#...maybe? tenuously? i have no idea | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

Same as it ever was 10

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: need a little time to figure out don't speak so here ya are.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Your dreams are muddied with the dregs of your reality. You wade through the swamp of waking horrors mutated by the nonsensical hues of your subconscious. Your escape is less than happy as you open your eyes to stare at the basement ceiling. The water stain there is just another latent trouble waiting to implode.

The most potent reminder of the utter disarray if your life isn't the heaps of laundry waiting by the machine or the steady drip from the old wash sink. It's the violent pang radiating from your tailbone, another tenderly throbbing by your shoulder blade. The mortifying scene plays in your mind; Pete's obtuse come on and your own bitter and insecure rejection.

Your morning routine is made more tedious by your condition. Every move is tinged in torment and the kids seem unexpectedly rambunctious. Or maybe you just can't keep up with them.

You get them packed up and in the car. You were so swept up, you didn't even get your morning coffee. It's not as if you'd expected this day to go any smoother than the last. Thankfully, you don’t run into your husband.

School drop off is just as hectic, ominous if anything. You tell Simone to take Malik inside for you as you stay behind the wheel.

“Are you okay?” She asks, ever observative. Why does she have to be so smart? Hopefully, she stays that way.

“Good, just had a late night,” you assure her, “I’ve got a big… meeting this morning.”

“Yeah, dad said something about a promotion,” she unbuckles her seat belt and sidles over to unclasp Malik from his seat.

“Do you need help, honey?” You ask, steeling yourself at the idea of getting out of the car.

“I got it,” she insists. “Are you going to work late again?”

“I… don’t think so,” you answer tenuously.

“Oh,” is all she can utter. She gets Malik out and grabs both their bookbags. “Come on,” she tugs on his hand as he opens her door.

“Love you guys,” you say.

“Love you, mommy!” Malik sings.

“Yeah, love ya too,” Simone mutters then huffs at Malik, “hurry up. I wanna read before class.”

She shuts the door, a bit heavier than you expect, and you watch them until they get to the front doors, meeting the other clusters of students and parents. You inhale and turn forward, flicking your lashes as your eyes burn. Your back is on fire with pain, but worse, your heart is a pit of agony. You feel your family crumbling all around you.

A pair of headlights flash in your rear view and you shift into gear and slowly roll away from the pick up area. You grip the wheel tight and wiggle your nose, resisting the hot wall of tears trembling in your head. You don’t know what to do, there’s nothing to do but keep going. Things will change, they always do.

You watch the time as you drive to work. You pull into the lot and click the button on your seat belt, letting it repel as you lean back. Oh god, the hardest part, getting out. With each second, you feel worse. So what? Some bruises? You’ve dealt with worse.

You open the door and snatch your bag from the other seat. You turn sideways, bag on your elbow, as you grip the side of the car and the steering wheel and push yourself to your feet. You smother a yelp to a whimper. Your legs shake with the pain hammering in your tailbone.

You lean on the door as you close it. You take another deep breath, this one racks you torturously. You set your feet and limp along the side of the building in your beat up Keds. No heels or flats, you need support.

You nearly fall into the elevator, relieved to be alone for the ride up. You lean on the wall and watch the floor light up one at a time. You hobble off, holding your lower back. It’s not an unusual sight. Your hips have been fucked up since your second pregnancy.

You limp past your desk as you keep your morning task in mind. You just want it done and over with. Then you can sit in the ungodly office chair and try not to break.

You’ve never been so thankful for the apathy of your coworkers. Hansen trained them well. They know to only worry about themselves and their work. The exemplar of capitalistic character.

You approach Hansen’s office door. To your surprise, it’s unlocked. You let yourself in, not bothering to make sure you’re unseen. Who gives a fuck anymore? He is hardly the beacon of discretion.

You drop your bag on the long console table with the vase of fake lilies and keep moving. You can’t stop. You undress without hesitation. You treat it like business. No point in wasting time.

You pile your clothes in the uncomfortable acrylic chair across from the immense leather throne on its swivel. You round the desk and stumble. You catch yourself as you brace your back and whine. Oh god, shit.

You give in to the tremble in your legs and fall to your knees. You drag yourself under the desk and sit on your knees. That’s not a good idea. You grit your teeth and gulp. You’ve never felt pain like this. Well you have, but you know you’re not going into labour.

Your legs are tingly despite the hot pain coursing around your hips. You do your best to breathe through it as you wait. What are you even doing? How did it come to this? For christ sakes, your forty-fucking-four years old. Waiting like some bimbo in your boss’ office.

Before you can sink into your self-loathing, you hear the door. He clicks his tongue as you listen to his deliberate gait. He’s making a show of it. He’s drawing it out. You bite back your irritation. As much as he plays around, he’s easy. Just like Pete. He’s entirely ruled by that dangling worm between his legs.

He sighs and struts around. You can picture the smug smirk under his dumb mustache. But you don’t. You’re already tensed up.

There’s a clink on the desk as he sets down his coffee and he hums as he rolls the chair out. He sits and spreads his knees wide. There’s a twitch in his pants. His finely tailored pants that probably cost more than your mortgage.

“Good morning,” he grips the arms of the chair as he leans back.

You don’t say a word as you reach for him. He wheels closer as you pop the top button of his pants. His gaze is stolid on you. You feel yourself sweating under it. It’s more humiliating to know he’s watching you so intently.

You tug down his fly. No underwear. You’re hardly surprised. The man who doesn’t wear socks with his tacky loafers likely doesn’t have a very full top drawer. You pull him through the vee of fabric and stroke his half-hard length.

“I didn’t even play with myself in the shower,” he taunts, “I saved it all for you.”

He snorts as you stay silent. You just keep going. He takes a breath and lets it out through his nose.

“Who pissed in your coffee?” He asks.

You once more have no answer. He flinches as you squeeze around his tip and roll your palm over it. He hisses as he squeezes the leather armrests.

“Fucking balls,” he puffs as he tilts his head back, “those hands–”

You bring your other hand up to cup him from below. You remember when you used to enjoy this. When you wanted it. How Pete’s groans used to spark a thrill in you but this, this just makes you feel grimy.

“Shit, shit,” he gulps, “slow down, baby face.”

You ignore him and he spasms. He sits forward and grabs your wrists, stopping you. You clench your jaw and look up at him.

“Hey, slow the fuck down,” he warns you, “the fuck’s your problem?”

You shrug and your cheek strains as even just that gesture tweaks in your hips. You stare at him dully. He tilts his head as he juts his jaw out. His lip curls as he rolls himself away in the chair. He snaps his fingers.

“Get out of there,” he demands.

You blink to keep from rolling your eyes. You put your hands on the floor but can’t move. You try to crawl forward but just can’t. Your tailbone is throbbing.

“I said get up,” he snaps.

“I can’t,” you rasp.

“What?” He leans forward.

“I fucking can’t–”

“Jesus fuck,” he stands and bends over you, angling around to hook his arms around you.

He hauls you up and you squeal as the fire shoots around your hips. He holds you under your arms as he turns you and lets you fall against his desk. You land on the flat keyboard and very pointy paperweight.

“Damn,” he smacks your ass, the flesh jiggling on impact, “look at that.”

You cry out, louder than you mean too. You whimper and hit the desk with your fist. He peels his hand away and you sense him raise it again. You stretch your arm behind you and wave at him desperately.

“No, no, please–” Your hand falls to your tailbone and you whine, “stop.”

You squeeze your thighs tight, overly aware of the dimples in the flesh and the lines rippled into the skin. Worse than the agony is the exposure. Both overwhelm you to the point of defeat.

“What?” He snips.

“I think– I think something’s wrong with me,” you choke out, feeling along your back. There’s a tender bump right along the base of your spine.

“What’s wrong?” He growls.

“Look…” you try to push yourself off the desk and your legs wobble. Before you can crumple to the floor, he catches you. Thankfully, surprisingly. “I fell in the shower last night,” your throat tightens at the admission of your own mortality, “I’m old, alright? And I fucking hurt myself.”

He sighs. His demeanour changes, not so rough, not so impatient as he angles you into the leather chair. It hurts just as much but you don’t care. It’s better than the floor.

“Fuck,” he puts his hands on his hips, his dick still standing above his pants. No shame. “Fine, you finish the job and I’ll let you off for the day. Go see a fucking doctor.”

You furrow your brow at him. Really?

“Well, you’re halfway there, sweet cheeks,” he turns a palm out, “so, get on it.”

Disbelief? Hardly. You could predict this. But you're exasperated and exhausted and you could rip that damn thing off his body.

You clamp your lips tight and sit up as best you can. You reach for him, gripping him tightly so he yipes. He slaps your wrist.

“Hey, lay off,” he warns.

You sniff but listen. You ease up and stroke him. He falls back into his groans, hands on his hips as he pushes his pelvis towards you. You just stare at the hem of his shirt as you keep a steady rhythm. How can men be so simple but make things so difficult?

You flinch as he bends his knees, just a bit, and reaches for your chest. You try to bat him away but he throws your hand back. He cups your tit and kneads, rolling his thumb over your nipple. You shudder and look away, crossing your arm around your stomach. You hope he can’t see everything from up there.

“Can I come on your tits?” He snarls, “don’t know why I’m asking…”

He steps closer and you feel him getting closer. His body tenses as his other hand goes to your shoulder and he rocks his hips, as good as fucking your hand. You direct his tip down and turn your chin up, disgusted as he quakes in your grip.

He grunts as he cums, his voice trailing off in thick moans as he unleashes on you. Cords of his cum string over your chest and up your neck. You swallow down your disgust as you see him through his climax, finishing with another pinch on your nipple.

He lets you go and backs up, “whew,” he blows out and gives an emphatic shiver.

You puff and gather what’s left of your strength. It’s done. You’re free. For a few hours at least. You let the pain roll out in a guttural grunt as you stand and stagger to grab a tissue from the sleek metal box on his desk. You do your best to clean yourself up. Hopefully you can do a better job at the clinic in case they need to do any tests.

“That was fucking… spectacular,” he nears and grabs a tissue of his own, brushing against your back, “even dragging your tail around like a beat dog, you just get the job done, don’t you?”

You need a coffee. You’re going to punch him. You take another tissue and continue to sop up the slimy mess.

You wince as his hand settles on your ass. It isn’t as bad as the slap but it still makes you yelp. He tuts and retracted his touch.

“Goddamn,” he mutters. “You go get yourself figured the fuck out.” His frustration cracks in his voice, “I was looking forward to this…”

“Life doesn’t always go as we planned,” you shake your head and toss out the tissues. You go to the chair and grab your underwear, letting them unfurl.

“Wouldn’t you fucking know?” He barks, “give me those.” He yanks the underwear from your grasp, “I told you, forget the fucking parachute.” He throws them and shakes his head, “you know, that’s the problem with you old ones, you don’t fucking listen.”

You grab your pants as he simmers. You lean on the chair as you lift each foot and pull the belt to your waist. He looms, pacing, huffing and puffing.

“...hurt your fucking back....”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” you murmur.

“You’re lucky you have good hands,” he carries on, “very fucking lucky. I could bankrupt you. You and your little brats would be out on the street–”

“Mr. Hansen,” you hook your bra behind your back with a torturous effort, “please–”

“You just keep them in mind, huh?” He sneers, “you better not be fucking lying.”

“I wish I was,” you grab your blouse and hook it over your head, poking your arms into the sleeves.

“Wait, wait,” he waves his hand and blocks you from the door, “you think… if you laid down… I could just slide in?”

You give a look. The look. The one you give Pete when he forgets something at the grocery store. Or the kids when they won’t stop fighting. He blanches as his eyes meet yours.

“Alright, alright, go see a doctor,” he relents, his frustration still sharp. “The sooner, the fucking better.”

He wags his finger in your face before he backs up. You limp to the door and grab your bag before you let yourself out. As you shut the door, you hear a thump. You see more tantrums from grown men than you do your own children.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #same as it ever was #pete brenner #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner #pete brenner x reader #series #the gray man #pain hustlers #au

131 notes · View notes

doberbutts · 1 year

Text

The idea that trans people have to ignore their life from Before or else they're Using Their AGAB As A Weapon is so disconnected from the lived experiences of so many.

My Before informs my Now. I am transitioning, not popping into existence with no prior experiences from being perceived as one or the other. I was not bestowed The Power of Man when I learned the word "transgender" and went "hey wait, that's me" at 13. I didn't get it when I turned 18 and started binding and going by Jasper and telling my friends to call me he/him either. And I only maybe tenuously have a grasp on it right now, at 30 years old, 4 months into medical transition and only really just starting to pass the bulk of the time.

Until my voice gives me away. Until someone looks at my legal documents and sees my F marker and my legal name. Until I let slip in conversation that I am transgender either by mentioning life as a little girl or the fact that I have a [semi-functional] uterus.

The world is set up for me to succeed? Maybe take a walk in my shoes before telling me that. I didn't fight this hard for my intersex diagnosis and my medical transition to have it spat in my face by someone who doesn't want to listen when I talk about what I've gone through to get here.

340 notes · View notes

emeraldmew · 2 months

Note

Hey, sis.

#also someone remind me to make my Cosmic Horror Toddler theory into something coherent

Whenever you have the time.

Okay. So bear in mind we're only like seven episodes in and I have no evidence and really no thought behind this beyond "would that be fucked up or what?" and "ooh I'd love to see what an eldritch abomination growing up is like."

There are also like, all of the spoilers for the original TMA below so like, if you're just listening to Protocol you might want to skip the rest of this post.

Tenuously connected point 1.

One of the things from what Jonny and Alex have said about Protocol is that it's supposed to involve exploring "what makes a person" right? And we also already know Jonny's answer to this question from his, uh, cannibalism discussion.

Short version: a "person" understands their actions as something that actually does things to the world around them beyond simply fulfilling a want like hunger/capable of choosing to do evil.

Tenuously connected point 2.

In the Archives universe, a point is made that the Fears "don't think. Not like we do." They work off instinct.

Tenuously connected point 3.

