil” and has no discernable reasons for murdering) or an unmotivated confession.

In the same vein, your detective should also have a strong motivation for being in this line of work—it’s not easy, and many people wouldn’t be able to stomach it.

Learn about Detective Work

Readers want to feel immersed in the world of your detective story—whether it’s the world of the law or the seedy underbelly of a small town.

That’s why it’s so important to get the details right when crime writing—so you can keep the reader’s attention with believable plot points.

Do the research to make sure that you know who would be the first to make it to the scene of a crime, how detectives would go about tracking people down or questioning them, and what role forensics would play in your crime scene, so that your readers don’t spend any time wondering if what they’re reading is accurate to real life.

Too Easy

Readers pick up detective fiction because they want to be intrigued by a good mystery—so if your crime is too easy for them to solve, they’ll get bored and likely not finish the story.

Trust in your readers’ ability for logical deduction and don’t give too much away, leaving them guessing and really shocking them.

A Payoff

Try to avoid an outcome where readers will feel let down by the answer.

In the words of S. S. Van Dine, a famous mystery-novel-writing art critic, “A crime in a detective story must never turn out to be an accident or a suicide. To end an odyssey of sleuthing with such an anti-climax is to hoodwink the trusting and kind-hearted reader.”

By that same logic, try to avoid any “deus ex machina”— an impossible-to-solve situation is suddenly resolved with little or no effort from the characters.

Experiment & Innovate

Read lots of detective fiction and then subvert the tropes—

What if your main character is the person who committed the crime, and your bad guy is the detective or official investigator working to solve it?

Or what if your character’s love interest was the victim?

Common Terms in Detective Fiction

Establish a working vocabulary will help improve detective fiction writing

accusation - statement that places blame on a specific person or persons

alias - an alternate name used to conceal identity

alibi - an explanation that removes a person from the scene of a crime when it occurred

angle - specific strategy or way of looking at facts as employed by the detective during an investigation

autopsy - the medical examination of a corpse to determine cause(s) of death

booking - the process whereby a suspect is officially arrested and charged with a crime

case - the investigation of a crime from the time it is reported/ discovered until it is resolved (closed)

charges - specific crime(s) a person is accused of

circumstantial - indicative but not conclusive

clue - anything that sheds light on a particular case

collar - the actual arrest by a police officer

corpus dilecti - the actual body that proves a murder has been committed

crime of passion - a crime committed in a rage of anger, hatred, revenge, etc.

culprit - the “bad guy;” criminal

D.A. - district attorney; works for the government

deduction - conclusion reached through a logical progression of steps

defense - the argument made to show the innocence of the accused person

evidence - material that will prove innocence or guilt

eyewitness - someone who actually observes a crime and/or criminal

felony - major crime (i.e., armed robbery, murder, rape)

foil - the detective’s “right hand man;” he/she is usually quite different in nature. Ex: Holmes/Watson; Nero Wolfe/ Archie Goodwin

frame-up - deliberate trap set to lay blame on an innocent person

habeas corpus - accusor has to produce a body in order to hold a suspect

homicide - the act of murder

hunch - guess; instinct

informer - relays information to police/detective for money (usually)

inquest/inquiry - legal questioning concerning a particular event or action

lead - something/someone that may help move an investigation to a solution

malice aforethought - criminal was already considering a hostile act before the crime occurred

manslaughter - accidental killing

misdemeanor - minor offense

modus operandi - method of operation (m.o.) that a criminal employs during his crimes

morgue - city government building where dead bodies are kept during investigations

motive - reason for committing a crime

perpetrator - offender; criminal

post mortem - the report from an autopsy

premeditation - deliberate intent to perform a crime before it occurs

private eye - private detective

prosecutor - attorney working for the District Attorney; person trying to prove guilt in a courtroom

red herring - a false clue that usually misleads the reader (and often the detective)

set-up - a trap that is designed to catch a criminal or victim

sleuth - detective

statement - official document containing information supplied by witness, suspect, or any other person involved in an investigation

stool pigeon - informer

surveillance - constant visual or electronic monitoring of a person’s activities

suspect - someone who may have reason to have committed a specific crime

tank - jail cell

third degree - intensive questioning of a suspect

victim - person who is hurt or killed as a result of a criminal act

Sources: 1 2 Writing Notes: Autopsy ⚜ Word Lists: Forensics ⚜ Law-Related

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cocklessboy · 2 years ago

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I see a lot of people saying that gender-affirming health care like top surgery for trans people like myself should be freely available (which is correct), but one of the reasons they often give is that top surgery is very safe and has a very low rate of complications compared to other surgeries. And I often see transphobes clutching their pearls over the few people who do have complications. What about them?! What if you're one of the unlucky ones?! Should we really let those transes risk it??!!!

Setting aside the fact that no one raises such concerns over other types of surgery, I'd like to use myself as an example for anyone who needs one.

In May of 2022 I had top surgery (double mastectomy). The surgery was done by a gynecological surgeon, not a plastic surgeon, because that way my insurance would cover it.

The surgeon did his job and removed the breast tissue, but he did not make it look pretty. I have dog-ears at both ends of both scars (extra bits of skin that hang off in a very unappealing fashion), my chest still looks unnaturally flat with no muscle or fat despite a lot of working out, and one of the stitches didn't heal properly and was left as an open wound through "secondary healing" for several months before it finally healed over into a very large scab (and eventually a very large scar). My nipples are uneven and irregular and look... well, just awful, really. Due to bad genetic luck, I wound up with keloid scars which, instead of getting smaller and lighter over time, have instead expanded, becoming thicker and darker. Worst of all, I now have chronic nerve pain in my chest. My GP thinks the surgeon must have hit a nerve during the procedure, and now I have random sharp pains all over my chest even now, nearly ten months later. The pain might improve with time, or it might not.

I basically had almost every possible complication one can have from this surgery short of infection or death. Some of the aesthetics might be fixable with more surgery (though plastic surgery will be expensive). Some are probably permanent. I might never feel comfortable taking my shirt off in public again. I might have to tattoo over the scars.

And pay attention to this next bit, because it's the most important part of this whole post: I do not regret the surgery. Even with all the complications and the ugly state of my chest and the pain. If someone said they could push a button and make it so that the surgery never happened and I'd have a perfect, unmarred chest with C-cup breasts again, I would tell them to take their button and fuck right off. Because even with basically the worst of all possible outcomes, that surgery was the best thing that ever happened to me.

I don't feel good about taking my shirt off in front of people now. I do think my chest is ugly. But it's a male chest now. When I put on a t-shirt, it rests flat against my chest. No one will ever mistake me for a woman again. I'll never have to wear a bra or binder ever again.

The dysphoria I felt from having breasts was so severe that a hideously scarred chest and chronic pain are vastly preferable. The euphoria I feel when I look in the mirror with a shirt on is something I never knew I was capable of feeling.

And it's my fucking body, and it's up to me what I do with it. If I wanted to tattoo myself from head to toe, or file my teeth into fangs, or have a doctor break my legs and surgically implant extensions to make me taller, that's my right because it's my body. The fact that all those things are regarded as basically acceptable (if a little weird), but I had to have a dehumanizing interview with an old cis psychiatrist who hates trans people and wants us all sterilized just to get a piece of paper giving me permission to have my tits removed, is fucking absurd.

Top surgery (of any kind) is generally very safe, and complications are rare. But even with the worst outcome, a trans person will basically never regret it.

And frankly, if a cis woman wants her tits cut off, or a cis man wants a pair of boobs to play with on his own chest, more power to them because literally who gives a fuck what people do to their own bodies? I saw a dude on TV when I was a kid who'd tattooed his whole body to look like a cat, filed his teeth into fangs, and had loads of plastic surgery to surgically implant whiskers and make his face look more feline. It was weird! But literally no one said that should be banned because he might regret it. It's his body to do whatever weird shit he wants with.

The next time someone clutches their pearls and kicks and screams about how you can't let someone permanently alter their body in a way they might regret, feel free to point to me and my complete and utter lack of regret.

(Or have a little fun with it, go hard in the other direction, and say you absolutely agree, which is why we should ban ALL non-emergency surgeries until the patient has been FULLY evaluated by three psychiatrists - along with tattoos and piercings. Oh, and ballet lessons for anyone under the age of 25, since ballet changes the structure of a child's body FOREVER.)

#transgender #transmasc #trans man #lgbtqia+#queer #top surgery #gender dysphoria

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bimboficationblues · 4 months ago

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I'm interested in your thesis that liberalism is related to desire for security. To me it seems completely counter-intuitive since conservativism is the primary political ideology that is characterised by desire for rules-based security, and liberalism with its eponymous focus on "freedom" is more of a counter-movement to that. We may have different definitions of liberalism (I'm in Europe) and I haven't read any of the authors you listed, so I dont quite understand where you're coming from. If you'd like to expand on that a bit - especially how you'd place conservativism in that analysis - I'd like to read it. :)

ty for the question it's a helpful one! hopefully I can actually spell out the broad strokes without just starting to write the book. (I'm not sure I can.) this is all preliminary tracings so I welcome comments, questions, criticisms.

let me cut it to the size of a paragraph: my view is that "security," construed broadly, is the implicit or explicit value underlying basically all of liberal political philosophy and statecraft; this claim is fundamentally linked with my reading of liberalism as a form of legalistic, technocratic aristocracy (literally: "rule of the best"), which wears the skin of democracy as long as its rule is not at risk.

okay, so, working definitions of terms.

What do you mean by liberalism? What about conservatism, isn't that a better example of what you've identified?

Liberalism is a bunch of different things falling under an umbrella term. I find the term "ideology" slippery, so I'm going to try and avoid it here.

When I use the term I am referring to a particular lineage within the history of political thought. That includes a lot of different political actors - philosophers and writers, workers and activists, domestic and international statesmen. Liberalism is not just a particular structure of belief or self-identification held by people or political parties. Rather, I see liberalism as the organizational principles of global capitalism, the mode of thought proper to capitalism's sustenance via the management of the modern state.

My view is that the two things you've highlighted are the broad, self-justifying narratives of these different modes of political thought. "Liberalism is about guarantees of equality, rights, and freedoms, and conservatism is about stability through the preservation of social tradition and culture." I will note that when spelled out in the abstract like this, these things are not actually in inherent contradiction with each other. When you break them down in practice or dig through the details of thought, you find a very different picture. Liberal political thought's values, on investigation, are only about freedom and equality and democracy insofar as those things secure property and the rule of capital. Instead, the substantive values of liberalism are revealed as security, private property, aristocracy (i.e. that "the best" should rule), expansionist empire, "the defense of civilization."

The distinction I would draw, if I wanted to distill the two down, is that conservatism demands obedience as an absolute condition of authority, that the possession of the authority is sufficient justification for obedience (the power wielded by earthly authorities, or perhaps capital itself, being a microcosm of the power wielded by a god). Liberalism demands obedience because it claims that existing in society entails a procedural buy-in; the justification for soliciting obedience is grounded in appeals to reason and practicality. (John Locke's notion of "tacit consent," JS Mill's claim that despotism is an acceptable form of governance for "barbarians," or John Rawls' claim that "outlaw states" can be disciplined by liberal democracies for their alleged cultural failings.)

What about security?

If we step back from the ways in which the concept is historically and morally loaded (and Neocleous makes a convincing case why we shouldn't), we can conceive of security as an affect of predictability. We might think about it as the ability to wake up each day and not be worried about how you're going to feed and reproduce yourself, or that you might be hurt or killed or get sick, or that whatever projects you're investing your time and attention and values in will be taken away from you. This sort of risk-calculation can be on an individual or collective level: thinking about the people you surround yourself with, or that live in a given place, or potentially the whole planet as one integrated system.

On one level you might say life is inherently insecure by virtue of our relatively equal vulnerability to harm or death. There's always the hypothetical possibility that you could get really sick or freak weather could ruin your surroundings or you could fall in a hole and die. However, if the place you live is surrounded by holes, that's a very different type of insecurity, and your risk-calculation and predictions are suddenly vastly different from random events; even more so if there is some kind of agent, will, or specific force that can be identified as the cause of the insecurity.

