#then after stepping back realized something about it feels a lil devoid of life | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bastillia · 4 years

Text

Innocuous (NSFW)

Read on Ao3

Summary: You’re a medical officer aboard the Steadfast, and you’ve found yourself caring for a gravely injured Kylo Ren. He seems to require some unconventional treatment.

Rating: Extremely Explicit

Words: 7.5k

Content warnings: Somewhat graphic depictions of injury, wound/bloodplay, burnplay, oral bloodplay, oral sex (f recieving), orgasm denial/delay, choking, inappropriate use of the Force (and of a medical device oops), rough sex, extremely minimal aftercare, Kylo Ren is a nasty fucking boy, LISTEN this gets a lil dark ok, so just please consider before clicking ok tysm

A/N: I scrapped and restarted this whole thing at least twice, but we finally got there my friends. Is this over the top? Maybe. Do I have a single regret? No. Please heed the content warnings, you may have a bad day if you don’t. This is pure unadulterated filth. Enjoy!

Strips of fluorescent light ribbed the vacant hall, white beams streaking reflections across the glossy black floor like a frozen lane of hyperspace as the urgent click of your boots perturbed the calm. The corridors of the Steadfast were all but barren this time of cycle, only disturbed by the occasional patrol of noc shift troopers trudging mechanically in unison. Devoid of the usual bustle of footsteps and orders, the static hum from the ship’s walls washed the air with a bassy din of ambient noise that might be calming, were your heartbeat not adding an anxious percussion to the silence.

You really had no reason to be awake, you should have taken your sleeping aid hours ago, but the endless scroll of patient files on your datapad had kept you up just long enough to see the alarm flash. Hardly a momentary blip, but the peculiarity of it was what propelled you from your quarters and heated your step with urgency now. Medical Bay: Intake - Officer’s Ward, it had flashed, and then disappeared just as quickly.

Tapping the access pad that led to the sequestered corridor, you waited for the door to slide open and slipped through. Needles crawled up your spine as your gaze shifted around the familiar yet eerily still hallway, which was making you nervous now for absolutely no reason. Each private room should be empty, you knew you hadn’t checked any officers in for overnight care, and you could recite your inpatient registry as if it were etched into the backs of your eyelids. Droids didn’t typically throw faulty alarms -- maybe your eyes had simply deceived you after a long and fucking exhausting day of post-mission damage control in the med bay. Echoes of that exhaustion now placed a terror within each shadowed room that you passed, something that your brain was convinced would surely jump out at you.

You stopped dead as you reached the final door, half-hoping this one was your imagination. He was still. Too still. Limbs sprawling over the edges of the cot, with haphazard bandages crossing his bare torso aimlessly. They were visibly soaked through with blood, contrasting the blanched sheen of sweat-drenched skin, a black mop of hair askew over the pillow.

A violent spike of dread lanced down your spine. You darted into the room, your medical instincts hot-starting and roaring in your eardrums as you alighted upon him with gentle precision. Two fingers flashed to the pulse point at his neck, depressing the slick, hot skin there as your frantic eyes fell to the broad rise of his chest. Pulse. Breathing. Both too shallow and fast, but present, thank the stars.

You released the held breath that was starting to burn your lungs. The alarm. What had sent it? You glanced around. Monitor wires lay scattered over the floor around the metal feet of the bed, not a single one connected. A fizzling noise behind you nearly snapped your neck as you whipped around. A nurse droid lay lifeless, crumpled and sparking against the far wall.

Oh.

You turned slowly back to the unconscious Supreme Leader, fear trickling coldly down your veins in a moment of consideration. He’d wanted to be alone.

Your mind suddenly supplied you with an image of yourself in place of the droid, bones crunched like scrap metal against the wall, eyes glazed, life flickering and dying in the fried wires of your veins. How easy it would be -- effortless, even -- For him to crush the life out of you with little more than a flick of his wrist. How… maybe that knowledge made you tingle, just a little.

You derailed that train of thought with a sharp shake of your head as your eyes flicked across his battered torso and up the column of his neck, settling on the tranquility of his face. Bruised and bloody as it was, he looked… peaceful. Freckles and moles dusting his skin like starry kisses to soothe the ache of battle. His features, always chiseled from the sternest isoform of marble, now softened in sleep. Suspended in a paradoxical state of youthful serenity even as his body worked in overdrive just to tether him to life. He was… just a man. And he was absolutely beautiful.

Maybe you stared at him, just a little longer than you should, before committing to your courage and snatching an antiseptic cloth. If one of you was going to die, at least you were the more replaceable option. And this was what you’d signed up for, wasn’t it? To serve the First Order, even perhaps at the expense of your life. For… the greater good, or something. Yeah. Higher purpose and all that. You were a good medic, and good medics were selfless. It definitely wasn’t because you, perhaps, didn’t mind entertaining the thought of those large hands around your neck, squeezing...

Fucking focus.

Expertly, delicately, you began to peel back the blood-soaked evidence of his attempt to self-bandage, baring the flesh of his torso. Stars, he was magnificent. Glistening skin lay taut over lean muscle, a finely-tuned war machine sculpted by years of hard training, evident even in the depths of sleep. The subtle ripple of his muscles expanding and contracting with each breath spread that insistent tingle through your lower belly as you meticulously swiped the blood and sweat from his body.

Your hands danced to the pace of your heartbeat. Quick and steady, as you tossed the cloth and fitted a needle onto a syringe tip. A light pinch of his skin here, so that he wouldn't feel the prick of the shot there. Pure habit, not that a small needle stick would hold a candle to his injuries in terms of pain. But you didn’t really want him waking up just yet. You pushed the plunger down to administer a microdose of bacta. Just enough to hotwire the healing process, without dulling sensation.

You'd mused privately to yourself on more than one occasion, that you thought he liked to feel the pain. Whether it was a show of control, or an exercise in self-punishment, you couldn’t say. But you'd learned early on, working here, never to bring a pain suppressant around the former Commander.

Maybe no one else had ever picked up on that, because it seemed you were the only person he ever allowed near him with a bandage. You didn't mind. Nor did you mind the way his eyes always followed you quietly as you worked, as you'd gently cleanse his wounds from the battles and conquests that he fearlessly led as the new Supreme Leader of the First Order. You certainly liked him better than the last one. You thought maybe Ren even liked the way your fingers would subtly worship his figure with every quiet and efficient pass of gauze. Maybe he knew where those fingers ended up later. Sick bastard. A smirk tugged the corner of your lip.

His arm was hanging over the edge of the cot, a cautery pen still held loosely in his bloodied fingers. You sighed, removing the device, and picked his arm up to lay it neatly by his side. The weight of it caught your breath in your chest, the solid and heavy cord of muscle dwarfing your hands.

You quickly shook away the distraction, seating yourself on the bedside stool and turning to your most immediate concern: The deep, ripped laceration that bled from his lower abdomen. Vibroblade, you’d wager. It was oozing around the half-cauterized flesh, ugly and red from where he'd clearly begun to try and solder himself shut. You gently placed the cauterizer on the bedside stand. A crude tactic, and not one you would settle for, you decided as you retrieved a sterile suture pouch instead. Preparing another antiseptic cloth and gauze for the blood, you hovered back over the wound.

A realization started to echo along the tunnel of your focus, and the walls crashed away with a thump of your heart as you stared at Ren's flank beneath you, where his breathing had notably deepened and steadied. Your hands froze as your eyes shifted up the planes of his torso, cold spines gouging your chest as you reached his face. His eyes were open, fixed calmly upon your own stare, a flush restored to his full, pouted lips. Ice shattered in your veins.

"S-supreme Leader, I-” You dropped your materials onto the mattress, “You- you want to b-be alone, I'll j-just-" you were stammering, pushing your seat back, brain vibrating with panic. This was it. You escaped now, or you were joining the droid.

You made it about halfway to standing when a hand cinched on your wrist, arresting your movement. Your breath halted as you snapped back around, your heartbeat slamming in your throat.

Something boiled up behind his irises then, trapped so fiercely under the tempered surface of his eyes that his jaw locked tight and his chin quivered slightly with the strain of it. Your brain began to scramble. The look held an unmistakable need, a plea that said, so deafening in its silence, Stay.

You carefully held his gaze as you began to sink back down onto the small seat beside the bed. Your hand was trembling under his grip, every drop of air evaporating in your lungs as his pleading eyes burned through you. You slowly let yourself sit until your weight rested fully on the stool again.

Ren’s body slackened, releasing the air back into the room, and his head dropped back onto the thin pillow in a flutter of raven locks. His eyes drifted shut as a breath rolled through his nose and deep into his chest.

His grip had eased around your wrist, enough for your brain to now register the pleasant warmth of his enormous hand as it softly enveloped the lower part of your forearm. The sensation dumbfounded you for a moment as you stared between your arm and your Supreme Leader's face. The muscles in his brow twitched over his closed eyes as several more controlled breaths seemed to forcibly banish something from his body.

You came back to yourself as a trickle of dark blood drew your gaze back down to his abdomen, where it painted a river over bruised flesh before falling down his side to soak crimson sunbursts into the white sheet. You cautiously twisted your wrist free, and he let his hand drop softly back to the sheet without resistance. Hesitantly, you ran a hand across his skin, next to the gaping wound, inspecting the separated flesh. Firm muscles bunched under your touch, tugging at the ragged edges and inspiring another pulse of fresh red. You studied his face as his lashes lifted open again to meet your eyes. It took you a moment to find your breath.

"I... need to close this," you breathed, tracing a featherlight and completely instinctive touch of reassurance over his intact skin near the wound. He chewed the inside of his lip.

"Do it."

Your belly fluttered at the low command, his eyes never wavering from your gaze. You swallowed. Standing slowly to bend over his abdomen, you studied the open section of the wound. The edges were relatively clean, and it didn't look like the blade had made it deep enough to hit anything vital. The bleeding was nasty though, despite your meticulous cleaning job. His skin here would naturally be taut over firm abdominal muscles, a high tension area, you noted. You’d need to place dermal sutures if you wanted them to hold. Your brow knitted in preemptive sympathy.

“This is going to hurt.” You muttered.

Well, perhaps that was obvious. But stitching up conscious patients was not exactly your area of expertise, so maybe in a way, you were preparing yourself more than him. You were surprised at how well you managed to withhold the tremor from your hands as you quickly cleaned the wound again. It steeled your resolve slightly.

You tossed the soaked gauze, and plucked a curved needle and sinewy thread from the sterile bag. You readied your hand over the cleansed wound and flashed your gaze up to Kylo Ren’s eyes, waiting for... well, you didn’t know. Any kind of final approval or declination, maybe. He said nothing, but his eyes burned you steadily as his jaw locked in place, making the tightness in your chest flutter and twist. Swallowing, you turned back to the half-closed gash. You quickly threaded the first set-back stitch with nimble precision, and tugged the edges closed.

Ren’s muscles locked up with a full-body grunt, and a broad hand shot up from where it lay on the bed to grip the inside curve of your thigh. A jolt leapt through your body, setting your heart at a wild pace. Surely that was just a reflex. Surely he would let go. Blinking, you tried to find the voice in your chest.

"You… you have to r-relax." It came out more breathless than you intended as you fumbled only slightly with tying and cutting the thread. You paused to steady yourself, ignoring how warm your skin felt under his hand. A deep breath rolled through the Supreme Leader, and to your utmost shock, his core slackened obediently.

His hand did not leave your thigh. You took a breath and forced yourself to continue, fingers curling to pierce and thread the next suture through the tender, deep layer of skin. A lower, longer vibration left Ren’s nose as his large fingers gripped tighter into the soft pillow of your flesh. Your breath came shallow as your brain ignited, trying not to file that noise away under the category of pleasure. No. Stop that. You refused to indulge the thought, or the warmth that it shot through your lower body, as you refocused on your work.

You fixed your eyes firmly on your target, not letting yourself meet his gaze again. The next few sutures were accompanied by sounds from Ren that you diligently ignored. If you acknowledged what they sounded like, your focus would be obliterated. It already half was. But the growing hum at the apex of your thighs could not be indulged, could not break your concentration, even if it was just above where his hand… Oh.

Oh.

His thumb traced the slowest line along the crease of your groin.

It was impossible not to notice the stiffness that was beginning to tent his pants, close to where your face hovered over his lower abdomen. A shiver caressed your spine at the sight, as all of the heat in your body began to gravitate to the heartbeat in your cunt. You swallowed thickly. Stars help you, the sight of him. Supreme Leader Kylo fucking Ren, laying underneath you, his cock getting hard as you caused him excruciating pain. And you… you fucking... liked it.

His hand shifted then, sliding upwards to press a single, precise stroke along the concealed line of your heat. “Oh-” The soft moan came unwillingly from the bottom of your chest, and you braced one hand out on the mattress as your knees turned to liquid. Your body responded so automatically that it made your head spin, your thighs shifting wider, inviting his touch. You could have passed out when he curled his hand to pet another slow stripe over your clothed slit.

Panting now, you lifted a pleading stare to meet his eyes. They were hooded black vats of desire, and your heart dropped right through your cervix as they drank you in. Your face tingled hot. Your brain wobbled along the line between finishing your task, and the primal need that was erupting through your belly. Either way, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him to stop.

“Supreme Le-”

"Off." He interrupted lowly, pinching at the fabric of your pants. You weren't sure why you obeyed so fucking immediately, but before you could think, your thumbs were hooking into your waistband, and then you were stepping out of your boots, trousers, and underwear, kicking them carelessly across the floor. The tails of your white coat tickled your exposed skin as you positioned yourself back over his wound, wet cunt bared and leaking down your thighs. Cheeks burning with a heat that reached all the way down to your chest, you pointedly avoided his eyes. You tried to steady your hands, and you swore you could feel his gaze stoking a wildfire at your core. You swallowed, staring detachedly at your fingers.

No, the medic instinct in you wouldn’t allow you to leave your work half finished. If you had the wherewithal to think about it, you might have concluded that he knew this, but that didn’t mean he would hold back in making it as difficult as possible for you now that you were, well, in this state. Taking a breath, you threaded another stitch. This time he shamelessly groaned, and his fingers slipped easily through the silky heat of your slit. You gasped, almost doubling over again as you tied off the suture.

You finally looked at him. His nostrils were flared and his throat bobbed, as he watched his own long fingers collect the wetness that leaked from your core. Pleasure and shame waged war across your skin, and your knees went weak as he met your eyes again.

“Keep going,” he stated calmly, gesturing with only his eyes towards the wound that was now nearly shut.

“Fuck,” you whispered, eliciting a hiss of breath from the Supreme Leader as his fingers passed in a slow arc around the top of your stiff clit.

How you managed it, you had no idea, but in very little time you were looping the last thread over itself, tightening it, and cutting. You blinked, looking back along the neat line of sutures as Ren continued idly stroking at your slit, sending shocks down to your toes.

“D-done.” You stammered as you shuffled your supplies together and started to step back.

With a flash of rippling muscle, Ren sat up and captured the back of your neck, pulling you in just inches from the strong curve of his nose. Your materials clattered to the floor as your legs nearly buckled from the sudden weight of his proximity, his gaze pitching you in an inky black tide of lust.