While I never looked into the ARG before Protocol's release I have since looked into the summaries of what it revealed. Among other things the ARG revealed Magnus Institute of Protocol was studying children via... psychological experiments of dubious morality. Aside from this being why Sam is snooping into the Magnus Institute (for those who haven't looked into the ARG yet, his name is among the children researched) the experiments are pretty much looking into how children at various stages of development display empathy and whether they conform to orders or choose not to and stuff like that (I'm sure I am not wording this part right someone with a better background in psychology can probably expand further).

Anyway, my point is the idea of choices and such is being studied in relation to psychological development in children.

Tenuously connected point 4.

The way the cases so far have played out in Protocol does seem to show a difference compared to Archives.

Smirke's original categories don't seem to fit quite right anymore as each of the cases seem to have stuff that doesn't cram into the original boxes. As the blurry categories were already a major point in TMA regarding creating the Eyepocalypse and even Sam calls out the categorization the OIAR use in the first episode this isn't surprising. But it does suggest that the Fears have changed from what they were before.

Quite a few people have also suggested that in the cases we've seen sometimes the incidents seem to fulfill a desire (in a monkey's paw way, of course) rather than simply finding a random victim. This might suggest the presence of intent rather than only instinct.

So what?

I'll admit it's just sort of my own "ooh wouldn't that be messed up? let's explore that further" thought process doing the talking here, but The Thing that was Fear has existed since things could feel afraid. It's ancient. But it's also a cosmic horror entity that has been shown to grow from it's initial state to what we saw in Archives (see ep 200).

It's something on a cosmic level. Maybe it wasn't done growing. The Fears don't think "like we do"...

but neither do babies.

What if by Protocol the Fears have developed more after leaving their cradle? To a point where they can at least begin to think or choose.

What if the Fears are eldritch toddlers and they're learning how to play?

#emeraldmew's red string theory of eldritch toddlers #the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #tma #tmagp #tmagp theory #spoilers #i mean i have no evidence beyond the fact that i personally would love to explore a cosmic horror's life cycle #also note that the theory only really touches on the Fears if you came here looking for theories about Chester & Norris you're out of luck #(unless they and Agustus are the nannies in this analogy)

27 notes · View notes

mx-piggy · 4 months

Text

just got around to watching the Ghosts Christmas special/finale. yesterday i saw previews to posts i assumed were negative, so i went into it with the thought i might not enjoy it. i have yet to find out what the negativity was in reference to- i'll go looking through some posts in a sec to look at the reaction to the ep, though i've already skimmed an angry post about it from someone i follow. but maybe the issues i have with the episode are different to others people's. i don't know yet.

anyway, here are my fresh from the oven thoughts about the episode. my opinion may be altered by reading some other thoughts on the ep but everything i put here is my uninfluenced thoughts.

first off, i cried. very bittersweet way to end the show, but honestly i didn't think it was a bad ending. it strikes a good balance for me, where Alison still sees the ghosts without having to take care of them like she used to. but i guess it's weird considering the previous episode where they try to get Mike and Alison to stay.

i don't want to be negative about this show that i adore and will no doubt rewatch and at some point write some fanfics for. technically speaking, though, i didn't really enjoy this episode as much as other episodes. i didn't like the choice to focus so heavily, for the first two thirds of the episode, on Mike's mum and the exorcism fake-out that i doubt worked on anyone watching. the build up was so unconvincing it seemed intentional, but regardless it felt kind of like a waste of time and an idea that should have been done in a different episode, not the series finale. it felt like the ghosts were sidelined in an episode of a show named after them. this bad pacing and focus on a weak story wasn't entertaining.

i also didn't laugh much at this episode, which is surprising, because normally Ghosts is good at balancing humour with emotionally resonant moments. it's frustrating because not a lot of this episode felt particularly emotionally resonant either because Betty takes up so much of the episode, and i wish that the weight of the ending didn't feel like it had just been tacked on to the end of an episode that only felt like it functioned as a finale in the closing few minutes. it barely even felt like a Christmas episode.

i would have preferred if S5 E6 had been the finale and this had just been an epilogue that could have been a fun, sweet Christmas episode rather than a Christmas episode and a finale, neither of which it feels like for most of its runtime.

again, i'm not unhappy with the choice to move Alison, Mike and Mia out of Button House, but i wish it hadn't felt so underdeveloped because of what else the episode chose to do. like i wish the rest of the episode didn't feel so tenuously connected to the Mike's mum story that took up so much time. i get that the thing with Mike's mum was there to make the ghosts realise that Alison might need some space away from them, but surely there was a better way to do that that didn't involve centring so much of the episode on a supporting character?

if it were me- an amateur writer- who was tasked with writing a Christmas finale and special, i have a (possibly worse) idea about what i would have maybe done. so here's my pitch: an episode that takes place when Mia is a little girl. there's a cold open where Alison or Mike make the typical parent mistake of dropping Mia on her head at some point during her first Christmas. everything's fine. cut to next Christmas, she takes her first steps. a ghost makes a comment that she should stop seeing them now. a couple/few Christmases after that, she starts talking about the ghosts. it's clear she can still see them. alternatively, Mia ends up having some kind of accident when she's long since outgrown seeing ghosts, and then she ends up seeing the ghosts (bonus points if Julian sees it happen and alerts Alison, and the ghosts are forced to question if Julian would harm a child). i just want this kid to see ghosts.

now there's ample opportunity for the ghosts to have the screentime and focus they were robbed of in this episode via having some sweet interactions with her. the Captain can still have his little arc of learning how to talk to a child in a way that isn't so stiff. Kitty learns to overcome her jealousy of a literal child, and she's the most enthusiastic auntie ever. Julian tries to be a good role model for his niece (this would also be related to another thing that i would have wanted in the episode, which is the idea that Rachel comes to visit or gets in touch with Alison or something). that said i don't know if it'd be appropriate for Julian to be around a kid for so long given the trouser situation he has going on. with Fanny, it'd be sweet if she was happy to see a girl grow up so free of the restrictions she grew up with. Robin could tell Mia all about the ghosts who've been sucked off. honestly that episode sounds like it'd be messy, but with an extra half an hour i think it'd be doable.

you can still find a way to kind of justify Mike and Alison leaving if you want to, by them wanting Mia to have a more 'normal' upbringing, or them wanting to put away some money for Mia, possibly? but honestly i kind of just like the idea of Mia having an interest in the ghosts' and the house's history from a young age and doing something with that, like writing a book about the ghosts or something. maybe that's all a load of crap, but i might write a fic based on that idea if anyone would like to see it. if i wrote a fic it wouldn't be constrained by festive obligation either. so let me know if you'd be interested in that (i might start outlining it even if someone tells me it's shit and i should never write professionally).

i can honestly say that this is the first episode of Ghosts that i haven't really enjoyed. it's saying something about how great this show is that it takes 34 episodes for it to get to a point where i think it's a letdown. it's just unfortunate that the dud had to be the last ever episode.

going into writing this review i didn't think i disliked this episode and its choices as much as i did. and honestly i don't hate this episode as much as i do other bad finales (looking at you, How I Met Your Mother). i still love this show and i think that everyone involved in it is so great at what they do. i'm not passionate in my dislike of the episode. i just think it was kind of disappointing that the episode focused so heavily on a supporting character and neglected most of the main cast in a way that a good final episode shouldn't. so many other episodes of the show would have been far more satisfying send-offs. i might just ignore this episode on rewatches to be honest.

feel free to chat with me about the ep and your thoughts on it, or your thoughts on my thoughts. comment, reblog, send me asks. i'd just love to discuss it with you guys!

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts spoilers #ghosts #ghosts spoilers #ghosts bbc

12 notes · View notes

2nd2ndalto · 1 year

Text

Spaceman

Written for the @writers-choice prompt "astronaut"

___

Will pushes himself up in bed, propping his shoulders against the wall, hoping that maybe the change in position will help his damn sinuses drain. He can’t remember ever feeling this miserable. His head is throbbing, his throat is raw, and neither the nectar nor the Tylenol seem to have done much good.

He closes his bleary, watery eyes. It’s been three nights since he’s slept properly, and he thinks he’s starting to hear colours. He’s feeling so sorry for himself he’s tempted to burst into tears. But he’s pretty sure that would make his head hurt even more. It doesn’t help his mood that this stupid cold has coincided with a day he was really looking forward to.

Camp Half Blood’s not a regular camp by any means, but with nothing world-threatening going on at the moment, the head counselors had planned a field trip to the science museum this weekend, and earlier today most of the year-rounders had loaded up in the camp vans and headed into the city. But not Will.

There’s suddenly a soft tap at the door of the cabin. “Yeah?” Will calls out, his voice hoarse.

The door creaks open and Will turns to see Nico framed in the doorway, dark, shaggy hair damp from the rain that’s been falling since last night, water droplets speckling his aviator jacket.

“Hey. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course,” Will frowns. “What are you doing here, though? Is everyone back already?” He glances at his watch, wondering if he’s lost track of time in his hazy state.

“Nah, it’s just me. Everyone else is still in New York.”

Will rubs at his eyes. “Why are you back? What happened?”

Nico shrugs, his gaze dropping to his feet. “I don’t know. Wasn’t the same without you. Didn’t seem right walking through the Star Wars exhibit without anyone trailing along behind me telling me random bits of trivia.”

Will lets out a surprised laugh. They’ve been friends for almost a year now. He liked the other boy to begin with - his sharp sense of humour and his quiet intelligence. Frankly it doesn’t hurt that Nico’s also one of the most beautiful people Will’s ever laid eyes on. But it still surprises Will how honestly sweet this kid is, under the scowl and the sarcasm and the occasionally-stupid bravery.

“Anyway. I thought you might want some company,” Nico finishes. “If you don’t, that’s cool too. I just - I felt bad about you being left here on your own. I know you were looking forward to getting out of camp.”

Nico meets Will’s gaze, and the look in his eyes is somewhere tenuously on the border between fierce and terribly vulnerable. It warms Will to his core, and his first instinct is to jump out of bed and wrap the other boy in a hug. But he’s almost positive that would scare him right back to New York.

“Yeah, company would be nice,” Will says instead. “I mean, I’m feeling really crummy, honestly. But as long as you’re not expecting me to be entertaining…”

Nico’s shoulders relax and he almost, almost smiles, Will’s sure of it.

“Okay. Cool,” he says

They gaze at each other for a moment, Nico hovering just inside the door, then -

“I um. I brought you something,” Nico says, holding up a small plastic bag. He crosses the cabin to perch on the foot of Will’s bed.

“There’s um… ice cream sandwiches. For your sore throat,” Nico explains, passing the bag to Will.

“Aww!” Will exclaims. He grabs the bag and spills it out onto the bed, letting out a gasp. “And astronaut ice cream?” he says, holding up a package.

“Because, you know. You like space stuff, and - I don’t know. I grabbed the astronaut stuff first, but then I saw the ice cream cooler…” Nico scrunches up his nose, suddenly looking unsure. “Look, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” He moves to grab the package back from Will, but Will snatches it out of his reach.

“You can pry my astronaut ice cream out of my cold, dead hands,” he tells Nico sternly, reaching to place the package on the window ledge next to his bed.

Nico snorts.

Nico’s brought two ice cream sandwiches, now beginning to melt, and the boys eat them in companionable silence. Will’s still feeling stuffy, achy and exhausted, but he suddenly finds there’s an unexpected warmth in his chest.

Nico accepts Will’s empty wrapper, crumpling both and tossing them into the garbage.

“Okay, what now?” Nico asks, sounding awkward but determined. “Do you need more nectar? I can make like… tea?” He gazes at Will in silence for a moment. “Honestly I don’t really know how to make tea,” he adds, frowning. “But I could probably figure it out if you told me how.”

Will blinks at the other boy, marveling at how all his sharp edges have turned out to be so much softer than Will ever would have imagined.

“You didn’t just come back here to keep me company. You came back to take care of me,” Will says softly.

“Yeah, well.” Nico shrugs. “I figured you’d done it for me enough times.”

“Yeah, but I’m a healer.”

Nico rolls his eyes. “I’ve been paying attention, Solace. Mostly what you do is pass out nectar and lecture people about vegetables."

Will snorts. “Jerk.”

“Nerd,” Nico retorts, a smile pulling at his lips.

Will sticks out his tongue.

“Anyway, what’s the plan?” Nico asks. “Do you want to watch a movie?” He frowns, studying Will for a moment. “Or maybe you should sleep. You kind of look like shit, actually. No offense.”

Will grimaces. “I feel like shit. I haven’t been able to sleep properly for days. I just want to feel normal again.”

Okay, that sounded really pathetic. Will braces himself for a teasing, sarcastic response from the other boy, but instead Nico’s gaze softens.

“That really sucks,” he says quietly. “I hate it when I can’t sleep.”

Will nods. And gods, he actually feels tears welling in his eyes. He really is pathetic. And exhausted. Stupid rhinoviruses and their stupid resistance to Apollo healing powers.

“I can help you with the sleeping part, though,” Nico says.

“You - you can?” Will blinks. “Oh, you can.” His eyes go wide. “I totally forgot about your sleeping powers. Oh, Nico, that would be amazing. Can you knock me out for like, three days?”

Nico laughs. “That might not be the best idea. How about if I give you a good nap now and then I can come find you later this evening and knock you out for the night?”

“Oh gods, yes please,” Will croaks. “You’re seriously the best. I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask you sooner.”

Will slumps back against the wall. His sinuses throb even more loudly, if that’s possible, and he presses his fingertips into the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe I missed the stupid Star Wars exhibit,” he says regretfully.

“Can’t you go another time? I’m no healer, but I’m guessing this probably isn’t terminal.” Nico nudges Will’s foot.

“Nah,” Will sighs. “This is the last weekend it’s in New York. I think they’re moving the whole exhibit to Denver next week.”

Nico watches him for a moment. “I know a guy who can get us to Denver.”

Will gazes blearily at the other boy, taking a moment to process. He’s so tired it’s becoming difficult to make sense of words. “What? Who?”

Nico gives him a sardonic smile, but it’s like… half affectionate, Will thinks.

