#the insomnia makes my brain run too wild I think | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

emeraldiis · 3 years

Text

Pillow Talk

A/N: i will never apologize for being horny on main

AO3 Link

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: After an entire day of staring at you in that bikini, Loki is left utterly desperate for release. Good thing he sleeps with a lot of pillows.

Tags: masturbation, phone sex, pillow humping, needy!Loki, pining

Loki shifted on the bed, mashing his face roughly into the satin pillow case. It was nearly dawn, and he hadn’t slept. Even the tiniest hint of sleep had evaded him, and he’d tossed and turned enough to make his muscles ache in protest. With a frustrated growl, he rolled onto his back and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars. This was never going to work.

He had no one to blame but himself for his insomnia. Really, it was pathetic, the way his mind had latched onto one silly little human and made her the object of his obsession. You with your silky hair and soft eyes, keeping him up until the morning hours. Your melodic voice rang in his eardrums, and every time he closed his eyes, he’d see that perfect skin of yours and wish it was pressed up against--

With a gasp, Loki swiftly brought his hands down to grasp the sheets in agony. He wished he could blame it on the fact that he hadn’t bed anyone in at least a decade, but he knew himself. Celibacy had never been an issue for him in the past; he wasn’t a teenage boy, he could control his needs. But you had him feeling like one all over again. The way he gawked at you like it was his first time seeing a pair of breasts nearly spill out of a way-too-tight tank top, it was downright shameful. You were just so innocent, so pure, and he longed to see that smile collapse into a pout as you whimpered against his lips.

Despite his best efforts, Loki could feel his cock throb in renewed need. It had been begging for release nearly all night, and Loki had successfully ignored it so far. He held steady in his determination in not giving in, but his resolve was slipping. Today has been especially tortuous. Tony and his goddamn insistence that Loki participate in team bonding. A day at the beach, one which Loki spent lounging in the hot sand shielding his eyes from the blinding sun. You had splashed around in the waves with Natasha and bounced around in a bikini that seemed specifically designed to torture Loki. The bottoms had shifted themselves to ride up quite a few times, and Loki had taken pleasure in watching you reach back with slippery fingers to pull them out of your ass.

Loki’s cock throbbed again, almost violently this time. He moaned softly into the open air. The sound was pained, and Loki felt his hand begin to drift towards the string of his pajama bottoms. They were silk, and because Loki had chosen to forgo underwear, the soft material felt like heaven against his swollen erection. Before his fingers could slip inside to where he needed them most, Loki ripped them away in defiance and turned onto his side, tangling the blanket between his legs as he rolled. The pressure of the thick comforter into his crotch made Loki suck in a surprised breath. His hips twitched upward of their own accord and Loki’s eyes fluttered in pleasure.

Loki could feel his will dissolving with every jolt of pleasure that swam up his spin. His mind spun with images of you: you curled up against him, reaching back with your dainty hand to pull him closer to you, encouraging him to grind against your backside. As if he was in a daze, Loki grabbed one of the many pillows adorning his bed and shoved it between his legs. The firmness of the pillow was so much more satisfying than the blanket, and Loki groaned.

It was over, he had accepted defeat. Loki was about to hump his pillow like an animal and it was all your fault. He thought of that wet bikini sticking to your skin, your breasts bouncing as you jogged back up the beach to him and breathed out a “what’s up” like he wasn’t about to cum in his swim trunks just from watching you. As the memories danced through his head, Loki’s hips began to roll in more deliberate motions. With every thrust, his cock pressed up against the soft material of his pants. Loki could feel the pre-cum wetting the silk, but it only served to amplify his pleasure as the damp fabric clung to his skin.

The buzzing of his phone startled Loki out of his fantasies, and he nearly wanted to throw the thing against the wall. Tony would get him a new one, as he always did no matter how many times that Loki had insisted they were unnecessary devices. As much as he wanted to let it ring, Loki had learned that calls at this hour usually meant an unexpected mission, and he’d be back on house arrest if he didn’t answer. Loki reluctantly leaned over to his bedside table to grab the vibrating object, keeping the pillow between his legs. His heart came to a near stop as he saw your name illuminated on the screen.

A few moments passed as Loki stared dry-mouthed at the caller ID, wondering when he had fallen asleep. Because the only explanation for you calling him in the middle of the night was that he was dreaming. Sure, you had texted him the occasional internet video that you thought he’d enjoy, but had never called him. And certainly not at five in the morning. With a hard swallow, Loki hit the “accept call” button and waited.

“Hey, Loki?” Came your tired-sounding voice. It wasn’t as gorgeous when muffled by the phone static, but it gave Loki shivers nonetheless.

“What is this about?” Loki tried to sound as irritated as possible, figuring that would be the proper reaction to receiving a call this early. The truth was that he was elated to hear your voice, and was disgusted by himself. A mortal, making him this weak in the knees, it was absolutely pathetic.

You were silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t sleep. I-I’m not really sure why I called you, I’m sorry for waking you up. I’ll just--”

“Wait!” Loki burst out before you could end the call. His loud voice echoed back at him in the silent room and he cringed, hoping that no one had heard him. Loki bit his lip anxiously, uncertain of what to say to keep you on the line. “Um, I was awake. I couldn’t sleep either.”

“Oh, I guess that’s good. Well, not really good that you can’t sleep, I mean good that I didn’t wake you.”

Loki chuckled at your awkward ramblings. Norns, you were so cute. “Don’t worry, pet, I know what you meant.” As the words left his lips, Loki’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d just called you. Pet. It had been a slip of the tongue, but it brought forth a whole new round of fantasies. He couldn’t help but imagine about what it would be like to own you, to grab you by your pretty face and push his cock between your lips over and over. Absent-mindedly, Loki began to move his hips against the pillow again. He had to bite down on his tongue to keep from gasping. As quietly as he could manage, he put the call on speaker and set the phone down beside him so he could lie back on his side and resume his earlier activities. Loki knew it was so, so wrong to do this while you were none-the-wiser, but he couldn’t help it. He had been so worked up for so long and now it was like his body had taken over, hell bent on getting the relief it needed.

“So, why couldn’t you sleep?”

“Oh, just lost in my thoughts, I suppose,” Loki said as his eyes fell shut. His voice was the slightest bit strained, the soft drag of his pants against his cock making it hard to focus.

“Yeah, same here.” You sighed into the phone, and Loki heard a bit of rustling as you presumably got more comfortable. “I have trouble sleeping a lot, actually. I guess I just get lonely.”

A heavy weight of guilt sank into Loki’s chest. Here you were, opening yourself up to him, and he was trying to get off to the sound of your voice. He was truly depraved, that was for sure. But fuck, the tired rasp to your voice and the small sighs you let out were sending him sky high. His mind was running wild with fantasies of you under him, you in his lap, you up against the wall as he fucked you into it. Loki fought to sound normal as he responded to you. “I understand. Most beings are very social creatures, we need company to--ah!” A particularly rough thrust of his hips had caught Loki off guard as the mind-numbing pleasure rocketed through his body.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, pet,” Loki said, panting as he forced his hips to still. “Just stretching.” It was a lame excuse, but Loki was too far gone to come up with anything better. His body quaked as he tried to keep still, like his own muscles were attempting to disobey his brain. Everything in him was screaming out for more. Cum, you need to cum. Once again, Loki was forced to give in as his hips resumed their grinding. The pillow itself was now damp with how much he was leaking, and it felt amazing.

The phone was quiet, and Loki could almost hear how hard you were thinking on the other end. And then: “Loki, are you...masturbating?” Your voice trailed off as you said that word. The sheer embarrassment was evident in your tone, and Loki was almost astounded at how bold you were. Not many humans had the nerve to just up and ask something like that.

Even through the shock of being caught, Loki could not find it in him to be surprised that you had caught on. You had always come across as intelligent to him, it was foolish to think he could fool you with a half-hearted excuse. Still, it was beyond humiliating to have been called out so brazenly. Loki saw no point in denying it; you would not have asked if you weren't sure. “Yes,” he replied, voice cracking as he froze in place for the second time. Despite the embarrassment, Loki’s erection did not not falter. In fact, it seemed that he only got harder. This mortal would be the death of him.

“O-oh!” You seemed surprised, like you hadn’t expected him to come right out with it. “I’m so sorry, I guess I interrupted you, huh? Shit, I’m sorry.” How absurd. Loki was the one shamelessly rubbing himself against a pillow while talking to you, and you were the one apologizing.

Loki found it intriguing that you hadn’t hung up immediately upon learning of his actions. You hadn’t seemed disgusted at all, just apologetic for interrupting his activities. Loki wasn’t sure if your lack of repulsion was what caused it, or if it was simply his need clouding his judgement, but his mouth began to move before he could stop it. “It’s excellent for sleep. I highly recommend it for nights like these.”

There was no sugar coating it; that was a proposition, no matter how poorly disguised it was as simple advice. “Um,” came your faint reply. Loki’s face burned as he pictured the look of horror you were probably wearing at the moment. And then he nearly swallowed his tongue as you spoke again. “Yeah, I tried earlier. Wasn’t really...working.”

A new gush of blood found its way into Loki’s cock at your admission. He couldn’t help but imagine you writhing on your bed, soaked in sweat and your own slick as you tried desperately to get to that crescendo of pleasure. His blush had somehow grown even stronger, and he couldn’t recall the last time he had even blushed at all. This mortal was killing him, you were his executioner and he was begging for you to pull the trigger.

“That’s quite unfortunate,” Loki managed through his reverie. He was still frozen, almost scared to begin his motions again for fear of cumming on the spot. His cock twitched in time with his racing heart, occasionally dripping precum into his pants. Loki was a mess, but he could not bring himself to care in the slightest. All that mattered was the arousal screaming under his skin and your intoxicating voice in his ears.

“Yeah. Sorry, should I go? And let you, y’know, finish?”

Loki racked his brain for an excuse to get you to stay. It was maddening, how quickly you had ruined him. Seduction was one of his many talents, as was manipulation. In the past, he would have had no trouble at all talking someone into his bed and onto his cock, but you were different. Every flirtation died on his lips the moment he was in your presence, and it was all he could do to form complete sentences as you turned his knees to jelly.

After an excruciating period of silence as Loki thought, he finally spoke. “It would be unfair of me to abandon you in favor of pleasuring myself when you cannot do the same.”

This time it was your turn to stay quiet. Loki waited anxiously, half-expecting you to just leave anyway. He had already come to terms with your disinterest in him, you were probably just being polite. But...you had called him. There must have been at least a slight attraction for Loki to have been on your mind after attempting to get yourself off.

“Maybe we could…” There was a tremble to your voice as you trailed off, and Loki held his breath as he waited for you to finish. Whatever your suggestion ended up being, he was ready to enthusiastically agree. Anything that involved you and pleasure was incredibly enticing. “Maybe we don’t have to hang up, then.”

Loki’s eyes went wide. Did you mean…? An involuntary moan fell from his lips as he shivered at the thought. “I would, mm, not be opposed to that idea.” Loki’s body had won over for the final time that night and his hips began to move again. After restraining himself for so long, feeling that delicious friction once again nearly overwhelmed him.

“I don’t really know how to do this,” you said. “I can’t really believe I actually asked you that.”

“Would you like instruction, pet?”

“That might help, yeah.”

Loki began to wonder if he was dead, and this was his version of Valhalla. Whatever the case, he was going to ride this high for as long as he could. Everything else seemed to fade into the distance: the chirping of birds outside as the sun rose, the hum of the traffic down below, all of it meant nothing. It meant nothing because you were on the other side of the phone asking for Loki to tell you how to touch yourself. Loki took a deep breath and tried to get a hold of himself; he needed to let you catch up before he could allow himself to lose control.

“I want you to get undressed, and get comfortable.” That was a simple enough command, Loki figured. If he started slow, maybe he could reign in his pathetic neediness and focus solely on your pleasure.

“Okay, I can do that.” The speaker went quiet as you presumably settled onto your bed and slipped out of your pajamas. “Now what?”

“Touch your breasts,” Loki said. His breathing was heavy, but even as he settled into the role of your instructor. “Rub your fingers across them, tell me how it feels.”

You sighed happily. “It feels really nice. Can you tell me what you’re doing?”

Loki was a bit ashamed to admit that he was currently grinding into a pillow, but figured there was no point in lying. “I’m, uh, I have a pillow between my legs, and I’m rubbing against it.”

A whimper burst from your lips. “Oh, that’s so hot.”

“Is it?” Loki asked hesitantly. He didn’t feel very attractive; slick trousers and sweat coated skin, fighting hard to hold it together.

“Yeah, fuck. Can I touch myself, please?”

Loki wanted to drag it out a bit longer, to tease you, but he couldn’t find it in himself to say no to that pretty voice. Especially when you asked so nicely. “Go ahead, pet. You’re such a good girl.”

There was a faint slick sound, then a drawn out moan. Loki groaned in response, the sound extracting a full body shiver from the god. He had never heard such alluring sounds of pleasure, you were just so far above any other being he had ever met. “That’s it,” he murmured in encouragement.

“Feels so good,” you said, voice growing high pitched. “Shit, I’m not gonna last too long. Ah, fuck. Been needing this all night.”

Loki sucked in a breath and began to thrust with more fervor. His eyes nearly rolled back at the pressure and his thighs squeezed around the pillow. “That’s okay, darling. I, oh--” Loki cut himself off with a strangled moan as his pleasure mounted. “I need to cum, too.”

For a moment, panting and whimpered moans were the only thing coming through the speaker. Loki prayed that you were as close as he was, because the coil tightening in his stomach threatened to snap at any moment. It was all he could do to keep from allowing his release to overtake him before you got yours. “Please, pet. I want to hear you cum,” he ground out as his eyes fell shut.

“So close,” you whined. “Loki, I’m gonna cum.”

He couldn’t help it. Loki’s control disintegrated as he began rutting into the pillow like a wild animal. His hips moved in sharp, quick thrusts, and quiet moans left his lips with every movement. ‘Cum--fuck, mm--cum for me, love.” He was going to cum, he couldn’t stop. He just needed you to finish first.

The phone crackled as you let out a sharp cry of pleasure. Loki listened in a trance, trying to memorize every noise that left your lips as you climaxed. Your sounds spurred him on, and he found himself tipping over the edge, cumming harder than he had in a long time. Pleasure whited out his vision, and Loki could faintly hear himself whining your name in a broken voice. He didn’t get the chance to be embarrassed about the noise; his cock pulsed in dizzying waves of euphoria, spurting out rope after rope of hot cum. It shot into his pants, soaking them all the way through and seeping into the pillow. It wasn’t until the last drop had left his body that he was finally able to stop the groans that had been bubbling up from his throat.

As the pleasure subsided, Loki sagged against the bed and took in the mess he had made. His pants were ruined, no doubt about that. And the pillow? Well, it would most likely need a few good washes. But he felt sated, too relaxed to even care about the cum drying to his thighs.

“Are you still there?”

Fuck, he had almost forgotten that you were still on the phone. “Yes,” he croaked out. “That was…”

“Amazing,” you finished for him. Though you couldn’t see him, Loki nodded in agreement.

The bed suddenly felt very large and very empty after the daze of Loki’s orgasm faded. He found himself wishing that you were here, so he could wrap his arms around that perfect waist and bury his nose in your hair. It was an incredibly foreign feeling; Loki had never been one to cuddle after sex. But then again, everything about you was different. You were special. Loki opened his mouth, ready to invite you to his room, but something stopped him. What if this had been just a spur of the moment thing for you? What if you only saw him as a tool to get yourself off?

“Would it be weird if I came down there?” You asked, startling Loki out of his thoughts. There you went again, calming his anxieties before he even had the chance to feel them.

A relieved grin broke out on his face, and his heart sped up again in excitement. “No, I would very much enjoy that.” And for the first time in a very long time, Loki felt wanted.

#loki x reader #loki imagine #mcu #marvel #smut #needy!loki #my writing #fanfic

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secretlysheikah · 4 years

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Can I Offer You an Egg?

No one is immune to nightmares, not even heroes. Thank the Goddess Wild has just the thing for that.

This has been inspired by true events and it was too good not to turn into a one-shot.

I want to thank @hiddenteddy for helping me edit this thing and for helping me forget about my nightmare in the strangest way possible. You are the best, seriously.

As per normal I do not claim ownership over the Linked Universe, the honor belongs to @jojo56830.

I am but a sleep deprived little Shekiah who should actually think about sleeping, but I don’t have the time.

Start Here:

Wild looked absolutely exhausted. There were bags under his eyes and Twilight could tell something was wrong. Thinking back Twilight should have noticed before it got this bad. It had started with one missed night sleep, which turned to two, but he thought nothing of it, Wild always seemed to be on a different sleep cycle than the rest of them. It was when Wild had barely escaped being sliced to pieces by a bokoblin that Twilight had started to really pay attention.

With a quickly swelling concern on Twilight’s part, it seemed those couple nights had spiraled into a week with little more than a few measly hours of sleep. Needless to say, this had worried him immensely and Twilight had pulled the cub aside to ask what was wrong. Annoyingly Wild had just shrugged tiredly and rubbed at his eyes and told him it happened from time to time and not to worry too much about it.

Twilight had squinted at him then, It was more than clear that it had been a long week for Wild and Twilight could tell. His normally happy footsteps dragged, he didn’t whistle while he cooked, and no matter how much he racked his brains, he couldn’t remember seeing the cub sleep recently. Not to mention that Wild looked dead on his feet and his near death weighed heavily on Twilight’s mind.

Twilight had pursed his lips at Wild’s non-explanation but had let it slide for the most part seeing there wasn’t much to be done at that point. So, he was determined to keep a closer eye on his struggling brother. After all it wasn’t uncommon for all them to suffer from small bouts of insomnia, but the situation seemed off to him.

After a few more days it was becoming more and more apparent that Wild was suffering and it seemed everyone made it their goal to find a way to get him to sleep. Sky had tried playing soothing songs on his harp but scored little success. At one point Time and Four told him stories well into the night, and even Wind had tried to literally wrap Wild up in blankets with all the comforting things he could find to tuck in with him in an attempt to get Wild to sleep. Each plan the others came up with ended in failure or only scoring a pitiful hour or so of sleep and everyone was getting frustrated. Wild had bore their well-intentioned but overbearing attention well for the most part until, finally after listening to Wars and Legend arguing about who had the better strategy to get Wild to sleep, he had snapped and demanded they leave him be. The others had mumbled their begrudging consent, but Twilight was determined to help in whatever way he could.

It had been two days since then and Twilight was very close to being a nervous wreck. By the virtue of his own worry, he hadn’t slept either, staying awake just to make sure Wild wasn’t alone for too long despite the watches that were in place. Twilight found that his eyes rarely left Wild, always watching to make sure he didn’t wander off in a half-asleep daze or topple over from exhaustion. At one point Wild had confronted Twilight and demanded to be left alone, saying that his sleeping troubles were none of his concern, naturally Twilight had flat out refused.

Wild had sighed and rolled his eyes but he must have seen that any argument he could come up with would have just fallen on deaf ears. Twilight offered a cheeky grin at the sight of his cub’s annoyance and Wild squinted at the stubborn look in Twilight’s eyes but let it slide. When the wolf appeared in camp and joined him that night Wild just gave a gusty sigh and said nothing. Twilight had spent a couple more nights awake with him as Wolfie, hoping that would help lull Wild to sleep but of course it didn’t work. But Wild did seem to appreciate the company and Twilight took it as a win.

********

“So, what do you think cub? Is tonight the night you’ll get some sleep?” Twilight asked around a mouthful of stew. Wild sighed, and his tired eyes slid over to meet his. Even though it was dark out, Twilight could still make out the dark bags that clung to the underside of Wild’s eyes.

“I got a few hours,” Wild muttered defensively and Twilight snorted so hard he almost choked on his stew. He knew the “sleep” the cub was referring to and he wasn’t impressed. It had only been an hour and even then, he knew it wasn’t a deep enough sleep to make up for all the hours Wild had missed over the past week.