“Gentle little thing,” he pondered, running a thumb under your jaw. Your lungs simply didn’t function any more, you decided, as heat chased the air from the bottom of your bronchioles and out into the space between you. “I’ve wondered about you.”

Your voice hiccuped dumbly in your chest. “Ab-bout me, S-supreme Lead- oh.” Your question hung unfinished from your slack jaw as the pad of his finger shifted wetly across your clit, shooting a liquid flame up your spine that burst in your brain.

“Mm,” he supplied in acknowledgement, his lust-blackened gaze all but swallowing you whole. “Such a pretty thing...” Heat flowered in your cheeks again. “So unassuming.” He slid two fingers down your slick folds towards your entrance, and the delicate stem of a whimper crawled from your throat.

“You want to let go.” He stated in a deep, near-whisper. “Don’t lie to yourself, officer, I can feel your need for it.” You shuddered. Absolutely you wanted to let go. You wanted to do a lot of things, but mostly anything that would elicit those sounds that he was making before, while you punctured his dermis with a curved fucking needle.

“Yes, Supreme Leader.” Your voice seemed far away in your own ears.

The hand around the back of your neck curled slowly until it tightened into the hair follicles at your nape, and the pinpricks sent a thrilling voltage through your nerves that made you gasp.

"Just as I thought," he hummed, the smallest hint at a smirk twitching on the corner of his mouth. “Your desires are far from innocuous.” The lust that thickened his voice had you clenching.

He held your hair tightly, the pain scraping down your spine and feeding heat into the coiling, writhing need that hummed above your thighs. He began to lean back and pull you with him, until you had to shuffle your knee onto the mattress to keep from falling. His hand abandoned the wet heat between your legs, and a solid arm slid impatiently around your waist instead, pulling your hips firmly over him until you straddled his lap on the generous cot.

The feeling of his clothed, straining cock nestling against your folds chased a whine over your lips, and Ren caught it in its tracks, drinking down the sound as his plush lips claimed your open mouth. Fire exploded through your body and your hands flew to his chest, sliding up over hot, bruised skin until your nails were dragging up his neck and into the inky softness of his hair. A deep growl quaked in his chest and his tongue slid greedily across the roof of your mouth, coaxing your jaw wider for him.

You felt his hands slide to grasp the lapels of your coat and yank them over your shoulders. With a thrill of excitement, you threw your arms back to allow him to shuck the garment roughly from your body. Your shirt followed over your head, forcing you to surface from the depths of the kiss with a vulgar wet sound. The second you were free, his massive hand trapped your wrists behind your back, and you gasped at the sudden feeling of immobility. Kylo Ren pinned you under his dark gaze, pulling your arms to arch your back and press your tits up towards him, his eyes devouring the bareness of you that he displayed for himself.

Then he lunged. His hot mouth latched into your neck and worked down to your chest, his strong grip arching you further until his lips pursed around your pebbled nipple. Your jaw fell open in a gasp as he slid his tongue across the bud and drew it between his teeth, pinching just hard enough to leave it aching, and mirrored the action on your other breast. He hummed as he moved back up to lick wet, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, sliding along your skin until you felt hot breath flood the sensitive hollow of your ear.

“I wonder how you taste, pretty thing.”

The sound that left you was fucking obscene, his words dissolving every bone in your body. You instinctually ground down on his swollen cock, seeking pressure lest your cunt actually rupture with need.

He began to lay back, his hands releasing your wrists, and your strained muscles flooded with relief. Clutching your thighs, he pulled your hips insistently to follow his face back to the head of the cot. A nervous tremor wracked you as he guided your thighs over his shoulders, the realization crashing over you all at once. You were about to sit on the face of the most dangerous man in the fucking galaxy. He closed his eyes and pressed his nose to your mons, inhaling deeply and releasing a growling moan that vibrated right up your body.

A deep magenta bruise flowered his temple and cheekbone, decorating the seam where the flesh of your thigh now ended and his face began. Your core clenched in anxious anticipation, and he turned his face to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your thigh. Remnants of fear were still paralyzing your chest, but the bolt of pain that flashed up your body pierced through it and into your brain for a moment of blissful clarity. You moaned as you suddenly registered just how much pulsing heat was settling inside your walls, aching now to be soothed by his tongue. He ran his hands down your sides and gripped your hips, and he leveled a dark look up at you that liquefied your bones.

"Please…" you began to whisper.

In a flash, he took your hands and pinned them to the small of your back, then thrust his warm, flat tongue against your cunt with a low groan. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as he licked a wide stroke up the length of your slit, parting your folds and dragging the flat of his tongue across your swollen nub. Tingling pleasure erupted through your lower body, the feeling of him warm and divine and utterly unbelievable. He moved slowly, almost lazily, lost in the taste and scent of you as he began to work that beautiful mouth over every inch of your cunt.

You shifted your hips in desperation, trying to ride his face and gain more friction on the ache that was coiling in your clit, but he locked your arms up roughly, immobilizing you with one of his huge hands around both of your wrists. You whined and he resumed his torturous pace, lapping at you indulgently, rolling his nose across your clit, building a hot pressure in your core that cried painfully for release.

When his lips finally pursed around your bud, his tongue sliding across it in a way that shot light behind your retinas, it was enough to send you reeling. “Oh, fuck-” you groaned as you felt your orgasm start to pull up tight and hot, your body desperately grasping at its relief. But then it was plateauing, ebbing, as he slowed and slid his silky tongue away from that epicenter of pleasure.

“No, pl-please, please--” you wailed as you felt your impending orgasm slip away down your spine.

Ignoring you, Ren closed his eyes and swallowed with a grunt, sucking down the arousal that had gushed from your entrance, and you felt it travel through his whole body as he went rigid. He shuddered in consummate pleasure then, and your brain suddenly shifted from grieving your denied orgasm to wondering where his other hand might be. You imagined it wrapped around his own cock, and the thought tightened heat around your spine.

You craned a glance over your shoulder, but the sight that met you paralyzed your brain. His cock was free of his trousers, beautifully hard and leaking a bead of precum onto his stomach, untouched. His fingers were instead plunged into the neat line of sutures that studded his low abdomen, fresh crimson welling around his pressure-whitened fingertips as his body trembled. A protest shot instinctively through your chest.

“Don’t-”

Two huge hands hooked over your thighs, smearing you with red, and yanked your ass back onto the warm, broad expanse of his chest, cutting off your objection with a breathy yelp. You had little time to bemoan the absence of his mouth at your center before your world was spinning, as Ren flipped you underneath him in a shockingly strong, fluid motion that inverted your senses.

You flailed an arm behind you for balance, but before you could get your bearings, he was hauling you effortlessly down the thin mattress by your hips. A squeak escaped you as your shoulders met linen, and then you were wailing as he devoured you again, his eager tongue sliding hot and heavily down your folds.

He groaned and slipped two blood-drenched fingers into you, pumping and scissoring them slowly as he massaged your clit with his mouth. Shock and pleasure quaked in equal magnitude through your body, every instinct clashing in a spectacular array as your brain fought against itself. You wanted to be horrified, sickened even, but every nerve ending was screaming in nothing but wretched liberation.

In a wash of euphoria, you submitted to it, let your fingers find and lock into his sweat-dampened hair, let yourself sigh and clench around his warm, wet digits as they stroked against something devastating inside of you. He built you up like this again, higher, tighter, but before you could reach the apex of that perfect ache, just when you were whimpering with the promise of shattering into bliss, something began to coil around your spine. An invisible force -- the Force -- squeezing dark numbness down every nerve below your lumbar spine.

No, no, fuck. Tears rushed to your eyes and you choked out a sob, as you trembled in excruciating bereavement. Your wrists were wrenched to your side and tacked to the bed with that same invisible power while Ren continued to indulge himself in your numb cunt, sucking and lapping steadily at your wet heat. Your insides blazed with need and neglect as you watched him slide his fingers out of you and into his mouth, humming in satisfaction as he savored the mixture of his blood and your slick. That was it. You couldn’t keep quiet.

“Kylo, please-”

His eyes locked onto yours, lips still pursed around his fingers. You did not mean to call him that. You quailed suddenly, in your state of helplessness, at the sight of the large man as he began to crawl over you. He kicked off his trousers, looming until you were caged underneath his powerful body and staring helplessly up into the wicked excitement that roiled in his irises.

“Poor, poor thing,” He taunted as an electric current of sensation shot back down your legs, causing you to yelp. His hips rocked to part your slit with the velvety weight of his cock, his swollen and weeping head dragging moisture across your clit as it tingled with renewed feeling.

“So desperate to cum that you’d forget all respect for me.” The words dripped from his lips to pour over your neck as he nipped above your clavicle, seeping into your blood and heating it tenfold. He felt heavy and inviting and perfect, and you clutched your nails sharply into his sides as a crippling wave of need crashed down your spine. He hissed in a breath, letting it out in a nearly inaudible “Fuck.”

A tear spilled down your cheekbone. He was right, you were absolutely fucking desperate, coiled painfully tight after being ripped back from the edge twice. This was his particular brand of mutual torture, denying your release and losing himself in his pain. You needed to do something, anything, to fracture that infuriating, adamantine control. Anything to break the endless cycle of torment.

Your eyes were drawn down to a river of crimson that streaked into the valley of his hip, welling from the fresh spring of your sutures. A writhing, dark desire slithered up your brain stem, burning with some foreign audacity, and it moved your hand almost on its own. Fuck it, you could play this game, too.

“Please, Supreme Leader,” You corrected yourself, letting your voice thicken through your tears to a noxious sweetness. “I’ll do anything.”

Your palm slid to his low abdomen, collecting the warm blood with your thumb and sliding it back up towards the neatly closed wound. You slowly ran your slick digit along the raw edge, your breath catching in your chest as you flicked your gaze back to his eyes, just inches in front of yours. His lips hung open slightly, in disbelief, in want, it was impossible to say. But his pupils were blown wide and hungry as he stilled, the smallest twitch of his eye daring you, pleading you, to continue.

“Anything…” you emphasized in a whisper, holding his stare through your damp lashes as you pressed your thumb into the bruised, inflamed skin, crushing your finger straight into the raw nerves. You dug down, down, watching his lips slowly pull into a wild snarl of pain, his thick cock twitching against your folds as a ragged groan tore through his teeth. You were panting now, watching his eyes as they filled with liquid black fire, unblinking, burning through you.

Heart pounding, you pressed further, building a pinpoint of pressure over the closed wound until you felt the fine strand of a suture give way under the pad of your thumb, popping open with a soft shift of flesh. A choked roar ripped itself from Ren’s chest as his hand came down on your throat. His eyes were glazed with a terrifying need, inches from yours, strands of hair beginning to mat on his face as sweat decorated his skin.

His hips began to sink heavily. The head of his cock pushed past your folds, pressing insistently at the tight heat of your entrance. You whimpered, pulse racing under his grip, and braced your hand involuntarily against his abdomen as your walls began to stretch, the wet sting reverberating up your spine. Your eyes shot to his, pleading, but found them fiendish.

"You’re going to take all of me, pretty thing." His voice was barely above a ragged whisper, caged behind rusted bars of restraint that were slowly splintering across his eyes as he broke you open. “And you’re going to cum around my fucking cock when I tell you to.”

It was all you could do to simply whimper and nod, his words paired with the intense stretch effectively wiping your brain blank now. And the stretch kept coming, endlessly, filling you completely, until you thought you might crack in half. When he finally sheathed himself, his body flattened down heavily on top of you, pinning your hips wide open. You couldn’t move your hand, his sheer mass was crushing your thumb inside the wet, raised flesh of the wound as you felt it leak warmly around the base. A sound caught in Ren’s throat, and a shudder wracked his whole body.

He laid there for only a moment, crushing the air from your lungs, bathing in the pain, before he lifted his torso and began to thrust. Still slowly, still so controlled, breath rolling hot and rabid down your neck. You pulled your thumb from beneath his skin with a sickening squelch. Trembling, a morbid urge had you bringing the hand up to your mouth.

You moved to flick your tongue out over the warm, coppery liquid that was now coating your thumb and beginning to run down your forearm. In an instant, Ren snatched your wrist and pinned it beside your head. Something utterly feral played across his eyes that made your stomach squirm.

He panted through his teeth, eyes drifting across your face to the hand that he had pinned down. “You want a taste, whore?” His tone was somewhere between incredulous and eager, only fueling your desire to pry further at the seams of his restraint. You bit your bottom lip, lifting a pleading look into his eyes, and nodded with a whimper.

“Yes, please, ple-- Ah!” He slammed his cock into your cervix, making you cry out.

He snatched your wrist up with a grunt and enveloped your thumb with the heat of his mouth, swirling his strong, silky tongue around your knuckle to collect the liquid. Your head spun as he drew his lips up and off of your digit, slamming your wrist back down to the mattress and crushing his mouth to yours. His tongue pushed ravenously past the guard of your teeth, and your palette lit up with the sharp mix of metallic blood and the remnants of your cunt on his lips.

It was deafening, the rush that cascaded between your ears and crashed down your body at the visceral taste, the sensation of his hot tongue swiping across yours, passing the grotesque mixture back and forth. You moaned into his mouth and he shuddered, gripping your jaw muscles to force your mouth open as he drew away, resuming the rhythm of his thrusts. He spat a thick emulsion of blood and saliva into your open mouth before releasing your face, shoving your jaw closed with the heel of his palm. From this angle he could see your neck ripple as you swallowed, and the sight had him deepening his thrusts with a low groan.

Yes, yes, finally. His cock stroked fire along your walls, the sensation of fullness making your eyes roll into your skull. Drunk from deprivation, you wanted more. You blindly reached down the contour of his obliques and drove your thumb back into his wound, finding the slight firmness of another suture and digging into his flesh until you felt a sinewy pop. Kylo Ren roared, his hips stuttering as his body locked up in a rippling wave of tension. Eyes wild, he gripped your throat again, yanking you roughly as your eyes flew open and met his.

“Fucking filthy slut.”

He slammed into you at a merciless pace, hurtling you past any possibility of orgasm and straight into overstimulation as your body burned around him. Your vision swam, your ears beginning to ring as he pounded you relentlessly. Blood struggled to reach your brain under his grip, building a pressure in your skull that made your face vibrate.

He slowed his pace suddenly, and heat sparked to the tips of your nerves again, alighting on every inch of your quivering skin and fuck, you were close. Oh, fuckfuckfuc--

“Cum. Cum for me. Fuck!”

Ren wildly snatched the cautery pen from where you left it on the bed stand, lit it, and plunged the glowing tines straight into the flesh of your thigh. White hot pain fractured your vision, locked every muscle down tight with a scream you couldn’t hear as your orgasm eviscerated you.

Breath stuttered back into your lungs in hazy, broken sobs. Euphoric pain was weeping from your nerves, flowing across your skin to rival the tears that now ran free and hot down your face while razorblades of pleasure still flayed your veins open. The ringing in your ears finally began to give way to low grunts breaking over the fragmented tide of your sobs.