“Me, you idiot,” Nico says.

“Really? You’d take me all the way to Denver and do nerdy stuff with me?” Tears spring to Will’s eyes again, but this time he can’t bring himself to care.

“Yeah, probably,” Nico shrugs, suppressing a smile.

And Will’s inhibitions must be suffering the same fate as his ability to parse sentences, because he scrambles across the bed to wrap his arms around the other boy. “Oh my god, I love you, you’re the best,” he rasps.

Nico lets out a small, surprised laugh against his ear, and when Will doesn’t immediately let go, his arms settle tentatively around Will’s shoulders.

“Okay, Solace,” Nico says after a long moment, patting him on the back. “Less hugging, more sleeping.”

Will drops back to the bed, grinning. Nico looks embarrassed, but pleased, Will thinks.

Nico stands so Will can adjust his blankets. Will reaches for the kleenex, blowing his nose loudly, then snuggling into his bed. Gods, sleep sounds so good right now.

“They had an interactive thing where you could fight with lightsabers,” Nico says as Will makes himself comfortable. “Which is cool, because I’m going to kick your ass.”

Will snorts. “No way. You just wait. I’m gonna… you’re gonna see -” Will interrupts himself with a jaw-cracking yawn that morphs into a coughing fit.

Nico smirks. “Yeah, I’m really scared now.”

Will groans, throwing an arm over his face. “We can argue about it later. Please just put me out of my misery.”

He hears Nico say, “okay,” and then -

“No, wait,” Will opens his eyes again. “Nico - thanks. For everything.” Will’s not entirely confident in his ability to form sentences at the moment, nor is he exactly sure what he means to say. But from the look in Nico’s eyes, he thinks he must have managed to convey something of the warmth and gratitude he's feeling.

“Of course,” Nico says softly. “Any time.”

Nico clears his throat. “You ready?”

Will sighs happily, closing his eyes. “A thousand times yes. Knock me out, baby.”

“Oh my god, you’re such a nerd,” Nico mutters, and then Will’s abruptly overwhelmed by a sense of peace, and comfort, and then blessed unconsciousness.

He wakes several hours later to the sound of his siblings’ return. Still achy, still congested and feverish. But somehow not nearly as despondent as he was this morning.

#my writing #nico di angelo #solangelo #will solace #percy jackson and the heroes of olympus #writer's choice #one shot #fluff #rated g #mild hurt/comfort #I'M STILL NOT SURE ABOUT THIS ONE BUT HERE IT IS

21 notes · View notes

sketching-shark · 2 years

Note

I think on some narrative levels in LMK, Qi Xiaotian represents Sun Wukong's best traits (like his love for his family and friends, his potential to grow as a person, and so on). Just like Liu-er Mihou represents Sun Wukong's worst.

(And I have so many thoughts that the two monkies are reflections of Qi Xiaotian in turn.)

Because Qi Xiaotian is a person and has his own flaws and insecurities, and he's genuinely kind, it's inspiring and loving rather than overwhelming.

I wish I had more coherent words. Just. The power that Qi Xiaotian and Sun Wukong as their own characters care so much about each other. It's choosing to be kind, to believe in each other. It's what saves Sun Wukong in the season 3 special.

Also, Qi Xiaotian demands better, of Macaque included.

And on a narrative level, it's being kind to yourself. To look at yourself and decide to love the whole of you, which also demands of you to improve as a person when you can and hold yourself accountable.

OOOOOOOOOOOUGH anon the idea that Qi Xiaotian embodies/represents the Monkey King's very best traits while the Six Eared Macaque embodies/represents the very worst traits is SO genuinely big brained on so many levels.

Like yes just to scratch the surface of this idea you are completely right about Qi Xiaotian and the Six Eared Macaque standing as narrative foils to each other perhaps more than even LEMH and SWK themselves specifically because QXT, while still being a major Monkey King fanboy as well as the literal successor to SWK, has a LOT going on in his life outside of his interactions with SWK. He's got a busy job, at least two(2) father figures, a best friend, an uncle figure, a love of art, games, and sports; just a lot of people and things that he really cares about that while they sometimes make him exhausted and distracted do keep him grounded in the here and now. So even while he does mess up and does occasionally act pretty selfish and thoughtless, I feel like his genuine kindness and happiness with living in the present provides a solid foundation for him to truly want to actively work towards forming friendships and connections while striving to do the right thing. Hell, he's even conversely compared to the Lady Bone Demon in that she became so disgusted with reality that she thought the only way to make it better was to burn it all down, kill everyone and everything, & make it start over, whereas QXT recognizes the suffering in the world but sincerely believes that it's worth protecting and saving and trying to make better anyway. Macaque, by direct contrast, is so obsessively enraged with one(1) person that by all appearances he has literally nothing going on in his life except his attempts to get revenge against SWK. Now maybe it is due to his limited screentime free from the Lady Bone Demon's control, but basically every single thing he's done throughout the course of the show right up until the 25th hour was either A) Trying to kill/beat the tar out of SWK and/or QXT or B) Tell everyone who might listen what a terrible person SWK is in an attempt to make them turn against the Monkey King. Aaaaand that's kind of it. That's the grand total of the things that define the Six Eared Macaque's life. From what we've seen he has 0 friends, 0 family, literally nothing that might draw him away from his centuries-long endeavor against the Monkey King. It's like he's STILL playing out his JTTW role of "SWK except worse," except this time instead of trying to replace the Monkey King he wants him disappeared, dead, or completely alone. Either way, he's stuck in one mode of being and seems to have no intention or ability to behave in a different way (at least right up until the very end of season 3, where there's some hints that he MIGHT start acting differently but we'll see).

And then you have the Monkey King himself, which at present seems pretty tenuously suspended between these two positions. Like gosh dern just thinking about it I feel like you really hit the nail on the head in terms of how lego show Sun Wukong seems to keep getting jerked around by two seemingly contradictory parts of his character; his decision to become someone's shifu does indicate that he wants to do good in the world & make things better for others and himself & live in the present with all its potentials, but he does mess that up a lot mainly because he still thinks that when push comes to shove he has to do everything by himself, just like it often was during this time as a yaoguai warlord & during the journey. And then on the other hand there's always this distance between him and his tudi because SWK is still very much living in the past (just like LEMH) & the guilt and regret that it brought. I mean, this monkey literally exiled himself for 500 years after imprisoning the Demon Bull King, and since that he has repeatedly shown that his go-to solution to him messing up and/or for a major threat to manifest is to leave his companions and try to fix everything by himself, again just like he did when he was a yaoguai warlord (he fights against the entire heavenly army by himself) and during the journey (he frequently faces the various yaoguai by himself). These are just a few of the things that indicate lego show SWK genuinely thinks that he can't and perhaps even shouldn't live in the present rather than dwelling on the past, because what the past ‘taught’ him is that if he tries to accomplish anything with anyone else he’ll fail & get everyone killed & he’ll be left alive, alone, and despairing of life.

QXT’s and SWK’s relationship is really so interesting & so full of potential in a lot of ways, but one of the big ones (for me) is that both the monkey and the young man seem to have a lot of doubts about themselves, but also seem to ultimately believe completely in the goodness and worthiness of the other person in their shifu/tudi relationship. Like I know people get angry at SWK for his “believe in yourself” lines, but his behavior does indicate that he really does believe in QXT, and he does see his tudi score victory after victory even while SWK keeps to the background but will intervene if he thinks he needs to. And the season 3 special showed just how completely QXT believed in SWK in that he had his back deliberately turned on a charging possessed Monkey King because he trusted SWK to be able to shake off the possession before he hurt him. That, of course, is a level of trust and a willing show of vulnerability that we don’t see from SWK, and in a very real way QXT was able to save the day because Qi Xiaotian is NOT Sun Wukong and believes that A) He can fully count on his loved ones to be their best selves and help him and B) He can show “weakness” and still be okay because his loved ones would never truly hurt him. Like dang this dude believes so much in the inherent or at least potential goodness of the people around him that many can’t help but be positively affected by it (notwithstanding QXT’s very obvious willingness to violence if need be). But yes altogether this level of reciprocal care does in a real way indicate that loving yourself and the people around you does mean being willing to acknowledge when you’ve messed up and what you need to improve, but not sinking down so far into the pit of guilt or obsession over past mistakes that you stagnate and come to believe that being better is impossible. Kind of does make me hope that season 4 of Monkie Kid will focus more on the quieter aspects of the relationship between QXT and SWK in a way that lets SWK let down some of his carefree untouchable hero persona to be more genuine with QXT, and for QXT to feel that he can be more honest with SWK about things that he’s uncertain, angry, or upset about.

Also would be nice if we could get some more background on these two to get some sense of what the nelly contributed into shaping them into the monkey and man that they are aaaaaaaaa.

#anon answered #monkie kid #monkie kid sun wukong #monkie kid qi xiaotian #monkie kid six eared macaque #gosh dern let SWK and QXT have some moments when they're not sparring or facing a world-shaking calamity plz

126 notes · View notes

magnetarbeam · 19 days

Text

Recovering Herself (WIP 5)

”Jaina, as your commanding officer, I’m ordering you to take today off. No training, no strategizing, nothing. Report to me first thing in the morning. At that time, if you think you need another day off, I require you to tell me so. You’ll get it.”

With his characteristic military precision, Jag left. Zekk followed a moment later, his impressed surprise registering only distantly in Jaina’s perceptions.

A day off. The concept was almost an alien one to her. Thinking back, Jaina found herself astounded, barely able to believe that it hadn’t even been a year since the first of the atrocities committed by the creature Jacen had become. The series of events had so consumed her emotionally that it might as well have been a decade.

Her service in Starfighter Command after the Yuuzhan Vong War had given her periods of leave, naturally, but it had always felt like a waste. All she had to give for the galaxy - almost all she was - was to find the next fight, and win it. She was the Sword of the Jedi, never supposed to know peace.

Under any other circumstance, an order like the one she’d just received would have stirred up a fierce resentment in Jaina for stripping her from her purpose, however temporarily. This time, though, as her mind began to process the events that had just happened, she was just numb.

She had almost killed Jag, merely for the act of embarrassing her. As Jaina thought it through more, the carefully constructed mental barriers started to break. It was a rush of emotion of such intensity that Jaina found herself driven to tears. Shock and guilt and confusion poured through the widening cracks. There was something else there, too, a sentiment that, despite everything, she was not prepared for.

Love.

Flooded as she was by long-repressed emotions, Jaina couldn’t find it in herself to resist the notion that maybe she really did need a break. Jag, blast him, had probably predicted and counted on exactly that.

Although she still had no idea what to do with a break, she realized there were people that might.

Jaina turned and climbed the boarding ramp of the Falcon.

"How do I take a break!?" Jaina asked in a near-panic.

Her mother raised an eyebrow. "First of all," she advised, "calm down."

Jaina took several deep breaths, attempting to enter a light meditative trance to center herself in her environment. For the first time since this mess started, she was reasonably successful. Though Leia had much less experience in harnessing it, her signature in the Force burned just as bright as that of her brother the Grand Master, and its reassuring light offered a beacon of calm that Jaina only now realized she'd missed across all the months that they'd been separated.

Even as she placed herself tenuously in the eye of her storm of emotions, and returned her focus to her physical surroundings, Jaina didn't let go of the lifeline that her mother's mental touch represented.

"I think I should handle this one,” Han advised Leia. "Even after all these years, I'm not sure you know the answer."

After a moment of feeling vaguely affronted, Leia sighed. "I wish I could argue with that."

Han stood up from the Falcon's pilot seat. He pointed to it, and told Jaina, "Sit down."

Jaina sat, feeling weirdly like a child being put in time-out.

"Now,“ her father said, "Tell me why you don't know how to take a break."

”I'm the Sword of the Jedi," Jaina told him instantly. The words came to her without effort, without even particular emotion. ”Just a weapon. Weapons aren't supposed to need rest, or companionship, or anything other than someone to wield it and something to be wielded against."

Leia's agonized despair at those words blasted through the Force. The surge came as such a shock that Jaina reflexively tried to reel back from the mental contact, but her mother didn't let her, holding on with a fiery protectiveness of a magnitude that Jaina wasn't sure she'd ever felt before.

Han, moving so fast that Jaina didn't even sense the intent beforehand, slammed his fist into the transparisteel viewport. He could not damage it, of course, but Jaina distantly registered a flare of physical pain under his cold fury, a fury aimed not at Jaina or Leia, but at the galaxy and universe and Force that had made his daughter believe such a thing.

A few moments passed in a tense silence, where it seemed like none of them really knew what to say. In the tide of emotions directed at her by her mother, Jaina sensed currents of lament and longing and the same kind of righteous indignation that Leia had always shown in the face of injustice. It took a second for Jaina to connect those to the flashes of memory and realize that it added up to one message:

You deserve better.

Before Jaina could react to that, her father found his voice.

"Now put your feet up on the instrument board."

Jaina blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Like this." Leia, still in the copilot's seat, leaned back as much as the chair would allow, and showed Jaina what Han was talking about. "It's easy."

"Oh, so now you-" Han started to complain to his wife.

"I've seen you do it enough times," Leia told him with a nonchalance that was clearly forced.

Reluctantly, Jaina did as requested, making sure not to actually kick any of the controls out of their alignments.

“How does that feel?” her father asked.

“…Weird,” Jaina settled on after a moment, really not wanting to try to describe in detail the emotions induced by an informality so emblematic of her father's classic independent spirit and disrespect for authority.

That thought provoked another association that hit her square in the heart. Jaina had once been like that, hadn't she?

For a second, she wasn't sure.

Then she started to remember.

"Now," her father said, "tell us again what you told us before. About being a weapon."

”I'm the Sword of the Jedi," she repeated. The habitual statement, that she had drilled into herself for what felt like it might as well have been her entire life, struck her as curiously at odds with her casual posture that felt like it should be accompanied by sarcasm and insults.

"Just a weapon." But that wasn't true, was it? A sword didn't have emotions, but after what had just happened, Jaina found that she had to acknowledge that despite her best efforts, she did have emotions.