When I say security is the central liberal category, that's not to necessarily say that actually having "security" is bad. Experiencing emotional security might be good (though maybe not ideal if you are actually extremely insecure); likewise, feeling "insecure" does not necessarily imply the actual absence of security. What's relevant is how liberalism defines security and its absence.

~~~~

My position is that liberalism, and its antecedent political economy, has a fundamental worry - conscious or unconscious - that class society (or "civilization") is inherently insecure or unstable, and offers specific answers for resolving that tension.

What I mean by "inherently insecure" is that the struggle between classes consistently generates a mass of people that have little to nothing, and a minority of people that have everything. See J.S. Mill, bemoaning this as a problem in Considerations on Representative Government:

In all countries there is a majority of poor, a minority who, in contradistinction, may be called rich. Between these two classes, on many questions, there is complete opposition of apparent interest. We will suppose the majority sufficiently intelligent to be aware that it is not for their advantage to weaken the security of property, and that it would be weakened by any act of arbitrary spoliation. But is there not a considerable danger lest they should throw upon the possessors of what is called realised property, and upon the larger incomes, an unfair share, or even the whole, of the burden of taxation; and having done so, add to the amount without scruple, expending the proceeds in modes supposed to conduce to the profit and advantage of the labouring class?

See also Hegel, in Elements of the Philosophy of Right:

When a large mass of people sinks below the level of a certain standard of living - which automatically regulates itself at the level necessary for a member of the society in question - that feeling of right, integrity, and honour which comes from supporting oneself by one's own activity and work is lost. This leads to the creation of a rabble, which in turn makes it much easier for disproportionate wealth to be concentrated in a few hands. [...] Poverty in itself does not reduce people to a rabble; a rabble is created only by the disposition associated with poverty, by inward rebellion against the rich, against society, the government, etc. It also follows that those who are dependent on contingency become frivolous and lazy, like the lazzaroni of Naples, for example. This in turn gives rise to the evil that the rabble do not have sufficient honour to gain their livelihood through their own work, yet claim that they have a right to receive their livelihood. No one can assert a right against nature, but within the conditions of society hardship at once assumes the form of a wrong inflicted on this or that class. The important question of how poverty can be remedied is one which agitates and torments modern societies especially.

This is not a very tenable or secure long-term situation - it will lead to unpredictable confrontations between classes - unless the parties involved find some solution that makes it tenable.

In my view, liberalism offers a very adaptable solution: the modern state and legal system. Instead of the collection of scattered/inefficient/arbitrary systems that characterize pre-industrial power - heredity, honor, sumptuary codes, ritual, personal relationships, traditional obligations - we find (or rather, make) a geographically bounded, unified nation that operates on a set of general principles, a common language both literal and political.

Things like money, markets, a robust system of positive law and mechanisms to enforce it, and the potential for reform strike a balance between 1) formalized, impersonal, predictable outcomes that ensure the sanctity of property goes undisturbed and the "rule of the best" continues - contracts and elections follow the same basic principles, and evaluating harm can be boiled down to "amounts of money" or "years spent in prison" - and 2) allowing for enough adaptability to respond to new circumstances, new innovations, and new crises. For an example, see Adam Smith, in The Theory of Moral Sentiments:

Would you awaken the industry of the man who seems almost dead to ambition, it will often be to no purpose to describe to him the happiness of the rich and the great; to tell him that they are generally sheltered from the sun and the rain, that they are seldom hungry, that they are seldom cold, and that they are rarely exposed to weariness, or to want of any kind. The most eloquent exhortation of this kind will have little effect upon him. If you would hope to succeed, you must describe to him the conveniency and arrangement of the different apartments in their palaces; you must explain to him the propriety of their equipages, and point out to him the number, the order, and the different offices of all their attendants. If any thing is capable of making impression upon him, this will. Yet all these things tend only to keep off the sun and the rain, to save them from hunger and cold, from want and weariness.

In the same manner, if you would implant public virtue in the breast of him who seems heedless of the interest of his country, it will often be to no purpose to tell him, what superior advantages the subjects of a well-governed state enjoy; that they are better lodged, that they are better clothed, that they are better fed. These considerations will commonly make no great impression. You will be more likely to persuade, if you describe the great system of public police which procures these advantages, if you explain the connexions and dependencies of its several parts, their mutual subordination to one another, and their general subserviency to the happiness of the society; if you show how this system might be introduced into his own country, what it is that hinders it from taking place there at present, how those obstructions might be removed, and all the several wheels of the machine of government be made to move with more harmony and smoothness, without grating upon one another, or mutually retarding one another’s motions. It is scarce possible that a man should listen to a discourse of this kind, and not feel himself animated to some degree of public spirit. He will, at least for the moment, feel some desire to remove those obstructions, and to put into motion so beautiful and so orderly a machine.

In legal terms, liberalism entails a commitment to specific kinds of procedural guarantees (formal equality and formal liberty as guaranteed by law) that allow for different substantive content to fill in the gaps between those procedures. A philosophical way to look at it is that liberalism adopts agnosticism on what "the Good" is besides a floor-threshold of what is acceptable (rights), in order to allow for "the Good" to be worked out through time and practice.

This is something I regard as both the central strength and weakness of liberalism as a philosophy of governance: its procedural flexibility allows for the reuptake of hostile forces - anti-liberals are pushed to fight on liberal terrain or risk irrelevance - but also allows competing movements that are designed to undermine some aspect of the liberal project.

To be clear, the liberal answer is not the only possible one, it is just the one that most characterizes modernity. A different answer might be religion, or some form of arbitrary authority: your proper place is servile, but your reward will be eternal bliss in the hereafter, or the favor of your lord, or the emotional satisfaction of doing what you're meant to do. (This is what I would describe as "the traditional conservative answer.")

Another answer, that of the Hitlerites, synthesizes the liberal and the religious answer and ramps a few things up: all of existence is inherently insecure, and made even worse because we are besieged with enemies within and without. but we can secure a future for that nation, for your children, through expansion and purification. (This is the "reactionary" answer.)

A final answer says that there is no true solution that can make class society tenable: that we have reached a point in the history of class conflict where we, every day, reproduce and participate in a spiraling system that depreciates all the things it needs to function, that constantly absorbs more raw material into its maw, and while the ruling classes and the managers can shift crises around or find innovative ways of managing them, the crises themselves can never truly be resolved so long as the rule of capital is maintained. It can only end in revolutionary upheaval "or the common ruin of the contending classes."

To be clear, that's what I think the stakes are of the project: the capitalist security state is in the middle of a substantive upheaval in its priorities as climate change worsens and the hegemonic role of the USA begins to wane, manifesting in prominent battles over the family/reproductive labor and immigration. All of these are fundamentally about the modern state's sense of insecurity as a result of problems made by class struggle. The ruling classes are competing between the right-wing, who want to build extensive fortresses as a buffer against climate refugees while hyperexploiting a terrified, disciplined underclass of migrant, domestic, and third-world labor, and the "liberals," who want to figure out a techno-managerial fix like geoengineering the planet (and making decisions about who, and where, will receive the "benefits" of that "mitigation") while hyperexploiting a terrified, disciplined underclass of migrant, domestic, and third-world labor.

~~~~

to give a rough sense of those different authors, hopefully to clarify how they relate to the project:

Landa’s book The Apprentice’s Sorcerer examines the mechanics of fascist political thought and finds its direct antecedents in "economic liberalism," basically the strain of liberalism that felt its democratic/political twin had gone too far. Through the commitment to formal freedom and equality under the law, liberalism had given the masses the opportunity and language to articulate their interests, fight for those interests in government and civil society, and potentially win (in the process disrupting society and the balance of class power). In some places - particularly France, Haiti, and Russia - the masses went way, way too far for economic liberal comfort!

Fascism then enters the picture as an alternative way to direct the masses, neutralizing that insecurity produced by mass politics - to “save liberalism from itself.” While fascism would deploy the language of anti-capitalism and anti-liberalism (usually in the form of a structural anti-Semitism a la the Strasser brothers, as well as various workerisms or producerisms), in practice, it was and is all financed by the usual Junkers and industrialists as all nationalist projects, and commits to norms and goals that were and are entirely typical of liberal states. Oswald Spengler (the guy who thought Hitler didn't go far enough because he still made appeals to the public) is my favorite example: his "Prussian socialism" is literally just the doctrine that work in service of the nation's wealth makes life meaningful and that workers should be grateful to have it. In other words, what Spengler calls "socialism" is just English political economy with a Prussian nationalist twist.

Geoff Mann’s analysis of Keynes’ General Theory and Keynesianism more broadly treats Keynes as participating in an intellectual legacy (preceded by Hobbes, Robespierre, and Hegel) of immanent critique of liberalism, one that currently sets the terms for "left politics" as hesitancy and fear of a revolutionary scenario because of the insecurity it would bring. All liberalism wrestles with the fundamental insecurity of class society, but Keynes is the rare one that sees this insecurity as essentially irresolvable (though Mann admits that Keynes couldn't quite name it as such). Keynes further regards the fundamental task as saving civilization from itself while avoiding the revolutionary alternative. From In the Long Run We Are All Dead:

“If an immanent critique is one that accepts the basic principles of its object, Keynesianism is simultaneously an immanent critique of liberalism and of revolution. It is the liberalism of those who (however reluctantly) acknowledge the continued historical legitimacy of revolution but claim to render it unnecessary, to “revolutionize” without revolution. One certainly might say this is impossible, and perhaps, in the long run, that is true. But, as Keynes himself said—and his point was not metaphorical—“in the long run we are all dead.” In the endless “short run” moments of deferral between now and then, the problem of maintaining civilization itself is the most pressing task of all.”

Mark Neocleous writes extensively on the concept of security and its relationship with the state, building his work around a younger Marx's claim that "security is the supreme concept of bourgeois society." This has obvious connections to this project. However, a lot of his focus is specifically on the more overt forms of state power, specifically war and police powers - I want to take things a step further (through legal philosophy) and argue that this emphasis on security is embedded in the structure of law itself, and not merely military force or the police power.

#long post

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bubblegumgothglados · 2 months ago

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A guide to the creation of a doll

(that’s the name of the story this is not one of my guides)

Introduction

Creating a consciousness from scratch is a complicated procedure, in humans this process takes decades and is arguably never complete. Although we have learnt to reverse engineer this process we still have very little understanding of how it actually works. But we do know this; consciousness has to be built from the ground up.This guide will briefly outline the steps necessary to take a budding mind and walk with it through its journey to full consciousness. This is a process that takes years, each "chapter" in your dolls life will require a new body made for the purpose and will take at least a month as the mind grows to fill its form. This undertaking should be seen as no less serious than having a child. This guide talks about seven chapters which is the minimum required to build a mind capable of independent thought and tasks.

Overview

This guide will go into finer detail later on but this is a brief explanation of each step.

Chapter 1

This chapters is about the doll learning the basics of controlling its body and becoming aware of you; its creator. A proper body for this chapter is that of an infant human. This body should have a battery life of only a few hours and should feed directly from your own magics, thus creating dependency. The minimum requirements to move to the next chapter is that the doll cam grasp things on purpose and indicate when its battery is low.

Chapter 2

Your dolls new body should have enough muscle mass to crawl and eventually stand up but shouldn’t yet have the capacity to walk. Your doll should be improving its spacial reasoning and language skills. It should still require you to help it recharge its battery.

Chapter 3

Your doll should begin walking, and talking in one word phrases, moving into short sentences. Your doll should be able to begin charging itself as well as doing basic maintenance on itself. Now is a great time to introduce it to what will become its primary function, it need not be able to perform that function but ideas about usefulness and obedience are important.

Chapter 4

This chapter is about book learning, if you would like your doll to be smart, educated, and well spoken this is the time to start. It should also continue to develop its find motor skills and if you would like, independence.

Chapter 5

If your doll is going to be sexually mature this is the stage in which it should be given a body with those functions, not for use yet just the outward aesthetics so it can begin to get used to the idea. It would also benefit greatly from introduction to other fully functioning dolls so ideas of obedience and helpfulness can be cemented.

Chapter 6

This is the second from last chapter and at this point your doll should be almost fully formed in mind and body. This chapter is for fine tuning.

Chapter 7

The capstone, this final update seals the doll to its body and grants it true sentience. After this point changes to its body and mind will be incredibly difficult so be sure you’re ready. The hour or so after this final update is absolutely crucial, whatever your doll experiences in this time will define it for the rest of its existence.

You close the book with an audible *thunk* far too much nervous energy is coursing through you to focus. Not that you need to, you have a dozen books on the topic and know almost all of them by heart.

"MOMMOMMOM!" your doll bounds into the room.

"DAUGHTERDAUGHTERDAUGTER!" you call back only slightly mockingly, smiling at it. As you look into its emerald green eyes with its glittering golden flecks you think 'damn i did a good job making those, glass blowing is such a bitch of a craft to learn too'. With a start you realize your doll has been talking and you zone back into the conversation.

"And the biggest frog likes to sit on the big rock and headbutts frogs who are trying to sit there when it goes for a swim but it wont headbutt the lil baby frogs it just walks right over the top of them and the lil baby frogs don’t seem to mind and that much and," it continues on as you falter under this barrage of information on the social lives of the frogs living in your pond. Its such an inquisitive little thing, it knows almost as much as yoh about dollcraft having devoured every book you own in it’s thirst for knowledge. Although, not so little any more. Its in its twelfth body now with only the capstone left to go. You think back over the last ten years fondly, four spent crafting the bodies, six guiding your doll through the chapters of its existence and teaching it important lessons in morality and consent. All leading to tomorrow; the final transferal, the capstone and that all important hour.