“Good girl, g-ood, fuck-- shh... pretty fucking thing.” Ren’s deep murmurs faded into your eardrums, the words slurring and thickening through his teeth as he pried the tool from your sizzling flesh. He set it aside, pace unrelenting, and dragged a hand over your cheek. Sticky blood mixed with your tears as his fingers fastened into the flesh of your face. He watched your eyes come back into focus, his own glazed in primal rapture.

He propelled a few more slamming thrusts into the depths of you as the death throes of your orgasm withered on your skin. And then you were empty, gasping, and he was flipping you over so easily you didn’t know which way was up any more. Your breath was muffled by a pillow, and you turned your face just in time for a massive, dirty hand to come down on your cheekbone.

He crushed your face into the fabric, wrestling your hips upwards with his other forearm until your knees reluctantly shifted up to support them. You whimpered at the pressure on your skull and the throbbing pain that radiated from your thigh, but the sound deepened in your chest when you felt the blunt head of his cock graze along your swollen lips. Stars, you needed him to fill you in any way, your emptiness now entwining with your pain to send a cry of grief through your shuddering bones that could only be soothed by that voice, those hands, that perfectly thick cock in any part of you. Overcome, you moaned for it.

“Fuck,” he rasped, dragging his tip back and forth over your clit, adding skittering jolts to the ache that might as well be burning away your peritoneum like paper, causing your organs to pour out over the floor in gruesome mercy. He slid his hand back along the curve of your spine, releasing your face, and you gasped in the acrid taste of copper. His palms smothered your ass, fingers splaying wide and squeezing, pulling your cheeks up and apart for his view. It was filthy, the eroticism of it, but shame was a faraway song in the tempest of your need, barely heard as you clutched the sheets and arched in presentation for him. You heard a hissing intake of breath, which he let out in a slew of unintelligible filth as the fat head of his cock slowly split you again.

Even after just moments of vacancy you had to readjust to the size of him, but the stretch was utterly demulcent this time as he gradually sheathed himself in your aching walls until his head was grinding down against your cervix. Your eyes flew wide with a gasp as you clawed the sheet, streaking it redder, willing your body to relax around the merciless presence of his cock. He pumped his hips once, slowly, powerfully, and your eyes rolled back again as your muscles turned to warm jelly.

“Kylo…” You barely heard yourself moan out, and you had no idea whether he heard you either, as a loud groan suddenly kicked up his pace and the decibels of his rambling.

“Ffffuuck, feel sofuckinggood, so tight…. fucking perfect little cunt…”

You could die, you could actually fucking die from how it felt to lose yourself in this, how possessed you were by the repulsive freedom of it, of him, spitting filthy nothings into the thick air while you entwined yourselves in the dirty rut of shameless pleasure and pain.

You felt hot liquid trickle into the seam between your flesh and Ren’s with the next few smacks of his hips against your ass. His pace faltered, and he fell over you like a snarling carnivore, palms slamming down on the backs of your hands and pinning them beside your head. His breath tickled hot in your ear, and you shuddered, clenching around him.

“I’m going to make you cum again.” He snarled, before yanking you back sharply by your hair until you were nearly upright on your knees, your shoulder blades meeting the warmth of his chest. You caught a flash of blood-coated fingers as they reached around you and began to rub hot, wet circles over your clit.

“Like the filthy fucking whore you are. That I- fuck- knew you were.”

Your muscles gave out as he spoke, your body supported only by his overbearing strength, as euphoria wrapped your nerve endings in white flame. You were keening, though you could hardly hear yourself, as the pressure on your clit started to pull a second orgasm outward from your bones.

His hips pounded ruthlessly against your ass as he brutally fucked you, the force of it knocking air from your lungs with every impact. A glow began to erupt from your spine with the next few passes of his fingers over your clit, and then you were cumming, hard, sailing into an abyss of ecstasy that swallowed your sight. When you resurfaced he was roaring, his arm a vice around your ribs, his cock slamming deep and slow inside of your quaking walls and pulsing with his release.

Ren collapsed on top of you, flattening you into the mattress. Dizziness swam through your blood, intensified by his weight crushing your lungs. He felt warm, sated, absolutely sublime as your spent hole fluttered around his cock, the sensation of his damp breaths on your shoulder easily overriding your need for oxygen. You were perfectly content to lay like this until you blacked out, if that’s what it would take to keep him there.

But then he was rolling off of you, a soft groan rumbling through his body as the cold air of the room kissed the sweat on your spine. It sobered you like an ice bath and you shifted away from him, suddenly feeling the weight of a needed distance between yourself and the Supreme Leader. You dropped your legs to the floor to stand, and pain ricocheted up your body from your thigh. You winced as your leg buckled in a blatant refusal to support your weight, catching yourself on the edge of the bed frame.

You instead sank back onto the small stool, and felt it become slick with cum as you grabbed wads of gauze from a drawer in the bed stand. Blood was gushing from his abdomen again, joining the sheen of bright red that mottled most of his skin as well as the sheets, and you began to work mechanically to staunch the flow once more. Kylo shifted onto his back and let you do it, his eyes falling shut as panting breaths oscillated through his chest. You were filthy, you registered, as you looked down at the red-brown crust of half dried blood that was smeared on your hands and all the way up your forearms.

You gently dabbed at his skin, slowly cleansing the mess and wrangling the bleeding back under your practiced control. The edges of your skin practically cried out in neglect, the dull pain that thrummed through your body begging to be soothed by even the smallest of tender touches that you didn’t dare ask for. The pain seemed to catch up to him as well now. He breathed through it, but you saw it lock up in his exhales, in the tense pull of his brow over his dark lashes. You let the pass of his skin under your palms soothe you both until his bare skin glowed clean and the bleeding was no more than a steady trickle.

Staring at his comparatively clean body under your blood-crusted hands, you suddenly felt disgustingly exposed in your nakedness. You stooped quickly to grab the leg of your pants where they lay on the floor, but Ren’s hand gripped your arm roughly, yanking your elbow back onto the stained mattress.

"Oh, pretty thing.” He growled. “We're not finished, yet."

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren #kylo ren smut #kylo x reader #star wars fanfiction #smut #darkfic #innocuous #my works #this was incredibly exhausting and challenging to write #i would love any and all feedback #masterlist

3K notes · View notes

miss-choco-chips · 3 years

Note

Umm... I was wondering if you could Maybe do a follow up on your mini fic Last Line from dicks pov? It gave me alot of feelings and i would love to see the fallout?

Your work is really good! Its so cool how your brave enough to put pieces of yourself out there for other people!

Hey babe! Thank you for your kind words! It made me smile getting this, you are very sweet <3

I totally forgot about Last Line lol, but when I saw it reminded me that I actually wrote a bit more of it, both before and after the scene I posted. So, this isn’t exactly what you asked, but here’s some backstory and then the fallout!

---.---

Four years old, and he watches the red string on his finger pulled taunt towards the crying boy, the color of the thread well disguised among the red blood of the murdered acrobats.

Nine, and he watches from the shadows as it swings right and left, following Robin’s pirouettes from building to building. The thread, that usually goes a few feet before ‘vanishing’ from sight, was almost completely visible now, at such a short distance from the person holding onto its other end.

He’s on his twelve when he tries to explain to Dick the importance of him going back home. He wasn’t sure of his success, even though the older hero took him to the manor, because during his whole speech, Nightwing hadn’t looked up from the red joining them together. It wasn’t exactly how Tim wanted him to find out, but… Batman needed a Robin, and he was out of options.

At fourteen, he feels Kon’s hand clenching on his shoulder, as they both watch from the side how Nightwing swept Barbara off her feet and twisted her around, laughter falling from both their lips even as Dick thread’s end was pointing towards Tim. The third Robin didn’t turn to look at his best friend, didn’t meet Bart’s eyes or react to Cassie taking his hand on hers. He just made sure his face was perfectly devoid of any emotion when he muttered, low enough only a kryptonian would hear, ‘I wish it was any of you’.

(A few nights later, when he and Conner were sitting quietly on the Tower’s roof, the clone took Tim’s hand with his own, his lack of red string blatantly obvious as he said ‘If I had any, I wish it could be you’. To this day, it’s the sweetest thing anyone ever said to him)

He is so, so tired, and he’s only sixteen. But keeping up with the shitfest that was the Battle for the Cowl, helping Dick while ignoring his red string (pulling him towards Nightwing, now Batman, stark contrast against the dark of his suit, with distracting insistency), dealing with Damian’s abuse as expected of him as the ‘mature, older brother’, coping with Bruce’s death, the shock of Dick throwing him, his soulmate, away so so easily…

(Shouldn't be surprising; Dick had been discarding him in favor of others since they met, shamelessly displaying his various relationships in front of him with an attitude that might be called cruel from anyone else but that just earned him playful shoves from other Leaguers while Tim was expected to swallow his pain, because a red string isn’t a promise, Dick is free… and yes, he knows that, but it doesn’t mean shit to his dying heart)

(Maybe, when he left for proof of Bruce being alive, it wasn’t so much for his old mentor than it was for himself)

----.----

Tim is seventeen and halfway across the world, looking at the string attached to his hand that never truly meant anything to any other than him (not to Bruce, who never took Dick aside and talked to him about consideration with his soul mate; not Dick's conquers, who never gave a fuck about the red string in the hands that touched their skin, even when a lot of them knew who was on the other end of it; not Dick himself, who after asking every thing out of Tim and having it, forcefully took the one thing Tim wouldn't give by choice and claimed Tim was his equal, his soulmate, so he never could be his sidekick... even if it was the first time ever that Dick even mentioned the string tying them both together), when he thinks 'you were always free; now, I'm freeing myself’.

He gingerly bites on the string, and with his other hand takes a handful of it and pulls.

The pain piercing his heart is expected, but not new. He had been feeling it since the first time he saw Dick's back as he walked away with someone else.

He times it carefully, too. He doesn't think Dick would care, but just in case, Tim waits until it's morning in Gotham, when he's sure Dick is probably sleeping after patrol.

Maybe he would wake up without noticing

---.---

In Gotham, Dick is carried by Alfred and Damian to the cave, when the new Batman's screams of pain woke everyone in the Manor up. They are suspecting cardiac arrest, and then Dick looks down to his hand and notices the string, always tense, signaling him where his north is, where Tim is, laying loose and lifeless.

He panics, asks Superman to track Tim down or something, and when the man confirms Tim is still alive somewhere in the Middle East, he knows.

And like a freight train, the parting words Kori told him the last time they saw each other hit him right in the chest.

"He isn't going to wait for you forever"

----.-----

When Tim does come back, at nineteen, it’s a quiet thing.

He spent the last how many days carefully setting his systems up, making sure his mainframe would outstand Oracle’s scrutiny when she realized he was back in town and tried to hack her way into his life.

(He didn’t blame her, of course not. Dick was charming enough, good enough, anyone he set his eyes into would be helpless to nothing but fall in his arms.

And, wasn’t Tim the one who would have been intruding, had he tried to chase after the first Robin? Everyone knew he and the original Batgirl were a perfect match, thousands of times better than Tim, whom Fate just wanted to screw over.

But not anymore)

The first thing he did, once the safe houses were chosen and his programs up and running, was to ruthlessly hack into the Batcomputer and take a look at patrol routes.

He would need to keep clear of Diamond District and Old Gotham, least he risked crossing paths with B and R. The Financial and City Hall Districts were apparently Batgirl’s playground for the night, and if he wanted to drop by and let Cass know he was back, he could always search for her by the Upper West Side down to Chinatown.

He would avoid the Upper East Side like the plague, though. Maybe Coventry too, just to be safe. Lots of skintight blue in that direction.

Which left… Crime Alley, the Bowery and Burnley, mainly. He needn't check to know who’s house that was.

And that’s how he ended, on his very first night back on the streets, dragging Red Hood’s bleeding ass away from a blowing up building.

-----.-----

Apparently, saving a recently rehabilitated murderous vigilante was a bonding experience, because Jason didn’t kick him out of his side of town, nor tell on him.

He couldn't, however, do anything to prevent the criminal gossip mile from spreading, and before a week had passed, half the city was aware of the new player on the board.

-----.------

Jason was taking a breather, smoking while sitting on his favorite rooftop, when the rustling sound of fabric told him his peace and quiet was over.

“I thought you were back at being N”, he greeted, not bothering to turn around or get up.

“B was out of town, and Robin needed someone to watch over him during patrol.”

A quick glance around had Hood snorting, “Then y’re doing a shitty job. Don’t see the midget anywhere.”

It would never NOT be weird to hear a strangled laugh coming out of the Bat suit, as tight and humorless as it was now. It seemed big ol Dick wasn’t doing so great tonight.

“Batgirl took him to a party in Diamond District. Gang war.”

He humms in response, not bothering to keep on the smalltalk. N, no, B was here for something, and it wasn’t Jason’s job to ask it out of him; if it was important, he would do it himself.

“Where is him, Hood?”, he finally went to the heart of the matter.

Jason tilted his head, still looking over his city, unmindful of the steps coming closer to his position, “Robin? Ya just said it, B. Going senile? Gang war, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t play around. You know I mean…”

Oh, yeah, Dickie still wasn’t sure what to call Timbo. Criminal gossip only went so far, for someone who didn’t bother to shout his hero name to everyone he beat up. It was very possible only Jason was aware of his new monicker. All gothamites knew was a young vigilante showed up recently, wearing red and black and hanging out with the Hood, which immediately upped his street rep to ‘not to be fucked with’.

“Lil red?”, he completed for his older brother, feeling both charitable and petty. Batman’s wince was more evident by the rustling sound of his cape; he had hit a sore spot, hadn’t he?

“Where? I’m not asking again.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not answering. Must be ‘roundere somewhere, the little creep.”

“Hood, I’m running out of patience.”

“And I’m out of cigarettes, your point? I don’t have him on a leash asshole. We just share the same hunting space, it’s not like we go home together and do face masks while we talk about feelings.”

They did go to a safespot, though, and share beer and pizza while cursing their relatives and Fate as a whole, but it wasn’t necessary information for the fucker. He just breathed in the last of his smoke before dropping the cigarette butt and stepping on it, stretching as he did.

“Now, any more of this riveting conversation, or can I go? No, wait, it was a rhetorical question; get out of my part of town, ass. I’ve been plenty generous by letting you come this far, but our truce lasts as long as the lot of you don’t build any sandcastles on my playground and you know it. Now, scram.”

He could feel Dick’s reticence at leaving without what he came here for, but Oracle must be talking him into letting it be for tonight, because he didn't push. Jason turned just in the right moment to catch the way Dick looked down to his gloved hand, as if expecting the lifeless red string to be pulled taunt in Tim’s direction by some miracle. Jason felt the smallest ping of pity, quickly washed away by the memory of the younger hero’s haunted eyes as he told Jason the story of his severed soul bond and how he came to do it.

Thirty seconds after the bat vanished into the night, a little red bird landed softly on the spot next to him.

“Thanks, Hood”, he muttered, just as tired and hurting as he’d been ever since he saved Jason’s ass and they became partners, but with the smallest hint of lightness that made him prouder of driving Dick away than he’d ever been.

“Don’t mention it, but fair warning, the big B scomin back home in a few days, and he’s harder to kick out than a hurting, annoying bluebird.”

