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marvelwritings · 3 years

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A piece of me has disappeared

Summary: By day three, the first doubts set in. He’s convinced Tony is still out looking for him, but putting in the effort doesn’t always guarantee results. These people that abducted him are clever, and they know about his spider abilities.

or: Peter get's abducted and Tony goes to rescue his son

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet. Morgan is in her bed and there’s no doubt that tomorrow at seven am she’ll be up and at ‘em to wake Peter up. Tony and Pepper are across the room of his, their frantic work attitudes finally put to the sleep they so desperately need. Peter is blinking up at his roof in his bedroom, feeling fine, good even, peaceful and sated and most importantly, safe.

Everyone’s sleeping, their breaths loud in the evening quiet and …. The repeats stops working once Peter’s stomach gnaws again, the hunger he’s so gravely experiencing has switched to a whole new level. No longer the petty grumbles of an empty stomach, instead it’s replaced by the need to eat anything, despite Peter’s rationality telling him he can’t. He’s been locked up for at least seven days, but he’s still to sceptic to eat anything his captors offer him. He’s very close to breaking.

He tries to hold on by imagining that he’s at home, but he’s so tired, yet so fitful he won’t close his eyes for more then 10 seconds, and the constant torture is so jarring it hurts worse to imagine home, then be woken up in reality, than to just to be present. Peter wonders if Tony is every going to find him.

The first day, he had no question about it. Tony is scarily determined and protective to anyone who dares come after the people he considers family, Peter got a first row demonstration when some journalist tried to bad mouth Spiderman and he got clocked in the jaw, so Peter knows it’s just a matter of time.

By day three, the first doubts set in. He’s convinced Tony is still out looking for him, but putting in the effort doesn’t always guarantee results. These people that abducted him are clever, and they know about his spider abilities. So much so that they keep him sedated at all times, just enough sedative to keep him conscious, but not too little that he can tap in his superstrength. Peter will never be able to escape on his own.

Maybe if the avengers got called in they were close, but Peter’s not sure Tony would call in people he hasn’t spoken to in a few months, purely to find him. He can hold out hope though.

The third day is also the day his captures, he hasn’t seen any faces so far and the sedative contorts their voices too much to match them to somebody he knows, start with the emotional manipulation. So far, they had stuck to electrocution by tazers and punches applied to any sensitive area of his body, but Peter must not have been broken fast enough for them.

‘You know, you remind me of the stereotypical bad guys in movies, like in kids movies? Do you like kid movies? My favorite is Frozen’, Peter had once babbled in between punches through bitten teeth, trying to keep up his high spirits.

They didn’t like that one bit.

They claim all sort of ridiculous things, like that the Starks paid money for them to have kidnapped him, that Tony never started searching for him, that he might as well give up because no one was coming to fetch him. Peter laughs in their face, witty even in the face of extreme danger. It was still funny to him then. Now, on the evening of the seventh day, he stares unblinking at a wall, only moving when the physical pain becomes too much and he needs an outlet to scream.

‘Please’, he pleads sobbing. If he wasn’t so starved as he was, so mentally vulnerable, he would have been embarrassed. As it stands, Peter’s just so incapable of resisting, he simply gives in.

‘Please stop,’ Peter whimpers. If he had anything to give he’d bargain, but money is tight for May and him, and he has no knowledge of anything avengers related that could be of interest to these people. Mister Stark told him it was for his own safety, so it wouldn’t be used as leverage against him, but in Peter’s warped mind it further adds proof Tony never trusted him.

‘Ahn’, a captor coos, ‘he’s begging already, how cute.’ The voice is distinctly that of a woman’s, but it hold nothing of the warm timbre both aunt May and Pepper possess. He misses them.

The woman slides a hand up in Peter’s hair, and for one confusing moment Peter thinks she’s going to start stroking it, like Tony does, but then she balls her hands into fists and pulls his head aside. The next tazer gets placed in his neck.

‘This wouldn’t be happening if your so beloved mentor would just give up the plans for the new shield initiative, but alas, as long as he doesn’t you’ll be stuck here. The tazzer buzzes to life and Peter seizes up. It’s the so many’th time today, that Peter gives up on holding back, his scream ricochets in the room.

‘Then again, maybe we went after the wrong kid. Maybe we should have taken Tony Starks real kid? The one he actually cares about?’

Tears stumbles down his cheeks and he wishes he could fall back into unconsciousness, but of course life is not that kind. No, he begs inside his head, to warm out to speak. Not Morgan, never Morgan. He’d die before he’d let anything happen to her.

‘What do you think soldier,’ she addresses the second captor in the room, ‘perhaps a phone call would speed Stark along? A sign of life and how close to it being snuffed out the child is? What do you want Peter?’ She asks sickly sweet, as if it’s a regular question and not a taunt.

Still, Peter can’t help but reach out. He longs for one phone call so wholeheartedly. Maybe, maybe he can convince Mister Stark to get him out of this mess. He could promise to do every task Mister Stark ask of him, he could even offer to work for Stark industries until he could pay back the money he’d pay Peter’s kidnappers, anything to get out of here. Peter will do anything.

‘I think he’s agreeing.’ The woman grins, pulling out a burner phone out of her back pocket. She types for several excruciating moments, in which Peter begs to every god listening that Mister Stark will pick up. That he’ll hear Peter out.

‘Hello,’ the woman greets the phone, her smirk so evil Peter’s spider senses warm him to run, fighting through the drugs. ‘I think I have something that belongs to you Stark.’

She lowers the phone to a few inches from Peter’s ear, because Peter is too tied up to hold it on his own. ‘Speak loudly kid.’

The use of the nickname causes shudders to run down Peter’s back. Why can’t he go home?

‘Mister Stark, please help me, I don’t know where I am, but- I want to go home, please mister Stark I-. I’ll do anything you want, just please.’ Peter’s whines gain pitch, until he is nothing but a sobbing mess, barely worth the name Peter Parker, let alone Spiderman.

The phone clicks shut.

‘Whoops, looks like he hung up’, The woman snickers, patting Peter’s cheek with fake compassion. Peter bellows, heaving so severely the nonexistent food he ate threatens to come back up.

He’d never find out the phone was never connected in the first place.

---

By the grace of Peter doesn’t know what, he drops unconscious after the failed phone call to Mister Stark. The sleep is fitful at best, but at least it helps restock his powers. When Peter comes too, there are loud sounds just outside of the room he’s captivated in. He thinks there’s screaming and pleading, but he’s so exhausted he can’t bring himself to care. His hands drop uselessly by his side, his head turned away from the door as he squeezes his eyes shuts.

Why can’t this be over yet?

The door busts of his hinges, the door falls inwards. Immediately, the yellow and red armor, belonging to the iron man suit, rushes in, with the faceplate down. Now that the door is open, or gone more like, It’s clear that all the sounds Peter had been hearing where the scream of his captures. There are many of them, but they’re being taken down one by one.

Peeking aside the Iron man armor, Peter sees a flash of red and blue, and captain America’s shield knocking someone out cold.

‘Kid, kid’, Mister Stark draws his attention in a panic. The faceplate is still down, which means that Mister Stark is either not here, like he wasn’t when the vulture first dropped him into a lake, or he’s assessed the situation and deemed it too dangerous to lower his defenses.

‘You’re okay underoos, we’re getting you out of here.’ With very little effort, Mister Stark snaps restraints on Peter’s wrist and ancles, all the while murmuring under his breath. He’s trying to reassure Peter, but it’s not having any type of effect.

Instead, the comfort causes Peter to burst into tears once more, his body begging for food and pain medication that will make everything stop hurting. He doesn’t care that Mister Stark is doing this out of rightfulness, or maybe out of debt out of some kind that he’s trying to even out, Peter just wants to go home.

Once the restraints are all loose, and Peter is free of them, Mister Stark waits for a tense second, maybe expecting Peter to hob off the table and join the fight or something. That doesn’t happen. Peter lays motionless on the table, looking intensely at the glowing eyes of the iron man suit, maybe trying to convey a message that Mister Stark can’t decipher.

‘Come on Pete, we have to get out of here before they bring backup. I can only hold them off for so long.’

‘Back up?’ Peter ask nonsensical, his spider senses blaring danger at him.

‘Yeah, they’re big fans of the avengers, they’ll all be swarming in here for autographs soon, but we’re kinda busy so we really have to go now.’ Mister Stark turns frantic, his hands carefully, oh so cautiously, gripping at his shoulders.

Peter allows his muscles to turn limp, pliant under strange hands. They belong to his mentor, to one of the only touches he has ever felt that don’t originate from people who are trying to hurt him, but he’s so very terrified, it doesn’t register. Peter holds still, submissive to whatever is about to happen because the pain always seems to end faster when he doesn’t struggle.

‘Peter’, Mister Stark anguished voice insists, his faceplates lifts up, and the dull eyes of who Peter has come to think of as a father gaze upon him with despair. Mister Starks hair is greasy, his mouth is pulled down in a grimace, and his eyes are, for a lack of better word grief stricken. He’s so much older then he was before Peter was taken. ‘Please buddy, we have to go.’

Mister Stark’s calloused finger strokes Peter cheek with the utmost care, barely even pressing firm enough for Peter to feel it. He does though, and traps the touch between his check and his shoulder. The dam breaks, and the barrier of terror that clouded Peter’s judgment lifts with it. He gasps, coming up for a breath of fresh air, and the moment between mentor and son brings at least a sliver of clarity, before he sinks back under the enormity of his panic.

‘I can’t walk’, Peter rasps, his throat torn from all the screams. He refuses to let that stop him, he’s so close to safety, he needs to push on further just a tad longer. ‘Please Mister Stark, I can’t walk.’

‘It’s okay Pete’, Tony soothes, pressing an unyielding kiss to his forehead, and if at all possible, Peter see the rage harden his face even more. ‘I’m going to get you out of here, but it’s gonna hurt, I’m sorry.’

Before Peter can begin to process that statement, Mister Stark puts the weight on his knees, the iron man suit helping to lift Peter as if it’s no trouble at all. Tony is no liar, Peter finds, as his body begs to be placed back on the uncomfortable bed. Even places that had been relatively unharmed ache, and Peter feels like a broken doll.

‘It’s okay Kiddo we’re almost there, just a minute longer.’ Peter clings to Mister Stark, using every ounce of strength to hang on, despite the fact that Tony has a tight grip on him as well. Iron man isn’t fighting alone, as the avengers are here to back him, them, up. In any other situation, Peter would be gushing. Not only is he seeing his heroes in action, but they’re in action for him, to help him, but now, Peter only turns his head to burrow it into Mister Starks chest plate.

‘Please, please’, Peter whispers the entire way to the jet, not even realizing he’s begging for something.

‘I got you Pete’, Tony assures, one hand briefly leaving Peter’s back to shoot at a capture that’s standing in the way of the jet. Other than that, he doesn’t interfere with the fight one time, but he must itch too. Peter hears him bark orders at captain America, telling him to take some of them alive.

‘Please don’t leave me here, I’ll be good, I’ll be good.’

The Jet is nice and warm, something Peter relishes in, but when Tony tries to lower Peter on a medbed, that’s objectively much more comfortable then the bed he was on before, Peter screams. No words are spoken, but the scream startles Mister Stark just the same.

‘Stark, the base is cleared, get him strapped in, Banner is coming’, Natasha ushers, ignoring Peter’s cries and running to the cockpit. Stark has him, she argues, and it does the kid no good to have more prying eyes on him.

‘What is it, are you in pain?’ Tony asks franticly, without responding to Nat, hands hovering over Peter’s body to check for injuries, the light dims when he spots just how badly he was treated in captivity.

Peter screams again when Mister Stark pulls away too far for his liking, latching onto the suit so rigorous it creaks in protests.

‘Please, I’ll be good, don’t leave me, please. I- I know… I’m sorry, Morgan- I’, Peter can’t talk with how much he’s weeping, there are so many things to say and all of them are fighting one another to be said first. Eventually, after everyone has already touched base, the jet leaves and Doctor Banner urgers Tony to place him on the bed, Peter settles for; ‘Don’t leave me here.’

‘Peter’, Tony spits, so harsh that Peter snaps to attention, letting go of the armor and limply following where mister Stark wants him. He gently grips Peter’s chin, mindful of the bruises, and with glistening eyes, he conveys; ‘I’m never leaving you here, do you understand. I don’t care what else you have in your head, but right now, all I need you to know is that I’m not leaving you. Ever.’

He waits for the conforming nod, which Peter only gives when Mister Stark clasps his hand into his. ‘Beside, May would kill me if I came back without her nephew, and I don’t want to be the one to receive her wrath.’ Tony laughs faintly.

He wants to cry at that, good or bad he’s not sure, but instead he allows himself to be lowered, giving in only because Tony is crouching down with him, shielding Peter’s body with his own. It’s unsensical, there in the jet and there’s no danger, but if Peter feels protected Tony will do it, no questions asked.

As soon as he’s in a horizontal positions, Doctor Banner injects him with pain medication, and within seconds, Peter has floated away, dreaming of the lake house with Morgan, Pepper and tony and May at the end of the hallway.

---

Peter knows he’s in the medbay before his body has even fully awoken. He’s been here before, perhaps one to many times for it too be so familiar, and he can recognize the atmosphere from anywhere. The smell of disinfectant lingers around the room heavily, but so does the smell of motor oil, coming from Mister Stark’s lab the floor below the medbay. Usually he’s not alone when he wakes up either, accompanied by Mister Stark or May, maybe even both, and so despite the room having a different connotation, it holds security for Peter.

When all his senses click into place, with an almost audible snap after being out of commission for a week, the burning anguish joins it. It’s almost worse than during the torture itself, because it’s hitting him all at once now, and after stewing for a day his body is one big bruise, but it’s also better, because no more hurt can be added.

Blinking his eyes open, Peter glances around the room and notices that he’s by himself. He hasn’t made up his mind yet whether that’s a good or bad thing. Despite being alone, Peter very nearly cries out for the pain medication he’s sure Tony has at hand. His metabolism runs through painkillers faster than a normal body, but Mister Stark has experience in that department thanks to captain America, which is why Peter never wakes up in the medbay feeling sore.

He’s hoping to snatch some of the good stuff before he can sink away in sleep again, until a dark thought pops up in his head. What if Mister Stark purposefully didn’t give him enough medication so he wouldn’t stay asleep? What if Peter is expected to pay of his debt starting this very moment? It would make sense. Mister Stark is a man that likes to get a move on things, and this is probably no exception.

He bites back a loud whine. He’s so tired and sore, and if he could be anywhere in the world right now he’d choose the lakehouse and rest on the back porch, while looking over Morgan and ensuring she’s safe.

Still, it’s heaps better then what was waiting for him before, so Peter sucks in a deep breath and lifts himself up. He’s dresses in a hospital gown with socks on his feet, the only reprieve of the cold of the tiles that he has. His body fights in protest against the jolting movements, and Peter sinks back into bed three times before finally managing to stay upright. He swallows back bile, and blinks away the disorientation woozing its way through his head.

‘Friday’? He whispers, voice cracking on every syllable.

‘Yes, mister Parker, the AI replies easily, as chipper as a computer can possibly be. ‘It’s good to have you back,’ she adds, when Peter takes too long to reply. It’s not out of rudeness, but the words take a while to be processed in Peter’s hazy mind.

‘Can you tell me what Mister Stark wants me to do?’ Peter finally asks after coughing to clear his throat. Pride flows through his bloodstream when he manages to sound fine.

‘Mister Stark has not given me any directions, but by the distress and elevated heartbeat he experienced whilst at your bedside last, I hypothesize that he would like you to rest Peter.’

Confusion laces Peter’s next move. Rest? But if that was the case why wasn’t the man here, ensuring that he does like all the other times he’s been in this position? Deciding not to ask the AI anymore questions, while simultaneously ignoring her advice, Peter focuses on setting one foot in front of the other. If he can’t get a direct answer out of Friday, he’ll just get started on cleaning up in the lab.

The last few times Tony and Peter worked in there, Mister Stark had jokingly grumbled that the lace was getting to disorganized even for his taste, which definitely means something. Peter limps his way to the door, already breathing more heavily and deciding to take a rest against the still closed door. His foot throbs, so Peter switches to put the most weight on the side of his foot, instead of on the balm.

The small trek has left him bone tried, and the lab still seems so far away. Peter tries to calculate how far the lab still is, and agrees with himself to divide the length into smaller stretches. His next stop is at the elevator, so Peter shuffled along the floor, ignoring the black spots that dance before his eyes and threaten to have him collapse.

The extortion reminds him of the time that Toomes dropped a building on him, which is just plain ridiculous, this shouldn’t be half as tough. Peter scolds himself to man up when about halfway to the elevator he bumps into a cart and whimpers.

After finally finding support on the elevator beams, Peter allows himself a twenty second break to cry. At this point, the exact reason for crying is unbeknownst to him. All that he does know is that he feels like a mess, like someone took all the spiderman away from him and left him as a pile of uselessness. He shouldn’t have the right to complain however. Mister Stark rescued him from a fate much worse, the least he could do is help him out.

‘Friday’, Peter pauses to gulp in more air, and to force his tears back. ‘Open the elevator.’

‘Mister Parker I would advise-‘

‘Please’, he begs, voice barely louder then a whisper. The AI complies without further disagreement. The elevator begins to move the floor bellow it, soundlessly passing Peter along. The theme song, a little joke that Tony had installed after they made a song about spiderman, which plays during every elevator ride when Peter is present, stays off. The doors open, and Peter stumbles out, cheering up a dash when the mess doesn’t look as bad as he had imagined it. The clean up should be doable within two hours, even in Peter’s injured state. Most of the mess comes from scattered papers and documents that Tony tosses aside and never bothered to do anything with, and of mechanical parts that are ready to be thrown out.

All in all, not a lot of weight that Peter has to pick up. He has barely started on five pages when the elevator behind him opens again. Peter hadn’t noticed it going to a different floor in the first place.

Lister Stark burst out of the room like the devil himself is after him. He pauses for one second to observe what Peter’s doing -he’s in the middle of bending down at a very lateral pace- and then he’s off again, cursing under his breath.

‘Jesus Christ Peter what are you doing?’

He pulls out a rolling chair from behind his work bench and rushes it to Peter side. ‘Come on, sit.’ He says already clenching a hand around Peter’s bicep to guide him down. In his confusion, Peter follows his instruction.

‘Mister Stark?’ He questions, eyes tracking his mentors movement as if he’s afraid he’s done something wrong and punishment will follow.

There is none, all that Tony does, is fall down on his knees in front of Peter, so they’re making direct eye contact. Peter gulps at the sight. He’s sure those jeans cost more than half of what May ears a month, and if Peter is expected to repay those too, he’ll never be able to pay of his debt.

‘Kiddo, what are you doing?’ Mister Stark asks incredulous, his hand never leaving Peter’s arm. His eyes sweep over Peter’s form, noticing the ailments that he aggravated by walking all the way down here. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’

‘I thought you wanted me to get started already.’ Peter admits shyly. He can’t understand why he’s being treated with such kindness all of a sudden.

‘Started on what Pete? I don’t understand.’ Mister Stark shuffles closer, one hand coming up to cup Peter’s chin, sweeping gentle circles that are meant to calm himself down as much as Peter.

‘Paying of my debt.’ Peter replies confused, wrapping his arms around his stomach area and bending downwards in an order to self sooth. He needs to get up soon, are Peter’ not sure he will be able to. Now that he’s granting his body some rest, the pain he forced to the back of his mind is rushing back in.

‘What debt kid, you need rest and you need it right now. Stay here, I’m going to go get you a gurney so you don’t require any more walking.’

Right as Mister Stark gets of his knees, Peter’s hand shoots out, gripping the older man’s wrist. The action was pure habitual, but now that he’s initiated contact he doesn’t know what to do.

‘When will I have to start working then? I’d rather get started as soon as possible, to thank you for everything Mister Stark.’ Peter’s voice pitches even lower, letting his head hang down in shame. He really doesn’t want to offer his suit back, Spiderman is what gives him purpose, but the sooner he no longer has a debt, the sooner he can start working to provide May with an extra income as well. He has no choice.