"Mom?" Shit, that was a question, you mentally rewind the conversation looking for context...

"Yes my dearest, i promise your froggy friends will recognize you in your next body, just like they recognized you when you swapped to this body and the body before that. Your new body is laying on the bed, you know its only slightly different."

"Yeah mom i know. I’m just worried about the transfer.... Mom, why don’t i have a purpose?"

"As I’ve said every time; your purpose is to be my daughter."

"Because your real kids grew up and had their own kids."

"Yes my dearest, as you well know."

"I love you mom."

"I love you too, can you please make me dinner?"

"Yes mom."

An hour or so later you’re eating the dinner it prepared for you listening to it talk once again about the social lives of various animals in the pond. You’re only halfway paying attention, your mind wandering between preparations for tomorrow and reminiscing on the past. As you watch it chatter you think fondly of its fifth body which didn’t quite reach your waist and was made of much sturdier material than this one. Even back then it was a boisterous excitable little thing, although the voice was much squeakier. You think of the differences between the guided advice and what you've done. You think of the years spent teaching it ethics and morality. Of making sure it had both a guiding hand and the freedom to explore and expand on its own. You stifle a giggle thinking of its budding sexuality, it thinks you don’t know and you’ve been very careful to not interfere with this normal and vital development, but you can read the signs.

"And that’s why i think Mr. Turtle should have a friend!"

"A well argued position dearest, ill see if i can find a Mrs. Turtle for him, then there'll be lots of turtles."

"Muuuuuooooom gross!"

"Ohhh hush" you smile fondly at it "come lets pack this away and watch a movie whilst you recharge."

A little later you’re both on the lounge watching one of your dolls favourites. Your thumbnail is clutched gently between her porcelain teeth, her silk lips resting gently on your thumb. This was one thing you never changed, it still draws its power directly from your lifeforce. You think of its first body, so tiny and wriggly, made of cotton as to be soft and cuddly for you, not much more than a plush toy. You think of its next body, a hundred different materials woven together with circuitry and spellcraft running its many complex functions. The movie has a singular kissing scene and you feel it tense as the protagonists smooch.

"Does this still make you uncomfortable dearest?"

"Its weird watching this with my mom," it squirms a little in emotional discomfort.

You just giggle.

Soon the credits roll.

"Its time for bed dearest, tomorrow you’ll wake in your final body!"

It doesn’t reply.

"I know you’re nervous but everything will be fine i promise."

"Yes mom, I love you."

"I love you too, now into bed lets start the process."

It lays down and you kiss its forehead tenderly before initiating the transfer out of this body. Motes of light drift lazily from its head through the air into a nearby vessel. You hold its hand as its mind leaves its body, and when its body goes limp you place its arms gently by its side and begin your final preparations.

I remember laying down that night and feeling myself leave the body, just as every time before my senses shut down one by one. First sight, the world loosing colour and going dark. Then taste and quickly after, smell. Then hearing, complete silence for the first time in months. And finally touch, the feeling of my moms hand holding mine is the last thing i remember.

Then I wake up, senses coming online in reverse.

First touch, wait why am I being touched, why am I being touched like this, this hurts, I don’t want this-

Then hearing, I can hear heavy breathing and grunting, ohhh this hurts so bad, where is my mom why isn’t she saving me, is she okay is she hurt whats going on, this hurts-

Then smell, it smells like,,, it smells like mom when shes been working in the garden. This feels bad, this feels wrong, why is this happening to my body, why-

Then taste, its moms fingers,,, mom-

And finally sight, and I see what I’ve been dreading, what I knew but didn’t want to know. I see my mom raping me.A moment later I gain control of my voice and muscles and I start trying to fight her off.

"Mom please why are you doing this to me?" My voice is breaking and I sound pathetic even to my own ears. "Mom stop I don’t want this."

"LIMP," She says, and The word has power, my body betrays me and I stop fighting.

"SILENT," and I can no longer speak.

"PLEASURE," and I orgasm whilst being aplit apart by my mums cock

And in that moment I realize, this was always going to be my purpose. She wanted a doll who knew the ethics of sex and sexuality so it would know why consent is important. She wanted a doll who loved her so deeply and thought she loved it so the betrayal would be real. She made no mistakes in my creation, she wanted this to hurt, she made my cunt too small to fit her. She spent a decade crafting the perfect toy to rape and that toy is me. And I realize this is my all important capstone hour 'whatever your doll experiences in this time will define it for the rest of its existence' as the guide says. And all I can do is cry and take it as the realities of my existence sink in.

#dear void

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virgo-barbie · 1 year ago

Text

bimbo starter kit ✨💖

it can take a while for a bimbo to feel comfortable with cosmetic procedures, or even just to secure the necessary finances to take the next step in her journey! here are a list of things you can start on right away while you figure out the rest.

1. exercise! a bimbo's body is her best weapon. try to aim for a couple times a week at least. if you don't like running, try pilates, yoga, dance, anything. it's just important that you feel connected to your body in some way.

2. spray tans! for me, this really amps up my sex appeal. my skin has a golden hue that a spray tan really brings out. if i don't have time to go get professionally tanned biweekly, i'll use a tanning mousse instead. it gives a similar effect, but the spray tan is a bit more realistic.

3. manicure and pedicure! what is a bimbo without her claws? i personally love having acrylic nails. i don't have them right now because i can't have acrylics when i go in for my breast augmentation, but i almost always do otherwise. i like barbie pink or long white claws. both are very feminine and look great wrapped around the base of a cock or squeezing a beautiful boobie! having your toes done is also important - nobody wants to suck on and lick mangled feet, and you need to be prepared to be worshipped at any point in time.

4.new clothes! i literally threw everything out and started fresh with a wardrobe of basics. 5 pairs of tiny short shorts, about 20 basic tops in pink, white, and black. I am working my way up towards more exciting statement pieces and building up my shoe and purse collection, but this all takes time. In the meantime, you need clothes that look good on your body and show off your best assets. after my breast augmentation, i will be getting a bunch of new clothes from brands like skims, alo, for love & lemons, etc. for my more bimboish pieces, i kind of just shop around, but i think it's important to have a ton of basic pieces so you can create endless outfits. the mini skirts, fur coats and heels can come later - once you have things to wear them with that make you look super stylish and more importantly... show off your body.

5. get your hair done professionally! most bimbos like to be blonde (myself included) and unless you're already blonde to start with, i see absolutely no reason you should do this at home. save up some money and find a hair stylist in your town who specializes in blonde hair. you won't regret it, and there's nothing bimbo about having crusty, fried hair. if you're not certain if blonde is the best route for you (it probably is), ask a stylist! pink also looks adorable on bimbos with a more cutesy y2k style. a good haircut with some face framing layers can also completely change your whole look.

6. whiten your teeth! invest in a whitening foam and tray, or just use strips. i've had a similar effect with both.

7. get good with fake eyelashes! they elevate any makeup look from fresh to sexy. once you've had lip filler, lip gloss and lipstick will also become your new best friend.

8. silly little accessories! may i suggest a pink lollipop or bubblegum? this will help keep the attention on your perfect little mouth all day and will also give you something cute to distract yourself with while you fantasize about being used out in public.

#hyper femininity #bimbo doll #girlcore #bimbo babe #bimboification #coquette #dollette #it girl #coqeutte #girlblogging #bimbolife #bimbo goals #bimboization #bimbo hypnosis #bimbo training #bimbofied #bimbocore #bambi bubbles

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haikyu-mp4 · 10 months ago

Note

hi omg i love your works sm !! each one is so cute and i love your dialogue for the characters 🫶 i've read most of them but i'll be going back to reread and reblog them bcos u deserve the love 🤍

i wanted 2 ask if ur requests were open ? it's okay if they aren't ofc !! but i had this idea earlier about dentist / orthodontist iwaizumi or oikawa ! and i've been looking thru the hq writers that i've reblogged from n u came up ! the idea is pretty broad but i was thinking more of a build up from patient-dentist (?) to lovers, smth like that ! idk if ure up for it then do ur magic but otherwise i hope u have a great day and i'm looking forward to reading more from u 💞💞💞

Unusual affection

thank you so much for your love!! I never wrote much AU before so this was such a fun idea and I hope I did it justice<3

word count; 1353 – gn!reader, dentist Oikawa AU, patient-dentist to lovers, suggestive

You're not so fond of going to the dentist. Luckily, your teeth didn’t give you many problems growing up, but your parents were urging you to get a check-up appointment after you moved away to a new city. Better to establish a dentist before the issues come up, they would say.

So you did, you made an appointment with dentist Oikawa Tooru and made your way to his office a few weeks later. His waiting list wasn’t exactly short. Not that you had to wonder why for long because…

that is one gorgeous man!

“You need to floss more regularly,” he added as if it just came naturally for him, which it probably did. You lay on the seat as he looked over all the basic stuff, rinsing and picking at your teeth. Unfortunately, you couldn’t see yourself attracting him very much with your mouth wide open and lips scrubbed dry already, so you just accepted your fate.

“I’m not really a dancer but I’ll try,” Oikawa stopped what he was doing and the swivel chair he sat on slowly turned towards you. That’s like something Makki would say, he thought. And that’s not a compliment.

“How old are you, 10?” he asked but quickly cleared his throat when the secretary seemed to eye him from her desk. She always said he shouldn’t have an attitude with customers.

“Some would say I’m a 10 out of 10!” you responded, joyfully watching as his patience wore thin. Oh, how fun to find cracks in that perfect exterior.

He sighed, shook his head, and turned back to the monitor. You started looking at the ceiling, counting the dots and lines in the ugly pattern until you lost count and started over. Is that a headache creeping up on you?

Finally, Oikawa rolled back over. You blinked a couple of times to shake off the view of the ceiling and actually focus on him. “Open.” Wouldn’t mind hearing him command you like that in another setting, you thought, suddenly avoiding eye contact again but still doing as he said. Dentists are not supposed to be this attractive. “Your wisdom teeth on this side, do they hurt?” he asked, pointing to the cheek he was referring to.

You thought about it, humming in thought. “Yes, especially after eating. Lots of food gets stuck in there too.”

“We can set up another appointment to get them removed,” he informed you. “It should be mostly covered by insurance if I say it’s necessary.”

You nodded, licking your lips as they felt so dry from his gloved hands running over them. “Will…” he was about to stand up but stopped for a moment to listen to you. “…you be doing that?”

A small humorous sound left his lips, and it sounded so melodic you were in a trance. “That could be arranged.”

Two weeks later, you’re back at the reception of your dentist's office, asking for Oikawa. You agreed to do the procedure with a local sedative, as you didn’t have that many close friends in this city yet that could pick you up, so two assistants were currently making sure you wouldn’t feel anything around your mouth for the next hours. Unfortunately, this called for you to stay quiet, and you were honestly just excited to see Dr. Hottie again.

Your prayers were answered, and after they left you to soak in the numb feeling in your mouth for about ten minutes, Oikawa walked through the door. “Hey there, little dancer.” he greeted you.

“Hi!” you cooed, but it sounded odd when you couldn’t feel your lips. You frowned, trying to look down at your lips for a moment before giving up. Oikawa clicked his tongue from where he watched you, shaking his head before putting gloves on. Everything he did seemed so elegant, but you had a sense there was a dorky side to him.

“It might hurt a bit, but just tap me if you need me to adjust, okay?” he informed you, looking into your eyes for an answer.

You nodded, sucking in a quick breath. His eyes were pretty. Swirly, like chocolate ice cream. “Yes, I got it.” You bit your top lip, sheepishly continuing. “My safeword is toothbrush.”

Oikawa seemed to chuckle under his breath, he hesitated to humour you but still gave in. “Good to know. I was half expecting a stupid joke about tap dancing.” he hummed before picking up the first tool he needed and swiftly getting to it. It wasn’t very fortunate, to have him stare at your face as your cheeks flushed red, but it was worth witnessing the self-satisfied smirk on his face.

The procedure didn’t take too long. He struggled with the lower tooth, so an assistant came in to help him and the two conversed like you weren’t even there. When it was finally done, Oikawa pressed a button so you were adjusted into a seated position. You let your lips run frantically over your chapped lips, reaching for the small cup of water he provided you. And had you not been busy with the aftermath of the procedure, you would have noticed the way he watched you for a moment too long before getting up and throwing away his gloves.

Oikawa knew it was inappropriate. His breath shouldn’t have stuttered when he saw you in the waiting room for the check-up, he shouldn’t have sent you a small wave before calling your name to let you know he was ready for you, and he shouldn’t have put his hand on your back while leading you to his station. He just found you entertaining, that’s what he told himself, but he definitely looked off his game when you finally sat down for him to check the stitches from the procedure.