“And how long have you been up?” Twilight coughed out and Wild rubbed the back of his neck.

“It hasn’t been that long....” Wild started but was cut off by Time.

“I think it’s been about a week and half by my count” The old man said casually over his stew, not bothering to look up at the sneer Wild shot his way.

“To be fair he has been getting a little sleep.” Four said around his spoon. Twilight rolled his eyes.

“See? Imsleepin’,” Wild slurred slightly and Twilight watched as he missed his bowl when he went for another spoonful of stew.

“A nap here or there does not make up for a week's worth of missed sleep, Cub.” He said sourly and gave Wild a small nudge with his boot. Wild started slightly and groaned unhappily. Twilight shot him an apologetic look and leaned forward to grab at Wild’s half eaten bowl before it tipped onto the ground.

“Why don’t you try going to bed?” Twilight asked quietly and Wild just slumped forward, face in hands. Twilight could feel his heart break at the sight, and he wished there was more he could do for him.

“I can try, but I can’t promise anything,” Wild said thickly, his voice slightly muffled against his hands.

“That’s all I ask.” Twilight said with a yawn of his own. He could feel his own eyelids trying to slip shut on him despite his best efforts to keep cub company.

“How about the both of you try to sleep. You both look like you were run over by a horse.” Warriors said, as he looked them both up and down with a small smirk. Twilight shot him a sour look as Warriors smiled devilishly and leaned back against his own bed roll. He could hear Hyrule and Wind snickering across the flames and even Four was doing his best to keep his face neutral. Twilight sent them all a glare before turning his attention back to Wild.

“Come on cub, let's try to get some sleep.” Twilight said tightly as he stood and coaxed Wild off of the ground. It took a bit of convincing but after a couple minutes Wild was staring at the moonless sky, blankets tucked up under his arms. Twilight dragged his own bed roll over next to Wild’s and he made himself comfortable. They laid like that for a while, saying nothing as they listened to the camp settling down for the night.

“Hey Twi, why don’t you sleep for a little bit? I’ll be okay.” Wild said quietly as they heard the soft sounds of sleep from their brothers fill the air in a melodic rhythm. Twilight could feel his eyelids droop, as the weight of the past few days of travel and sleepless nights pulled at his sluggish thoughts.

“I don’t want you to be lonely,” Twilight sighed and Wild shifted slightly.

“I’ll go to sleep soon, just gotta wind down a bit,” Wild said and Twilight would have snorted at the blatant lie if he had the energy.

“You promise?” Twilight sighed, and he could see Wild rub at his eyes from the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, I promise.” Wild said and Twilight could practically hear the lie as it fluttered past his lips. Twilight gave his own sigh and nodded stiffly. He was tired and he knew he hit the wall of his own exhaustion.

“Fine, but if I find out you stayed awake, I’m gonna kick your ass” Twilight threatened but it was hollow and held no actual anger. He heard Wild snort and Twilight felt as his hand come down and thump against his chest.

“Love you Twi,” Wild said quietly as he patted his chest lightly, and Twilight couldn’t stop the small smile that graced his face.

“Love you too, Cub,” Twilight breathed out as he felt himself slip quickly down into sleep.

********

Twilight woke up in his own bed, back in his little treehouse to the sound of whispering voices. He blinked at the ceiling of his little house as his brain processed the change in scenery. This was a dream, he was sure of it, as he watched the hazy darkness swirl above him. But even as he thought it, he felt a thick fog crawl over his thoughts, blotting out the thought as quickly as it had appeared. He blinked a few times, trying to reach for the memory of the woods, of his brothers, but it was no use. The fog made things blurry and confused in his own head and soon all that was left was the treehouse, his bed and the whispers. He sat up in his bed and looked around the dark room, it felt wrong somehow. He could feel the weight of eyes looking at him and he felt his heart begin to race. He wasn’t alone.

He sat there for a while, eyes wide and he tried to see the whispering figures in the dark, but he couldn’t see anything. His hands shook as he grabbed at the blankets, hands clenching and unclenching the fabric. He took a deep breath as he tried to still the hammering fear in his heart.

‘If I could just light a candle... Then I could see,” Twilight thought to himself and his eyes slowly moved to the bedside table. His lantern sat on the cold tabletop with the little door hanging open, inviting him to light it with the matchstick that sat next to it. He licked his lips nervously, it seemed too easy, almost like a trap. He blinked a few times as he tried to puzzle his way through his options but came up with nothing. He felt his hand twitch, and the thought of moving and possibly alerting the looming shadows to his plan to light the lantern made him want to freeze up. He took a steadying breath and in one quick movement shot out his hand and grabbed at the long matchstick.

Just as his fingers grabbed hold of the thin stick of wood, he felt a hand shoot out and grab his wrist. Twilight let out a yell of alarm and tried to jerk away from the grip, but it was as strong as iron. His legs flailed and tangled up in the blankets further trapping him and dimly he was aware that more hands had come to grab at his clothes as they tried to find purchase on his limbs.

He was gasping in panic and struggled with all the strength he could find as he felt another hand finally find purchase on his shoulder. It squeezed and he felt nails dig into his skin. His muscles tightened around the grip painfully and he gasped at the pain. Another hand gripped his right ankle and he felt it pull so his leg was straight out in front of him. It pressed his leg to the bed and Twilight felt his gut clench in terror. The idea of being restrained, trapped, unable to move made him want to vomit. The hand on his shoulder began to force him back so he was lying against the bed once again and the hand that had clamped down on his left wrist had moved up to his shoulder now and together, they forced him onto this back.

Twilight let out a roar of panicked rage and he kicked out with his free leg and tried to kick the shadows off of him while his now freed arms swung out as he tried to strike blindly at the things holding him down. Another phantom hand grabbed at his left knee and pressed his leg down to the bed as well, as another other hand grabbed and wrenched at his swinging right arm. Twilight felt like his heart was about to burst out of his chest as he felt himself being pinned to the bed. His back arched and he struggled with all his might against the grip to no avail as his other wrist was grabbed and restrained. He let out a keening cry, like an animal caught in a trap as he continued to struggle. In a burst of clarity, he remembered that this wasn’t real, it couldn’t be real. He remembered broken memories of the other heroes from not hours before as they all joked and laughed and ate stew. Now he was certain that he didn’t fall asleep in his little bed in his little tree house but even that revelation did nothing to loosen the grip of the hands on him.

“This isn’t real, not real, a dream,” He panted out desperately as he tried to break free, He repeated it like a deranged mantra until a hand found his mouth and his voice was trapped in his throat. He shook his head, trying to get the hand off of his mouth and he could feel fingernails dig into his cheeks. He felt like he couldn’t get enough breath, like the hand on his mouth was stealing his desperate gasps of air. His head spun and he felt his body becoming leaden and to his horror he felt his body beginning to relax against his will.

A weight landed on his chest and he felt what little air he had managed to get in leave him in a whoosh that left him choking. His eyes shot down to the large, shadowy wolf that had landed on his chest. It was some gross parody of his own shape shifted form, and his mind recoiled at the sight of it. Its tongue was abnormally long, thin, and pointed and it hung out of its mouth and whipped back and forth as if it was looking for something. It had two rows of red eyes and its mouth opened entirely too wide and had way too many sharp teeth for his liking. Black drool dripped from the monster’s muzzle and onto the mussed blankets that covered his legs. He could feel it burn his skin as it seeped through the fabric. The red eyes disappeared for a moment as the creature blinked slowly at him before the four red eyes reappeared and pierced the shadows above the muzzle of the beast. Twilight could hear a throaty chuckle as they looked at him and it sent his pulse racing and jumping painfully.

“Where is your courage now, little hero?” The thing asked and the whip like tongue moved to wrap around his throat. “Dead and gone, just like you will be, very soon.” It whispered and the thing’s voice sounded like it was in his ear. His struggling became more fevered as he tried and failed to get the gross tongue off from around his neck.

Twilight felt the tongue jerk at his throat and suddenly he was sitting bolt upright in his bed roll next to Wild. His heart was beating so hard in his chest it was like he just got done fighting Ganon and a hoard of monsters all at once. He felt sweat slicking his skin and his whole body quaked as he took in ragged, panicked breaths. He tried to keep his desperate breathing as quiet as he could but judging by the shifting next to him, he could tell that he had failed.

Wild sat up slowly, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. Twilight saw the questioning look in his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak just yet. Wild seemed to understand his distress and let him work at getting his breathing under control. To his horror he could feel tears prick at the back of eyes and bowed forward and put his face into his hands. It was just a dream, not real. But by the Goddesses did it feel real.

The minutes wore on and still he felt shaken as the nightmare clung fast to his panicked thoughts. He felt a hand drop roughly onto his back and begin to rub drunken circles. He peeked out and looked at Wild who was swaying slightly back and forth as he tried to comfort him. Twilight sat up with a shaky sigh and rubbed at his eyes to wipe away the lingering tears that clung stubbornly to his eye lashes.

“Cub, did you even sleep?” Twilight asked and his voice came out a little unsteadily. Wild hummed quietly, his hand still rubbed circles on his back, but it turned into little jerky movements as he thought about the question.

“No,” He mumbled quietly, and Twilight shook his head in defeat.

“How long was I asleep?” He asked and Wild’s hand dropped away from his back and he let out a confused hum.

“’Bout an hour, I think?” Wild slurred and Twilight felt a hysterical giggle bubbling in his throat. He was only asleep for an hour? The thought made him want to curl into a ball and never sleep again. Wild seemed to notice his renewed distress and he let out a garbled “‘sokay Twi” and Twilight couldn’t help but think that the cub sounded drunk. Fundamentally he knew it was due to sleep deprivation and not due to anything he could have drank and that realization did nothing to make him feel better. The giggles faded quickly, at the thought and it left him with the odd feeling of being keyed up and hollow all at the same time. Twilight let out a shaky breath and he leaned back on his arms and closed his eyes.

“You okay?” Wild slurred again and Twilight shook his head.

“I don’t think I am,” Twilight muttered, still not opening his eyes. Another hum warbled out from Wild and Twilight sighed and sat forward. No matter what position he tried to sit in he couldn’t get comfortable, couldn’t get his body to relax. He took a gulp of the night air, and by sheer force of will worked at calming his racing heart. When he finally felt able, he opened his eyes and looked towards Wild. He was slumped forward, the light of the slate lighting up his face as his fingers moved across the screen of his slate as he looked for something.

“What are you doing?” Twilight asked and found his voice was a little steadier though not by much. He was met with another hum and slow shake of the head from Wild and he sat patiently, waiting for Wild to find whatever he was looking for.

Twilight could feel his eyebrows knit together but said nothing as Wild gave a small gasp of triumph as he found whatever he was looking for. In a twinkle of light Wild sat up with a small white ball in his hand. He swung his head to look at Twilight with a goofy grin and handed the little object over to him. Twilight took it with a look of pure confusion and stared at the egg he had handed him. His mouth opened and closed stupidly as he tried to understand, but his mind felt like it was screeching to an ungainly halt. The nightmare began to fade to the background as he tried to make sense of the egg he was just handed.

“I hope this egg will help you in these trying times,” Wild said as he laughed lightly and put his slate away. Twilight still couldn’t find the words, his overly tired brain struggled with the sudden and unexpected turn the conversation had taken.

“An.. egg?” He finally managed to stutter out and Wild only began laughing harder. His shoulders shook like a tree caught in a gale and Twilight could feel himself balk in disbelief.

“It’s not even cooked...” Twilight said incredulously, his own laughter bubbling out from his mouth as he turned the little egg over in his hand. Wild was practically beside himself with mirth and Twilight found it was contagious. For a while they just sat there and laughed as quietly as they could manage and eventually, they leaned into each other. Just as they thought they were done laughing Twilight would lift up the egg and they would both lose it all over again.

It was such an odd move and distantly he wondered if that was the Cub’s plan all along to get him to forget the nightmare he had just had. At one point in their laughing fit Twilight looked up and saw Time’s confused face looking over at them from his place on watch. Twilight felt tears rolling down his face and he pointed Time out to Wild and he fell over himself and landed in Twilight’s lap.

Twilight saw Time smile and shake his head and he too fell back onto his bed roll. The laughter was fading now leaving both him and Wild gasping and hiccupping. Slowly with the weight of Wild on his legs he could feel himself drifting back off to sleep but not before he heard Wild sigh. He could hear the cub’s breaths even out into slow deep breathing, and he had just enough time to see that he had, finally, drifted off to sleep. Twilight gave his own contented sigh and he too fell asleep, nightmare forgotten and egg still in hand.

Based off of this:

Bless you @hiddenteddy for being the strangest and best friend a Sheikah could ask for.

#if you were wondering what Hidden's and mines relationship is like I am Twilight she's Wild and Author is Time #nightmare time #linked universe #twilight linked universe #wild linked universe #legend of zelda #loz #fanfic #the sheikah writes #comfort #have some comfort #egg #just egg #wild being weird #based off true events #the linked universe

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lettrespromises · 4 years

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KUROO, AKAASHI AND ATSUMU - TAKE MY HEART WITH YOU.

@luveranime wrote : ❝ Heyyy! Could you do one where kuroo and akaashi and atsumu are leaving to another country for volleyball purposes and they have to say goodbye to their s/o?🥺🥺 ❞ A.N : ❝ Dear reader, this is my first request and i’m nervous as heck, i’m trying really hard not to scream right now. anywhoopsie! i tried to make these both sad and fluffy because all my posts are kind of angsty and i don’t want to be pinned as a heartbreaker. i had so much fun writing this so thank you so much for requesting, sending lots of love and kisses your way! mwah! Sincerely yours, Nikki ❞ Genre: Kinda sad, kinda fluffy. Warnings: Bits of crying, mentions of sex but no actual smut (post time-skip for Atsumu).

Kuroo is the type of person who gets emotionally attached slowly, but once he’s attached to you, there’s no going back. His passion is unmatched (yes I may be writing this because he’s a scorpio and so am I), meaning that he will pour every ounce of love he possesses into your relationship.

He loves hard and will always put you before anything else. As a matter of fact, you were the one who had to force him to go abroad to study new volleyball techniques and come back as a better, more experienced player.

It took forever to convince him though. He felt guilty for leaving you behind and as stated before, you come before anything else, including volleyball. (Lucky you, he’s putting his first love after you.)

As much as he is excited to meet new players, learn new ways to be a more efficient middleblocker and discover a new country, his excitation counterbalances with the thought of leaving you. He’s both looking forward and dreading leaving Japan, and you in the process.

The latter causes him to lack slumber, he has terrible insomnias because his emotions are tearing him apart. Thankfully, you’re here to whisper sweet nothings to him and secure him in your embrace to make him fall back asleep (although, the few nights leading to his departure often result in him squeezing the life out of you when you’re sleeping, send help.)

The atmosphere of the ride to the airport is very close to pure denial. You’re both singing until ripping your vocal cords, his palm has found a permanent place upon your thigh, sometimes he squeezes your flesh to print this sensation into his head because deep down he knows this is the last time he gets to see you and touch you before a long time.

At the airport, you’re the kind of cliché couple to melt into each other’s embrace amidst comforting silence. You both feel like you’re all alone in the airport, like there’s nobody else there.

Your hands grip his Nekoma jacket hard, as if your life was depending on it, but after all, you just needed to keep this feeling with you at all costs- the feeling of your boyfriend’s toned arms around your waist, squeezing you like there’s no tomorrow while you keep your eyes shut.

Kuroo, on the other one hand, runs his digits through your hair in a comforting manner and delivers occasional pecks on the crown of your hair.

However, you both know it’s time (although you might have been trying to purposefully make Kuroo miss his flight), which results in Kuroo saying ��Kitten, I know it’s hard but I have to go now.”, cue your cute self looking at him with pleading eyes. “Don’t give me this look, baby, I hate this as much as you do.”

He envelops your cheeks with both of his gigantic palms and presses one final kiss upon your lips, it’s everything you wanted and represented Kuroo so well- passionate, caring, both soft and rough on the edges. His thumbs wipe away the tears crashing down on your cheeks, once he pulls away due to the lack of oxygen, he doesn’t miss to slap your butt because... Kuroo...

Upon leaving, he puts his Nekoma jacket upon your shoulders while flashing you his toothiest smile : “I’ve always thought you rocked it better than me, kitten.”

As he makes his way to the main hall, he looks back at you and mouths a very touching “I love you, I’ll be back to you soon.” and blows a kiss your way, you stare at him and squeeze his jacket against your chest, at least you have a new cuddle buddy as a replacement.

Ahh, Akaashi, or as I like to call him: agASHEHHHH.

It’s safe to say that he is the polar opposite of Kuroo regarding display of affection. Love with Akaashi echoes to comfortable silence, but that certainly does not mean he wouldn’t get the moon for you if you asked.

Akaashi becomes unconsciously a bit more distant and a bit more silent the week leading up to his departure. He thinks that gradually separating himself from you will hurt you less once he’s gone, he just wants his absence to cause you as little pain as possible.

You, on the other one hand, get quite frustrated with this semi-silent treatment. He doesn’t come at your place as often, he cuts the conversations short and says he’s too busy with Bokuto-san to hang out with you.

The truth of the matter is, he’s hurting so much from the inside, and this idea of his is just eating him alive. It eats him alive because you’re away, and he’s the one blocking you off. He absolutely hates the way he’s acting.

Hence why, the day before of his departure, he crashes at your place with takeout, a bouquet of everlasting flowers and all the good stuff to have the perfect movie night.

Needless to say, you’re shocked once you see him and all these things he brought specifically for you. He takes time to carefully explain why he chose to bring you all of this: he ordered this peculiar takeout because it’s your favorite, he got you this bouquet of everlasting flowers so you can have a permanent proof of his love for you and the full ‘movie night’ equipment to light up the mood of this fatidical night.

Although he doesn’t really initiate any kind of affectionate touches, this night is the total opposite- he delivers pecks everywhere on your face, envelops you safely into his embrace, plays with your hair while you’re watching the movie and whispers a few “I love you so much.” in the crook of your neck.

Eventually, you both fall asleep and he carries you bridal style to your bed where you both spend the night together, comforted by each other’s embrace.

Akaashi insisted on going to the airport alone, the will to cause you as little as possible still embedded in his brain. Thus, he leaves you while you’re sleeping and admires you one last time before delivering a sweet peck on your forehead and whispers “I’ll be back before you can say it, dove.”

Once you wake up, you pat the other half of your bed only to realize you’re alone and Akaashi has already left. However, there’s a curious bag next to your bed. As you open it up, you realize it’s filled with Akaashi’s clothing and his signature smell is locked in within the fabric, there are also a bunch of neatly handwritten notes for each day he’s gonna be without you. All of them are reminders of your qualities, how much he loves you and memories of your dates with polaroid pictures.

Upon seeing all these precious things specially prepared for you, you go back to sleep, hugging his pillow close to your chest with a soft smile on your face, Akaashi’s favorite smile.

Oh well, now this is a wild one.

Dating a professional volleyball has its pros and cons, and needless to say, the biggest disadvantage of dating Atsumu is how often he needs to go abroad to play against a foreign team.

Now, of course you’re his number one fan and rightfully so and Atsumu asks you to come with him all the time but you can’t just leave your professional life aside, hence why it’s always bittersweet when he has to leave.

However, if it’s bittersweet to you, to Atsumu, it’s the best occasion to tease the hell out of you because you pout every time he brings up the fact he has to travel to another country. Cue the inevitable “Aw, is somebody gonna miss me or what?” and the obvious wink sent your way.

Teasing you is a way to make you crack a smile or laugh, which indirectly makes you forget about his trip for work or at least it makes it less painful because you’ve been laughing so much with your boyfriend. And to Atsumu, it’s the perfect way to capture a few candid pictures of your beautiful grin so he can admire them all once he’s far away from you.

