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xoxo-teddybear · 3 years

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Viagra Prank - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: smut, f!receiving, male masterbation, needy Bakugou, sexual touching

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

Summary: After a dumb argument, Y/N decides to punish Bakugou by avoiding him while he’s superrrrrr horny

A/N: NOT SPELL CHECKED

Bakugou and Y/N had been arguing for an hour already. They have been talking about Y/N cheating on him.....IN A FUCKING DREAM. Yes it really scared Bakugou and he did wanna talk to Y/N about it, but he just went about it in the wrong way and so, this led to the arguing and yelling. Bakugou knew he was in the wrong, but he was too stubborn to apologize, at least verbally. Usually, that was okay for Y/N, because at least he showed when he was sorry. But this time, all she wanted was a soft and genuine “I’m sorry.”

Instead of apologizing verbally, Bakugou attempted to make up for it through his actions. He bought Y/N another teddy bear to go along with the others he got her, bought her a bouquet of roses and gourmet chocolates, and spent the entire day with her. At night, he held you close and filled your ears with sweet nothings like “I’m so lucky I have you,” “I don’t know how you deal with me, Teddy Bear, but thank you,” and “I’ll forever love you, Y/N.”

After seeing he put a little extra effort into this very “Bakugou” apology, Y/N forgave him, but she still wasn’t letting him off the hook. She wanted to punish him at least a little, but the question was “how?” She discussed it with Bakugou’s closest friends to give her ideas.

“You could ignore him all day.” The red head said, “he has a free day tomorrow, so I can imagine he plans on spending every second of it with you.”

“Nah, since he has a free day, I would love to spend time with him too. I don’t wanna ignore him, just mess with him a little to get back at him.” You said.

“What about one of those kinky couples do? A sexual punishment. Orgasm denial, overstimula-“

“NEXXTTTTT” you, Kirishima, and Kaminari said, cutting off Sero’s nasty thoughts. Besides, you and Bakugou were that kinky couple. And you knew he enjoyed all that stuff. The freaky bastard. You were getting nowhere until Kaminari said something unexpectedly smart.

“What about viagra?” He recommended.

“What?” You questioned.

“Viagra. You can buy it at any pharmacy and just crush up the pill into a powder and give it to Bakugou in a drink. It’s gonna make this man insanely horny, and to punish him, just deny him every time.” He said sipping his drink.

“I-.....that’s perfect!” You said

“Wow Kaminari, nice plan.” Mina said.

“Thank you.......hey can I get some more boneless ice?” Annddddd dunce face is back. Someone get this boy his water.

Doesn’t matter though, now all you have to do is buy the viagra and you’re set. That night, you and Mina went to the pharmacy together and bought the pills. When you went to sleep, you saw Bakugou waiting for you in the room.

“Jeez babe, what took so long? I was waiting here for like 2 hours!” Bakugou pouted. You laughed and kissed him.

“I’m sorry Suki, but not everyone goes to bed at 8 on a Friday night.” You said taking off your jacket and changing into your pjs. You climbed into bed as Bakugou defended himself.

“Well neither do I, but I woke up mad early today.” He said wrapping his arms around you. You pecked his forehead and tried to get some sleep, excited for the next day.

“Yeah, yeah you big baby. Just get some sleep.” As you both cuddled up, you layed with a devious smirk as an unknowing Pomeranian slept peacefully above you.

——————————————————————————

That morning, you woke up early with Bakugou to work out together. As Bakugou got ready, you prepped his drinks. You placed 3 bottles of water in Bakugou’s gym bag and opened up one of them. Taking the viagra pill out, you placed it in a bowl and used the bottle cap to crush the pill to a powder. You poured the dust into the water, put the cap back on and shook the bottle. After seeing the bottle still looked normal, you subtly marked it and placed it back in his bag. When he came, ready to go you gave him the bag and you guys made your way to the gym.

After working out for a few minutes, Bakugou took a huge gulp of water. You noticed it was the bottle you marked and smiled. After a few minutes, Bakugou was starting to feel...something. He didn’t know what it was, but now he was staring at you...more than usual. Your body covered glistened in your sweat and the image of you like that was burned into Bakugou’s mind. The heavy breathing you did only accentuated his need for you and the way your body looked everytime you stretched or moved. God, he knew you were hot, but something about you today just hit different.

Bakugou walked up to you and held your waist.

“Suki?” You looked up at him with an innocent face that made him bite his lips.

“Do you wanna get outta here? I think we’re set on workouts for today, Princess.” He said while staring at your body and chest.

“Oh, sure! Let me just get my stuff and-“ you were cut off when Bakugou gripped your ass with both hands and tongued you down, he pushed you up against the wall and began grinding into you. You felt his growing erection press up against your sensitive heat which made you moaned into the kiss. This made Bakugou even needier. Unfortunately, you weren’t giving in so easily today.

“Hah...S-Suki..” you breathed out while pushing him off you slightly. “C’mon..can we at least get out of here and wash up.”

“Why? We can do that after I completely ravish you,” Bakugou smirked as he attempted to kiss you once more but you pushed him back smiling.

“Sorry Suki, but we need to get back. Okay?” You said and walked away as Bakugou rolled his eyes taking another sip of water. You both walked out but with Bakugou being a lot more handsier. You walked and he would jog up behind you and grab your ass, he would walk with his arms wrapped around your waist while standing behind you, and once you reached your dorm room, he shut the door and slammed you against it grabbing your chest and kissing you again with fervor and tongue. Sadly, once again, you pushed him off.

“Shower first Suki.” You said and walked to get some clothes out of your closet. Bakugou just sighed and banged his head against the door. He looked down and saw his friend creating a tent in his sweatpants and he let out a breath a horny frustration. Then an idea hit him.

“Shower sex?” He said hopefully like a happy puppy, and if he had a tail, please believe it’d be wagging.

“No.” Bakugou just growled and flopped onto the bed and face planted down on the cushion.

“Fineeeeee!!!!!” He complained while his voice muffled by the mattress. While you showered, you left a needy Bakugou on the mattress. He could only imagine what you looked like. Curvaceous body, covered in droplets of water, steam all around you making your cheeks red. Bakugou rubbed at his face. Why the fuck was he this horny?

When you walked out, you were wearing a small towel as you seemed to have used your wind quirk to dry your hair. Bakugou licked his lips as he walked up to your almost naked body and felt you up. He kissed up on your neck as you tilted your head to give him more access. You pressed your ass into his crotch as he grinded into you. You could hear his soft moans. His hand traveled to grope your chest and the other hand went to your clit.

“You want me to feel up on this sweet little cunt?” He asked as he pressed two fingers into you and you gasped.

“A-ah...” you moaned out as your tongue rolled out of your mouth and eyes rolled to the back of your head. You almost gave in to his desires until your phone rang, snapping you out of your trance. You pulled his hand away from you and walked to your phone but not before Bakugou tried pulling you back.

“Hey..where do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you.” He said pulling you towards him.

“Katsuki..”

“Please, Princess. I need you..now.” He said as he grabbed your ass.

“Baby, seriously. Get washed up and let’s continue our day. Please?” You pouted and Bakugou sighed and gave in. He grabbed some clothes he kept in your closet and went to wash up. You sighed in relief and checked your phone only to see it was spam, but still glad it snapped you out. As you got dressed, you cursed yourself for falling so easily for Katsuki.

‘That damn Katsuki. Knowing my body, using it against me. Who the hell does he think he is being built like a Greek god like that?’ You thought as you dressed yourself.

While Bakugou was in the shower, he realized he needed to calm down. Yes he has an amazingly hot girlfriend he could fuck to settle him down, but it was clear she wasn’t down for morning sex today so he had to solve it himself.

He let his head rest under the hot water as his hand went to grab at his length and move vigorously. He imagined the way Y/N would look with her pretty mouth wrapped around his cock, swallowing all of him. How she would take his entire length in her tight little cunt, squeezing him perfectly.

“Y-Y/N...fuck..faster..” he moaned out with a breathy voice as he moved his hips, fucking his hand. He groaned and threw his head back.

“C-C’mon baby...s-shit, c’mon. Oh fuck..I’m cumming! ....a-ah!” He said as his hips stuttered and his release covered the shower floor. He sighed as he tried to regain his breath from his orgasm. It wasn’t as good as it would’ve been if it was actually you, but nonethe less, he came. Sadly, he still wasn’t satisfied.

As Bakugou walked out in nothing but a towel, he tried to get dressed but the second he saw you, his hard on returned. Oh, this was gonna be a long day.

——————————————————————————

All throughout the day Bakugou tried his best to get you in bed, and when his advances always failed, he resorted to feeling up on you or running to the bathroom for release.

You had to admit, rejecting Bakugou’s attempts had gotten harder and harder. For each time he touched you, you basically had to leave yourself hanging. You felt yourself grow wetter each time to a point where even you almost went to hide away in your room and please yourself. Thankfully, it was almost midnight, meaning the day would be over and your punishment for Bakugou would be done. Then, you both can explore your desires.