“Everything alright there, doc?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed. Oikawa waved his hand as if it was nothing, laughing under his breath.

“No worries, I was just-” he pursed his lips before pointing at you with the little tool in his hand. “Do you like pasta?”

Your jaw loosened in disbelief. “Pasta? I guess I do, is that bad for my teeth or something?” you asked a bit awkwardly.

“There’s this new Italian restaurant down the street. You should go there,” he said. “With me, I mean.”

Oikawa’s penthouse apartment was pretty nice, so you two basically spent most of your time there after a couple of dates led to stumbling through your front door with your lips locked together. He had complained about the small bed and creaking floor of your apartment, which led him to take you home to his place the morning after.

Now you were sitting on the marble countertop in the bathroom with Oikawa standing between your legs, and it was similar to something you had dreamed up before when imagining life with a boyfriend. The difference was, you weren’t kissing or anything like that. No, your mouth was wide open as your handsome boyfriend checked your teeth before bed after you brushed them. “This is a bit unusual, don’t you think?” you managed to say, making him pout as you accidentally left a small bite on his pointer finger.

“You’re a bit unusual, but here we are,” he mumbled, but still hummed in appreciation at what he observed. “I knew the electric toothbrush would help.”

Finally, he leaned an arm on each side of you on the counter so you could have a kiss, which you’d say was a much better reward for being good at the dentist than the ones you would get when you were younger. “You truly are a genius, Tooru.” you cooed sarcastically. He kissed you again and hummed, savouring the aftertaste of your toothpaste. The expensive kind.

“Maybe I’m such a good dentist that my kisses clean your teeth,” he said, and it shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t be charming. It was cheesy, made no sense and created some disturbing mental images. But you savoured it nonetheless, accepting every kiss he gave you and returning it with the same sweetness.

Luckily, this dental nerd is all yours.

masterlist

#ask-mp4 #hq #haikyuu #haikyu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyu x y/n #haikyu x you #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #haikyuu oikawa #hq oikawa #oikawa toru #oikawa

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gothghostiie · 11 days ago

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elaborating on this cause. this is nothing by itself

cw: inappropriate thoughts but nothing actually happens, implied age gap, corruption kink & anf medical play if you squint, gn!reader

Doctor!Price who sits in his office, just expecting another elderly patient for a checkup - as are many of his patients - and seeing you waddle in behind them. you help them sit down, help them take off their jacket and hold their bag as they talk to him. he knows he shouldn't be eyeing you, should be only concentrating on his patient - but it's hard. very hard.

so he sits there, doing his typical procedure of 'how are you feeling?', 'what brings you here today?' etc., but when he hears that its nothing serious, just a little routine check up he loosens up, letting his eyes and mind wander a bit. he lets your relative talk, measuring their blood pressure, eyes flickering from the little pump to you. "and who's your lovely little companion here?" he asks, trying his best to sound casual.

your relative chuckles and says that youre their grandchild or whatever, saying you were so sweet to offer to accompany them here today. price chuckles and eyes you over again, eyes lingering a bit longer than they have to.

"how sweet, hm? lucky you to have such a nice thing to take care of you." your relative chuckles in agreement as you give an innocent smile, neither of you realising price is basically trying to undress you so he can see just how innocent his sweet little patient is.

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ireadwithmyears · 1 year ago

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address the letters: “to the holes in my butterfly wings”

pairing: Kix and GN padawan reader (platonic)

Word count, guys it’s basically 10 K 💀bc apparently I am in capable of writing anything short.

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of blood and injury, medical procedures

summary:

In which, the CMO of Torrent Company discovers that you, a Padawan under his care have been hiding injuries and skipping medical checks, and now must take care of you as you suffer the consequences of your actions.

Also known as

Why you should never hide an injury from Kix. he will find out, and he will drag you off to the medbay so that he can take care of whatever mess you’ve made of yourself, scolding you all the wile.

“Look what I found on my bunk.”

You’re interrupted from eating your sandwich in the Cantina when Fives plops down beside you at the table, setting down a tray of food and waving a pink slip of paper in your face.

You’re about to tell him that “Can’t you see that you’re eating and get this paper out of my face,” when your eyes catch on three words written in bold text across the top of the page.

Mandatory vaccination updates.

The sandwich, that up until this point has been the absolute centre of your attention, listen, you’re fighting a war and you have to appreciate any opportunity that you get to eat food that isn’t bland ration bars, drops out of your suddenly limp hand as you snatch up the paper, now very interested in the contents.

“When did you get this?” you ask slowly, you’re voice distracted, beginning to chew on your lower lip, already feeling the nervous coil in your stomach.

“When I came back to my bunk after the debriefing we had this afternoon. Apparently everyone got one. I bet you 10 credits that your master is going to pretend that he didn’t see it, and try and avoid it until Kix has to tear apart the ship looking for him and drag him to the medbay.” Fives chuckles.

Master Skywalker’s reputation for trying to avoid the medbay at all costs is widely known throughout Torrent Company..

“Kix is going to have a field day. I’ll give it to general Skywalker, he has some creative hiding places,” he continues, eyes lighting up at the memory of Anakin, half hazardously crammed into a supply closet, folded in an impressive, yet uncomfortable looking position as he forced his unwitting tall limbs to fit in the cramped space.

Unfortunately for Kix, your masters habit of avoiding the medbay whenever possible has rubbed off on you, though, you don’t think it’s for the same reason. Your avoidance stems from a place of fear, and, okay, a stubborn insistence that you can take care of yourself, which yes, definitely like master, like apprentice.

But that also stems from a fear. You’re determined to prove yourself, especially being a young Padawan working with those who are much more experienced than you. You don’t want to risk being taken off the field because of some stupid injury, and letting those who rely on you down, especially your master, who’s always bouncing back and getting up and ready to take on whatever is next regardless of what kind of peril he’s just come out of. You want, you need, to prove that just because you’re a Padawan, you’re not a liability, but an asset. You can be strong and resilient like master Skywalker.

So, you avoid. You dodge and you ignore and you pretend not to notice when the routine medical check dates come and go without your attendance. You know it’s only a matter of time before Kix gets on your ass about it. You’re surprised that you’ve kept it up this long. But, this only bolsters your confidence in being able to avoid another successfully.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, setting the paper back down on the table before you run off into the crowd.

Sure enough, there is an identical slip of paper that’s been placed on your bunk. But conveniently, Jedi master Aayla Secura is going on a diplomatic mission to amid rim planet in a last ditch effort to try and convince them not to secede from the republic during the date that’s listed on the page when you’re scheduled for your vaccinations.

Earlier this morning, master Skywalker had asked if you had wanted to join this mission, saying that it would give you a break from being on the frontlines, and it would be easy enough to arrange, as master Secura would rendezvous with the 501st before she departed.

This morning, you had turned him down, listing several reasons as to why you needed to stay with the 501st. Your troops needed you, diplomatic missions were boring anyways, and you didn’t think that you would be of much help to the experienced and capable master Secura, who was a formidable diplomat in her own right. You didn’t think you would be able to add anything of particular value to the conversation, at least nothing that master Secura wouldn’t be able to say much more eloquently and better.

Now though, the only thing that’s running through your mind is the fear of needles and the dread of going into the medbay and that’s enough to make you reconsider everything you had said.

When you tell master Skywalker that you’ve changed your mind, and would actually like to accompany Aayla on her mission, he’s slightly confused considering you had been so adamant that you were needed here only just a few hours ago.

But, he knows that as a Jedi, you need diplomatic experience. Experience that, before the war, would be very easy for Padawan’s to come by. He knows that you don’t have nearly as much as you should.

These are unprecedented times, though, and Padawan’s being trained during an active war is not ideal. He wants for you to be well-rounded. He has hope that your future won’t always involve war at the centre of it, and any opportunity that you get to learn how to be a keeper of peace should always be encouraged, especially during these times.

So he gives in pretty easily, and when master Secura arrives, you happily join her. When the ramp of the ship seals behind you and you’re sitting with her in the cockpit, the warm relief that flows through your bones is palpable.

“Success,” you think to yourself triumphantly.

Your triumph, however glorious it might have felt in the moment, is short-lived.

In spite of the fact that some old injuries, that you honestly thought you had done a pretty good job at taking care of yourself, were starting to aggravate you again, the unexpected joy and relief that weaved itself through the force, openly shared between you and master Secura, surrounded you like a warm blanket, protecting you from feeling the things that hurt you.

The planet you had just visited had agreed to stay with the republic, after a tense three days of debate between its political factions. The victory Was a surprise, considering how vehemently the opposition pushed to secede, but it was not unwelcome.

Aayla’s T-6 shuttle docks in the hanger bay of the much larger 501st transport. As you wait for the doors to open and the ramp to fold down before you, you’re still riding on that high, feeling, for the first time in a long time, the thrill of a success. One that you are unable to feel on the frontlines, because even when your battles result in a victory, you are surrounded by so much death and violence that in the end, you don’t really feel like celebrating.

You’ll never admit it to your master, but privately, you think to yourself that maybe diplomatic missions aren’t as boring as you thought they were. You were able to help resolve a conflict, peacefully, without even having to brush your fingers against the hilt of your lightsaber, which, nowadays, is becoming more and more of a rare occurrence. But it’s what Jedi do, or at least, what they’re supposed to do, so you have to embrace the gratitude of the experience you just had, and try and take it with you going forward.

Your thoughts are preoccupied with these ideas swirling around your head, so you don’t see him until you’re stepping out onto the ramp of the T-6, descending into the hectic and busy as usual crowds of the hanger bay.

When you do, though, you stop dead, and your heart begins to race.

Shit.

Directly in front of you, at the bottom of the ramp, stands Kix.

One look at his expression, and your stomach flips.

His lips are set in a thin, unreadable line, his brow creased as he observes you with pinpoint focus. Stern, brown eyes observe your every movement. There’s no question that the second you step off the ramp, he’s going to pounce on you like a cat seizing a mouse.

He stands at attention, body forced into an unbending straight line, such positions you mostly see on the shiny’s, new troopers who are freshly trained during their first days out on the field. His hands are placed on his hips, the position that he assumes before he’s about to give someone, it’s usually your master who you’ve seen it directed at, the lecture of their life.

“Keep moving,” your brain supplies. “Act nonchalant, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll be fine.”

You feel your feet hit solid ground, and your speed picks up, all along, your brain is screaming at you to move. It’s weird how now that he’s standing in front of you, every injury you’ve accumulated over the past weeks is beginning to hit you, all comfort and protection that the force has been giving you to keep you going rapidly vanishing with each step you take.

The uncomfortable angle that your shoulder is sitting at, the pulling of stitches in your leg as you increase your speed. It throbs and aches with sudden abandon. But your fists clench, and you do your best not to falter under Kix’s unwavering scrutiny, just knowing that he’s looking for any flicker of weakness, any sign of pain that registers on your face.

“Just keep going, and maybe, you’ll be able to slip past...”

He steps in front of you, reaching an arm out to easily intercept your path. He says your name, in a tone that breaches absolutely no room for trying to ignore it.

You jump, startled in spite of yourself. He’s effectively got you cornered, and seeing that there’s no way out of this, Your nerves begin to skyrocket, raising like the sound of alarm bells in your head. You look up, eyes meeting his unwaveringly stern expression, And suddenly, you wish that the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

He looks down at you, and he must see something in your disposition that belies your true feelings, because though his face remains set, his eyes somewhat soften, and when he next speaks, his voice is quiet but firm.

“Come with me, please. I need to see you in the medbay.” Though he’s phrased it as a request, you know that it is an order, and one that you must follow.

As a medic for the GAR, and this is something that you’ve heard him say to many a complaining troopers being escorted to the medbay when they don’t want to go, it is well within his rights to exercise such authority and make these orders. Because when it comes to the health and safety of every 501st personnel, whether you’re a Jedi general, commander, or Padawan, Kix immediately outranks you.

You look down at the floor, suddenly finding the marks that are speckled across it very interesting, and mumble a defeated and quiet “Yes sir.”

When he turns, and you hesitate to follow, he lets out a gentle sigh, moving to place a hand on the small of your back. His voice is low, but reassuring as he ushers you forward.

“Come on, kid, you’re okay,” he breathes, and in spite of the fact that you’re still thinking that jumping out of an airlock would be better than this, your feet, still unwilling, but the slightest bit reassured, begin to move.

Coric giving you a subtle pitying glance as he’s reading over a patient’s chart when Kix escorts you into the medbay makes you want to vomit.