“I know”, Tim sighed, well aware of both facts. “I’ll play it by ear. For tonight, what about bashing some skulls and ruining Two Face’s new op? Good intel says it’s just a few blocks from here, and shattering bones always makes you smile.”

“Babybird, you speak the language of love.”

“Wasn’t that french?”

“I’m trying to compliment you, don’t be a smart ass about it.”

“I am smart, and I do have a good ass. That seems like an impossible request.”

----.----

#ask #last line #dicktim #but not #soulmate au #red string au #angst #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #red robin #nightwing #red hood #jason is a good bro #dick sucks as a soulmate #bruce is gonna be confused as fuck when he comes back #my writting #my writing

196 notes · View notes

eviesmyspiritanimal · 4 years

Text

A Black Spot in a Sea of White

Summary: Mal, Evie, and Jay suffer a horrible loss. In memory of Cameron Boyce, forever our one and only Carlos de Vil. He will be forever missed. ❤Familial feels and seemingly unending angst with an unexpected happy ending.

“How is he? Where is he?!” Mal demanded as her, Evie, Jay, and Dude stormed into the medical wing. The woman at the receptionist desk looked up at the trio, completely unimpressed by Mal’s boisterous entrance.

“Who exactly are you speaking of?”

“Just the only guy in this whole hospital that is currently seizing himself to death!” Mal screeched.

“Are you family?” she questioned, bored with the situation.

It was like a bomb had gone off. Mal immediately felt such anger and frustration that she almost couldn’t answer the woman. After a moment of her mouth moving in unmentionable words, she finally was able to speak.

“Of course we are his family. Now tell me where he is!” Mal slammed her fist on the desk, her eyes glowing a dangerous shade of green. Dude barked, emphasizing her hit. The woman immediately looked considerably more afraid.

“The Intensive Care Unit,” she stuttered, much more respectfully than before. The threesome immediately took off.

Mal’s mind raced, a million regrets floating through her mind. She should have noticed that he seemed sluggish on the field. She should have insisted that he not go to the tournament. She should have known.

This was Carlos. That boy was her little brother. She needed him. Evie needed him. Jay needed him. He was the light of hope and humor that shone bright in their lives. And now, all because of their inattentiveness, he could lose his life.

The three of them burst into the room, an air of purpose surrounding them.

The room was horrifying, sheets separating individual beds. There were frail bodies lying beneath each of those sheets, and she stared at them with wide eyes.

There was a doctor as well as several nurses surrounding one particular bed. Mal stepped forward carefully and she felt Evie grab her hand gently. Jay rested his hand on Mal’s shoulder that was opposite to him.

They slowly made the journey to the bed.

A floorboard squeaked and the doctor turned to look at them. He was a gray-haired man with a mean receding hairline. His eyes were crystalline blue and his skin was pale. Combined with his snowy white coat, he seemed to be devoid of any and all color.

Almost like death, Mal couldn’t help but think.

His eyes softened somewhat when he saw the three VKs, and he moved over to greet them.

“It’s good that you all are here. I am Doctor Mortem. I already know the three of you, being that the lot of you are such an infamous group.” He shook the bluenette’s hand, and then Evie had to let go of Mal’s hand for a moment so that the purple-haired girl could as well. Evie quickly latched back on as soon as Mal was finished. Jay removed his hand from Mal’s shoulder to exchange his greetings.

The three of them stared at the man expectantly, simultaneously eager for and dreading the news that was to come.

He eyed them all in turn very slowly with a gravity in his gaze that left Mal with a deep chill in her bones.

“We have had to revive him five times since the incident. His body isn’t able to take much more of the stress that comes with the resuscitation, and if we were to attempt it again, it would likely trigger another seizure that would actually succeed in killing him,” the doctor paused, sighing as he rubbed his face with a hand. Mal felt the fear inside of her building rapidly.

“I am afraid that he won’t make it much longer.”

It felt like a knife to the stomach. Stabbing again and again and again. Mal flinched as if she had truly been physically hit.

She was about to lose all circulation in her hand as Evie squeezed tighter than she had ever thought was humanly possible. Mal could feel Jay’s chest just behind her left shoulder blade as it trembled like a leaf. Dude was huddled next to her leg, pressed as closely as he could get.

“C-can we see him now?” Evie weakly asked, voicing what Mal herself couldn’t say at that moment.

“Of course,” the doctor nodded his head solemnly and maneuvered around them to leave the room. The nurses surrounding the bed dispersed as well, going to other parts of the room to attend more patients.

She almost couldn’t even recognize him. The seizure did something to him- it made him look just as frail as the other bodies surrounding them. He was lying there, his eyes glaze over and his chest rising and falling in shaky breaths.

They moved forward and Jay moved over to grab the girls two chairs. Evie shared a glance with Mal and she opened her arms a bit, offering the purple-haired girl a hug. Mal looked at her with longing, both wanting to be comforted by her sister’s embrace and not wanting to show weakness.

In the end, she settled for locking arms with Evie and pressing her forehead against the bluenette’s quietly. There was the sound of chairs being dragged around and stopped carefully, and Mal suddenly felt Jay’s hand resting on her shoulder.

She knew it was time to face the facts. The two girls hesitantly pulled away from one another and split up. Evie and Mal sat down on opposite sides of the bed and Jay stood at the end of the bed, his hands holding the bar at the foot of the bed in a death grip as his knuckles turned white.

Dude jumped into Mal’s lap, looking at his boy quietly. After a moment, he stepped onto the bed gently and nudged his hand.

Carlos carefully and slowly moved his head to look at the dog. A ghost of a smile appeared, and he feebly raised his hand to pet Dude’s head.

“Hey, Lil’ C,” Mal spoke, forcing her voice to sound stronger than she felt. His eyes shifted up to look at her. “We came here to see you,” Mal explained, reaching out and taking his hand gently.

“Evie’s on your other side and Jay’s right down there,” Mal motioned her head toward Jay at the foot of the bed. Carlos never took his eyes off of Mal. Mal couldn’t help but worry that he might not have heard her. Or worse, that he didn’t have the energy to look at the other two.

“Mal,” he started and paused for a long moment, the green-eyed girl attentively listening. Evie took his other hand in the time that he was quieted. “Am I dying?” he whispered, looking Mal straight in the eyes.

Her mouth immediately went dry, and her heart almost felt like it stopped beating as she avoided his gaze to consider her response to his question. He had asked her specifically. He knew that Mal wouldn’t keep the truth from him. He knew she wouldn’t lie.

Mal hesitantly brought her eyes back to his, hoping that she wouldn’t have to utter the words.

After a moment, his eyes fell away from her own and she knew he understood. They sat in silence for a moment and she could hear Evie’s whine rise in her throat, that definitive sign that Evie was about to cry.

But she couldn’t hold her regrets back any longer. She had to tell him. She didn’t care if he’d die hating her, but she had to try to apologize.

“Carlos… I’m sorry that I didn’t realize you were down today. I should’ve-”

“Mal. Don’t be sorry. Above anything else, don’t be sorry,” he insisted, a strength in his voice that was completely opposite of his true condition. Mal looked over at Evie, but quickly looked away upon seeing her tearstained face and bloodshot eyes.

“I love you guys. If it had to happen earlier today or now or sometime in the next few hours, I’m glad that I knew all of you,” Carlos weakly told them, turning his head to look at Evie and looking down his bed at Jay before finally returning his gaze to Mal.

“You guys were there for me when nobody else was. You helped me,” he turned to look at Evie, “defended me,” he glanced at Jay, “and inspired me,” he looked at Mal. “You three were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I want you all to know that I am so grateful for all that you’ve done.”

Mal glanced at Jay and saw the glassy sheen to his eyes. She knew Evie was already crying.

They were quiet together for a few moments before Carlos coughed hard, shaking all over. He lay back down after a second, and Mal had to calm herself after the momentary panic that she endured.

“I’m scared,” he rasped, looking at the ceiling. “Where will I go?” he asked, trembling a bit.

“I… I don’t know,” Mal told him, her green eyes searching the side of his face as she attempted to memorize every bit of it.

“But someplace grand, I’m sure,” Evie piped up suddenly, her voice raw with fresh emotion, and Mal was thankful for the save.

“Probably lots of dogs,” Jay suddenly spoke, offering a smile.

“And ice cream. Definitely ice cream,” Mal added. They all, even Carlos, shared a quiet laugh at that.

“You know, with you guys here to help me face it… it doesn’t seem so bad anymore,” Carlos murmured, his eyelids drooping slowly.

“I’m going to miss you, though, when I get there,” he whispered. “It won’t be the same without all of you to enjoy it with me.”

“Yeah… We’re going to miss you, too, bro,” Jay replied, and Mal detected a tightness in his throat that normally wasn’t there as he reached down and gently touched his foot beneath the sheets.

“We love you more than anything, Carlos,” Evie expressed heartfeltly. It was obvious she was about to lose it again.

Dude licked Carlos’ hand that was in Mal’s.

“We’ll see you there one day,” Mal told him, her eyes growing harder and harder to see through the increasing amount of tears.

His eyelids finally fluttered closed, a small smile on his face as he peacefully breathed his last.

And Jay, Evie, and Mal collapsed to tears, because that was their brother.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Many years passed since Carlos was buried. Along the painful road of life, Jay and Evie left Mal, too, their lives but a wisp. The three remaining VKs had spent their old age together, marveling at how the world had changed and actually had kept on turning for so many years beyond Carlos’ death.

But eventually, Mal had been left alone to live in the world by herself.

Until one glorious awakening.

Mal opened her eyes, but quickly shut them tightly. The sun was so blinding. She must have forgotten to shut the blinds the previous night.

She eventually squinted, barely opening them as she adjusted to the light. It then occurred to her that she was not lying in her bed, and was instead in the grass.

Mal’s eyes shot wide open as she gawked at the world around her. There were beautiful trees, the sun was shining brightly, and there were… dogs?

In the distance, she spotted a whole pack of dogs, wrestling and playing with one another. They romped through the soft grass and rolled carelessly in the mud near a stream.

After a moment, it became apparent to Mal that she wasn’t feeling any sort of pain in her hand. She had gotten a really bad pain in her hand as of late. She attributed it to many years of overworking her hands and fingers with the pencil.

She looked at her hand and was completely baffled when she saw smooth, soft skin instead of the usual wrinkles and wornness that comes with old age.

Mal glanced up, looking around the place once again. However, her searching gaze immediately halted upon the sight of three certain beings that were approaching her.

It was Jay, Evie, and Carlos. All three of them were as young and healthy as they had been just before Carlos passed away. The threesome helped her up.

Mal hesitantly reached out to Evie, cradling her cheek in her hands. Evie leaned into the touch, looking at her with adoring eyes. Letting go of Evie, Mal then turned to Jay, holding his shoulders in both of her hands. Her face lit up in the biggest grin she had in years. Mal flung her arms around Jay, Evie, and Carlos the best that she could and they all held each other in a tight hug.

After a moment of reveling in the touch of her family, she raised her tear-filled gaze to look at Carlos. He had a wide smile on his face. Oh, how she had missed that smile.

“You were right, Mal.”

23 notes · View notes

trustinginthelight · 4 years

Text

He’d told her he’d call her whenever he finally got back to his dorm. This late, though? Louis wondered whether she’d even still be awake. Eyes fixated on his laptop screen, he felt the anxious thump of his heart beating firmly inside his chest. It wasn’t gonna be like he’d was outright telling her now, so why was he so afraid?

He was pretty relieved, that Marlon wasn’t there. As much as he knew he’d be able to help his nerves, he didn’t want that in that moment. It felt right just to feel that fear for a while.

Skype was open on his screen, and his mother’s name already clicked on to show the past beginnings and ends of conversations. He had to stop putting this off. Otherwise, he knew that the thought of what if would continually pester him, all the way up until summer, if he didn’t end up trying ever again. ...Honestly, Louis wasn’t so sure he’d be able to wait that long, to at least get some semblance of an answer.

The plan wasn’t to out himself yet. That was about the last thing he needed in that moment. After such a great time with Aasim he really didn’t wanna have to spend his night crying in his arms on the off chance that his mother rejected him. Just that thought alone left his stomach sinking. But, he couldn’t let that show.

Pressing his hands over his face briefly, he would try to rub away some of the tiredness from his eyes. He hoped to smack a bit more life to himself, hoping to appear perfectly fine. With that done, and everything properly set up, Louis finally pressed the anxiety inducing call button. Quickly, he put his earbuds in his ears after he realized he’d forgotten to put them in.

The familiar Skype rings made the tension grow for him. Made him fear the idea that she wasn’t going to answer. He wasn’t sure if he could psyche himself again any time soon to try this again.

“C’mon, Mom. Pick up, pick up...”

Louis’s expression lit up as he heard the call pick up, and a soothed smile replaced his faked one once he saw the image of his mother.

“Hey, Ma--”

“Oh, Louis...” With graying hair and an imperfect smile that made him feel safe, the teenager couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief as he saw her. “Baby Lou-- you’re looking so well. I’ve missed you,”

“Missed you, too, Mama. Look, I-- ... sorry, I know. I’ve apologized like eighty times, but I’m sorry for sticking around here during Christmas. I just... I dunno. Last year here. I wanted to make sure the people that didn’t have anywhere to go were taken care of,”

That understanding smile. Laura Lynde appeared disappointed that this was being brought up again, but appeared patient nonetheless.

“We’ll have many more Christmases to spend together. I’m happy that you’re so close with the kids there, that they mean so much to you. I get it. I know, it’s always stressful for you. Havin’ to see Raymond. So I understand. You don’t have a thing to worry about, sugar. The only one who was upset for a time was Lil. You know how she can get... but, she’s fine now. I think she’s forgotten all about it by now,”

“That’s a relief,” He let out a small chuckle, and vaguely wondered just how pissed his sister might’ve been that he hadn’t gone home.

For a time, their conversation continued casually. Louis was just savoring this warm contact with his mother. He really should’ve talked to her more. Perhaps it’d set both of their minds at ease if he put forth the effort. But, for now, he could still feel the pricking and prodding of the matter at hand trying to force itself to the heart of the conversation. Great. Just how in the hell was he supposed to ask her about something like this without it seeming forced.

“How’re some of your friends doin’? Like Minerva, or Marlon-- Were the stuck around for the holidays?”

Bingo.

“Uh-- well, I do know that Minnie spent time with her family. Spent Christmas with--” He faltered, but was quick to try to recovered. “W-ith her girlfriend...” Louis cleared his throat, to try again. “She spent time with her family and girlfriend. For the holidays. Yeah,” Brown eyes stared at his mother’s face, searching for any hint of a reaction.

Eyebrows did raise, and he immediately thought the worst.

“A girlfriend?” Oh God. Here it comes. “I thought the two of you would end up a pair. Didn’t think Minerva appeared to be the type,” ...Uh. Okay. Not the greatest thing to here, but it wasn’t inherently hateful. Just a big ignorant. Instead of letting the discomfort show, he allowed himself the chance to let out a short laugh.