It was late LATE into the night when Bakugou busted into your room as you were watching a movie. You paused the screen and spoke to him.

“Suki! You can’t just barge in like that, you’re gonna break my do-“

“Shut up” he said as he made his strides over to you and shut you up by tonguing you down. You fell into the kiss and returned it, kissing him with just as much passion. You peaked open your eyes and looked at the time. 11:47. ‘So close,’ you thought to yourself. You reluctantly pushed him away again.

“Suki..no,”

“Suki, yes.” He whined back as he attempted to kiss you again but you stopped him once more. He was getting fed up. He lifted you by your hips, tossed you flat on your back on the bed, and used his arms to cage you in. His hands pinned your wrists to the sides of your head and his knees were pressed into the mattress at the side of your hips. He got close in your face before speaking.

“You owe me an explanation, princess. I get not wanting to fuck on busy days or during a certain time but all day? I’ve tried to get you right here where Ive wanted you and you rejected me each time. Tell. Me. Why.” He said each word with poison on his tongue. You cringed at what you thought his reaction would be, but soon came to the conclusion that you’d have to tell him at some point.

“...Punishment” you said with a hopeful smile, praying that your boyfriend won’t fling you out the window. Bakugou looked at you with wide eyes.

“What?” He squinted his eyes at you and asked.

“You were acting like an idiot the other day and it pissed me off. I accepted your apology and forgave you but you weren’t completely off the hook. So I put viagra in your drink to turn you on and deny you as a punishment.” You cringed at how easy it was for you to tell him the truth. Bakugou looked at you with a confused look, then a smirk.

“So...you drugged my drink to get me riled up so I could fuck you? Didn’t know my teddy bear was so freaky,” he said licking your neck.

“What?! No! It’s not like tha- ah!” You were interrupted as Bakugou gripped into your chest.

“Then whats it like, teddy bear? Rejection? Well you’re not denying me now. Why not?” He asked you. But you had no answer for him anyway, so as far as he knew, he was right.

“That’s what I thought,” he said while continuing the attack on your neck. “I’ve been so neglected all day, I think as an apology gift, you should let me have my way with you. Doesnt that sound fun, princess?” He said the last sentence while letting his finger press against your clothed clit. You moaned at the feeling and felt yourself growing wet.

“K-Katsuki!” You moaned.

“Please, Princess?” He asked..practically begged.

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. Enjoying the feeling of his pads rubbing into you. You arched your back and gave in, spreading you legs for him. Bakugou smirked and was quick to remove your shorts and panties. Excited, he went to feast right away. No teasing, no waiting. He’s right into it, enjoying his meal. Sucking and kissing your bud, his eyes shut as he enjoys hearing your moans and tasting your sweet nectar.

The sudden feeling of his tongue hitting you and eating you out had you shivering. The massive amount of pleasure was so sudden, you could’ve cum right then.

“S-Suki! ...m-more!” You said as your hands went to grab at his hair. Bakugou groaned as you tugged and sent his tongue right into your hole. You cried out in such ecstasy that you legs began to shake.

“Cum on my tongue, Princess. Let me taste you,” Bakugou said before he went right back in. When you came, Bakugou lapped up every drop of you, savoring your flavor. He went up to kiss you and allowed you to taste yourself.

“God I want you so bad princess..” Bakugou breathed out as he released himself from his pants and lined up with your cunt. He rubbed his tip up and down your opening and you moaned in excitement.

“Let me have my way with you, Y/N.” He said in your ear as he pressed in. You wanted and needed him now. You looked at the time and saw, 11:56. Screw it.

“Please Katsuki! Use me! Please fuck me!” You begged. Smirking at your neediness, Bakugou slammed into you. Not giving you any time to adjust, Bakugou kept to his word and had his way with you. His pace was going so fast it had you seeing stars.

“Y-yes Katsuki! F-uck.....Mm,” you cried out. Bakugou lifted your hips to hold onto you and fuck you in a deeper angle.

“Shit....like that, Princess?” He said said with a smile as he kissed your neck.

“M-more Katsuki!” You begged again. Bakugou held onto your hips and kept his steady pace for awhile. He smacked your ass and kissed you deeply, exploring every inch of your wet cavern.

“You thought it was okay to fuck around with me like this? Huh princess?” He said smacking you again. You moaned at the contact and he gripped your ass. He grabbed your legs and put you in a mating press. The new angle reached deep inside you and hit the most sensitive spots. You screamed his name as he continued to fuck you with his head thrown back.

“Gotta keep quiet now...can’t let the whole class know what’s happening in here,” he huffed out “or maybe you want them to know. Yeah? You want them to know how much of a slut you are just for me?” He teased.

“Ohhh..yesss Katsuki.” You moaned. His cock was sliding into you perfectly, making you dizzy and drunk on euphoria.

“Yeah, but you’re my slut. Right? My dirty little slut. All for me, and me only.” He said as he placed his arms next to your head.

“I’m yours Katsuki! Just yours...ah!” You clenched around him. You could feel the way his balls slapped your ass everytime he thrusted into you. The sounds of skin slapping and your wet cunt filled the air and made a melody you’d never forget. In the heat of the moment, you began to feel the familiar knot in your belly.

“F-fuck. Cum for me princess, I want you to spill in on me.” Bakugou said. He went deeper, harder, and faster. Whatever it took for your pleasure. As he went in, you felt the knot become loose as you came on Katsuki’s dick and your legs shook. You cried out in pleasure as Bakugou continued to chase his own release. After a few more deep strokes, Bakugou met his high and climaxed. He filled your womb with cum and layed there as he emptied his load. You both layed there in silence, catching your breaths as you both came down from the high.

Instead of pulling out, Bakugou stayed where he was and just leaned in closer to you.

“You done messing with me, Princess?” He asked you. You let out a breathy yes as he kissed your cheek and pulled out. He layed beside you and cuddled into you as he held you close.

“I don’t know. I’m kinda satisfied with how this turned out.” You teased. Bakugou only let out a quick laugh in disbelief at his wild girlfriend and just kissed her.

“You’re crazy.” He said while holding you closer.

“But you love me,” you said.

“Yeah..I do.” He said as he rested his head against you. While basking in the glow of the after sex peace, Bakugou realized something.

“Umm..Y/N?” He started.

“Hm?” You said in a sweet voice, with your eyes still closed and you still cuddled into his chest.

“I’m, uh...I’m sorry..for how I was acting.” He apologized. This made your eyes burst open. He was apologizing..verbally. You looked up at him and gave him a sweet, passionate kiss.

“Thank you Katsuki, but I already forgave you. Remember?” You giggled. A sound that Bakugou will forever remember. A sound he will forever enjoy hearing. He just sighed and leaned into you even more, trying to communicate all his love through the physical contact you were both having.

“I don’t deserve you, Princess” he said as his eyes began to fall heavy into a deep sleep.

“You deserve me and the whole world Katsuki.” You said with love dripping in your voice.

“You are my whole world,” he mumbled in embarrassment as a blush adorned his face as he attempted to hide away in your neck. You blushed and smiled at his little confession and allowed him to sleep. It was past his usual bedtime after all.

“Get some rest, Hero.” You said, pecking his forehead with a loving kiss. As he drifted off, you just smiled and rested your eyes as you thought about the next time you would drug his drink. This little viagra prank turned out amazing.

A/N: y’all this was so sloppy😭 it could’ve been so much better but it’s been sitting in my drafts mocking me. I just had to get it out here. I’m sorry it’s not spell checked but I hoped you enjoyed it none the less. (The smut was so bad😭😭) see you next time, Cubs💗🧸

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poptod · 3 years

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Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

#elliot alderson x reader #Elliot Alderson #mr robot #rami malek

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darkacademicfrom2021 · 3 years

Text

Moving day

Based on @lucywrites02's writing challenge, with the prompts "1. You're family" and "8. I have a surprise for you". I wish you a very happy birthday, Lucy!

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader (Tony Stark's daughter, not Morgan)

Word count: 3.2 K

Warnings: fluff and pregnancy :) This was very adorable to write.

Taglist: @lucywrites02, @louieboo87,@jesuswasnotawhiteman, @geekwritersworld, @whatafuckingdumbass, @mysticunicorn7, @toe-vind-ek-jou, @t00-pi, @selfship-mishaps, @sallymagnoliaposts, @deadgirl88, @enderslove

Gif: @moonrainbow

It had surprised Thor greatly how quickly and intensely his brother had fallen for you. He was as committed and truthful as he has never been in his long, long life. He looked at you softly, in comparison with everyone else. As soon as you walked in a room, he followed you with his gaze and invited you to his conversation. It wasn’t a surprise that after a few months of this very silent flirting (that very few noticed, because it mainly consisted in batting eyelashes and repressing subtle smiles when the other was around) you’d come out of the shell and admit you started dating. Thor was ecstatic.

Tony, on the other hand, was not amused. Not amused at all; in fact, he hated the idea of you going around with that God. He said, explicitly “if you ever get in trouble because of him, you solve it yourself. Nothing of coming for daddy to help, clear?”. Pepper had told him to cut some slack, and observe at how happy you were together, but he, stubborn to the bone, had to take a few months more before accepting the fact that his little girl was in love with the God of Mischief.