Between the two medics, Kix has the reputation of being a hardass because he’s the CMO. Make no mistake, you do not want to get on either of their bad sides. But, given the choice between the two right now, you think you’re more equipped to handle Coric, who can usually be counted on to soften the blow a bit, with enough pleading glances and apologies.

Your eyes flit to the door that you’ve just passed through, because stupidly, your brain is still trying to make the calculations that if you can just duck out of Kix’s grasp for two seconds, you’d be able to make a run for it.

Unbeknownst to you, however, both medics have been carefully observing your every movement since you’ve entered. Coric, remaining completely calm and at ease, rises to his feet, moving swiftly to stand in the doorway in several long strides. He casually leans against the frame, arms folded.

“Don’t even think about it, baby Jedi. Your master has attempted the same thing you are considering, and he has always failed,” he says, keeping his voice light and non-threatening, making it clear that you need to give up on your fantasy of bolting out of here, but also not trying to scare you off..

You’re just beginning to wonder how the kriff they were able to read you so easily, with one covert glance determining that you were about to bolt when Kix removes his hand from the small of your back, instead, fingers coming to gently grip your shoulder.

The change in his hold is obvious. He is fully prepared for if you try to run. He gives your shoulder a squeeze, in what you interpret as a warning not to.

Unfortunately, he’s just touched on an injury, you’re not entirely sure what you did, but you messed up your shoulder the last time you were on the field, and even the slight pressure elicits a sharp intake of breath that you’re unable to stop from escaping your lips, and that immediately has the attention of both medics laser focussed on you.

Kix’s anticipation evaporates and quickly melts into concern. Carefully, so carefully, he turns you to face him, keen eyes sharp as they analyze your face.

“Hey,” he calls softly, waiting for you to look at him. “Tell me where it hurts,” he says, so gently that it makes your eyes burn with shame. You look down at your feet.

“That’s uh... that’s, a loaded question,” you admit sheepishly, trying to keep your tone light and joking, in spite of the fact that now that you’re thinking about it, the list of injuries you’ve sustained without reporting to the medbay is a lengthy one, and might make Kix have a stroke.

Kix lets out a controlled, slow breath, eyes momentarily finding the ceiling as he silently begs the stars to give him strength.

“Kaysh Mirsh solus,” he mutters to himself.

You’ve heard Kix toss that phrase around the medbay on multiple occasions, and though you’re uncertain of what it actually means, he usually brings it out when one of his brothers has done something that he would consider incredibly stupid, which is often.

Coric makes a noise of agreement. “It appears that our stupidly self-sacrificing general has passed on his stupid self sacrificing behaviour onto his apprentice,” he groans. “Will we ever know a day of peace?”

Kix looks back down at you, his expression calm and restrained. “Come on, then, let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” moving his hand to your uninjured shoulder, he steers you both further into the medbay.

Your eyes don’t leave the ground, but you can hear the sound of a privacy curtain being pulled shut around the cubicle that Kix has brought you to.

When an eerily familiar pink slip of paper is being held up in front of your downcast eyes, you cringe, Arms wrapping around yourself in defence

You can’t even pretend that you haven’t seen it before, because the words mandatory vaccination updates have been circling around your brain the whole time you were out on your last mission.

“Do you know why the GAR enforces these?” Kix begins, and his voice is too measured and calm.

You lift a brow, questioning. Does he seriously expect you to answer this? Isn’t the answer obvious?

“Uh... so that we don’t get sick?” You answer, uncertain as to what he’s getting at.

He nods, his face displaying a slight flicker of approval. “Yes, that is one reason as to why, and it’s an acceptable one,” he acknowledges. His frown deepens as he continues. “However, one must look at the much larger picture, at every personnel aboard this ship. The most important reason why mandatory vaccinations are enforced is so that we can avoid many people getting sick and spreading illness to the rest of the crew, so that we may remain fully functional and operational, continuing to serve and protect the people of the republic.”

You squirm beneath the scrutiny of his gaze. You’re starting to see where he’s going with this, and it’s incredibly discomforting.

“I would’ve thought, that as a Jedi, you would be able to more easily see this bigger picture than most others,” he observes mildly. “After all, I know, and I’m sure everyone who spends a considerable amount of time with you can see that there is so much compassion and care for others within your very nature.”

His voice is so genuine, laced with such real kindness in his tone that it makes your eyes sting. Your heart constricts, because he’s just pointed out something that you hadn’t even considered in your selfish haste to avoid this.

By avoiding your vaccinations, you have put every member of the 501st who works with you in danger.

Your arms wrap tighter around yourself, and you can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but at the pristine white floor beneath your feet.

Kix senses that he’s hit a mark, and his voice gentles considerably. “I also understand that you are young, and still learning to see the bigger picture and how your actions can affect those around you.”

“I, I didn’t, I was scared and I just I didn’t think about...” your voice trembles as you try to answer, tumbling out in a rush of words that race as quickly as your heart.

“I understand, and it is perfectly reasonable for you to feel that way,” he keeps his voice level and measured. “However,” he continues, and you know what he’s about to say even before he says it. “We still have to face the things that scare us. If you had simply told me how you were feeling, we would have figured out a way to navigate it.” His face is reassuring when you dare to glance up from the floor that you’ve been resolutely staring at for this whole conversation.

“We still will figure out the best way to proceed. However, these vaccination updates are very low on my priority list of concerns when it comes to you, compared to this,” and he holds up a datapad, displaying medical records with your name typed neatly across the top.

The last several appointment entries are highlighted in red, indicating that you did not attend any of them.

“Do I need to remind you that these appointments are not optional. Any member of Torrent Company who goes out on the field must report to the medbay upon return for examination, as well as attend our regular medical checks to ensure that you are fit for active duty.” It’s clear from the tone of his voice that this is a lecture that he is very practised in delivering.

You lift your head, finally looking directly at him. He’s already made you admit a fear that you desperately wanted to keep to yourself. You try and summon what remains of your dignity.

“What do you want me to say, Kix?” There’s a hint of defiance in your voice.

“Do you want me to admit that I avoided these because I had injuries that I didn’t want you to know about? Because yes, the truth is that I did.” Your eyes level with his as you try to make him understand.

“I was scared of the medical procedures, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?” You snap, not particularly annoyed with him, but more annoyed at the fact that your answers sound so stupid out loud.

“But I was more scared of the fact that you were probably going to take me off the field, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t let that happen. My master was relying on me. Everyone was relying on me, and I couldn’t let them down.” You try to shrug off his concern with a dismissive wave of your hand. “Besides, I’ve been doing fine,” you say evasively.

Kix does not rise to the bate of your seeming anger. He’s much too practised and controlled to let it affect him. He also has the uncanny ability to look at someone, and see everything, read through their feelings, whether they’ve been acknowledged or not, and understand them. So, even though you’re trying to push him away, with what at first glance appears to be frustration, underneath it all, he can tell that it’s just as plainly fear.

He meets your storm filled eyes unflinchingly, levelling you with a look that is equal parts stern and unwavering, and equal parts concerned and filled with compassion. It makes your insides twist with guilt, and you want to look away, but you can’t bring yourself to as he speaks, his voice calm but steely.

“Are you fine?” he asks, an eyebrow raising as he tilts his head to look at you, his gaze clinical, assessing, even as you just stand there in front of him.

. “I already know that there’s something wrong with your shoulder. But aside from that, I’ve been observing you since you got off your transport. The way you move is slow and careful, not at all like the usual way you dash around the ship. Even now, you’re hesitating to put much weight on your right leg.” He ticks off the things he’s noticed on his fingers like a list.

“Apart from the fact that skipping these mandatory appointments have consequences. If you had kept this up, I would’ve had to bring this to our superiors, that includes the Jedi council,” he gives you a pointed look, even the mention of the high Council makes you shiver. in your experience, whenever you and your master have been summoned to speak with the council, it’s always to be reprimanded, and never good.

. “You could have been Court-martialed,” he says, knowing that his words will hit the severity of the situation home.

You falter, stepping back as you feel your eyes go wide. “Court-martialed?” you breathe, feeling the blood draining from your face.

He gently takes your arm, guiding you to sit on a bed as he continues, voice softening. “It is very clear that you are hiding injuries, and though I can understand why, in premise, You did this, the reality is that this will begin to affect your performance in battle. It will not just affect you. You will put yourself, as well as the entirety of the people you are leading, in danger. People could get hurt. You could get hurt. Because you would be putting not just yourself, but others, in unnecessary danger, your ability to be in the position of a commander could be called into serious question by your superiors, and for good reason”

As much as he keeps his voice low and calm, you can sense that he’s disappointed in the way that you’ve handled yourself. Your teeth sink into the inside of your cheek, forcing the tears that prick at the back of your eyes to not fall. You hate disappointing people, and the fact that you’ve managed to disappoint Kix, one of the kindest people you know, makes you want to curl up into a ball and never show your face in public again.

“And that, the safety of yourself, and everyone aboard this ship, is my priority. It is much more important to me than having to report to any superior. The fact that you hold your safety, and by extension, the safety of those around you, with such blatant disregard, is what concerns me the most, and that is what I need you to understand.”

There’s a certain gravity in his voice that you’ve never heard before, but it slams into your chest and hits you like a ton of bricks. The implications of what you’ve been doing, of what could have happened to those around you, to his brothers, because of your inability to face your fears begin to swirl around your head with a rapidity that makes your heart race.

These thoughts come unbidden, and too fast for you to process. The tears, that you’ve been so desperately trying to push back, spring free and begin to fall down your cheeks, unprompted, slowly, and silently. You don’t have time to stop them from coming.

Kix knows that he’s been very direct, and very blunt with you, deciding that this would be the only way to get through to you. He hates having to do it, though. Kix considers himself to be a fairly good judge of character, and he knows that you have such a caring, gentle heart and strong presence wherever you go. So, watching you break in front of him like this pains him.

Your breath hitches in an unsteady gasp as you look up at him, tears blurring your vision.

“I’m sorry, Ori’vod,” your lip trembles as your voice breaks, wanting to curl in on yourself. “Ni ceta,” you get out in barely a choked whisper.

But he hears you, and it breaks him.

You’ve never referred to him as ori’vod before, and the idea that you consider him as such, as a big brother, awakens his protective, instinctive nature to gather you close and keep you safe from harm.

His Vod, mostly his batchmate, Jesse, calls it his mother hen instincts.

He can’t help it, though. Your voice, sounding so much smaller than he’s ever heard it, trembling and filled with tears, has broken what’s left of his resolve, and gently, very gently, mindful of the fact that you’re injured, he takes you into his arms, holding you close to him. Your head buries against his shoulder, and he easily cradles you there, feeling every sharp intake of breath as you cry.

“Oh, adika, shh,” he soothes, hand coming up to gently stroke your hair as he continues to speak softly to you. “You’re okay, I promise, everything is going to be alright. I’ve got you, we are going to sort this out.”

“Well,” he says, reading over the results of the medical scan he’s just performed. Would you believe me if I told you that a dislocated shoulder is the least of your concerns?”

Your eyes find the ceiling, and you exhale a slow breath before asking, “how bad?”

He keeps his voice neutral as he relays the results of the scan to you. “According to your last medical check, you were diagnosed with Iron deficiency anemia, not incredibly uncommon, what with our limited access to rations and food with the proper nutrients,” his brow creases as he continues. “However, preliminary scans indicate that your haemoglobin levels haven’t much improved.”

He gives you a look.“You have been taking the supplement you were prescribed?” he asks, in a way that makes you suspicious that he already knows that the answer is no.

You avoid looking at him. “I was, but they kept making my stomach feel queasy all day, so I stopped.”

Kix Lets out a long suffering sigh. “An issue that we easily could have rectified by changing your treatment plan if you had just let us know,” he scolds. “Nonetheless, I’d like to do a blood test to get exact confirmation of those levels and see how bad the numbers are so that we can Start getting them back up to baseline.”

Your stomach does a flip and you cringe silently at the mention of a blood test.

Kix continues, consulting the scan results that are displayed on a datapad. “You’ve got untreated burns on your fingers.” He raises a curious eyebrow at you and your cheeks flush.

“They weren’t entirely untreated, I put them under running water,” you try to argue. The unimpressed look he gives you stops you dead in your tracks.

“It wasn’t entirely my fault,” you defend. “I was fixing one of the starfighters that got hit during our last airstrike. I got R2 to help me with the repairs but he wasn’t listening to my instructions. He crossed two of the wrong wires and caused the circuitboard to spark.”

“And that is why you should never ask R2 for help,” he says with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Those burns weren’t given time to heal, and the fact that you’re constantly wielding a lightsaber has exacerbated them. I will apply a burn ointment to them that should take away the pain and speed the process of healing.”

He fixes you with a look.