Now, I hate to state the obvious but when I said that Atsumu is a wild one... I meant it. Hence why the night before his departure, he always makes sure to please you in bed and make you scream him name, because God knows when he will be able to do it again and hear such a sinful melody coming out of your mouth.

He does insist on you coming to the airport with him, and there again, he’s a wild one : Atsumu has no shame in making out with you right there, right now in the airport in front of the incredulous looks of the passengers around you.

He won’t hesitate and honestly has no shame regarding public display of affection : open mouthed kisses, trails of kisses left on your neck, a hand adventuring on your derrière, hell, even hickeys if he’s feeling like it.

Atsumu takes pride in leaving a few love bites, it’s a literal physical reminder that even though he’s not here with you, you know who you belong to. And nothing makes him smile more than imagining you staring at your reflection in the mirror once the bruises have healed up.

Nonetheless, the full make out session is broken by none other than the MSBY Black Jackal team’s obvious coughs, you know, a way to say “Hey, lovebirds, we don’t actually want to assist to the creation of a baby live in an airport and we kinda have to go.”

Both you and Atsumu know it’s time to part ways... But not before he plants a series of kisses on your plump lips and whisper a succession of “I love you so much, babygirl” or other “I’m gonna miss you so much, you have no idea”, orrrrr “You drive me crazy, baby.” and eventually the obvious “I can’t wait to make you walk weird for three days straight once I come back, princess.”

Eventually, you wave at Atsumu with a shy grin plastered upon your face, now that everything he said to you has sunk in, in return, he blows an obnoxious kiss your way.

Once he returns to the team, Kiyoomi keeps his distance, even more so than usual because, I quote, “Do you have any idea of how many bacterias are shared in a kiss, Miya? 80 millions, which gives me 80 millions to stay away from you.” cue Atsumu replying with a smirk “I don’t regret a single one of these bacterias you’re talking about, totally worth it.”

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secret-engima · 4 years

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Lunafreya Nox Fleuret DoTF Characterization Rant

OKAY, ME RANT RAMBLING ON LUNA’S CHARACTERIZATION IN DAWN OF THE FUTURE IS A GO.

This is … likely going to get messy, but I’ll try to keep it at least moderately coherent. Lemme start by saying that- for the most part- I did actually enjoy Luna’s chap. I’ve been enjoying the book (kinda-sorta-mostly, I really liked Aranea’s chap at least) and I don’t think it’s like- a BAD book? Necessarily? But I feel like it is extremely telling in regards to how the characterization/lore is treated that my brain is automatically filing this thing under “fanfic that’s not my HC but is okay-ish” rather than “canon I will be gleefully tweaking as I please”. My brain is literally looking at this officially licensed book and equating it to fanfic. To fanfic that NEEDS EDITING.

With that out of the way, lemme attempt to summarize my (main) issues with Luna’s Characterization and then I’ll expand on them from there. Get ready for the salt.

1. Luna’s backstory is inconsistent. She herself states multiple times that Oracle training is grueling and involves both physical and mental trials as well as things like fasting for long periods of time WHILE doing said training, yet she is mostly treated like a well-meaning but overall pampered, naive princess who is only now being forced into hard circumstances and has to adapt accordingly. She is also treated like she doesn’t know “common people” that well and doesn’t know how to interact or pick up things like lies (????). A common example is how she treats Sol as trustworthy but reserved when according to Sol’s POV she is literally debating shooting Luna as a possible threat. And Luna supposedly doesn’t pick up on this danger. But we’ll get back to that.

2. Luna is characterized as being oblivious to how people outside Rich Oracle Circles live. That despite traveling all over the world she has never really seen it’s “ugly” sides because she’s always traveled in fancy guarded processions with the sick brought to her. Pretty sure the book specifically mentions at one point that she’s never “considered” what it would be like to be anything other than an Oracle. Admittedly this issue could go under number 1 or 3a but I’m putting it here because I’m salty.

3a. This and the next problem are heavily intertwined and, not going to lie, I could make an entire rant just about these two issues all by themselves, not just in Luna’s context. The first is that Luna is portrayed as not being able to make her own decisions, not even wanting to make her own decisions, until she is forced to or has her “eyes opened” by Sol, our jaded Long Night survivor character. The author treats Luna’s sense of duty as some form of social brainwashing she needs to “get over” and spoiler alert I hate it with every fiber of my being.

3b. Playing right off the whole “Luna is incapable of making her own decisions and that’s why she does her freaking job until someone ‘opens her eyes’” is the idea that Luna’s faith is a character flaw. Lemme reiterate. The story treats Luna’s faith. As a character flaw. Rather than the entire cornerstone to her character and one of the big reasons she’s as amazing as she is. Her faith is treated as foolish and shortsighted, something that has only survived for this long because it has never been challenged and, heads up, the rant I am going to go into on this one specific thing is going to be long and extremely salty.

Alright I think I’ve covered the basics. Starting from the top, BRING ON THE SALT.

…

1. Luna is pampered, well-meaning but naive and bad at reading ulterior motives of people.

….*slow, deep breath* Luna. The Oracle. Who became the youngest Oracle in history. Because her mother was murdered in front of her while her home was burned down and conquered by the people who then proceeded to rule her country, subvert her brother to their cause, and generally control and monitor every aspect of her life that they could. Luna, who was fully prepared to take a single suitcase and escape her own home and run off alone to get to Altissia and had to be stopped by her own brother (who you’ll note brought a bunch of soldiers with him, which indicates he did not expect a submissive response if he came alone).

This girl who was canonically physically abused as a child by a Niflheim officer (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iZHzBtIfpdg slow this down if you need to confirm, but she is grabbed and manhandled and hit by an adult man when she only looks to be twelve, around the age Tenebrae first fell), who has spent twelve years living under the rule of a nation that is not only aggressively atheist but has willfully attempted to kill one of the very beings she serves and openly plans to do so again. The woman who successfully survived the fall of Insomnia with only one magic-less glaive as her backup for most of the event, then evaded the search efforts of an entire empire with only her own wits, a dog, a Messenger who has only ever been shown to talk rather than fight, and the extremely grudging on-off help of her brother who works for said empire. All while waking up the Astrals and forging covenants that were slowly killing her from the strain, which is the exact thing the empire was trying to prevent her from doing. Then, when it became necessary to complete the last covenant, turned herself in to the very same empire that has imprisoned her since she was a child and has been actively hunting/trying to stop or kill her since Insomnia’s fall.

That girl. Is pampered. Is naive. Is bad at reading people and telling when they have ulterior motives or are lying.

Pull the other one. I’ll kick you.

But seriously, how are we supposed to believe this? Luna’s life post Tenebrae’s fall to Niflheim is only pampered in the sense that she was given fancy clothes and fed regularly (outside the grueling fasting periods mentioned in this same book). She had no freedom, no privacy, her guards were all either men who wore the same uniform as those who killed her mother or were monsters infected with the very scourge she is sworn to purify. The Oracle is famous, is revered by the people. To keep the people on their side, the Empire would have flaunted her, would have taken her to all the shiny events. Luna would have had to dine with, converse with, even dance with the very same people who ordered and condoned the murder of her mother, her own imprisonment, and the brainwashing of her own brother to the enemy side. She would have been the epitome of a bird in a gilded cage or a dog on a silk leash and humans are not meant to live like that.

Am I really expected to think she survived a situation that oppressive, that toxic, that actively hurtful, for years by being naive and bad at reading people? Am I really expected to believe that she cannot tell when people are out to use her or hurt her or are lying to her? Am I really expected to believe that she is pampered and doesn’t have, at the very least, PTSD from seeing her mother murdered and her brother join the very people who did it, let alone everything else that would have followed over those years?

Really?

Luna didn’t have a pampered life. She suffered abuse. Longterm emotional abuse, likely sporadic physical abuse until she learned to play along well enough to escape such punishments, and almost certainly gaslighting (again: religious leader being held captive by an aggressively atheist nation that wants to kill the pantheon this religious leader communes with).

Luna would have learned to navigate the canonically cutthroat politics of Niflheim while being at best an outsider and at worst a target because of her beliefs, her nationality, and her loyalties to the Lucians (nobody was surprised when Luna went on the run. Nobody. Her continued devotion and loyalty to the Lucians -Niflheim’s enemy- was absolutely a well known factor). She would have learned to pick truth from lie and when to pretend she hadn’t noticed in order to survive. She would have lived twelve years knowing that any mistakes or misplaced moments of trust would be paid for in either her suffering of the suffering of the people close to her like her servants, or just the citizens of Tenebrae in general.

And none of this is taking into account her Oracle training, which the book does not elaborate on but repeatedly states was hard and grueling and she completed it years earlier than any Oracle in history.

There are a lot of words I would use to describe Luna, but pampered and naive are not among them.

…

2. Luna is oblivious to how people outside her rich circles live and has never considered being anything else but an Oracle until Sol specifically points it out.

The book states that she mostly travels in procession (ie, with tons of servants to serve her every need and bodyguards to keep the masses at bay) so clearly she can’t go anywhere too dangerous, otherwise her servants wouldn’t be able to come. Right? Oh boy where do I start with this.

I know! Let’s start with the fact that Luna canonically maintains the blessings on Havens! You know those things. They’re your only safe place to camp at night and they can be found in all sorts of nifty locations like the middle of the wilderness where cars can’t go, chocobos won’t go, packs of wild animals will literally leap out of the bushes to eat you (Voretooth packs can get up to twelve or more members all trying to eat you at once, fun fact), and poor choice in clothes will lead to broken ankles at best? The ones that can be found in the depths of locations so dangerous that even the Hunters are leary of going inside and are actively forbidden from approaching unless they are a very high rank?

Off the top of my head some of the Havens that come to mind is the one in the middle of Malmalam thicket, the top of an active volcano, multiple spots in the middle of the voretooth and coeurl infested desert, two up in Vesperpool aka the home of all demon crocodiles and flocks of cockatrice that are bigger than the average car and can literally turn you into stone if you aren’t careful.

Yeah those places. She maintains those. Depending on how often Havens need to be maintained and if the weather/nature shortens that time then she might also have to periodically enter the dungeons Noctis explores in game that also have Havens hidden inside where it is always dark all the time and infested with daemons.

The book also states that the sick (who are highly infectious and not supposed to be touched by people who can’t heal the scourge and in the later stages of sickness become extremely violent and prone to biting in order to infect other people) are … brought to her…

By whom? Exactly?

Moving on from that giant and obvious plot hole to the “never seen or considered other lifestyles” bit: Luna has traveled literally all over the world. In her duties of healing the otherwise incurable she has gone all over Niflheim, Tenebrae, and Lucis. She has walked through the streets of cities filled with lights and glamor and stood on the dirt roads of towns so small they have to go to the next town an hour or more away to buy groceries or check their mailbox and who’s royal hotel suite is just a caravan with a new coat of paint and “welcome Oracle!” sign. Luna’s work is to cure the Starscourge, which is a disease that I can almost promise the rich don’t get. Because the rich and fancy do not risk their lives by going into daemon territory (Prompto, a middle class Insomnian, didn’t even know what wild animals would be like, you expect the rich and famous to be any better?).

The vast majority of Luna’s patients would be people like Dave the Hunter, or Sania the scientist who wades into the wilds. The truck drivers and the farmers and the electricians risking their lives to repair power lines in the middle of nowhere. She wouldn’t be going to cities except to talk to the refugees who fled there from the outside and thus picked up the Scourge. Her only two social circles would be Niflheim’s cutthroat nobility and the “unwashed masses” who come to her for healing. Guess which ones she’ll be more invested in getting to know on a personal/friendly basis and interacting with.

Of course Luna has interacted with and understands “common folk”. Luna is a caregiver, not just physically, but emotionally. She is beloved by the people because she is kind. That means she talks to them. More importantly, she listens. She has held the hands of the farmer as he begs her to heal him, because the harvest season is so close, and if he can’t work, if he dies, then what will become of his wife or the people his farm feeds? She has embraced the sobbing refugee mother as the other breaks down in gratitude for a child who’s skin is a healthy shade and who’s veins no longer bulge a sickly purple. She has met people who are not rich, but who are content. Who have lives that do not hinge on the razor thin dance of staying true to self and not exposing weakness to those who want to eat her alive. Who can laugh with their neighbors and kiss that nice boy down the street just for the fun of it, who can defy curfew to dance in the rain with the person they love and risk, at most, a lecture and a weekend grounding.

And no, they aren’t rich, no, they aren’t influential or powerful, but they are peaceful. They are happy.

Am I really expected to believe that Luna has not looked on these people’s lives from afar, listened to their rambles as they try to distract themselves from the sickness she is drawing from their veins, and not yearned to be the same? That she hasn’t thought over and over again about running away and being free from her gilded cage? That she doesn’t know anything about the lives of the people she heals even as she walks down their streets and steps into their houses so she can heal those who are too sick or too violent to be safely taken out of their room? That she has never thought about what life could be like if she wasn’t an Oracle as she watches the landscape roll by and walks through the wilderness to find the lonely farmsteads that the townsfolk tell her has sick children that cannot be let out of the shed for fear they will bite?

Setting all of that to one side, what human hasn’t thought of being someone else? What person on this planet, hasn’t looked at another person’s life that is so very different from their own and gone “huh, I wonder what that would be like” even if only for a moment before moving on and forgetting about it? Humans are creatures that dream by nature, that are curious by nature. To assume that Luna is not just because she gets to have the fancy dresses and servants is stupid.

…

3a: Luna is unable to make her own decisions and is only the dutiful Oracle because she doesn’t know any better and needs a “wiser” rebellious character to “open her eyes”.

Okay buckle up. I have tried to suppress the salt until now but over these last two points I don’t care. I will be salty. I will be sarcastic. I will be mean. I will reference Real World faiths (tho I’ll try to keep that to a minimum).

Both 3a and 3b are actually systemic issues in storytelling (particularly noticeable in movies/shows but maybe that’s because I’m pretty lucky with my book choices) that I despise with a passion. Specifically 3a relates to the chronic issue writers seem to have with characters not being allowed to be happy with their role in life. There’s this persistent thought, this narrative push, that if a character is following in the footsteps of their family, is entering the “traditional” profession that their parents (or grandparents, or entire generations of predecessors) have been in before them then they must be unhappy with their lot in life. That this is clearly the character being “repressed” and that if they are content then they are either a bad guy (see: every antagonist from a proud military family or every ruler who thinks they are better than everyone because of bloodline ever) or they are just blind to their own unhappiness.

Now, the basic idea of “character discovers they are unhappy in current role and seeks a new one” can actually be done really well. But those stories that do it well have a lot of internal conflict, a lot of self-reflection and searching and choosing to take a new path after really giving it some thought. Maybe they have help along the way, or encouragement, or another character to show that it’s possible by example and that’s okay.

What is not okay is infantilizing a strong, intelligent character by saying “oh it just never occurred to them until they are told that they are unhappy by this much more worldly wise character and then they went and did it”. That is not okay. It not only trivializes the efforts of every real person who has proudly followed in a parent’s footsteps to become something (a doctor, a missionary, a soldier, an actor, even an electrician, pick a life goal and I promise someone has been inspired to do that by their parent being one before them) but it also takes an otherwise strong, dedicated character and implies that they are too stupid to think for themselves or have any free will until the plot and a Shinier Character demands it.

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret is an Oracle, as her mother was before her, and her mother before her, and all the way back two thousand years to the very first Oracle we see in canon. Possibly back even farther, depending on if any of Aera’s ancestors were Oracles too. That isn’t a suffocating tradition, that is a heritage, that is a culture, that is a necessary, life-saving service that canon proves literally kept the world from falling into eternal darkness (Luna was the last Oracle, the day after she dies is literally the last time we players see sunlight until the end of the game when Noctis dies to restore it). Luna is not stupid or repressed for following in those footsteps, she is breathtakingly strong for shouldering her heritage as the Last Oracle with pride even when the forces controlling every other aspect of her life want her to be ashamed of it and give it up.

The empire that took over her home when she was twelve are actively anti-magic and anti-Astral. Luna is someone who speaks to the Astrals and is born with a magic that can heal the very sickness they want to weaponize. They couldn’t outright forbid her from training to be the next Oracle because that would cause the people to riot, but they could and absolutely would try to make her give up in any way they could. They would have insulted her, demeaned her, hurt her, and imprisoned her. They wouldn’t have wanted a “real” Oracle, they would have wanted a puppet who said pretty promises and then did nothing to stop them.

It would have been so easy for Luna to go down the same path her brother did. To give in to the empire and it’s propaganda that she would have been forced to listen to every single day of her life for twelve whole years. It would have made her life so much easier to be a puppet Oracle who didn’t have to walk miles through the wilderness to maintain Havens, or defy the empire by maintaining loyalty to Lucis, or leave her manor home to heal the sick that could not come to her themselves. As a puppet Oracle she could have stayed in the Manor and only treated cases that could reach her doors and were vetted by the empire. She could have eaten the finest foods and worn the best dresses and never had to worry about a pack of hungry Voretooths or a rogue Behemoth tearing her apart. Most of all, Niflheim wouldn’t have been nearly as oppressive or violent. They would have gladly given her the illusion of freedom and control as long as she played along rather than been fully willing and prepared to run into the jungle with a suitcase just to escape as seen in the movie.

Luna was not blindly fitting into a mold and she was not and has never been incapable of making a decision. The fact that she shows up in canon as a strong, dedicated woman who is in control of her emotions and not afraid to face down a giant sea monster with the power to summon tidal waves with just her words and a glorified pointy stick proves that. The idea that she needs a “wiser” character to come alongside her and “free her” from her own duties is not only stupid, it undermines one of the key things that makes Luna such a strong character despite her relative lack of screentime.

Furthermore, canonically, one of Luna’s main reasons for sticking with her duty as Oracle isn’t because it’s tradition, it’s because of what Niflheim did. In the Kingsglaive movie, when Nyx Ulric is getting angry at Luna for doing really reckless, life-threatening things, she tells him quote:

“I do not fear death. What I fear is doing nothing and losing everything.”

That’s not a woman who is blindly following a path laid out for her. That is a woman who is desperately, furiously fighting against the people who killed her mother in front of her the best way she can: by being the Oracle they cannot stand for her to be.

But sure. Luna is only the Oracle because she doesn’t know better and it never occurred to her to be anything else until some jaded kid with a shotgun made a snide comment about it.

3b: Luna’s faith is a character flaw that has only survived this long because it wasn’t challenged by a worldly wise character who knows better.

Not going to lie but words cannot express how much I hate this trope. This is another thing that shows up a lot in television/movies but also in books too, and that is that a character is not allowed to have a faith in something/religion unless they are 1. Foolish, 2. Brainwashed/tricked into it, 3. A crazy fanatic, or 4. It’s a character flaw they have to overcome by becoming more jaded and atheist and hateful.

Because … that’s not how it works. There are- millions (billions) of people all over the real world who are intelligent, well educated, thoughtful, kind, and religious. And no I’m not just talking about Christianity (tho I am Christian so you can see why this trope grinds my gears so hard). There’s Hinduism, there’s Islam, there’s Buddhism, there’s Judaism, there’s so many faiths and belief systems okay. And no we don’t tend to play well with each other or accept the validity of the others but that doesn’t mean we’re fanatics or brainwashed or stupid. And no we really don’t appreciate it when media introduces a character who follows a religion (even fictional ones!) only to make them an antagonist or rip it away from them in the name of “improving their character”. Just like every other cultural group ever who really doesn’t like their heritage and culture being used as a butt of jokes or is turned into a caricature or used as the basis for the antagonist being Evil™.

But no. We can’t possibly have a character who’s faith makes them strong or gives them comfort in times of hardship unless they are deluded. We can’t possibly have a character who is both intelligent and faithful. We can’t possibly show a character who is breathtakingly courageous and selfless as well as religious unless we point at their faith and go oh look a horrible character flaw to overcome by having non-believer characters open their eyes via sarcastic commentary.