But the months passed by; almost a year, and you grew closer and closer. You hated to sneak into his room every night, and get interrupted all the time by every single soul in the compound, or mocked to death every time you cuddled on the sofa, watched a movie or read a book together. So, it all boiled down to the same conversation:

“I don’t think he’s ready”, you said while pouring some milk on your cereal. Nat rolled her eyes.

“He’s even readier than you”, insisted Wanda. They were exhausted from having the same conversation over and over, but you couldn’t bring yourself to actually do something about it. “He’s lived much longer, if any of you two were to be unready, that’d be you”.

“Do you think I’m not ready?”, you doubted yourself.

“God, Wanda. You’re planting unnecessary seeds here. The girl’s already anxious enough”.

“I just think… I want him to be with me for the rest of my life. I don’t know if he feels the same”.

“He totally does”.

“Yeah. No doubt about that. Just look at how he looks at you. What are you even waiting for?”.

“I don’t know, a signal?”.

“Of what? You’re impossible. Unless God themself comes down the sky and tells you textually just move in with him, you wouldn’t consider it a ‘signal’”, bitched Nat. But she was right. Commitment was not exactly your thing, even though you were as in love as you could be.

You heard an oncoming scream approaching the room. In silence, you three observed cautiously, and moved away from the middle. The screaming increased its loudness, until a body shattered the roof and fell to the floor violently. Loki laid still among the dusted debris until a second screaming started sounding from the sky.

“Oh, fuck”, he said, managing to get up quickly and making himself as a shield for you three. Thor landed on his feet over the same spot Loki had fallen. Dust flew everywhere and the floor cracked a bit more. “Don’t”, he alerted, pointing at his brother menacingly.

“I’m tired of your whinings, brother. Do something or I’ll do it myself”, spat Thor, grabbing Mjölnir and leaving the room. Loki sighed and sat on the couch, cleaning the remains with his magic. Wanda sighed and put it all back together.

“And what was that about?”, asked Nat, eating a candybar, still on the same spot as earlier. It wasn’t an unusual scene.

“I…”, said Loki, but desisted. You sat on the couch by his side and he laid, using your lap as a pillow. You took out a tissue and started carefully cleaning the blood off his cuts. He smiled softly. “We just had a fight”.

“I can see that. What did you fight about?”.

“He wants me to… well, talk to you”, he struggled to say.

“Well, we’re talking now”.

“Yes. No, wait, no. Like, talk talk”, he clarified, and Nat and Wanda nodded, leaving the room. You could still hear their chattery from the door.

Loki sat up and grabbed both of your hands, making direct eye contact. He was nervous, which only made you even more unsettled. He was never nervous. He was always calm, even in life or death situations. He was unfazed in everything and with almost everyone. Almost.

“What do you want to talk talk about?”, you joked, and he chuckled, releasing some tension.

“I want you to move in with me”.

“Oh. Wait. What?”.

“Like, move out. But with me”.

“To your room?”.

“Out of the Compound”.

“To an apartment?”.

“Yes”.

“Here?”.

“In Midgard, yes”.

“But like, in New York?”.

“Wherever you want, actually”.

You stayed silent for a few seconds, and Loki grew nervous again. You couldn’t help but laugh. He looked at you quizzically, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that… a God just fell down the sky and told me to move in with you”, you clarified, which didn’t actually clarify anything.

“You… what?”.

“Yes, I’d love to move in with you, love”.

And in no time you were already packing things up and going together on apartment huntings.

Tony insisted on helping you out himself, which was hilarious, given the repulsion he had for the idea in the first place. So, you’d go to an apartment by yourself, check it out and talk to the owner for a bit; Loki would arrive later, tensing things up (the owners would usually recognize him, but after a little chat they’d find out he’s a fine man), and then, just after you’d be all calm and good, the owners would see in the papers you’re a Stark, and tense up even more. Easier to say, it wasn’t a normal neighborhood chat.

You had finally decided on a small but very cozy apartment near Central Park; far enough from the Stark Tower, but you could get there pretty quickly for every mission.

You found the place advertised on the papers, and when you showed it to Loki, in sickness and all, you insisted on going to visit it that same day.

“My love, my dearest… you need to rest. I’m afraid you might faint again”, he cooed, trying to get you back to bed.

“A little fever won’t do anything to me, really, I’m f…”, you said, but you felt like vomiting, so you stopped your words and sat on the floor. Loki sat by your side and rubbed your back.

“If you feel better tomorrow, we go, yes? Now, come on, I’m gonna call Banner and you wait on your bed”.

“No, but they might take it, we need to go to make sure…”.

“What about I go, call you on one of those animated images, and you can see it from here?”, he proposed, helping you up. He meant a video call.

“That… sounds about right”.

But you had no actual time to have that video call, for when he was in the apartment, Banner was delivering some more important news.

You’ve been to the examination’s room of the compound before. But this time it seemed brighter. The lights shone so strongly, you had to close your eyes a little.

“What would you like to do about it?”, asked Banner. You were sobbing and trembling.

“I… I don’t know, I’m sure Loki will leave me”.

“What? No, don’t base your decision on that guy’s opinion”.

“Well, I don’t want the kid to not have a father, you know?”, you said as he gave you a tissue. “I want to have it, I’ve always wanted a kid. I think I’m… ready? I’m probably not. Not by myself, and I can’t do this alone. He’ll leave me, won’t he? Why would he want to have a kid with a mortal? We’d die as fast as he blinks”.

“Look, I’m no one to talk about it, but this sounds more like your anxiety and less like something he would do. He really loves you, he has for like at least a year, and I don’t see that going away anytime soon”.

“I know. You might be right”.

“You’re allowed to doubt everything. This is a huge thing, y/n. Think this through, talk to people, talk to your friends, or your parents. Don’t let this eat you”.

“Thanks, Bruce. You’re really… you’re being really nice, I appreciate it”, you sobbed. He handed you another tissue as he rubbed your shoulder.

“This is your call, okay? You have time to think. Text me later how you’re feeling, and have bed rest now. And if you feel too bad, take this”, he handed you some pills, “it should be innocuous for the baby”.

One of those days, that same week, you had decided to make it the official moving day. So, you put every box in the van and drove through the city, to your new home. You haven’t told Loki yet what you knew, and you were terrified he’d get even more upset because you didn’t tell him before the moving. But, to be fair, you didn’t think he’d actually leave.

You had told no one about it, despite Banner’s indications. But it wasn’t eating you. You were enjoying it silently. You were glad; you had your doubts, fears… Hell, you were terrified. But you knew, if Loki wasn’t going to be a part of that, you could do it yourself. You hoped he’d wanted to, though.

Loki and you had started taking the boxes inside, all by hand (to be honest, he was a little scared of the neighbours watching him do things with magic and kicking you two out). You laughed through it, and played races to see who’d finish their boxes first. He was wearing one of those midgardians shirts and pants that melted you completely. He wore that for your anniversary dinner the week before that day, and he noticed how much you loved it on him, so he started wearing fancy casual clothes more often than not.

After about two hours, you were done and completely exhausted. You laid in the middle of the wooden floor, surrounded by boxes and a strong smell of floorwax and fresh paint, and looked at each other fondly.

“Welcome home”, you said, and he showed you the biggest smile he’s ever done.

“I think this place is perfect. It’s away, but not exactly far from your family for whenever you’d want to be with them”.

“Yes, it’s perfect”, you said, getting up and helping him up. “You know, I have a surprise for you”.

“Really? What is it?”.

“Tonight at dinner, shall we? In the meantime, what about we get something to drink before unpacking?”.

“Can’t wait for tonight, then. Would you like some tea?”, he said, surrounding your waist with his arms. You played gently with his hair.

“Yes”.

“I love you”, he said, giving you a small peck over your smile.

“And I love…”, you started saying, but the entrance got filled with noisy people, interrupting you. Four of your friends were already filling the place, giving you an idea of how a small party would fit in there. “... you”.

“Oh my God! This place is so well illuminated!”, said Wanda, marveled.

“And what’s that smell? Have you been cooking something weird?”, said Nat, less enthusiastic, but equally curious. Sam and Bucky were still on the door, and Sam seemed to have brought food. Like a cake, or something similar. Wanda and Natasha were quick to invade the place without further notice.

“Oh, you got one of those hidden drawers! What are you hiding in there?”.

“Probably sex toys”, guessed Nat.

“I’d say drugs. But, like, alien drugs. You know, from his town”, apported Bucky, now making his way in and leaving the cake over the counter.

“I thought drawers were supposed to be for clothes”, said Sam, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but hidden drawers? Sexy clothes”.

“Actually, I’m saving my daggers in there”, finally said Loki, kissing your cheek before pulling away from you, and appearing a cup of tea in each guest with a movement of his wrist.

“Boring”.

“So, guys, what do you think?”, you said as you started opening one of the boxes.

“I think it’s small”, said Tony, as he walked in. Pepper rolled her eyes behind him.