“No! No, Min and I have never been like that. Pretty sure she’s known she was gay for like... ever,”

“Oh, that’s too bad, sweet thing. I’m sure you’ll find that special girl. What about that Erin girl, or Clementine? You would talk about them all--”

“I don’t think either of them are really interested in me, Mom,” Louis snicked softly, trying to ease his own discomfort with little laughs. Nothing malicious. That was... that was definitely a step in the right direction. It had to have been.

“Aw, baby. Like I said, I know you’ll find that special girl someday. Once you get out into the open world again, I’m sure you’ll find all sortsa people to meet,”

The conversation devolved from there, ones devoid of much meaning, or depth. Her reaction hadn’t been negative, but he couldn’t help but still fear the possibility. He would still smile, still laugh, still contribute. However, he was ready to wrap things super. Despite that, the conversation lasted enough 30-45 minutes before it was Laura who was cutting the call.

“I hate to cut this call short, sugar, but I do need to go to work in the morning. And I know for a fact you have school. So get ready for bed. Brush your teeth, get in your pajamas, lay in bed, and go to sleep,” That had gotten a distinct roll of his eyes from straight in her direction. “Do not roll your eyes at me. We b--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, Mom, I know. I’m sorry. I’ll get ready for bed, all right?”

“Got your homework done?”

“Mmhmm,”

“Are you lying to me, Louis?”

“What? No,”

“Louis Theod--”

“Ma, I’ve got it done!”

“Good. I’d really rather not hear about you failing a class from your teacher themselves. Again,”

“I know,”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Lou had been itching to turn things off. As nice as this had been, he didn’t want to think about his future anymore, and talking with his mom made it so difficult not to. “Please stop manipulating your father. If you dislike him so much, don’t contact him. I’d rather not be on the receiving end another time, hearing Raymond complain about you bothering him. ...There’s no need for it, Louis. You can avoid it if you just stop talking to him,”

He’d gone to her? God, was he a fucking kid? Whining all the down to his ex-wife to bitch about how their son was being mean to him. What the fuck ever.

“...Yeah. Whatever, ma,”

“I mean it, Louis,”

“I know, Mom. I’m almost 19. Seriously,”

“And yet you’re still antagonizing the people you hate like a little boy. You’d save yourself the heartache if you just left him alone,” He knew she was right. As much as he wanted to defend his actions, though, it was too risky. Saying too much would out himself to her, and he really desperately wanted nothing to do with that at that moment.

“...Right. Right, sorry. I’ll--...I’ll stop, all right?”

“I hate to say this, but I’ll believe it when I see it, Louis. ...You know I love you, sweetheart. This is just hurting you as much as it’s hurting him,”

“Yeah,” His voice came out dejected, annoyed. Typical mom argument. He’d get over it sooner or later, so it wasn’t worth getting too sour over. “Night, Mama,”

“Goodnight, my baby Lou. We’ll talk again soon,”

#after that they stop listening { louis ; musings }#v; tuned pianos #ayyyy #this'll mean nOTHING to a lot of you #but it's related to wire rping

1 note · View note

chouetteffraie · 5 years

Text

Lil Aku Headcanons because.......im dumb

I think about him a lot :/

General Relationship Headcanons - Akutagawa Ryunosuke

One thing that is generally agreed upon is that physical touch is super out of this boy’s comfort zone and something he’d have to get used to, which is true. It is also generally agreed upon that physical touch in public is a big no-no- also true, but let me elaborate on that.

Obviously in public you won’t be touching much because 1.you don’t do it much in private (I’m talking sweet/intimate touches not nasty ones) and 2. it’d be easy to connect the dots and use you as a way to get to Akutagawa and there’s probably a few people who wouldn’t mind using that information to their advantage

But, especially if you’ve been together for a while, I’d imagine there’d be a little bit of something. Not hand holding though.

Instead, he’d probably just like,,,brush his hand against yours on purpose. It sounds pointless and weird but hear me out.

1. it could easily be written off as an accident should anybody be paying attention to the proximity of your hands

2. It isn’t anything that would make him feel especially uncomfortable- I know sometimes I feel like if you’re holding hands with someone it’s such a commitment to never need to use that hand. This is probably really ridiculous but when he’s out in public with you he’s a little paranoid and would prefer to not be incapacitated by only having one hand available even though if something were to happen he could,,,,,take his hand back and use it?

I feel like any touch in public isn’t necessarily meant to be affectionate though it certainly wouldn’t be devoid of affection and is used as more of a reassurance that you’re there

Remember how I said it could easily be written off as an accident to any passerby? Well if you’ve started to notice that he has bumped your hand a bunch and you ask him about it he can easily just scoff and say “You’re the one bumping against me I don’t know what you’re talking about”

100% he has accidentally bumped against you too hard one time and started to avoid your gaze for a few minutes because he made himself so obvious and was embarrassed

Have you ever been on an actual date out with him before? Yeah! I like the idea (which I think I read first here) that there are a few Mafia owned places that you’ll go to occasionally. While on one of these dates I still don’t think he’s very into hand-holding. But he’s super into you like holding onto his arm! Consider:

You get to stay close to him and be connected without movement being super limited (at least, not on his part)

You’ll absentmindedly use your thumb to stroke his arm and he’ll never let you know how much he loves it

If you’re wrapping things up and the two of you are alone you’ll rest your head on his arm and he loves that too

However! If the two of you are at home, Akutagawa doesn’t mind holding your hand while you’re just sitting and enjoying each other’s company. He’s just picky about what he shows to the world.

I also love love LOVE the idea that he likes it when you play with his hair. Run your fingers through it, play with a specific piece, whatever. It relaxes him and is probably the closest the two of you get in terms of casual physical affection

If you’re really lucky and he’s in a good mood he’ll let you comb it when it needs it how do boys take care of their hair

Additionally: massages. Scalp massages and shoulder massages for sure but he’ll take anything. You’ll probably have to convince him a little in the beginning because he’s too proud for his own good but he’ll never put up too much of a fight if you’re offering.

Something I see a lot is that, as his s/o, you’ll have to learn how to pick up on the tiny, subtle cues he’ll give as to how he’s feeling, how comfortable he is and what he wants. But what are those hints you’ll have to decipher. Here’s a few ideas:

If he’s sitting or lying next to you and he wants some sort of physical affection he will not initiate it. Instead he will keep glancing your way and start pouting without realizing it and you’ll have to take the first step. HOWEVER you should only do something small like lean your head on his shoulder or give him a little smooch on the cheek because if you go in too quickly he’ll feel stupid for not making the first move and will continue to be pouty.

I don’t personally imagine him to be quiet all the time, but everything he says has meaning i.e. no chit-chat. maybe a little chit-chat if you’ve had an uneventful day he likes talking to you oKAY.

Let’s say you’re reading a book and you’re one of those people who like to analyze it like you were an English teacher, or really if you’re ranting and raving about something else, he’ll listen and enjoy it but you’ll have to keep glancing at him to make sure he isn’t lost or getting annoyed.

Akutagawa will never ever ever admit to getting lost though. If he ever is, he’ll tilt his head ever so slightly and furrow his nonexistent eyebrows a teeny tiny bit. This is your cue to slow down, but don’t make an effort to ask him if he understands because he might feel stupid.

If he’s annoyed, it’s a little more obvious and that’s your cue to wrap it up and change the subject. It’s also a little more rare because he wuvs you uwu

He’s down for deep philosophical conversations because it interests him how you see the world and how it aligns with how you see him, especially if you’re one of those people who sees good in everything and have a rather optimistic perspective on things.

Don’t tell him that you think he’s good or there’s good in him. Akutagawa knows what he does and what he is and he won’t appreciate you trying to butter him up. Instead you can tell him he’s good to you and that you enjoy being around him / feel safe around him and ESPECIALLY that you aren’t afraid of him. You accepting and liking him the way he is and sees himself is way more important to him than you believing in something that might not even be there.

You should, however, convince him that he isn’t a monster or devoid of humanity. You don’t have to kiss up to him to let him know that he still exists as a person and ease his mind on that.

Don’t try to change his mind about anything too much. Discussing opposing viewpoints is way more fun than having someone try to tell him his entire outlook on life is wrong.

I can’t imagine he’d be particularly fond of deep questions like “what is life all about?” or “what happens after we die?” when he isn’t expecting them. Give him a warning if you’re having an existential crisis or else he’ll not only shut down, but he won’t be able to sleep that night and he needs his sleep!!!!

I don’t know where I was going to end this so here’s some sleep thoughts:

Only dreams like five times a year unless he’s having nightmares. Never remembers those dreams in great details but he knows enough about them to remember them for a while

Any dreams Akutagawa has aren’t exceptionally weird, nor do they reveal some kind of hidden desire he’s had. They’re just kind of there, like he’s watching himself go through a normal day.

Nightmares are bad but he normally doesn’t flail around too much. He probably just makes some really intense facial expressions before eventually rolling over and calming down while still asleep. If he does wake up, his eyes fly open wide and he just kind of lies there trying to calm his breathing and listen to see if there are any intruders or something.

If sleeping with his s/o he won’t be a super cuddler but will end up with them in his arms in the morning. Sometimes this happens because you fell asleep first and he just,,,,wanted to, but most of the time it happens while you both are asleep. He will deny both, even if you both are awake and you are still in his arms as you accuse him.

Anyway please love Akutagawa please

#ch: akutagawa #akutagawa hcs #akutagawa fluff hcs #akutagawa gen hcs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #akutagawa #akutagawa ryunosuke #akutagawa x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd headcanons #bungou stray dogs headcanons #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs headcanons #akutagawa fluff

46 notes · View notes

hemogobbler · 5 years

Link

A short collection of Catra and Adora's dreams and nightmares. Joy-filled, horrific, or downright bizarre, but always together - at least in sleep.

Dream 3! Catra encounters a young Adora, who doesn't recognize her. They face off against their shared nightmare, bond over memories, and Catra gives her best friend in the world some advice for the future. (1.8K)

Catra was actually tired tonight. Not overtired, where her brain would keep her awake with countless intrusive thoughts that held no meaning. Just simply, physically, happily - exhausted.

She had been given a workout watching over a fresh batch of cadets that had reached the age where they were deemed ‘combat-ready.’ They seemed more interested in playing hide-and-seek than sparring with each other, but they were drawn to Catra’s energy. She was not like other Force Captains: her lessons were fun.

Catra took on the role of a smarmy princess and mocked the children for being so much shorter than her. She even wore Scorpia’s prom dress, so committed to the character she had made. She encouraged them to try and land just one hit on her. She would dodge effortlessly, and after each evade made a grand display of stroking her luxuriously long hair - that is to say, the mop she had put on her head.

One girl eventually connected her baton with Catra’s shin mid-roll. It hurt like hell. The girl looked scared since Catra wasn’t good at hiding the anger on her face. But she congratulated the hero-in-the-making, albeit through gritted teeth. The girl squealed with joy as Catra pinned her Force Captain badge to her shirt.

She didn’t like preparing them for war. It felt wrong to use their innocent enthusiasm and shape it towards fighting others. But she liked them more than most of her peers, who she fought with all the time. So, if anything, it was natural, especially for soldiers. Catra didn’t want them to stop being children, though, not yet. She fell asleep looking forward to winning back her badge in the next lesson.

The setting was known to her at once. In so many of Catra’s dreams, she inhabited some vague, ever-shifting space that followed no rules. But this was her home, she supposed. She stood in the courtyard of the Horde base.

It was devoid of life and dark all around her. There were spotlights lazily moving through the blackness, highlighting unpowered tanks and training dummies. She didn’t understand why they did this, and why they were watching inside the walls instead of out. No-one seemed to be operating them.

One suddenly shrouded her in the light. Catra shielded her eyes with an arm. It hesitated, and passed by, returning her to the dark.

Catra went to the barracks, in search of something to do or to find some kind of purpose, but the structure was a shadowy outline with no substance. She tried to touch the walls, but they slipped through her fingers as a cold mist and reformed around her hand.

She heard a muffled noise and leaned her head around the building to investigate. There was no-one there. Holding an ear to the wall, she heard the noise turn into crying. Hesitantly, she put an arm in, before stepping completely through the wall.

“GHOST!” A high pitched scream rang out, and Catra closed her eyes and clamped her ears shut at the violent noise. Just as quickly, they shot open when she realized who the voice belonged to.

A shoe caught Catra square in the head the moment she regained her sight, and she narrowly avoided its partner, ducking low and squinting at the blonde girl who was so good at throwing.

“Oh,” Adora said, hiding behind her bed frame. “You’re not a ghost.”

She poked her head out, and Catra felt her chest hurt as all the memories came flooding back. The gap between her teeth, her little ponytail that always came loose, and her big, beautiful, blue eyes. They looked sad and were wet with tears; Catra was immediately filled with the determination to fix that.

“No,” She said, slowly. She was confused but grounded by familiar surroundings. The showers were just down the hall and their bed was tidy. On it was the drawing of the two of them, unscratched.

“I’m not. I’m…”

“A Force Captain!!” Adora was by her side in an instant, soaking in the sight of Catra’s badge with starry eyes. “Woah! Cool!”

“Damn right it’s cool!” Catra stuck it to Adora’s shirt without hesitation. “And as a Force Captain, it’s my job to find whatever’s making you sad and kick its ass.”

Adora clutched her arms to her sides, the fear returning.

“She... took Catra,” Adora sniffled. “I’m next.”

Catra didn’t need to ask who she meant. She didn’t have time to. A spotlight demolished their fragile home, exposing them to the total void all around. The light was cold on Catra’s fur. It honed in on Adora and then disappeared completely.

Catra’s unique eyes could still see the girl in the blackness. She was terrified, looking around for her brave Force Captain. It reminded Catra of herself. She pounced towards the girl and scooped her up in her arms, something inside telling her to run.

“GET YOUR FILTHY PAWS OFF OF MY ADORA.”

The voice of Shadow Weaver made the ground fall away. It resonated through this black domain, which must have belonged to her. Pretty obvious now that Catra thought about it.

Catra scrambled over the sinking ground, running towards nothing and away from everything. Adora was hefted over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of something chasing them and buried her face in Catra’s back.

Catra could feel it close in on her. She was panting with exhaustion, droplets of sweat freezing instantaneously. Why was she running so slowly?

Over her shoulder, just on the edge of her periphery, she saw two red eyes. They were drilling their hatred into her body. Her spine turned to liquid, and she tumbled to the ground, pinning Adora underneath her.

“Get up!” Adora pleaded, pushing the feline’s body off of her while Catra struggled to regain her strength. Her muscles were so tired. She rolled over onto her back to finally confront the spirit pursuing them.

Shadow Weaver looked like shit. Her hair was frayed and those awful red eyes - indicative of her connection to the Black Garnet - flickered weakly. They dimmed to white, and she staggered closer.

“She is mine, savage. The likes of you will never have her.”

Shadow Weaver’s voice was normally so loud in Catra’s mind. Every word still dripped with spite, but it was no longer a relentless onslaught of contempt: she was struggling for breath.

Seeing her like this was disturbing, but, as her Force Captain badge collided with Shadow Weaver’s head (Adora was such a good shot) she remembered something:

“I beat you,” Catra jumped to her feet. Adora hid behind Catra, sticking her tongue out at their teacher and greatest enemy. Catra’s eyes were sharp and infinitely smug. “And now I get to do it again?”