And look. Look. I am well aware that the plot of Dawn of the Future has Bahamut as the Bad Guy™. I am fully aware of that. But if you want to be purely honest and technical, that doesn’t invalidate Luna’s faith because (spoilers) the other Astrals fight Bahamut to save the world. They hear her cries and the come to fight on behalf of Lucis and Noctis and all of Eos and they kill Bahamut even when that ensures their own destruction.

But we’re not actually here to talk about whether the Astrals deserve Luna’s faith in them, we’re here to talk about why insisting Luna’s faith is, by nature of being a faith, treated like a flaw and why it is treated like something so weak it only survived to this point because Luna didn’t face anything “bad” enough to “snap her out of it”.

Spoiler alert, it’s not a flaw and it’s not weak.

Going back to something I have mentioned several times already: Niflheim is an empire run by people who actively want to kill the very beings most of the planetary population worships. The very same people in charge of Luna’s life for twelve years, starting from when she was twelve and very emotionally vulnerable and traumatized, hate the Astrals. I repeat: They hate the Astrals. They have devised weapons to try (and spectacularly fail) to kill them. Half their continent is a winter nightmare-land because they tried to kill Shiva the Glacian and she went “haha, nice try, lemme leave a fake corpse here that constantly pumps out freezing temperatures and blizzards”.

Am I seriously, honestly, supposed to believe that these people didn’t try to tear down her faith at every single opportunity? That Ravus wouldn’t have tried to bully and cajole and harass her into abandoning her faith because he knew that her faith was what kept her walking her chosen path as Oracle and that said path was destined to kill her? Am I seriously supposed to believe that Luna didn’t spend those twelve years having to sit there and bite her tongue to keep from raging at these cutthroat nobles as they gloated and sneered and spat on the names of the Astrals who gave Luna the very magic she uses to heal those in need?

Luna never needed Sol to come along and say “what have the Astrals ever done for you?” because I promise that she’s heard some variation of that exact phrase from everyone in her life. From her own brother to the Emperor himself she has heard some form of this question, this taunt. In the Kingsglaive movie, General Glauca even says something to the order of, “To what god do you pray? The gods do not listen.” Right before he kidnaps her.

Luna’s faith isn’t something blind, and it is not a flaw. It is a cornerstone of her character. Luna’s faith is a bloody, stubborn, tenacious thing that she has nurtured and shored up and been steadied by through twelve years of emotional abuse and physical imprisonment. Luna’s faith is an unshakeable thing that can only come from long nights spent crying into the silent dark of the room and asking “is this real? Am I right? Should I give up? This hurts so much, what do I do?” and finding the answer to be “yes this is real. Yes I am right. No, I won’t give up even though it kills me. Yes it hurts, but what I believe in is stronger than this pain.”

Faith is not optimism and it is not fanaticism. Optimism can be broken by hardship and fanaticism has no room for selfless kindness or acceptance of other people not being as devoted as they are. Faith is personal. Faith is a bedrock, and maybe it’s a bedrock that makes no sense to people on the outside, but it is a bedrock and it can make mountains move.

Just as Luna proves when she runs rings around an Empire to win the respect and cooperation of Titan and of Ramuh, to stand amid the rain and tell an enraged TideMother that “it is in mercy that men offer praise, and in shedding grace that the gods solicit worship” and not flinch because she knows she is right.

Luna’s faith is a fierce, scarred thing that has taken every kind of suppression and propaganda and poison the empire could throw at it and kept on going.

Furthermore. Luna’s faith is treated by Sol as something empty. Because when did the Astrals ever help her or comfort her or save her?

I can answer that. They helped her when they gave her Umbra and Pryna, who kept her company through her life and gave her a way to talk to Noctis. A way to reach out to a person who was not either imperial, warped by imperial propaganda, or too afraid to speak out against the empire for fear of dying. They comforted her when Gentiana became a second mother for Luna after the death of Queen Sylva. A physical shoulder to cry on, a sounding board to bounce fears off of, a well of advice when it was asked of her, a rock to retreat to when Ravus turned away from her and the empire continued to control as much of her life as they could.

Gentiana, who is really Shiva in disguise, has been with Luna since she was a small child.

One of the Astrals themselves has been with Luna for almost her entire life. Has guided her, has comforted her, has led her to safety as she fled Insomnia’s ruins.

Shiva had no reason to do that. The Oracles have done their duty since the time of Aera without her help or company. Shiva didn’t have to stay. She didn’t have to linger and offer comfort and become Luna’s friend. She didn’t have to listen to the last words of a scared young woman who wanted only to see her fiancé one last time and promise to carry them to Noctis in the event of her death. Shiva didn’t have to cry on behalf of Luna. Shiva didn’t have to help Luna remember what it was like to be an ordinary woman (“Yet others need not hide their grief. Is she [Luna] so different from them?”), and in fact, if Shiva had played up to most of the stereotypes, she would have done the opposite and done her hardest to suppress any part of Luna’s personality that wasn’t her Oracle duties.

But she did. Shiva was there, and she remembered. Shiva loved and we as a fandom may yell at the Astrals a lot for not doing more to take care of the Starscourge, but of all of them Shiva gave the most because she came down and she lived, and walked, and loved this Oracle, this scared child, this frightened, weary woman who couldn’t even turn to her own family for comfort. Shiva’s husband Ifrit was betrayed by humankind and yet Shiva still defended them, she kills Ifrit to protect the man (the king) that Luna loved.

And at the end of the game, in those final moments outside the Citadel, when it’s just Noctis and his Retinue against all of Ardyn’s armies of daemons, when Luna calls out to these Astrals whom she has remained faithful to her entire life, even unto her death…

They answer.

Every. Last. Astral. Who is not corrupted like Ifrit, comes down at her prayer and fights. Even Leviathan who’s only voiced lines are screaming wrath against the humanity that forgot her, even Bahamut who otherwise remains aloof in his plane of magic beyond the concerns of the mortal world. Luna calls, and they answer her.

“What have the Astrals ever done for her” indeed.

Luna’s faith is a driving force of her character, it is irrevocably intertwined with her duty, with her choices, with her desire to help people and save the world even if it costs her own life, and in the end her faith is rewarded. Not in the way we want for her, because we love the ultimate happy endings where everyone lives and nobody dies. But Final Fantasy XV was never a story about happy endings. It was a story about coming of age, and tragedy, and sacrifice. Of holding onto hope against all opposition, and of having faith that someday the dawn will return, even if bringing about that dawn requires personal sacrifice.

…

Okay this is over 5k words, I’m tired, and I’m extremely salty so I can’t really figure out how to wrap this up but there we go, my salty personal rant about why I think Dawn of the Future messed up some really critical parts of Luna’s characterization and why it’s Really Bad that they messed up those specific things.

Also I kinda despise them making Bahamut the bad guy in DotF because yes he’s a jerk and yes he really could have done the whole Prophecy thing a ton better, but in the original FFXV one of the things that made the game so heartbreakingly tragic to me is that most of the characters involved weren’t pure evil. They could be greedy, and flawed, and crazy, but in the end the source of the problem was too big to pin on one character.

Do you pin the entire thing on the god of war for his mistakes in trying to bring about peace, or the god of fire for trying to destroy humanity and no longer being there to do his job and purify the plague? Do you blame the Astrals for their hubris or humanity for theirs, because Ifrit loved humanity until they betrayed him so deeply he went mad? Do you hate Ardyn for causing the Long Night or pity him for being a victim of Somnus’s greed? Can you blame Somnus for everything even though the Scourge was going on long before him and kept spreading long after he sealed Ardyn away? The whole thing is a tragedy because at this point it’s a problem too big to fix without someone paying a price too heavy and we hate that because the characters who pay that price are the ones we grow to love over the game.

But that is an entirely different rant for an entirely different day when I am not so tired and my hands no longer hurt from writing this much in one sitting. Thank you and good night.

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happyandticklish · 4 years

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Smile, Parrish

Notes: Based off the anon suggestion for Noah & Adam tickles, because the prompt was too cute not to write.

Summary: Adam is working himself too hard yet again, and Noah decides to give him something else to focus on.

“What are you doing?”

Noah’s voice, spoken softly and suddenly over his shoulder, startled Adam out of his earlier intense concentration. Having been dead for several years now, the former had the eerie quality of near silent footsteps that made it too easy to sneak up on others. Adam glanced down at the mess of papers in front of him, math homework he had been putting off for a while now, what with the sudden increase in Gansey’s quest for Glendower. Now though he only had tonight to finish it and he had been staring at the same problem for almost an hour by that point. Adam sighed, running a hand through his hair and tugging at it a bit too harshly, frustration catching up with him.

“Nothing. Homework.”

“Homework?” Noah repeated, peering over his shoulder. With his face so close, Adam could feel his breath on the back of his neck and he instinctively drew his shoulders up. “Maybe I could help?”

“No,” Adam said too hastily, then repeated in a calmer tone, “I mean, no, no thank you. I got it. I just need to finish this last problem and then I’ll be done.”

Noah wrinkled his brow. “It looks like you’ve only done one problem, thus far.”

Adam glared down at the worksheet, hating the truth of that statement. It was late and his brain wasn’t working. He was supposed to be staying the night with Ronan but instead he was sitting here doing homework while the other lay passed out on the couch, after falling asleep waiting for him. Gansey, the other resident of Monmouth Manufacturing, was experiencing one of those rare nights where the insomnia waned and allowed him to finally get some rest; Adam had considered waking him up earlier, as Gansey was much better at the subject than him, but the other needed sleep and Adam could get by without him, if needed.

Noah didn’t sleep, and thus was the only one awake to witness Adam’s outburst of exhausted annoyance. Noah took in the look on Adam’s face, the dark circles under his eyes, the sweat sprouting on his forehead from concentrating too hard, the clench of his fingers around his pencil. “You seem exhausted.”

“I’m not,” Adam snapped, trying to ignore how every time Noah spoke that close to his neck it sent goosebumps prickling across his skin. “I’ll be fine, Noah. Just go to bed, or go do… I don’t know, whatever the fuck you do at night.”

Noah frowned. “You don’t have to be rude about it.”

“Look, I’m sorry okay, I wasn’t trying to—can you stop breathing on my neck, please?” he huffed at last, his shoulders nearly parallel to his chin by now. “It tickles.”

Noah’s eyes widened as though he had been unaware of his actions, and he stepped back a bit. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” As he watched Adam lower his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck, an idea occurred to him. Possibly, this could go very wrong. Possibly it would be just the thing Adam needed. Noah was willing to risk it regardless.

Adam had returned to his work by now, either assuming that Noah had left already or would soon leave. With that creeping silence that made others around him nervous, Noah managed to move behind Adam. He reached out hesitantly with one hand and wiggled gentle fingers against the back of the other’s neck.

The reaction was instantaneous. A yelp, followed by Adam’s head slamming backwards in an attempt to trap Noah’s hand. “Shit! Ah, Noah, that tihickles!”

“I know,” Noah agreed simply, moving closer and using his other hand to torment the sides of his neck, so that no matter which way Adam twisted he couldn’t escape him. “It was supposed to.”

“W-Well stop thehehen!” Unwilling giggles were pulled from Adam with each twitch and scrape of those nails against his skin. His neck had always been abnormally ticklish, and when combined with Noah’s eternally cold ghost fingers, he found himself quickly forgetting all methods of defense. He chose instead to simply squirm and cover his mouth with his hands, trying to prevent the involuntary noises.

“This is for your own good,” Noah informed him, smiling a bit at the sight. “I read an article somewhere that said tickling was good for mental health. If I tickle you, maybe you can finally relax and stop stressing out so much.”

“Thahahat’s s-soho stuhuhupid!” Adam spluttered, reaching a hand back finally and attempting to slap him away. Noah merely danced his fingers out of the way, easily avoiding his grasp. “Ihihi cahahan’t rehehelax ihihif yohohou’re tihihickling mehehehe!”

“Is that not relaxing you?” Noah inquired innocently, fluttering his fingers over his ears and prompting a shriek from the other.

“Nohohohoho!”

“Hmm…” Noah mused, eyeing his ribs which were exposed on either side of the chair. “Maybe I’m doing it wrong then. I’ll try somewhere else.”

“What do you mean—ahaha, shihihit!” Adam’s confused reply was cut off as hands dug suddenly and vigorously into his sides, vibrating into his lower ribs. “Nohohohoah!”

“What?”

“Thahahat reheheheally tihihihickles!”

“Does it?” Noah replied brightly, happy at his accomplishment. “Good.”

“Nohoho!” Adam denied, giggling ecstatically in a way Noah had never seen him laugh before. “Ihihihit’s nohohot gohohood!”

The strangest thing about being dead that Noah had found, aside from the fact itself, was how his emotions were often muted. He could feel the vague stirrings of happiness or anger, and the pull of grief, but it was almost like an echo of reality as opposed to the true feeling. There were moments, however, moments when significance made the echo more solid, anchoring the feeling to him. As he watched strange, annoyed, bookish Adam laugh like this, more a boy now than he had ever been allowed to in his childhood, he felt the gentle glow of happiness settle in his chest.

“You should smile like this more,” Noah said in his abrupt, honest way. “I know the others think so, too. It makes you seem less scrunchy, more—open. I like open Adam.”

Adam flushed, the compliments only working to fluster him more. “W-Wehehell, ohohopen Ahahadam cahahan’t tahahake muhuhuch mohore ohohof thihis!”

“Bullshit.”

Hands grabbed his wrists suddenly, pulling them far above his head and thus taking away what little defenses he had. A quick glance upwards told him the hands belonged to Ronan. Evidently he had been woken up by Adam’s laughter, which, to be fair, was entirely not his fault. His gaze was met by a taunting grin that had Adam’s heart stuttering in his chest. It was truly unfair how with a simple glance Ronan could unravel Adam completely.

“I happen to know,” Ronan said, enclosing his wrist in one arm so that his other hand was free to poke and scratch at the upper part of his armpit that always had Adam shrieking. “That you can handle much more than this.”

“Trahahahaitor!”

“I also happen to know that you don’t hate it as much as you claim.”

“Really?” Noah asked curiously, peering down at Adam. “Do you like being tickled?”

“Yohohou guhuys ahare sohoho mehehean!” Adam protested, arching back as Noah’s fingers closed around the sharp bones of his hips.

“Don’t listen to him, Noah,” Ronan said. “He just needs a bit more provocation to admit it. What do you think?” The question was directed at Adam. “Do you want me to show him what it takes to make you admit it?”

“No, no, Rohohonan, noho!” Adam protested, his giggles becoming nervous and anticipatory. “I k-knohow whahahat yohohou’re gohonna dohoho, ahahand ihihit’s nohot fahahair!”

“Don’t be a child, Parrish.” Ronan handed over his arms to Noah, who accepted them cautiously but firmly after a glance from the former. Ronan leaned down, resting his hands calmly on each of Adam’s knees. Every once in a while he would twitch or curl his fingers lightly, causing Adam to jerk away from him with a strangled yelp.

“Don’t,” Adam warned him, trying to make his voice serious despite his growing smile. “C’mon, seriously, I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Ronan asked innocently, turning his hands so that his thumb just brushed against the place on the inside of his knee, his fingers curled against the bone on the other side. Adam tensed, sucking in a sharp inhale of breath. “Can’t handle it?”

Adam waited in heart-stopping anticipation, his smile a flushed grin now. “Yes.”

“Good.”

Adam shrieked as both his thumb and fingers dug in suddenly sending shocks of feeling scurrying up his legs. He twisted in his chair and tugged hard at Noah’s grasp but was unable to free himself. He kicked his legs out wildly, but no matter which direction he pulled Ronan’s hand followed him, insistent and oh-so-devastatingly ticklish.

“RoHOHOHohonan!” Adam squeaked, head thrown back in wild and uncontrolled mirth. “Plehehehease! Dohohohon’t!”

“Don’t what?”

“Tihihihickle mehehehe!”

“If you insist.”

“WahAHAHAhait nohoho!”

As Adam fell into another round of helpless laughter, Ronan shook his head incredulously. “I still don’t know how you fall for that every time.”

“He’s quite beautiful like this,” Noah said, tilting his head to one side. Ronan threw him a quick glance, eyebrows drawn down in careful discernment, but after realizing the comment was meant in simple honesty he allowed himself to agree. “How come I never realized he was ticklish?”

“Foolish Noah,” Ronan said, pinching his way up and down his knees and delighting in Adam’s hiccupy squeaks. “Parrish is far too prideful to admit to something as human as being ticklish. It’s why you have to force it out of him. It’s the only way you can help him be true to himself.”

“Nahahat hehehelping!” Adam screeched, managing to clip Ronan on the shoulder with one foot. Ronan winced, shaking his head in disappointment.

“Shouldn’t have done that.”

He grabbed Adam’s leg suddenly, pulling it out taut and revealing the sensitive underside of his knee. Adam’s eyes widened and before he could protest nails were scratching over the spot, leaving him in a fit of giggly hysterics. “Stahahahahap!”

“Will you admit that you love it?”

“Ihihihi—” Before Adam could answer in another denial, he felt the soft fluttering of fingers against his neck again, Noah evidently feeling left out of the fun, and he scrunched his shoulders up desperately. “Ohohokay fihihihine! Ihihihi lohohohove ihihihit!”

“What do you love?” Ronan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Beheheheing tihihickled! Ihihi l-lohohove beheheing tihihickled!”

“And will you take a break?” Noah added, scratching behind his ears and pulling a frantic squeak from the other.

“Whahahat? Thahahat wahahahasn’t pahahart ohohof thehehe deheheal!”

“It is now,” Noah said happily, though he did admit he would be a bit disappointed to stop. It was nice seeing Adam like this—carefree for once in his life. “So?”

“Fihihine! I-I’ll tahahake ahaha breheheak!”

“That’s all you had to say.”

Ronan and Noah both released him and Adam slumped back in the chair, breathing heavily. “You guys suck.”

“You love it,” Ronan teased.

“What’s going on out here?”

They all whirled around to see Gansey, illuminated by poor lighting in the doorway, rubbing tired eyes. He blinked at the scene in front of him, Adam’s flushed, giggly countenance and Ronan and Noah’s triumphant one. Noah had froze at the sight of him, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Ronan merely sat back on one hand, a confident, lazy grin stretching across his face.

“Hey Dick,” he said, emphasizing the word in a way that implied a capital. Gansey frowned, as he had expressed many times in a variety of expressive words his distaste for the name. “We were just getting Adam here to smile. He needs to relax more.”

“Oh,” Gansey said, before pausing as confusion set in. “Wait what? Smile? How?”

Ronan’s grin inched wider into something dangerous and he stood up, sauntering over to the other. “I’m glad you asked, oh Gansey, my king. Why not let me show you?”

The room was soon filled with the sounds of laughter once more and in the chaos of it all Adam managed to gather his books and sneak off to Ronan’s room. His plan had been to study in secret in the sudden distraction of Gansey’s presence. As he sat down on Ronan’s bed, however, he found his head hitting the pillow before he could stop it, and sleep like an unwanted stranger whisking him away.

Maybe he had needed that break after all...

#tickle fic #noah czerny #adam parrish #the raven cycle #ronan lynch #gansey #pynch #richard campbell gansey iii #trc #tickling #fanfic #fanfiction #requests #fic request #not really a request but im gonna tag it as one anyway because who cares

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futurewriter2000 · 5 years

Text

Breaking Him

A/N: I’m going to be honest with you here. This turned out SO MUCH BETTER than I thought it would and I am seriously considering making this a series, which would be my fist for Draco Malfoy. I don’t know, you have to tell me but I DON’T KNOW! Maybe....maybe not....Maybe a sad ending isn’t bad. I’ll see.

REQUEST: Hey girl! I was wondering if you could write a Draco x reader where she's also a pureblood Slytherin and super confident & flirty, and he really wants to date her but she kinda ignores him/isn't intrested and he doesn't know why. You can totally choose the ending, I'm sorry if it's too long!! thank you

Could you believe that from all the boys that wanted to be with you, he was the one who was most determined to make that come true?