"Keep going," Han encouraged with a stern tone that, only now, Jaina realized wasn't reflective of his actual feelings.

"Weapons aren't supposed to…"

They were the words of a Jedi Knight who had more skill and experience than almost any other.

They were the words of a soldier, whose entire life had been defined by combat and death and suffering.

They were the words of the Sword of the Jedi, to whom the title was to be interpreted as literally as possible.

But right now, she didn't feel like any of that.

These were the emotions of Jaina Solo, daughter of Han Solo's brash, reckless independent streak and Leia Organa's selfless empathy.

These were the emotions of Jaina Solo, who couldn't pay attention to a history lesson but lost almost two days hyperfocusing on disassembling and reassembling the enthrallingly complicated internal workings of the first Incom StealthX starfighter delivered to the Jedi.

These were the emotions of Jaina Solo, who lasted twenty-seven minutes and twenty-seven seconds in the Lando's Folly asteroid run, beating out the previous record holder, Kyp Durron, more than two to one.

Finally the contrast was too much, too strange, and Jaina could no longer contain herself.

She laughed.

She laughed like she never had before.

It was like the long-awaited release of a capacitor charged with all the joy she hadn't had the luxury of experiencing since the Yuuzhan Vong War began.

The time that passed could have been ten minutes or ten hours. Jaina didn't know. What she did know was that she was laughing, and so were her parents, and for at least this moment, the weight of the galaxy had been lifted from her shoulders.

———

She was laughing.

Zekk stopped in his tracks when he felt the surge of joy.

Jaina's catharsis rang in his mind almost as clearly as if it was his own (the fact that that had briefly been true was something they both put considerable effort into not thinking about), but Zekk still experienced a moment of stunned disbelief before he let himself believe that it was real.

The fact that it had been Jag who had finally gotten through to her sparked a flare of jealousy - she cares about him more than me - but Zekk decided it was not welcome. If anything, the fact that he hadn't been able to come up with something that would have produced that result was his personal failure.

Either way, it had finally happened, and Jag had been responsible.

That meant there were amends to make.

“You’re still working?”

Had Zekk spoken thirty seconds sooner, Jag’s jolt of surprise might very well have led to the new wiring from the blaster’s power pack connecting prematurely to the timer he hadn’t yet programmed, causing the entire device to blow up in his face. As he turned to face the tall Jedi, it occurred to Jag that Zekk had probably realized that.

“What?” Jag asked, a hint of bitter hostility creeping into his voice out of habit.

Zekk scrutinized him in silence for a second, and Jag realized his tone. He was surprised to find he didn’t feel that resentment anymore. For months, Zekk had been an annoyance. They worked together well enough on a professional level, but they didn’t get along personally. Jag wasn’t too proud to admit to himself that part of it was the competition over Jaina, who had entertained romantic affections for both men at different times in her life, but he was too proud to admit it to anyone else.

Now, Jag wasn’t sure where he and Zekk stood.

“But after today,” the other man had said not an hour ago, “I’m exceedingly proud to have you as a comrade-in-arms.”

Zekk still didn’t particularly like him. That much was clear from the array of insults that had preceded the statement. But maybe…

“Come on,” Zekk told him, his tone suggesting that he was disappointed somehow. “You finally get through to her like that, and then you just hole up in your workshop?”

“I still have important work to do,” Jag reminded him matter-of-factly.

“So do I,” Zekk said. “So does Jaina. And you just gave us days off.

“Why don’t you deserve a break too?”

Jag silently struggled to find an answer to that. The Chiss, even as disciplined as they were, still understood the importance of mental health. An individual driven to their breaking point by stress and anxiety would not be able to perform their role. The CEDF had given its soldiers leave just as any effective fighting force had to.

But Jag was no longer welcome in the Ascendancy or its military. He had devoted himself to hunting down and killing Alema Rar because it was all he had left. That was a fact he was absolutely not ready to admit.

“I’m the commanding officer,” he answered, trying to inject strength into the words, and to summon emotions that would read like he believed that that was the answer.

Zekk instantly rolled his eyes, clearly seeing through the lie, but he thankfully chose not to call it out. Instead, he changed tactics.

“I’ve known Jaina longer than you have,” he reminded Jag. “I knew her before the Vong hit, back before she had any reason to think she was a weapon.

“She doesn’t need a commander right now. She needs a friend.”

That implication stopped Jag short.

“Am I your friend?” Jag asked.

That prompted another second of silence as Zekk presumably considered it.

“Not to me. Not yet,” Zekk admitted with a sigh. “But it’s what she needs, and I want to stop fighting.

“When this thing with Alema started,” he said bluntly, “I didn’t trust you. Jaina was starting to shut out anyone and anything that wasn’t about her goal, and I didn’t think you’d help because you were doing the exact same thing.”

The statement struck Jag with the emotional equivalent of a 720-teraton heavy turbolaser shot. Zekk was right. The anger over Jaina’s part in Jag’s exile had gone unchecked since it happened, and it had led him to say things to her that he’d already come to regret. He’d tried to reduce Jaina to a subordinate in a military command structure. But he hadn’t really succeeded, had he?

“I’m the last person to preach about mental health,” Zekk continued, “but what you did back there tells me you’ve come back from that.”

Jag took a second to find a response.

“I haven’t forgiven her yet,” he told Zekk matter-of-factly, their eyes meeting. "I still don't know if I'll ever be able to.

"But she's important to me." Jag's resolve hardened his words to the density of battleship-grade neutronium. "Her brother's actions are already causing her enough pain. Anything I can do to help her through this is more important right now than trying to hold a grudge over something that happened years ago.

"And you're right." Conceding to Zekk on such a personal matter, Jag found, no longer carried the sting that it would have only a few months ago. "I didn't help at first."

The guilt brought on by that admission was painful by itself, but Jag had never refused to take responsibility for his mistakes. "If I had let myself be there for her when we met again, maybe it wouldn't have gone this far."

Zekk shrugged indifferently. "Maybe. Maybe not. It's not like this is new for her."

Jag nodded in agreement. "True."

"Either way," he continued decisively, "I bear some responsibility here. For that reason, at the very least, I owe her this."

Zekk gave an amicable smile, which Jag supposed came from relief or gratitude.

The modifications to his blaster were not finished, but still Jag sealed the weapon in its case, leaving it fully prepared for further progress.

As they made their way back to the hangar, Jag steadfastly tried not to think about the familiar way his heart had skipped a beat at that smile.

Eventually, Jaina did manage to regain her composure.

”I love you,“ she told her parents freely, wiping tears of joy from her face.

They hugged her with what felt like all the strength they had to give it. Jaina jolted in surprise, and she felt Leia notice.

”Is this okay?“ her mother asked.

”Yeah,“ Jaina decided, and returned the hug. ”I'm just… not used to it.“ That's the understatement of the year, she thought to herself, as she started to realize how much she missed this feeling of being touched with love, and without the intent to do harm. Her parents gave her all the time she needed, and when they broke apart, Han fixed his daughter with a proud grin and told her sincerely, ”Go have some fun.“ Jaina was silent for a moment, averting her eyes, as she tried to remember what having fun had meant, back when she had had the luxury. The moment she hit on an idea, she returned her father's smile and exited the ship, her parents' love glowing behind her.

———

Zekk and Jag found Jaina crouched next to her StealthX, a hydrospanner clutched in her hand as she worked on removing the casing of the gravitic modulator.

”Upgrades?“ Zekk asked simply, more for Jag's benefit than anything else.

Jaina tore her gaze away from the fighter and smiled at them, which Zekk expected would take a while for him to get used to.

”Yep,“ Jaina confirmed. “I want some more precise controls for the grav-modulator.”

The StealthX's gravitic modulators, Zekk and Jag both knew, were an extension of the same principles Jaina came up with for her Trickster jammers. Low-level gravity generators that produced trace amounts of positive or negative gravity to adjust a ship's external mass reading within the tiny margin of error caused by manufacturing imprecision, which made the difference that the Yuuzhan Vong's mostly mass-based sensors had used to identify specific vessels. Late in that war, several prototype designs had used similar systems to blend in with otherwise uselessly weak mass shadows of small astronomical bodies, partially overcoming the weaknesses of existing stealth technology against mass sensors. But the StealthX, as far as Zekk knew, was the only ship ever constructed that could completely negate its mass signature.

“What's the point?” Jag asked, confused. “A toggle switch is enough. The tricks you used to pull won't work against our technology.”

“It probably is useless,” Jaina admitted readily. “But that's kind of the idea.

“I used to love this kind of thing,” Jaina recalled, a tinge of nostalgia in her Force presence. “Messing with ships just for the sake of doing it. I could lose half a day hyperfocusing on a regular X-Wing. It was… fun.

”And it's something to do that isn't about Jacen or Alema or the Sith. It isn't about my duties.“

#star wars legends #legacy of the force #jaina solo #jagged fel #zekk #zekk solo fel #han solo #leia organa #jaina x jag x zekk #wip fanfic

2 notes · View notes

refractical · 6 months

Note

Character opinions for Lawrence Gordon?? 👀

First impressions: He's a cunt, he's a doctor, he's fooling around with one of his residents, he's putting on a façade for his wife, but he's also a caring father. Under normal circumstances, I'm sure he's your average, run-of-the-mill asshole doctor who's a different man when he's around the light of his life (Diana) and also he's definitely struggling with heterosexuality. I can feel it like a pain in my teeth. We know this. We all know this. Common knowledge does not need to be cited.

Impression now: Post-Final Chapter, my impression changed to "someone got a little fucked up" very quickly. This is probably less of an "impression" and more of a rough retrospective, but it's clear just how much of him is a constant struggle. It's probably accurate to say that Lawrence's life is defined by control. Maybe that's too vague, but it's what I feel in my heart. If you get it, you get it. If you don't, this is my blog anyway.

Favorite moment: Do moments from the screenplay count? Lawrence telling Adam, "It's never too late." guts me wide open. I'm obsessed with the place that this has in the story, I'm obsessed with what this says about him. "It's never too late to get out of here and chase your dreams, Adam. It's never too late for me to be a better father. It's never too late," until it is too late, when their time is up. When everything happens. And it's too late to go back, it's too late to go back for Adam. It's too late to make amends with his wife. It's too late. I also just like the genesis of Lawrence's codependency, but anyone following me already knows how deep my brainrot goes with that one. Just any codependency moment. You know the ones.

Idea for a story: Apprentice Lawrence protecting Amanda, and keeping some of her mistakes secret from John and Hoffman because, whether conscious or unconscious, I think he views her as a daughter-figure; and I think he objects to how she has clearly been manipulated by John. I think that in order to work in proximity with Amanda, Lawrence has had to re-frame how he thinks of her, if he knows that she is the one who physically set the trap that got him into this mess. I think that he'd appeal to his own senses as a doctor... and I have commented on this before... but, with new information I decided to cherry-pick from the Saw wiki about Lawrence (in reference to one of the barely-tenuously-canon videogame adaptations or spinoffs or whatever you want to call it) having been institutionalized for 6 months when he was 19 (I disregard literally every other detail about this to supplant my own ideas for him and his relationship to this moment in his life)... I think Lawrence has genuinely been on the receiving end of bad, condescending doctors who mistreated him and other patients, including addicts (given the decade, I expect he actually encountered quite a few) and I don't think he has any tolerance or patience for John's treatment of Amanda as a recovering addict.

Full disclosure, I'm pitching this as someone who has literally endured addiction struggles with both opioid and heroin on top of other self-harm struggles and I empathize deeply on a personal level with Amanda. I've long wanted to write something about Amanda and addiction, and I care a lot about the idea of Lawrence experiencing this deep attachment to her as the father of a daughter, himself. An idea I have for a story would be Amanda experiencing another relapse of H usage, she makes the mistake of returning to the amount equivalent to the last dose she remembers taking before getting sober, and Lawrence makes a very deliberate decision to help her reverse this overdose, and then monitors her recovery afterward. He sneaks her medicine and fluids and keeps an eye on her. He does everything he can to make sure John never finds out, plotting in his head what he will say if there's any chance her relapse is discovered. He'll insist he did this because it's what was best for her, that he needed to think like a doctor, and that Amanda was a patient like any other. But it's clearly way more personal for him than he's letting on, or letting himself believe. He soothes her white coat anxiety, he doesn't condescend, he talks to her like a person, he stays awake to watch over her, and he does it because he cares. John may be her father figure, but Amanda is Lawrence's daughter figure. This is the realest unspoken truth of Saw canon, to me.

Unpopular opinion: I don't know if any opinions of Lawrence are necessarily popular vs. unpopular, but that could really just be my perspective as a newcomer. I don't disagree with many of the 'popular' opinions. The popular opinions I disagree with are more like popular chainshipping opinions and that's not what this ask is about, so I'd have to say my unpopular Lawrence opinion is that I don't think he's as cold or standoffish as some people make him out to be? He still makes some kind of effort with Alison, enough to call things off with Carla. Even when he talks to Carla, he expresses concern about it being bad for her career for them to continue seeing each other. He cares so much about Diana, he loves her so much, and I think he also genuinely cares about Adam despite him being a relative stranger, and despite what he eventually comes to learn about him (but that tends to happen when you're locked in a room with someone for 6 hours, talking back and forth about yourselves). Doing rounds with a gaggle of residents is hardly reflective of his actual bedside manner, but I can understand why "Lawrence is just kind of an asshole (to patients)" would be commonly extrapolated from what we know about him. I don't know if I would trust John as, like, the word-of-God perspective on Lawrence's character considering how piss poor a job he does judging the moral characters of basically anyone and everyone. That's all I have to say...