“Don’t listen to him, you guys chose perfectly. This place will look very nice once you paint it and decorate it”.

“It’s already painted”.

“Oh. Well, it… it looks nice”.

“Thanks mom”, you chuckled. “It’s small but we don’t need it to be big”.

“You better be actually saving daggers in here”, Tony peeped inside the hidden drawer. “Now that is not so hidden. I wouldn’t like to open it up someday and find a…”.

“Dad, please”, you rolled your eyes and went to Loki’s side. “Don’t worry, you won’t find anything weird. Just the daggers and knives of my very innocent boyfriend”.

“Well, you’ll have to think further about having knives so close to the floor, you know”, he muttered. Loki furrowed his eyebrows.

“Why?”.

Tony ignored him and walked to you earnestly, with the most serious face expression you’ve ever seen, and everyone observed quietly. He grabbed you by the shoulders, and inhaled a deep breath. All of the sudden, his eyes got watery, and you realized Banner had told him about the pregnancy. Your heart beat so fast you thought you’d faint again, right there. The corners of his lips formed a tiny smile, and he hugged you tightly. Loki was certainly confused now. As far as he knew, Tony didn’t like him, and why would he be so happy about you moving out? It’s not like you were his only child, either.

“I’m so proud of you”, he whispered, and then Loki had the feeling he wasn’t talking about the new apartment, but didn’t ask any further.

That night you managed to cook something special, even though you still hadn’t gotten the gas installed. You cooked together, and laughed at every minor inconvenience the house could give you. The doors of the countertop cabinets were the perfect height for Loki’s 6’4” ass to stump his head every time he tried to open it.

After some time of silent cooking, absorbed on each’s thoughts, Loki asked about your dad’s pride.

“Oh, he’s… well, he just, gets very emotional with these things”. He chuckled at your very obvious lie.

“No, he doesn’t. Certainly not with me”.

“Come on, he likes you now. He likes anyone I love, because you make me happy, and because he has no other choice”.

“Well… I thought he’d be less amused”, he admitted. “Hasn’t he? Other choice, I mean”.

“I don’t think so. He’d have to deal. Family is family”.

“Oh, do I know about that”, he said, cutting a carrot more strongly than before. You laughed.

“I meant it in a good way”.

“Well, your family is one thing, mine is another… I can’t push yours to like me, as much as I would like to. They’re very nice, and I wish I had a family like that, but I don’t”.

“Love, family is built”, you said, this time a little more serious. He repressed a smile, still looking at the vegetables. “You’re part of this, too, you know?”.

“Of this?”.

“You’re family”.

He didn’t repress the smile this time.

“You’re right. You’re my family, too, my love”.

“You…”, you took a deep breath. It was the perfect moment. “Do you ever imagine us in the future?”.

“Why yes, of course”.

“Really?”.

“I want to spend all your life with you. I didn’t want to rush into things because… I don’t know, scaring you out of anything, but I…”, he said, and the alarm on your phone went off, to take the rice from the fridge. You two laughed at how mundane this conversation seemed. “But I love you, and I want you by my side”.

“Okay. Well I do too. That’s good, right? That’s good”.

“Yes, of course it’s good, why so doubtful?”, he laughed, grabbing a tomato and stabbing it.

“Because I’m pregnant”.

“Yeah”, he chuckled, without actually realizing what you just said. And then, he fell. “Hold on, what did you just say?”.

“I’m… I’m having a baby. Yours, of course”, you clarified. You felt like you had to, but it wasn’t actually necessary. Silence filled the kitchen.

“Oh dear” he paused. He left the knife over the counter and looked at you, looking for any trace of a joke. You weren’t joking, and you grew nervous as he let time pass by without saying a word. “How could you not tell me this before moving in?”, he muttered, still in a bit of a shock.

“Oh. Well… I…”.

“I wouldn’t have let you carry those heavy boxes, love, I’m so sorry”, he said, and cupped your cheeks. “Are you really…?”. You sighed in relief. For a moment you thought of the worse.

“Yes, I am”.

His arms embraced you completely, hugging you as tight as he allowed himself to. He muttered how much he loved you, and how happy you had just made him, for the rest of his life.

Later that night, as you laid in bed, he cuddled you from behind with his hands on your tummy and his lips on your bare shoulder. You could feel his soft breathing grazing your skin, and his warmth keeping you safe.

“Loki”, you whispered, checking if he was still awake. You couldn’t sleep.

“Yes, love?”, he whispered back.

“Are you sure you want to be a daddy? With me?”.

He turned you around, and lowered his head to your abdomen. He sank his face and kissed all around your stomach and hips, leaving a trace of kisses up to your neck, and then your lips.

“How could I not?”, he whispered in a low voice. Burying his nose in the crook of your neck, teased “besides, the word daddy comes out so well from your lips”.

You laughed softly, and after some more silence that was fairly filled with loving stares, a thought crossed his head and you saw the light of his eyes turn to dark.

“What is it, love?”, you put a strand of his hair behind an ear.

“I… I’m just realizing something bad”, he said, and you nodded. “I’m a Frost Giant”.

“Why is it bad?”.

“My actual form is bigger than this. And… colder. And if the baby were Jötun too...”.

“You think the baby might hurt me?”.

“They might. I don’t know. Oh no, what if they hurts you?”, he began to panic, and you shushed him, kissing his temples.

“Don’t worry, Lokes. If that’s the case, we’ll figure it out”, you reassured him. “And maybe it’s not. And we’ll have a little and very healthy half-Jötun running around this small apartment. When have we not solved our issues? We’re good at that bit”.

“You’re right. You’re right, my dear”. He sighed, and then chuckled. “Should we have gotten a bigger place?”.

“We’ll be a very close family”, you laughed.

“We already are”, he whispered, cuddling back to you. “We are a very close family”.

#loki #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki headcanon #loki odinson #loki fic #lucywrites19 #loki x fem!reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x y/n stark

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transgenderteensurvivalguide · 3 years

Note

(Urgent) Hello! I really need help, I already searched on the internet but didnt find a satisfying answer so I really hope you'll be able to help. Soo I have to take swimming classes, I've been doing it and it's okay, the problem is that I'm on my period and absolutely can't wear tampons (or things similar) and I obviously don't have and won't get special swimwear. I don't want to tell my parents because I doubt they will understand.

Is there something I can do?

Lee says:

This is a good question! It’s probably relevant to a lot of transmasculine folks with the summer coming up and people being able to return to the pools and beaches since many of us are fully vaccinated now.

Unfortunately, I could come up with only six different (non-ideal) options to solve the problem:

1) Don't go swimming when you have your period

This might be a good option for a casual swimmer, but it isn't ideal if you're in swim classes and can't reschedule a class, or on a swim team and can't miss a practice or meet.

You could always quit and find a new form of exercise / a new job / a new sports team, but obviously that’s sort of a last resort if you can’t find any solution at all.

2) Wear a tampon

Tampons can be worn safely while swimming and prevent the blood from staining your suit when you get out of the pool.

To help prevent toxic shock syndrome, which is rare but dangerous, use the lowest absorbency tampon you can and change your tampon every 4-8 hours or as often as needed. Don’t leave your tampon in for more than 8 hours.

You said that you “absolutely can't wear tampons,” but didn’t clarify why you can’t do it. If the reason is unrelated to dysphoria then you may have a medical condition, or it may be that your hymen is covering the opening to your vagina. A doctor or nurse (either your primary care provider or someone at a nearby Planned Parenthood or similar) can help you figure out why it’s causing pain and figure out what to do about it if you do suspect it’s medical-related and not psychological.

Many trans people like wearing tampons for their convenience and because tampons don’t cause the bloody-diaper feeling that pads can cause; there are a number of anons who have told us that using tampons make them feel less dysphoric than wearing pads.

Putting in a tampon usually doesn’t hurt, but it may take some practice in the beginning.

3) Wear a menstrual cup

Menstrual cups are safe to wear when you’re swimming, and function similarly to tampons.

Menstrual cups are great for people who are stealth but still get a period.

They’re small and easy to hide in your bedroom/dorm room/summer camp cabin, they’re reusable so you don’t have to buy more than one, and you can often use one cup for up to 10 years so you don’t have to buy them often.

Menstrual cups are discreet because you can wear a menstrual cup for 8-12 hours at a time, or until it’s full; this is because they hold 1 ounce of liquid, roughly twice the amount of a super-absorbent tampon or pad.

Having to emptying it only 2-3 times a day means you don’t have to carry extras with you that someone might notice in your bag, you never have to change your cup in the bathroom at school or at work, and you don’t have to worry about changing it in the locker room before you go swimming.

Menstrual blood can start to smell when it’s exposed to air, but your cup forms an airtight seal so there’s less odor to bother you, and nothing for other people to notice either.

Cups may look kind of big, but most people can’t feel them once they’re in.

Putting in a cup shouldn’t hurt, but it may take some practice in the beginning.

4) Wear a menstrual disc

Menstrual discs are similar to menstrual cups and can be worn swimming as well.