“The most concerning thing is The blaster wound on the front of your right calf. Really, vod, you should know that injuries being treated and stitched up on the field, especially when not done by a medic, always should be looked over by a medic as soon as possible, due to the unsanitary environment that they were performed in.”

“Tup did his best to stitch it,” you say, feeling the need to defend the brother who, in spite of the fact that he was not a medic, sutured you up as you took cover from separatist battle droids.

“I don’t doubt that he did. I was the instructor who took every single one of the troopers on this ship through their mandatory medical courses, and I did not let them pass without proving that they were adequately able to handle emergency first aid on the field. However, it still remains that you’ve picked up an infection, and to treat it, the sutures will have to be removed, the wound reopened, and extraction of the infected tissue, as well as a course of both IV and oral antibiotics to clear up anything that remains.”

You stare at him, your eyes growing wide with horror as he explains. “How?” You ask, alarmed.

He senses your nerves and leans forward, taking your hand and running his thumb along the back of it reassuringly. “This is a surgical procedure, performed under general anesthesia.”

You flinch at his words, and your fingers tighten around his with anxiety, needing something to hold onto.

“I know that sounds scary, especially if you’ve never been put under before. But I promise, this is a fairly common operation. Me and Coric will both be here making sure that you’re okay the whole time.” he continues to stroke his thumb along the backs of your knuckles.

“Let’s take this one step at a time, though. We’ll take care of the things that are manageable, first,” he says, giving you an encouraging smile.

“Hey uh...” you say nervously, watching with anxiety fluttering in your stomach as Kix ties a band just above your elbow, prepping you for the blood draw. The way the band tightens, restricts and squeezes around your arm Makes you feel trapped. You hate it.

“I have... I’ve had, issues in the past when it comes to these,” you say awkwardly, not knowing how to explain.

Kix only looks up at you, raising a perceptive brow. “Are you referring to your predisposition of fainting whenever a blood draw is performed?” he asks, completely unfazed.

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows in questioning. “Don’t worry, Coric already has this listed in your file. I’m going to get you to lie down when we do it.”

He has the sensitivity and grace not to mention the fact that he also knows this because he walked into the medbay to find Coric absolutely tearing into a junior medic for letting you leave too soon after you had gotten a blood draw, resulting in you crumpling to the floor in a faint right outside of the medbay doors.

At your continued staring, he adds, his voice softening. “It’s a normal reaction, that likely is exacerbated because of your low haemoglobin levels. There’s nothing wrong with you, Vod’ika.” he reassures, gently guiding you to lay down on the bed. “Now, just lay down for me, and we’ll get this over with quickly, and if you faint, you faint. It happens, no big deal, I’ll be right here regardless.”

And because you’re you, you do faint.

The needle itself is always not as bad as you anticipate it being. The Sting, though prominent, is small and quick and over before you have time to fixate on it.

It’s only when he’s pressing a cotton swab into the crook of your arm, encouraging you to keep it in place while he puts a Band-Aid over top, that you register the familiar feeling of drowsiness, vision blurring and ears beginning to ring, that always comes before you pass out.

You think that you might give him some indication, some warning, because he’s removing your hand from where it’s been pressing against the cotton round, replacing it with his own, much more steady one. Everything around you is muffled, and it’s jarring, but in a way that is too far away from your immediate concerns to really react to it.

When you come to, he’s pressing a cool, damp cloth to the back of your neck, other hand gently stroking hair away from your forehead. His voice fades back into your consciousness, a stream of gentle, soothing words as your eyes flutter open.

The feeling of the cloth cools your heated skin, and the hand gently running through your hair brings your senses back to focus, grounding you.

“Easy, adika, i’m right here, you’re safe,” he brushes his fingers against your cheek, and when you react, leaning into his touch, he gives you a small smile. “That’s it, there we go, you’re back. Everything’s good,” he soothes, gently stalling your movement when you attempt to sit up.

“Not right now, vod, stay down for a few more minutes. I’ve already got the blood work running through the scanner, and we should have its results quickly, okay.” You give him a small nod, still not really having the energy to do much else. You close your eyes, taking deep breaths as you come back to yourself, and when the scanner beeps, indicating that it completed its diagnostics, you jump slightly.

Kix moves over to check it as you slowly sit up. “Okay, so, your numbers are definitely not nearly where they should be he says, clearly unimpressed.

“But, Once we have taken care of your more serious injuries, will start you with an iron infusion delivered through an IV before transitioning back to pills. Don’t worry, we’ll have you on a much smaller dosage so that we can hopefully circumvent the discomfort you had in your stomach,” he says with optimism, which makes you feel slightly better about the fact that he’s just mentioned an IV. You’re not given much time to fixate on it, though, because he’s already turning away from the scanner, moving back to you.

“Let’s not worry about that right now, though. We have enough problems having to deal with the mess That you’ve made of yourself. I will do my best to resist calling you a di’kut as much as possible,” he says, hands on his hips, and in spite of yourself, it actually makes you laugh.

You didn’t realize how sore and irritated the burns on your hands were until you couldn’t hold back the audible sigh of relief that fell from your lips as soon as Kix began applying the burn cream to them. The pain instantly vanished, leaving a pleasant, cooling sensation behind. He wrapped small bacta patches around your injured fingers, explaining that it would make sure that the healing process was unimpeded by the outside environment.

That was easy, quick, painless.

Your shoulder, on the other hand, is a completely different matter. As soon as Kix touches it, as gentle as he can be, it flares with pain, and your muscles tense, which just makes it worse.

“I don’t know how you’ve been functioning with this for as long as you have,” he comments dryly. When his fingers press against the bone, assessing the damage with a practised familiarity, you cry out, eyes squeezing shut.

“Haar’chak,” you grit out, as behind you, Kix preps a syringe with local anesthetic.

“Which one of my di’kut brothers taught you curse words in Mandoa?” he asks, beginning to disinfect the injection site.

You flinch at the cold and your cheeks flush. “Shit, you weren’t supposed to hear that. I can’t tell you that, I made a promise.”

“Did you now?” he asks, fighting the amused smirk that plays on his lips. “Well, whoever it was, you might as well put your skills that they taught you to use.”

You look at him from over your shoulder, eyebrows raising in confusion.

He explains, “I need to give you an injection of local anaesthetic so that it takes the edge off of resetting your shoulder correctly. I know those aren’t your favourite , so, I am making a deal with you. Let me do this, and I give you free rein to throw whatever Mandoa insult my brothers have taught you at me, no consequences. Is that fair?”

The unimpressed look you’re giving at the syringe turns to surprise, then, slowly, a smile spreads across your face and you nod, quickly looking away from it. “Deal,” you accept, your voice still shaky with nerves but determined.

“Okay, deep breath for me,” He waits for you to inhale. “Perfect, now, on the exhale, give me that insult with all of your might. Ready?”

He waits for you to nod, then prompts you to exhale as he administers the anaesthetic into the back of your shoulder.

“Osi’yaim, that hurt, you di’kut,” what should be just a little pinch to your already injured shoulder makes you cry out the words, and you swear you can hear the familiar sound of Coric laughing from the other side of the medbay.

Your cheeks flush, you did not intend to be that loud. But you don’t apologize, either, and Kix only gives you a rueful grin, nodding in understanding.

As you wait for the anaesthetic to settle, Kix warns, “I’m gonna be honest, kid, because of how long you’ve left this injury to sit, even with the anesthetic, setting it is still going to hurt.”

You close your eyes, grimacing, before nodding with a sigh. “Do your worst,” you say, bracing yourself.

He lays a reassuring hand on your uninjured shoulder. “I need you relaxed, adika,” he says gently. “Trust me, it will only hurt more if you tense like that,” he continues, gently encouraging your shoulder downward with his hand.

“Easy, now. I want you to give me some good deep breath’s. In,” he inhales deeply, holding for a few seconds, “and out,” he lets his breath go in a controlled, slow stream of air.

He waits for you to copy, giving you a few breaths to settle into it as he prepares himself. “Perfect, just like that, keep it up, you’ve got this,” he keeps up the stream of encouraging words as carefully, but firmly, he rotates your arm, guiding your dislocated shoulder back into its proper place with one precise movement.

The sudden flare of pain, even dulled as it is by the anesthetic, takes your breath away momentarily, your vision instantly blurring with tears. When it clears,Kix has shifted to standing in front of you, gently wiping them away with his thumbs.

“Well done, vod’ika, you were so brave,” his words make you want to cry more, because you didn’t think you were brave. You thought that being brave meant confidence, at all times, and not letting other people see your vulnerability. You can’t fully understand it, but, now, you’re beginning to think that maybe your initial idea of bravery was wrong.

Your lip wobbles as you speak, “W what now?” you look up at him with wide, still watery eyes.

He gently strokes your hair. “Now, I’m going to get Coric, and you,” he playfully taps your nose, “are going to take a much-needed nap, if the bags under your eyes are any indication, while we take care of that leg wound.”

It sounds simple enough.

Kix explains the procedure while Coric preps you for surgery, making sure all your vitals are stable. As he wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, he tells you that that’s essentially his job while he’s in here. Throughout the surgery, he will monitor your vitals and make sure that they remain at safe levels.

“I’m going to remove the sutures, clean the wound, remove the infected tissue, pack the wound with saline soaked dressings, then bandage it back up so that it can heal. It goes without saying that you’re going to be off the field for at least a week. You’ll need to stay here so that we can continue to monitor your recovery as well as change the dressings often. You will also need to undergo a course of IV antibiotics to kill off any lingering infection. This will also give us time to get your haemoglobin levels back up with an infusion.”

Your eyes close tightly as anxiety knots your stomach. “Oh, force, a week? But, my master needs me,” you protest.

When your eyes open again, both medics are fixing you with equally stern looks. “Your master needs you to be safe, and healthy,” says Coric, frowning, as he carefully attaches a pulse oximeter to one of your fingers.

“If you want to be back on the field as soon as possible, you will take this week of recovery. If you want to argue with me about it, I will make it longer. A week is the absolute minimum,” Kix says, arms folded across his chest, wearing his signature “i’m the chief medical officer, you have no authority here,” expression.

You visibly deflate, reminding yourself that you pick and choose your battles, and picking and choosing a battle with two medics who are very competent at dealing with very stubborn Jedi would be a very stupid idea.

You can’t help yourself, and in spite of the fact that you shouldn’t, you stare as Kix preps your wrist for an IV line.

Sensing you’re mounting anxiety as your eyes nervously flit around, watching Kix’s Every move, Coric gently takes your other hand, squeezing when your eyes don’t immediately look at him. When you finally tear your eyes away from what Kix is doing, Coric is wearing a mischievous smile on his face. “So, Vod’ika, who taught you how to curse in Mandoa?” he asks, raising a curious brow.

You only scoff, rolling your eyes. “Kix already tried to find out. What makes you think that I’m going to tell that secret to you?”

“I’ve already got my suspicions. My moneys on Echo or Fives.” he gives you a wounded look, “I thought you would tell me, because I’m obviously your favourite.”

Kix uses this conversation to quickly insert the IV into a vein on your wrist. Reacting to the small pinch, your fingers instinctively tighten around Coric’s hand, squeezing it tightly.

“You’re definitely my favourite now,” you grumble, giving Kix a sidelong glare.

He gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, Vod, i’m going to run the medication through the line now. It will act quickly, and when you wake up, this will be all done with.”

You nod, biting your lip nervously. Coric notices, giving your hand another gentle squeeze. “Hey, kid, I know you’ve heard Kix say kaysh mirsh solus all the time. Do you know what it means?”

You look at him with curiosity, shaking your head.

“Well, essentially it means they are stupid or foolish. But, the literal translation is even more direct .” Coric gives you a conspiratorial smile.

“What is it?” You ask as he leans forward.

“The literal translation means their braincell is lonely,” he says, completely serious.

You feel a smile pulling up the corners of your lips and a surprised laugh falls from them.

You feel the medication beginning to enter your system, but you’re so busy laughing that you can’t bring yourself to care. “You better not be bullshitting me,” you threaten,“or I...” you let out a yawn.

“I swear to the force, I,” your eyes begin to flutter and you yawn again, shrugging.

“I’ll think about it later,” you mumble sleepily, before promptly passing out, smile still lighting up your face.

Your leg hurts.

That’s the first thing you become aware of as Kix is gently encouraging you to open your eyes.

“Come on, adika, open your eyes for me,” he says softly, fingers gently brushing against your cheek to bring you back to awareness.

“But it hurts, and I wanna go back to sleep,” you wine, blinking sleepily up at him.

“Ni ceta, vod’ika,” he soothes, fingers gently caressing your forehead in an apology. “I know it hurts, and you can go back to sleep soon, I promise,”

He glances at something that you can’t see, giving a small nod,“Vitals look good, the anaesthesia is wearing off nicely, and it doesn’t appear to have affected them too much. Let’s up that IV dosage,” Kix speaks to Coric, who moves to adjust your IV out of your eyeline.