Favorite relationship: As is consensus, I'd consider it a cop-out to say Adam, so I'm going to talk more about my opinions on Lawrence and Amanda even though we can only really speculate about how they interacted as fellow apprentices. Because they just had to have interacted. They had to. Much of what I already wanted to express can be read above in the "idea for a story" section, but it's just important to me that Lawrence is literally a father while John isn't, he never became one, and I think Lawrence seethes to himself sometimes, thinking about that. John doesn't know what it's like to be a parent, he has no idea what it's like, and what it means to take care of someone in that way. I think it would probably be kind of a misplaced anger he has, since John has never once insinuated that Amanda is genuinely his daughter, nor anything more than an apprentice, but I think Lawrence knows how Amanda feels about him. He knows she looks up to him like a father. Even if he never replaces John as someone she looks up to, I'd like to think that he still cares for her in a way that contrasts John's authoritarian paternalism. I think that Lawrence has had to cope with the aftermath of his survival, and having to work with Amanda, by separating Amanda the person from Amanda the apprentice. He can't forgive her for the acts that she commits and has committed, for her part in the generation of Jigsaw victims, any more than he can forgive his own. But that's still a person, he thinks. She's still someone's daughter. He can care for her as a person while still not being able to forgive her as an apprentice... and I think that's exactly what he does.

Favorite headcanon: Yeah, I'm going to answer this prompt incorrectly on purpose because I don't really have a favorite headcanon from fanon. I'm going to talk about my favorite headcanon of my own, which is that I don't think Lawrence has a relationship with his parents. Related to the other headcanon I cherry-picked from the tenuous not-quite-canon videogame lore, I think that he struggled at the beginning of medical school under extreme pressure and I think his parents had him committed. And I think it completely destroyed their relationship.

(I'm about to make this about myself again because this is my circus and I'm the fucking ringleader)

To get oneself out of involuntary treatment in a psychiatric ward or residential treatment facility, there are many things that you can do. But, through it all, you have to be disgustingly compliant and you have to practically fucking grovel and prostrate yourself to the people who will decide whether you deserve to continue being subjected to 'treatment' there. If I ever have the mental energy to actually turn this into a fic, I would spend so much page space mentioning how ironic it is that he was sent here to supposedly be freed from the pressures that medical school was putting on him, and ended up immediately engrossing himself in as much literature as he was allowed to have access to on how to get himself out, using medical and legal resources that sure as fuck aren't being freely provided to him. I think Lawrence learns how to write a petition for discharge from involuntary hospitalization, and he tries and tries and tries, getting rejected over and over until finally his petition for discharge is granted and he's free. ...And, as someone who had my petition for release pretty much immediately rejected, no matter how fucking eloquent I was, I think the man has the stubborn tenacity to just keep trying until something works.

After release, I think that the rest of this year of his life is something he dedicates to recovery while slowly re-entering medical school, a period that he refers to as his 'gap year' so that he doesn't have to unpack the immense trauma involved in the whole ordeal. In case you didn't know, simply being involuntarily committed is traumatizing, even if you're 'treated well' during your time as a resident patient. I think it's an ordeal that would've shaped him as a doctor, even if his specialty as an attending ended up not having anything to do with something more person-to-person like family medicine or even being a general surgeon. And I don't think he ever forgave his parents for committing him. I think he dropped his surname and started using his middle name, Gordon, as his last name. I think he walked away from this experience wanting nothing more to do with them.

I also think it would be funny if Alison spent like a couple years, not knowing anything about his parents because he never mentions them, while also knowing that he doesn't visit them, nor does he mention wanting her to meet them, and, for lack of a better explanation, just assumes they're dead... But then, at some point, maybe as they're planning their wedding, he drops this truth bomb on her about completely severing them from his life because they did something unforgivable, and she'd learn about his psychiatric trauma sometime soon after. Like, "Oh, my parents are alive. I just want nothing to do with them and never want to see them again as long as I live," because same. I think he makes a conscious effort to go against the ways he was raised in raising Diana, and I think it's a decision he doesn't often regret, if at all.

send me a character

#i hope lakey dies

5 notes · View notes

stick-named-figure · 1 year

Text

somewhat long winded and ramble-y musing below the cut. tenuously related to ava but mostly personal.

i think another reason that ava/m (ava especially of course) appealed to us so much is that it's very obviously an interaction between art and the artist. And also creation and creator (which is a separate but similar category) which is something that I've craved in works for a very long time but only recently really came to that realization through trying to see why AVA stuck around with me for so long.

I think it's this sort of idea that art says something about a person (Which is not an invitation to try and make statements about me from my art by the way) but the emotions I try to throw out through art.

This post kind of materialized because I was thinking about whether I should tag my self shipping art as AVM ships, since of course my sona is not canonical [citation needed]. I then figured that blocking the tag "sona" would accomplish the same effect, since I have no real intention of drawing said sona outside of self ship art.

And then I started thinking, this sona exists only in relation to another. I am someone who has had sonas in the past that were very much individual from others (as in had no prerequisite others to include for their existence in art) but Eve, as a sona and a self, exists as a necessity for others. My canonical pronouns are not known but Eve's (sona) are meant to match King's.

(Because I'm about to just start saying things, I have to mention that I'm well aware my relation to identities [especially my own] is not the average experience).

Along these lines I've also realized that the rest of my self perception is primarily built out of the way I am experienced by others, and thus my self is then a group project. This is reminiscent of egregores but I can only read so much on occultism before I start seeing conspiratorial lines of thought that trouble me. However, the point remains that I perceive myself as non-human but rather than in a "diminutive" manner (such as common things as animals or small things) it's in more of an abstraction of behavior and perception.

Which is then maybe a long winded way of saying that I have introspected the self out of myself. I was rather obsessed with labeling myself a few years ago (or, pointedly, finding "respectable" terms for myself that were not too out there) and have since long passed into a label-less state. This seems to have come about at the expense of my identity then as well, down to the point where I was nameless for a few months[1][2].

I'm not so sure I find myself distressed by this lack of self, since it seems mostly other's prerogative to label and classify me to whatever is most convenient for them. So it's that way that I think I find myself basing myself on others perception. Because I don't really have the time or energy to find a self in here that I can pin down and make into a solid object. If I try it will slip away eventually anyway.

I think that I change every day. And if I tried to find something to cling to then it would dissolve so quickly I'd be trying to hold water in my hands. And for a very long time I have been ashamed and nervous about how I treat myself and my interests since they never seem to stick around (which is in great part because of my ADHD and autism from what I understand) but understanding it like this seems much more relaxing, that I am what I need to be in each moment and then allow myself to change when the path is the one of least resistance.

---

I might as well start using footnotes. As offline life often requires, I still went by some name. However, even in my most "genuine" states I found a lack of a name appropriate.

It should also be stated that Eve was picked as a rather quick choice because I had jokingly adopted another friend's name and was soon going to be visiting her. I could probably make some literary analysis on that choice because I'm already treating myself as a character.

#self post #musing #this is kind of embarrassingly personal. so maybe will delete it later?#also sorry for changing how we wrote this part way through. shit happens yk #i think this was supposed to be about stick figures but then i forgot #so then it became some piece about gender and the self. oops #ok done. theres not a conclusion here. kinda? there was no thesis.#whatever its late. have fun reading this or don't

2 notes · View notes

inyourbestwriting · 2 months

Text

I recently read this book about the concept of a congregation in a secular age. The idea that struck me the hardest was Root's framing of our personal motivations as having shifted from objectively determined 'shoulds' to subjectively determined 'coulds'. In the past, when the shape of our lives was based more on religious frameworks, how we lived - from what we ate to the rhythm of our week to how we assessed our own performance - was measured against these expectations.

A good life was made up of meeting the criteria set out by a bunch of shoulds. As religion has fallen away as a morally guiding force in how we structure our lives, coulds have replaced them. Coulds are more numerous as they are subjectively determined, just as our performance against these objectives is. We could do anything with our days, weeks, lives. The possibilities and combinations are as numerous as the people making the choices. They are more anxiety-provoking as a result, being so personal. Everyone is going around inventing their own wheels of value and progress and success. In addition, as Barry Schwartz describes in The Paradox of Choice, having more options doesn't necessarily make us happier; conversely, it can leave us more stressed than we might be with a more limited selection of things to choose from. This is why I love a short menu.

It made me think about how we progress through life. You start off living by a set of shoulds, as dictated by your parents: what you wear, what you eat, where you go. Finally, you graduate to self-determination and worlds of possibility open up, hence the rumspringa-like atmosphere of university. You have access to all the coulds and for a short while we bask in the sun of the countless possibilities. Life is could! Ultimately, with time and increased self-awareness, we return to a set of self-determined shoulds: for me these are - among others - exercising vigorously, drinking what feels like far too much water, trying to stay off my phone. Nothing earth-moving, but nonetheless definitely a set of non-negotiable shoulds. I could stay up all night drinking delicious wine and watching something filthy, but I know tomorrow I will feel like a terrible and slow death so really I should drink this water and go to sleep.

I'm not sad about this process of constriction. It's comforting and nourishing in a way a night in front of Forensic Files (I don't know what you were imagining) never could be.

Connected but tenuously but on my mind nevertheless this week, my friend Lisa is the lady in the photo above. Exercise, as mentioned is one of my shoulds. I met Lisa when I started attending her classes at her Pilates studio, Burn, in San Francisco. When we left, Burn was one of the things I missed the most. Through a series of personal and professional pivots, she can now be found online here and in real life here, and whilst I recognise that her journey to that place has not been easy, I am very happy she's to be found there.

I set myself a goal of working through all her prerecorded Burn sessions from the day I started backwards. It's turned into a pretty trippy project. As Lisa moves forwards through time recording new stuff, I move backwards through her catalogue, spiraling away from her. I follow her progress in reverse, charting it through her hairstyles, the videos' backgrounds of a succession of apartments, houses and studios, and both her daughters and her dog, Chuck, getting younger and younger like Benjamin Buttons.

To end where we began, what I do in her classes has come to me to feel a little like I imagine church does to those who go. I do as she commands, wholly obedient in my observation of the ritual-like sequences, and I emerge transformed: saved for a while in body if not in soul. Or maybe...

Photo from here.

0 notes

nellie-elizabeth · 2 years

Text

Barry: all the sauces (3x04)

Soooo much good stuff to get into here!

Cons:

I'm not 100% clear on why Barry decided to let Mr. Cousineau off the hook here. Maybe I missed something, but so far this season I've been able to follow Barry's completely twisted and bizarre logic. He's trying to make it up to Gene for killing his girlfriend. I suppose he thinks he's succeeded now that Gene has a bigger part on the show? So why was he motivated to take the job from Hank? Because Fuches got under his skin? I'm fine with not being completely clear on every step in Barry's thought process, but I thought I'd mention that I was a little fuzzy on why he'd relax his hyper-fixation on Gene so quickly.

Pros:

Where to even start? I've mentioned that I don't really enjoy Sally as a character all that much, but mostly in a way that I think the show intends for me not to like her. This episode was the perfect encapsulation of that. Her utter delight at her success grates on my nerves, even as I try to push back against that instinctive irritation. Why shouldn't she be pleased about what she's accomplished? On the other hand, could she be nicer to the people around her while she's accomplishing it? I loved her breaking down in tears as she was speaking at the premiere, that was the perfect blend of stressful and funny and genuinely moving to watch.

And her young co-star telling her that Barry is violent, the way it opens Sally's eyes and she's able to break free of him? That was great. I'm really curious to see where this goes. Barry and Sally's relationship already seemed tenuously connected to the rest of the story-lines on the show. I want to see what Sally gets up to, and I'm also curious to see if these two are actually done with each other. I suspect not so much.

Obviously the comedy is on point the whole way through this episode, and it would be pointless to sit here and list the jokes that I liked, but suffice it to say, Barry on the help line with the bomb detonator app was truly hysterical. Perfect joke, 10/10, no notes.

This show has this very specific ability to make me laugh and also keep me on the edge of my seat. Even as I was chuckling at the customer service person offering suggestions about the Bluetooth and WiFi, I was also extremely stressed out once Cristobal went inside the house. I had my fingers crossed that he'd get out alive, but I wasn't sure if he would! That was great tension building.

I'm honestly incredibly moved by Hank and Cristobal's relationship; the brief scene of Barry handing off the injured Cristobal to Hank after the bombing was really touching. This show is so absurd, the characters are so bizarre and different and in most cases profoundly bad people, and yet there's this part of you that wants them to work everything out and be okay!

I'll leave off there for now. I truly have no idea where this season will take us next, and that's half the fun!

9/10

#review #barry #barry review

1 note · View note

lilyharvord · 3 years

Text

Meet Me at Our Spot

HELLO EVERYONE!! Vet school turned its back for a day and I was able to finish this one for you all. ((: Here is a lovely little one shot that is rated M people, so please read responsibly. Office AU because someone asked for it once upon a time and the image of Cal in one of those well tailored shirts/suits with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows has lived in my head rent free since then. So enjoy!!! ((:

also, I’m obsessed with that song Meet Me at Our Spot by Willow and The Anxiety (specifically the live version). So that’s the vibe were going for. (:

find it on Ao3 too: link

Mare Barrow always felt underdressed when she entered the massive glass and steel structure that housed the Calore enterprises. Even when she put on her only pair on heels, and a nice outfit, she felt like a smudge of dirt on the pristine floors. Today though, she was determined to not feel that way. She had a plan, a vision, and she was not about to let some socially constructed idea like dress code ruin it for her.

Striding up to the main desk before the elevators that lead to the corporate side of the building, she planted herself firmly before Tiria and cleared her throat to announce her presence.

The young woman looked up from the book she was scribbling things in and held up a finger as she spoke into the receiver cradled in her other hand.

“Of course sir. Yes, two on Friday.”

With a sigh, Mare braced her forearms on the counter and glanced out at the massive atrium next to her. Multiple people strolled by in their nice suits and tight business dresses, carrying portfolios and briefcases and talking heatedly about a number of things. She got a few looks from them for her baggy sweatpants, oversized jacket, and faded ugly sneakers. She simply smirked back at them in response, a glint in her eye that dared them to talk about her after they had passed.

No one had ever really gotten a good look at her here, and if they had, it was when she was quickly being ushered past this front desk and into the elevators behind it. She was, for all intents and purposes, a very well-kept secret. One that was mandatory to remain a secret, given her position and her affiliation with this place.

Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she would ever set foot in a place like this, let alone be associated with the circle she now tenuously walked through. It had its perks though, like getting to give a bright shiny middle finger smile to the people Farley would have spit at. Mare couldn’t exactly spit like she wanted to though, because she happened to enjoy being around one of them. And she was supposed to be on her best behavior when she was in this building. It was part of the stupid rules she had been forced to agree to a year ago.

Rule number one: No one can know your name, where you are from, and who you are.

Rule Number two: best behavior at all times when you are in the building or near him. No exceptions.

Rule number three: You are not allowed to show up unannounced or uninvited.

Well rule number three could just go fuck itself today, and rule number two could join it. The rules were just a way of making sure that the pristine reputation of this place didn’t get tarnished in the tabloids. She had laughed herself hoarse when they brought her into that dim conference room and dropped the pile of papers with the rules outlining everything in front of her. She never thought getting into a relationship would feel like a contract or a business deal but somehow this was made into one. Then again, the Calore family could make a business deal out of a child’s pretend game.

“Yes sir, I will let them know. Thank you for confirming, we will see you then.”

Tiria snapped the receiver back into the cradle and turning a scrutinizing eye to Mare she quirked a perfectly manicured brow. Every front desk girl in the world honestly looked the same to Mare, and in this place, there was no exceptions.

“Can I help you?”

“I have an appointment.” Mare said as she pressed onto her toes and pointed with a finger randomly into Tiria’s book.

The girl looked down at the line Mare pointed to with a frown while Mare swiped the key card Tiria always kept just under the ledge with her other hand. Tucking it into her pocket, she forced her eyes wide in a fake showing of bewilderment as Tiria gave her a contempt glare when there was nothing on the line.

“I could have sworn I called!” Mare gasped as she pressed herself up onto the counter to teeter further over it while her feet dangled. Damn these stupid things were high. She should have worn heels just so she could actually see over the top of the counter. “Maybe I should have called to confirm.”

“Miss Barrow, please stay on that side of the counter.” Tiria sighed as she leaned back in her chair.

Sliding down and dropping with a huff, Mare crossed her arms, trying to mimic the expression she saw most of these people give when they didn’t get what they wanted. “I want to go up.”

Forcing her sigh through her nose so it wasn’t as obvious, Tiria shook her head and adjusted a pen that had moved out of its perfectly straight line. “You’re not supposed to be here today. Don’t make me call security.”

“Well that would announce my presence.” Mare argued before picking up her backpack. “Besides, I’ll only be ten minutes.”

“Miss Barrow, I like my job and want to keep it. Leave.”

Letting out her own exaggerated sigh, Mare threw her hands up and spun on her heel to leave. “Honestly, you’d think I’d get a free pass giving who I’m dating in this place.”

Peeking over her shoulder to see if Tiria was still paying attention, she smirked as the girl dropped her head to write something down. One of the benefits of everyone looking down on her here was that as soon as she turned around, she was out of sight and out of mind. It made sneaking around easier.

Spinning back around, she scurried over to the elevators, ducking below the ledge of the counter slightly in case Tiria looked up again. Humming a song she heard on the radio to herself, she swiped the card and pushed the button to call the elevator. She had joked once this place was locked up tighter than a military institution, only to learn there was a reason for that. She doubted she could just swipe a key card and sneak into the Pentagon though.

The doors opened with a little ding, and she glanced over her shoulder once before darting in and pressing the button for the top floor. She had to swipe the key card again and punch in a four digit code she memorized weeks ago, but the doors still slid shut and the massive glass box rose.

Grinning like a fiend, Mare glanced over her shoulder at the green land stretching out behind her. She had to borrow Bree’s car to drive out to this place, and it almost didn’t make it. Her brother’s check engine light had been on since he bought the car, but he assured her it could make it the fifty mile trip and back. It had coughed the whole way, but it got her here. Beyond the trees she could just make out the highway she took with cars rushing along it.

The first time she saw this place, she was afraid of it. Why was it so far away from everything, why was it so tucked away? What were they trying to hide behind the wall of trees? She hadn’t entire believed the excuses they gave, but she was at least certain they weren’t building nuclear weapons at this place.

The doors slid open silently to a long hallway with dark floors and another bank of windows for a wall. Stepping out into the sunshine, Mare strolled forward, adjusting her hair and jacket as she went. Turning a corner, she passed a few smaller offices that belonged to some of the board members that held staff positions. The only one that was closed belonged to one of the only people she really, really didn’t want to see.

Volo Samos made her nervous. If there was anyone who might be trying to make a nuclear weapon in this place, it was that man. She edged by his office, glancing through the swaying vertical shades to see if he was actually there or he had left for lunch. He was sitting at his desk on the phone.

Scurrying past him, Mare quickened her pace. If he was here, then the rest of the board might be too. Which meant she might be walking in on a meeting. Not exactly the best option, and neither was sitting outside in the hall and waiting.

She had been so certain that there was nothing happening this week. She had planned everything around that fact. Maybe she should have called… just to make sure before she drove all the way out here.

Before she knew it though, she was standing before the heavy dark wood doors at the end of that hall. She had never been nervous to open them. They were intimidating with an exterior that was meant to deter people, but once you opened them and peeked inside there was nothing to fear, just like with the man behind them. She knew that, and yet, she had to squash the shake in her hand as she nudge the door open a fraction.

The office was empty.

Throwing the door open all the way, she stepped inside and glanced awkwardly around the space. She had spent enough time in here that she knew there were very few places to hide. Not that Cal would have any reason to hide in his own office. Pursing her lips she pushed the door closed and stormed over to the desk before throwing her bag down behind it and tossing herself into the chair. It spun in a slow circle with her momentum until she faced the back windows. Slouching down she tried to determine her next move with a pout. Maybe he had left for lunch. It wouldn’t surprise her. If the board members were here, then he might have had to play the good CEO and daddy’s boy he was supposed to be and taken them all to lunch to placate them. But Volo was here… so maybe they hadn’t gone to lunch?

She had put makeup on for this surprise. Honestly, was it so hard for him to be in the place he was supposed to be at this time?

Forcing out a sigh, she crossed her arms and spun the chair back around with her toes to look at the papers scattered around the desk. Cal was perhaps one of the most messily organized people she had ever met. He was an oxymoron himself though, so it only made sense. She picked up a thick stack of papers that were clipped together and lifted one of the corners between her finger and thumb like it was radioactive. She didn’t understand a word on the next page or the numbers scribbled in the margins. Putting it back in its place she glanced at the few pictures he kept on his desk.

The first time she had been in his office he had been on a phone call, and she had to entertain herself. She had picked up the pictures and made up the stories behind them while he watched her out of the corner of his eye. The picture of the two little boys crouched and playing in the mud on the edge of a lake was her favorite. She had been confused by it at first, until she saw the one next to it, with the same two boys almost a decade later in front of the Roman Coliseum.

Cal and his brother vaguely looked like brothers. They had similar features, but they wore them very differently. Where Cal was tall and broad, his younger brother was lean and sharp. Their eyes were strikingly different, but it was to be expected. She’d met Maven twice in the year she’d dated Cal. The first time was when he flew home for their father’s retirement party. He’d been quiet and reserved the whole evening until Cal dragged him out for a drink with her after to introduce them, properly as Cal had teased. When the brothers were alone and not around their father, they were different people. Maven especially. He seemed to soften, to melt a little bit. It had surprised her that someone could be so different just because the personnel around them changed. But Maven was a master of it.

The second time she’d seen him, Cal dragged her halfway across the world to Scotland to surprise Maven on his birthday. Cal’s brother lived as far from their father as possible, and honestly, Mare didn’t blame him. Unfortunately, Cal wasn’t afforded that luxury. Hence the rule book she had to follow.

He had a picture with his uncle next to that. The man was a few years younger than her father, but he caried those years poorly. Still, he adored Mare, and she didn’t have to pretend to tolerate him, unlike most of the other people that surrounded Cal at a given time.

A picture with his father was next to that one. It was a close second favorite of Mare’s. She couldn’t stand his father, the man was insufferable, but she loved to look at the younger version of Cal. He looked impossibly different as a kid, so different she almost hadn’t recognized him in the picture. She had told him that he reminded her of a taffy piece that was pulled too long in that picture. He was only ten in it, but his legs were already too long for him, and he was thin as a pole. He certainly had grown into his body, but the smile he gave to the camera there… he only gave it to her now. Or at least, she thought he did. She’d never seen him smile that brightly at anyone else.

Next to that, tucked almost behind the other pictures was a photograph of a young woman in a window box with a toddler resting on her legs. She smiled at him, clutching his hands in hers, completely unaware of the camera trained on her. Cal didn’t talk about it, or the woman in it, but Mare wormed it out of Julian that Cal’s mother was a sore subject with everyone. Even though she was smiling in the picture, Mare could almost sense the sadness that radiated from her. She didn’t look much older than Mare in that picture. No doubt she had been tied up with the same strings and restrictions Mare faced now. If that were the case, Mare wasn’t surprised she had been so sad. The rules and regulations that came with dating a powerful person were like a cage. It worried Mare some days. She didn’t like being confined, but when she was with Cal away from all of this, she didn’t feel that way. It was only when they were together around other people that she did. More oxymorons where the man was concerned.

The door into the office opened and Mare snapped to attention as Cal stepped in. His hands were full with papers he shuffled through while balancing his phone on his shoulder and speaking with someone. He’d nudged the door open with his hip and because of that, he had yet to turn and face her.

Even though she hated all the restrictions she had to face while she dated him, she knew they didn’t truly bother her because he was hers. All of him carefully folded into a suit that hugged every muscle made her stomach tighten and other parts flutter. And all of it was hers, some nobody from a backwater city block. She sometimes felt like a tiny dragon hording a single coin when she was with him. She didn’t have much to her name, never had and probably never would, but he was hers. She wasn’t sure if she would get to keep him, but she planned to enjoy every last second that she could with him.

Her lips curled into a smile as she leaned back in the chair and crossed her leg over the other, trying to paint a picture of coyness. It was probably not the best showing of it, but Cal was a miserable good boy who couldn’t handle anything remotely teasing.

The papers ended up on the other side of the desk from her, while he shifted to hold the phone and rest his other fist on the table. The muscle in his jaw that always twitched when he was irritated fluttered like a bird’s wing now. He pressed his fingers into his closed eyes as if he could force whatever headache was probably there away with just that touch.

“We didn’t agree to that when we signed the papers. They can’t come back and impose that restriction on us now.” She squirmed in the chair at the tone in his voice. There were multiple sides to Cal that she had seen. There was her Cal, who had no idea how to dance, and who blushed whenever she teased him. Then there was the Cal she sometimes got at one in the morning who would grab the inside of her leg while he whispered in her ear exactly what he was going to do. Then there was this Cal. The one who had been heir to an empire company since the day he was born, and who could command a room like it was any other Tuesday. Sometimes it was hot to watch him do it. Right now though, it was the opposite. He wasn’t happy with something, and it honestly sounded like the last thing he needed was her here.

She decided she definitely should have called before coming.

Edging the chair back with her toes, it squeaked as it went over the floor, and his eyes darted up to her before widening.

With an awkward smile, she wiggled her fingers in greeting before spinning the chair to face the back windows. Her cheeks were burning, and there were other parts that had melted to a very dangerous temperature. The look he gave her as he looked up at been fleeting, but it had been enough to put her on the teetering edge of deciding to grab him and pin him to the desk, or ask him to do just that with her.

“Deal with this. Don’t call back until you have.”

The silence following his words told her, that she was now the singular focus of his attention. His gaze was like a brand even through the leather of the chair. Crossing her arms and adjusting her posture accordingly, she went to spin the chair back around. He beat her to it though, spinning it to face him and tipping it back slightly so she had an easier time looking up at him.

“I don’t believe I left anything at the apartment.”

“You left me.” Mare pouted with a withering stare in his direction.

“Very funny. Now how did you even get up here?”

With a smirk, Mare fished the ID card out of her pocket and flashed it before him proudly. He snatched it from her hand with a startled gasp.

“Mare… what the… what are you a thief now?”

“Obviously.” She waved her hand to dismiss his comment before gesturing to the card. “You should really get lanyards to put those on by the way. I just kinda grabbed that off her desk. And if I got it anyone else could have—”

“You can’t go around stealing people’s ID cards. She needs this to get around the building.” He gestured at her with it, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Well I needed it more in the moment.” Mare reasoned with a smile before leaning back in the chair. She didn’t really feel that bad, but the worry starting to etch itself into Cal’s brows did make her feel a little guilty.

He tossed it unceremoniously onto the desk before sitting on the edge of it and massaging his face slowly with his hands.

“While I’m happy to see you, I don’t have time to deal with anything outside of work today.” His words were muffled by his palms but she could still hear every stressed syllable. Even when his work got stressful, which it undoubtably was at times, he still could push it aside whenever he saw her. Whatever he had been on the phone about had been serious, serious enough that he actually wasn’t all that happy to see her.

“What happened?” Mare asked, scooting the chair close enough for her to set her hands on his thighs and squeeze gently. Now was not the time to be thinking about just how well that suit fit, but the thought still crossed her mind. Along with a few choice other thoughts.

“Stupidity.”

Cocking her head to the side, she waited for him to elaborate. It took him a moment, but he eventually dropped his hands and let his head fall back to look to the ceiling.

“We signed papers on a deal a year ago. When that happens it’s done, the contract is sealed and stored away. In that contract, we agreed that should anything happen with a shipment, we were not liable. The group we shipped to doesn’t like that anymore, because a 30.5 million dollar shipment got lost.”

Now it made sense to her. This wasn’t anger, or frustration. This was stress. Stress she could handle.

“How does one misplace 30.5 million dollars?” She teased before running hers hand up and down his legs.

“I don’t know. But there are five different parties all in a screaming match over it, including us. And if the other four don’t back down anytime soon, I’m going to have to find 30.5 million dollars somewhere.” His eyes darted down to her as she brushed her thumbs along the inside of his thighs. Glancing up through her lashes at him then, she tilted her head ever so slightly.

“And that is hard because?”