‘I can give you the suit back if you’ll accept it.’

Tony regards him with perturbation for several long lasting moment. Then, he gasps, finally clicking in his head what Peter is going on about.

‘Oh kiddo, that’s the concussion speaking. Listen to me,’ he sinks back down in front Peter, taking his hand in his. ‘You have done so much for me. If anything it’s me that should be in debt to you.’ Peter pens his mouth to argue, but Tony hushes him softly.

‘You’re not thinking straight buddy, that why spider baby’s need their rest. But truly Peter, you don’t owe me anything. Well except maybe you owe it to be safe, I think I’ve earned that much.’

‘Really?’ Peter asks optimistically, his whole body filling up with a feeling he can’t name, but it chokes him up until he’s bursting with the urge to give a hug to his mentor.

‘Yeah Peter of course. All I want is my kids to be safe.’

Kids. Tony sees Peter as his kid, as equal to Morgan. A person to love unconditionally without needing any favors, without having any debt. Of course Mister Stark won’t ask that of him, despite his front, the man has a heart that’s made of gold. Mister Stark, his mentor, and his father figure.

‘Dad,’ Peter sobs, almost falling out of the chair in his rush to get to Tony. The man immediately returns the hug, holding Peter up in a way that he hopes will be the least painful for him.

‘You’re okay Peter you’re okay.’

‘I’m so sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking’, Peter confesses, deeply ashamed of how low he thought of his dad.

‘It’s okay Kiddo, like I said it’s the concussion. Of course you were scared, I can’t blame you. I promise that I tried so hard to find you bud. I’m sorry it took me so long.’

Peter says nothing, he’s had enough encounters with Tony now to sense that the man wouldn’t believe him if Peter told him it’s okay. Instead he just nuzzles closer, accepting all the love and affection radiating from Tony, and giving back what he hopes is just as much.

‘Can we go back to the lakehouse?’ Peter asks softly, burring his head in Tony’s neck. It might be a weird question coming from him. He liked the beach house enough, but he has never actively asked to go there when they could stay at the tower as well. But now, Peter won’t feel safe unless his down there, in the cabin hidden behind threes, where the environment is quiet that he can hear everyone’s heartbeat, and can confirm that everyone is safe.

‘Sure kid.’ Tony responds, a tad bewildered, but happy to provide anyway. ‘We’ll leave as soon as you get check out okay. I want to make sure you didn’t rip anything.’

‘Okay’, Peter mumbles, a bone deep tiredness washing over him, and letting him sink down into Tony. ‘Thanks dad.’

If Peter were more awake, he would have noticed the silent tears of happiness streaming down Mister Starks cheek at the name. As it stands, Peter just hums contently when a kiss is pressed at the top of his head, and Tony strikes a hand through his hair.

‘Anything for my son.’

#peter parker #peter parker imagine #hurt peter parker #hurt/comfort #tony stark imagine #tony stark #protective tony stark #fluff #angst #Peter gets kidnapped #and tortured #but not in detail #Tony is affectionate #Peter's apprehensive #marvel imagine #spiderman imagine #spider son #irondad #irondad imagine

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wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse · 3 years

Text

Always There (Faramir x Gender Neutral!reader)

Request: I'd like to send a Faramir request! And I thought maybe just some fluff, confessing their love to each other? ~ @midearthwritings

Word count: 2249 (sorry I got carried away, it was fun lol)

Warnings: The teensiest bit of angst, fluff, and kissing?

A/N Alright, I thoroughly enjoyed making this one, I always love me some Faramir! Just for reference, I have not gotten to Return of the King yet, I have only watched the movie, so if something seems to be incorrect, my deepest apologies. And yes, I bent the story to match my thoughts. It’s fine. Thank you so much to @guardianofrivendell for helping me with some scenes! Also, a Quisby is a lazy-ass and a yaldson is the son of a prostitute. I looked up medieval insults and thought they were pretty funny. May or may not be using them on my friends...

Denethor was a quisby, a yaldson. You clenched your jaw, seething with anger. You couldn’t say much, for fear of upsetting the king, no, the Steward. But he was sending his only son left to battle. A battle that he could not win. No one would survive. Wasteful. And he sent the love of your life.

Faramir had always been special to you. When you were younger you were closer with Boromir, but as you all grew up, fitting the molds made for you, things changed. Boromir was always learning policy and diplomacy as his father’s right hand. Faramir was left behind with the lesser jobs, that most would consider unpleasant for someone used to a grandeur life. You bonded quickly, soon knowing even the most minuscule details about each other. And all was well. Until Osgiliath was taken again. With Boromir’s success came more criticism of Faramir. This also led to Boromir sent to a secret council regarding a weapon that could change the war. But Boromir never returned from the mission. He never made it back home. To Faramir and you.

Denethor took the news horribly, but nothing compared to Faramir. He was distraught, hiding the most of his pain. He only confided in you, how lost and unappreciated he felt. He didn’t understand how those words also hurt you, carving deeper into the fresh wound of grief. He didn’t realize how much you appreciated him, how blind he was to your love. It was all you could do to not unravel then and there, piece by piece. But you held strong, for his sake. He had no one left but you. His father did not care for him. His brother who showered him with affection and praise was gone. It was just you two.

And now he was gone, sent on a death mission, little chance of making it back. You found yourself in your room, not remembering how you got there. Tears were streaming down your face, slowing down to your chin. You went onto the balcony, luckily one that did not face the battle. It would be unbearable to see it. You curled up, your back pressed against the cool stone. You wished you had told him. Told him how you had felt. You relished the memories you shared with him. Even though he only saw you as a friend, no more. The day passed quickly, but you stayed where you were, hidden. And then, a horn sounded. They were back. At least whoever was left. But there were worse things heading towards the gates. Gondor was under attack.

You rushed to the gates, your thoughts clouded with panic. Only one thought was constant. Where was Faramir? You reached the guards at the front.

“What happened? Who made it back?” You said hurriedly, seeing no signs of injury in the guards nearby.

“Only the Captain of Gondor made it back ma’am, he was injured horribly. Taken back to the citadel is what I heard. Hardly going to last the night.” The guard looked at you, concerned. “Are you the one Faramir talked about? I was by his side all through Osgiliath. Pardon me if I’m mistaken, but you like precisely like what he described.”

You bowed your head, cheeks a hint darker than normal. It didn’t matter, he only talked about you as a friend. And besides, he was horribly injured. This should be the last thing on your mind. “Aye, that would be me. But excuse me, I must be on my way. I need to find him.”

You turned from the slightly bemused guard and walked as quickly as you could without causing alarm. Although at this point, everybody had to have known about Faramir. Everyone except you. You turned a corner, quite distracted, and slammed into someone.

“Oh, I am terribly sorry I- what on Middle Earth?” You stuttered. A child looked up at you, no, not a child, but he was small enough to be a child. Not a dwarf though. Something completely different.

“Oh hello there! I’m guessing you have never seen a hobbit before! My name is Pippin, and don’t worry about accidentally running into me, it happens a lot. You look very in distress. What is wrong? Also, I am looking for a friend, so if you happen to see him please let me know.” The hobbit, Pippin babbled. You were a bit overwhelmed from everything you were going through but luckily found the patience to deal with this energetic hobbit.

“Oh, I am looking for a friend as well, his name is Faramir if you manage to find him. And don’t worry little one, I am just worried for his sake.” You responded back quickly, hoping to move on your way.

Unfortunately for you, the hobbit had different plans. “Oh yes, I am also looking for Faramir, as well as Gandalf. I saw him being led away, and I heard a mutter about the Steward going insane. I am trying to find him to help. But the trouble is brewing, and the fighting will start soon. I am worried, very worried.” Pippin babbled on as you searched the streets for this Gandalf.

After a little while, he finally saw who he was looking for. He explained quickly what was going on and why he needed to check on Faramir.

“Faramir is alive but Denethor wants to burn him. He thinks he's dead. ” Pippin spoke hurriedly, already rushing Gandalf along.

You gasped. “You did not tell me that Denethor was trying to burn him! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pippin looked confused. “I didn’t tell you? I could have sworn I did.”

You shook your head, your heart racing even faster than it had been before. To make things even worse, you could hear the sounds of battle. The city had finally been breached. Luckily you were far up enough that the orcs hadn’t reached you...yet. Gandalf was farther ahead of you, and you quickened your strides to match his. He turned and looked at you, his eyes piercing yours. You had the strangest feeling that your mind was being invaded.

“Patience child. We will stop that lunatic before anything happens. He will be alright.” He turned away again as if he hadn’t said a word. You gaped, it was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. He seemed familiar, but you didn’t know why. But alas, it did not matter at this moment, and you refocused your mind back on who you were trying to save. Faramir.

As you hurried along, you tried your hardest to remember. His smile. The dimples on his cheeks. How much fun you two had together. Running through the markets when you were younger, causing trouble, but laughing all the way. How he would be publicly humiliated by his father. How you would be there for him, comfort him, make him happier. The hidden smiles in the throne room, the silent laughter, and inside jokes.

You were quickly brought back to the present as some stone shattered right behind you, showering big chunks of rock. You ducked quickly and grabbed the hobbit, making him run faster. You had to get out of there. Gandalf showed you two through a small alley, and all too soon you had arrived at the top. But Faramir and Denethor were nowhere to be seen. Somehow, Gandalf knew exactly where they were, and took you to a smaller room, that was barricaded. He slammed open the doors as if it were nothing, and you ran right into a horrifying scene.

Denethor was standing on top of a pile of wood, and Faramir lay at his feet, both drenched in oil. Some soldiers had torches in their hands, and some looked hesitant. Everything drained away, all sound was muffled. All you could see was Faramir, and it was as if he knew you there. He rustled slightly and looked straight at you. His lips moved wordlessly, and you couldn’t move, an invisible force stopping you.

A scream and then fire engulfed the wood, Faramir was taken from your view. Your feet finally decided to start moving, and both you and Pippin ran towards the pyre, grabbing Faramir before the flames could engulf him. Another screech and then you realized that Denethor had been taken by the flames. He ran off to who knows where, and the guards left quickly, helping to aid in the battle.

It was soon just you, Faramir, Pippin, and Gandalf. Faramir’s eyes were closed, but his heart was still beating. You cradled his head in your lap, softly brushing his hair out of his face.

“Gandalf, will he be alright?” You asked tentatively, not daring to even look away from Faramir.

Gandalf sighed. “With time he will heal. But whether he will heal from the pain in his heart is unclear to me. He has been through far too much, as most have in such times, and for your sake, I hope he perseveres.”

You and Gandalf helped Faramir up, who at this point was able to open his eyes slightly. You both brought him to his room, as the medical wing was a greater distance. Pippin trailed behind like a lost puppy. The poor hobbit had probably never seen such violence in his life. You laid him in his bed, and Gandalf bid a quick goodbye, herding Pippin out.

It was just you and Faramir. You knelt at his bedside and grasped his hand, waiting, hoping, for anything. More memories ran through your mind. He taught you how to use a sword, to protect yourself if need be. And then on your birthday, he had gotten you a sword of your own, beautifully crafted, and balanced perfectly. It was quite a gift to receive, and you protested, but to no avail. It was in your room, hidden so that no one could take it. You remembered how your hands tingled when he gave it to you, just the slightest brush of fingers. But you were young and naive.

He stirred, and his eyes opened, looking at the ceiling. Then he tilted his head towards you and looked down at your intertwined hands. You stopped breathing for a second, nervous that you might have overstepped your bounds.

“I am still alive. What happened with my father? I remember the smell of smoke.” Faramir’s voice was raspy still, and quiet.

You looked away, trying to figure out what to tell him. You were the bearer of bad news this time it seemed. “Your father thought you dead and was going to have you burned. I showed up with Gandalf and Pippin only moments before it was to happen. ”

He groaned and turned away. But he held on tighter to your hand, as if you were his lifeline, the one last thing keeping him there with you. “Faramir,” you said hesitantly, “I-I was so afraid of losing you. I never want to lose you again. I-” You broke off, too afraid to say what was on your mind. He was looking right at you, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Continue, please,” he said. He reached his other hand across his body, softly grazing your arm.

You smiled slightly, taking in a shaky breath. “I love you Faramir. And I have for a long time. I am not creative enough to give a whole speech about my love for you, but my love for you is worthy of a speech if needed.”

Faramir smiled, the brightest you had ever seen it. “I love you too my dear, more than anything, and I am so sorry I never said anything before. Please forgive me.”

Then he slowly reached his hand up to your face, and you leaned towards him. But you went a bit too fast, and accidentally slammed your nose onto his, causing you both to cry out in pain. You felt like you were going to cry, you ruined the special moment. But then he smiled and started laughing so hard. You were so embarrassed, but you also started chuckling.

In between breaths, Faramir choked out, “Clearly, neither of us have done this.”

You nodded, keeping back a grin.

He cracked a smile, trying to hold in his laughter. But then he sobered up. “Well, I think we should try that again. Help me sit up?”

You felt even more butterflies in your stomach as you propped up a pillow for him and helped him up. You leaned back to make sure he was comfortable, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back. You laughed again, and he smiled. He traced a finger up your arm and all the way up to the back of your neck. He leaned in first, making an emphasis on how slow he was moving, but you were too nervous to laugh. Softly, he pressed his lips against yours. You barely moved, not daring to. But you slowly melted as he moved his other hand to the small of your back. You moved your hands, knotting them in his hair, pulling you even closer together. His lips molded against yours, slightly chapped, making you shiver. Ever so slowly, he began to pull away, much to your dismay. But he still held you in arms.

Slowly, you whispered, “We should have done that sooner.”

Faramir nodded and pulled you closer. “Thank you,” he whispered back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

#faramir x reader #faramir x y/n #faramir #lord of the rings #lotr #lotr fanfic

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

Text

Deep into the Wilderness

Words: 4.7k (this was supposed to be short but, alas, i am an asshole)

Rating: E

Warnings: Smut, sex pollen :0, dubious consent (see: sex pollen), a bit of size kink ö, multiple orgasms :O, light descriptions of blood, magic nature if you’re in the mood, incredible coincidences if you’re not

a/n: i genuinely thought this would be a lil drabble :/, also fuck snakes all my homies hate snakes

There’s something wrong about the stars.

Nights in the Tatooine desert are usually dim and still, as stoic as the Mandalorian who’s been journeying across the endless dune sea with you in your little caravan of two. These past few days, you’ve noticed that the jagged difference between coarse sand and smooth beskar are no obstacle for his ability to blend perfectly into his surroundings. For days, you’ve seen the bounty hunter cruise the barren wilderness like he was born in it, climbing the mounds of sand leisurely and offering his hand when the treacherous ground gives in under your feet and you tumble forward. Ever the gentleman. Silent and observant, he tends to adapt to the elements around him and mimic their energy, until he becomes part of the landscape. Tonight is no different.

The normally scattered and shy desert stars have all gathered in a cluster right above your modest campsite, blinking down at you white and yellow and red against an electric blue sky, bright enough to spare the need of a fire. You feel watched. The stars’ ghoulish eyes above trail your every movement. Waiting to witness something.

Yes, a meek voice inside lies for you, it must be the stars, as you purposefully try to ignore the crushing weight of the Mandalorian’s trained gaze on you, much heavier than the strong beskared arm resting on your upright knee. The tube of bacta ointment moves awkwardly under your fingers and, Maker, you know it won’t be enough. The small holes on the wool covering his arm reveal two angry red pupils gushing blood where the snake’s fangs pierced him; pupils that stare amused at the medical salve that they know and you know and Mando knows will do little neutralize the unknown toxin. You sit so close to him you can hear the hitch of his breath when you pinch the tube and white balm oozes onto your finger.

“I—Mando, I-I think we should get help.” It doesn’t help your nerves that the man to your left hasn’t stopped staring at you since the ruby red viper appeared from under the sand like a conjuring, going straight for the Mandalorian’s arm and slithering back inside its hiding place beneath the dunes before either of you could react. It was unnatural; desert creatures tend to linger in the shadows and never attack unless provoked. Then again, everything about this particular evening—including the bounty hunter—seems to be slightly off, like when something in a familiar place is moved, but you can’t figure out exactly what.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” the voice under the modulator scratches at a lower register than usual, gruffier in a way that would excite you and warm your belly if you weren’t so worried about the liquid currently poisoning his bloodstream. It must be the pain. “Two days by foot to the nearest town. Just use the bacta.”

You gulp and nod as firmly as you can manage, trying to quiet the whisper saying that bacta won’t cut it this time as you get your finger closer to his arm. It’s strange that he asked for your help—the bite is right on the pulse point of his inner elbow, where he could easily do it himself. Maker, just focus. He must have had a good reason to ask you. Plus, you’re not about to miss the promise of even the slightest physical contact with the Mandalorian, even if the situation is not exactly as you’ve fantasized all these months.

Your finger presses lightly into one of the gaps, and with a bit more force when you hear a raggedy exhale leave him. The opening the snake left behind is too small for your finger, and most of the bacta gathers around its edges, while barely any gets to the wound.

“I, um…I need to cut it—t-the fabric,” you stutter and, stars, you sound like an idiot, getting nervous over applying balm when you’ve seen him cauterize his own injuries with a steady hand, much to your horror. You can feel the way his eyes feed from your words as they study you carefully, somehow strengthening the gravity pining you to the ground. A strange static crinkles in the air between you, so real you almost hear it, and for a moment you feel the weight of his stare move past your face, lower down your body. By the time he finally nods and signals towards the open medical kit with a tilt of his helmet, you’re warm all over.

Stretching your torso just the right amount so that his arm doesn’t slip from your knee, you reach straight for the scissors in front of you. Your fingers pinch the fabric to lift it while your other hand works the clippers, cutting with tiny snip-snip-snips that do little to fill the tense silence between you. Why it’s even tense to begin with is beyond you. Sure, Mando got bitten by some unknown creature that could potentially be lethal, but the invisible rope getting stretched from both ends more and more between your bodies has little to do with the mishap. Stars, it feels like it’s pulling you closer and pushing you apart at the same time, and the arm on your knee suddenly feels like it’s burning through your pants. What would happen, you muse as you crank your wrist, if the rope gave in?

The scissors close their circuit, and you lift a small circle of cloth, leaving the clippers aside. It’s a little bigger than it needed to be, but the Mandalorian doesn’t complain when you properly apply bacta on the lesion, sitting like a statue with the visor shining dark blue at your face. The stars reflect distorted on his helmet with judging eyes, like they can hear your thoughts. Like they just know how being so close to the man you think about to warm cold nights is making your heart pump more blood that you need. To places that definitely don’t need it.

You raise your other hand and rest it on his bicep. It’s only to pull the sleeve a little higher. To give you more room to work. And it’s only with that touch that he flinches.

You immediately lift both hands. “Sorry, I—I’m sorry, does…does it hurt—?”

“—No.” Mando moves his good arm and grabs your hand roughly, bringing it to rest on his bicep once again. He clears his throat, unable to wash away the grainy strain on his voice. “No, it—it’s fine.” His large palm stays over yours for a moment, before pulling away slowly. Reluctantly.

You nod and continue your ministrations, massaging a little more bacta than necessary on the bite. Maker, you never want to stop touching him. The patch of olive skin burns hotter than the planet’s twin suns under your touch, and you feel under your other hand how every shift of your finger makes his bicep jump in response.

His flesh absorbs the ointment fast, and you’ve now covered even the surrounding area around the bite, so you lift your finger, a bit disappointed that your little moment of intimacy is over. Until you feel him tug at his end of the rope.

“Cut more,” he breathes, and you freeze before you can lift the hand off his arm, staring right at the visor with eyes round as moons.

“Cut—cut more? More cloth? Wh—”

“The venom will travel up my veins.” Mando’s voice is a little steadier, but it still doesn’t mask a strange tint of something that doesn’t sound quite like pain. “You need to check how far up it goes. If…if it goes into my chest…”

He doesn’t need to finish. You shuffle to your knees—a little clumsily because of the sand beneath—and let his arm fall to his side as you squeeze his strong bicep a little tighter. For support.