The first time he realized it was in Third year of Hogwarts when the two of you were partnered up in Astrology and you being you just kept flirting the guy because that’s what makes the time pass faster.

You never meant for him to fall for you. You never meant to do any harm with flirtng but you didn’t think this through. When you flrit with someone, you make them belive you are interested.

But you weren’t. You flirted because it was amusing, fun and because you were bored.

“Hey there, Lovely.” his arm wrapped itself on your shoulder and you tensed up.

“Hey, Malfoy.” you said, shaking your shoulder out of his hold. “I am actually really running late to McGonagall, so I have to go.” you turned around to him and started walking faster.

“See you at lunch then?”

“Uhm, I have a study date with some friends.” you kept surfing through your drawer of excuses.

“Dinner then?”

“Big exam tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” he said really quietly and disappointed when you disappeared around the corner.

You were avoiding him. For years he has been trying to get your attention and you still avoided him. Why?

If you gave him a chance, he would show you how to love. He isn’t as his reputation holds him to be. He is not some heartless snake. He has a heart and his heart is always filled just because of you.

For him you were the one. You were confident, you had the alpha energy that drove him insane and challanged his own. You were loyal, down to earth, witty, selfless, brave, intelligent and all the good qualities that could make you sound like a queen and each night he thought of you... of both of you. And sometimes those thoughts wandered far off, into mornings after a heated night or a scene where you wore a stunning white gown and he’d be the one standing on the aile, putting a ring on your finger.

Yes, he was indeed messed up when it came to you because you gave him feelings and thoughts he never thought could manifest. You’d be perfect. His parents would adore you because he knew you would make sure of it. You weren’t afraid, you weren’t shy or quiet, you were the one who could enter a room and cause the attention fall on you without saying a single word.

You, him?- It was meant to be.

And when he struggled with his sheets, his sleeping position, his insomnia, he knew it was because of you because how perfectly your hands would hold each other’s and how dreamily your lips would lock, his arms would hold you tight, his eyes observe your curves...

“Ugh!” he grumbled into the pillow and squeezed his eyes shut.

Why are you so stubborn?! Why won’t you agree on a date with him?! Why don’t you give him a chance to prove himself to you?!

He would love you! He would love you for the queen that you are meant to be!

Maybe if he thought of something else? Maybe that oaf who guards the creatures in the woods- Oh how you would purse your lips and narrow your eyes at him if you heard him say that. It’s just adorable teasing you.

He laid on his back and smiled at the ceiling before realizing what he is doing and turning back to the side with wide eyes.

No. He said he won’t think of you.

Then why the fuck are you still in his head?!!

‘Get out! Of! My! HEAD!’ he screamed in his mind.

But not really... he wanted to think about you all the time but the point was, he was tired and he wanted to fall asleep and think about you tomorrow but right now when he’s thinking of you, you’re just so pretty and your smile has such a nice curve in the corners, your laugh is all so girly but all so loud as well- Are you a Saggitarious? Those go well with Geminis...He’s a Gemini. Those are compatible with fire signs, aren’t they?

‘OH MY GOD! STOP!’ - he covered his ears but that seemed stupid to him since it was his brain that needed to shut up and his brains doesn’t have ears.

Hope she’s not a Virgo since Virgos and Geminis are like the most contrast to eachother and toxic.

‘I’m losing my mind over her.’ - he told himself.

She smells good, don’t you think? How does she always smell so good? It’s always one of the four perfumes and let’s be honest, the mandarine covered in chocolate perfume, as odd combination as it sounds it really makes his thoughts go wild.

Like now.

‘I hate my mind.’- he says because now he could even smell that perfume and it just makes him a bit oozy as he thinks of you and him together in bed but before he could think any further, he finally falls asleep.

---

He wakes up, exhausted, knowing exactly what happened last night before he went to sleep. Glaring at the ceiling, he grunts. “So you shut down just before it get’s interesting?”

Well, yes. That’s how Gemini brain works. Complicated.

“Ugh.” he swings on the ground and ruffles his blonde hair, running his hands down his face.

“Slept well?” his roomate said, showing him a teasing grin.

“Fabulous.” he grunted again.

“I’d say.” he continues to tease. “Someone particulate on your mind last night?” he sat on the chair and nibbled on some peanuts. “You know...keeping you awake?”

“Hey Nott? You’re a Virgo, right?”

“Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Figured. I hate Virgos. They annoy me.” he said and put his clothes on.

Theodore snorted and spun on his chair. “I see, my love for astrology spread on you. “

“I hate it.”

“Liar. You’re a Gemini. One part of you likes it, which can be enough for you to be curious what she is.”

“I don’t care what her Zodiac is!” Draco snapped at him. “It’s dumb and totally for for odd sods like you!”

“This odd sod notices a lot of things and knows a lot of things.” he stood up and walked up to him. “And this odd sod can be lethal to two-faced arseholes like you, Malfoy. Don’t think that I am afraid of you because you don’t scare me.”

“Whatever.” Draco brushed him off, grabbing his bag and walking through the door.

He was furious. He was and he knew that even though Theo and he fight a lot, they’re still quite close and he cares about him... but that doesn’t make him any less annoying.

“Nott and his stupid astrology.” he mumbled under his hot breath, knocking some students out of his way. “Move!” he snarled, smirking back at the group who were picking up their books. “Filthy mudbloods.” and he walked forward.

---

He walked in his favorite class and saw an empty sit beside you- you who were practically burrying your whole face in the book. So without any hesitation, he walked and sat himself next to you.

You jumped out of the book and looked at him. “This seat is taken.”

“I know, by me.” he started pulling out his school supplies.

“No, I mean-”

“Why are you ignoring me?” he turned to you with all his body and kept a serious expression.

This time you were caught off guard, not knowing exactly what to say, so you stuttered. “I...I’m not ig...ignoring you.”

“Liar.” he said. “I just want to know because-”

“Can we not do this here?” you pleaded with your eyes and they had a powerful effect on him and as much he would subdue to your effect, he couldn’t.

“Why? So you could ignore me again?”

“Merlin, Malfoy!” you grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of the class.

You were furious. Furious that he was so persistant and pushy to make you do this and most of all, you were fuming because you have to deal with this.

“Go on now!” you threw his hand from your hand and that only caused him to grow redder from his rage. “What do you want to know? Why I am not interested in you?!”

“Why you treat me the way you do!? Why don’t you just give me the chance to-”

“Because you are a heartless bastard!” you shouted at him and his heart dropped into his stomach. “I’m not interested into dating, let alone caring for someone who loves violance and finds satisfaction from other people’s suffering! This morning you knocked a bunch of First years! Calling them filthy mudbloods!” you continued to shout, pointing your finger at him, completely blind to the tears that were coming up to the surface. “You’re cruel and evil little roach, who does nothing but bully other people and kiss ass to every professor! You’re whiny and a coward! And for you to believe that I would ever date a person like you- YOU?!” you scoffed, laughing. “In your dreams, Malfoy boy. And since you always talk about others not being in your league, maybe someone as pathethic and feeble like Pansy Parkinson will be just perfect for you.” you finished, crossing your arms over your chest and wanting to leave but his words stopped you.

“You’re right.”

He said and you stopped. Not to what he said but how he said it. His voice felt...hurt and as much as you were aiming for that, you didn’t want to hear it. Turning around you finally noticed the one thing that you were so oblivious due to your rage. The wound your roughness caused.

“You’re right. I am cruel and mean, evil, pathetic- honestly, I don’t know how many insults you exactly used but I am surprised you know so many of them. You call me heartless and all of that but you don’t even know me. Yes, I hurt other people but that’s what’s expected of me but you? I wouldn’t expect for you to sink as low as me.”

“I didn’t. I just called you out on the things you don’t see.” you said.

“No. I already knew all those stuff but you wouldn’t know that because you never gave me the chance to show you that besides all of those flaws, I might have a good side too. I was willing to look out the fact that you chose the popularity over the nice, kind and shy girl who welcomed you so warmly to your house. Margo, if I’m correct?”

You stood there in silence, your heart thumping in your chest. “How do you know about that?”

“Because believe it or not, Margo is a family friend who I never much associated with but had to due to the family connection. I know she’s fragile, I know she’s shy and socially-awkward and I know that you were the one who broke her.” he said meanwhile.

“I didn’t-”

“You broke her, (y/n). Admit it. You knew she was always getting you into embarrassing situations and always clinging to you like a puppy, which you hated. So you started spreading gossip around, just so you could get rid of her.”

“They stopped two days after, it was innocent.” you defended. You weren’t proud of that. You were a completely different person back then. You grew up since then.

“They stopped because I made them stop.” he growled, walking closer to you. “Like I said, Margo and I didn’t associate but had to. We were friends but she knew me better than you and better than anybody that I am a flawed man, who has to act the way I do because of my family. Never in all my Hogwarts years we exchanged words but the day she came running to me, bawling her eyes out from all the bullying you started! You don’t even know what people did to her when you spread stories about her the way you did! And you broke her! She’s not in school, she’s not anywhere to be found and that’s beccause YOU drove her away!”

You were quiet, ashamed but you still felt your pride get in the way of showing that. So you just made the situation worse. “You sound like you care.”

“I do. Back then I didn’t know who started the rumors but through years I found out and I didn’t know what to do because I fancied you and I denied you could ever do this but now? Now you proved you’re just as horrible as I am. Yes, I bully other people, yes, I boast, YES, I called them filthy mudbloods today but don’t for a moment think that you know me?! Don’t for a moment call me those names and insults when you don’t know where I’m coming from or how I’m treated! You don’t know anything about me! Nothing! And thanks to now, you just showed me why I should never care about you too because caring for a hypocrite like you... that would be just a waste of my time.” he started backing away but you weren’t going to let this slide away so easy.

“YOU CALL ME A HYPOCRITE! You don’t know me! You keep talking about how I don’t know you and keep calling you names when you do the same! YOU DO EXACTLY THE SAME!”

He laughed in the distance, turning around and walking slowly back to you and for a moment. For a small, short moment you saw how his body moved elegantly and relaxed, dragging his feet and swaying his hips. His shoulders were broad, his uniform was sharp, hair a bit messed up- a blonde strand falling in front of his forehead and his eyes... his eyes were blazing yours.

You felt yourself sweat from his energy; your palms got sweaty, your muscles stiffed up and you were frozen like a rock.

“I know exactly who you are. I know what you like, I know how you feel about certain things, I know who your dad is, since he works with mine and has been at my mansion for one, two-” he started counting on his long fingers, before dropping his hand, backing you against the wall and pressing his hands on it, so you and him? The two of you were just an inch away. “- too many times. He talked about you quite a lot. He’s proud but boasting a bit too much, meaning he’s not as proud as he pretends to be. So, I’d say I do know you more than you know because I put effort in getting to know people I fancy meanwhile you don’t even give a chance a person. “

“ I don’t give chances to people like you.” you growled, getting closer to him as his thin lips curve into a smile. He bit on his lower lip and looked down on yours, sending an unfamiliar wave of heat down your body. You didn’t know if he’s going to kiss you, which you hated to admit that you wanted him to, or... or...well that’s it.

“People like me?” he tilted his head to the side, grinning.

“Two-faced.” you spat out.

“Oh, honey, look in the mirror.” he laughed. “All friendly, all flirty, all nice and kind but in reality you break people just like you did with Margo.”

“Can you stop mentioning her?!” you start to grow irritated, staring at his piercing grey eyes but feeling a sudden urge to pull him closer. Yet you restrain yourself because it’s confusing and unclear....unfamilliar.

“Feeling guilty?”

“I don’t feel anything.”

“So, you’re the heartless one?” he kept teasing but you kept growing more and more frustrating.

“What? No! I-” you kept trying to find words but he was closing the space between the two of you and you were backed agains the wall, pressed on his chest and breathing heavily. The air was hot, you were sweating and feeling your breath come out uneven. Draco caught that into his attention and enlarged the amount of mischief in his eyes.

You couldn’t speak- hell, you barely even breathed. Then as you stared into his eyes his eyes changed, not in colour nor the shape. It was something inside that changed that made him back away and lower his head.

“I really thought you were worth it.” he looked up at you, your red stained cheeks and your parted lips, grabbing for an air. You kept looking at him, seeing a simper that didn’t reach his eyes and knowing you messed up.

But how could you mess up, knowing he deserved what you said?

“Guess, you’re just like the others.” he started backing away, giving you one last glance before disappearing into the distance.

You wanted to say something. You wanted to speak but your throat was dry and unable to provide any kind of sound. You took a hold of it, staring where he disappeared and knowing, deep inside, you knew. You broke him.

#Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter imagines #golden trio era #golden trio #harry potter imagine

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lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Eyes on the Road” (Rated M)

Summary: Driving down the highway while on vacation, Kurt notices how tense his husband looks and decides to try something he saw in a movie once to loosen him up. It does the job a little too well ... (1970 words)

Notes: This is a re-write I decided to do for Halloween because I think it's really funny. XD Inspired by the movie 'Parenthood'.

Part 58 of Daddies.

Read on AO3.

“That was the insurance agent,” Sebastian says, putting his jacket around Kurt’s shoulders and rubbing his husband’s arms to keep the chill of the night air away. “They're sending a tow. We're gonna call an Uber to take us to the hotel, but they’ll have a rental for us in the morning.”

“That’s … that’s great,” Kurt grumbles. "Just peachy."

Sebastian snickers. Kurt's cheeks flame red and he hangs his head. He can’t look Sebastian in the eyes, but he also doesn’t want to see Sebastian’s baby - his Porsche Cayman - wrapped around the trunk of an ancient English Oak.

Kurt isn't angry at his husband. This isn't Sebastian's fault. And for as bad as this night has been, Kurt is more embarrassed than upset.

“Are you alright? Nothing hurts? Nothing broken?” Sebastian asks for the fifth time, and for the fifth time, Kurt answers, “Yeah … sure … great.”

There’s nothing else Kurt can think of to say. Physically, he’s fine. Emotionally, he could live a hundred years and never, ever live this down.

Plus, Sebastian is being such a good sport about this.

That makes this whole situation suck worse.

They’re supposed to be on vacation. They got Thomas excused from school and took one week away to visit Kurt’s dad over Halloween. That way, Burt wouldn't have to travel hours to see his grandson dress in costume and go begging for candy.

But Kurt and Sebastian had ulterior motives. They planned this trip to Ohio to escape everything: PTA meetings, stress, Sebastian’s ultra-needy clients, and Kurt’s new winter clothing line, coming together slowly, but on time for the Vogue Winter Extravaganza.

They'd been traveling to the city more than normal, and they both agreed that they'd forgotten how crowded and hectic it could be, especially at the start of the holidays. It's just Halloween, but that's the top step of a slide that shoots straight into Thanksgiving, loop-de-loops for a few weeks, then slingshots into Christmas.

Isabelle is pretty good about leaving Kurt be when he needs time away and diverting business calls to his receptionist. But Sebastian’s phone wouldn’t stop ringing, which tends to happen when every client you have thinks they're your only client. He shut the damn thing off, but that didn’t solve the problem. It only delayed it for a while. Once he turned it back on, he found he had a million messages, both text and voice, and in less than a minute, it began to ring again.

Sebastian had to change his ring tone. As much as he loves the song Running Home to You, he got sick of hearing it so much.

He didn't want this vacation to be the catalyst that made him hate it.

Driving down the interstate from the Hummel house to their hotel, Sebastian looked tense, gripping the wheel so tightly, Kurt thought he might tear it off the steering column. Kurt's dad and stepmom had noticed Sebastian on edge, too. They offered to take Thomas for the night, giving Kurt and Sebastian some alone time at their hotel.

But Kurt couldn't wait till they got there.

He had to do something. He’d never seen Sebastian so wound up.

He was afraid that if he didn’t find a way to calm Sebastian down, he’d snap, veer off the highway in a rage, and drive straight into a tree.

Not really, but Kurt had an appreciation for the dramatic.

At most, Sebastian would get back to their room and spend the whole night watching Battlestar Galactica reruns on TV.

He'd been prescribed medication for a chronic case of stress-related acid reflux and had suffered three major bouts of insomnia since the beginning of the fiscal year. Kurt didn’t want that to happen again, not here, where they had come back to the familiar to get away from it all.

Kurt had an idea, but he didn’t know quite how to execute it. It wasn’t exactly his idea. It came from an old movie his dad had been watching during A&E’s Salute to Steve Martin. Kurt had rolled his eyes when he saw it, thought it immature and uncouth. But looking at Sebastian, a vein throbbing in his neck from the anxiety of phone call avoidance, Kurt thought he would give it a try.

What could it hurt?

Kurt had given Sebastian countless hand jobs while driving before. A blow job couldn’t be much more difficult.

Sebastian was focused on the road, his brain caught in a web of issues that had nothing to do with Lima, Halloween, visiting his in-laws, or even Kurt. He didn’t notice Kurt undo the buckle of his belt, unbutton the fly of his jeans, then sneak underneath his arm to get at his flaccid member. It took Kurt grabbing his husband’s cock and sticking it in his mouth before Sebastian reacted, jumping at the unexpected sensation of hot and wet, then letting out a long gasp as that heat crept under his skin.

“God, Kurt,” Sebastian moaned. “W-what are you doing? You can’t … we shouldn’t … be doing that now.”

"Wow," Kurt mumbled. "That's quite a change of tune for the man who used to accept a b.j. pretty much anywhere."

"True, but I'm older. Wiser. Undecided as to whether or not I want my obituary to mention that this is how I died."

“You don’t think you’re a good enough driver to handle a little distraction?” Kurt looked up from Sebastian’s lap, a half-smile on his moistened lips.

“I didn’t say that.” That, to Kurt, was as good as the go-ahead, and he went back to circling the head of Sebastian’s cock with his tongue. “B-but …” Sebastian interrupted in a shuddering voice, “w-what if a cop notices your head in my lap and we get pulled over?”

Kurt climbed up Sebastian’s chest - right hand stroking slowly, the fingers of his left threading into his husband’s hair. “I’ll just tell that nosy officer that I was sitting here beside my sexy husband, getting hard and bothered, and I couldn’t help myself. I just had to have my mouth on him. Then I’d tell him to move along.”

Sebastian smirked. “You’d say that, hmm?”

“You bet your gorgeous ass I would.” And Kurt sank slowly back into his husband’s lap to get his mouth around him again.

“But I wanna be able to properly enjoy it,” Sebastian whined as his husband’s talented tongue began long laps up and down his shaft.

“If you don’t enjoy it,” Kurt purred, “I promise a repeat performance back at the hotel.”

“Mmm, I'm gonna hold you to that.”

“Please do.” Kurt paused a moment to kiss Sebastian gently down the length of his erection – soft little pecks he knew drove his husband wild. “So relax, keep your eyes on the road, and try not to kill us, okay?”

“O-okay,” Sebastian agreed, adjusting his seat as far back as it would go and toeing the pedals to let Kurt work his magic.

Kurt hadn’t meant to make this the best b.j. of Sebastian’s life. He didn't even think that was possible at this point in Sebastian's sexual life. He had hoped to keep his husband at a low boil, relax him but leave him a horny mess so that when they got back to their room, the real fun could begin. But Sebastian sounded like he was enjoying it so much, that he was so desperate to cum, it spurred Kurt on. He found himself doing everything he could to make his husband moan louder, buck up into his mouth, swear like a sailor.

It didn’t take long to get Sebastian to the point where he was shallowly, but rhythmically, snapping his hips. And even though Kurt had intended on torturing him all the way back to their hotel, he was kind of relieved. He had heard Sebastian’s car engine rev twice now. Kurt couldn’t get a good look at the speedometer, but he had a feeling his husband might be exceeding the speed limit.

“Oh, God, Kurt. I’m … I’m cumming, Kurt. I’m …” It was at the moment of his fantastic climax that Sebastian shut his eyes for a split second, opening them when a horn honked too loud and much too close for comfort. Sebastian turned the wheel abruptly, swerving out of the path of oncoming traffic and plowing into a tree. How ever he hit the aged oak, the airbags malfunctioned, which turned out to be a blessing since the force behind one of those deploying might have snapped Kurt’s neck. As it was, Sebastian had managed to slow down enough that, even though the damage to the vehicle looked tremendous, the two shaken men were able to unbuckle their seat belts and exit the car.