They aren’t reusable and are placed in a different way, but many of the pros are the same as those for cups.

5) Buy swimwear that helps catch or hide the blood

There are swimsuits which are dark colored and have absorbent layers built in to catch blood when you’re out of the pool (Example) but that isn’t very useful if you’re actually in the pool, or if you’re required to wear a certain type of swimsuit as a lifeguard, swimming instructor, or member of a swimming team. So this isn’t an ideal option, and you said that you don't have and won't get special swimwear.

6) Stop your menstrual cycle so you don't get your period while swimming (or at all, in general!)

This post lists a few non-dysphoria-related excuses you can use when asking your parents to stop your period, but saying that it interferes with your swimming lessons should be reason enough.

Everything you need to know about stopping your period with birth control

Everything you need to know about birth control

What You Need to Know About Birth Control and Breast Cancer

What’s up with birth control pills and vaping?

Will the chemicals in birth control mess me up?

What are birth control side effects?

Can I get birth control at Planned Parenthood without my parents’ permission?

Birth Control Your Own Adventure

Does depo-provera cause depression?

Are Low-Dose Birth Control Pills Right for You?

Given the information in your ask, you can’t skip lessons so option #1 is out, you can’t use tampons so option #2 is out, you won’t get special swimwear so option #5 is out, and you can’t tell your parents that you want to stop your period so option #6 is out.

That leaves options #3 and #4, menstrual cups and discs. I would recommend doing some research on each option to see what fits your needs the best.

However, if you feel unable to discuss menstruation with your parents, I would recommend a cup because they’re reusable you only need to buy one and that’s a good thing because it saves you money in the long term and you don’t need to repeatedly have to buy something that you’re embarrassed to talk about and hiding from them.

Here’s an article reviewing different menstrual cups here and I’d suggest looking at that.

That article has links to buy the cups online, and this post explains how to buy something online without a credit card and without your parents finding out.

You can also buy menstrual cups in-person at a pharmacy, if there’s one close enough for you to walk or bike to, or if you can get a friend to bring you.

Hopefully that’s a good start for things to consider, but I know that it probably isn’t the satisfying answer that you were hoping for since you won’t like any of the options.

However, I will note that I had a hysterectomy in 2018 so it’s been a lil while since I’ve had to deal with swimming while menstruating myself, so if the followers have any ideas that I’ve forgotten please feel free to add on!

(And yeah, a hysterectomy will definitely solve this issue for you but I’m assuming that’s a no-go in your situation which is why I didn’t include it in the list)

Anyhow, followers, any advice for anon?

#Lee says #swimming #summer #periods #menstruation

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dontaskmetodivide · 3 years

Text

migraine days

summary: Y/N experiences a migraine and Harry does his best to comfort her.

tw: total fluff

1,598 words !!

a/n: migraines really aren’t pretty, so this isn’t a very pretty one shot, but as someone who get them i really wanted to write something about what h would do to comfort his girl during them.

You knew the second that your vision went blurry and your face got tingly that you were having a migraine. The piercing headache that you could only describe as the feeling of going mad. You were used to them, they sucked but you were used to them. You got them every month or so, and usually when they happened you would shut off your phone, lie in bed crying and just try to focus on your breathing. But once you started dating Harry, they got slightly more manageable. Harry always knew exactly what to do and how you comfort you, which made the whole experience a little more bearable.

You called Harry over to your flat around 8 pm, you both deciding to watch a movie and eat ice cream until you fell asleep, but around 10 pm you felt the strain on your head.

You get up from the couch and go to the kitchen calmly, excusing yourself for a moment so that you can take your meds, hopefully in time to break the migraine before it gets too bad. Along with the small dissolvable tablet you take, you also chug a bunch of water, refilling the bottle twice before Harry enters the room.

“Y/N? What’re you doing?” He asks with a groggy voice, clearly tired from the late hour and all the work in the studio earlier in the day. His hands remain in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

You set the bottle down on the counter and squint your eyes, trying to see Harry’s face clearly as you speak. “I feel a migraine coming, is all.” You brush it off but he takes it more seriously, walking around the island to get closer to you.

“Oh, muppet.” His hands come up and cup your cheeks as he looks into your eyes. “Has the aura started yet?” He asks with concern laced in his voice, referring to the weird visual changes you encounter when it comes to your migraines.

You nod and close your eyes, the light beginning to cause a light pounding behind your eyes. He kisses your forehead and you grab onto the sides of his sweatshirt for balance.

“Want to head to the hospital?” He asks, and that was one thing you didn’t appreciate from Harry as much when your migraines would occur. He always wanted to take you to the hospital immediately, have you protected and cared for by trained professionals, and while it was very caring, you were stronger than that and could usually last a while before absolutely needing to go seek help. You always wanted to wait until you felt like you couldn’t anymore before going to the doctor.

“No, I’m okay H.” You tell him, shaking your head with your eyes glued shut.

“Let’s lay down, yeah?” He asks and you open your eyes, only to see spots, and agree with him as he urges you out of the kitchen. He leads you down the hall and to the bedroom, careful not to move too fast.

As you get into the bedroom he turns off the lights, only leaving on the soft glow from the bedside lamp as you crawl into bed and shuffle under the puffy comforter. The pain in your head has now grown tremendously, and the small throbbing behind your eyes has now turned to vigorous pulsating on the front hemisphere of your brain.

You don’t register that he’s left the room until you hear the door close softly, signaling that he’s returned. The bed dips next to your hip, so you open your eyes and pull the covers from your face slightly.

Harry is holding a cup of water and some aspirin, as if it would do anything to help, but you appreciate the gesture none the less. You sit up slightly and he places his hand on your hip as you grab the water and pills from him, throwing them into your mouth and chugging more water.

“Are you hot? Want me to turn up the AC?” He asks as you snuggle back under the covers.

“Yes please.” You squabble out as you squint your eyes shut and try to get comfortable. Harry has learned all the things he can possibly do to make you more comfortable when these things happen.

He knows that you like to bury yourself in blankets to try and block out the world, so the air conditioner temp needs be lowered so that you don’t overheat.

He swiftly gets up and goes into the hall, returning after a long second, and after another second you hear the blast of the vents being turned up. Harry comes around the bed and lays down beside you, placing a hand on your back over the sheets and rubbling softly.

You started having migraines at a pretty young age so you learned pretty early that going to sleep is the best way to endure the pain. Most times you can fall asleep and once you wake the migraine has turned to a small headache, but you aren’t always so lucky.

You manage to sleep for an hour and a half before you’re sitting up and hunching over the side of the bed, about ready to vomit all over the floor. Harry is already handing you the small trash bin from your bathroom, that he must’ve picked up whilst you were asleep, and holding your hair back, tying it in a loose low bun with a band from around his wrist.

You gag a couple times before you’re throwing up all the water you had previously consumed. “It’s okay, baby. Let it out.” Harry hums behind you as he traces his bitten fingernails over your back, scratching lightly. “You’re okay, I’m right here.”

After filling up the bucket way more than you’re proud of, your body begins to rest so you place it back on the ground, heaving from exhaustion. A silent cry begins to fill your chest from frustration and pain. Tears fall from your face onto your lap as your boyfriend cradles you into his chest and you grip onto his sweatshirt for dear life.

Crying always made the headaches worse, but you couldn’t help it. It just hurts so fucking bad.

You take a deep breath and attempt to get up to go to the bathroom. Harry stands up with you and you’re grateful because as soon as you take a step you feel woozy and your knees start to buckle. He grabs your waist with one hand and the back of your head with the other, helping you stand.

“Woah woah woah, love. Baby?” Harry says with a panicked tone as he helps you sit back down on the edge of the bed.

“I’m- I’m okay. Just exhausted.” You tell him, holding onto his forearms still holding your body

“I think it’s time to go to the hospital, love.” He says as he scratches your scalp, hoping to relieve the pain in any way possible, and you nod, succumbing to the inevitable destination of this deceitful journey.

He slowly releases your body and stands straight, grabbing your shoes and sliding them on your feet as you remain hunched over the side of the bed. He helps you stand and walk out of the house to the car. The car ride is silent, Harry kindly turning off the radio aware that sound worsens the effects. He keeps his hand on yours the whole ride, circling his thumb on the back of your hand.

You get to the hospital and Harry parks close to the front of the ER doors, helping you out of the car and to the waiting room. Harry pulls your head onto his lap as soon as you’re seated, and you cradle your temples in your hands, silently begging your mind to give you a break.

You aren’t sure how long it is until they call you back and get your situated in a hospital bed, Harry helping you change into the gown and turning out the lights for you to rest. He sits on the chair next to your bed, not releasing his tight grip on your hand as you close your eyes and rest your head against the propped up cushion.

The doctor comes in shortly after that, letting you know how they will treat you. She had been your doctor before and knows just how bad this pain is for you. She examines you briefly, which is more painful than helpful to you. As she shines the bright light into your eyes you see Harry visibly wince and clench his jaw, knowing just how bad it must hurt for you.

Once she’s done she sets up the IV catheter, the needle piercing your hand not even fazing you compared to the mind blistering pain in your brain.