“Tell me when to stop.” The blades cut away at the fabric, revealing a vertical line of lovely skin with each snip. They go higher and higher, higher and higher, and it’s you who decides to stop when they almost reach his armpit. You rest the scissors next to your legs. The slit uncovers the upper half of his arm’s underside, and you can’t help it when one hand moves to rest on the pauldron and the other slips under the crevice to caress his skin.

Mando’s chest puffs with more air and moves quicker, and—fuck—he looks so broad like this. Sitting and injured, he still towers over you with the beskar and the mass of muscle beaten into him through years of fighting.

He could crush me. The idea pools hot in your core.

“What, uh, what am I looking for?” Your own voice is thick. It’s wrong, but you’re honest enough to admit it’s arousal.

“T-the veins.” You hear him gulp and imagine the apple on his throat bobbing up and down. “Feel around. Che—check if they’re protruding.” You comply, dragging your fingers up and down his burning, strong arm, getting caught up in how he tenses under your touch. He’s pulsing, sure enough, beating like a drum under your hand—you even manage to raise goosebumps when you give a test squeeze—but you can’t feel any veins.

“No.” The hunter exhales with relief and nods once, but his arm doesn’t follow, as it remains taut as wood. You don’t remove your hand. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans into you.

An soft breeze raises a small cloud of sand and cools your face, whistling past you while it orders you to do it. “If it’s not pain,” you murmur, deciding it’s your turn to tense your end of the rope a little, “what do you feel?” You scratch your nails down his arm.

The gloved hand furthest away from you balls into a fist, clutching sand. “It—it, uh. It burns.” The words are dragged out and gritty, like they’re forcing their way out. He shivers and shuffles closer to you. “But—fuck—feels good. You—you feel good.” Encouraged, your nails sink into his flesh, testing the waters. Finally, it earns you a grunt, deep and rumbling its way between your thighs. In a split second, his arms fly to his shoulder, tugging at the cloak desperately, and you remove your hand from the opening to help him. It takes a few rough jerks, but the cloak eventually rips away from his pauldrons, and the Mandalorian throws it back. His hand travels to the side of his torso closest to you and signals. “Cut here.” He doesn’t offer an explanation this time.

Shit, you probably shouldn’t. But wetness is gathering around your folds and you’re not sure if you’ll actually get anywhere, but, Maker, you’re willing to try. Your hand is trembling when it finds the scissors next to you and you crouch slightly to cut away, eager and desperate to reveal more of the mysterious bounty hunter. This time, though, you don’t make a crevice, but instead cut a long rectangle from his waist to the side of his chest. You drop the scissors and the piece of fabric on top of the cloak and waste no time before your right palm crawls into the opening. Boiling skin welcomes your hand as it explores his naked torso, up a sturdy chest rising and falling rapidly, and back down again, savoring the sensation of soft skin over firm muscles flexing under your fingers. You stop at a trail of hair near his navel.

The Mandalorian growls. You scratch the hair lightly. The rope snaps.

Your hand slips outside when two hands grab your hips to lift you, setting you down to straddle Mando’s lap. You fall ungracefully, wobbling and grabbing at him to find your balance, until his steel arms wrap around your waist to press your chest to his. You grab his shoulders for support, and your warm breath clouds the beskar of his helmet. Your hips squirm unconsciously, making your core accidentally rub against something hard between the hunter’s legs. His grip on your back tightens and grinds you against him again, making him release a deep, primal moan against your ear. Fuck, you feel how hot liquid plops on your underwear as he ruts you against his erection, but somewhere in the back of your brain a puzzle solves itself in a snap and sends a pang of guilt to your chest.

“M-mando.” You sound whinier than you intended. “Mmando, I—I’ve heard about this, you’re poisoned, y-you don’t know what you’re d—”

“—Shut up,” he spits at you and pushes you roughly against him as a hand unwinds from your waist and wraps over your mouth. Your moans are muffled against his glove when a current shocks your body as your clit rubs just right over his bulge. You glance up at the stars, looking for guidance around the overwhelming pleasure threatening to break you, but they only stare back, burning brighter than before.

Suddenly, Mando pulls his hands away and pushes you off his lap. You fall back kneeling, worrying you’ve crossed a line somehow, but your anxieties disappear when you see him rip off his gloves and pull at your clothes hastily. You take the hint and help him undress you. The top garments he removes, but your underwear is ripped away and thrown to the side.

He whips around and finds his cloak, laying it on the sand and silently ordering with a finger to get on top. You shuffle on your knees until they reach the soft material, and—just when you’re about to turn around and beg him to touch you—the Mandalorian lifts the rectangle of cloth you cut away and wraps it around your eyes. Your vision gone but impossibly turned on, you feel his hands shove you back until you lay on the cloak.

Sand and hair tickle your face, and maybe it’s not the best idea to lay completely naked in the middle of a desert where you already know dangerous animals hide. The thought is quickly washed away by the heat of humid breath on your stomach. It throws you off for a moment, to feel a human gasp so clearly against your skin, but once you put two and two together the realization hits you so hard you slump limp on the ground.

The helmet…

You barely have time complete your thought. The Mandalorian climbs on top of you, a tuff of hair tickling your stomach. The trail of heat stops at your tits, where he takes a nipple into his mouth and bites down hard. You whimper to the sky.

“F-fuck, what—” He cuts you off when he laps at the injured nipple with fast, wide strokes of his tongue, before sucking hard on it. One palm holds down your chest, as the other comes up to squeeze your other breast, kneading and pulling the soft flesh like dough. You try to bite down your whimpers, but it’s too fucking much and they tumble outside urgent and needy.

Fuck, you should push him away. You both need to calm down before he forgets your body is attached to a living, breathing person and tears you apart. You—you—

The atmosphere seems to fall down on top of you when two thick fingers sink to the hilt inside your open hole effortlessly. You hum at the bliss while Mando’s wet tongue travels between your breasts, up your sternum, and leans into the curve of your throat, stopping only until it reaches your chin. You’re starting to cramp beneath him, trying to push down on his digits, but his body is too heavy over yours and fuck, fuck, you want him inside you.

His hand wraps around your cheeks and presses them together, making your mouth give in to the pressure and open up wide. His tongue—still salty with the taste of your own flesh—barges into the cave of your mouth and messily drags across its walls, your tongue, the roof, somehow everything at once with aimless movements that lack rhythm or pace.

And then his fingers start pumping. They start fast and hard and only get faster and harder, as they curl into a hook and hit something that makes you see the stars outside through the blindfold. Mando moans against your teeth, and you swallow every vibration.

“Yeah? T-there?” His mouth moves away from yours and trails the edge of your jaw, stopping at the edge and biting your neck. The two fingers working inside you push upwards to make room for a third one, and the calloused pad of his thumb rubs your clit up and down. Your scream echoes in the empty space of the sterile desert, now buzzing with life. “R-right there? Hm?” His voice hangs thick in the air, mixing with the loud static in your ears. Through the haze, you wonder momentarily what his face looks like right now. Probably red and sweaty, popping a vein or two.

“Fuck, I don’t k-know…I—I have to…” The Mandalorian removes all three fingers at once, making you yelp at the emptiness that they leave behind. Your pussy clenches a second too late and pulses around nothing, as you move in the darkness to find him again. You open your mouth to beg, but he grabs your shoulders before you can even gather some broken vocabulary together and he turns you around, pressing your chest and face against the cloak.

Resting your cheek on the cloak, you grunt at the abrupt change of position. Five fanned out fingers press down between your shoulder blades, restricting your movements and compressing all the air out of your lungs. You can’t breathe and you can’t wait, too stimulated to backpedal now, but not enough to be satiated.

An arm wraps around your midriff and roughly lifts your hips. You hear heavy breathing behind you and some incoherent mumbling, as a zipper lowers.

Something round and smooth pokes at your entrance.

Is…is that…?

It definitely feels like the head of his cock as it runs up and down your folds gathering moisture. It even twitches a little against your clit and he’s grunting with every movement but…but even without your sight to help it feels so big. It can’t be his cock, in what universe would he be that fucking bi—

A grunt and a slight retrieval of his hips for impulse is all you get as a warning before he slams into you, lurching you forward. It knocks every single thought out your head, jamming what little air you’d managed to inhale on your trachea. The stretch bites, straining against your walls at an uncomfortable angle. And then he grinds further inside, deeply and hard as the bulbous head of his cock stimulates just about every nerve inside your pussy at once. You choke on your own cry, desperately trying to hold on to some sanity as you focus on processing the burst of pleasure that casts a dark shadow over the pain. The feeling secures every muscle on your body so tightly you think your spine is going to snap.

And he holds there, pulsing angrily and breathing down hot against your shoulders. You feel a slow trail of flames burn your insides with every strong sequence of thum-thum-thums of his thick cock against your walls.

Stars, did he cum? Is that why he’s throbbing so violently, did he cum? It’s hard to tell when you’re so wet you’re sure you’re going to dehydrate tomorrow and fuck you only get wetter with the strumming and Maker you know the snake was poisonous but…but could he really want you this much?

He sucks in a gulp of dusty air through his teeth, grunts and holds you tighter, his arm strong as beskar around your midriff and a burning palm pressing you against the cloak, sinking it deeper into the sand.

Finally, the Mandalorian pulls out with a grunt, your hips following his with a sucking sound because of the grip of your walls against his girth. He stops right before the tip slips out, its ridge catching on your opening. And maybe whatever venom running through his veins dissipated because he doesn’t move for a second that feels like an eternity. Fleeting disappointment surges inside you because maybe…maybe it was just the serpent. Maybe he doesn’t really want you. You are the only fuckable thing for miles, and you’ve heard enough about the toxin to imagine how desperate he’d be. Stars, you feel like such an idi—

Mando’s hips suddenly crash against yours, sinking himself to the hilt.

You feel him everywhere. Fucking everywhere, even where he isn’t. The fat cock hammering into you randomly with no pace or metric, seemingly determined to taste every inch inside your cunt takes most of your attention, but the hand on your back kneads and pulls the thin skin there as best as it can. You try to brace yourself against something solid—anything—but when your hands form fists they find only handfuls of sand, and the delicate particles do nothing to steady you from the animalistic thrusts of the Mandalorian.

So you moan, long and high to try and release all the pleasure stockpiling inside of you with no exit routes. Mando answers with grunts all the way down in his glottis. A deep and angled snap of his hips hits you somewhere electrifying, and you feel something hot and liquid knot your pelvic muscles tighter. His skin slaps against yours obscenely, paired with the squelching of your pussy trying to engulf him deeper and deeper in spite of his size.

“T-take it,” you hear him growl behind you. Barely. Your ears ring and you can’t even listen to your own whimpers anymore. His length keeps coming, restless and infinite and fuck, you need to focus on something else, something outside to keep your head from slipping away. “Just—just f-fucking take me whole, you—"

Fuck, focus. Focus, count to ten, do something—

You grit your teeth and you can’t even warn him. Something drops into your pelvic muscles and you swear you can see the blue desert sky in a flash behind your eyelids and feel the blinking stars prickling the nerve endings on your back, making you spasm desperately. Your head spins, and you only feel pleasure. Only him.

Still half-passed out from your release, you hear it before you feel it. The wet sound contrasting the dry dunes of how he keeps using your cunt to get himself off. He’s not letting you come down, fall to the natural next step of your cycle and relax. Breathe. No, he keeps filling every last inch of you, faster now with the help of the additional wetness and holds you in that state of euphoria that keeps hitting you like a tide. Shit, are you cumming again?

“F-fuck—fuck—d-did you—ngh—cum? W-was that—” Another wave hits you and you clamp down mercilessly around him before he can get an answer. His long moan gets you wetter somehow, and you can’t even savor it before the strong forearm holding your waist pulls you upright against him.

Up is down as you try to figure out in the darkness where your body ended up. Something slumps behind you and pulls you down with it hard against the cushioning of the sand. You find yourself impaled on the Mandalorian’s cock, his chest to your back. He bends and opens his legs to grab yours, pulling them back and hooking them around his cuisses. Propped up with most of your weight on Mando’s hips, your feet barely graze the cloak below them.

You reach up to touch him but he beats you to it, wrapping his arms around your torso and grabbing the surely bruising skin of your tits. Your eyes roll back and you try you best to keep your head above the water, which proves incredibly difficult when you feel his lips on your jaw, his drool trailing down your neck. You turn your head and he doesn’t miss a beat before his tongue slips between your lips, tasting and exploring and almost drinking from you like you’re water in he’s been stranded in this desert for years.

Mando thrust up at you, resuming his senseless fucking. And maybe you’re a little greedy. Maybe it’s wrong, especially because you don’t have an excuse to act like this, but you roll down into his cock, wanting him everywhere and for as long as you can get him. His thrusts are almost impossible to meet and his thickness catches at your opening, but you work diligently—determined to have him buried as deeply as he wants to go. The beskar of his chest trembles against your shoulders with a vibrating, noiseless moan.

“You—you pretty t-thing,” he breathes lowly against your mouth. You grab his knees for support and push down harder. “I’ve want—wanted this—w-wanted you f-for so—so long.” He bites your lower lip. His voice sounds delirious.

Maker, it’s ridiculous. You’re bouncing your pussy on his stiff cock like an animal in heat, but his words warm your chest more than your core. You know it’s probably the poison talking, but you indulge in it. You let your hand cradle his cheek and bring your lips sweetly against his, pretending you’re his lover and not just a vessel for his release. He gasps into the kiss.

It’s with your lips that he finally lets go. It happens midthrust, so his cum spurts out of you and dribbles down his cock. It smears on your folds and, surely, on the cloak beneath. Stars, you’re shaking. Your legs spasm with the promise of another orgasm that almost—almost happened. Still holding you, Mando pulls out, and the rest of his seed spills on wool and sand.

What now? If not the sweat and the fucking, then his release surely evacuated the venom by now. The Mandalorian pants behind you, just as spent and exhausted, and what the hell are you supposed to say to each other now? You squirm uncomfortably at the dilemma, and your slit accidentally drags against something upright beneath you. Mando winces at the contact.

Maker, is he still hard? How—?

Fingers dig into your arms and force you forward and away from him. You fall on top of the cloak, barely pillowing your fall with your forearms before you feel the Mandalorian turning you around to face him.

You lay open below him, ruined and confused in the darkness as to what he’s planning for you next. Your clit pulses with equal parts arousal and apprehension at the uncertainty, but it decides for the former when you feel him dip his fingers in your entrance and scoop his cum and yours. The sound of him pumping himself faster and faster is muffled by his moaning. It’s filthy gibberish: loose words of everything he’s dreamt about doing to you; of how he’s going to fuck you over and over again; of how you’re going to take every drop of him; of how good it’s going to be for you.

Four fingers land on your clit and work it wetly up and down. A whine escapes you and you’re so sensible it almost hurts and your head swims and he’s still talking but there’s something…something sincere about his words. Something that hides beneath the frantic movements against your bud that feels almost reverent. Like the snake’s toxin only lifted a veil, revealing the Mandalorian’s pent up lust and primal instincts below his layers of unyielding discipline.

“S-so, so fucking good for me, so—"

You cry out when your walls tighten around nothing with powerful contractions, deciding at some point of the frenzy that consumes you that you’ll take advantage of this queer land and the limbo its night has thrown both of you into. Deciding you’ll let the Mandalorian explore his more primitive urges and fuck you into tomorrow, whatever “tomorrow” may mean for your relationship with him.

The sound of him fucking his hand quickens and you hear it closer to your body. You can’t tell exactly where.

“I—I—gonna c-cum.” His voice tightens in his throat. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” you answer breathlessly, and you mean it.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian smut #the mandolorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #the mandalorian sex pollen #star wars smut

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mini-moongi · 4 years

Text

Curse || Namjoon || p r o l o g u e

Genre: Fantasy, Fluff, Angst, Adventure

Story prompt: Inspired by a dragon prompt I saw- You’re cursed to be a dragon in the daylight. When a knight comes to slay you, imagine their surprise when the dragon turns into a defenseless human being.

Summary: [Dragon! AU] [Namjoon x Knight! Reader]; Apparently there's been a dragon wreaking havoc in the nearby village, and so King Kim Seokjin asks you to deal with it as the newly appointed knight. When you arrive, it seems that the truth is not exactly as it appears. This is a fem!reader.

Thank you to lovely @ahgassok for the title pic!! I am very much in love with it (o´ω｀o)

curse masterlist

p r o l o g u e // next

────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ──────

“I’m sorry your Majesty, You want me to do what now??” The thought sends shivers throughout your entire body. You knew he was a ruthless ruler, but you didn’t think he was this extreme. “Wouldn’t you want to send someone more qualified, My Lord?”

It was true, you had only been appointed as a knight last week. It was crazy to think he’d send you in for Dragon duty this early on. It’s not that you were terrified, but this was something you, and many of your comrades, have never faced before. King Kim’s stunned for a moment, as if he wasn’t expecting you to question him. He regains his composure in the blink of an eye, though, as if it had never happened.

“Do you lack confidence in your abilities?” The King sits upon his throne and sighs,” I thought you wanted to prove yourself to me, remember? How sad..” King Seokjin looks down at you from his seat. You are kneeling, as per the knight custom, but he could see the glimmer in your eyes.

You were the only female accepted into knighthood this past equinox, and they won’t be opening up positions again for awhile. As the only new devoted knight with female genitalia, you needed to prove yourself amongst the majority. The King’s comment flashes through your mind, finalizing your decision. “I will definitely succeed, your Majesty; you can confide in me. I will be back once the Dragon is slain.”

The King gives you a nod,” I shall be awaiting your return. Good luck, Lady Y/n.”

You tread through the forest, and the humidity drips across your face. The helmet grows heavier every second, but you were supposed to keep it on during duty. You camped out for two nights on the journey, the distance far greater than you had initially thought.

Your faithful horse gallops past the uneven terrain, until you find yourself facing an abandoned building. It was a little to the west of the village who sent in the urgent request, but not one villager would go near this damned place. The worn down castle-like structure had moss embedded into its walls, seeping with time. You wondered what happened to the castle and what it must’ve been like before the present ate away at the building. The sun was going down, and the shadow of the building casted over your figure. You sit still and listen.

Heavy thumping and shuffling sounds emit from the second floor window. No doubt in your mind that that is where the beast lays ahead. Silently, you dismounted from your trusty steed and approached the concave door. With one push, the door creaked open. The shuffling stops.

Cautiously, you make your way up the spiral stone staircase. Despite the outward appearance, the inside of the castle is clean and homely. You almost mistake it as intruding on someone’s home, but alas, you can hear the beast’s growl on the floor above you, reminding you of where you really were. Approaching the master bedroom, you open the door.

Immediately, the dragon is on guard, and it’s ferociously larger than you. His scales glitter a golden color as it reflects off of your armor. The room is furnished and ornate; the scale of the space is as large as the King’s. The normal sized window seemed tiny compared to the monstrosity in the room. The dragon bared its teeth and swung at you with its sharp claws.

The sword you’ve unsheathed blocks the claws from crushing you, but its strength surpasses the knights you have battled with during training. The metal clangs with its every attack, and you can tell that it’s running out of stamina. The dragon’s nostrils flared and fire seeped from it, dissipating into smoke. It was like a warning sign, but you doubt that the dragon would light its own home on fire. In a hasty attempt to defend itself, it’s claws swung at you once more, and this time it broke through your armor. A deep gash cuts down the middle of your left arm, and you grunt in pain.

You switched from defense to offense and slashed your sword at the beast. The last remaining light from the sun disappears behind the mountain as you lift your sword up for the final blow. Its neck is open and exposed, like a rabbit waiting to be eaten. Just then, a puff of smoke fills the air halting your attack.

When you’ve regained your sight, the dragon was gone. In its place was a man shielding himself from your sword; he was trembling and backing against the wall of the room. His clothing is tattered, but it resembled royal status nonetheless. Slowly, you lower your sword with confusion written across your face.

He was definitely human, except for the purple hues in his hair. Was this a sick joke that the King set up for you? You raise your sword and point it at the man,” Identify yourself, or be slain on sight.”