Kurt’s mother always said that a separate God looked after fools and children.

Kurt peeks up at the smoking remains of Sebastian’s demolished engine.

Kurt is a thirty-five-year-old man. That definitely makes him a fool.

Flashing lights approach from the slow lane and pull up beside Sebastian’s wrecked Porsche. Kurt knew a highway patrol officer would probably be along any time, but he still didn’t want to have to face up to what happened. Not to a man with a badge and a gun.

The officer doesn’t get out of his patrol car right away, which unnerves Kurt. But he has to remember that the man has things he has to do first: run Sebastian’s plates, check the secret police database to make sure it’s not stolen, that two men fitting their descriptions aren’t wanted by the law. When the officer does leave his car, he has in his possession the brightest flashlight Kurt has ever seen. He shines it almost in their eyes, its beam bouncing from Sebastian, who raises a hand and waves; to Kurt, who nods solemnly and looks down at his shoes; to the once immaculate black car, folded almost in half. Luckily, no one had pulled over with them, either to help them or harass them, so the only two people who know what happened are Kurt and Sebastian.

And Kurt intends on taking this to his grave.

“Good evening,” the officer says. “You gentlemen look like you got yourselves into a bit of trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian says. “I’m afraid we did.”

“Are either of you hurt? Do you need medical attention?”

Kurt curls in on himself further, but Sebastian shakes his head, cool and calm, as if his husband isn’t trying to disappear into his own skin like the house at the end of the movie Poltergeist that crumbled inside out before blinking out of existence.

“No,” Sebastian answers. “Luckily, we both came out okay. Not even a scratch.”

“That’s good to hear.” The officer approaches them, wearing a genuine-enough smile. “Do you need a tow truck?”

“No.” Sebastian continues to carry the conversation while Kurt, maintaining a low profile, is quietly impressed by how collected his husband sounds. Maybe that blow job helped a little. Kurt has that to be proud of. It probably wasn’t worth a $60,000 car, though. “I contacted my insurance company. They’re sending a tow.”

“Great. In that case, can either one of you tell me what happened?”

Sebastian glances sideways at his mortified husband, a smile on his lips hiding multiple embarrassing remarks at Kurt’s expense.

“Uh, do you want to tell him what happened, Kurt?” Sebastian asks. “You did say that you’d handle it.”

“No,” Kurt replies quietly, holding himself tighter, thinking that now is not the appropriate time for his husband to be teasing him. Though, if Kurt had stuck to what was appropriate and waited till they got to their hotel room before deep-throating his husband, they might not be in this mess. “No, I do not.”

#kurtbastian fic #kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt

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legobiwan · 4 years

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Obi-wan trial ficlet (part 2)

As I was lying in bed last night - wholly unable to sleep - I was visited by the spirit of writing at 3.30am. And thus, have this not-so-little extension of the “Obi-wan on Trial” ficlet. Note, I have basically no plot plan for this whatsoever, but since my imagination was running wild on insomnia and delirium, I figured I’d at least get something from my grand total of an hour’s sleep.

---

Cody glanced at his chrono for the fifth time in as many minutes. According to the General’s plan - which was disturbingly short on details - they were going to rendezvous here at approximately 1700 hours. Another fifteen minutes, give or take.

Already Cody’s gut was twisting with anxiety. Approximately and give or take weren’t standard vocabulary in the General’s lexicon, at least not when it came to missions, which Obi-wan usually had plotted down to the millisecond. But earlier today, the General had waved off Cody’s concerns with a breezy smile, promising that everything would make sense later on and that time on Coruscant was a far more flexible matter due to the proclivities of certain indolent politicians.

In any other circumstance, the minor sleight would have set off alarm klaxons in Cody’s mind. The General, while as human as anyone else once one peeled through the many layers of reserve and Jedi stoicism, did not openly scorn other sentients, at least not without good reason. There are as many truths, as many realities, as there are points of view in this galaxy, he had once told Cody on a rare diplomatic mission.

Politicians, however - Coruscanti politicians, to be precise - seemed to be exempt from that axiom.

Not that Cody could blame Obi-wan, especially given the events of the past few days.

That Commander Tano had been implicated in the bombing of the Jedi Temple, that she had been arrested, twice by his fellow vod - Cody shook his head, still in disbelief. It was insanity. Commander Tano could no more kill innocents than Cody could dance the Dha Werda Verda with Count Dooku.

And somehow, that event had led him here on the General’s mysterious orders, Commander Tano having been dragged away to some secret trial in the Jedi Temple, Rex, Cody, and the rest of the men not having seen nor heard anything from her since her recapture and imprisonment.

Impossible. She was innocent, the General would make sure of it.

Still, that didn’t explain why he was stuck in the bowels of the Senate Judiciary wing, armed with a small artillery of grenades along with his standard blaster, an unregistered speeder sitting in the delivery bay just past the loading dock entrance.

All part of the plan, Obi-wan had said.

Cody had a bad feeling about this.

A minuscule change in the vent airflow caught his attention, and Cody glanced up, peering into the faraway flat-bottom discs that rose tall into the main chamber of the High Republic courtroom. Years on the frontlines of the war had honed his already well-engineered senses, which were attuned to the slightest crunch of a leaf or the faint odor of lubricant, all small clues that could be the difference between life and death, of victory and defeat. Not that he was expecting a battalion of battle droids to come stomping through the Senate, but if Obi-wan had him on guard duty down here, it had to be for a reason.

That reason, Cody realized with growing horror, was a speck plummeting through the narrow chasm of support beams and ventilation ducts. “Incoming 270, point-oh-eight vertical, approximately 80 kilograms, projectile type unknown,” he muttered to himself, drawing his blaster, his left arm bent at his chest, weapon perched on his forearm as he lined up the shot...

Damn! he cursed as the figure twirled out of range, swallowed by the long shadows of the podium base. Again, Cody did some quick math, calculating the likely trajectory of what he belatedly realized wasn’t a weapon, but a sentient. Sure enough in his estimate, the clone ran to the support spire, flattening himself along the opposite side of where he thought the figure would land. It was too dim to get a full visual on the being, but Cody had held the best record in the GAR’s echolocation target practice for three years running, and didn’t need to see his mark to hit his mark.

Taking a deep breath, the clone swung around, gripping his blaster with two hands, arms extended in front of his chest.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot me, Cody.”

His blaster faltered, barrel drooping towards the floor. Cody’s eyes went wide as moons.

“Sir?”

Obi-wan Kenobi brushed off the front of his tunics, adjusting his utility belt before pushing a few loose bangs behind his ear. "There will be plenty of time to be shot at later," he explained. The Jedi made a "follow me" gesture, striding past Cody, making towards the exit with long, hurried steps.

Cody felt as if he were glued to the floor.

"Ahh...is everything okay, sir?" he asked, his earlier anxiety returning with a sickening flourish. Obi-wan spun around, placing his hands on his hips.

"It won't be if we don't get moving," he snapped, his face folding in uncharacteristic open irritation bordering on outright anger. Cody's stomach swooped downwards. Okay, really not good, whatever this is.

"I trust you were able to acquire the speeder?" Obi-wan asked, glancing behind Cody. Checking for enemies, the clone assumed.

Cody jogged to catch up with the impatient-looking Jedi.

"Yes, sir," the clone replied, defaulting to a standard, no-nonsense military tone. He would ask the General what was going on later, after the danger had passed. For now, they - he, at least - would to stick to the safety of military protocol and communication.

Obi-wan gave a slight nod. In the light, Cody could see the man was exhausted, his eyes bruised with fatigue, his face drawn. Still, there was something different about the way the General was holding himself, something in the sharp blade of his voice, an edge of danger Cody didn't think he had ever heard before.

Distant echoes of frenzied shouting and hectic orders rang above them, followed by the familiar thunder of bootsteps. Obi-wan swore under his breath as the airflow shifted yet again, heralding the arrival of at least one, if not two newcomers.

"Let's go," he said, breaking into a full run.

Minutes later, they were in the borrowed speeder, catapulting through Coruscant's skylanes like a hyperactive Kowakian monkey. Cody gripped the side of the vehicle as Obi-wan made another ninety-degree turn, powering into the capital's main thoroughfare, nearly taking off the heads of at least three other drivers as he cut in front of a luxury-length rec speeder, tossing in a rude hand gesture as a bonus.

"Sir?" Cody yelped, wrenching his gaze to Obi-wan in astonishment. The Jedi's brow was furrowed in intense concentration, the momentary aberration in his behavior already forgotten.

"Get those detonators ready," Obi-wan ordered, terse. "On my signal."

Oookay, then, the clone took a deep inhale, giving a minute shake of his head as he fished out the explosives. This was definitely not the time to talk about whatever was going on, but once they had achieved their mission objective - whatever it's supposed to be, Cody thought sourly - he was going to have words with the General.

Up ahead, the twin spires of the Republic holding facility came into view. A drab, depressing building notable only for its multivariate shades of grey and permanently smog-stained transparisteel windows - General Skywalker had once described it as being "like a Hutt vomited twenty years ago and no one cared enough to clean it up."

Beyond its charming aesthetics, however, the Republic holding facility was also notable in that it served as a transitionary custody space for those awaiting sentencing from the High Republic Courts. Cody's throat went dry. They wouldn't have put Commander Tano in there, would they? No, that was ridiculous. If Commander Tano were being held here, it would mean she had been found guilty, that she was only waiting to hear what her prison sentence would be. Or worse, Cody shivered. No, he refused to believe the Commander would commit such a heinous act and doubly refused to believe the General would allow her to be convicted of false charges.

They were nearly parallel the building now, Obi-wan bringing the speeder almost flush against the high, electro-barbed walls, sending sparks of energy flying as the Jedi inched the edge of the vehicle dangerously close to the barrier.

"Now, Cody!"

All clones knew they had been bred for this war, to fight, to serve the Republic. While the clones themselves exhibited the same level of variation of personalities, of likes and dislikes as any general populace, all clones also knew that above all, they were bound by loyalty and duty. To their fellow vod. To the Republic. And to the Jedi they served under.

Which was why Cody didn't think twice before lobbing a fistful of high-output grenades straight into the Republic holding facility's main generator on Obi-wan's command.

Cody watched in stunned silence as there was a cataclysmic burst of light, the electro-barbs racing to a sharp peak before fizzling out, grimy stains rendered invisible as every bit of energy and electricity around not only the building, but the entire sector died out with a pathetic whine.

What the kriff? Cody gaped.

The clone whipped around to demand an answer, to know why he had just bombed a Republic prison facility on the orders of a Jedi, of a High General. Of my friend, Cody grit, betrayal stabbing deep into his lower abdomen.

But his furious storm of words died on his lips as Cody stared down the wrong end of his own blaster, muzzle only centimeters from his forehead. It didn't escape the clone's attention that the setting had been switched to "kill."

"I am very sorry, Cody," Obi-wan apologized, his voice almost preternaturally calm. "But for both our sakes, this needs to look convincing."

Cody froze, his brain refusing to process the visual input, the aural evidence, the logical conclusion that should have drawn from the situation. He was in a speeder. He had just bombed a Republic prison on Obi-wan's orders. Obi-wan was pointing a lethal weapon at him. And...Cody stretched his ears, not daring to take his eyes off the apparently insane Jedi in the next seat.

Those are CSF sirens, he realized, stomach sinking. Nu draar...dini'la jetti haar'chak! This wasn't a Republic-sanctioned mission, probably wasn't even a Jedi-sanctioned mission. This was...

Cody had no idea what this was.

He briefly considered taking a chance, throwing himself on Obi-wan to attempt to wrest control of both the blaster and the speeder from crazed Jedi. But a single flinty glare from Obi-wan stopped that plan in its tracks. On a normal day, the General was far more dangerous than many people gave him credit for. Cody didn't want to find out what he was like when that self-imposed restraint was dropped.

The next few moments passed in bizarre silence, Obi-wan weaving through skylanes, blaster never wavering from Cody's forehead. At one point, he slowed in front of an official city surveillance droid, letting the little machine take a good, long look at the bizarre drama unfolding in the front seat of the speeder. Obi-wan then gave the camera a slanted grin and jaunty salute before hitting the accelerator, pulling back on the yoke, sending the speeder plummeting down at least twenty levels. When Cody's stomach had made it back to his abdomen from his throat, he noticed the blaster was gone.

"Did I ever tell you," Obi-wan began conversationally, "about the time I flew a small transport through the corridors of a mining spaceship?"

Cody gawked at the other man. He truly had gone insane.

"It was quite the mission, on Pijal. I must have been, oh, sixteen, seventeen at the time. I swore off flying forever, although Qui-gon never let me actually make good on that promise." Obi-wan shook his head. “Typical.”

The sirens, which had been gaining a dangerous amount of ground on their escape vehicle, were no longer audible, their wails having blurred into the usual, busy hum of Coruscant's normal traffic.

Normal, Cody almost laughed. Wouldn't that be a thing?

They were probably at least five hundred levels down now, maybe even more, the sky long since having disappeared from view, neon lights and the bright ends of spice sticks offering a cheap, counterfeit sun.

Obi-wan swung the speeder into a narrow alley, cutting the engine with a satisfied sigh.

"The thing about that mission, Cody,” he said after a moment, “was that it was my first real experience with the sticky, ambiguous substances that grease the wheels of the Republic. I, of course, acted in accordance with the Jedi, and thus the Republic government, earning myself only the ire of my Master, the betrayal of a monarchy, and nearly costing me my life," Obi-wan chuckled, a dark, cynical sound that set Cody's teeth on edge. What was going on?

Obi-wan hopped out of the speeder, giving a small grin as he shrugged out of his out Jedi tunic. "How times change, I suppose."

Cody didn't move to follow, didn't say a word in response. He sat, staring at this person who was, on the surface, Obi-wan Kenobi, but in no way resembled the man he had come to know. Or, at least, thought he had come to know.

His agitation must have been visible, probably the equivalent of a Gungan marching band in Force, as Obi-wan paused, a dark blue, long-sleeved tunic with a high collar pulled halfway over his head. He stared at Cody for a moment before finishing the movement, smoothing out the material of the unfamiliar garment over his chest.

Obi-wan stepped forward with a small sigh. "And now Cody, I suppose I owe you an explanation."

The half-apology - words that sounded like Obi-wan, even if they came from a man who didn't resemble him at all - pulled Cody from his emotional stupor, fires of disbelief stoking somewhere deep in his chest. In one smooth movement, he hopped out of the speeder, striding to Obi-wan, fists clenched, teeth grit, his face so close to other man's Cody could feel the Jedi's hot exhales on his nose.

Obi-wan regarded him with muted curiosity. "Do you intend on striking me?" he asked.

"I'm really tempted to," Cody grit. "Sir," he added, not quite able to break the habit.

"Then let me offer you a compromise, of sorts. We should be safe here, for the time being, at least long enough for me to provide what I hope is an explanation of today's turn of events. I do not expect you to like it, nor to necessarily agree with it, but certain circumstances have pushed me into a situation where a decision - a monumental decision, I may add - had to be made."

"If, after hearing me out, you wish to strike me, you are most welcome to, as I do believe you have earned that right. You will also be free to leave and return to the 212th at that point. That little stunt with the security camera should serve as more than enough evidence that you were coerced by a renegade Jedi and I am certain you will be welcomed back into the GAR with open arms."

"However," Obi-wan’s expression darkened, the drawled word imbued with an almost sensuous promise. "If, after hearing me out, you find yourself - " he cocked his head back and forth, pretending to be searching for the right language. "Sympathetic to my plight, then I would welcome your expertise, skills, and company."

Cody took a small step back. That...kind of sounded more like the General - the negotiation, the smooth justification. Certainly, Cody hoped Obi-wan had a reason for all of this, that he hadn't completely snapped or worse, gone dark. He didn't seem like Ventress, or Dooku, but Cody didn't know enough about the Sith or the dark side to make any kind of real judgment call.

But even with the promise of finally getting some kind of explanation, there was another question that had been niggling at the back of Cody's mind since this all began, brought forward by Obi-wan's sudden invitation.

"Why me, sir?"

The inquiry apparently took the Jedi by surprise, his eyebrows rising in some odd combination of amusement and approval. "Because, Cody - I trust you. And I hope you will feel the same way after I explain just what has happened in the past few weeks."

#hello there #obi wan kenobi #cody #writing #obi wan on trial au #i have...no idea what i'm doing with this #the cody scene just kind...came to me #what will happen next?#the author has no idea #jesus i'm tired #i have no idea what the quality is on this so apoligies in advance #on top of insomnoa i had a 1.5 hour interview at 7am due to time zone shenanigans and i am ROLLING right now

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neocity-sarai · 4 years

Text

She’s Not You

+ mark lee x reader

+alerts: this is pretty sloppy, i’m sorry. I don’t have much inspo to write rn and this was sitting in my drafts. so here, an angst scene that’s a tad long. dedicated to THE best mark biased buddy ever: @regularhuhhh

+ song rec: hurts so good by astrid s

[8 PM] Everything feels like a blur. The familiar space of your home feels suffocating and the rain that makes the air cold doesn’t make you feel any better. Stumbling to your room, you shove a suitcase out of your shared closet as you dump miscellaneous belongings into it, clothes, money, anything that you might need. You don’t want to stay in the house any longer, let alone see Mark’s face when he comes home. Because, you know when he does, you’ll explode like a ticking time bomb. You pack up Max’s food and some of his toys as well, grabbing his leather leash that hangs by the key rack near the pantry. Max perks up, wagging his tail as he follows you, probably confused as to why you’re packing up his things. Tears brim your eyes, your nose red from it. And just as you’re about to leave, your front door opens to Mark. He holds his vest jacket over his head to shield himself from the rain, hair slightly wet anyway. You freeze where you stand, unsure of what you should say or do. His lips part, “Y/n.. what..?”

You snap out of your trance, hooking Max’s leash onto his collar before pushing past Mark in the doorway. An instant gust of wind hits your face, thunder roaring overhead like a fleet of dragons, black mist clouding the sky. Mark drops his jacket before following you out in the rain, not caring if his clothes get wet. Still, you yank your car door open as you fumble from trying to toss your suitcase into the back seat while you order Max to stay put. Mark grabs your wrist, his eyes clouded with concern, “Y/n- stop! What are you doing? Where are you going?”

You wrench your wrist out of his grip, tears spilling down your face, “Clearly, I’m leaving!”

Mark’s eyes are widened, wild with confusion, “Why?!”

Angry and bitter, you push him away from you, “I know where you’ve been! I can’t believe you’d do this to me!”

“Do what?!”

Incredulously, you scoff, “Are you kidding me? You’re going to play stupid still? I already know!”

Mark carefully treads towards you, “Is this about movie night? That I came home late?”

You glare at him, the rain soaking your hair and your clothes, “You’re unbelievable, Mark! You left me at home while you ran off drinking with your friends without saying anything! I didn’t want to bother you and then you were being distant! If you wanted to be with her, you should’ve told me instead of hiding it!”

Then he realizes it. Mark realizes it. He knows it all, how it looks. The way his friend would touch him, the way she spoke to him and told him she loved him all along. Yet, he had you. She was vulnerable, crying on his shoulder and he thought she needed a friend. She had the wrong idea. He remembers running into Seulgi, what she probably had told you when she saw another girl crying on his shoulder. He doesn’t blame Seulgi, she’s just a friend who’s trying to look out for you. He messed up. He really messed up.

He shakes himself out of it, teeth chattering from how cold it is. He grips you hard but not too hard that it hurts you, “Y/n. Let’s just go and talk inside, alright? I’ll explain everything. This isn’t what it looks like!”