The doctor speaks softly as she consults you and sets up the IV drip. “You know the drill. We’ll do a fluid drip since you’re more than likely dehydrated, while simultaneously doing the pain reliever, which as I’m sure you know, will make you slightly loopy.”

You let out a breathy laugh and look at Harry who just smiles and shakes his head at you, knowing what you’re thinking. “You’re responsible for anything I say or do.” You tell him, your voice sounding strained.

The doctor smiles at the two of you before putting a “FALL RISK” band on your wrist and exiting, telling you to get some rest.

Before the door is even closed Harry is hopping on the bed to lay with you, facing you and making sure to not mess up the tubes going into your hand. He rests his hand on your cheek and you close your eyes, focusing on the feeling of his hand rather than the pulsating in your head.

“I’m sorry I ruined our movie night.” You tell him with your eyes closed, and you don’t hear anything after a second but feel his lips come into contact with yours.

“Don’t apologize, pet.” He says, watching you carefully with compassion. “I’m sorry you ever have to go through this. If I could take it all away from you I would.”

“I know.” You try to smile up at him. “Thank you.” You tell him, resting your forehead against his.

i kinda wanna do a part two to this with loopy Y/N, so let me know if you’d like that lol thank you for reading, love you guys <3

#Harry Styles #harry styles x reader #harrystyles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harrystyles #migraine

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fa-by · 3 years

Note

official to get together with Ty. I mean, what?? Who does something like that if they were truly in love?// about this part technically they only became "official" publicly at that time because they never gave us an actual date as to when L and LV got together or even broke up and what makes it more confusing is that LV and L looked like they ended on good terms but then a few weeks later they unfollowed each other and LV was throwing shade at L and now they're not even friends.

Still here, not a hater nor a shipper Anon? I see that the first two times weren’t enough for you. Okay. Suit yourself.

“they never gave us an actual date as to when L and LV got together or even broke up”. Actually, we may not have specific day dates, but we do have dates to calculate everything.

As I’ve already explained, Lucy returned to Lauren’s life after she had a car accident on May 17, 2015:

“She came back into my life when I was 18. I was on tour and I was in my room in a hotel somewhere and she called me”, and, according to their narrative, Lauren decided they would be together “all in” and “now we’re gonna be in this relationship” from that moment on. The last public interaction between the two of them occurred on January 12, 2017 with that post for Lucy’s birthday (which is actually Jan 11):

And by January 21, 2017, they had already broken up since they were at the same Women’s March but with other people. While Lauren ‘was still together with’ Lucy, Ty tweeted “LMJ” on January 4, 2017:

He canceled it right away, and on February 12, 2017, Tyren made their first appearance as a ‘couple’ at the Grammys after-party (picture posted by L two days later):

If you calculate from mid-May 2015 to mid-January 2017, it’s 1 year and 8 months. And of that year and 8 months, 2 months were public due to the wedding pictures.

Lauren was already with Ty after less than a month. In fact, if you want to calculate from January 21 to February 12, it’s only 9 days. So, as you can see, we have dates on which base ourselves.

“Um let’s be realistic this literally happens all the time in real life”. Oh yeah? To who? To those who weren’t really in love and didn’t care about their exes maybe, but not to those who claimed to have been in love with their best friend since adolescence. You continue to be contradictory, Anon. Even in your own thoughts. Because if you believe in the Laucy narrative, then you’re supposed to believe that Lauren was in love with Lucy for five years (from when she was 15 to when she was 20). And if you believe that, then how can you think she fell out of love with her in less than a month? How can you think that’s realistic? Do you really give your fave so little credit? As I’ve already said, I don’t know you, so either you’ve never been in love and that’s why you think it’s realistic, or you do give Laur so little credit for real.

I’m gonna copy and paste the entire piece that you copied incompletely now: “How can you have been in love with someone for so many years, broke up with them because they were a toxic person, and immediately get together with an even more toxic person without having the proper time to heal? Without taking the time for yourself to lick your wounds, grow up, be ready again to throw yourself out there, and eventually find a better person to be in a relationship with? How? Simple. Because they were both fake relationships. The timing they wanted to tell is not credible. None of what they’ve said is believable, and luckily, there’s also enough evidence to prove it so these are not opinions and theories”.

When you love someone, Anon, when you really love someone and you’re not with them anymore, you need time. You really need some time before you can move on. Less than a month is not enough to fall out of love after 5 years and start another relationship by declaring to be in love with this other person every five seconds. I really don’t understand how you can think it’s realistic, and most of all, I really don’t understand how you don’t see it was all fake.

“and who says Ty was a toxic person cause so far L has never said anything bad about him and he treated her right from what we have seen, also the fact that their ‘split’ was peaceful so how was he toxic for her?”. So, let me get this straight. Someone who thinks that ‘the women only serve to be in the kitchen’, that ‘the lesbians only are confused girls’, that:

and that he’s:

is not a toxic person? Someone who’s been in a gang (like his brother who’s still in jail) since he was a teenage boy and has a long list of felonies on his record for infractions, assaults, and possession of various drugs, isn’t toxic? Someone who lies about his age and is disrespectful in the lyrics in his songs and when he speaks in general with phrases in which he had no respect for either women or homosexuality, is not toxic? Someone for whom it’s normal to punch and kick another celebrity in the head just because he refused to leave and free for him the VIP room of a club he was occupying, is not toxic? Someone who wanted to make a blind woman move who was sitting behind him with her guide dog, claiming to be allergic to the fur that was making him sneeze, and despite the fact that the plane staff offered him another seat in the back, which he refused because ‘he had paid extra to be in the one he was sitting in’, and the blind woman even offered him an allergy pill, he refused AGAIN with the excuse that he ‘had to perform’ a few hours later at the Escapade Music Festival (the woman obviously had priority over her seat and wasn’t moved, so they all stayed in their seats in the end), is not toxic?

Are you for real?? Do you really think Lauren could actually have been with a person like that? Someone who represented exactly what she always despised? Do you really think so low of her? You say she’s your fave, but do you know her at all? Because you’re basically insulting her as a person and her intellect. When will you learn to distinguish reality from fiction? When are you gonna open your eyes? If Lauren were to tell you that Santa’s real, then you’d believe it just because the words came out of her mouth? Come on now! Just because she was forced to say that she loved him and how a good person he was, DOESN’T MAKE IT TRUE. Not to mention that we’ve witnessed several times how uncomfortable she was when they had to look intimate for pictures:

And how inappropriate he was:

https://youtu.be/g3D_FMHy4ho

Don’t you see how she tried to move his hand and how uncomfortable she was? And these are just two examples, but there are so many of them. Wake up and learn to recognize the distinction between script-following Laur and authentic Laur. I already told you this.

No, I’m the one who’s sorry here. Because as I said, you can’t distinguish when something is fake and when it’s real. I was there. You seem to have forgotten this. I saw every post, every picture, and every live they did together. They were together. They obviously couldn’t say it because Lucy ‘was together’ with Laur, but they were together. It wasn’t a serious relationship like the one with Nicole, but they still had something. They stayed together until February and then Lucy got together with Nicole in March.

---

I hope this can also answer your ask, dear Anon 😄 and hi to you too 👋🏼

---

Back to you, not a hater nor a shipper Anon. Keep blaming CS and believing every single thing your faves say if you want, but do yourself a favor: stop trying to change someone’s mind (with empty proofs) and try to convince them to think like you. It’s useless. As I already told you in that post: “You can come back here a hundred more times, but you won’t change my mind”. Just accept it. Just accept the fact that we think differently because we believe in different things. Follow the blogs that think like you if you want, create your own blog with your own opinions or whatever, but don’t go to CS ones like mine because you wouldn’t come out as a winner, as you could see all three times. It’s one thing to go to another blog to express your opinion, and another is to go there multiple times and insist on changing their minds. Unlike you, I don’t go bothering other blogs to convince them to believe in what I believe. In fact, if that’s why, I don’t really care to change their minds precisely because, as I already told you, everyone is free to think what they want and have their own ideas. I accept the fact that not everyone thinks the same way. Embrace this idea too, trust me, you'll live better. Find your community and be happy there.

I hope I’ve been even clearer than the previous times. Take care, not a hater nor a shipper Anon, and have a good day. I hope you’ll find what you’re looking for.

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ocean-blue-whump · 2 years

Text

How Long Do I Have?

For @whumpawoman Angstpril! Day 8 - Bad News

Cassiel Belanger belongs to @painful-pooch

Across the Stars and Through the Meadow Masterlist (Cas and Star AU)

Tagging the Star crew: @ashintheairlikesnow @whumpinggrounds @whumptakesthecake @justplainwhump @whumpfessional @winedark-whump

CW: lady whump, BBU, former pet whumpees, hospital setting, terminal illness, mentions of noncon drugging, not necessarily whump but very angsty

***

Star looks down at her feet, her legs strangely pale poking out from the blue hospital gown. She’s been here for five hours, confined to this hospital bed or being pushed to a different test in a wheelchair, no matter how much she insists that she can walk. MRI. X-Ray. EKG. EEG. Blood tests until she was woozy. Checking for tumors, if she could balance on one leg, her reflexes.