“Does it look like I have 30.5 million dollars lying around to just throw at someone?” He reasons, and the dips in his cadence brought a smirk to her lips. Now she had his attention. Pushing up to her feet she slid between his knees until she could drape her arms around his neck. Immediately, his hands found her hips and hugged her closer still.

“I’m sure there are one or two things you could sell in this building to cover that cost.” She ran her thumb along the back of his neck, before tracing the spot at the base of his jaw. His head tilted in the opposite direction, trying to escape the feather light touch. Both of them knew exactly what it did after all. Smirking at his reaction, Mare ran her other hand along his shoulder, tracing the contours she knew by heart.

“I bet I could pick out one of two things.”

“I don’t need to find the thirty and a half because it’s not our fault what happened.” He squeezed her hips, and even though she could see the fight in his eyes, it was quickly guttering. The tension in his shoulders was still more than she would have liked, but that tended to be where he kept most of it.

“So stressed out over something that isn’t even your fault.” She teased as she pressed her thumb into the knot closest to his neck. He tensed under her, but didn’t speak. At this point, his voice had already dropped an octave, and Mare had known him long enough now to know that when he went silent like this, he was trying to hide just how far she had pushed him. “Do you want help releasing some of that?”

“Not unless you can get up in front of five different boards and convince them otherwise.” She had to admire how even he kept his voice. It still wavered in a few places as he tried to remain composed under her scrutiny. Dropping her hands from around his shoulders to land on his thighs again, she squeezed hard enough to emphasize her next point.

“That sounds like a challenge.” Mare actually witnessed his pupils dilate as she dropped her voice an octave too. “You and I both know it’s not much of one. I can be very persuasive.”

“You’re gonna get us both in more trouble than I can get us out of.” He whispered to her, a tiny smile lifting the edges of his lips. The glint in his eye made her stomach flutter, especially as he started to finger the waistband of her pants. She didn’t want him to put his hands under it just yet though, she still had one surprise she wanted to save.

Pulling back to slip out of his arms, she dropped back into the chair with a proud smirk. “Then I see no reason to not walk me down there, call up these assholes, and have me deal with them.”

His hands grasped the air where she had been a second ago as his mind failed to register her abrupt disappearance. Frowning, he leaned forward to grab the arms of the chair and pull her close again. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she watched him look her over and hold for a little too long on her lips.

“I’d love to see them try and deal with you.”

Oh she was going to make him sweat so very much.

Grabbing his face and yanking it down to hers, she crushed her lips against his. He tasted like mint toothpaste, and he smelled like that cologne she bought him for Christmas. Gisa said it was cheap, but he’s smiled and thanked her for it anyway. And now he was wearing it. The very idea sent a thrill through her.

With a groan, he slid his hands along her legs and then underneath them to grab her ass and hike her out of her chair until she was flush against his chest. Her lips curled into a smile as she took his lower lip between her teeth and pulled hard enough to draw a sound from the back of his throat. Knotting her fingers in his hair, she tugged and whispered, “You get to deal with me first.”

His eyes opened, barely an inch from hers, and the look in them sent a shiver down her spine. When he looked at her like that, it drove her half mad every time. “Put me down and I’ll show you just how persuasive I can be.”

He set her down with exaggerated stillness, making sure to drag her body along his so she could feel every inch of him. Smirking at getting her way, Mare nudged him back until he was sitting on his desk. Bracing her hands on either side of him, she asked, “Which do you want first? Surprise one, or surprise two?”

His brow quirked, and he slid a hand around her waist to pull her between his legs. “I want you, just you.”

When his voice dropped that deep, it made it very difficult to stay focused on what she had planned. But she wanted to see him squirm, and if there was anything Mare Barrow was, it was persistent.

“Surprise number two it is.” She grinned like a cat with a mouse as she hooked his belt with a finger and trailed it along the waistband of his pants to the buckle. Humming to herself, she undid it, sliding it through each loop like a needle with thread. When it was fully out, she held it up with a wink. “Give me your wrists.”

Even in the heat of it all, his cheeks burned. Immediately he put his hands behind his back. Pouting at his movement, she lowered the belt. “It’s no fun if you don’t play along.”

“Can’t be restrained. I may have to get to my phone.”

“Then I’ll answer it and tell them you’re busy.” She teased before cupping the back of his neck and pulling him close to ghost her lips across his. He sighed, and the tension in his shoulders melted as she ran her hand along one side. She loved when he scrambled in these moments. Locked between a rock and hard place, he was like turtle on its back. If all she had to do to knock him down was insinuate like this, she would do it every night.

When he pulled away with narrowed eyes, she released a mock exasperated sigh and tossed the belt away. “Fine, next time.” Without giving him a moment of relief, she unbuttoned his pants and tugged to start sliding them off. “But since it’s my job to help you relieve stress, here’s what I’m going to do.”

He visibly swallowed, even as he helped her slide his pants off. Running her hands up his legs after she dropped them, Mare chewed on her lip. “If you can keep it together for longer than ten minutes, I will let you do me from behind.”

His eyes widened, shock pouring out of every pore of his body. She hated that position, and always refused it. It was the most degrading thing, she insisted. If a man was going to fuck her, he should look her in the eye while he did it. She may be trash from the other side of the tracks, but she knew her worth.

“Ten?” He breathed, his eyes darting to the clock on the wall next to them.

“Ten.” She confirmed before crouching down. “But it has to be ten. If you cheat, I’ll know because I will be keeping track of the time.”

His mouth opened to refute before closing with a snap. She could see him working it over, trying to determine whether or not she would play fair. She never really did, but this time she made a promise to herself that she would. Besides, she trusted him to at least make the whole experience entertaining.

“Clock starts when I do.” She teased before tugging on the waistband of his boxers, making the elastic snap back. He tensed at the feeling, until she pulled them off too.

Perhaps it was the fact that she had snuck up here, or maybe it was the fact that anyone—including one of the most prestigious board members—could walk in on them at any second, but the sight of him sent electricity along every nerve in her body.

It was ten minutes. He wouldn’t make it to five, she told herself as she dragged her tongue along her lower lip. With that thought for reassurance, she gripped his thighs and closed her mouth over his cock. Immediately she felt the muscles in his legs tense, and his breathing hitched. She hummed, almost laughing at his reaction as he immediately grabbed the hair on the back of her head and pulled. She slid back an inch before diving back down, taking more than she had before. The groan he released was loud enough that she almost paused to make sure no one had heard. There was the fun in this, she supposed, getting caught might be exciting.

“Mare.” He gasped as she continued her ministrations, and began to trail her nails along his skin up to his hips. Forcing her head down further, he muttered a breathless apology when she gagged. Digging her nails and fingers into his skin, she smiled and hummed again.

“Fuck.” He spit the word like poison and bucked against her, earning another hum from her. “Not fair, that’s not fair.” He panted as she picked up the pace of her work.

His finger dug into her scalp as he pulled even harder on her hair. She stayed on like a leach though, stifling a laugh at his squirming. His other hand gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white, and his legs tensed in time with each of her movements. But the stubborn bastard kept it together, and no matter what she tried in her arsenal, he only cursed and gripped that desk until she thought it might splinter.

“Ten,” he crowed with a breathless laugh. “That’s ten.”

Mare snapped away with a grunt, swiping her hand along her mouth, smearing the lip gloss across her cheek. Glowering up at him, she grumbled a curse word that would have made her mother slap her across the mouth. A deal was a deal.

“Don’t look so bitter about it.” He teased, before cupping her face and lowering himself to capture her lips. His tongue darted along hers as his fingers gently pushed the hair he had pulled behind her ears.

When she pulled away for air, her chest ached and the space between her legs ached even more. “I’ve got one more surprise for you.” She rose to her full height, and had the pleasure of seeing a bead of sweat roll down from his hairline. He had barely made it. If she was being honest, she would say that she hadn’t been keeping track of the time. She’d lost all of it to the feeling of his hips rocking and the tension of his muscles.

Backing away a step, she winked at his confusion. “Remember a few weeks ago when I went to mall and made you go find something to do?” She fingered the zipper of her jacket, another bolt of electricity ran down her spine as he straightened up, completely attentive to her. “I was saving this for your birthday, but I got tired of waiting.”

As she went to unzip the jacket, he leaped, catching her hands almost knocking her over. Scrambling to stay on her feet, Mare let him take her whole weight as she gasped. “Fucking hell Cal—”

“Let me.” He smirked as he straightened her up and grabbed the zipper before she could. With a gentle tug, he unzipped it halfway, his eyes darkening again as he caught sight of the top half. She’d picked it carefully, the first time she’d ever done something like that honestly. Normally she grabbed things off the rack and hoped it matched. This though, she had taken her time selecting.

He had the jacket off in less than a heartbeat, and his fingers danced along the thin black lace of the corset. His eyes followed his hands as he searched the whole thing over, making her swallow in uncertainty. He trailed a knuckle along one of the many straps, his teeth obviously working at the inside of his cheek. Gently, he grabbed the waistband of her sweat pants and pulled them down as he dropped into a crouch before her. His eyes widened at the matching bottoms.

Immediately, his hands gripped the back of her legs as he glanced up at her. The weight of that stare could crush her if she didn’t realize that it was the most reverent of gazes. He looked at her like she had put the stars in the sky, and hung the moon too. It she was honest, she would admit that it might go to her head a little bit ans that the smile she gave him was mostly fed by that. She could bring this man to his knees by simply standing in a pair of lacy panties.

“Where,” he voice cracked on the word, and his fingers dug into her hamstrings a little more before he dragged his lips up the inside of her bare thigh. “Where did you keep this?”

Threading a hand through his hair, she exhaled in a sigh as his lips grazed the seam along the inside of her thigh. “You like it?”

“I’ll like it better when it’s on the floor.” He murmured before sliding his hand up to grip her ass again. She almost yelped, and grabbing his shoulders she let out a breathless laugh as he pressed more kisses along the inside of her thigh.

Standing up, he kept his hand on her as he lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his hips, and let him spin her around to the desk. With a quick sweep of his hand, he sent the papers all over it to the side before laying her down on it. With a tug, he dragged her back to the edge so she was still straddling him and braced his hands on either side of her head. She panted as she watched his lips curl into a hint of a smile.

“Forget fucking you from behind.” He murmured, before lowering himself to trail his nose along her sternum. “I want to see every inch of you in this.”

She grinned triumphantly as he slid a hand up her side to squeeze her breast, made far more generous with the help of the corset. It had been a good idea to listen to the pushy sales girl just because of that. “Good thing you don’t have to take it off.”

His brow quirked in confusion, and sliding her hand down her body, she opened her legs a little wider to brush her fingers along herself. “Made sure it would be easy for you. Didn’t want you to feel intimidated by all the straps and buckles.”

The snort he let out made her laugh, and she smiled as he stole the sound from her lips with a kiss. Rubbing his hips against hers, he lifted them off the table slightly until she was arched against him. Groaning when she felt how hard he was, she dug her nails into his arms, and said, “If I knew all it took to get you like this was wearing a pretty scrape of lace, I would buy sexier panties.”

“I happen to like the panties you already own.” He teased before reaching between her legs for the bundle of nerves there. Rubbing in a tortuously slow circle, he grinned down at her as she craned her head back so her hair spilled across the desk. Grabbing onto the edge above she tried to grind against his palm, seeking further friction.

Dropping his lips to her neck, he let his finger slide down to penetrate her. Groaning loud enough that she actually slapped her other hand over her mouth, Mare arched until her chest was smashed against his. He let out his own pleased sound at how wet he found her, and let her grind against his palm.

“Can you last ten minutes?” He whispered in her ear before catching her earlobe with his teeth and pulling lightly. Mare twitched in response to the movement of his finger inside of her, whimpering when he pressed a kiss to the point where her pulse pounded in her neck. And although this was heavenly, she’d be damned if he won at this.

Setting her jaw, she squeezed her legs together, earning a laugh from him as he withdrew his hand and brought his fingers to his lips. Sitting up quick enough to make herself dizzy, she grabbed his wrist to stop him from putting those fingers in his mouth. He froze as she closed her lips around his fingers and glanced up at him through her lashes. Releasing them with a pop, she watched his pupils dilate until they swallowed almost his entire iris.

Smirking when a blush exploded across his cheeks and neck, she licked her lips and said, “You won’t even last that long.”

Without speaking, he put a hand to her shoulder and slowly guided her back down to the desk as he stood over her. He pinned her hips down with his other hand as he tilted his head to the side ever so slightly and said, “I will take that as a challenge.”

Mare’s heart fluttered in her chest at the tone of his voice, and how deep it had dropped. Keeping her breathing as level as possible, she closed her eyes as he traced a hand along her side and cupped her breast before leaving open mouthed kissed along the column of her throat.

“Cal,” she breathed his name in a gentle exhale as she threaded her fingers into his hair at the same time that he slipped his hand to her entrance again and pressed his palm against her.

“Say my name like that again.” He whispered in her ear. “And I will do anything you want.”

“Anything?” Her voice hitched as she ground against his palm, her eyes fluttering as she sought out the friction he denied her as he teasingly pulled away.

His lips pulled up into a hint of a smile as he withdrew enough that she chased him with her lips. Their breath mixed as he rested his forehead against hers, and through her lightly fuzzy and crossed vision she could see the depths of his irises. Dark gold, and amber like honey. She could drown in them and be happy.

“Anything.” He answered her.

Lowering herself back to the desk, she pulled him with her while her other hand threaded between them to grab his hip and pull him closer. Without breaking eye contact, he let her guide him to her entrance. With a sigh, she tipped her head back and locked her ankles behind his hips as he pulled her completely to the edge of the desk.

“Cal.” She whispered as she grabbed the top of the desk again and squeezed her eyes shut.

“That’s my girl.” He replied before putting a hand on her hip to keep her pinned to the desk and pulled out before pushing in deeper. Mare bucked against him, gasping as she clenched her thighs together around his hips, pulling him closer. Bracing his other hand next to her head, he dropped his chin as he moved in and out. She only regretted doing this here for half a second, since she had to contain whatever sounds she made to minimal volumes. The last thing they needed was Volo Samos hearing something or coming to investigate what he was hearing. Although that might have been part of the thrill. If they were at her apartment, she could be as loud as she wanted, even with the window open. The traffic outside was loud enough to mask anything that happened in her shoebox apartment.