The mask slipped from Shadow Weaver. Her skin was grey and withered, her eyes bulbous and dilated. She didn’t bother to hide it. Her gaze was transfixed on Catra, who shielded her and Adora’s eyes.

“WOW! I forgot how gross you were,” Catra made retching noises, and Adora snickered. “Please put that back on, I’ll give you a minute.”

Shadow Weaver just stared at her, unmoving. A drop of blood fell from her nose, and her body began to fade away, one particle at a time.

“You will never have her.”

“Yeah, well, neither will you. That’s enough.”

Shadow Weaver disappeared, for what Catra hoped would be the last time in her life. Somehow she knew that wouldn’t be the case. She felt a small but strong pair of arms wrap around her legs, banishing the cold that threatened to paralyze her moments ago.

“Thank you.”

Catra put her hand on Adora’s head. She then knelt down to fix her hair: tucking each stray hair back into Adora’s ponytail with the utmost care and gentleness. The girl returned a small smile that melted Catra’s heart.

“We still have to save Catra!”

Catra wanted to hold the girl’s cheek but knew it was a sore spot for her. She sat down with her instead, legs crossed, holding hands like they were performing an incantation.

“Catra will be okay. I promise. She’s got you to look out for her! Nice throw, by the way, you nailed that bi - ” Catra stammered, and cycled through the vowels. “B - ba - bossy… itch…!”

Adora scrunched up her face in confusion, but Catra could see the praise go to her head. She could’ve sworn it was getting bigger.

“Well! Someone had to do something!” Adora tilted her nose upwards, full of pride and fake arrogance.

“My hero,” Catra said quietly.

Colour started to return to the Horde base. Depressing though the Fright Zone was, grey and light grey were always preferable to total blackness. The killing machines and weapons, ironically, added some life to the place.

The sky, smoggy and dark, still shone with the promise of a future. It was a shithole, but it was their shithole. Plenty of good memories rested here, and Catra would always keep them with her.

Adora tugged at Catra’s hands. She didn’t realize how tightly she was holding on to the girl.

“I’m not waiting anymore. I’m gonna find her.”

Catra released her grip, and lil' Adora stood up tall.

“Uh, kid. Lemme ask you something,” Catra rubbed the back of her neck. “What’s the skinny with you and Catra? You totally like like her, am I right?”

��No!” Adora said, with a little too much emphasis.

“Yeah, you do!” Catra taunted. “You wanna hold hands and smush faces!!”

Adora was bright red, “If anything Catra like likes me! She said she wants to marry me when we grow up! But that’s not happening!”

Now Catra was blushing, “Why not?”

Adora faltered and held her hands behind her back. “Well…” She leaned in closer to Catra’s ear.

“Because I’m gonna marry her! ” She blurted out, not at all in hushed tones, and was looking at the Force Captain expectantly. There was a lump in Catra’s throat. “But don’t tell her! It’s gonna be a surprise wedding!”

“She’d like that, I bet,” Catra said, though she wasn’t sure what a surprise wedding consisted of. “Your secret’s safe, as long as I get an invite.”

Adora nodded furiously, “I appoint you to head of security!” Catra got up off the ground and bowed graciously. “But I really gotta go! Can’t have a wedding if… well…”

Adora looked uncomfortable, like she was seeing bad things that would never quite go away.

“Go get her, kid.”

Catra couldn’t resist ruffling Adora’s hair, ruining all of her previous work in an attempt to reach out to this sweetheart once more. She captured the feeling and kept it with her.

“One last thing!” Catra shouted just as Adora had turned to run. The blonde girl looked impatient now, a face Catra knew too well, and that Adora never really grew out of.

“The next time I… uh, Catra leaves a mouse in your shoe? A - A dead one...”

Adora nodded slowly.

“Just… just say thanks? Maybe it took a long time to catch, y’know? She won’t do it again. Probably. And you don’t want to hurt her feelings, do you?”

Adora’s pretty blue eyes were watery, “Nooooo!!!”

“Good!” Catra said cheerfully. “Now go stick it to those old people, Adora! I'm counting on you!”

#She Ra #SPOP #spop fic #catra #adora #catradora #catradora fic #ty for reading <3 #fic

7 notes · View notes

sleeplessinsiswati · 5 years

Text

Toxic Masculinity—A Contagious Kind of Pollution

Yeah, yeah, yeah. My bad, I know I’m late.

*grumble and murmuring*

My bad. Look, i said my bad.

*lower murmuring*

Look, in my defense, I had the post locked and loaded on the queue and then my internet went out. Boom. Now can we get on with what we came here for?

_________________________________________________

As you may know about me, bell hooks is one of my favorite authors. She has inspired me, moment after moment and time after time, to grow and love myself and others more wholly and fully. In her writing she uses a combination of autobiographical, common-sensical language and academic, theoretical research to shed light to the various topics. Here, I will attempt to scratch at the masterpieces of her work, and use both theory and my experience to shed the light of truth concerning what I know about what the world has come to refer to as toxic masculinity.

Your story may be different than mine, but toxic masculinity is something that affects each and every one of us. Let me state again, masculinity is not the issue here; there is nothing wrong with “being a man” or being strong or having power. The issue comes in when notions or ideals of manhood force boys and men to be emotionally unavailable, makes us believe we are not enough as human beings, or encourages us to exploit and take advantage of others in an ultimate quest for power. There’s no way around the reality that this is no way to live, and there is the crux of the argument—living. Most of the things that we come to know and associate with being a “man” and “manhood” have to do with survival. Hunting, fishing, fighting, scanning a room and sizing people up, sports, fitness, taking a hit and not complaining, the list goes on and on. Most of these are guys grasping at straws, trying to get a piece, a bit more power than they had before, in order to survive. But this is not living.

This is why the first step to growth, and leading a healthier life absent of toxic masculinity, is reflection. You must look over your life, your experiences and genuinely ask are you living or are you surviving. Patriarchy, being a system where men and masculine energy dominate spaces of power or with power and women, children, and weaker men are seen as inferior and vessels willing to be dominated or controlled, makes us believe that survival is the ultimate resource and that there are constant, looming threats to us accomplishing this goal. Though at times this may be true, it is not always true, and if we walk through life always scanning rooms with balled up fists we doom ourselves to early graves filled with bitterness, emotions we’ve never experienced, and a life devoid of love. There is more to life than reliving childhood traumas day in and day out, but that more does not come without being able to reflect and to heal.

I don’t remember at what point in my childhood I started hating my dad; I know that it was not always that way. There’s a distinctly fond memory I have with him—wrestling my older brother and I, both of us no older than seven at the time, he pinned us down and stood on our chests saying, “ Who’s the man? Who’s the Man?” Gerald and I were half hysterical laughing, half having an asthma attack, and shouting, “ You’re the man! You’re the man!” He laughed saying, “ No, God’s the Man. Say, God’s the Man.” We giggle between gasps, “Okay, God’s the Man!” Mom came on to the scene from the back room of our duplex and looked at Dad with that look that only Black mommas can deliver; we were sorry that we got dad in trouble, but to this day I love that time in my life, I love that memory.

Perhaps it was the pressures of two lives, two similar personalities, and an age difference spanning over three decades that caused there to be so much friction between us; don’t ask me what the first argument was even about, because I couldn’t tell you. I think that it was the silence that ultimately led to it all. Questions not asked by a son out of fear, and questions left unanswered by a father unaware of the shadow his figure casted. What I do know is that early on in my adolescence I became disillusioned with childhood, with being looked down upon and thought to be foolish, and I know it had a lot to do with Dad and things he said, or how he said them. Something as simple as walking into the room that Gerald and I shared, looking around and making an expression, and finally looking at us and shaking his head was all Dad needed to do to express his disappointment. Honestly I appreciated the silent expressions a lot more than the verbal ones, which seemed to have a back-breakingly painful bite to them. Gerald grew to be calloused and joke about it, but I was raw to it; words more than belts and punishments are what would break my spirit. Around fifth grade I realized that love didn’t really matter, or at least it didn’t mean anything—I loved my dad and he kept smoking cigarettes even after my brother and I begged him to stop; I loved my mom but I couldn’t tell her what I felt about the world because she couldn’t protect me from it; I loved my brother but I felt he constantly belittled me, silenced me, and made me feel like I was stupid (I’m sure he took a few pages from Dad’s book, in this way); I loved myself, or I thought I did, and yet I constantly belittled myself, telling myself that in this world I would have to be stronger. Love could not change anything about life, it just made you feel like you couldn’t even more.

Eventually I gave in to this belief system—years passed and I graduated to full blown “I don’t give a fuck about anything”. I was afraid, powerless and with those tools as weapons I was ready for anything at any time because I felt I had nothing to lose; I felt I had lost so much of my soul already, it wouldn’t matter even if I lost my life. Hotheaded athlete, I knew how to mask my shrewd and heartless demeanor with cool, chauvinistic locker-room thuggery. I acted chill, I wanted to be chill, but in my mind, at any moment I was a shoulder bump away from a full blown “nigga moment”, as so accurately defined in The Boondocks. I was a ticking time bomb, an emotionally unavailable mess all throughout high school, and college was more the same with less of the guard rails.

But before we keep going forward, let’s go back. Black Baton Rouge has become well-known in modern society (before the Alton Sterling murder) for one reason in particular, as far as I am concerned, —Lil Boosie. Now, I’m not talking about “Zoom” or “Wipe Me Down” Lil Boosie, that’s mainstream Boosie. I’m talking “Set It Off”, “Murder Was the Case” Lil Boosie; Boosie that I met that one time at the Mall of Cortana and he said, “Wassup, lil niggas” Lil Boosie. That one. The Boosie BR natives knew growing up was trap before trap was cool. Street, gutta, whatever you want to call it, Black BR loved it and they had to have it. Hell the whole world came to love it, but Baton Rouge had to have it so much that they had to mimic it; kids, even, began to walk with certain swaggers, talking lingos picked up from lyrics. It was a damn masterpiece from a mastermind, and there was no escaping it. The problem though, is what this success for one man meant for many boys (like me and unlike me) growing up in that era. Is being a man being that kind of man? The kind of man in these songs? Why do these boys think less of me because I’m not a “man” like they think they are? Do they know they’re faking?

These were the type of thoughts that got me chin-checked on more than one occasion, questioning what someone saw as their manhood, or them thinking I was calling them soft. I was a huge fan of Dr. King in my younger days, nonviolence and all, but I made up in my mind after one good fight that Dr. King must have never been to Scotlandville, Baton Rouge, a day in his life, and that was that for nonviolence as a way of life in my mind. In a classic case of if-you-can’t-beat-them-join-them, I entered the wade pool of cool poses and posturizing. If a scrap came I didn’t think twice about it, and I was willing to take whatever bruises and lumps came with it from the school or the fight. Not like I was built or raise for all’lat, but didn’t seem like there was much other option.

Now let’s press play, back at the start of my university academic career. I had finally made it to the platform where I wanted to be—college freshman, class president, track team, chapel assistant, so on and so forth. And the shit felt as plastic as a maxed out credit card. The aggression, the fight that I had come to know and hate and love—for all its pain and all its suffering, I missed it; it was home, my home. Not much more than a self-righteous leader already, I quickly threw off the mask of who people wanted me to be as the smart, politically correct leader after freshman year, and allowed my passions to roam freely. I did what I wanted, when I wanted, for no reason other than I wanted to.

It wasn’t until I nearly lost my opportunities to continue my studies and was threatened with the potential for never finishing undergrad, that I sat down and contemplated what went wrong, and why. It was then that I had to take a journey through my mind, into my past and confront the decisions I made, the reasons I made them, and the consequences of those actions. It was here that I discovered and acknowledged the pain in my past. The memories of desperately wanting the approval of my father, and simultaneously being pained by not living up to his seemingly impossible expectations; Times where he seemed to be emotionally unavailable hurt me more than any belt whooping ever could; fleeting thoughts of being silenced or crying inconsolably from feelings of inferiority or brokenness. From these starting points I came to resent the presentation of manhood before me in my father, and the power that came with it, with hoping to one day overcome (or overpower) it by whatever means necessary. That bitterness spilled over into other systems of power and I came to resent almost all, if not all, forms of leadership. Being on the lower rungs of the power dynamic at home and the frustration that came with it did not get any better in the world beyond those four wals; I was short, readily referred to as “nappy-headed”, and emotionally vulnerable. The ego bruises and self-esteem damage I received from early on in my public school career led me to believe that I had to become someone powerful, or to have power, in order to not be disrespected. This belief would haunt me from the moment of its beginning up to this very day.

Once I realized this, and I was able to accept that for the vast majority of my life I had been living in my past burdened by unforgivness, that I had not been the person I really wanted to be, I began a journey of learning to become for the first time. It was exciting being able to unlearn ways in which I had limited my own humanity for fear of not being perceived as manly or displaying some form of power, but it has also been very painful at times. Admitting to yourself the damage that you have done to others, the damage you have done to yourself, and the damage that has been done to you is not easy. There are people who to this day I feel I owe apologies to, for things that I said or ways that I treated them, Black women in particular; for the sake of recovering acknowledgement I didn’t receive in my youth but desperately wanted, I took advantage emotionally of women who otherwise loved me, cared for me, and wanted to see the both of us to succeed. Some people, most people, are afraid to look into their pasts and examine the truth of their actions because they do not want to face that there may be consequences to their actions; even towards themselves there is unforgivness and bitterness. The truth is, without confronting our past we are bound by them and they have power over us. Only by being able to non-judgementally examine our actions, accept that they were wrong, and pay whatever toll to move forward, can we begin our journey of healing.

Even I was afraid to begin my journey of unlearning toxic masculinity thinking that I may be vulnerable to the world and it’s threats, but I have come to find my wife and best friend, a life of love and laughter and carefree living, and wholeness through this adventure of learning. Yes, I am now more likely to cry in public and yes I share my feelings more with others, but I now see that instead of living a life silencing parts of who I am and distorting other parts of me to seem more angry or more threatening than I feel, I can just…be.

And that, for me, is enough.

Pain is universal: we all experience it, feel it, and suffer. But the only thing equally as universal, and infinitely more powerful is the healing from that pain; that healing is love. I challenge you to ask what ways has toxic masculinity been a part of your life, and then challenge your self to live a more whole, more alive life. Only by ending this vicious cycle can we stop the pollution of toxic masculinity, and breathe the fresh air of self-acceptance, self-love, and truly show our love for others.

Peace.

#growth

1 note · View note

journeysintowebcomics · 7 years

Text

Homestuck Liveblog #170

UPDATE 170: Dave Gets His Epiphany

Last time Hussie had decided it was time to pour even more dialogue onto the readers, since last time it hadn’t been enough, hah! Ten different dialogue options – presented linearly, in a subversion of how this usually goes. So let’s continue with what may or may not be the last chance these characters have of talking to each other before the fights.

So I heard that hovering over the options one already cleared would show images, and that was right! There are images. It seems Dave and Dirk continue just...lying around awkwardly, and Vriska and her ghost are arguing while Meenah fantasizes about varied stuff. There’s more than can be done, although the very next option is Roxy being alone. She’s still trying to create the matriorb. Calliope is sitting right in front of her, in silent support role. Roxy channels the universe and Alternia’s complicated state of matters, and...