And the questions. So many that her head is spinning. Her sleep schedule. Her mood. Her diet. Her job. At least Russo found a safe doctor, one who wasn’t going to report her back to WRU for the barcode on her wrist, partially covered by the hospital bracelet.

Cas doesn’t know where she is. Star didn’t want to worry him, but they had both seen how much weaker she’s been getting, how much she hurts all the time. She passed out on the couch when she tried to stand up last week and was barely able to play it off.

But the last thing she wants to do is scare him, so Russo promised to keep him distracted while she’s at the hospital.

Star can feel it in the deepest parts of herself. Something is horribly wrong with her. Her body is breaking down and she doesn’t know why, she just wants to fix it. She wants more time with Cas, he’s her best friend, he’s more than that.

It can’t be too difficult of a fix, though. Some pills or surgery and she’ll go back to being in less pain and having more energy. Then she’ll tell Cas, and just hope he’s not too mad she lied to him in the first place.

There’s a knock on the door, and Star looks up from her hospital bed. “Hello?”

The doctor, a blonde woman named Doctor Roth, steps into the room, holding a clipboard. “How are you feeling, Star?”

Star gives her a dry look. “Like I want to go home.”

“Do you mind if I sit down?”

Star’s heart skips a beat. She was trained to read posture in WRU, she knows that whatever Doctor Roth is about to say won’t be good. “Sure thing.” Her voice is barely a whisper.

Doctor Roth sits in the chair next to Star’s bed. “Star, how much do you understand about what might be causing your symptoms?”

“Nothing.” Star taps her fingers against her leg. “That’s why I’m here, right?”

“Of course. So here’s our understanding of what’s happening. You initially reported that you were used as a test subject for experimental drugs while at WRU, correct?”

Star nods, a lump in her throat. What Handler Greco did to her…she still has nightmares about it. All the different combinations of medication to make her hurt, to give her fevers, to paralyze her. Needles jabbed into every part of her body, the cold rush when he pushed down the plunger. “That’s right. My Handler…”

“It’s okay. I understand that it’s hard to talk about.” Doctor Roth leans forward. “Because of the experimental medication and based on the results of the examinations we performed…Star��”

“Just get to it already,” she murmurs, tensing up. This is bad, bad, bad.

“Most of the damage is in your nervous system, but other parts of your body are starting to show signs of deterioration as well. Your muscles, your heart…can I show you something?”

Star faintly nods. None of the words are making sense anymore. Deterioration. Damage. Her fingers grip the sheets of the hospital bed as she struggles to wrap her mind around what’s happening.

Doctor Roth takes out a blood pressure cuff and attaches it to Star’s arm, letting the machine inflate it and give her a number. “Do you see the screen?”

Star shakes her head. “I can’t fucking read.” Please don’t cry please don’t cry please don’t cry.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. What that number is telling us, though, is that your blood pressure is dangerously low.” She undoes the cuff and sits back down. “Your white blood cell count indicates that your immune system is weakened, and some of the other numbers are low as well. You said you lose feeling in your feet and hands sometimes?”

All Star can do is nod again.

“And what about your head? You’re prone to passing out? How about headaches, dizziness, feeling confused or other unexplained emotions?”

Star nods again. “I don’t understand,” she whispers.

“What don’t you understand?” Doctor Roth leans forward. “I want to help explain it for you.”

“No, I get all the medical shit.” She’s disconnected from her own body right now, she has to be otherwise she’ll cry. Otherwise this all becomes real. “What’s happening to me?”

Doctor Roth gives Star a sad smile. “With the rate of degeneration…you might only have a few more years, even with medication and treatment.”

“I need…I can’t fucking think, what does that mean?” This can’t be real. And it’s not real until she says it, right? Maybe Star’s got this wrong, maybe it’s—

“You’re dying, Star. If you follow a treatment plan, the longest I can give you is until you’re twenty-seven. Realistically, twenty-five.”

Star can’t. She can’t, this can’t be real. Please. Don’t let this be real. Hasn’t Handler Greco taken enough from her already? Hasn’t she lost enough, hasn’t she suffered and bled and screamed enough?

No. She hasn’t because she’s just a mutt and she’ll always be a mutt and she’ll always be his. No matter how far she runs, she’ll always belong to Handler Greco and this just proves it.

“I want to go home,” she whispers.

Doctor Roth stands up. “I would advise against it. Just for tonight. I want to keep you under medical observation so we can begin trying out a treatment plan.”

Once again, Star nods because what else is there to do? She wants to scream and cry and fight it but she’s too numb to even react.

“Is there someone I can call? Your safehouse rep, when setting up the appointment, mentioned that you came with another person. Is he your bonded?”

“N-no, he’s my…” He’s her Cas. Whatever that means. “His name is Cassiel Belanger. I have his phone number.” She rattles it off, each number getting shakier.

“I understand. Do you have any questions for me? It can be about anything.”

“I…” Star trails off, staring at the wall. “No.”

“If you do, don’t hesitate to ask. There will be a nurse in soon who’s going to get you started on an IV and take some readings of your heart rate, and I’ll call Cassiel.”

“Thank you, Doctor Roth.” She pauses. “Is it too late to tell you not to call him?”

“No, but you shouldn’t be alone right now.” Doctor Roth puts her hand on Star’s shoulder. “I know it seems like something impossible to tell the people you love. But I know from experience, hiding that will just make whatever time you have left miserable and even more painful. If you want, I can tell him, but I think it’ll be better coming from you.”

“I can’t…how do I tell him that this is it?”

“You don’t. You tell him what I told you. And you let him process that and you let him cry and maybe then you’ll let yourself cry, too. You’re terminally ill, Star. But your life isn’t over yet.” Doctor Roth smiles. “I’ll call him and tell him where you are.”

Star’s eyes grow misty. “Thank you.”

She’s not alone for long. A nurse is in right after, placing an IV and putting electrodes on her chest to measure her heart rate. But then, it’s just her, all alone in the room.

Star is completely numb. She’s…

No. She’s not ready to accept that yet. And if she isn’t…how is Cas going to react?

She needs him now more than ever. She didn’t think she would, she didn’t think being apart from him would be this hard.

She needs Cas to make sense of everything while her world is crumbling around her.

It’s too long but not long enough before Cas appears in the doorway, rushing over and sitting next to her on the bed. “Lassie?” he asks, holding her face.

Seeing him makes it all too real, and a single tear slides down her cheek. The sorrow is crushing her, dragging him down, and she reaches out for him like he’s the only way to hold on. “I have something to tell you. It’s, um…” Deep breath. In and out and it’s not going to get better but she can’t be alone. “I’m dying, Cas.”

She said it out loud, and those three words make the world shatter around her. I’m dying, Cas. She said it and everything comes crashing down on her at once and Star doubles over in her hospital bed, leans against Cas, and sobs.

#wawangstpril #no.8 #lady whump #bbu #box boy universe #terminally ill whumpee #hospital whump #star belanger #cassiel belanger #blue's words

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yoohyeontual · 2 years

Text

Every time my mood is going up a little something happen and it go back to the lowest, I’m so damn tired

#guys I think I may have ✨depression✨#i probably have been for the last 3 years at least maybe more but hey I’m not gonna self diagnose this is not a thing #i usually go back on my feet fast well at least I’m good enough to be okay #but lately oh good it’s getting hard !#my situation could be way worse but all the bad descision making I’ve been doing since I finish cégep make my life a living hell right now #it’s all on me for not looking for help but also I never felt like I needed it ??? I’m just terrified of everything #but now I seriously can’t continue like this or I’ll ruin my life for real #I’m forever glad that I have good parents that understand how terrified I am of life but sometimes I wish I had stricter parents #maybe I would be less terrified of everything 😭#but other than my poor decisions making I’m hearing so much negative things about something I love and my mood just went lower #I’m not gonna say what but hoping the best for everyone concern #i couldn’t sleep yesterday cause I was thinking about it and my tongue hurting cause I burned it #and I’m probably let my brain think about it like I told myself to stay off twitter all day but still did it I can’t help it #and I have to wake up at 5am to give Puppy a pill 😭#every Sunday I did it end up my panicking about how I’m still not asleep at 4am and if I should get up and give it early or sleep 1 hour #but what if it let myself fall asleep and I do it at 4:30 to wake up 30 minutes later this is rough when it happens so yeah it’s such a bad #feeling when you are tired #and I’ve been sleeping like 6 hours every night for the past month cause I’m always stressed by what to do with my life so I’m exhausted #idk how bestie to it sleeping 3-4 hours sometimes if I have less than 8 hours of sleep I wanna d*e 😭#i really need to sit down and think about my life #i wish I could see my best friend 😭#she’s like the only person I would comfortable telling all the plans I thought about without getting judge she would give realistic opinions #and help me work on it as much as she can well at least support me enough to give me the courage and I could do it by message #but she busy most of the time so I always end up spamming message to her and she can’t answer them all :’)#maybe one day I’ll do something about hopefully soon but right now I just want a hug and someone listening to me cause no one do it #my parents keep saying they wish I talk to them more but when I do they either barely listen or make me feel like what I’m feeling is not r #right* and I’m not saying it’s on purpose they don’t realize the way the express themselves makes me feel bad :’))))#so yeah I stop and do like nothing happen 🙃#anyway gotta go sleep it’s 1:36 and if I wanna sleep before 3 and not panic for the pills I should go Goodnight !#Alex.txt

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songbirdstyles · 4 years

Text

call me.

summary: being quarantined away from harry is absolute torture - until it isn’t.

warnings: smut, some fluff and angst if you squint! phone sex <3

word count: 3.4k

song inspo.: call me - blondie

You haven’t been sleeping too well since the beginning of quarantine - whether it’s the stress of what feels like the world ending or the noticeable absence of your boyfriend, lying beside you, you can’t be sure. All you know for sure is that it takes you nearly three hours of lying in bed, staring up at your ceiling in the dark and being entirely too aware of the empty space beside you in bed, to finally be able to get a few hours of sleep. And you’d even resorted to shifting to Harry’s side of the bed, where his pillow faintly smelled of his cologne, but it did little to put you out of your insomnia-induced misery.