“Harder.” She panted as she dragged her nails down the side of his nice shirt. She wanted to tear it off of him, to get to his skin underneath. He caught her hand before she could do just that, and pinning that hand above her head he obliged her. She half yelped, half gasped as she slid along the desk until her head almost dangled off the edge.

Like a light switch flickering on and off, the light beyond her closed eyelids alternated with each meeting of their hips. She could feel the change in pace as he sensed her reaching her climax, and her lips curled into a pleased smile even as she arched slightly, hoping to escape him to last longer. He laughed softly at her attempt and pulled her toward him until she was dangling off the desk and had to grab on or risk falling to the floor. He caught her, but she still gasped as the change in angle pushed her completely over the edge so she shattered like glass. Every muscle in her legs contracted and her chest hitched on the rapid inhale she took. Curling around him as much as she could in her position, she stifled any other sound that wanted to come out.

The best part? She knew she had lasted longer than ten minutes. The worst part? She wanted him again. And there was no way that was going to happen because as she sat there panting after he put her back on the desk and bent over to kiss her lightly, she heard the subtle ringing from a cell phone.

“You’re getting a call.” She panted in his ear as she ran her fingers through his hair. It was damp now, and his chest pushed into hers with every inhale he took around his rapid heartbeat.

“It can wait.” He murmured in reply before pressing a kiss against her jaw again.

“I thought thirty and a half million dollars meant a lot right now.” She laughed as she traced a finger down the column of his spine from his neck to the middle of his back. He turned the full force of his gaze on her and she almost melted into a puddle in the heat of it.

“You’re worth more than that. More than any deal, any job.” He kissed the tip of her nose. It kept her from turning away to hide the blush that exploded across her cheeks. He traced a thumb along it, and smiling at her he continued, “Who’s blushing now?”

With an amused roll of her eyes, she traced a finger along his jaw in response to his light touches. This close to him, she realized he was beautiful, in the same way a marble statue in a museum was. She used to think he belonged in places like that, surrounded by priceless and irreplaceable objects that everyone paid to see.

“I love you.” She tilted her head to the side, testing the phrase again. It was only the third or fourth time she had used it seriously with him. The weight of it settled over him, and he brought her fingers to his lips to press a kiss to them.

“I love you.” He dropped the hand and pulled her into a sitting position so she could drop her legs from around his waist. Still connected with him, she trailed her fingers along his arms and drank her fill of him with her eyes. A part of her knew that someday she would lose him. Nothing in her life was ever truly hers and he luck had always been rotten, it was why she never bought a lottery ticket. And of course, his father did not like her. He wanted her gone because he saw her as an obstacle, or a hurdle his son would trip over. It took everything to not dig her fingers into Cal’s arm when they were around his father. Maybe if she did so, she could tattoo herself onto him and never lose him.

“What are you thinking so deeply about?” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and pressed another kiss to the tip of her nose.

“Nothing important.” She lied effortlessly, the smile she conjured for him almost real. If he saw through it he didn’t comment. The phone rang again from its sad position on the floor where it had ended up, and this time they both looked at it. The screen was lit up and he grimaced at the number showing on it.

“I think you have to take that one.” Mare whispered before pressing a kiss to his cheek and sliding away from him to hop off the desk. He managed to catch her, and bring her to his chest before she could escape. Closing her eyes, she let herself melt against him for a second, inhaling the smell of his cologne and the smell of her that was now on him.

When he pulled away to grab the phone off the floor and his pants from their pile near it, she sank back into the chair and watched his back as he finally answered the call. Whatever he was saying was like a buzz against her ears. She could only see him right then: the man he was, and the one he could become. She hated what he was in a small part of herself. But he wasn’t… he wasn’t like the other people he had spent most of his life around. And neither was his brother. Maybe that’s what that life did to people like them. Pushed them so hard that they turned out the opposite of their parents.

He glanced at her with a smile as he managed to step into his pants with one hand and pull them up. She conjured up another smile for him and stood to fix his hair. He leaned down far enough that she could do that while he went about stringing his belt back into his pants. She trailed her fingers along his chest and down to the buckle and wrestled his fingers from it to clasp it shut herself.

By the time she had finished he was done with the call, and was sitting in silence watching her work. She glanced up at him through her lashes, but he cupped the back of her head so she tipped her head back completely to him. His thumb rubbed a soothing rhythm along the back of her skull as he whispered, “I have to go. They found a solution.”

She nodded. “So I guess you don’t have to bring out the big guns and put me in front of them.” Her smile was easy even as she prepared to pull away from him again. He held her steady, staring into her eyes for a long moment.

Just after the silence had stretched too far, he whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?” She managed to disentangle herself from him, and turned to gather her clothes. If he was leaving she needed to disappear too. They couldn’t leave together though, or people might notice. And she did not need it getting back to his father that she had broken any of those stupid rules. Then she might as well consider this the last time she ever saw him. What a last time it would be though. It would live with her for the remainder of what she had heard his father call a measly insignificant little life.

“Everything. You… you make me impossibly happy Mare.” He threaded an arm around her waist before pulling her back against his chest and laying a kiss on top of her head. She finally melted completely into his arms. Wrapping his forearms with hers to trap him for a moment longer she closed her eyes. Suddenly, she didn’t care about the rules she had agreed to. Rules were meant to be broken, and she had always excelled at doing just that. With him, she would break every rule and scatter the ashes of them to the wind.

#(*ask lily*)#(*shut up lily*)#my writing #my fanfics #red queen #glass sword #kings cage #war storm #broken throne #post broken throne #marecal #office au #enjoy everyone!#rated M for MATURE please #thank you #also find on AO3

46 notes · View notes

littlesniggy · 3 years

Text

My Man

Anon: Hii there hope ur having a great day . I just a Zoro female yandere reader and I think I'm hooked 😐 on yandere reader so can we have one with shanks and if its not to much to ask a part 2 of Zoro. You don't have to do the part 2 if u don't feel like it thought. [Female reader ]

Have a nice day💝

Hey Anon, thank you for requesting! I'm so happy that you liked my Zoro x Yandere! Reader! I don't know if I will make a part two of the Zoro one though. This one is not nsfw cause I think this way it's a little more sinister. It is also more of readers internal thought process than a lot of interaction with Shanks but maybe I'll write a part two (if people want to) that is nsfw.

Also warning for anyone who doesn't like reader not getting along with other crew members since this reader is jealous of literally anyone (Which is NOT normal behavior, for anyone wondering lol).

Warning: toxic behavior, mention of sex, reader needs to see someone with her issues, reader needs to chill, threats

Pairing: Shanks x Yandere! female reader

Word count: 1.6k

You were sitting at a beach together; warm breeze gently stroking your face, the soothing sound of the waves landing on shore and the cheerful laughter or the other crew members made for comfortable atmosphere. At least that should be the case. Your eyes were glued to you captain talking to Benn, booze in his hand and laughing his ass off to something his right-hand-man had said. Angrily, you clenched your teeth but tried hiding the fact that you were not pleased about this situation.

Why was he talking to Benn over there when he could sit and talk with you over here? You emptied your cup and filled it up immediately, wanting to drown this feeling of anger. Shanks didn’t seem to notice and kept telling story after story, much to his crew’s amusement. Fine, you thought, getting up from your place and staggering over to where he was. If he doesn’t want to come to me I’ll go to him.

The red haired male looked up when he saw you coming over, smiling his usual drunk and dorky smile and made you sit right next to him while draping his arm around you. “There you are! Why didn’t you come earlier? You were sitting there all by yourself, Y/n-chan!” he laughed, kissing your cheek with his wet lips, pulling you closer to him.

You giggled, leaning your head against his shoulder after giving it a small kiss as well. “I thought you would come over to me.” You answered, your sweet smile never leaving your lips. Shanks laughed even harder, his whole body shaking as he did. “You should’ve called me over then!” The rest of the crew joined in his laughter, making you feel embarrassed and angry at the same time. Internally, you would’ve loved to just punch each and every one of them for laughing at you but you needed to stay composed.

“Benn was just telling me how-“ but you cut him off, pulling his face towards you and kissing him as he was speaking. The man was surprised but didn’t complain, reciprocating your kiss which turned more and more heated by the second. The crew around your sheered you two on but you tuned them out. When you broke the kiss you looked into his eyes, then moved closer to his ear, biting at its shell. “Why don’t we find a more secluded spot and get some time alone?” you asked in a suggestive voice, feeling excited goosebumps on his skin. You just wanted to get him away from them. You wanted to have him for yourself!

It wasn’t that easy to get him away from his crew when you were on the ship. After all, he was the captain and it wouldn’t be good if he was missing the majority of the time. Each time he spoke with one of his men you just watched from afar, your stomach boiling with anger. You wouldn’t call it jealousy, this feeling – that was reserved for insecure people. You just wanted Shanks for yourself and yourself alone. That was something completely different!

Out of the corner of your eyes you saw Benn approach you with his usual stern expression. You liked him the least because he was the one your man spent the majority of his time with besides you. And that pissed you off.

“Everything okay, Y/n?” he asked. You smiled at him, nodding your head as a confirmation. “Sure. What should be wrong?” you wanted to know, eying him secretly. “You just seemed a little upset, that’s all.” “I’m fine but thank you for asking.” Benn nodded and looked over to Shanks who just finished talking. You were sure Benn wanted to talk to his captain but you didn’t like this idea. So, before he could walk over to the red-haired male you skipped over to him yourself, giving Benn no chance to talk to him.

“I love you.” You said in a low voice before kissing him on the lips, creating a barrier between Shanks and Benn who stopped in his tracks behind you. Shanks chuckled and looked down at you, a gentle smile on his lips. You wished you could look at his face like this forever but you were sure Benn would start occupying his time if you didn’t play your cards right.

“At the last port I bought this new outfit and I wanted to show you how it looks….interested?” you asked, pressing your body to his and kissing his bare chest. Shanks smile grew wider and he was already pulling you towards his room. “Captain, can I talk to you for a minute?” you heard Benn call out for him but you made sure to push him inside his room and closing the door behind you. Benn could get lost for all you cared.

You knew Benn got suspicious by the way he behaved around you. He was colder than to others and was always watching you. You didn’t like it. Who does he think he is?

But you had enough when Shanks pulled you aside one day with a slightly concerned look on his face.

“Y/n-chan, we need to talk for a moment.” You stomach dropped and you followed him tenuously to his room. He sat you down but didn’t take a seat next to you on the bed. “W-what is it?” your voice was thin, looking up at you boyfriend in concern. Shanks rubbed his neck, not knowing where to start.

“You see….the crew is getting concerned that I might be spending a little too much time with you that I should be navigating and being their captain. Don’t get me wrong, I love spending time with you but I can see how I might be neglecting my duties as a captain.” He said, looking quite uncomfortable. Anger started to boil in the pit of your stomach but you didn’t show it. Instead, tears started forming in your eyes.

“A-are you breaking up with me?” you sobbed, your vision slightly blurry due to the tears. Shanks immediately crouched down in front of you, taking your hands in his. “No! No, no, no, no, no! Not at all! That’s not what I meant!” he exclaimed, trying to calm you down. “Benn was just concerned about me and my job as a captain, that’s all. I wanna be there for you but you must understand that I also have to be there for my crew.”

That fucking bastard. How dare he try and push me away from Shanks?! You. Were. Furious. “I’m sorry I am clingy! I’m sorry I care about you! I’m sorry for being a burden to you! I’m sorr-!”

“Stop! No, don’t be sorry! You’re not a burden to me. Not at all! I love you, Y/n-chan! Stop saying something like this, okay?” he was really concerned; he didn’t want you to feel guilty about loving him and wanting to spend time with him. It was only natural, wasn’t it?

Shanks pulled you into his embrace, placing his chin on yours and stroking your back gently, letting you cry on his shoulder. He felt awful about this. He was making himself responsible for your crying. His presence helped you calm down along with his reassuring words that he was sorry and didn’t mean to hurt you. But you weren’t listing to him.

In your mind you were already making Benn pay for what he’d done. You wouldn’t be able to hurt, let alone kill this man but you would make damn sure he would never think about sabotaging your relationship with him again.

“How did you do it, Y/n?” you heard a familiar voice from beside you. You were sitting on a beach, watching the calming sea and hearing the screeching of the seagulls above you. You looked to the side, a warm smile on your face. Benn looked down at you with a frown, his body posture told you he was wary and on edge.

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” You replied, making him ‘tsk’. “We both know what you’re doing here, Y/n and I warn you. If you get in our, in his way of becoming the next pirate king I’ll make-“

“You’ll make me regret it? And how if I may ask?” Benn was silent, his eyes just boring into yours.

“What do you want to tell him? That I’m bad for him? That he maybe should consider breaking up with me cause I might get in his way?” you stood up, holding you chin up high with a smug smile.

“Cause that worked out brilliantly the last time, didn’t it?”

“You manipulated him.” He flat out stated but you just shrugged.

“Some tears here, some blowjob there, you gotta keep the man on his feet and interested in you. And I make damn well sure he will never get tired of me.” You said, slowly walking past him.

But before you were too far away, you turned around one last time. “Oh, and just so we’re clear. If you ever talk to him about me again in a negative way, maybe I’ll let it slip that a certain first mate tried to hit on me or even tried to force himself on me. I mean, what other reason would you have to make Shanks spend less time with me other than for you to have a chance?” you saw his face contort into a snarl, his fists clenching and unclenching. “He wouldn’t believe you.” You tilted your head to the side, the smile on your face not wavering.

“Wanna find out? He is my man and I don’t want anyone to come between us, understood?”

#one piece #op #shanks x reader #Yandere reader #op imagine #op scenario #toxic relationship #red hair shanks #akagami no shanks #red hair pirates #benn beckman #op benn #yandere #op x reader #one piece x reader #female reader

78 notes · View notes