But the problem is, you’re already so hurt. You shake your head violently, choking on your words as the rain comes down hard, “There’s nothing to explain! I’m going! You two can enjoy yourselves!”

You feel Max shake off the water from his fur behind you. Opening the door, he jumps into the back seat and you realize that you’ve forgotten your phone by the stove. Before you can make a beeline for the door, Mark grabs onto your waist, afraid that you’ll leave and never come back. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his grip strong. His voice softens, and you notice how it cracks, “Please. Let’s just talk. Please, don’t do this. Please, y/n.”

You tighten your fist, your nails digging into the skin of your palm. You shout above the thunder, “Give me one good reason!”

Mark’s words come out in stutters, “I- I love you! I don’t tell you enough but I do! I love you so much that it hurts and I can’t stand not having you here next to me!”

You sigh, trying to calm the rage in your heart. You turn around, facing Mark’s figure as he lets his arms fall to his sides. He stands in the rain in front of you, shoulders sagging as tears roll down his own cheeks. He looks up at you, eyes blurry, “Please, don’t go.”

Wide awake through the daylight

Would you hold me like we're running a yellow light?

Reach for you with my hands tied

Are we dancing like we're burning in paradise?

You sigh, your face is only centimeters away. And you have no idea how fast Mark’s heart beats whenever he looks at you. You can’t feel the way you make him feel. Whenever you laugh at his jokes or you run your hands through his hair, or the way you lean against him when he plays his guitar, you don’t know how much he treasures you. And he knows that he doesn’t tell you enough. He doesn’t know if you know how much he truly loves you.

You hold up one finger at him, a single finger up to his eyes, “One night. I’ll stay one night. I’ll be gone in the morning.”

Mark looks like he’s going to be sick. Though, he can’t argue because he doesn’t want you to change your mind and never come back. He couldn’t bear it, not feeling you around him. All he does is nod. You open your car door to let Max out, leading him back into the warm glow of your house. Quietly, without saying a word, you follow Mark to your bedroom. He begins to open his mouth, desperate to explain. But, you realize you’re both soaking and tired, there wouldn’t be a use in explaining and erupting in another fight. You grab a spare change of clothes in your closet before turning back to him where he stands a few feet away, “Let’s just sleep tonight. We can talk tomorrow morning. I’ll go after.”

“Okay.”

By the time Mark gets changed, you pretend like you’re asleep. You roll over on your side in the dark, your hand clutching the blanket that covers your body. Even the bedsheets smell like Mark. It makes you choke back your tears. When Mark comes out of the bathroom, you can feel his eyes on you and you know he’s trying to be careful by the way the bed dips lightly. Mark stares at the back of your head for a few minutes before turning back on his own side.

[3 AM] You can’t sleep. That’s something you’ve always had since you were a child, insomnia wracks your brain like a comb filing through hairs, surging every doubt, thought, and insecurity that forms in your thoughts. You can never sleep. That’s why Mark used to sing to you at night, hum against your skin so that you’d be able to drift off. You sit up, leaning your back on the headboard before gazing at Mark. He’s rolled over, facing you. His hair is soft, obsidian tufts curled in a pile. Even in the dark, Mark has his charms. The way his nose is shaped like small marble and the way his lips are pressed together, tear stains leaving trails down his sharply angled cheeks. You can’t help but feel bad. You can’t help but reach out and hold him. A lock of hair falls on Mark’s eyes, causing him to stir and mumble your name.

Cautiously, you fear it. You fear losing Mark. Still, something in you forces you to move closer to him like a magnet as you move the lock of hair out of his eyes. It scares you when his eyes flash open, black orbs staring right back at you. He’s wide awake, unblinking. You attempt to scoot back, afraid that you’ve been caught like a deer in headlights. Instead, Mark instantly catches your hand in his, molding your palm against his cheek. It’s warm to him. The air is cold, the remnants of the blue rain are cold but your aura is warm and he leans into it as he flutters his eyes shut. His voice sounds weak and raspy, “Please, stay.”

You don’t fight it. You stay as still as you can, searching him for some sort of sign. Mark opens his eyes again, beautiful eyes reflecting the stars that shine outside. It’s stopped raining and the silence is frightening. Mark drags your fingers to his lips, kissing the pads of your fingers and your inner palm, tears blurring his vision. You can’t do it. No matter how hard you try, you can’t. You can’t leave him. So, you hold out your arms for him. He wastes no time launching himself into your chest, his face nuzzling your stomach and your breasts. You’ve rarely seen Mark like this. He cries so hard like a toddler, sobs shaking his frame. You try hard to make out his apologies, his words that choke out.

“Shh.. it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Mark shakes his head, “I'm sorry. I-I’m so sorry.”

You hold him, legs tangled together and you stoke down his hair, occasionally kissing the crown of his head as you reassure him. Finally, when he’s done crying and explaining how everything was a misunderstanding, his eyes are rimmed with red and with worry. He raises his head to you, eyes boring into yours. When you think he’s about to stay something, he pauses. He waits. In his head, it’s almost like an instinct. He wants to show you how much he dreams of you, dreams of how our hand locks with his, and how he writes love songs during meetings because he’s daydreaming about where you are.

He sweeps a hair behind your ear before smashing his lips onto yours. He tastes like salt and mint and rain, his tears wetting your cheeks as you let him kiss you breathless. Your tongues meld together, Mark gripping your waist like he needs you to live. Your chests are heaving while you cup his jaw, Mark beginning to lift his shirt over his head and you know what he’s thinking. He falls back down to you, pressing your body against the mattress as he runs his teeth over the skin of your neck, nibbling slightly. Putting a hand on his toned, naked chest, you stop him, “Wait. I need to say something.”

There’s genuine fear in his eyes. He’s scared of what you’ll say. So, he goes back to kissing your lips, cutting your words off by extinguishing your breath away. He’s sensitive and vulnerable and yet all he wants to do is hold you for eternity. He grips your hand as if you’ll slip away. You squeeze his neck, causing him to stop as you tell him with everything in your soul, “I love you too. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so angry, so upset. I should’ve asked you about it-”

Mark’s eyes shift from a pang of fear to relief, his hand squeezing yours on the bed.

He shakes his head, biting his swollen lip, “I should’ve told you about it. I should’ve asked you what you thought.”

He looks sad, a feeling rising from the pit of his stomach, “I should’ve done more for you. I don’t deserve you. I’m a stupid idiot.”

You drag him next to you, letting his head rest on your chest as your palm rests on his ear, “Stop it, Mark. You’re everything to me. I can’t think straight when I’m with you. When I’m away, you’re in my head. Your jokes make me laugh, your music makes me sleep. I need you.”

Mark tightens his hold on your body, gripping the fabric of your pajama shirt. Taking in your scent, he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, his whisper quieter as the dawn begins to rise, “I love you so much that it scares me sometimes.”

Golden light blinds you, orange rays and blush ribbons consume you and Mark like a blanket of fire. It paints his features, his eyes shut from the intensity. Somehow, the sun feels more comforting than it ever has.

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inkribbon796 · 4 years

Text

In Propria Persona

Summary: Logan’s not usually a revenge-type person, but he feels in the mood for some good old fashioned revenge.

A/N: For Logan’s birthday. The title is Latin for: “in one’s own person” and I felt it was fitting for Logan.

Logan was good at information sorting, he’s not so good at this feelings thing. He could manage finances, take care of the Light Sides’ schedules, run advanced battle simulations, and even perform repair work on Bing and Oliver.

But it seems the one thing he couldn’t do was treat his own insomnia. He needed help for a lot of things, and just talking about his issues with the other Sides wasn’t doing enough. Logan felt less inclined to share the same night terrors, the same fears. Even though he knew talking about them helped, and he knew they were eager to listen.

It was a frustrating rut, and Logan felt like his mind was at war with itself. He eventually decided that he needed outside help. After a couple weeks, Iplier had helped find one for him.

Virgil and Eric had both gone to see her on different occasions and Logan and Dr. Iplier had decided that she might be a good fit for Logan as well, and if not they could look for other options after that.

Her name was Amaya Williams.

Logan’s first appointment wasn’t as helpful as it probably could have been. He left the room feeling like he’d been complaining more than trying to work towards improving his own mental health.

Still, Logan decided he wanted to keep trying and getting to test insomnia medication. In the end he wound up with Virgil’s old insomnia medication which didn’t stop the nightmares so much as keep him from remembering his dreams. But he got sleep, he was at least a little less tired.

It might now be the best fit but it was the first thing that had worked in months.

It took at least three months for Logan to realize he wasn’t just “complaining”. He was avoiding the conversation wholesale. The thought of almost dying at the hands of a cannibal. Logan’s personal figurative boogeyman.

Logan hadn’t realized that much damage had been done to him, and that bothered him more than anything. He was unsure if it was the proximity to his own death, which if not for Janus and Virgil, he would have certainly died a very painful and gruesome death; or if it was the fact he was blinded before Dark had placed him in that room with his cannibal demon child.

Talking about Bim and that night was much harder than Logan thought it would have been. Even saying his name took a lot out of him. It was shocking, and then infuriating. Logan told his therapist as much, that he was angry and frustrated and he should be above this.

Logan was reassured that it was more than a normal reaction, the fear and the frustration. He had been attacked and his brain was reacting the way hundreds of thousands of people reacted to trauma.

While comforting every once in a while it didn’t alleviate the frustration. His first step really was to try and make the treat feel lessened, at least in his mind. Bim was still a danger to everything that breathed around him, he was a cannibal. He — Bim — deserved nothing more than to rot in prison, away from people.

Then braver Logan got about Bim, the more brazen he became. That Dark still had enough of this city dancing to his corrupt beat to keep Wil, and his children out of prison. The police were obviously afraid of Bim. Something about Bim made people afraid of him.

But Logan was angry and he refused to bow to that fear. It had taken hold of him for too long. And Logan knew this was a dangerous undertaking, but it had to be done. If he could put Bim in jail he would sleep easier, he just knew he would. If he could beat him, he surely would have nothing to fear. Bim would be beatable, depowered, and while still a threat he was not worth being afraid of.

His logic was sound.

But as he would learn shortly, also flawed.

From his undercover work, Logan knew a bit about how Bim hunted, what he liked to hunt. He was a serial killer, kidnapping co-eds and transients and then killing and eating them. Dark had no interest in stopping Bim, in fact he fed the monster that he and Wil coddled like a child.

His notes also gave him a pattern, times when Bim would be more likely to feed again, to hunt some unsuspecting soul. After a couple failed attempts to find him, Logan got lucky, and had of course signaled for backup. There were too many variables not to come without Abe or someone else’s assistance.

Bim was walking next to someone about his age. They looked drunk or high out of their mind, and Bim was doing most of the talking.

It was easy for Logan to shoot a bolt to push the person out of Bim’s hands. Bim reacted as any other predator would to another disturbing his prey. He turned and glared at Logan, hissing at him.

“Do I know you?” Bim hissed, a flash of recognition in his glowing eyes that caught the moonlight like a wild creature, reminding Logan that they’d never met while Logan was in his Logan outfit.

“Not in this costume,” Logan told him flatly, a pit forming in his gut at the sight of Bim again. “I am Logic.”

“Right one ‘a their brainiacs, that’s right, you do have the visor,” Bim recognized, then he pointed at the unconscious person on the ground. “You want to apologize to my friend, pretty sure you guys aren’t allowed to shoot people.”

Logic wanted to say something confident and reassuring but for a couple seconds words got caught in his throat. He cleared it and managed to speak.

“Bim William Trimmer, you are under arrest for the deaths of 65 people, a number that grows by the week and is a pale reflection of the death toll you have wrought over your life,” Logan told him, starting to read him his rights.

“Buddy I’m not going back to that cell,” Bim flashed his teeth, they looked sharper than they should be. He was slowly reaching for the unconscious person and another hand going for his black suit jacket. “So go and fuck off and leave me be.”

Then the body suddenly shot away and disappeared, Bim’s pupils dilated when he realized his quarry had been taken from him and almost disappeared into thin air. Bim let out a cry that locked Logan’s legs and muscles in a distant memory, the half human gripped his lapel in reflex and suddenly a portal opened up behind Bim and gore hand that buzzed with Dark’s red and blue aura appeared and quickly yanked Bim through the portal, protectively encasing him in his aura as Bim screamed in rage and tried to break through.

It took a second or two but Bim was gone and Logan didn’t realize he was shaking until a hand came towards his arm and Logan jumped when he saw it coming towards him before he realized who it was.

Roman had his hand a couple inches from Logan, and pulled a bit further away when he saw his boyfriend jump. His mouth was moving and Logan realized he was talking but it took a second to realize it was his name.

“Logic?” Roman’s voice finally sounded in his ear. “Hey, pocket protector, it’s us, you’re safe now.”

“R— Princey?” Logan recognized.

“Yeah,” Roman smiled, looking relieved.

“You okay?” Silver asked, Crank suddenly appeared out of thin air beside him, Silver was carrying the currently unconscious almost-victim.

Logan nodded, “I may have overestimated my ability to fight him. He is more inhuman than he appears.”

“Yah think?” Roman reminded, touching his forehead to Logan’s. “I applaud bravery, but if he had grievously injured you I don’t think I could handle the shock.”

“I would like to go home,” Logan decided, “and rethink my next approach.”

“And how about you leave the overdramatics to me, my dear,” Roman asked him, smiling.

Logan nodded, but promising that next time, he would best him. He didn’t know when but he’d make it his life’s mission to not let Bim kill another soul again.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Thomas Sanders #Markiplier #Crankgameplays #Logan Sanders #Bim Trimmer #Silver Shepherd #Roman Sanders #Logince #off-screen cannibalism #cannibalism #Logan has PTSD #Logan gets therapy #Logan has a bad idea

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morgandria · 4 years

Text

Moon Musings

I am on day #!^* of One Of -Those- Migraines (thanks, March), so while I’m sitting here trying not to be miserable, you’re getting some moon stuff. I have a pile of random thoughts that are trying to coalesce themselves into a coherent lunar-focused project in the future, so the moon has been on my mind. In many ways, I miss the moon. I live on a street corner in town where two separate lights shine directly on my yard, and since they installed new LED lights there's no such thing as darkness at night. Even my backyard, which would be in the shadow of the house normally, is lit since the LEDs spill farther and brighter now, and my neighbours keep their back porch light on all the time. We won't even talk about the fact that out of the last 16 months, I think we had full cloud cover for about 14 of them. That's the reality.

So this is more of the woo side. This is UPG, 100%. I often don’t use traditional names for the different Full Moons - some of them don’t resonate, so I do what works for me. Secondly, my personal lunar lore behind the names I do use is all mashed up with a whole lot of synesthesia, and some personal experiences. So...if any of this works for you or entertains you, cool. If not? No worries. Do your thing, and I’ll do mine. I also live in Ontario, and always have, so my experiences and practices are absolutely rooted here. Weather patterns and seasons won't work the same elsewhere, so you need to work with what you've got.

January: Wolf Moon

I do use a traditional name for this moon, but only because I used to go howling with the wolves in the back 40 when I was a teenager. I used to be able to take long white walks in the fields when they were all lit up, and were fortunate to have some lupine neighbours. I love the sharpness of the night sky, and finding moments of silence and stillness. More practically these days I bundle up at home away from the ice and the cold and enjoy a good cup of tea when I can. The vibration of this moon's energy always seems to bring me insomnia, though. The colours I associate with January’s moon are white, silver, red, and a deep amethyst. Other things, more randomly: birch trees, the sound of cracking ice, the hissing of river reeds in the wind.

February: Storm Moon

There’s a tempestuous feel to February’s moon for me. It’s usually the month we get intensely cold. January is often a icy, thaw/freeze mess, but February always feels like the time when Winter decides it’s time to really throw its’ weight around with some serious storms. The feel of this moon’s energy is sinuous for me, sliding around and into everything, but also fierce. There’s something profoundly cleansing about letting a sharp winter wind pierce through to your bones and strip away all the gunk cluttering up your energy. My colours for this moon are grey and deep blues, like Prussian blue or steel blue. Other things: labradorite, blue tiger’s eye, and the smell of wintergreen,

March: Crow Moon

This is the moon when my crows come back to my neighbourhood. They usually move out around the start of December, and I start to see and hear them again around the start of March. Nothing about March in Ontario is spring-like: it’s either a solid mass of ice coating everything, or faded grey-brown and thick with mud. Ugh. I actually used to camp on March break as a teenager, but inevitably it ended up with a dozen frozen teenagers in a friend's kitchen having an impromptu Sunday breakfast while I woke up and wondered where everyone'd gone. (Stir-crazy kids in the sticks with nothing to do for a week do silly things.) Nowadays, I’d rather look up at the skies than down at the earth during this moon, and I choose to focus on my corvid friends because they make me happy. Crow Moon is somehow all aquas and peacock blues in colour, and mare’s tails in impossible blue skies, and the world smells once again of fresh, clean Earth, when the ice lets it through.

April: Seed Moon

Maybe the moon where (people who are better gardeners than me) start to get their seeds in the ground. I live in a snow belt, so I don't trust myself to plant anything until May. It's still not super warm, or even remotely dry, but there starts to be hints of things like warmer sun and breezes around the edges. Later in the month you get those days where pollen and snow can fly at the same time. There's no leaves yet, but you can see the buds getting fatter. I think of it as a "restful" time during the year, before summer gets really busy with family and friends. If we're having a good Spring I might get a day or two where I can actually get outside and tidy the yard some. I associate Seed Moon with the colours of soft buttery yellow and pale peridot green, which starts to invade around the rust-brown-green background. It's a citrine month, and also one where those little blue flowers come up in people's lawns.

May: Hare Moon

We don't have hares here. I wish we did - I used to see snowshoe hares in the country when I was wee - but I have rabbits, at least. And yet, this is not "Rabbit Moon". A hare is a different beast from a rabbit entirely. They have a fierce wildness that our Eastern Cottontails do not. And for me, the moon of May, the month of Beltane and the nuptials of the Lord and Lady, have a fierce, wild joy as the world finally explodes with warmth and light and leaves and flowers. I don't ever really trust winter is gone until mid-May. Hare Moon is emerald and violet and velvet, the shadow of leaves and sweet intoxicating aromas. There's something tactile about it - you want to run your hands through it, let it brush past you and run its' fingers through your hair.

June: Mead Moon

I sometimes also call this the Honey Moon. It is the sweetest time of the summer for me, before it's mind-meltingly hot. You get those gorgeous days that are still draped in gentle grey veils of rain on the growing, swaying green fields, and the flowers are growing tall and tangled - honeysuckle, clover, alfalfa and St. John's Wort. There are bees -everywhere-, and the very first of the summer fruits are coming ripe and I spend eight months of the year absolutely dying for the four when we get local, seasonal fruit. It's an idyll, before I'm completely sunbaked and dried out in the heat. Mead Moon is all sky blue and honey gold, saffron and ultramarine. It's warm sand and cold lakes, the smell of hay drying in the fields, and long drives down country roads to escape the concrete of town.

July: Satyr Moon

This month's moon is probably the time when folks in these parts get up to the most outdoor activity. I associate it most with a kind of revelry and hedonism - hence the 'satyr'. We get people taking their vacations, heading to the cottage, the campsite, and having their reunions and parties. Concerts, fairs, festivals...we have a lot to cram into a short time. The lilies in my yard finally have bloomed their brilliant orange, by the start of the month, and July is one long stretch of pure jewel-like greens, under bleached blue skies. This is the other month, like April, where everything feels like it's just poised, waiting to explode with the brisk business of harvest. For me, this moon is natural life in its' prime, and despite my dislike of intense heat and humidity I try to remind myself to enjoy it where and how I can. Satyr Moon is an endless mosaic of greens, a heady musky smell of wood and water, cedar and leaf, shadows and firelight dancing, and distant music everywhere.