Well! Mission accomplished! That was easier than I thought it’d be, even with Calliope’s silent help. I suppose there wasn’t more time for delaying this any longer. Kanaya is going to be immensely happy the troll race will be resurrected now. This was a short detour, completely devoid of words but with a significant development – at least to complete quite some part of Roxy and Kanaya’s arcs and goals in this story.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, Roxy and Calliope leave right when the bizarre combination that is Jasprosesprite arrives to hassle Jane for a while longer. I’m crossing my fingers this’ll be quick and painless.

JASPROSESPRITE^2: Miss me Rose? JASPROSESPRITE^2: Did you know I love you?? Weird thing for me to say and you to hear, probably! JASPROSESPRITE^2: I inherited the adoration our cat had for you, which now strangely is directed with the exact same intensity at myself, because I'm you! JASPROSESPRITE^2: Funnily enough this manifests itself in a particularly acute form of narcissism, which is something we were already sort of afflicted by, and so was our cat by the very nature of the sort of animal he was! JASPROSESPRITE^2: The bottom line is I'm pretty twisted up inside in all the most beautiful ways and it's wonderful. ROSE: It really isn't.

Haha, okay, that one was actually pretty funny. She’s not wrong, Rose, you do tend to have slight traces of narcissism in your personality. Guess that all the increased narcissism in this sprite is what makes it have absolutely no brain-mouth filter, what with having an inflated sense of the self and what one says. Being a cat can’t help that either.

Now that Jasperosesprite made the customary hassling towards Rose, she gets straight to business about the battle plan. She has to arrange with Jane how it’ll be done, after all. This is achieved by taking Jane away without even giving her a moment to prepare. There’s someone she needs to meet, somebody in Jane’s planet.

Ah, true, the denizen. The New Wonderkids’ session was rather lacking in information about the denizens, especially since this session was meant to do pretty much nothing. Given Hussie’s track record so far, I’m almost completely sure that Jane’s talk with the denizen will happen off-screen and the characters will talk about it once it’s done, so...no more option than waiting until this is done!

Damn it , I have been bamboozled! Well played, Hussie, you had me fooled, I admit it. This could be good, though, not everyday you meet a senior version of yourself that’s dressed as a clown and...is the mother of your father. This is time-travel-gone-wrong levels of weird.

Aw, come on, Hussie, I wanted to see this! But nope, just when Nannasprite got in front of Jane the section ended and went to the next. Oh well. I’m really hoping I’ll have the chance to see how this goes, but I’m not going to hold my breath over it. The scribbled images of what the rest of the options are doing show John and Terezi discussing how Rose could have a black romance status with, uh, a version of herself. Yeeeeeeah no, let’s not do that. Doesn’t seem healthy – just ask Karkat, it’d be a headache.

About Roxy and Calliope, they just arrived to what I think is Jade’s planet, and Calliope is told to stay with Jade. I had completely forgotten Jade is still asleep. It’s once again said that it’s nice to have Calliope around. And...that was it! I just summarized around six or so pages in this very short paragraph.

I think that goes way beyond the realm of kismesis behavior Rose...and out of the realm of sanity as well. Stay away from any copies of the Sassacre book, resist the temptation. Anyways, Dave and Dirk are still here. Going to try to talk again? They’re focusing more on the battle to come than on anything else. Hah! No progress on the heartfelt conversation front, apparently.

DAVE: hes got lord english powers tho

It could be a way to know how well a fight against Lord English would go, then. Sure, Union Jack is completely different, less bulky, has no time powers, and presumably has one single personality in that noggin of his instead of being a weird amalgamation, but it’d be a way to see if they are ready to fight against Lord English. Think of it as having training wheels on your bike.

Swords can’t help you solve problems with people, who’d have thought. Dirk and Jake are the closest example to how someone who has spent their formative years alone and without the presence of people around would behave: with no social skills at all. Jade got very lucky in that regard, she is very well-balanced for someone who grew on an island and only had a dog for company. Then again, her Dreamself must have been of help, the Prospitians must have helped her have some people skills.

DIRK: ... DAVE: ...

Nothing has changed here.

It takes a few pages more before Dirk takes the plunge headfirst down the emotional cliff, with all the grace of a novice. It does get the conversation going, mostly about how this isn’t how he pictured the meeting going.

DIRK: Maybe you'll think it's weird that I idolized some version of you that I never knew.

These two are much more similar than they each realize. Their upbringings aren’t that different, heck, I’d say that Lil’ Hal fulfilled the role Bro had, just with less sword attacks. Other than that it was pretty much the same, an isolated life with an aloof person/glasses in the vicinity. Come on, Dave, admit you idolized Bro. That’d be a great step towards turning the page in your life and bonding with Dirk, you can do it!

DAVE: ive got to say DAVE: meeting you DAVE: its not rockin my world here DAVE: or upending any paradigms or whatever DAVE: listening to you and looking at you DAVE: it really really just DAVE: reminds me of him

Close enough! I’m a bit downtrodden there was no exchange of words between Bro and Dave so I could have a reference on how similar this actual situation is to how they got along. I imagine Bro wasn’t that different from Dirk.

DIRK: Things, between you and me, from your perspective, um, DIRK: Are we like, not cool? DAVE: ..................

I’m not sure if it’s telling or not that there was no ‘yeah’ or similar quick response.

DAVE: i didnt fuckin like you that much ok?

...

...okay, that isn’t how I thought it’d go. I suppose there’s a difference between idolizing and actually liking a person. Good for you for saying it aloud, Dave. It must have been very difficult to say to anybody, even more to a version of your brother.

After a sequence of images meant to show how little time passed between Dave going “I don’t want to talk about it” to “okay heres what im saying” he finally starts...and boy is it tough.

DAVE: i dunno why my friends got to have adults around who cared about them DAVE: they complained bitterly about stuff so i guess i convinced myself they were all in the same boat as me DAVE: but thats not how it was

That’s pretty much how kids and teenagers are, they complain and don’t realize sometimes such complaints aren’t about things as bad as they could be. Leaving behind such behavior is part of growing up. Dave didn’t realize how badly he was being treated, though, he just saw no difference between his life and the lives of the rest of his friends – at first.

DAVE: so all thats left to do is look back and try to put the pieces together of my first 13 years DAVE: and all i can think is what the fuck WAS that?! DAVE: i dont come away with the impression i used to try convincing myself of, that he was like "mysterious" or "stern" or "aloof" DAVE: the only feeling left is this insane impression that i was raised by somebody who fuckin HATED me

...hated you? Hm...honestly? I don’t know. Bro’s way of raising Dave had a lot of things wrong, and I really don’t know how to interpret it. I’m interested on knowing how other people interpreted it. Would you mind telling me your thoughts, everyone? I really don’t know what to think about this.

Dirk actually sounds horrified about what he’s hearing. Perhaps he doesn’t like the thought of his equivalent doing this all?

DAVE: it took years to deconstruct it all and put it back together to understand how fuckin mad i should be DAVE: and in particular how stone cold deeply uncared for i was my whole life DAVE: like... being merely "monitored" by a violent robot

Haha...you know what this brought to mind? What went through my head right when I read this part?

TT: Don't worry, that's normal. TT: Upon activation he goes into Stalking Mode. GT: Stalking mode?? TT: Yes. He will stalk you in the jungle and strike when your guard is down.

It’s exactly that. Dave pretty much described the robot Dirk made and sent to Jake. It’s pretty much the same in terms of how Dave was raised! Wow, Hussie, did you do this on purpose? I think you did this on purpose! Dave may as well have been raised by the brobot thing, and just like Jake – who dreaded encountering it and once he had to fight it didn’t precisely have loads of fun – Dave now doesn’t want to fight. He wants to avoid this fighting thing, and hates that he has to be the one to grab the sword and slay the villain.

You seriously screwed up here, Bro.

Dave even brings up that maybe things would have been better if Lil’ Cal hadn’t been around. Maybe! The influence of Lord English can’t be an ingredient in a healthy household – even more since part of Lord English is once another version of Dirk. Hah! Life sucks for the Striders. It’s...it’s rather depressing, actually. I wonder if at the time they had to cram Caliborn into the puppet Dave realized what Lil’ Cal was. Even if he did, I doubt he’d have any kind of reaction when anyone was nearby, but at that moment I imagine many things clicked in Dave’s head.

Would Bro have been any different if that puppet of the damned hadn’t been around? Uh...I dunno. Maybe it really was a poisonous influence of some sort, influence Dirk was lucky not to have. It’s all up to interpretation, I’d say.

I think now that the epiphany is complete I can stop the update and continue next time. This, though, this is exactly what I was hoping the Striders would do, that at least one of them would unload this heavy emotional baggage, and it’s for the better! I’m glad it’s actually happening.

Next update: three updates

#homestuck #homestuck liveblog #webcomics #liveblog #webcomic liveblog

14 notes · View notes

wreckedregent7 · 7 years

Text

A Long, Dark Night

The door in front of me rattled slightly as the wind blew through the mesh screen. Normally I'd be out on the other side of it, meandering about the patio while the rain caressed my skin and weighed down my jeans, though tonight was different. I didn't come here to this replica of my home to enjoy the rain that blankets my planet as I normally do. I came here to think.

I closed the wooden front door, heaving a sigh as I turned back into my living room. I'd spent a few hours earlier pushing the furniture to places that felt most comfortable to me; the couch set immediately to the right of the doorway, one arm pressed to the wall. A rocking chair two or three feet away, angled to look into the corner, where a large television sat. And right next to the rocking chair was a small table with a lamp and a landline telephone on top.

The latter of the two was completely useless, but it reminded me of life before SBURB, and it didn't take up too much space, so, why not leave it there? Of course, this wasn't picture-perfect, but everything being positioned just so felt familiar enough. It made me remember growing up, confiding all my fears, releasing my anger, aspiring to be something great. Things that kept me grounded.

With little effort, I plant my hand on the back of the couch, vaulting over it and sitting comfortably in the middle cushion. Not comfortable enough, I turned on my hip and laid across it entirely. On my back, I stared up at the ceiling for a brief moment, taking deep breaths and steadying my thoughts.

Where do I even begin at this point? I've done so much over the past few years, it's difficult to think about it all.

My job - my second job, anyway. Studying Titles.

I've made a lot of progress lately. I can be proud of that. Not only did I put together a collection of my studies, but I've found so many new possibilities.

But...Even still, I took two whole years not doing anything.

"Two years..." I murmured, staring down at the palm of my hand as I do when time spent comes to my mind.

It always annoyed me, thinking about time. Not just because of the loose concept applied to the Furthest Ring, but...

Dizmar, Athene, and their group have lived for eons. Thousands of Solar Sweeps, way, way longer than should be comprehensible.

To them, two years is practically two minutes.

But I haven't lived even one fourth as long as they have. I only just turned twenty-three not even a week ago.

I'm still used to my 'mortal' way of thinking; every second matters. Make every action count.

I grit my teeth, and I feel my heart start to beat faster, anger raising its tempo. I should've made those two years count for something. Instead, I squandered them partying, fighting, and doing practically anything but my job.

"For /two years/..." I said again, aggravation gnawing at the back of my throat. I sit myself upright, turning again to face the same direction as the couch. I realized all too late the train of thought I hopped on, and found myself wanting to step outside and pummel imps.

Before I could stand up to act on it, though, I felt soft skin and a lock of hair press against my cheek. Shifting my head back, I felt the rigidity of a short horn set low on the side of a person's head.

"^W^ell, theeeeeere ^y^ou are, 'old One-E^y^e'." Came her voice, a subtle vibration ringing out on every sharp letter. Between her warmth and her voice, it was easy to recognize who had found me.

"Oh, hey Dogana," I said, taking shorter breaths in and longer ones out. I remember somewhere that doing that would help calm me down. "You were looking for me?"

"Of course I ^w^as. I ^w^anted to spend the night ^w^ith ^y^ou, but I couldn't find ^y^ou around the bubble. ^W^hat are ^y^ou doing ^w^a^y^ out here?" I sighed, knowing she'd dig the answer out of me one way or another. I let myself relax against the back of the couch, looking up at her plainly. "Thinking."

"About?"

"Life. I've an eternity ahead of me, and it still feels like time is passing by all too fast."

"Oh," She said, some realization dawning on her. "and the 't^w^o ^y^ears' is part of that, innit?"

I nodded, and she crawled over the couch to sit beside me, making an effort to press herself as close to me as possible. She began purring very quietly, just enough that I could hear and feel it. Instinctively, I brought my arm up to wrap around her, resting my hand on her hip.

"S'^w^hat's ^w^rong? ^W^hat d'^y^ou mean b^y^ 't^w^o ^y^ears'?"

"I mean I wasted them."

Not the right words.

Dogana pouted, but stopped shortly afterwards to look me in the eyes with an expression of concern.

"Ho^w^'d ^y^ou ^w^aste them?" She said, her voice completely devoid of her usual excitement. "I remember a lot of ^w^hat ^y^ou did, and I don't think ^y^ou ^w^asted an^y^ of ^y^our time."

"I-..."

I trailed off before I could even start to find the words.

I can't argue with her. I'm being stupid again - my job isn't the first priority, my life is.

But I'm fucked now, I started in on this with nothing to back me up.

"I...I guess I can't think of any time I wasted. I just got focused on one thing, and..."

"And ignored literall^y^ e^v^er^y^thing else." Her words were blunt, but, thankfully, not painful to hear.

"Yeah."

"^Y^ou kno^w^ I'm obligated to make ^y^ou see, right?"

She stared at me almost intensely, not breaking eye contact. I feigned a smile, and forced up a small semblance of a chuckle. "Get it over with, then," I said, doing my best to warmly accept my due punishment. "Rule of Fives."

"For one, ^y^ou'^v^e gro^w^n a LOT o^v^er the past fe^w^ ^y^ears. I mean, look at ^y^ou, ^y^ou're no longer some self-loathing o^v^erachei^v^er ^w^ho pushes himself too far and starts ^w^hipping himself ^w^hen he ine^v^itabl^y^ breaks do^w^n."

I have been getting better about that...

"^Y^ou'^v^e pro^v^en ^y^ourself to be one of the most courageous people that I'^v^e e^v^er met ^w^hen ^y^ou stood ^v^igil for t^w^o da^y^s to protect ^V^asa^v^i, Aphros, and Charan from P^y^rhis."

I was willing to die twice to keep them safe.

"^Y^ou ha^v^e and still are keeping e^v^er^y^one combat-read^y^ just in case something big comes up b^y^ hosting ^y^our tournaments and frequentl^y^ fighting people."

That's not intentional, but I'll let it slide - I just want to hear the end of this.

"^Y^ou'^v^e made a lot of people happ^y^ ^w^ith ^y^our feasts and e^v^ents."

I can't argue with that.

"And ^y^ou'^v^e come a long ^w^a^y^ ^w^ith ^y^our ^w^ork, ^w^hether or not ^y^ou recognize it."