It was his turn to look at you in confusion, his brows furrowed and his curiosity inching him forward. “Who are you?” His face comes closer to your helmet, but your sword against his neck puts some space between you two. His voice is gravelly and husky, but it sounds dry and hoarse at the moment. You must remember that he is only a beast, who knows what kind of trap he’s set up for you.

“Identify yourself,” you repeated more sternly than before.

“Kim Namjoon.” He stares at you with a perplexed expression. “Who are you to enter my home at this hour? Maybe the beast is not I, but you.”

“Knight Y/n of the royal Bangtan Palace.” You squint at the man. Who was he to question your motives? You stood your ground, speaking defiantly at him. “I have been ordered to slay the beast that dwells here, and if it be you, then I must say farewell, Namjoon.”

“Would you really kill a Kim?” He speaks as if your loyalty belonged to him. What a fool, you think to yourself. He may be a Kim, but he is not the King. He chooses his next words carefully,” A knight like you should be able to recognize royalty when you see one.” A sigh escapes his pillowy lips,” But I can’t blame you. You're just doing what you’re told.”

Your eyebrows furrow as the aching sets in and watch as Namjoon’s eyes trail down to your torso. His face softens,” Are you okay? I’m sorry for hurting you,” he says,” We need to patch you up before you bleed out.”

You try to refuse the monster’s help, but when you try to push him away, pain jolts your body to be still. Your eyes flutter shut as you try to compose yourself, but Namjoon already swept you up in his arms.

The next moment you open your eyes, you find yourself sat upright against the headboard of a bedroom. You stir awake, trying to get a grip of your surroundings. The former beast, Namjoon, is tending to your wounds. It runs deep, and the taste of blood still lingers on your tongue.

“By no means am I a medic, but hopefully you’ll be okay.” Namjoon says as he wraps your arm in bandages. You don’t respond, still wary of his motives.

“What do you want from me, Beast?” You spit the words out as best you could. You may be hurt, but you can’t trust him. Years of training taught you as much.

“I don’t really want anything from you,” He smiles,” It’s just that I haven’t seen another person for at least five years. You’re my guest.” The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he looks away before you can question it.

He walks over to the other side of the room to an open door; it leads to a bathroom. A damp cloth stained in your blood is washed away in the sink, red water going down the drain.

“I’m sorry I have to ruin your mission, miss,” He calls from the bathroom. “I’m human; just cursed, is all.”

You hadn’t even thought about him being cursed. That would make more sense, but the King is supposed to keep tabs on every cursed being in the Kingdom. Some sort of protection plan, he said. But then why would he order you to kill Namjoon? “...What do you mean?”

He comes back from the other room, bringing some herbal medicine back with him. “I was supposed to, uh, be King.” Namjoon clears his throat. King? Your words failed to find you as he continued speaking. “I was sabatoged. They abandoned me here and left me to rot. I’m...” He never finishes that sentence when tears threaten to fall from his eyes.

“I can’t even say it..” Namjoon’s laugh is lifeless and hollow, and the fist he had clenched releases its grip.

You put your hand over his fist in an attempt to sooth his feelings. “I apologize, Namjoon.” Silence hung in the air while you try to muster up the right words. “Thank you, really, for cleaning my wounds. You could’ve let me die, and for that, I am indebted to you. Is there any way I can help? A way to break your curse, maybe?”

Time escapes you as Namjoon explains the ins and outs of his spell bound curse. You peer out of the window, seeing the colorful hues rising into the sky. Any moment and the sun will rise beyond the mountain. You turned to the man. “So you’re telling me that in order to lift the curse and slay the dragon, I have to kill the King?”

He notices you peering out the window, and recognizes the time he’d taken from you. “Yes, I’m afraid so. Look,” he looks at you in the eyes with a gentle face,” Your time with me means so much, but I’m going to turn back soon. Please, you need to rest, we will talk again soon.”

You watch him leave through the guest bedroom’s door. You tried to follow him, but your eyes land on his morphing figure as it looms in the common room. A cloud of smoke waves through the air and once more is the dragon from yesterday.

────── ☽. ✧₊∘ ──────

Taglist for this series is open! (o´ω｀o)

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755578 · 3 years

Text

I don’t really know what this is.

I don’t even know your middle name... hence the lonely 34.

I don’t know if this is stupid.

Or if it’s the start of something really amazing.

Probably not the latter, but I can hope.

All I really know is that its 2:05am on a Thursday morning and something in the depths of my brain is telling me to do this.

This isn’t really even good. My brain is mushy. I’ve been so busy this week between this whole moving situation and school... and life.

I remember when you first messaged me a while back, complimenting a charcuterie board I made. 2019.

Then in 2020, a terrible song recommendation. Lol. Right under my thumb.

Oh and 9 days later... about a crystal ring I posted on my story.

And then this time. 2021. About aluminum.

I was in the shower when I got the notification and I thought, great, he wants to argue about vaccines.

You didn’t know I’d been crushing on you a bit previously.

I miss your pictures on instagram.

There was a particular mirror selfie I was fond of.

I was sad that we might butt heads over this topic, but alas, we really didn’t.

Instead we immediately fell deep into a pretty intense conversation about life out west and the creatures that come along with it. You were so excited to talk to me it seemed.

I told you that I in fact could inject you with aluminum if you’d like, but you’d have to wait a few years, until I got my medical license.

Cute doctor lady and the pasty guy who annoys me.

:This is going to be super dumb but do you wanna snap?:

I’m actually crying and I’m not sure why. I mean from the external view we talked for a couple weeks nonchalantly, I have no reason to even care. But.

You seemed so happy to talk to me. And now I can’t even get you to respond to me.

I told you this before about karmic relationships. Not that you believe in that mumbo jumbo. But I do. There’s really no other explanation.

Why do I feel this way if there’s nothing more to it?

There’s a part I didn’t tell you, too.

In middle school.

I felt it then too.

I never got to talk to you though, like actually talk to you one on one.

Except once.

It was brief.

It was after either soccer or track one day. I’m not sure which now.

I dropped my water bottle and it got you wet.

I was really embarrassed. Lol.

I wonder if in that moment we were quantum-entangled.

I’m sure you don’t remember.

When I brought up middle school you seemed shocked that I remembered you, or even knew who you were.

But I still remember it.

I remember you.

I sent you so many songs that night.

Better songs than you sent me in 2020 I might add.

A lot of them were more than songs, to me.

A lot of them were actually quite metaphorical.

I’m sure you didn’t notice though. But that’s okay.

Maybe someday.

We talked for 3 hours on discord while playing car soccer.

Car soccer.

We talked about a lot of things. I think we were kinda scared of stepping on each others toes too though.

I would do anything to go back to that night.

Your laugh was lovely.

It made my heart flutter.

I think I’d do things differently if I could. I don’t really know how I would though.

I’m not really even sure what I did wrong as it is now.

I tried really hard to do it right.

Some days were so yellow.

You told me you liked me.

Cute doctor lady.

You told me you looked up things I texted you instead of asking so you could seem smart.

That’s the most ~me~ thing anyone has ever done for me.

Love is really strange how it makes you act.

It’s like life starts to revolve around that person. And for me it was like you were always with me.

I would dance around my apartment, and sing, thinking maybe you’d see or hear me somehow.

I would do my makeup nice in hopes that you’d snapchat me and I’d have an excuse to send you a selfie.

I would bake things or make nice dinners and think about how nice it’d be for you to enjoy it with me.

You told me you wanted to fly out.

You told me when I was home you’d come see me :silly:

I wonder if that will happen.

I thought about what it’d be like to be waiting in the airport and see you come out of the terminal.

After so many years of crushing, finally you noticing me.

In person.

Here.

To see me.

It would’ve been so yellow.

Within a couple minutes time we went from laughing and joking to-

:I can’t do this anymore:

:Do what:

:Whatever the hell this is:

I threw up.

That night I was so sick. Physically sick. I mean I was upset, too. But I was physically ill over that.

My head pounded for hours on end.

I didn’t really sleep.

Why did/do I care so much? We’d only been talking for a couple weeks.

I really couldn’t say.

All I can guess is that there’s some underlying connection. I don’t know what kind.

But to realize that physical pain could be drawn from it.

Idk.

I don’t want to write more about that night.

From there I really just wanted you to know how much I cared.

I wanted to send you jewelry.

I did reiki.

I sent you energy healing.

I read tarot and tried my best to support you in what the cards laid out for me.

I learned about your astrological chart in hopes to care for you in the most effective ways.

It didn’t really work.

You wouldn’t let me in.

Why wouldn’t you let me in.

Why won’t you let me in.

I want you to let me in. So badly.

We talked for a few days after that.

We talked more about you flying out.

Expressed more feelings.

We had more yellow days.

Waking up to texts from you.

Texts in all caps.

Conversations.

Falling asleep peacefully.

Smiling.

You cared how I slept.

You said you’d fight off my sleep demons.

I’d love to sleep in your arms.

:This needs to stop:

Why.

Why can’t we fall in love.

Why are you doing this to me.

All I want is to talk to you.

I want you to be part of my daily routine.

Why won’t you let me in.

I get that we live far apart and haven’t met yet. But does that mean we ignore everything?

What happened to me coming home... or you flying out.

My brain has been consumed with the thought of you every moment of every day since we last talked.

Why haven’t we talked?

You told me you liked me. A lot. But I don’t believe you.

Or maybe I do but I just don’t understand it. You don’t show it like I do. And that’s okay. But I wish you’d explain it.

Why wouldn’t you talk to someone you like. Why wouldn’t you care when they express their feelings to you and show love?

Love.

I called you love.

And you liked it. You were excited.

I was excited that you were excited.

But now I feel that I can’t call you love.

Why do you make me feel this way.

I feel like I can’t text you anymore without driving you insane.

Am I a burden?

You told me I’m not.

Idk.

:I don’t know what to say:

Those words really hurt and I’m not sure why.

Especially this time.

It’d been about a week that we hadn’t talked. For what reason I’m unsure.

I texted you asking how you were, a dumb excuse to just see your name pop up on my phone.

I mean I cared, I care. I wanted to know you were alright.

But I also wanted to talk to you.

But you didn’t.

And now I’m here.

Writing this.

Imagining me showing it to you 1 year into our relationship sometime in the future.

I doubt that will happen.

I’m not too good at keeping secrets.

That and I doubt you’ll ever date me.

I can hope.

But.

Idk.

This is just kinda a first letter.

It’s not everything.

Not even close.

I’d never be able to get all of it.

All of what I’ve felt so far.

Into a tumblr post.

Nor words.

Nothing.

I’m just tired and heartbroken and wanted to start somewhere.

My head was ringing for me to do this.

Create a tumblr account.

Solely for writing.

I hope to keep writing.

I want to write on yellow days.

I want there to be more happy stories.

Better things to look back on.

Even if it’s just lonely old me looking back on them.

I think I’ll write about more than just you.

But I think I’ll continue to write *to* you.

Just incase...

Wow.

I think I love you.

Feelings are good.

Memories are good.

I don’t want you to be simply a memory to me.

But if that’s the case.

I’ll still be extremely thankful anyway.

05272021

#my34

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meghanayar · 4 years

Text

How CoVID-19 legitimised my greatest obsession

Last year, after a prolonged period of compulsive hand-washing, I walked into my dermatologist’s clinic with an itchy red rash all over my hands. Mercifully, the rash had limited itself to the back of my palms – it hadn’t spread beyond my wrists. It was painful nevertheless, and my incessant trips to the wash basin were making it even worse.

The dermatologist, who is familiar with my skin-abuse shenanigans, took one look at the abstract art of my making and asked me, “How many times do you wash your hands with soap every day?”

It took me a whole minute of kindergarten-style finger counting to reach a figure. “About 18 to 20 times a day,” I ventured nervously.

She sighed in Dolby digital and shot me the look of a disappointed parent. “You have been torturing your poor hands,” she admonished me. “Which sane person does this? I am a doctor who deals with infections all day and even I don’t wash my hands so often!”

I gulped. I had known all along that my hand-washing was on the excessive side, bordering on maniacal. But I hadn’t anticipated that it would lead to dermatitis i.e. an actual skin ailment that requires medication to heal, not to mention enormous reserves of self-control.

I stepped out of the clinic with the guilt of an alcoholic. As instructed by the doctor, I picked up a huge-ass bottle of Cetaphil hand wash on the way home. The gratuitous soaping and foaming had to stop. It was rehab time.

Alas, this was easier said than done.

Cetaphil is, for all practical purposes, a poor step-sister of soap. It may be well-intentioned and gentle as a mother’s touch but it simply refuses to lather. No matter how much of it I poured onto my hands, it always left me feeling unaccomplished. If washing hands was my orgasm, I was pulling out too soon. It always left much to be desired.

Six months of hard work later, I had almost made truce with my OCD demons. I still hated my soulless saviour but continued to use it nevertheless. Soap had been minimised, sanitizers banished. With a little help from an imported hand cream that costs two and a half kidneys and contains organic shea butter mixed with the soul of a 14th-century saint, I had succeeded in keeping the dermatitis from making a return visit.

But, but, but – guess what was fated to happen just as I was learning to make peace with my wash-time nemesis? The coronavirus outbreak.

That’s right. There is a potent virus in the air now, people are rushing to make their wills, supermarkets have run out of toilet paper, and it is suddenly okay to soap away to glory.

After spending six months trying to break my cray-cray habit of turning my hands into sandpaper, I am now told that I can happily revert to my masochistic ways. Wash your hands with soap, often and thoroughly, says the PSA pasted outside my dermatologist’s clinic – the same dermatologist who had warned me that my skin would peel away if I did not stop tormenting it with antibacterial concoctions.

Life has taken a U-turn.

For years now, I have suffered from an overwhelming urge to wash my hands at the smallest pretext. Dumped a day-old laundry in the machine? Wash hands. Touched an elevator grill? Wash hands. Picked up a pair of (clean) socks? Wash hands. Touched my scalp? A currency note? The laptop keypad? The screen of my phone? Wash hands.

I generally wash my hands before dinner, and after dinner, and then again after cleaning the kitchen slab, and then one last time after dumping the dishes in the sink. If a stroke of bad luck (such as our domestic help Sakubai’s quarterly home trip) requires me to do the dishes, add in another couple of rounds of hand washing. Add to this the monthly annoyance of my period or seasonal troubles such as the flu and you have a frenzied woman who’ll spend half her waking hours rigorously disinfecting her palms.

I have always been aware that though this affliction of mine sounds amusing to hear of, it has the potential to snowball into a chronic disorder and reduce me to dysfunction. I have read accounts of people grappling with extreme OCD who find it impossible to conduct even the most mundane tasks without sanitizing and re-sanitizing their environs. I have always feared that if my reflexes are not consciously rewired, I might end up just like them.

And this fear was exactly the reason why I worked diligently over six months to tackle my misophobia. Because, what if I eventually morphed into a female Sheldon Cooper? What if being a germaphobe led me to fixing a ‘spot’ on the couch, or eating spaghetti every Thursday for the rest of my life, or worse still, creating bowel movement schedules? Holy crap on a cracker, I did not want to become that person.

So here I am now, freshly reformed. But in a curious twist of fate, I am now being encouraged to walk right back into my addiction.

All around me, I see people feverishly rubbing their palms with scented alcohol. My neighbours are moving around in N95 masks. The soap dispenser in our bathroom is perpetually in need of a refill. Even the security guard downstairs, who used to make a trip to the toilet and back in three minutes flat, now takes a good quarter of an hour.

Where does this leave me? Had I been the old me, I might have ripped the skin off my bones by now. But in my born-again avatar, I am no longer paranoid like I used to be. I still wash my hands more often than the average person does, but I am no longer precariously close to sanitary insanity.

It is difficult to predict how the CoVID-19 situation is likely to evolve in India in the coming weeks. But if the rate at which cases are presently mounting is any indication, things are likely to hit their peak in a matter of days. John Keynes did mention that in the long run we are all dead, but did he define exactly how long the run was going to be? For all we know, the run has run its course and we are about to be clean-bowled.

Given how uncertain our future is, just how much sense would it make to resist soapy temptations at this juncture? Should I maintain my newfound resist-dermatitis-till-I-die stance when I may actually die of resisting dermatitis? Wouldn’t it be more prudent to surrender to the lure of foam and froth if that is more likely to keep me alive, itchy blisters notwithstanding?

I have been mulling over this predicament for a bit, and have finally come to the conclusion that if my life risks being truncated by a rogue virus, abstinence is pointless. What use are pretty hands on a dead woman? If I am to die soon, I would rather soak in the soapgasms while I can.

Throwing caution to the virus-infested wind, I enter the bathroom now. I see the soap dispenser winking at me, turning me on harder than a porn star would an incel. Cetaphil is sulking from a distance but I ignore its death stare. I walk up to the basin, reach out for the soap – 100% chemical-laced, with all the sulfates and parabens in the world – and press hard, rubbing my hands in unrestrained glee.

My palms are soon covered with a familiar foam that my senses have long been lusting for. A feeling of total satiation takes over my senses, combined with a heady sense of release relief. I haven’t felt this excited disinfected in months.

As the great Rumi once said:

I’ll submit happily to the dance of death, I don’t want a second chance.

But while we wait for the end of the world, please let me wash my hands.

#coronavirus #covid19 #covid-19 #corona #coronapocalypse #handwashing #soap #personal hygiene #living with ocd #ocd #lockdown #coronalockdown #coronaliving #coronalife

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sserpente · 5 years

Text

Mischief and Ice (Chapter 7)

Synopsis: Thanos’ cruel attempt to wipe out half of the universe failed and the titan is dead; but his actions came with grave consequences. Tears and cracks in the universe, all across space and time, formed wormholes within the nine realms and beyond, giving some old enemies a vicious opportunity to strike again. When the Jötuns invade Earth and the Avengers assemble to defend the planet once again, it is the help of none other than the former war criminal Loki they are reliant upon to drive the icy warriors back into their own realm. But then the God of Mischief encounters a young woman abandoned in the cold—your body mangled and altered with Jötun blood, a lab rat to the Frost Giants. He decides to take you with him and nurse you back to health, unable to comprehend the confusing affection he begins to harbour for you.

Find all chapters on my masterlist!

“Mr Loki…”

“What?” He spat. He had only returned less than a minute ago, his feet still sore from the cold. Now as a Frost Giant, the temperature should not bother him—it did not. It was the sudden warmth surrounding him again which made him weary. An effect he did not appreciate.

He needed time to think about what he had found out, time to figure out a new plan and strategy. Loki was always one step ahead. Until the bitter end, not even Thanos had stood a chance against his trickery.

Therefore, he was not going to tell Thor or the Avengers how his lovely encounter with his own people had gone as of yet.

“It’s… it’s about Ms (Y/L/N)…”

Instantly, he spun around, facing one of the doctors—the one who had dared contradict him a few days back.

“Is she well? What is it?”

“We believe she is… um, waking up and—“ He did not wait for him to finish his assumptions. Taking a deep breath, he rushed past him, hurrying back to your room. He could tell how you flinched when he burst through the door. You were stirring. The doctor had been right.

Ignoring, the other medical in the room, Loki hurried to your side and sat down on the stool next to your bed.

He smirked when you squinted, your tiny fists—compared to his anyway—clenching. The light in this white room was way too bright. It took you a moment to get used to it and then, as you finally opened your eyes, your sleepy gaze met his, relief and joy washing over his body unlike he had ever felt it before. You waking up was a good sign, it was a very good sign… and it made him hope that your body had defeated the vicious Jötun blood in your veins for good.

“Good morning, my dear.” He heard himself say gently.

“L-Loki?”

“Shh… don’t try to speak just yet.”

You longed to ask him what had happened, where you were and why there was a doctor standing in the corner, watching you intently. But Loki was right. Your throat was dry and itchy, burning even and your body… your body was so weak you felt it would take another few days for you to regain your strength. You were hungry though. Hungry and thirsty… your muscles were screaming for nutrition.

“Get her something to eat.” He suddenly ordered as if he had read your mind, without looking away once.