August: Barley Moon

This moon is the first harvest moon, here, when the wheat is finally harvested and all that dust in the air makes it ripe and golden and warm. Haying season will sometimes give the moon a bit of a gold tint earlier on, but not those deep amber rises I adore in August. I am an August Virgo, and I adore the Barley Moon - I mean, I quite literally worship wheat. All the first fruits of harvest are peaking, there's SO much goodness in the fields, and yet I can feel summer slowing down, and gradually waning to a bronze-green glowing that I absolutely adore. The nature of daylight changes, subtly, and I try to catch onto every sunset and fix it into my brain, to save it for those white winter days when we haven't seen even the notion of sun for weeks. When we slide from the scorch of the dog days into long, gloaming evenings and cooler nights and the hints of colour on the leaves at the end of the month - heaven. Barley Moon is wheaten and speckled browns, endless golds, blackberry and peach, the smell of dry grass and fresh corn. It's countless toasted tomato sandwiches, far too much zucchini, and penetrating spears of bronze light through the trees as the sun slides away to let the fat amber moon rise up.

September: Harvest Moon

There's no stopping harvest. This moon is when -everything- comes down, and you have no choice but to get your ass moving. You try to get as much of it off the vine while it's best. I get very hobbity when Harvest comes, and I want to be living a simple life. I start to miss home, and rural life, and my family, a lot. It feels different than my youth, and it's...wrong now, somehow. These days it's more like Second July - it rarely cools off below 20°C., it's often stupidly humid, and can be much, much warmer. Our changing climate makes it feel like a month of dragging what I dislike most about Summer out, and it just feels unnatural. Add into that everyone still running around trying to pretend like Summer isn't ending, and I do not like it much for that reason. September always ends up cluttered and rushed, just too much going on in our lives for various reasons. I wish I appreciated it more, but I don't. But there are moments: the deepening indigo of September twilights, the movement of the birds (both those ready to move on and those snatching up all the food they can before the cold comes), the exuberance of goldenrod and Queen Anne's lace and asters. Harvest Moon is indigo and wine-red, the sweetness of a frost-touched grape, the musk of a yeast-laden apple's skin, and the first cries of the migrating geese.

October: Hunter's Moon

Hunter's Moon has two sides. From the start of October, until Thanksgiving, is gorgeous, brilliant leaves and bright crisp skies. It's deep blue waters reflecting streaks of smoke and high cloud. Any time after that, it can snow. It certainly will get wet and windy, at the very least. And then everything is grey, torrents of wine-dark leaves all with that sugar-sweet rot as they lie where they fall intertwined with the smell of the cold and everyone's woodstoves firing up. I cannot tell you how much this season refills my spirit. It's always been a hunter's moon for me. Various hunting seasons start (turkey, duck, deer, then into moose later in the fall), and I have many fond memories of delicious game meat meals with family well into the spring. It was a vital part of life, and always done with respect and thanks. Hunter's Moon is grey on grey, the edges of smokey obsidian and crimson-carnelian-red. It is antler and bone and slow-burning hardwood, the hissing of the corn stalks drying in the darkening fields.

November: Snow Moon

You'll see Snow Moons all over the winter calender, depending on where you live. For me, winter starts at Samhain, and it is inevitable that we have snow here very close to that date (whether before or after). It was true living on the Rideau, and it's still true over here in the Central Ontario snowbelts off Georgian Bay. November's is another two-sided moon: there's the gold, and the grey, The gold is of a clear day's sun through the last of the golden maple leaves clinging to the branches is clarion, of wetland reeds and cow corn still standing in the now-frosty fields. The grey comes softer than October, creeping softly across lawns and windows and the brown leaves curling on the ground, and as drifting veils of snow blowing in to cover the land in its' first lingering solid coats of white. I love the world's withdrawal into silence - I too, withdraw into myself and listen to inner voices. Snow Moon is white and silver (but also pearl grey and ash and brown) and the nights are long, powdery indigo, mounted by silent owl wings, iolite eyes set in silver frames.

December: Oak Moon

This last moon is curious for me, in that I do not know precisely why I continue to use this name. I like it - it has many associations for me in my Craft - but I guess I haven't thought much about it. Many oak trees do keep some or all of their rich tannin-brown leathery leaves through winter, though, and I do enjoy their song (along with the remnants of the leaves on our ash trees) in the wind... but that's not it. Neither is the whole Oak King/Holly King construct, which I don't really engage with. I have a strong connection with a particular energy, that of an aged, Green Man sage-type spirit that comes with this moon, so perhaps that's part of it as well. I suspect it will always be a bit of a Mystery, which I'm ok with. December's night skies seem curiously leeched of their blue hues, as the nights grow longer, a velvety black glittering blanket. Oak Moon comes dressed in the deep, rich colours of the Earth element - glossy evergreens, rich brown, deepest black, and is redolent of pine and cedar, and the flash of cardinals and blue jays at the bird feeder.

I don't know if any of that is useful, entertaining, or even intelligible. I hope at the very least, it prompts you to think about how you interact with the moons of the year, and the seasons, and how you perceive the world around you.

#lunar calendar #full moons #UPG #witchcraft #musings #personal #seasons #Ontario #i miss living in the country

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theyearoftheking · 4 years

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Book Thirty-Nine: The Green Mile

Hoooooly crap, y’all! This is the halfway point of this project: I’ve read thirty-nine books, and I have approximately thirty-nine more to go (depending what Steve releases before the end of the year). And honestly? If it wasn’t for COVID, and quarantine, and lots of time traveling (pre-COVID, of course); I wouldn’t have reached the halfway point. This probably would have turned into a two year project. But here we are, diving into The Green Mile!

Of all the Steve books, I dreaded re-reading The Green Mile the most. I had originally read it when it was first published, and it came out in chapters every few weeks. I’d breathlessly tear through a chapter, only to have to wait for the next one to be released. It was a pretty fun format, and I really wish I still had my original chapters. Oh well.

But this time around, I didn’t think I was in the right head-space to read it, and the world sure as hell isn’t in the right head-space. The Green Mile was published in 1996, and takes place in 1932. It could very well have been set in our current climate. Just a few quotes for you...

“He got (his sentence) commuted mostly because he was white...”

“I think we have to be humane and generous to solve the race problem. But we have to remember that your negro will bite if he gets the chance, just like a mongrel dog will bite if he gets the chance and it crosses his mind to do so.”

“John Coffey is a Negro, and in Trapingus County we’re awful particular about giving new trials to Negros...”

NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED SINCE 1932!! We are still hearing these same sentiments from people claiming, “I’m not a racist, but...” Our judicial system is still biased against POC, and the rate of incarceration for POC compared to whites is staggering.

NOTHING HAS FUCKING CHANGED. And that’s the part that makes me the most sad. So, yeah, I wasn’t looking forward to cracking The Green Mile in our current climate.

Few Steve books have touched me the way this one did. A fellow Constant Reader pointed out, “This is one of the only stories where he showcases the forces of good. We usually get ghosts and demons, but John Coffey may be the closest thing he has ever wrote of an angel...” Hot damn, Sam Beall, you’re not wrong.

But in addition to forces of good, we’ve also got Percy Wetmore; who I feel is the nastiest Steve villain ever... he makes Randall Flagg and The Crimson King look like dudes who drink matcha lattes at a cat cafe, and compare notes on their polarized sunglasses. Percy Wetmore immediately activates my, “must kick hard in the junk” reflex. He. Is. The. Worst.

The Green Mile is told from the POV of Paul Edgecombe; a prison guard on “the green mile;” which is where convicted killers awaiting the death penalty are housed. “The green mile” refers to the long hallway inmates have to walk down to get to the electric chair.

The story kicks off when John Coffey (like the drink but spelled different) is accused and found guilty of brutally raping and murdering two little blonde twin girls. He’s found on a riverbank, clutching their bodies, and crying, “I couldn’t help it, I tried to take it back, but it was too late...”

So, Coffey makes his way onto The Mile, and shares space with Eduard Delacroix and his pet mouse Mr. Jingles; and William Wharton (Billy the Kid, or Wild Billy, depending on the day). Delacroix is French southern gentleman found guilty of murder, and then arson to hide the murder scene. He’s a bad guy... don’t get me wrong... but there’s something intensely likable about him. Maybe it’s the pet mouse he’s trained, maybe it’s his meek nature that Percy (another prison guard) takes advantage of... I don’t know. But you grow to like him, and the relationship he has with Mr. Jingles. Mr. Jingles randomly showed up one day, and the guards (except Percy) were all taken with him. After Percy attempts to smash him with a club, he takes to Delacroix and whispers in his ear that his name is Mr. Jingles.

William Wharton is another story. He’s a wild card, who upon his arrival, promptly tries to strangle a prison guard. He also spits masticated Moon Pie at another guard. Sooo, he’s a lot of fun.

The three of them live on the wing, and the first up for execution is Delacroix. Percy has a particular hatred of him, he claims he tried to grab his junk once. It didn’t happen... Del just got yanked along when he was in handcuffs and fell in Percy’s lap. The day before his execution, Percy thinks it might be fun to kill Mr. Jingles. Like I said... total fucking asshole. He stomps on him, and Del loses it. Mr. Jingles is the only thing he loves in the whole world... and maybe the only thing that loves him back.

Thinking quickly, Coffey asks for Mr. Jingles little mousy body. Speaking of junk grabbing, he grabbed Paul and cured the UTI he had brewing for weeks. So, Paul is hopeful Coffey can use his miraculous healing abilities to do it again. And he does! Mr. Jingles lives!

But Percy’s not done being a scab on the balls of society. The night of Del’s execution, he tells him Mr. Jingles isn’t going to Mouseville like Paul promised he was (total lie- like telling kids a dog is going to live on a farm). And then, Percy doesn’t wet the sponge before placing it on Del’s head prior to his execution, so it’s horrible, painful and just horrible. So, Del is dead, Percy plays the, “I don’t know what happened!” card, and Mr. Jingles is gone. My heart. Of all the scenes in the book, I was dreading this one the most.

Meanwhile, the prison warden, Hal Moores is struggling with the fact his wife Melinda has a massive brain tumor, and it’s starting to change her personality. He doesn’t know what to do. Paul thinks they should pack Coffey up, and take him out to the Moores’s house and have him heal Melinda.

It’s a crazy idea, but it ends up working. The other prison guards drug Billy; and put Percy in a straitjacket and throw him in the supply closet so he doesn’t notice anything is amiss. They tell him it’s payback for how Del’s death went down. So, they race out to see Hal and Melinda, and Coffey does his thing. They race back to the prison, and no one notices they’ve been gone. However, Coffey is in a bad way. This was much more healing than he’s used to doing, and he’s mentally and physically exhausted.

After they release Percy from the supply closet, Coffey grabs him and “kisses” him: which transfers the sick energy he got from Melinda into Percy. Percy then turns around, and shoots Wild Billy/Billy the Kid dead; and then becomes catatonic.

He’s then carted off to the psych ward, which is too good for him. Fiery pits of hell would have been better.

But wait!

Plot twist! Billy the Kid had briefly touched Coffey, and Coffey learned HE was the one who had killed the two little girls. Paul puts this together as well, and tries to fight for Coffey’s release. He realizes Coffey’s words, “I couldn’t help it, I tried to take it back, but it was too late...” were about his inability to heal the girls, not his guilt.

When I had read the revelation the first time, I flew through the end, hoping and praying justice would be served, and Coffey wouldn’t be executed. Bad things didn’t happen to good people like John Coffey, right? Oh, how naive. There were A LOT of tears.

But Coffey is at peace with his upcoming execution. He tells Paul, “I’m rightly tired of the pain I hear and feel, boss. I’m tired of bein on the road, lonely as a robin in the rain. Not ever havin no buddy to go on with or tell me where we’s comin from or goin to or why. I’m tired of people bein ugly to each other. It feels like pieces of glass in my head. I’m tired of all the times I’ve wanted to help and couldn’t. I’m tired of bein in the dark. Mostly it’s the pain. There’s too much...”

That right there makes me cry every damn time I read it.

So, Coffey is executed, and life continues on; as it always seems to do. Paul is actually writing this story in his old age, at the Georgia Pines nursing home. There’s an orderly there who’s just as evil as Percy, and he keeps trying to follow Paul on his daily walks outside. Where’s Paul going???

TO SEE MR. JINGLES!!!

Yes! He’s still alive! It seems when Coffey healed people, it added onto their life expectancy. Mr. Jingles was still alive, and Paul was one hundred and four years old. But he knew his time was coming. He reflects on the loss of his beautiful wife, the people he knew on the Green Mile, the guards he worked with, and that mile seems LONG.

Such a sad, beautiful end to an incredible work. This is another one I recommend to people who tell me they don’t like Stephen King. Try it... you’ll like it... when your heart is done breaking that is...

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 27

Total Dark Tower References: 38

Book Grade: A+

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Needful Things: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

The Tommyknockers: D-

Next is Desperation, which I know nothing about, other than it’s a real chonk of a book.

Do me a favor, please? Stop being ugly to each other. Stop hurting gentle people like John Coffey. Please and thank you.

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

#the green mile #stephen king #constant readers

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iamalivenow · 5 years

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“I'm not leaving.” Grizzop hisses before dumping his pack onto the floor of Wilde's room. “Don't even try.”

Wilde raises his hands up- tries too at least, but the cuffs clatter together and make so much noise. His head still hurts, even if it's less draining and more pounding now. Just a consistent thrum greatly exasperated by clanking metal.

“Wouldn't-” Grizzop's breast plate clatters on the tiles. He hasn't been given a bedroom so much as a cot in his office. No carpet to dull the noise and Gods does Grizzop make a lot of noise. “Wouldn't dream of it.” Grizzop sneers, but Wilde doesn't think he's actually irritated- there's usually more groaning. Maybe he's reserving himself, being polite for once, while Wilde is convalescing. “You don't have to babysit me.”

“I think I do.” Grizzop hops up a bit, tugging off one boot. “Remember when you said 'Wilde's fine, stop asking' and then I found you with your brain blown up, because I do.” The other one falls down and settles near the other. “Because it was yesterday.”

“I was there.” Another sound of thinly veiled irritation. “Why aren't you running off to Rome?”

“Because the people you sent me after are so grossly incompetent they almost make you look decent.” Wilde shuffles out of the way, just enough to let Grizzop get against his desk and shove. For such a tiny thing he really was a bit of a monster, all lean muscle and unbridled rage. The desk shrieks its way across the floor, undoubtedly leaving scratches, and certainly making Wilde's headache worse.

The cot is still folded up, the way it has been since the office officials gave it to him almost a week ago. Last night was spent curled up on a cleric's gurney, utterly blissful until Grizzop shook him awake and fed him in the morning.

“That bad?”

Grizzop ignores him, worrying himself with the cot. It's almost his height folded and his arms really aren't that long but the second Wilde makes a move to try and help Grizzop turns around and pushes Wilde into a chair.

Right, cleric of Dionysus this isn't. Probably for the better, Grizzop is much more likely to grant results.

“Your beside manner leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Paladin.” He says as if that's enough, just as the bed finally springs to full length. “Right, clothes off.”

“Forward-”

Grizzop stares at him and Wilde jangles his cuffs. His behavior is totally justified, clearly.

“Have your fingers fallen off in the last ten hours? No? Then stop making me do all of the work for you.”

Wilde wants to point out that he, firstly, didn't ask for Grizzop to nurse him back to health, and that he, secondly, has yet to make Grizzop do anything Grizzop did not already want to do.

“Right.”

“I'm going to get more blankets, you change into whatever it is you sleep in.” And Grizzop zips out of the room, shoes and armor off but bow and quiver still in hand. At least, Wilde thought he did, but then Grizzop is sticking his head through the door. “And if it's in the nude, I will save all of those assassins wizards the trouble.”

“First you tell me to get naked, then you get mad at me for being naked, you really have got to make up your mind.”

“I've made up my mind.” And then an arrow seats itself a few inches from Wilde's head, dug into the wall. “Stop fucking around.”

“Haven't started yet-” Another arrow on the other side of his head now.

“Next one's going between your legs.”

Grizzop waits-

“Fair.”

-and bolts off again, full sprint down an office corridor. Where does he hide all of that energy-

Wilde manages with his clothes as best he can- shrugging of his coat is impossible but he can at least unbutton most things and pull his trousers off. Did he bring a change of clothes with him- probably not. He earnestly can't remember. Why bother when he can just magic himself pristine again?

The key to his cuffs was on the desk but what if the spell becomes something even more insidious in the few seconds he's free of his bindings? Best to wait for anyone else.

A pile of fabric walks into the room, followed by Grizzop, who already looks cross, presumably from whoever he stole the blankets from in the first place.

“Well?”

“I wanted to be safe, in case it went worse.”

“They've been casting insomnia for weeks-”

“Months.”

“Huh.” That gets him to stop, and Grizzop appraises him, almost as if he's impressed. Then he dumps the blankets, as if nothing's happened, onto the cot, making it slightly more inciting. But only slightly. “Casting insomnia on you for months only to change it up to- what?”

“There are a lot of spells that could make me do a lot of bad things.”

“Worse than not sleeping for months.”

“Worse immediately.” Grizzop sighs, mutters something under his breath in- is that Dutch? -and helps Wilde along.

“Could cut you out of it.”

“If you want to postpone your Rome trip to buy me a new outfit, far be it for me to try and stop you.” A frustrated sigh, but he does uncuff him, bow in one hand, held tightly, as Wilde shrugs off his suit jacket and button down shirt.

The goblin taps his foot, even if the entire thing takes him less than a minute to do.

“Lay down.” He does- it's not bad. It's better than the gurney, if nothing else, if simply because it's warmer. “Hands.”

“As you like.” The manacles slap back on. “Where are you planning on sleeping, if you're spending the night?” Grizzop points at the desk at around the same time he pushes a filing cabinet in front of the door. “What kind of host would I be if I just let you-”

“The kind of host who made his guest undress him.” There's only one window in the room and that's blockaded too- but not before sending a sea of paperwork onto the floor. “And believe me, my expectations of you are already on the ground.”

“But you were worried enough to check on me. And it wasn't because you like me, as we've established,” Another noise- he really does make the most fascinating sounds sometimes, “so you must thing I'm at least useful.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Grizzop climbs onto the table and curls himself in the remaining blanket. “You're alright when you're not actively trying to irritate me.”

“Is that what you think I'm doing?”

“If you've been flirting-” Grizzop twists around until Wilde has no choice but to stare into his massive red eyes. “I weep for your prospects.”

“I've not been flirting.”

“Artemis blesses me every day.” Grizzop flings something at the light switch, an ink pot or a paper weight, and then it's dark in the room. “Listen, Wilde, alright, yeah? We're all worried about you. I think Sasha might genuinely like you.” They must have shared stories about the puns. Good for her. “I'm glad you're resting.”

“So you do like me?” Wilde's grinning, can't help himself, and Grizzop sighs, curled into a tight little ball.

“I like you enough to sleep on a desk for you.”

“When are we getting married?” He gets a pen flung in his direction. “I want a summer wedding.”

“Summer's rubbish.” He stretches a little bit, legs kicking out for a brief second, Wilde tries to get comfortable himself, as comfortable as he can be considering. “We'll get married in May and you'll like it.”

“That's practically Summer.”

“Artemis likes May.”

“Am I meant to convert as well then? We have quite clashing aesthetics.”

“Is that the only deal breaker? No flashy suits?”

“Couldn't begin to think of any others.”

“Well, if you can get out of them faster, you can keep some.”

“Are you actually considering it now that you're starting to negotiate?”

“I actually consider everything I say. I'm not going to live forever, if you want to wed a Goblin, who am I to stop you.” And Wilde laughs because that's just such a Grizzop thing to say, isn't it.

"What are Artemis' colors? Silver and slate?"

“Silver and green. Go to bed.” It's an order but it's lost all of the bite he's had before.

“Is the marriage off the table then?”

“I'll let you know when I get back from Rome.”

“Good luck on that, by the way.”

“Yeah.” Grizzop turns over, facing away from Wilde, ears flat against his head. “Fingers crossed.”

#rusty quill gaming #rqg #writing #full fic

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