I take a long breath, trying to ignore how thoroughly I've just been called out. I'm glad it doesn't happen often, but I can't help but feel everything is one-sided whenever I run into a personal problem.

"So, ho^w^ long do ^y^ou expect ^y^ou're going to hole up in here for?"

"The night, at least." I say, carefully standing up to avoid moving her around too much. Immediately, she rises to her feet and wraps both of her arms around mine.

"^W^ell, I'm holing up ^w^ith ^y^ou."

"Bu-" My words are cut off sharply. "No 'but's! Diz is ^w^ith Athene, Astor's ^w^ith Dizrae, Shura's ^w^ith Lil, an' Apolos ^w^anted to spend time ^w^ith Atalas."

"And there's nobody else?" I ask, already well aware that it's a pointless question.

"Not tonight." She says in response as she starts to purr louder.

"Riiiiiight."

I know Dogana has an extremely active social life - no matter what, she's always doing something. But, even with the massive amount of people we know, it's only reasonable that she picks and chooses what she wants to do in a day. And she chose to spend tonight with me.

I walked over the metal lining on the floor separating the carpeted living room from the tiled kitchen, moving slowly to keep Dogana in pace. She broke off two steps after we crossed into the room, and pulled one of the chairs out from the table, sitting down and spinning it to face me.

"I s^w^ear, ^y^ou ha^v^e one of the coziest homes I'^v^e e^v^er seen."

"Thanks, but I'm not sure how much that should mean," I said as I casually sidestepped in front of the refrigerator, giving a genuine smile as I blindly opened the door. "I mean, you /did/ live most of your life on Alternia in a cave. Anything with a table and a bed should look like the picture of comfort to you."

She tilted her head from side to side, mocking drawn out laughter with each tilt. "Oh, haaa, haaah. A s^w^eep or t^w^o of adult life is more than enough for me to kno^w^ comfortable places."

I turned around, taking a few quick glances up and down the refrigerator shelves, and one over to Dogana. "You hungry or thirsty?" I said, returning my view to the chilled foodstuffs and boxes full of canned soda.

"D'^y^ou ha^v^e bottled ^w^ater in there?" she asked, despite having a clear view inside. "I've got tap," I responded, not looking away, but throwing one hand to point over my shoulder with a thumb. "over there. Get a cup if you want some."

"A^w^^w^, ^w^eak. ^W^ell, I think I'm hungr^y^, is there an^y^thing ^y^ou can make real quick?"

"Uh, 'real quick'? Let's see..." I reach down, pulling open the produce drawer and taking a package of bacon from it. No sooner than she sees what I pick, the troll's eyes light up. I push the drawer closed with my foot, and lazily swing the fridge door shut as I make my way to the stove.

I look down at the stove top, breathing a low sigh as I recall the differences from then and now. Before SBURB, the stove had fueled burners on the top, with metal grates with eight prongs in a star shape to hold pots and pans over the flame. Now, though, I've had it replaced with an electric stove, the heating plates hidden beneath a smooth surface whose material I'm unfamiliar with, though white rings mark where each plate is.

I place the packaged meat down on one of the rings, then walk to the counter and cupboards to fetch what I need. From the top cupboards I grab a frying pan and two plates - one creamic, one paper, and from the lower cupboards I take a small tin of black pepper. Not an interesting ingredient, and certainly not unusual, but I still like to imagine that it makes this specifically my recipe.

I place the pan on the front-left plate's mark, the ceramic plate over the back-right's, and pick up the bacon to place the paper plate over the front-right's - with the pepper tin right beside it. I move back to the counter for a moment to take a pair of scissors, using them to cut the bacon down the middle. I lay one half to the side, and pull the meat from the other half.

I separate each slice, laying them down on the paper plate in a row, side-to-side, with some small overlap - and when I reach the end of the plate, I place two down beside the row, and sprinkle them with pepper, and start layering over them. Side-to-side, each slightly overlapping the last - and I repeat with the other half until both form a pile on the plate.

"Do ^y^ou al^w^a^y^s do that?" My roseblooded companion piped up, and as I turned to look her way, I saw her knees pressed against her chest, and her arms crossed over her ankles. "What, spice the bacon?" I asked. I looked back, turning on the heating element underneath the pan, hearing Dogana give an "Mhm." in response.

I placed four strips of bacon onto the pan, moving to the counter once more to grab a spatula. "Well, yeah. It's my thing." I said, in a tone alike to answering something that should be common knowledge. "^W^h^y^?"

"Uh...'Cause I guess it tastes a little better with pepper cooked into it? I dunno." "^Y^ou do this all the time and ^y^ou don't e^v^en kno^w^ ^w^h^y^?" It's hard to tell whether she asked as a joke, or out of genuine curiosity.

"I can't even remember why I do it."

"Oh, come on. First ^y^ou can't remember ^y^our name, and no^w^ ^y^ou can't remember ^w^h^y^ ^y^ou cook like this?"

I flip the bacon over, shrugging at Dogana's remark. "I learned how to cook this stuff one day, and another I got particular about it and sprinkled pepper over each piece." I looked over my shoulder again, seeing the genuine curiosity I'd otherwise find so difficult to guess about in her face.

For once, it was easy to see. Her eyes were open and attentive, her brows raised, and her mouth ever-so-slightly open. For once, her face and her personality failed to betray her interest. "...And that was way back when the only things I knew how to cook were microwavable TV dinners and popcorn." I continued, glancing down at the cooking meat.

"^W^hat does that ha^v^e to do ^w^ith it?" She asked, her voice even lending itself to show her interest in the 'why'. I smiled a tad wider, feeling as though I'd found a conversational vantage point for her. "Well, so many years ago I'd always wanted to become a cook or some sort of fancy restaurateur."

"And I was an idiot back then," I added, "so when I got hungry enough to learn how to cook bacon one day, I felt some pride in just adding pepper to it. Within the next year I'd be learning how to really work with spices."

"Pfff, cute as e^v^er." She started to giggle, though she tried to hold it back somewhat out of what I can assume is respect. She stopped her light laughter rather early though, and as I flipped over the bacon again, she started again.

"...So, kno^w^ing ^y^ou, ho^w^ far out didja ha^v^e this planned?"

"Huh?" I asked, turning entirely to face her with a dumb expression.

"^W^ell, I mean, ^y^ou're al^w^a^y^s planning things, thinking them out, ha^v^ing all this shit in ^y^our head about an^y^ number of subjects. It'd be unlike ^y^ou to just ^w^anna be a cook and not think about ^w^hat ^y^ou'd do ^w^ith it, right?"

"Yeah, uh...Well, I had a name in mind."

"^W^hat ^w^as it?"

I flipped the pieces over again, keeping my eye on them as they started to turn yellow-orange. I placed the head of the spatula into the ceramic plate, and went back over to the counter, this time sitting up on it, though slumped forward. I avoided eye contact with Dogana as I tried to let the next few words out of my mouth casually.

"...'The Fair Fare'."

There was at least a minute of silence between us; enough time for me to return to the stove and pull some finished pieces of bacon out of the pan, and laying four more down to cook. When I returned to sit on the countertop, my kismesis spoke up first. "Actuall^y^, that sounds exactl^y^ like something ^y^ou'd come up ^w^ith."

"...Oh, yeah?" I shook off the timidity, seeing an opportunity to get back at Dogana for punishing me for my single-minded thinking. I still didn't feel any better for it, but nevertheless, it was good to keep the conversation going.

"It's kinda catch^y^. It's almost one of those fanc^y^ literature things ^w^here ^y^ou sa^y^ three ^w^ords ^w^ith the same letter at the start..."

"An alliteration?"

"^Y^eah, one of those. It's reall^y^ hard to scre^w^ up sa^y^ing it, just sa^y^ 'fair' t^w^ice, and kno^w^ing ^y^ou and all ^y^our fanc^y^ ^w^ord^y^ crap, both ^w^ords ha^v^e different meanings. Right?"

"Mhmm. The first is 'fair' as reasonable, and the second is 'fare' - 'eff, ayh, arh, ee' - as in a meal."

Her laughter is almost immediate. "Nerd!"

"Hey, wordplay has helped me a /lot/ over the years. Not when I actually needed it, but it still helped."

With my mind locked in conversation with Dogana, I had almost failed to notice that my body was now entirely in the momentum of cooking. Almost autonomously I had flipped the strips of bacon twice, and was getting ready to do so again.

"So, ^y^ou didn't keep on the ^w^hole 'be a cook' thing?"

"No. A few years after I started thinking about it, I walked another path. Started into martial arts, dropped the whole restaurant thing entirely."

"^W^h^y^ did ^y^ou choose martial arts o^v^er cooking for people?"

"Some unrealistic expectations about a harsh, unforgiving world and a desire to protect those close to me took the reins away from a want to run some fancy-ass diner."

"Unrealistic? Ho^w^?"

"Well, think of it like...There were some parts of Earth that were a lot like Alternia. People'd want to kill you or rob you, or god knows what."

"Thank god ^y^our ^w^orld ^w^asn't some shitt^y^ id^y^llic utopia."

"I hate to say it, but I agree with you. Earth would be shit if there weren't monsters and murderers out there."

"So, ^y^ou expected sometime in ^y^our life, ^y^ou'd ha^v^e to square off against someone like that?"

"Yeah. Whether alone or with someone I cared about, I wanted to be ready to fight."

"Thank god for that, too. If ^y^ou didn't ha^v^e that mindset, SBURB ^w^ould'^v^e REALL^Y^ fucked ^y^ou o^v^er."

Dogana watched me as I cooked, snickering at the occasional recoil from bacon grease popping from the pan and flying onto my stomach. There was a silence between us again, and it stuck around for the minutes until I finished cooking. I turned the stove off, turned the pan so that the handle would face the back of the stovetop, and brought the platefull of bacon over to the kitchen table, sitting it down in a space between the counter and Dogana's seat.

"Thanks for the food!" She exclaimed, pulling one of the cooler pieces out from the bottom of the pile of meat. "^Y^'kno^w^, I ha^v^e to agree ^w^ith ^y^ou, bacon is just the BEST meat."

I gingerly picked a piece from the top, ignoring the fact that it was still fairly hot and soaked in grease. I walked over to the refrigerator again, dropping the cooked strip into my mouth and chewing quickly - while failing to hide the pain the entire time.

"^Y^ou alright there, Regent?" She asked, looking up at me with a cocky grin. I swallow the food quickly, lightly gripping at my throat as I pull the fridge open. A short cough escapes me as I pick two cans of root beer from the middle shelf, closing the door behind me as I take my seat beside the counter. I place one can in front of myself, and another on the side of the plate closest to the mischievous redblood.

"Yeah, ah. I'm glad you like it so much," I do my best to sidestep the question and play off the taste buds I just killed. I pulled the can's tab down, cracking the top open to take a quick sip from it. My tongue is relieved from both the cold drink and the familiar bitterness of it, and I let an uncontrollable sigh of satisfaction escape before I continue.

"But I'm sure it's not your favorite meal, right?"

"No, I guess not. I think m^y^ fa^v^orite meal ^w^ould probabl^y^ be..." There's a long pause, and as Dogana thinks, she idly pulls some more bacon from the pile and eats them without much thought. When she finally comes up with an idea, she and I have already eaten two thirds of the bacon.

"This ma^y^ sound ^w^eird, but I think m^y^ fa^v^orite meal ^w^ould be those steak and ^v^eggie kabobs ^V^ictor makes sometimes."

She takes another two pieces before she continues talking. "So, get this; I ^w^as ^w^andering about LOCAB one da^y^, tr^y^ing to see if I could bother Isabella or ^V^ictor, and I smelled something reall^y^ good," she paused mid-story to take and eat another piece, finishing it off quickly and following it with a long sip of her root beer. "And I mean, I ate before I got there, but this smell bottomed me out."

"So I look around, and just out in front of his house is ^V^ictor, standing at this grill and table set-up. I rush up and ask him ^w^hat he had cooking, and he said something like 'steak faheatuhs' or something like that. I ask if I could tr^y^ some, and he said 'sure, there's a fe^w^ coming off in a sec, once they cool ^y^ou can tr^y^ them.'"

"Did you wait for them to cool?"

"Fuck no, as soon as he set them do^w^n on the plate, I picked one up and che^w^ed a^w^a^y^. It ^w^as AMAZING. If ^y^ou get the recipe off him, I'll be ^y^ours for life. Other^w^ise, I'm gonna bug the shit out of him to grill more often."

I smiled, pulling the four of the last five pieces aside for myself. "I'll make sure to ask him about it next time I see him."

We finished our food and drinks, and Dogana put the ceramic plate into the sink, while I brought the paper plate over to the trash bin. Dogana walked out into the middle of the room, stretching her arms out wide as I made my way to the sink. I poured a small pool of dish soap into my hand, elbowed the sink faucet on somewhere I hoped would be "just warm".

After thoroughly slicking my hands with the soap, I pushed them under the faucet stream, immediately greeted with scalding heat. I bit hard on my lower lip, hissing in pain as I jerked my hands out of the sink and pressed the faucet's lever to the far right side. I wait a few seconds, and quickly wrap up rinsing off my hands in the cold water flow. Even with the sink running, I could hear Dogana stifling her laughter as she watches me fidget in pain.

I groan under my breath, but address her calmly as I wipe my hands off with a paper towel. "So, Dogana, got anything in mind for tonight?"

"I'm actuall^y^ not sure. Lemme think about it for a sec," she paused. A minute passed as she thought, one finger curled over her chin and her eyes cast off into the corner of the room. She shrugged, speaking up once more. "nope, nothing. ^W^anna just go la^y^ do^w^n for a ^w^hile?"

"I don't got anything myself, so, sure." I replied, taking her hand and walking down the hall. The door to the left opened into a spacious room, and immediately to the right inside the room was a large, comfortable bed, if a messy one. Four or five blankets lie lazily crumpled up at the foot of the bed, with three pillows sitting at the head, each with satin pillowcases, which I personally found to be the most comfortable.

Dogana scrambled onto the bed, spreading herself out in the middle, while I sat down on the edge, twisting my body to reach down to my blanket pile. I groped at the mass of cloth, grabbing the fluffiest one in reach and pulling it out. I turned and laid down myself, shuffling back to rest my head against the pillow, as my company rolled onto her side, throwing one leg over me and wrapping both arms around my chest.

I pulled the blanket over the both of us, and moved my arm to wrap around Dogana's back. She was already purring when I slipped two of my fingers under her top, and she started purring louder as I rubbed her uppermost grubscar. She turned her face in towards my collar, and I only barely noticed that she was blushing deep crimson.

"We need to spend more nights like this." I said, wrapping my free arm around her blanketed lower back.

"No kidding......" she murmured in response, drowsiness almost instantly overtaking her.

As she dozed off in my arms, her purring slowly died down, but never stopped. Her purring was one of two sounds I heard for the rest of the night, the other being the soothing patter of rain on the roof and windows of the house.

Despite the calm, I remained awake throughout the rest of the night.

#Homestuck #Dogana Sithil #Dogana #Regent #wreckedRegent #wreckedRegent Writes #Fankid #Fantroll

1 note · View note

simwoman2002 · 5 years