“We know the drill, Mr Loki. My colleague is on his way. Some mashed potatoes, cooked vegetables and beef is a very nurturing—“

Loki frowned. “Have you lost your minds? She cannot eat that.”

“But…” You whimpered. You wanted to. Those doctors, whoever they were, would give it to you for free, for you to get better and now Loki… Loki, the very man who had saved your life, your king, was going to take it away from you? Perhaps now that you were awake he would call in his favours for keeping you alive after all.

“No,” He replied sharply, shooting him a strict glance. “Get her soup. Something rich with vitamins and as hot as she can take it. Her stomach is not used to solid food. It will take you time to recover, little dove.” He added a little gentler when he turned his head back to you. Oh. Biting your lower lip, you forced yourself to ignore the sting of remorse in your stomach.

“Very well…” The doctor mumbled. He seemed to add something inaudible when he left the room, something which dangerously sounded like insults directed at Loki. For his sake, you hoped the God of Mischief would choose to overhear them. You would not like to witness murder or torture again this soon. Would he do it? Punish mindlessly like the other Frost Giants had done? For some reason… you thought he would not. And you did not pull away when he brought up his hand to softly stroke your hair.

“My king…”

Loki shushed you again, alas his heart skipped a beat upon being addressed like that. He could get used to it… and it scared him that he considered keeping you submissive and anxious to be able to do so.

“There will be enough time to talk, my dove. I am afraid I am not the only one who has questions for you… but not until you feel better, yes?”

Obediently, you nodded, your eyes falling shut again for a brief moment. It was only then he realised that the red tint in the colour of your irises had disappeared.

Loki had tried keeping your awakening a secret for the time being but of course, those absurd excuses for doctors had informed the Avengers straight away. They were itching to bombard you with their questions which you would most likely be unable to answer.

The Jötuns had not exactly sounded like they had involved you in their war plans. On the other hand, he had to admit that it was worth a try. Slaves, back on Asgard, had always known a lot more than they had let on too.

Two days after, your ability to speak properly returned fully without harming your throat. You had stopped shivering completely and thankfully accepted the warm pullover one of the doctors had brought you in Loki’s absence. The hospital gown you were forced to wear underneath, however, you were to keep on… and after all the sweating at night when Loki insisted on the use of the heating blanket, you felt disgusting—not to mention your greasy hair.

“How are you feeling?” Loki’s voice was incredibly stern when he spoke up, making you flinch slightly. He moved with such grace and so quietly you never noticed his appearance until he made you aware of it.

“A lot better, my king, thank you.” You were on the verge of finishing your soup, for he still did not allow you any solid food. You obeyed. After all, he had saved your life. He would know what was best. You… trusted him, despite your fears still residing deep within you.

Loki had promised he would not lay a hand on you. Part of you believed that. The other, anxious and terrified part that had lived a living hell with cruel Jötuns feared he might have lied to you—and that one night, he would strike. But with every day that passed… the voice telling you to run and save yourself went quieter and quieter. What grew instead was throbbing affection which made you want to be with him, day in and out. This wasn’t Stockholm Syndrome. Loki had not kidnapped you, after all. No… quite on the contrary, he had saved you from capture. The more time you spent with him, the more you longed to taste his lips, to wrap your arms around his body and seek his comfort like you had when he had carried you into the bathroom… even if he had thus far rarely spoken to let you recover properly. Today finally seemed different.

“Are you experiencing any abnormal heat? Any pain?”

“No… no, I don’t think so. I tend to get very hot at night though… I’m… really sweaty.”

“We can have a nurse come over to help you take a shower. I would also suggest a gynaecologist to check on her. I am not authorised nor trained to do it myself.” The doctor interrupted.

Your eyes widened. You did not want a stranger to look at your vagina. With Loki, it was different. He had touched you down there before. Another female doctor… how would she ever come to understand what you had been through? What if you had taken permanent damage? What if you could no longer conceive? If that was the case, you did not want to know.

“That is nothing I could not achieve with my seidr without having to penetrate her with metal tools.” Loki retorted. “As for the nurse…” His blue gaze met yours, questioningly. Slowly, you shook your head. “I believe that will not be necessary either.”

“Fine then… she is your responsibility, Mr Loki. If she dies because of some internal injuries that could have been detected and treated, her blood will be on your hands. And before I forget it… Mr Stark and the others will be paying you a visit today, Ms (Y/L/N). I believe they have some questions for you.”

With a nod, the doctor left the room, eliciting a relieved sigh from you. Slowly, Loki approached you.

“Would you like me to wash you again, my dove? As much as I dislike to admit it, the healer was right. Now that you are feeling better, I shall use a spell to make sure your birth canal is intact.” He spoke matter-of-factly. He should have thought of this earlier. There were no grave injuries, that he had made sure of already of course… but it would do no harm to check.

Loki smirked when you nodded and allowed him to remove the covers to lift you up and carry you over to the bathroom. Carefully, he removed your hospital gown, sat you into the bathtub and turned on the water faucet, his seidr immediately manipulating the temperature for you.

“Now… I will have to touch a little more intimately for this spell to work, little dove.” He warned you hoarsely. Looking up at him innocently, you nodded once more, surprised by how he was giving you a chance to object.

Hungrily, he eyed you down, his glance lingering on your breasts and your inviting cunt. Thus far, Loki truly was proud of himself, for he had kept his promise. He wanted to ravish you there and then and sheath himself deep inside you, right here in the bathtub. No. Touching you would have to suffice.

Focusing on the spell, he dipped his right hand underwater and gently parted your legs, suppressing a gasp when you let them fall open without any resistance.

“I don’t know how I could help them,” you suddenly chirped. “I know nothing. There are no questions I could answer for them. They only told me they meant to subjugate this planet and drown it in ice… and they told me that their rightful king, you, your highness, had abandoned them. Will they throw me out once they realise I am useless to them?”

“Nobody will throw you out unless they wish to go through me first.” He replied growling, making you all warm and fuzzy inside… or was it his hand resting on top of your folds, gently stroking the sensitive skin?

It felt… good, an involuntary moan escaping you when he parted your lips and began to explore your entrance all the while letting his seidr ripple through your body.

How far would he go? Would he penetrate you with his digits and feel for himself what you had to offer? Would he bring you pleasure even? Your arousal did not go unnoticed, your growing wetness covering his fingers. Almost ashamed by your intense reaction to the God of Mischief’s touches, you squeezed your eyes shut.

Was it… right to have these sensations? You had been violated so much in the past letting a man touch you again now felt both frightening and exciting. Embarrassed, you raided your mind for a distraction.

Loki withdrew his fingers disappointedly. You had some internal bruising but nothing that would not heal over time. Oh, he would have loved to have lingered a little longer and see how far he could have taken his little examination. What it would feel like to make you cum on his fingers, to have you pulse and contract around him repeatedly, your juices gushing from your entrance?

He suppressed a moan when he felt his cock stirring in his leather trousers, demanding attention. Your attention.

“M-my king?”

“Yes, my dove?” He replied absentmindedly.

“You… you told me you were not always… blue, n-not like the other Jötuns. May I… may I know why?”

Loki smiled weakly, bitterly. Whyever would he not? Perhaps you would be the first person to properly listen to his side of the story. Besides, he welcomed the distraction. Reaching for the black wash cloth to help you clean up, he took a deep breath and turned off the water faucet.

“I was adopted, little dove. Odin stole me away from Jötunheim when I was an infant. I grew up on Asgard, as a prince… the prosperity of a throne within my reach. But the Alfather never told me about my true heritage.” He began the tale. “All I ever knew was being the second-born son, living in Thor’s shadow. The day I found out I was a Frost Giant… I meant to show the man I called my father… to prove to him I was as worthy of his recognition and love as my brother.” Only now did he realise that he had never told the story out loud, to no one. “But Odin… he would hear none of it and my desperate attempts to please him resulted in the destruction of the Bifrost. That night, I welcomed death with open arms, little dove. It all came different.” Loki looked away, his mind trapped in a painful memory all the while his fingers caressed your skin, sending pleasant shivers up and down your spine.

“That… that is awful.” You whispered.

Yes, he thought. It was indeed awful. He had never described it like that, only ever accepted that fate seemed to want him to never know true love, recognition, affection… at least not until he found you, half-frozen in an abandoned cottage. Your compassion was genuine.

“How can you control your appearance?”

“For a long time I believed Odin or Frigga had cast a spell upon me. But when they both died… now it is nearly impossible to undo the spell of a dead being, yet it was not long after I realised my mother might not even be of Jötun heritage. I do not know her, nor have I ever taken it upon myself to find out. She could be anywhere within the nine realms, or beyond. If she is still alive…”

Loki’s head turned back to you abruptly when you reached for his hand both timidly and reassuring.

“I am so sorry…”

He smirked—a futile attempt to hide the pain glistening in his stunning blue eyes.

“Now… let us dry you off again.” Loki said. He stood, reaching for a soft towel; your eyes following him curiously and grazing your own dishevelled appearance in the mirror, making you gasp.

It was not the fact that Loki had used another spell to maintain your hair… but… perhaps you had only imagined it, for when you blinked, the bright red irises of the young woman returning your gaze were replaced again with the regular colour of your eyes.

A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter I would be flattered if you supported me on KoFi! kofi.com/sserpente

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brekkingthebedwithbuckybarnes · 4 years

Text

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes

Chapter 1

OC x Bucky Barnes

Tagging: @vodka-and-some-sass thanks for always being my beta and best friend.

Disclaimer: (This is my first fic on here so I hope it isn’t too bad.) Fluff.

Summary: Adonia is spent with work and exhaustion and missing her best friend. She also doesn’t want to deal with her growing affection for the man with the troubled past, whom everyone seems to be a little worried of. But alas.

It had been a disgustingly long day at the lab. Countless samples, countless tests for each of them, on and on. Addy was sick of vials and thought she’d throw herself out of a window if she saw another one handed to her. Filing the final results away on the hard drive, she packed up and got into the sterilising shower. The only thoughts in her head as she removed her HAZMAT suit were that the yellow was bright enough to give her a migraine and that her bed was only half an hour away.

Stepping out of the lab, she made a beeline for her office, grabbing her bag, phone and car keys and made to leave when a note on the desk caught her eye. “Stark called. Meet him at the compound ASAP. Important.” Sarah’s handwriting. “I’m going to kill all of them someday”, muttered Addy, as she stuffed herself into her coat and took the elevator down, stomped to her parked car and drove the half hour to the Avengers compound. Parking at her usual spot, she walked into the building, the gates opening automatically for her.

Tony was waiting with Steve, locked in an aggressive but whispered conversation. Both of them shut up as she walked up to them, turning to her with troubled faces.

“What is it, Stark?” Addy grumbled.

“Trouble town with Manchurian Candidate”, Tony replied. “The medics haven’t been able to get any answers about it. We were hoping you could have a look?”

“A look. If anyone hands me even a single tiny Eppendorf, there will be smashed windows and I won’t apologise or pay for them.” Taken aback, the two men trailed after her, confused at the unnatural outburst.

She could hear Steve ask Tony what an Eppendorf was and normally she’d have turned around and explained but she was in a mood. Nothing to be done about it.

She turned only when they stepped out of the elevator Tony had taken them up on and he silently led the way to one of the in house labs. On other days, Adonia could spend hours on end in them, but not now. The stress had been eating her head off, and not being able to sleep wasn’t really helping with it.

The three of them entered an examination area, where James was leaning against the headboard, staring into space. “Why him?” was the first thought to flit through Addy’s head before irritated confusion took its place. He sat up when the three of them came in, and said, “Well, Stark, am I being released or is there another evaluation you want to do?” He raised his eyebrows at her, and it annoyed Addy to no end.

“We need answers to why that happened, Barnes, and who better than her-”

“If you’re not going to tell me what 'happened’, I might as well go get that sandwich and some sleep”, Addy snapped. She’d had enough of the twisted words. “Come on, Stark, what’s the problem?”

“Bucky lost control of the arm today. You needn’t have worried about smashing things, he already did that’s already done,” Steve replied quietly. “He did what?!” Adonia now turned to the painfully handsome man sitting with his face ravaged by guilt. “What did you do, James? What happened?” He looked up at the two boys, and Addy in turn gave them a silent command to leave them alone.

“I don’t know” were the first words out of him.

This was going to last even longer than she’d thought. Addy rubbed her eyes. Settling down on the chair opposite him, she kicked off her heels and tucked in her legs under her.

Bucky didn’t miss any movement, it was like he was fixated on her feet, memorising every little thing about them. Bucky, she thought of him as Bucky already, but she called him James. Nicknames felt too personal and she wasn’t ready for it yet.

“James-” “It’s Bucky”, he cut in.

Addy bit her lip. He wasn’t helping matters.

“How about we just talk about what happened? Can you tell me who was here, what you were doing?”

He released a sigh, as if he was tired of the same questions everyone was asking.

He looked away and shifted where he was sitting, half turned away from Adonia, who was trying not to lose her patience.

“It wasn’t even here. I was in the lounge, just… doing nothing. Everyone else was busy with their stuff, Peter had popped in to say hi in between somewhere and everything was as boring as it gets.” A pause.

Addy fought against squirming in the chair and waited.

“I think Nat had texted with her strings of photo faces that I still can’t understand and then a call came. I hadn’t glanced at it, I just thought she’d called to explain the text, but it was a man. Selling some mixer juicer. I don’t know what happened after that, I lost it.”

“Lost it?” Addy had her head on the back of the chair. Definitely a migraine coming on.

“I don’t know what happened, but one second I was fine and the next second I’d thrown the coffee table to the other end of the room and split the cushions. I think some stuff went through the windows too.”

He managed a sidelong glance at Adonia. She just nodded to continue. Sleep, she wanted to sleep so badly.

James was picking at his jacket sleeve as he mumbled out,“ I may have hurled a man into glass doors when he came to see what the noise was.”

“You did WHAT?!” Adonia sat up straighter.

“Yeah, he was the first to come in, it didn’t go well and I’m sorry, okay, I’ve said that repeatedly. I don’t know what had gotten into me.” He looked at her then, his beautiful crystal blue eyes laced with guilt and sorrow and the frustration of not knowing.

Adonia had never been able to hold that gaze for too long before feeling like she was drowning in the blue. She couldn’t hold it now. Her brain was spinning, trying to come up with any possible explanation. She’d been called in because she specialised in neural cell signalling. They thought the Hydra programming was resurfacing, she realised. They needed her to confirm it.

James watched her for a couple of minutes, the clever mind he was so in awe of since he’d met her working at an astonishing speed. It was like he could see the theories she was considering and dismissing. He thought it was the most wondrous thing he had ever seen. He’d scared her, when he

talked about flinging the man. He saw it in her eyes, warm like freshly grounded coffee, before he saw her believing him when he’d said he was sorry. He truly was and would have hugged her then and there for being the only one who’d believed.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” James asked cautiously, hoping his voice didn’t betray what he was thinking.

Addy jumped out of that daze of knowledge she’d filed away in her brain. That beautiful thing, Bucky thought before pushing it away.

“I…I have a few things I’d need to confirm before I reach a conclusion, so I can’t really be sure right now what to say to you,” she said sheepishly. This fucking migraine.

James released another sigh and Addy snapped, “Stop that.”

“What?”

“Sighing.”

“You want me to stop sighing? Why, did it hurt someone?”

Now she loosed a sigh of her own, rubbing the heels of her hands on her forehead. She was the picture of exhaustion, except for the look in her eyes when she raised her head.

There was something fierce in her face as she said, “It doesn’t help matters when you think you should be in prison or something at the drop of a hat.”

“I didn’t say any of that”, James countered.

“You were thinking it, I know,” she said as she got up and picker up her shoes. Fucking heels. “I have tomorrow off from the lab so I’ll run some tests, if you don’t mind. Then we’ll see.”

“Tony won’t be too happy to wait till tomorrow for answers.” Addy almost smiled at the look of surprise on his face.

“Then Tony can deal with it himself. I can’t handle any more Eppendorfs, I think I’ll hurl myself into a glass door if I see one now,” she said as she picked up her bag.

“What’s an Eppendorf?” James asked, as he stood and rolled his shoulders. He’d been sitting, waiting for that punishment, for a long time. He’d lied to Adonia when he’d said he wasn’t thinking like that and he was a little pleased she’d known it.

“Vial. Please don’t make me say it again, I hate them for the day,” she said as she headed for the door, holding it open for him to leave too.

“I should be holding it open for you,” said James, resting his metal hand over her small one.

“Oh please”, Addy was rolling her eyes.

So close. He was too close. It didn’t help her with the matter of thinking straight.

“After you, darling,” James drawled. Teasing her, if only to banish that weary look from her cute face.

He smirked as he saw the word work it’s magic as she straightened, tried to avoid looking at him and stepped out. She waited till he’d walked out and then almost smashed through the sensor as she locked the lab with her fingerprint.

Adonia noticed James’s toopleasedwithhimself expression and it irked her to no end. “Where’s the nervousness gone, Barnes?”

“Well, you assured me I wasn’t getting thrown out, so why should I hold it to my chest?” He was unabashedly grinning now, something he rarely did and she almost never saw. It took her breath away.

They got into the elevator and made it to the lounge floor, Adonia trying to ignore the fact that her head felt like a plane had crashed multiple times on it and James trying to puzzle out her pained expression.

“Something the matter, darling?” he asked finally, as they stepped out.

“You trashed a perfectly nice lounge and you ask me if something is wrong?” She immediately felt guilty for the jab as he winced. “Just a tiring day at the lab. Sorry.”

Tony looked up from where the rest of them were sitting and beckoned them closer. “Figured anything out, genius?”

“I’ll need to run a few tests to confirm what I suspect, but that’ll be tomorrow. I’ll also need his vitals from right after for it,” Addy said, hopping on her bare feet, trying to remain standing though her ankles felt like jelly.

“Oh? And why not today? It’s just 8 and you live here so it’s not like you have to get home late,” Tony turned his chair at them.

She felt James preparing to answer but said before he got the chance to open his mouth, “I’d warned you, Stark. No vials. I want to sleep. Goodnight y'all.”

Addy turned to go to her suite, feeling like she could sprint to it, when she heard Tony say, “We need to keep an eye on you, Manchurian Candidate. Can’t have another incident.”

“Yeah, I know, Stark.”

“I’ll have some security posted out your room and have AI monitoring-”

“You will do nothing of that sort.” All of them jumped at the fury in Adonia’s voice as she whirled around, her face filled with rage. “You will only aggravate whatever happened, and he isn’t a monster, Stark, so don’t you dare.”

Everyone was taken aback by her anger, they’d never known her to lose her temper. She’d fumed earlier but had never outright shouted at them. James looked as though he might have kissed her. And it was that look that checked her and she said a little more calmly, “Supervision to prevent destruction, yes. But don’t be like he’s some twisted monster who’ll tear everything apart. He’s human, he was brutally tortured and he’s just started healing. Don’t undo it. He’s one of us, treat him like it.” With that, Adonia turned and walked away, not trusting herself to keep her emotions in check anymore. The dull pounding had increased to excruciating pain. She’d need a whole jar of painkillers to get through the night. She wanted to cry.

She hadn’t noticed James following her back to the elevator noiselessly and only realised when she was in it and punched her floor number and he rushed in just before the door closed.

“What now? I just want to sleep, so please don’t let it be a long story.” Her voice felt like someone had run a tractor over her vocal cords.

“It’s not a long story,” he looked sheepish as he said it. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

“For saying I’ll run tests tomorrow?”

“For believing in me. Even Steve sometimes looks at me like I’m a terrible wild beast, like I’ll rip apart everyone around me. Only you don’t. Only you think I don’t need sentries and round the clock observation. Only you think….think that I don’t want to hurt anyone.” His voice broke and he cleared his throat before continuing, “So, thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for treating you right. Everyone else should too and I’ll make them do it, at gunpoint if necessary,” Addy said, glaring at the elevator controls to focus on speaking, anything other than the man beside her, and the pounding heart which now joined the pounding in her brain.