Your leg throbs, and you let out a stifled whimper, hand reaching down, trying to at least find the source of your pain when Kix catches it in his, gently stalling your movements. “Let’s leave that alone for now, vod’ika. Coric is just increasing your pain med intake, that will make it better. Then you can sleep,”

At the continued expression of pain on your face, he lets go of your hand, fingers gently playing with your hair as he instructs, “nice and easy, adika, deep breath‘s for me, everything’s okay.”

You don’t believe him at first, but slowly, things become okay. The pain quickly fades and dulls , breathing becomes easier, and your eyes begin to flutter. All the while, Kix continues holding his vigil at your bedside, fingers continuing to gently run through your hair until you fall into a natural sleep.

When you properly wake up next, the first thing you notice is that your leg doesn’t hurt anymore.

Whatever pain meds Kix has got you hooked up to are very effective, and your lips pull into a relieved smile.

The second thing you notice, when you glance around to get your bearings, is the face of your very concerned captain, Rex, at your bedside. You blink slowly, yawning. Although the anaesthetic has worn off, the pain meds still have you feeling like you’re in a fog, and your brain is working pretty slowly.

“When did you get here?” you ask, confused.

“I came straight here after you never reported to the bridge for today’s debriefing. The general said that you would be back today, and it’s unlike you to miss or forget about meetings,” he explains, looking at you, relieved to see you awake, but a flicker of concern still lingering in his eyes.

“Osik, sorry, Rex, I got myself into a bit of a bind over here,” you gesture to the IV that you’re hooked up to, chuckling a little.

“So I heard, don’t worry about it, kid. There wasn’t much to report, anyways.” His head tilts, and he raises a questioning eyebrow.“Who taught you how to curse in Mandoa, vod’ika?” he asks, keeping his voice light.

If you weren’t under the influence of pretty heavy duty pain medication‘s, you would have restraint, you would have thought before you opened your mouth. But for Rex, it was his lucky day.

you smirk, “good old Hardcase taught me everything I know,” you say with pride, smiling fondly at the memory.

Rex carefully files that information away so that he can scold Hardcase for that once he leaves. But he carefully keeps his face neutral.

His face grows serious. “Kix told me about all the medical appointments you’ve missed and the injuries that you’ve been covering up,” his voice is stern, every bit the commanding officer that he is in front of the troops. It makes you nervous, and you swallow, looking away from him.

“I swear to the force, if you ever pull something like that again, I will find out about it, and I’ll drag you to the medbay myself, even if it means chasing you around the ship and stunning you if I have to. do you realize how much danger you were in? How much danger you put others in? That was extremely reckless of you, commander. I’m very disappointed in your actions, and it will not happen again, do you understand?”

Your hazy memory recalls the conversation you had with Kix earlier, about this very thing, and for some reason, it hits even harder seeing the disappointment, worry and concern etched on the face of the normally composed captain.

Without prompting, you find yourself bursting into tears.

Later, you’ll blame the pain meds on your inability to keep a grip on your emotions. But right now, all you can do is think about the people, the brothers, you could have hurt, the things that could’ve happened because of you, and the tears just fall down your face, streaming from your eyes, falling down your cheeks, into your ears, dampening your hair.

.“I I’m sorry Captain I I didn’t I,” you gasp out, trying to explain, but your brain is still foggy, only clinging onto the hazy images of loss and pain due to your inability to act fast enough.

There’s a reason why people are convinced that Kix has eyes on the back of his head. Working as the highest ranking medic in the 501st has trained him to be hyper observant of all of his patients, even if he isn’t at their bedside.

So, even though he’s been taking the time to update your file on a datapad, unbeknownst to either you or Rex, he’s also been watching you like a hawk, and the minute you begin to show that you’re overwhelmed, he’s swooping in on the two of you, protective mother hen mode fully activated by the tears falling down your cheeks.

He steps in front of you, broad shoulders immediately blocking your view of your commanding officer. “Captain,” he says, and his voice is still respectful, but there’s a hard edge beneath it, something stern that you haven’t heard before, even during the worst of him lecturing you.

“You are causing undue stress to my patient, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir,” he continues, physically ushering Rex to the door.

More quietly, out of your earshot, he says,“I have already harshly reprimanded the commander. Trust me, this experience will ensure that the lesson will not be forgotten. Now, if you want to be of use, get the general and bring him to me, please. I need to speak with him. Between you and me, Rex, I’m blaming this ordeal on him.”

Rex begins to make an objection, but Kix is already turning away, folding his arms. “I don’t care if you have to drag him out of council meetings. His Padawan is more important,” he shoots back, before quickly moving back to your side, all of his hard lines instantly fading at the sight of your tear streaked face.

He’s all gentleness and soft reassurances uttered as he cups your face, wiping away your tears. When you struggle into a sitting position, falling against his chest as your arms clumsily reach for him, his arms easily pull you close to him and you sob, trying to explain.

“Kix, I, I didn’t mean to, I never wanted to hurt anyone,” you whisper, clutching at him, burying your face into the crook of his neck, wanting to disappear, feeling his body shift, one hand splayed out, rubbing your back in slow, soothing circles, the other coming up to cradle your head, holding you against his warmth, sheltering you.

“Oh, adika, shh, I know. You didn’t hurt anyone, vod’ika, nothing happened,” he coos, tightening his arms around you. Lips press against your hair briefly, and you continue to cry, letting your emotions run their course as he cradles you to him, gently rocking you back-and-forth, as if you were a much smaller child.

In this moment, you certainly feel like you are, and it’s comforting, the way he holds and settles you against him , making gentle shushing noises and speaking in low, soothing tones, the words eventually losing their meaning as sleep, yet again, gently pulls at your consciousness.

The last thing you’re aware of is him gently guiding you to lie back down, another medic, you think it’s Coric, passing him a freshly warmed blanket that he tucks around you, and a hand gently brushing through your hair as you drift back to sleep, your storm settled and calmed by his words and his presence.

Anakin Skywalker had been in meetings with the Jedi high Council all day, was running on his 3rd cup of caff, and still found himself stifling a yawn every five minutes. So, when Rex silently slipped into the room, politely interrupting the meeting to request that Anakin report to the medbay, he instinctively rolled his eyes, grumbling that he would go later.

But when Rex stated that this wasn’t actually about him, and was in regards to his Padawan, Anakin was out of his seat in an instant, hastily making his excuses to the council before leaving the room, legs carrying him to the medbay faster than he ever had moved there before.

He doesn’t even stop to look as behind him, Rex calls to a group of troopers in a booming voice, “Hardcase, get Over here right now, you di’kut, I need to talk to you regarding professionalism when it comes to working with young Padawan’s .”

When he’s escorted into a cubicle, his eyes grow wide with alarm at the sight of you, peacefully asleep, but your face looks exhausted and worn out. You’re hooked up to an IV and monitors, there’s a thick bandage that’s been secured to the bottom half of your right leg.

Kix keeps his voice low and quiet, so as not to disturb you, but he fixes your master with a hard look as he takes him through an overview of your current health status.

“Iron deficiency anemia, burns, a dislocated shoulder, a blaster wound that had to be surgically operated on due to an untreated infection that had grown quite severe and needed to be manually removed, as well as several muscle strains and bruised ribs that can be healed with proper rest.”

His mouth falls open at the growing list, but Kix only folds his arms, continuing to speak. “General, sir, your Padawan looks to you with the highest regard, and you lead the way by example. All of these issues could have been caught much earlier and treated without having to deal with all this,” he gestures at everything you’re hooked up to.

“This behaviour was learned, and when I pressed, I found that at the root of the problem was fear of disappointing you and letting you down,” he waits for these words to sink in, and when they do, Anakin Skywalker, Jedi general who is known for his strength and recklessness on the field, hangs his head with shame, eyes finding the floor and refusing to look at Kix directly.

His meaning is clear, you are his Padawan, and as your master, it’s his responsibility to set a good example for you, and in this regard, watching pain medication flow through the IV line attached to your wrist, he knows he has failed to do so.

“So, just maybe, the next time you decide that are mandatory medical checks are optional and you can manage on your own, maybe just, consider this,” Kix gestures to you, still deeply asleep.

Before your master can respond, not that he really has any words to do so, Kix turns on his heel, quickly exiting the room before he can be reprimanded for speaking to his superior that way, not that he really cares, anyway.

If he had stayed, though, he would have seen Anakin tentatively move to your side, gently sitting on the edge of your bed as he strokes back your hair and adjusts the blankets that are tucked around you, properly shamefaced as he looks down at you and says in a voice that is soft and rarely heard coming out of him, “I’m sorry, kiddo, this one’s on me.”

“And this,” says Kix, quickly injecting the third and final mandatory vaccination into your arm, “is your ticket out of here.”

The week of recovery has come and gone, And you have finally been cleared to head back onto the field, as long as you continue to follow a regimen of oral antibiotics for the next week, and, more excitingly in your opinion, get out of the medbay.

“There you go, you did it,” Fives, who’s been sitting across from you, happily agreeing to be your emotional support/cheerleader, ready with a damp cloth if you need it, does a little celebratory dance that makes you laugh, even as Kix, sensing that you’re feeling unsteady, gets you to lay down.

Fives gently places the cool cloth against your skin, and it’s enough to ground you, pulling you back from the edge.

“That’s it, Vod’ika, well done, you did great,” Kix says encouragingly, giving your shoulder a warm squeeze. “Now, wait 15 minutes, and as long as you’re feeling back to normal, you can get out of here,” he smiles down at you, patting your head affectionately before moving out of the cubicle.

As soon as he’s gone, Fives liens in conspiratorially, face lighting up with mischievousness sparkling in his eyes. “Hey, kid, I bet you 10 credits that I could easily sneak you out right now and we could make this 15 minutes go a lot faster,” he grins.

In spite of the fact that you smile back at him and laugh lightly, you give your head a small shake and throw a cautious look over your shoulder.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been here for a whole week, and the biggest thing I’ve learned is that Kix and Coric do, in fact, have eyes in the back of their heads. We wouldn’t even make it out of the door.”

It’s true, you’ve seen several different troopers trying to carefully sneak out of the medbay when they think that no one is watching.

What you’ve learned, though, is that the medics of Torrent Company are always watching. Nothing gets past their keen eyes or ears, and no one successfully sneaks out undetected.

You grimace, “besides, I’ve just gotten off of Kix’s bad side, and I have no desire to go back there.”

“So,” Fives says, resignedly coming to sit on the edge of your bed with a sigh. “We’re waiting the 15 minutes?”

You carefully sit up, giving him a nod and a decisive look as you lean your head against his shoulder..

“Yes, Fives,” you affirm, letting out a small sigh of your own. “We are waiting the 15 minutes.”

************************* thank you so much for reading. Comments and re-blogs are always appreciated here.are always appreciated here.

Mandoa translations. Kaysh mirsh solus, they are stupid/foolish. Ori’vod: Big Brother (in this instance) can also be used as big sister or big sibling. Ni ceta: i’m sorry. Vod: Brother/ sister/ sibling. Adika: little one. Vod’ika: Little sister, little brother, or little sibling Haar’chak: damm it. Di’kut: Fool (literal translation is underwear forgeter) which kills me. Osi’yaim: shithead. Osik: shit.

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flagellant · 1 year ago

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I remember you being something of a scholar on christian theology. I have a question if you don't mind. My tumblr is full of people clowning on american conservative catholics that are angry that the pope basically fired that bishop in Texas, and the tumblr posters saying "lol u disagree with the pope that makes you disagree w/ god's word" or "that makes u a protestant" etc etc.

And while I do enjoy dunking on the trad caths, I think I heard at some point that the pope isn't always talking with his authority as god's most special boy on earth. That most of the time he is just being a human and therefore could be wrong/make errors. Not that I care about the jerk bishop losing his job, but I'm curious, how do we know when the pope is or is not talking with the authority of God backing him up? Does he have to say a special phrase at the start and end of the speech, or hold both hands up above his head, or something?

Okay so what you're referring to here is actually the concept known as papal infallibility, which is one of my favorite pieces of Catholic canon for one very simple reason:

You learn about it as being essentially the Pope is God's most special boy on Earth and what he says is always directly spoken to him from God and therefore is infallible. And if you are like me when you first hear about this concept, you will immediately get trapped in shower arguments for the rest of your life fantasizing about calling the Pope homophobic and arguing for the Catholic church to please stop being so goddamned homophobic all the time.

This is when you learn that papal infallibility is much more fallible than it is made out to be, and this is basically the source of the issue with Strickland, Torres, and any other Bishop that Francyman has decided to give the boot. See, papal infallibility isn't merely a divine play-pretend godmode button, it's a complex and intricate place within theological debate and Vatican hierarchical bureaucratic structure.