They had suites on the same floor. Addy glanced at the adjacent door, noticing it locked still. Ames would have helped sort things out, but she’d been gone so long.

James noticed her looking at her best friend’s door. His gaze softened even more as he lifted her chin with his metal hand, the vibranium cold against her skin. “She’ll be back soon, to torment us to death with her stories and lame jokes. Don’t worry.”

Addy smiled at his words, “She has the lamest jokes always, more lame than even Old Man Steve’s” and James thought his heart might explode with the warmth that spread through his chest at that little smile.

“Goodnight, Adonia. And thank you again,” he said as he let go off her chin.

Addy turned to her door and looked back with her hand on the knob, which unlocked at her touch,

“Don’t thank me yet, I still haven’t run the tests.”

“What time do you want to do it?” James crossed his arms against his chest.

She thought for a while and said, “9, after breakfast.”

James only nodded and smiled at her as she made to go in. He strode towards his own room across the common landing, clearing the distance quickly with his long strides.

“Oh, and Adonia?” he called out as she’d been about to close her door. She paused. “Have an antacid pill along with the painkiller. And have them both only after you’ve had food. I told them to send dinner up to your room. I’ll know if you had the meds before eating.”

She’d thought she’d make a meal out of the biscuits and sweets she stocked in her room, and had dismissed the craving for a hot meal when her body had stopped cooperating at all.

So when he said he’d ordered food up, and the antacid she’d forgotten about, she realised, it wasn’t false gratitude shining on her face. She’d have run across the gap separating their rooms if not for the migraine and her aching legs and the exhaustion that the insomnia bouts had brought with it. So she beamed at him instead as he smiled back, pleased at being able to wipe away at least a little worry from her face.

“Thank you, Bucky, and goodnight.”

It was only after the two of them had shut their doors and Addy had had her dinner and meds and had sunk deep into her mattress and numerous quilts that it hit her.

She’d called him Bucky.

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #firststeps

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blueberryrock · 4 years

Text

I'm so tired rn, it is currently 12:49 am so im going to bed after this. But enjoy!

(Blue's pov)

"Are you sure you can handle this?" I look down at the tiny pink gem in front of me.

"Of course, I've seen Pink do it a bunch of times" Spinel gives one of the biggest grins I've ever seen.

"A-and you know what to do? " I ask another question "oh and you know some of the rules....right?" I shift nervously on my sore feet.

"Rules?" Spinel shoots me a confused look "how can a ball have rules?"

"Well, there aren't many, just simple ones" I cross my arms "like for instance, we're not allowed to leave our seats, although White has definitely changed that one.....oh and cannons can't be in the ballroom, or the castle for that matter" I stroke my chin trying to think of any rules.

"Well, liquids are no longer forbidden, cause it turns out that Steven is about seventy percent water...." I trail off.

"Speaking of steven, is he coming?" Spinel bounces happily in place.

"I think so, he said that he would come with gifts, although I don't exactly know what gifts he could make..since we are quite bigger then him" I shrug.

"Quite?" Spinel crosses her arms.

I chuckle and roll my eyes "you should probably go and get the ball ready, and is there a dress code" I cursorily ask.

"Dress code?" Spinel scratches her head.

"Yeah, like we could dress...I don't know...nicer? Or different at least" I try to explain but Spinel just shrugs.

"That sounds good, I think I will try something new but I don't really know, you can too if you'd like, that goes for Yellow and White too" Spinel turns around "but like you said, I've got work to do" she starts running down the empty hallway we were talking in.

"And if you need any help, you can always call me or Steven, he has thrown at least two balls" I shout after her. I definitely shouldn't tell her that the first ball turned into a disaster, but it wasn't his fault...

A spike of pain washes over me, starting from my feet and quickly ends as soon as it reaches my mid-calf.

I sigh, I should go and sit down, maybe I'll run a bath. Yeah, that sounds nice. I turn around and painfully make my way to my chambers. As soon as the doors close behind me I instantly phase into nothing but a very loose and thin blue shirt and a pair of comfortable panties.

I slowly make my way across my room towards my extraction chambers (which everyone now calls it a bathroom).

I hit the now higher panel and the doors in front of me open, letting the slightly cold air into the room. I shiver when my bare feet touch the freezing tile floor, but I try my best to ignore it and turn on the bath.

As soon as the room becomes filled to the brim with steam. I phase away the rest of my clothes, and carefully lower myself into the warm water.

I let out a relaxed sigh as I finally make contact with the bottom and sit down. This time I accidentally filled the bath with to much water and it's now up to my chin.

I gently place my hand on my big baby bump, ever since I opened up to Yellow, I've been feeling..... better I guess...I'm certainly not one hundred percent a-okay, but I've been feeling happier about the gemlings.

Every now and then I occasionally have a few bad thoughts, but I'm glad that I have Yellow to help me with it, I just can't help but feel like I'm dragging Yellow.

I shake my head trying to get rid of that last thought, I need to think of something else...hmm what should I wear to Spinel's ball?

She didn't really specify if there was going to be a dress code or not. I smile as a wonderful idea comes to mind, I should wear the dress I wore to my first ball! I will have to make some adjustments, I rub my baby bump, man Yellow will love it!

I quickly finish my lovely bath and I wrap a towel around my body and hair. I sit down on my very comfortable stool in front of my vanity, I unwrap my now wet towel from my hair, I dry my soaking wet hair as best as I can with the towel before I instantly remove all the water from it with my powers.

I toss the damp towel onto the floor, but before it actually lands on the ground it phases away.

I grab my new blue hairbrush and I run it through my very tangled hair, I faintly hum some human song. Humming quickly turns into quietly singing.

"From the shell, the song of the sea" I softly sing to myself, I shapeshift my hair to get rid of my loop so I can braid my hair "neither quiet nor calm, searching for love again".

I easily hum the rest of the song as I quickly and effortlessly finish my long braid, I unnecessarily fiddle with the end of my braid, trying to make it not fall apart. I sigh as I throw the end of it over my shoulder, what time is it? I pull up a screen to find that Spinel's ball is in five hours.

I droop onto my vanity and let out another sigh, I should probably finish designing the gemlings little room, but all I need are the colors. If it's going to be anything like that weird vivid dream I had, I should be able to guess the colors correctly.

But alas, I am not a sapphire. The medical pearl did say that the next appointment I'll have should tell us what colors they might be.

I sit straight up and whip around at the sound of my doors opening, I smile when Yellow diamond steps into my room. She turns on my crystal chandelier as she grumbles something to herself.

"I don't understand how you can see so well in the dark" she walks directly towards me and smiles "it's like a new power, and I lovee what you did with your hair your hair"

"Thank you" I grab her hips and pull her closer, I wrap my arms around her and stand up "I wanted to do something new for Spinel's ball, while the braid may not be entirely new, but what I'm planning is...also not entirely new" I quietly giggle "but I know you'll love it"

"You know I'll love anything you'll do, even if you've done it before" Yellow plants a soft kiss on top of my head.

"I know, I know" I release my hold from her and I grab my still open screen "Since you are here, I wanted to show you the nursery design for our gemlings!"

I pull up the blueprints and proudly show her, she grabs the screen and studies each picture for a few seconds before moving onto the next one.

"They look good, but what is the color scheme?" Yellow hands me the screen back.

"I wanted to do the colors of what the gemlings are, but that'll have to wait a couple of days or so" I pull up the time and date again "well, it says the next appointment is actually tomorrow, so the plans will be done quickly"

A sudden rush of fatigue washes over me, I let out a yawn as I dismiss the screen "I think I'm going to take a nap before the ball" I phase into a soft shirt and pants.

I walk around Yellow and head straight for my bed "wake me up at least half a cycle before it starts." I pull all the blankets onto me.

"Noted" Yellow lays down right beside me, I lay down on my back as Yellow messes with my braid, she hums as I flip onto my side, trying to find a good position.

I let out a very long and relaxed sigh as I finally get comfortable, I feel myself drift into slumber as Yellow finishes humming.

"Have a good nap, I'll be back to wake you up" She whispers, I grumble something back to her, but I don't know what it was.

Since I took a nap I surprisingly didn't have a dream, I just fell asleep then bam! Instantly woke up.

"Blue? You said to wake you up now, so I need you to wake up" Yellow shakes me awake.

"Hmmm" I sit up, I wipe the sleep from my eyes, I squint from the light and I turn to the golden diamond next to me.

"Yellow? Mmm, what time is it?" I pull back the very warm covers and shiver slightly as Yellow helps me off of the bed.

"It's about a cycle till the ball, I decided you might need some time to actually wake up" Yellow let's go of me, I let out a groan as I stretch my arms.

"It seems like I did the right thing" Yellow hands me a glass of water.

"Thank you" I croak, I take a few sips of the cold water, I hand her the glass as I yawn.

After a few minutes of Yellow talking to me, making sure I don't fall asleep again, I push her out of the room so I can get ready.

I sit back down on my vanity chair and I fix my messy braid, damn, I knew I should've waited until after I took a nap. But then again, I didn't know that I'd actually take one...

As soon as my braid is done, I stand up and phase off my pajamas and I put on a comfortable pair of matching panties and a bra.

Now, this is the hard part, I have to remember what my dress looked like. It really won't be hard, but it was a very very long time ago.

As soon as remember what the dress I wore for my first ball looks like, I phase it on. I quickly adjust the waist so it's not clinging to my body, but instead it flowing at the bottom.

I turn around to face the mirror, I take a few steps back to see the entire dress.

And it's almost just how I remember it.

The top clings to my form, I had to just the neckline so it ends at the tip of my gem, I kept the long sleeves but moved the end of them just an inch or two back. The color of the entire dress is still blue, but as dark as the night sky, and it still shimmers when I move.

Moving past my waist, I shortened the slit by my leg a lot, so now it goes from my mid-calf to my ankles, which is where the dress stops, I also added the same sized slit on the other side.

This time I finally put on shoes, but they are a simple pair of knee-length boots with a lot of extra padding inside.

I smooth down the front of the dress, I smile as the familiar softness tickles my hands. A familiar chime breaks the silence in my room "come in" I half yell.

I sit back down on my plush stool as the big blue doors open. Steven, Amethyst, Pearl, and Connie walk into my room.

Steven and Pearl laugh at something that Amethyst had probably said, and in Steven's and Connie's hands are some big wrapped items.

As soon as Connie sees me, she accidentally drops the gifts she was carrying and her brown eyes go wide.

I push myself off of the stool and walk over to them "is something wrong" I ask the shocked Connie as I pick up the thing she dropped.

"N-no, nothing is wrong" she shakes her head and smiles "it's just that Steven said that you were at least six months in, but I had no idea you were." I cut her off "Big? Huge?" I smile little.

"Well, no, I was going to say, I had no idea you were so pregnant" she nervously laughs "and your dress looks amazing!"

I slightly blush from the complement. "Well, I am carrying twins" I smile warmly, I gently place my hand on my belly. I examine the nicely wrapped item, it's wrapped in different styles of a human material, which I think is paper and it fits perfectly in my hand. "You guys really didn't need to bring us anything."

"Well, my art teacher had me and my class make stuffed animals" I neatly unwrap all the paper to reveal a very soft, mixed fabric, lion "and I decided to go all out." Connie very proudly says.

I neatly place the paper on my vanity and inspect the toy lion. It has stitched black eyes and a black heart-shaped nose, with a wild rainbow mane and matching tail.

"It may not be the prettiest thing in the world, but I'm pretty sure that bad boy gave me an A+ for the rest of the year" Connie smiles "and it took me a little more than a week to make it, not including the time it took to gather the materials, luckily my mom and dad were there to help me."

I put the adorable lion on my vanity and I grab the gift that Steven was holding, "Man, you do not know how long it took to wrap those, and how much wrapping paper it took" Steven smiles as I once again, neatly take the paper off.

"As I said, you really didn't need to bring us anything, but I really do appreciate it" I happily say, I place all the paper on the vanity with the other paper.

In my hand is a beautiful wooden box with a wind-up on the back, it's a lovely shade of dark green with the diamond insignia top.

"C'mon, wind it up!" Steven excitedly says.

I smile at his lack of patience, I delicately wind up the box, as excitement builds inside me with each crank.

Suddenly the little box makes a strange CLICK sound and a wonderful tune starts playing, I shoot a confused look towards Steven. But he just looks at me with what I think are tearful eyes.

The song ends quickly, Steven sighs "The song is called you are my sunshine, my dad would sing that to me whenever I got scared, I'll teach you the lyrics later, but now we've got a ball to attend!" Steven turns on his heel towards the door.

"I'll be right after you" I call out to him and his friends as they leave. I quickly set the box next to the lion, I take one last glance over my outfit before I turn around and leave.

(At the ball)

I stand in front of familiar ballroom doors, this time I'm not being introduced to gems, this time I'm just going to go in and enjoy the ball without any pressure, what so ever.

I take a deep breath in, hold my head up high, and hit the panel that opens the doors. Music fills up the small hallway I'm standing in, I walk into the very crowded room. I spot Steven and Connie dancing with a multitude of different gems and fusions.

I also see Spinel dancing with Amethyst and a handful of other quartzes, and Pearl talking to Blue and Yellow Pearl. I carefully move towards one of the back corners of the room, once I'm there I look around the room trying to find Yellow, I don't think she's here. I'd would've spotted her by now.

I sadly sigh, guess I'll have to wait for some time. As I wait I eagerly watch the only door that we can fit through, and it hasn't been all bad, a lot of different gems came up to me to say hello and to congratulate me. One gem even brought me a tray of brown and white sweets, which attracted Steven and Connie. They then told me the sweets were called 'chocolate', and I told them I love the really dark ones, which turned out to be dark chocolate.

They did have to take the tray away from me before I ate it all, then the diamond doors opened and I got very excited, but then White Diamond appeared then the doors remained close for quite a while.

She seemed to easily notice my mood and made quickly walked over to me.

"I'm going to assume you're waiting for Yellow?" White rests her back against the wall.

"Well...yeah" I sigh "I wanted to surprise her by putting on the dress from my first ball" when I finished my sentence, White did a double-take on my outfit.

"Oh wow, I didn't even notice" She runs her hand over my covered arm "you still look as beautiful as the day you first put it on"

I blush from the compliment "look, this time I actually put on shoes!" I lift my dress and flaunt my boots.

White laughs "they're not the heels that go with the dress, but those are pretty close".

I let go of my dress "I don't understand how you and Yellow can wear something with heels, I'd trip in them very easily"

"Which is why I let you go barefoot" White smiles warmly.

I smile back. "Anyways, I've really only came to the ball to say hello to every, so after that, I'm probably going to leave" I nod as White pushes herself off of the wall and heads towards Steven and his friends.

I sigh and rest my head against the hard stone wall. I continue to watch the door until Yellow diamond finally walks through it. Happiness builds inside of me as she spots me.

She carefully makes her way across the very crowded ballroom floor, I frown as I notice a few sparks dance across her shoulders and chest.

She finally stops in front of me and sighs "I'm sorry for being so late, as soon as you pushed me out of your room a topaz said there was an emergency, so I had to deal with that, then I got a reminder that the ball has started so I quickly polished my armor and...wait..." Yellow takes a step away from me. A big smile creeps on to my face.

"Is that?" Yellow looks me up and down.

"In fact it is! I did have to make a few adjustments to the dress, but I kept it pretty much the same" I wrap my arms around Yellow, she does the same, she gives me a short but passionate kiss on the lips before she pulls away and leads me towards where everyone is dancing. "C'mon, let's join them."

"Okay, but only for a little bit" I grab her hand and wrap my arm and she twirls me.

We continue to dance for some time before I start to feel sick from all the chocolates, so we say goodbye and thank you to everyone before Yellow whisks me away to my room, where I then have a 'stomach ache' for a few hours.

I painfully groan into my plush pillow, Yellow lovingly rubs my aching pregnant belly.

"Just try to sleep" Yellow kisses my neck.

"C-can't.. hurts too much" I whimper.

"Steven said it'll go away soon, just sleep it off" Yellow slows down, she rubs slow soothing circles.

Unfortunately, her touch is very soothing, I can feel myself growing tired every second.

I let out a long yawn which turns into another groan "mmmm fine, I'll try to sleep, but I'm telling you it's not going to work" I grumble. I tightly close my eyes, trying to get my self to fall asleep.

It eventually works when I finally relax and mumble good night.

"Good night Blue" Yellow places a kiss on my head before I quickly pass out.

Splish

Splash

Sploosh

I'm going to bed, gn

#steven universe #blue diamond su #su yellow diamond #bellow diamond #fanfic #good night #stay home

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bonsaiiiiiii · 4 years

Text

FabFiveFeb 2020 - Virgil

Prompt 1, 2, 3, 4 - Hard, Yesterday, "I'm trying!" and Shimmer

THIS FIC IS DIVIDED IN 2 PARTS. PART 2 IS BEING POSTED JUST AFTER THIS. TUMBLR WON'T LET ME POST THE ENTIRE FIC

(I took this part from my original story, Dust, which should be published in a few weeks more or less {too busy with exams}. rereading this chapter I thought it would be a fabulous fic to display, also because it has many of the prompts inside. I know, major spoiler for when the fic will be out, but this chapter will be out so far in time that you will forget about it! [Lol I hope] I hope you like it! Prompts given by the amazing @gumnut-logic ♡)

"Where am I?" and "Who am I?" are the two questions that have been ringing most frequently in my head since I arrived here. Here, though, where? Where exactly is 'Here'?

I don’t know how I got here, and the weirdest thing is, I don’t even remember my name anymore. The man who took me always refers to me as Alice.

Alice. What a beautiful name! But I don’t remember it being mine..

Of course, the man never told me his name; he keeps telling me that I would have remembered it and that I would have recognized him if my memory had gone back, if it ever happened. For some strange reason, he was pretty sure I’d never get my memory back.

So all I did was spend eight months in this dark cell, trying to remember every detail of my life.

Yeah, I’ve been here eight months. The only thing that’s changed with my body is a concussion to my head, a scar on my forehead, and my belly was growing out of all proportion every month that went by; yeah, I’m pregnant with a baby, but I have no idea what sex it has and if it's still okay. The man who kidnapped me refuses to let me do a medical check-up.

The only thing I know for sure is that the man told me that I was already 1 month pregnant before he kidnapped me and carried me into the bowels of the earth.

If I think about it, it makes sense. It’s true that I woke up in the cell, but I don’t remember being passed out that long. I don’t know how I know this, but I’ve been unconscious, alas asleep, for a short period of time, like the time of a surgery.

The man doesn’t seem to want to hurt me, or at least that’s what I think. I’ve been stuck here for 8 months and I’ve only seen him twice. The first time was when I arrived here; I remember just waking up, remembering nothing of my past in the cell. I remember looking up and seeing him right in front of my eyes. We just looked at each other, also because I was very confused and he didn’t speak, his mouth was reduced to a very thin line. If I had the gift to go back in time, I would have cried.

The second time he came down was five months later, after me complaining all the time.

He came down to my cell, simply explaining the reason for my kidnapping: he practically locked me here because he simply wanted to take me away from the family I was with, as a sign of revenge against them.

When I asked him why he was so mad at them, he turned around and just said, "They took something of mine."

I said outraged, "So if they took something of yours, you have to do something as bad as kidnapping a pregnant woman? Can’t you get over it? I’m sure this family isn’t even looking for me!"

Only when my anger vanished I realized that I told him that I was pregnant. I shut my mouth with a hand in horror.

To my answer he smiled at me, but it seemed more like a melancholy smile rather than the evil one he wanted to let out.

"Believe me, they’re looking for you. And I won’t let them find you."

With that phrase, he went up those stone stairs that I’ve been seeing for eight months, blocking my cell again. He hasn’t been around since.

So now I just lay on the little bed in my cell, holding my belly and stroking it with my hands, with the comfort of the silence and the ticking of a clock in the distance, which marked 13 o'clock in the afternoon. Lunch time, Yee.