Without going into too much of a in-depth explanation, another way to think of papal infallibility is that it's essentially the Holy Roman Catholic version of the President of the United States declaring an executive order that bypasses the Senate. Infallibility is used for similar reasons--it's got a semi-strict set of rules attached to its usage, which means that the Pope is not constantly infallible, but rather that the Pope as God's chosen elect on Earth therefore commands His greatest attention, which allows the Pope direct intercession and communication with God on paths that the Church as a body should walk.

There are usually supposed to be bureaucratic machinations for dethrocking or deposing a bishop, much of which is directly connected to confirming and providing direct evidence for certain crimes that the Holy See would consider too serious to allow him to continue serving in his position. But the Pope is the divinely elected God-Emperor Best Favorite of Oily Josh and his Daddio Self, so generally speaking when it comes to the Pope, there's always the option baked in for him to say "Fuck you I'm the Pope and you're going to do what I say without precedent".

This is the core of the issue for the current Strickland debacle--there might not be hard-and-fast written rules stating that Strickland can be removed from office through traditional means, but Francis doesn't approve of what he's preaching and using his office for since it's causing the minorest of itty-bitty issues with his principled stance of being The Pope That Liberals Might Vaguely Not Hate As Much. So he's functionally exercising a form of papal infallibility by skipping over procedures and etiquette to tell Strickland "Fuck you I'm the Pope and you're going to do what I say without precedent", and Strickland is going "But I thought you would only do that to bishops who belong to brown countries :(", and here we are.

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valkierrie · 1 month ago

Text

𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖

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Warning(s): Swearing, (Damon Smut).

Plot: After a small outburst, Damon reassures Y/N of her place in their relationship.

Word count: 2.3K

A/N: Hope that the person who requested this enjoys it. I do apologise for the infrequent uploads. I have so many missing assignments, and my lack of proper time management makes it harder to keep up. Anyways, here the story.

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

Being able to say that I was going out with Damon Albarn should have been something that brought me nothing but pure and utter joy, which to a large extent it did. With me, Damon wasn’t just Damon Albarn, lead singer of Blur; He was just Damon, the man who bought me flowers without being asked, stayed up late alongside me when I got sick, and a godsend in the bedroom.

The ‘issues’ concerning our relationship had very little to do with him, he was basically as close to perfect as one could get.

The ‘issue’ was that I couldn’t measure up. Financially and in other aspects. My job was as mundane as it could get, an assistant to a shitty boss who gave me more work than I got paid for. I didn’t want to rely on Damon for everything. Sure, he didn’t mind, but that didn’t stop the nagging feeling that I didn’t deserve it. I felt like a gold digger, but without all the looks to go with it.

Damon had the likeness that resembled that of a Greek God. It wasn’t an exaggeration. With his short and unruly, light brown hair; and his electric yet, calming cobalt blue eyes, as soon as he gave you that irresistible smile, just know you were done for. His fans agreed, specifically his female fanbase. I held nothing against them. I was one of them before Damon and I started dating. They were made up of various women, each from different classes and different levels fame and appearance. I remember reading something the other day on some tabloid magazine about Kate Moss saying that she really liked Parklife. The Kate Moss. I knew it was harmless, but knowing that women like Kate Moss, her along with Noami Campbell, the absolute epitome of beauty, knowing that they were around that range of celebrities Damon could easily get access and get a hold of made me feel uneasy.

It wasn’t helped by the fact that Damon and I were spending less and less time together. The amount was decreasing exponentially. With Blur on the constant rise, it was expected that Damon’d be spending more time with the lads in the studio. What I hadn’t anticipated was that the only time we’d see each other would be when we kissed before bed.

It was constant, routine. I felt it lacked the feelings it did in the beginning. It felt more like some odd procedure in a dystopian book. It didn’t feel like we wanted to do it, it felt like we had to.

Tonight was no different. Damon had come back to the flat after a long day of rehearsals. I had gotten back a while back, my boss had gone on early holiday, allowing to me to finally cut back on the unpaid overtime. I sat on our shared bed, my back on the headboard, an opened book in hand. Damon walked in the bedroom, his hair still wet from the shower he’d just taken; he didn’t bother fetching a shirt before pulling up the duvet and going under it. His face inched close to mine, the repetitive and humdrum step process in progress. I placed a finger over his lips, intercepting any and all attempts for his lips to reach mine.

Damon’s eyes shot up, startled by the interruption. “What’s wrong?”

I closed the book, placing it on the nightstand on my side of the bed, before turning fully to face Damon. “Aren’t you tired of this?”

Damon cocked slightly askew; a brow rose. “Tired of what?”

I sighed; I shouldn’t have been surprised. I wanted to be annoyed at him for not comprehending straight away, but the cryptic language wasn’t really much help. “This.” I gestured vaguely between the two of us, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Every night’s the same. I come home from work, you come back from the studio and all we do is kiss then sleep.”

Damon sat up straighter.

“I mean—I don’t even remember the last time we had dinner together, let alone a proper conversation; do you, Damon?”

Damon turned his head, the words hitting him as he tried his hardest to think a time. There was a brief intermission before a finally spoke, saying on a succinct, “No.”

“Damon, I’m spent.” I spoke slowly, heaving. “I wanna spend time with you.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way, I’m sorry, love.” Damon placed both his hands on my cheeks, his soft, yet calloused thumbs, stroked my face gently.

I felt a bit bad when he apologised, it wasn’t his fault.

“Tell you what,” Damon’s fingers at the back of my hair gently played with my lower scalp. “I have rehearsals tomorrow—”

I made a face at that.

“—but,” he continued. “I think the band can manage one day without me.”

A small smile appeared on my face before I could stop it.

“How about we go out for dinner tomorrow evening, uh?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Great,” Damon grinned, “now, can I please kiss you?”

I giggled, pulling Damon close until out lips locked. It felt great. I didn’t feel that sense of nothingness, instead, it felt pleasing, satisfying.

The next day, work had gone by rather quickly, the excitement and eagerness were simply too much. By the time I got home, it was already a quatre past seven. Damon was sat in the living room, smoking beside the opened window in the living room. He placed a small kiss on my forehead before allowing me to get ready. I changed out of my work attire, opting to take a swift shower.

When I zipped up the short black dress I chose, the third one I chose for the evening, standing in front of the restroom mirror, I could see my reflection glancing back at me. I felt disgusted, I did. I probed at my sides and curves, pinching my dress from the back, as if that would magically do something to pacify the thoughts racing through my head. The dress already clung to my body, pulling it added to an almost inability to breath. I wanted to say ‘fuck it’ and leave the restroom, but I couldn’t. When my hand reached for the knob, an almost instant feeling, almost like going into shock. My chest felt tight and my heart was racing, and the moisture growing on the palms my hand would be sure not to give me a very good grip.

My eyes landed on a paper cover of a magazine laying haphazardly on the counter, likely left by Damon. The cover immediately caught my eye, it was a cover of her. Kate Moss. She looked as confident as ever, her attire as striking as her appearance. It didn’t even look like she was trying, she just looked so beautiful. So unlike me.

I felt repulsed, the way Kate’s beauty stared back at me, like it was taunting me the way the magazine stared back at me. I didn’t look good and I didn’t feel good; I couldn’t leave the fuckin’ bathroom, my chest honestly felt like it was about to explode and I felt like barfing. Like it was at the end of my throat, ready to come out. This felt stupid. Something so simple, yet I couldn’t do it.

Three knocks outside the door snapped me out of my thoughts. “Y/N, you alright? You’ve been in there for a while.”

My body jumped slightly, startled. I took a deep breath, wiping the long, thin watery line that I hadn’t realised had fallen from my eyes before opening the door. “I’m fine, Damon.” My voice sounded far from convincing, a bit strained. It would have taken a really big idiot to believe what I had said. I gave him the best smile I could pull.

Damon took one look at my face, one, a look of suspect on his face. “What’s wrong?” He asked again.

“Nothing.”

“You’re lying.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Damon.” My voice unintentionally raised slightly.

To me, it was nothing; To Damon, it was a tall tale sign that something was amiss. “Y/N, I know you.” He took one of his hands in mine. “I know when something’s bothering you, and I told you that you can always talk to me when something’s up. Now, what’s wrong?”

My gaze fell to the floor. “I don’t think I wanna go to dinner anymore.”

I didn’t need to look up at Damon to know the Englishman's brows were furrowed, a sign of his obvious confusion. “What’d you mean?”

I sighed, my eyes briefly met his. I gave the mirror a look before turning back to Damon. “I’m not hungry.”

“There it is again, you’re lying.”

“Honestly, Damon, does it matter? I don’t want to go.” I tried to make my tone sound indifferent, but it wasn’t working. If I couldn’t convince myself, there was no way in hell Damon believed me.

“It does matter. You were looking forward to this, and now all the sudden you don’t wanna go? Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I spoke, in a hushed tone, almost like a whisper. “Look at you, then look at me.”

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” Damon blinked; cluelessness plastered on his face.

“Damon, you’re beautiful, the 20th century’s Adonis.” My voice trembled, and my speech faltered. “I can’t be your Aphrodite. I’m not beautiful like—” My eyes fell back to the magazine on the counter. “—like her.”

Damon’s eyes followed my gaze and he saw the magazine. With a long sigh, he picked it up, examining it before throwing it back on the counter. “That was what was bothering you?”

My silence and inability to answer his question must have spoken volumes to him.

Damon turned my body to face the mirror. His hand propping my chin up to make direct eye contact with him in the mirror. “You know what I see when I see this face every day?” He inquired; thought I could tell it was meant to be a rhetorical question.

“I see the sexiest woman I have ever laid my eyes on.” He spoke lowly, his voice husky. His was mouth directly beside my ear. “You have never and will never be ‘not beautiful.’”

His ocean blue eyes stared directly at my eyes through our reflection. “You have no idea, do? How incredible you are.”

I felt my heat rising to my face, I could see it in the reflection turning red. I stared at his face, trying to catch a semblance of doubt. All I saw was Damon—my Damon. The patient, loving, and sincere man I fell for.

“Let’s not go anywhere right now, let me show you just how perfect you are—just you and me.” Damon gently pushed me forward, placing my hands on the counter. His hand went on my thigh, slowly rising up, slowly pushing and bunching my dress up. I knew where this was going.

“Damon, I —”

“Shhh...” He pressed slow, sensual, wet kisses along my shoulder, pushing my hair aside to get a better angle.

I hummed in pleasure. When Damon had the dress bunched above my hip, his lips found my ear again. “Let me show you how much I really love you.”

His hand tugged at the hem of my underwear. “You want me to do that?”

I bit my lower lip, nodding.

Damon didn’t need to be told again. His hand went past the waist band and teased the side of my thigh before finding my core. An unintentional moan was released from my mouth when Damon teased my entrance.

“You like that, uh?” Damon smirked. His hand stroked my folds, releasing more moans from me. When his finger found my clit, it was game over.

“Damon —oh —” The pleasure was simply too much.

Then he inserted a finger. I couldn’t think straight. I saw white, it wasn’t the type of white you saw when you were dying, it was the kind you saw when you were being absolutely fucked out of your mind. When his second finger went in, I knew I wouldn’t last long. Especially because he kept hitting that spot.

“So tight...” Damon, using his other hand, turned my head, giving me a sloppy, wet, kiss.

I tried my best effort to kiss him with as much strength as I could muster, but the thrusts of Damon’s fingers made it impossible. I felt myself clench around his fingers, my legs shaking sporadically. I was going to collapse. Damon moved his hand from my face and held me up with his free arm, wrapping it around me to keep me in place. With a final few strings of moans, my head tilted back, the feeling I'd been anticipating finally overcoming my body. My sounds filled the bathroom. When my body finally relaxed, I did my best to catch my breath. Damon kissed my cheek, he turned my around, placing both hands on my shoulders.

“I don’t ever wanna hear you say that you’re anything but beautiful, you hear me?” His voice was stern, serious, with a gentle edge.

“Yeah,” I laughed softly, “Gosh, I look like a mess, don’t I?”

Damon grinned mischievously, a playful glint in his eyes. “You’re no model...but I reckon I’ll live.”

I playful shoved his shoulder, a smile playing at my lips.

Damon pressing a long kiss on my lips. It was full of passion; I felt my feelings being express through the kiss. I knew Damon felt the same way. His hands rested on my waist, while mine tried to pull him closer by the shirt. There was practically no more space between us, but that didn’t stop me from pulling him like there was. Then I felt it. It felt like a poke, something from Damon’s lower torso was poking at my thigh. I broke the kiss briefly, my eyes trailing low. Damon’s boner was in full view, protruding from his jeans. That was when I was certain we weren’t going to dinner that evening.

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