Ever since I told the man I was pregnant, he’s had a bed brought down, and he brings me more food than he gave me before. I’m almost treated like a queen, and it’s a little ironic considering the situation I’m in right now. Even if I’m treated like this, he insists on not letting me out, not even for trivial things like taking a bath. I mean, Ugh! I’ve been washing myself with sink water for 8 months straight, do me a favor! But for some reason, I never had the courage to ask him.

But, as I was saying before, he brings me more and more food as time goes on. He also brings a lot of water to drink. Maybe he doesn’t want me to starve to death or die from malaria? Maybe he needs me alive, or at least he needs me just until the baby’s born. Will he kill me when the baby is born? Or..

As if it had intercepted my thoughts, the little one began to kick into my belly.

"Hey, calm down, baby, I swear I won’t think about that anymore. As long as I’m here, no one will hurt you, I promise."

But the little guy wasn’t of my idea, maybe he doesn’t have the calm genes in his DNA.

It was when I heard contractions that I opened my eyes wide.

"No, hey, listen, you can’t be born now. Please, wait. Wait till Mom gets out of here, which I hope is soon."

I started breathing small and fast because of the pain, puffing like a locomotive.

Then I was filled with fear. The primitive fear that they would take my baby away from me, or that they would kill me, so that he would be left without parents. The little guy never met his father, he never had the pleasure of feeling the caress of a different hand from me and the warmth that that hand conveyed, and the words of comfort of his father. I may have known him, but I can’t remember him anymore; if I’m killed, he’ll be alone. It didn’t even occur to me that they could kill my baby. If that had happened, I don’t know what I would have done.

At that moment I heard the sound of the blinded door above opening, making a female figure appear from the darkness wrapped in a sort of purple armor. I remember her. She was one of the people I met with the man who kidnapped me and another man, maybe her brother.

I don’t know much about her, only that she calls herself Havoc, and that her brother is called Fuse; they both always turn to the kidnapping man with the term Boss, so they work for him.

Since I was kidnapped they have been charged with bringing me food and drink, more often after the 5th°month. And in fact, she had come down with a chicken sandwich in her hand and a bottle of water, but she suddenly widened her eyes when she saw the puddle of amniotic fluid that had formed on the ground.

Shit, my water just broke! No, baby, I told you to wait! Not now!

Havoc gave me a look that I could clearly not decipher, something halfway between the concerned and the softened. Strange, it was the first time I saw her so...vulnerable.

After a second she went out, coming back upstairs. A second later she came back with the man.

"So, you’re going to give birth, huh? Congratulations!"

I was shaking from the pain, the breath coming out of my lungs, leaving me breathless. "Please." I sincerely watched him whispering, ".. Please don’t take him away from me. Don’t kill him. I’ll do whatever you want."

"This is very interesting. I could get you to do a lot of things, but of all the bad things I do, I’m actually very loyal to the family, so you can go."

I widened my eyes. "What..?" then I thought about it. If he wants me to leave so easily..

Like he was reading my mind, he just looked at me.

"Now I’m sure no one’s looking for you anymore, you can leave, and they won’t even know if you died anywhere. Well, they don’t know that on principle. I’m gonna leave your cell bars wide open, and I’m gonna open the blinded door upstairs, so you can leave whenever you feel more comfortable to do so. Remember that I can always find you anytime if I want to."

And with those words he made a gesture with his hand to call out Havoc and went out with her. Like he said, he left the bars and the blinded door wide open.

I was about to get up, when he turned to the first step, stopping on the stairs.

"Ah, I forgot. Try to wear something heavy, it’s snowing outside."

I looked at my clothes. I was wearing the same skinny jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt I was wearing since the first time in this cell.

He also looked at my outfit, and then threw me a long-sleeved dress and a wool sweater. Then he disappeared upstairs again. I didn’t waste any time and tried to get dressed, barely putting on the dress. Fortunately the sweater was very wide and, even with my belly, it reached my knees. That was very easy to put on.

As I was slowly climbing the large stone stairs leading to the armored door, I did some calculations in my mind. I distinctly remember that when I was kidnapped eight months ago, the man wished me a Merry Christmas, so it was December when I was taken away from the world. If 8 months have passed now, we should be in the middle of August, if not towards the end. So why is it snowing? Has it been much longer than I’ve counted?

I finally got to the big door that I could only see from my cell until recently, wide open to a big hallway. The pain of labor made my head spin uncontrollably, but I tried to bear it as I headed into a very long hallway.

I also managed to pass the very long corridor, finding myself in front of a little door like those that are at the entrance of every house. Considering that the door was wet to the touch, and being able to feel the cold permeating from outside, I felt that was the famous exit door that I had been dreaming about for 8 months. I shrugged myself, taking courage, and opened the door to the outside world.

I managed to get out, and I have to admit it’s too comforting to breathe the air from the outside, even though it's too cold. The man was right, it had just finished snowing, the inch of snow that had formed a white curtain on the ground was still fresh.

I could look around, as much as the pain would allow me, and I realized I was in the middle of a little city. I could hear the chatter of people passing by me, the sound of the horns of the various cars passing on the street, the lights of the signs near me flashing; the wind, which made my blonde hair dance slightly, I could feel it on my face, it almost tickled me. For a moment I forgot the pain I felt in that moment, watching everything around me.

I looked at the store signs, written in a language I couldn’t quite understand, and a billboard, alone between the little stores. The poster drew my attention: it represented 5 figures, 5 guys, all in a blue suit.

"Thunderbirds...meet and greet here in Iceland on August 30th." Fortunately this poster was written in English. So I am in Iceland.

Strangely enough, even that name, those Thunderbirds, they rang a bell inside my head, causing a distant memory, a voice, inside my head. A voice that whispered 'I love you'...

Suddenly the pain that I forgot came back to bother me and take my breath away. I tried to stop a few people for help, to get them to take me to a hospital, but none of the people I stopped could understand English, not even I could understand their language.

So I walked alone to some building that could even remotely represent a hospital or a medical practice, but I involuntarily left the city, finding myself on a desolate path, lined only by a road.

The pain was too intense, so I retreated behind a bush, kneeling.

And giving birth in the snow.

#fabfivefeb2020 #fabfivefeb #virgil tracy #alice kim

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scientistgoesboom · 5 years

Text

@bumblebeeper

SARD onlines his optics several cycles later, even though the Drone does not know that. It is hard, onlining after that fight. His body is still broken, frame dented and cables torn apart, but he is online and safe. His Creator is right in front of him, big servos carefully rubbing over the Drone's helm, helmfins flashing a soft purple as mumured words try to reach SARD's audials. The Puppy Drone manages a small chirping sound, sounding as broken as his whole frame, before he succumbs into oblivion again. (" Thank Primus Bumblebee brought you to me. Any longer and I would have lost you.") The next time SARD comes online is without as much pain as before. His frame is better and his torn cables replaced. His Creator is in front of him again, looking a bit grey at the edges of his plating, but optics blazing and helmfins merrily blinking away. SARD yipps softly, focusing his still hazy gaze on the mech. If he could grin in the traditional way, he would, but alas he can only fold back part of his maw in a semblance of a smile, creepy but his Creator understands him. "Good SARD, brave boy." Careful pets and scratches are bestowed upon his helm and he imitates the purring sounds from Soft-Purr he recorded so long ago. "I will have you whole again in no time at all. You just wait a bit and then you will be good to go again." SARD huffs, like his Creator so often does, and tilts his helm. It feels a little bit wobbly still, but he can move his neck without much problems. "Yellow?" "I have not heard of the medics that came by. He must be still offline. Worry not, SARD, it is only two cycles since he brought you back to me. As soon as he wakes up, the clinic will notify me. And thenn we will be having words..." The last sentence is more growled than said and his Creator's helmfins blink in a bright red. But SARD knows that behind that anger, is just a very worried mech. "Visit?" His Creator foucuses back on him, one servo still scratching his plating and helm, the other inside his chassis, rearranging some tools and wiring. "If you want. Would do you and him good, I would think. But let me get you back on your paws first. Then we can see." SARD nods, his helm getting heavy and fuzzy again. He chirps another time and offlines his optics. Recharge comes fast. ("I got you, SARD, I got you.") SARD loves to be able to walk again, without hitting any walls even! Yipping, wiggling and traipsing in front of his Creator he leads the way to the clinic. It isn't far and his scanners, onlined just this night cycle by his Creator, were focused on Yellow, leading him step for step to his friend. It doesn't take them both long to walk there, Creator talks with the mech behind the counter, but SARD is already in his way. Slipping past several other mechs he doesn't know and pawing at the door his scanners indicate. It doesn't open, like usual. "You could have waited, you know?" His Creator stands beside him, a fond look in his optics as he opens the door for the Drone. SARD traipses through, green optics instantly landing on the prone and only half repaired form of his yellow friend. It is only a short jump for him to land beside the berth, no blankets or anything, didn't those medics know about comfort? His Creator always uses Big-Fluffies for him and the nestmates! His yellow is still and only the slow beeping sounds coming from various instruments tells of his status. And SARD's scanners, but they only tell him that the Spark of his yellow is stable and healthy again. Still only one leg, though. Frame still dented, wires and cabling in the open, nicked and some even torn off. SARD carefully nudges one servo on the berth with his maw, whining softly as nothing happens, not even a change in the spark rhythm. "He is badly damaged SARD." "Creator can repair?" "I am not a licensed medic. I am not allowed to do that. I am sorry." SARD's helm dips down, his green optics never leaving his Yellow. They stay until the medics come in and tell them to leave. ("I may not be licensed to repair him, but I can at least look into doing something.") They come back the next cycle, SARD now nearly fully repaired, and the medics behind the counter talk to his Creator again. The door doesn't open, again. But his Creator is as fast as the cycle before. Inside there is no change. His Yellow is still only half repaired and stuck with many needles and drips. There is still no sign of the second leg and still no Big-Fluffs. "No better?" "The Medics told me that there is a shortage for spare parts. And no one found his leg on the battlefield. His spark is stable but without the necesary parts to rebuild him, he will be offline for more cycles to come." SARD places his helm on the berth, wiggling it under the still dirty servo of Yellow. They stay until they are send home again. ("Is there anything you can do at all?" - "Unfortunatuly not without more parts. But the next delivery date is still more than a week away. We have him stable though.") The next cycle SARD can enter the room all on his own, because another medic just walked in. Slinking to the side he analyzes what Medic-No-Data is doing. The mech is only checking the fluid bags and the vitals on the screens. SARD could have told him that there is no change, his scanners are working good. The medic leaves after a few minutes. Yellow is not as dirty anymore, but still no Big-Fluff. Whining he sits beside the berth again, his helm wedged under the servo again. He purrs. His Creator told him that sometimes mechs in offline modus can still hear or feel what happens around them. He just hopes that his apology for coming to late is heard. Creator takes over an hour to come in, and he has a Datapad in his servos. The visit is shorter, the medics complimenting them out much faster this time. ("Yes, he is stable. But if we don't get new parts to repair him fully, we might still loose him Wheeljack. We don't know what to do anymore.And we need the berth again. There were many innocent bots injured in that skirmish.") When SARD onlines on the next cycle, his Creators frame is even more grey than before, the blue optics now have a white edge around them. His scanners tell him that his Creator has not recharged in several cycles. Again. But SARD knows better than to ask. His Creator was up whole cycles to repair himself and after that, he was working on the new leg and parts of platings they were carrying to the clinic. The Medics behind the counter were ecstatic and this time SARD waits and listens. "Wonderfull! We can finally reattach his leg. And even part of the shoulders! Wheeljack, how did you do this in this short timeframe?" "Hard work and determination. And spite, lots of spite." They are not alllowed into the room this cycle, but his Creator manages for them both to get a glimpse at his Yellow as the medics wheel the berth into a stinking room with much light. ("Don't worry Bumblebee, they will get you better in no time. And SARD and I will be waiting for you to come online again.") "We can't visit Bumblebee today, SARD. I com.ed the clinic. The operation was successfull, but he needs this cycle to be stable again. We can visit him tomorrow." SARD whines, optics sad and his body curled up against his Creator on the couch, which they had finally cleaned. "Yellow get better?" His Creator humms, one large servo stroking SARD's flank and massaging him with a special metallurgic solution his nestmate Reliable had made. "Yes, you will see. Maybe he will be online tomorrow." They visit the market this cycle, where SARD bullies his Creator into buying a green Big-Fluff with tiny white avians on it. He wants Yellow to be comfortable. ("Oh Gosh, this is hideous! You sure you want that one?") The next visit is a very short one on the next cycle. The medics behind the counter just wave them through, nodding at his Creator. Inside the room his Yellow is still offline, but he has two legs now and his frame looks shiny and more healthy. SARD looks on as his Creator places the Big-Fluff all over the smaller mech on the berth, tucking the edges around the still frame as best as he can. SARD snuffles at the blanket, reminds himself where the legs are and jumps on the berth, instantly curling up against Yellow. The mech was too cold, SARD would help him get warm again. "He wake up?" "We will wait until he comes online again, no more leaving." SARD yips, frame curling tighter on the narrow berth. And if they have to wait, he can recharge now. ("Promise.") "- you two bit processor of a smelting slagheap! Do you have any spark of self awareness some where in your run down frame? What if you had offlined? Does that not cumpute in your helm?!?" The sound of angry Creator and the soft scratching sound of metal meeting metal, are bringing SARD into the waking lands again. He is draped all over his Yellow, one leg off the berth and the rest of his frame stretched over the Scout. His Creator had scuffed the mechas back of helm carefully and without much force, but why now? The mech coudln't hear them, right? "I should strip your plating right off, weld you to the wall and leave you to hang there until you learn about self-preservation!! Do you even how worried I was? How worried SARD was? Did you even think at all?!!! We nearly lost you, you stubborn copy of a recycled furnace! And what then, huh? Tell me, what would have happened then? You think I found it funny to see you halfway offlined on my doorstep? And that for my Drone?! You could have taken him to the medics! I don't even know what to say anymore!!" What? SARD finally looks up, green optics still clouded from recharge. Blue optics stare right back. Online, alive and big blue optics. "YELLOW AWAKE!!" SARD comes to his paws, scrambling to not fall straight from the berth or destroy the Big-Fluff, hooking his front legs over the shoulders of the resting mech and his maw bumping excitedly against and part of his Yellow he can reach. He wiggles, pressing his kind of kisses against the others helm, not caring that he is restraining the injured mech under him. He was so happy that Yellow was online again. He didn't even notice his Creator slipping outside the door. ("Thank you. I don't know how to repay you for what you have done. Thank you.")

#SARD #Bumblebee #Wheeljack #and the unnamed medics

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e1e4n0r5 · 4 years

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A drop of tea to spill, just cos I need to put this into words

Seasons greetings, everyone. Even though I know I'm a bit late. For anyone who may be wondering why there was nothing on my blog to do with the holidays, or wondering why I haven't posted any original content in a good, long while, it's because 2019 has been a very shit year for me.

About this time last year (Nov 2018, to be precise) I started getting a lot of heartburn, acid, and indigestion, all coupled with the wonderful feeling in the top of my stomach and back of my throat that I constantly needed to yack. All the time. All day. Every day. With no relief.

So I go to the doctor and he diagnoses me with GORD, the fancy medical term for persistent acid reflux. He prescribes me some pills to help reduce my acid, and they do actually work...for a while.

Cut to Feb 2019 and I go back to the doctor (A totally different doctor sees me because that's just how my doctors surgery works) to discuss my prescription, because those pills I got in Nov are starting to give me side effects. Great. I talk with this 2nd doctor, who was lovely but seems quite perturbed that no investigation has been done into the cause of my reflux. After all, I am an otherwise perfectly healthy 26 (25 at the time) year old woman - why was I getting reflux out of nowhere???

He refers me for a breath test, which come back negative (Oh poop, that would have solved all my problems if it had been positive but hey-ho) Meanwhile I'm still taking these pills which are controlling the extra acid in my stomach but are still rocking my body with side effects. (TMI: nausea; diarrhoea; stomach pain, that is "pain of my stomach organ", like my stomach itself had been punched from the inside)

Please let it be known, up until about mid-May, despite these side effects, I was doing ok. Pretty good, I would say. Yes, there were days when I wasn't great. But overall, not too bad.

Then it gets to June, around my birthday. The side effects are getting worse and I'm starting to feel pretty shitty. No pun intended 😑 My parents go away for a week holiday and when they come back, I had apparently declined so much during those 7 days that they discussed it at length that night after I'd gone to bed. I was visibly worse, visibly sicker than I had been before they'd left, a mere 7 days ago. I was un-blissfully aware that my condition was indeed getting worse, seemingly by the day.

Never the less, I carried on as best I could.

This leads me to one night in June when I almost collapsed during a fitness class because I had felt so sick and in pain in my stomach. This episode actually caused my mother to contemplate calling for an ambulance to take me to hospital because I looked and felt so ill.

I have a phone call with another doctor (doctor #3) the next day, explaining my on-going issues with this first pill, the side effects, and my almost-collapse the night before. He prescribes me a different, gentler pill than the one I was on, in hopes that the side effects would not be as drastic. Well, he was correct. I did not have side effects from pill #2...Because pill #2 did not work against the stomach acid and I was crippled in less than 3 days.

Another phone call with a doctor (I honestly don't remember who I spoke to, everything was a blur at that point) and he tells me to go back to my old pills for the time being, but that he would also prescribe another pill, stronger than #2 but not as strong as #1, so it should control the acid but hopefully have less side effects.

(If anyone is still reading, thank you and I love you)

So I go back to pill #1 and with everything going on with this illness and my job, I just forget to collect pill #3.

About a week goes by, I'm still sick, I still have acid, the side effects have kicked in again now that I was back on pill #1, and I almost collapse for a second time at the same fitness class.

At that point, enough was enough. I had had it with this stupid acid and the stupid pills and the doctors not helping me feel better, so I booked an appointment with a private specialist, but that appointment was still 3 weeks away.

I go to work the next morning (the day after my second episode) and people can tell I'm not myself. My mum happens to call me just as I was putting my bags down at my desk, to check in on me, see how I was feeling that morning after what happened the night before. And I break down.

I have to find a private room because I am so upset, so distressed, and still feeling so ill. I am in tears on the phone with my mother, and we decide together that I had to go home, I was not fit to work, and I had to see a doctor that morning. Not just have a phone call, but actually see and speak to a doctor so that they could actually look at me and see how ill I was for themselves.

I manage to stop crying, get myself together a little, and pull my supervisor out of a meeting to tell her that I needed to go home. When she saw me with tears drying on my cheeks, she knew something was seriously wrong. As a rule, I don't cry when I'm upset. My colleagues had never seen me cry before, or even get slightly upset, so when I started crying again while speaking to this supervisor, the whole team knew how bad I had gotten. I manage to stutter out that I wasn't well and needed to go home and needed to see a doctor, and I headed home.

When I got home, my mother was on the phone was the doctors surgery, telling them that I needed an urgent appointment and that if they couldn't fit me in, we would be going to hospital because I could not wait for a regular appointment and I needed to be seen by a doctor that day.

They give me an appointment for that morning and my mother comes with me, to make sure that the doctor takes me seriously and doesn't just give me some new pill and tell me everything would be fine.

Because I felt like I was dying. I knew there was something wrong inside me, something was wrong with my body, and I felt like it was going to kill me if we didn't catch it. Whatever this was would be listed as Cause of Death on the certificate if I didn't get help. I didn't know what it was or how it would be treated, but I felt like I was dying, and I had felt that way for a while.

We go to the doctors and we're seen by a lovely female doctor who was very kind and sympathetic, and agreed that something had to be done urgently to help me. The first thing she did was sign me off work for 2 weeks, so I could rest and recuperate a little, take away the stress of work so that my body could get out of the fight-or-flight mode it had been in for the past several weeks.

The second thing was to refer me for an urgent procedure which would examine my stomach internally and see if there was anything physically wrong with it. I collected pill #3 from the pharmacy while we were there, which I started the next day.

One week later, I have the test at hospital, and finally we were given an answer. 7 months after that first appointment, 3 medications, half a dozen urgent phone calls, and being signed off work, finally led to an answer.

Hiatal hernia, 3cm.

A hiatal hernia happens when a portion of your stomach slips through the opening in your diaphragm muscle where your oesophagus joins with your stomach and that portion of your stomach ends up lodged in your chest cavity.

Fun.

This isn't a life-threatening condition, it's not even treated as a serious one. It's incredibly common, and research says that approximately 50% of patients with hiatal hernias don't even experience any symptoms.

Lucky bastards. Mine had me convinced I was dying.

Having that answer, that diagnosis did help. I wasn't dying. This was not serious, I would be ok.

Next came the question of what to do with this diagnosis. Several people I know have had their hernias for years and manage perfectly fine with no issues, complaints, or the need for medication.

So I could either learn how to manage it with the right medication, or seek surgery.

I went back to the doctor a few weeks later to discuss these options, and myself and the same lovely doctor who saw me That Day agreed that I would give it a few months and see how I fared on this new pill, pill #3 that I had been taking for about 3 or 4 weeks at that point.

Pill #3 did work better than #2, but alas had the same side effects as pill #1, admittedly to a lesser degree.

I gave pill #3 about 3 months, before I requested a new prescription, as it was now only, say, 90% effective against the acid and was still giving me side effects.

In comes pill #4. The doctor (not the lovely female doctor, a different doctor on the phone) explains that #4 is slightly stronger than #3 so should be more effective against the acid.

Nope.

Pill #4 did not help with my acid at all and came with even more side effects that #3. All cons, no pros.

Back to #3 only about 10 days later.

I go back to pill #3 for a while and just try to manage the side effects as best I can.

But about a month ago (mid-Nov 2019) pill #3 seems to just...stop working?? Out of nowhere?? I woke up one morning with stomach acid, and it wouldn't go away. I didn't think much of it, after all some days were worse than others. I just assumed I was having a bad day. But the next day, I had that acid feeling as well. And the next day. And the next. Before I knew it, it had been an entire week of that bad acid feeling, even though I was still taking pill #3 at the same dose I had been for several months. Nothing had changed, yet the pill wasn't working anymore.

Another phone call, another pill. Pill #5, which is where we are now. I've been on #5 for around 2 weeks, and I still don't feel great.

I have a specialist consultation booked for January, and I will be officially seeking corrective surgery.

Thank you for sticking with me while I try and sort my shit out.

TLDR: had a very shit year so haven't been creative or in the holiday spirit

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porchwood · 5 years

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Okay, here goes. The incredible @everlarkedalways created a GoFundMe to help me out through present circumstances, but before I share that link, I wanted to explain a bit of what’s been going on. I feel awful accepting financial help, in part because I’ve been such a dry well for the past 18 months (I have nothing creative to give back/say “thank you” with) and also because so many of you have previously contributed monies to help me through other crisis points over the past five years (yes, it’s been that long and no, it doesn’t seem to be getting any better). But things are maybe the most desperate they’ve ever been and I really can’t say no to badly needed help.

Because I’m long-winded, I’m going to try to condense this into a simple chronological order. Things have been relentlessly bad since my car accident on December 26, 2013, but this is where the current run really started:

December 2017: The day after Christmas, I went to the ER at 3am with excruciating chest and upper back pain, a bad experience all around (terrible staff, indifferent care). Their best guess was that I’d had an acid reflux attack, something I’d never had before (but have had since, alas :/).

January 2018: The ER bill saga began, and after loads of paperwork/headaches applying for any kind of aid/bill forgiveness, they put me on a payment plan for the $1,343 balance (and yes, that was "after” insurance - Marketplace policies are crap and all they did was “adjust” the total; nothing was covered). Meanwhile, I started taking Lucky to an acupuncturist over an hour’s drive away, desperate to find something to ease her severe separation anxiety (nonstop barking and howling when I was gone, which we have been struggling to treat, with varying degrees of success, for over two years). The sessions were very expensive (around $400 for one month - I had to put them on a credit card that I’m still chipping away at) and actually made her WORSE.

February 2018: The downstairs neighbors left a mildly threatening note about Lucky’s howling - the day before my birthday. In a ridiculous twist of luck, I managed to find a great sitter who only takes little dogs and was (and still is) able to watch Lucky for me as needed, but it cost me $25/day. (At most I would use her two days a week, but you can see how quickly that would add up.) At the same time, I also started administering CBD drops (suggested by our new vet) to Lucks when I had to leave her at home.

July 2018: After increasing the dosage multiple times, I finally started seeing improvement in Lucky’s behavior from a combination of the CBD drops and SAMe, which was huge (note the timespan), but these therapies cost about $100 month. I resolved to make it work somehow.

September 2018: I found out that my workplace had been bought out by an area salon and would be changing hands soon. Shortly thereafter the new owner sent us the employee handbook, which stated that we could not have another job in the same field (many massage therapists in this part of the country work at multiple places as there simply isn’t enough work to go around, especially in the off-season). The new owner was originally okay with me keeping my second job (on-call work at a yoga studio), and then I learned that that position was switching from a subcontractor to an outright rental (I would have to pay up front for the use of the room and possibly make none of it back while having to promote myself as a business), so for several reasons I decided I would leave that second job at the end of October and try to pick up more hours at my “main” job. One bright spot in all this: the downstairs neighbors moved out at the end of the month, but...

October 2018: ...the day after the neighbors moved out, the landlord informed my roommate (a THG fandom friend and content creator) that the owner of our building had sold the property and that we had 30 days to vacate. I can’t even begin to articulate how stressful, expensive, frightening, and exhausting that time was. By the end of October our only real option was a little house approximately 10 miles from town, and miraculously we got ourselves moved out there - to the tune of lots of $$$ and insane energy expenditure.

November 2018: Because I now lived about 20 mins from work and I have to come home at lunchtime to take Lucky out (and give her a booster of anxiety drops), I had to switch to split shifts. If you’ve ever worked split shifts, you will understand why this sucks (you’re never home, you’re always tired, and you never see or spend time with the people you live with). My new boss put me on the schedule for two additional days a week (I initially had just two days a week, period, hence the second job), which initially seemed very promising, but neither myself nor the rest of the staff realized that the new management had an either/or policy when it comes to pay. (This is messy and frustrating to explain, but in a nutshell: instead of getting paid commission for massages and hourly for the rest of your clocked-in time - laundry, desk help, etc - you get paid ONLY commission, i.e., nothing for all the extra things you do, unless the commission divided by hours amounts to less than minimum wage, in which case they pay you minimum wage for the week instead, including for your massage hours. Which is not cool but is, apparently, legal.) So I was driving about an hour a day (20 mins each way, twice, to the tune of about 300 miles/week) just to make minimum wage (we were entering the dead season for massage and I’m the perpetual “second string” therapist anyway, so some weeks I had just four clients in four days :/), which was exhausting and disheartening.

December 2018: Daylight glimmered: my sister (with whom I am extremely close and who I hadn’t seen in a year and a half) flew out to see me after Christmas. A coworker agreed to cover the whole week and a half of her visit for me, and I was a little nervous about taking the time off (unpaid, of course) at such a rotten financial time, but I hadn’t had a vacation of any kind since moving to Maine nor a weekend off since August of 2017. I resolved to be extra frugal during her visit and my work schedule was going to be almost full after she left, so I was pretty sure I could squeak through somehow.

I saw her off on her return trip, and that night I was carrying some dishes down from our living room when I took a very bad fall down the stairs. These are awful, steep “Maine stairs,” and in my fall my left leg shot out through the open side of the staircase and wedged the knee against the bookcase in the dining room below. When I tried to get up I realized that something was very wrong with my knee, and my roommate helped me to bed with ice, a brace, ibuprofen, etc. The following morning I went to the hospital and was directed to the same stupid ER (the last place I ever wanted to go again, but they don’t have urgent care out here and wouldn’t let me just see a GP, so I broke down and cried in admissions). The care I received was middling, if not as bad as on my previous visit, and the nurse-practitioner ordered no weight-bearing for three days, which meant losing the rest of that (desperately needed) work week, and advised following up with orthopedics the next week if the knee wasn’t better.

My wonderful roommate made all kinds of accommodations for my comfort for those three days, and I implemented all the extra therapies I could think of (turmeric, arnica, l-glutamine, Epsom salt soaks, etc). I asked my employers about the possibility of picking up non-massage hours (covering the desk, laundry, etc) but was given the impression that there was nothing for me to do till I could return to massage again. I went to the orthopedic doctor last Thursday and his diagnosis was an MCL (least concerning of the knee ligaments) sprain or tear. I was already strides ahead on his self-care recommendations (getting myself off the crutches, constantly wearing a good brace) and he was supposed to refer me for some PT, but I haven’t heard a peep on that front, and I’m not particularly concerned because, Lord knows, my insurance probably wouldn’t pay for that anyway. He estimated 4 weeks to full recovery but I’m determined to get back to work before that.

So, here’s where we’re at: I’m out of work at the worst time of year, and at the very least, I’ll lose 2.5 weeks of pay (on top of the planned week I took off, plus Christmas and New Year’s were unpaid holidays). Because we live in Maine where everyone has beastly heating fuel, even in a decently insulated house (as I believe this one to be), it costs us around $350 a month to keep the place at 58 degrees through the winter months. (Yes, 58 degrees. 60 if we’re splurging.)

My credit cards are maxed out from car repairs and copious Lucky expenses (including an emergency vet visit - she ended up being fine but it was one of those things that happens after hours/over a weekend and you really shouldn’t wait several days to have checked out).

Oh, and just for fun, our January rent payment got lost in the mail. The landlord was very nice about it and we promptly sent out a replacement, but this meant paying $35 for a stop-payment on the missing check (did I mention that I had to buy checks, to the tune of almost $30, just for paying rent?).

Those of you who have already donated: you are quite literally keeping me going right now. You covered Lucky’s rabies booster yesterday and refills of her food and supplements (all of which, naturally, were running out at the same time), and Lucky is absolutely the reason I’m still alive, so her care honestly means more to me than my own.

I have no idea what my medical bills will look like at this point. I’m assuming the ER visit will be around $1000, and I’m sure the orthopedic visit will be up there somewhere too. As soon as bills start coming in I’ll apply for aid (or, likelier than not, a payment plan), but in order to do that they’re going to want my new tax returns, which means I’m going to have to get my taxes done (probably in Feb) just to find out what my ultimate medical expenses will be. (I used to do my own taxes cheaply through TaxAct, but I was a subcontractor for part of the year, which complicates things and means having to pay someone $$$ to do them this round. I may actually owe on my taxes this year, which is terrifying.)

The healing has been going well overall and I’m hoping to be able to go back to work next week, but I don’t want to assume my knee will oblige. To add insult to injury, I just got hammered with a terrible cold (the kind that levels you in bed), so my body is triaging itself and I’m not sure which is going to get the care first. Surprisingly enough, Lucky’s being a great little nurse, but recovery is a difficult and very lonely process, especially when you get saddled with illness on top of injury.

Anyway, sorry for the ramble. I’ve been reluctant to talk about the miserable past year, but in light of the fact that I’m receiving (and, I guess, asking for :/ ) help, I thought you should know what’s been going on. Thanks for listening and blessings on your day. <3

#bad stuff #gofundme

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justinsdaysinthedark · 5 years

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Post # 6 - It is what it is

I'd be lying if I said I haven't spent the past half an hour with tears flowing from my eyes staring at a blank screen wondering how I'm going to get everything I've got floating in my head out. I suppose listening to Coldplay live in Argentina probably wasn't the best choice of music to set the mood. I'll work on that one in the future...

Where do I start? It's been a question I'm often asking myself at the start of these blog posts and it's certainly not the easiest one. What do you guys know? There's been so much happen since my last post on Thursday night.

Friday July 26th: I saw my doctors around lunchtime who came in quite concerned. Whilst they were confident my lymphoma was one called DLBCL (Diffuse Large B- Cell Lymphoma), some tests had come back with suspect results that it could be a more aggressive and harsh type of lymphoma called Burkitt's lymphoma and if confirmed, chemo was starting that night with no time to waste. There was also one marked in the middle (a cross of the two) called Burkitt's Like Lymphoma which is treated similarly to DLBCL. Whatever it was, I couldn't change it. I just wanted answers and if treatment needed to start, let's get it underway!

Adam, my incredible haematology doctor sent off another test of my gall bladder to finally get the confirmation I was after. It was urgent. He had to know. It was reassuring of Adam to state "Justin, we need to know what this is. Preliminary results are due back later this afternoon and that will hopefully rule out Burkitt's. if it is Burkitt's, we'll start chemo tonight and I'll be with you every step of the way - even if I have to stay back a few hours."

I know doctors earn a fair coin on a lazy day, but how many give you that much confidence that you and your health is important to them? I'm going to have it a guess and say not many but alas, I am so incredibly lucky with the team of doctors I have.

4:00pm and Adam strolls in the door heading straight for my room. My heart drops, similarly to what it had when Michael dropped the news I had lymphoma. "Good news. Preliminary results are back and we're confident it's not Burkitt's. You can't rule out anything in life, so there still is a small chance it could be. We're happy to wait for the final results on Monday, figure out a treatment plan from there and start Chemotherapy next week. Spend Saturday and Sunday on day leave and I'll see you next week."

This was news to my ears. In a time of what has been negative or no news, I could spend the weekend with family relatively freely and forget everything was happening for a few hours each day. My Uncle Bob and Aunty Denise were down from Tasmania to see me, as was my Aunty AJ and cousins from Bairnsdale so it all felt like it fit into place.

Friday night saw me considerably more relaxed with this news...that was until Collingwood started and it was the demolition it was. Slightly humorous side note, the nurse came in around 9pm for my nightly observations. Naturally, my heart rate was up a bit more than normal watching the football (118BPM - normally between 70-85BPM). This caused the nurse to call in the team of doctors who wanted to put me on an ECG machine for the night and monitor my heart. I assured them it was because Collingwood were on and if they gave me an hour, I'd be okay. It took some convincing, but it finally worked. Back they came an hour later and it had gone down - crisis averted.

Saturday afternoon and evening was wonderful. I went down to dads for dinner and was fortunate enough to spend some much needed time with family over a beautiful dinner and good laugh.

Sunday was much the same. I went home, mum did a fair chunk of washing for me as I spent it being me. Seeing Courtney, napping in my own bed and even headed over to Fountain Gate and got some much needed new clothes and other miscellaneous items - something that seems so simple but is such a luxury when you've spent the past 15 days in hospital.

Monday July 29th: They say the more you think positively, the more positive news you shall receive....or it goes something like that right? I woke up this morning the most upbeat and best I'd felt in weeks. I felt fine. I felt no pain, almost like I'd woken up from a shitty hotel! In all honesty, I felt like I'm abusing the system however I keep being quickly reminded how much I need to be here. Did I wake up so positive because I lived my old life for 16 hours over the weekend? Is it because I was hoping to hear a reasonably positive outcome with this lymphoma test? Probably a mix of both if I'm honest. But whatever it was, I was hopeful.

Adam came around at roughly 10:00am. Didn't really have much for me in terms of news but more of an outline of the day. If they hear the results of the test they were waiting on, they'd write me up a treatment plan ASAP and get chemo started this afternoon. At worst, I'd be starting it tomorrow (Tuesday). They just needed that definitive answer of what type of lymphoma I have - an answer I'd love more than anybody.

Either way, we agreed i'd need a PICC (Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter) line in which basically is a long-term cannula. It runs from the inside of my arm right up and around and stops basically just outside my heart. This is for easy access for the chemotherapy and even an easy exit for blood tests - something that's proven incredibly difficult to take from me over the past few days. Additionally, these lines can last up to six months verses the three days you get from a cannula. There were too many positives to say no to!

This wasn't scheduled for any time in particular, so 1:00pm came around and I was about to be taken to get the PICC line in.

Just as I was about to leave, Adam came in with a few words I'm all too familiar with. "Well, the pathology tests we were waiting on have come back inconclusive..."

Woah. Wait. What? How do tests of my gall bladder that was removed six days ago come back inconclusive? How does one of the main sources not have enough 'data' to tell them what sort of lymphoma I have? I was just stunned.

Adam continued "As a result, we can see some signs of Burkitt's lymphoma and that's what we're going to treat you for. You're young. You should be able to handle it and it's better to over treat you than under treat and be stuck where we are at the moment. It's an intense 16-day chemo treatment that will totally wipe out your red and white blood cells as well as your platelets. We foresee you being in here for another 3-5 weeks, depending on how well your body goes getting these levels back up to normal post this first treatment..."

I honestly say this but that's all I remember from this conversation. I was hoping I'd be heading home this week but looks like that definitely won't be happening. Today marks day 40 of the past 55 days in hospital (day 15 of this stint) and if I go off the longest suggested time expected, I have another 35 days to go. That honestly crushed me.

I got taken down to get my PICC line in - quite an easy process. Very similar to putting in a larger cannula, just a whole lot longer and uses local anaesthetic as well as being guided by an ultrasound and X-ray. I'm lucky enough to have two ports, which will hopefully speed up some of my medication and how much they can pump in. Does it feel weird? The only weird part was feeling it slide down past and near my heart - but that's okay now!

By the time I return, dad made his was in to try and help process the news. We get Adam in to once again explain the process. In layman's terms, I'll be starting an intense and high-dose 16-day chemotherapy program kicking off tomorrow (Tuesday) morning. Most of the time across the next 16 days, I'll be hooked up via IV drip getting whatever medication is required. I think I saw I have rest days on days 7 & 8 which I suppose will give me two days to look forward to. At the end of the day, it's something I'm not certain on and will be a day by day process and constant learning about what's going into my body to help fight with me.

I do have one request for you all. With my body not producing red or white blood cells or platelets over the next few weeks, I do request if you are planning to visit however are sick to stay away those extra few days. With my immune system going to be at the lowest it's been, I don't particularly want to pick up something I don't need. Additionally, as much as I'd love flowers, they're also banned due to the infection risk of the spores mixing with the chemotherapy and causing some dangerous damage from the inside.

At the end of the day, if you're not sure please message me and check as I'm not entirely sure myself about everything. I'm constantly learning as I'm going.

How am I feeling? I'm nervous. I'm nervous at the unknown. How will this affect me? How bad am I going to feel? Will I lose my hair? What will my energy levels be like? In advance, I do apologise if over the next few weeks I'm not myself. Truth be told, that's because I probably won't be.

In a way, i'm finally excited to start my treatment first thing tomorrow morning (after yet ANOTHER lumbar puncture). I was so envious of both people next to me getting their first rounds of chemo today. I know mine will be intense but I just can't wait.

I've learnt so much about cancer and chemotherapy over the past four days and I know there's so much more to learn. Today I learnt I'll be incredibly highly cytotoxic, which basically means all needles and anything used on me need to go in a separate bin just for me. Additionally, I'll have to get used to the good old double flush after the toilet to ensure all waste is disposed of. Mouth ulcers are a big issue with most chemo patients as well. I'll have to start brushing my teeth after every meal and taking a special mouthwash 3x daily to assist with keeping these under control. There's plenty of other little things, but they're two I least expected.

Everything really hit me last night....not like it did tonight though. I just had twenty minutes to reflect and it just became a sudden realisation. What I'm going through is real. It's not a 'joke' anymore. It's not something they're looking at as a potential cause. It is the cause. I have a legitimate medical issue and it's finally time to fight lymphoma. All well and good to be talking the talk like I have been - it's now time to walk the walk. This sits well with me. If I give somebody my word, I do whatever I can to get it achieved. Unfortunately for the lymphoma throughout my body I've given it my word and it's time to fight it. Round one begins tomorrow morning.

I leave tonight feeling a whole lot better than I did when I started tonight's post. I didn't learn from my words earlier as Coldplay live from Argentina is still playing however I'm in a much more comfortable mind space.

My best friend of a lazy 20 years, Dylan visited tonight with his partner, Jacqui. One phrase popped up more than most and they made me aware it was a common phrase coming out of my mouth.

"It is what it is."

I can't control what's happened to me as "it is what it is." What I can control from here though is how I fight lymphoma. Thanks for the visit tonight guys, I appreciated the two hours spent here in what's been an incredibly tough afternoon.

Much love.

Juzz xx

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