It was a cruel twist of fate to end up quarantined on nearly opposite ends of the world from Harry. He was merely supposed to be in LA for a week or two, and you were supposed to go with him until you’d gotten sick at the last minute - and it hadn’t been a big deal, until the global pandemic locked you in London and him in California. And now, you’re wishing more than anything that you’d ignored the cold niggling the back of your throat and utilized your ticket to the states - it would’ve made the entire situation decidedly less miserable than it is.

The light of your phone screen illuminated from your nightstand tells you, in its glaring bright intensity, that it’s 3:21 in the morning. If you squint out of the window, curtains pulled open, you swear you can already see the sun, poking insistently above the horizon - but, no, surely not yet. You pray you have a little bit of time left to try and get some sleep before your biological clock forces you up.

(It’s not looking too good, though, as another minute ticks past on your phone and your eyelids still aren’t feeling the heaviness you’re craving.)

Perhaps you’ve grown too accustomed to curling up beside Harry’s body, feeling his breath against your neck when you occasionally wake up at this time for an early morning shag. And maybe you’ve been a bit spoiled, traveling with him more as your relationship progresses over the past three years - but you hadn’t suspected it would be so horrible for your sleep schedule to not have him around. Bad for your sanity, perhaps, but do you really need his body wrapped around yours to get even a wink of shut-eye during the night?

The answer was, apparently, yes, as more minutes tick on your phone and you’re still wide awake. LA is 8 hours behind London, approximately, so if it’s 3:27 in the morning here -

You’re grabbing your phone off of your nightstand without bothering to finish the math problem you’ve conjured up. Harry’s the most recent person you’ve texted and you swipe open your conversation, finger hovering briefly above the call button before tapping it gently.

There’s a chance - a small, miniscule one - that he won’t be awake. You’ve been texting him nearly every minute of every day, constantly calling him and FaceTiming and you know his sleep schedule is worsening like yours. He goes to sleep later and wakes earlier and takes naps scattered all throughout the day, so you’re prepared, emotionally, for him to not answer your call. You’ll be disappointed, perhaps, but there’s a bottle of melatonin in your bathroom you’ve been trying not to abuse during the nighttime. It makes you drowsy for working online and continues to afflict you during the day, so you’ve been trying to stay away from them.

Doesn’t mean you won’t use them, though. You simply don’t want to - if Harry doesn’t answer so you can chat until you’ve tired yourself out, then you’ll make the trek into the bathroom and succumb to the stupid pills -

“‘Lo?”

Your heartbeat picks up as you push yourself to sit up further in bed, pressing your phone close to your ear. You should’ve expected that your boyfriend would be awake now, considering it’s only 7:30 in LA, but it still brings a smile to your face to hear his voice.

“Hey, babe,” you murmur, voice quiet in the darkness of your room. There’s no one around for the loudness of your voice to disturb, but it still feels right to keep it low. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

Harry chuckles on the other end, and you try to picture what he’s doing. When he’s home you’re usually eating dinner at this time, or curled up on the TV watching a movie, or fucking in the bedroom - “‘Course not. Jus’ got off the phone wit’ m’mum an’ had t’shower. She misses us.”

“I miss her too,” you tell him, smile widening at the thought of Anne. Yes, you miss her quite a bit - she’s always been kind to you, and more of a second mother than merely the mum of your boyfriend - but you have some sort of ulterior motive for calling him, so you figure you should get right to it. “I miss you a lot, Har. The apartment’s awfully empty without you here.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, for just a second, before Harry’s responding, “I miss you too - ‘course I do. Wish I’d canceled this stupid fuckin’ LA trip - I’d do anything t’be home wit’ you now.”

You sigh softly, leaning your head back against the headboard of a bed that’s feeling entirely too big for you right now. You’d always complained that Harry slept like a starfish and took up entirely too much space, but you’d swim across the ocean to curl up in bed with him for just one single night. “I haven’t been sleeping much, either. Guess I’m too used to having you here with me. You know, waking up with you on top of me and middle-of-the-night sex.”

“Middle-of-the-night sex,” Harry sighs dreamily, and you tug your bottom lip between your teeth with the beginnings of a smirk working its way onto your face. “God, I miss that. M’hand just can’t do the things you can. Doesn’t even come close, really.”

“I hope so.” And you give him a moment to bark out a laugh before continuing, clammy palm pressed to your bare thigh beneath your comforter, “My fingers aren’t doing too much, either. They’re not as big as you - can’t get me off an inch.”

His breathing is growing heavier, loud even through the phone, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him - you’re horny and he’s surely getting hard and you’d like nothing more than for him to help you get off. Just his voice, slightly raspy and deepening with every syllable, is enough to make wetness pool in your panties. “Jesus, doll - gonna make m’hard.” And then there’s a pause, where you’re surely meant to respond but all you can do is grin and try to control your breathing, before Harry murmurs, “S’what what you wanted? Wanted t’make my dick hard?”

You nod, and then breathe, “Yeah.”

“Bloody hell, you’re a minx, y’know that?” And you did, in fact, know that, so you confess your affirmations. “Guess that’s why y’woke me, then. Need me t’tire you out, don’t you.”

It isn’t a question - Harry can read you like a book, even 5,000 miles away, and he knows exactly what your intentions are. “I just miss you.” His soft, cocky laugh on the other end has you sliding your hand up your thigh, pushing your digits into your lace panties and feeling the wetness present in the apex. “Really - I miss you, and your dick - just please help me get off, Har. Won’t bother you with it ever again.”

“Don’t have t’take it that far,” but you’re hardly listening to him. The first circle of your fingers on your clit has you moaning quietly into the receiver, and you can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath at the sound. “Startin’ without me, are you? S’awfully rude.”

“You’re taking too long,” you exhale, running your fingers through your soaked folds - but you pause, anyway, listening intently to the shuffling on the other end of the phone. “Got me so wet, just hearing you talk.”

When another second goes by with no response you pull your phone from your ear, pressing the speaker button and resting it on your tummy. You grab your comforter and pull it off the bottom half off your body, letting the cold air hit your bare legs, just as Harry groans, “Okay - m’ready. Had t’go back t’my room - but m’here now.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, taking just a moment to listen to his quiet grunts and imagine exactly what he looks like right now - sitting on the edge of his bed, pumping his cock, slow and steady at first, just to get started. “Wish you were here with me,” and as eager as you’d been to have your first phone sex experience, you hadn’t counted on the slight awkwardness that makes it harder for the words to come out. “Been - been dreaming about it, about you fucking me so good, and I wake up drenched, Har, just thinking about you.”

Just as you’d expected, Harry takes over almost immediately - he’s much better at dirty talk than you are and it’s only proven when he moans, “M’always thinking of it, fucking your pretty little cunt ‘till you’re crying. And you love it, don’t you? Moanin’ so good for me, so loud - the way you cry when I pinch your clit - can y’do that f’me, doll? Pinch your clit, just the way I do it.”

Shaking fingers dip out of your folds and trail the wetness up to where you need it most - the sensitive nub that’s throbbing for your touch. Just as he’d asked, you use two fingers to softly pinch your clit, the small action sending waves of euphoria flowing through your body as you drop your head back with a cry. It reverberates through the room, louder than any of your moans and whines, exactly as Harry had wanted.

“Wish you could do it -” you do it again and give him the same resounding cry, circling your clit one more time before dragging your fingers back down to slide between your folds. “Your fingers, they’re so much bigger than mine - feel so much better.”

“Fingering y’self?” His voice is nearly whiny with excitement and you know exactly how he looks now, his bottom lip between his teeth and sweat beading up on his cupid’s bow. “Tell me how it feels.”

You can’t quite describe it, even if you’re desperate too. Fingers curl in your cunt, brushing against the sweet spot inside of you that has your back arching off the bed, nipples pebbled and hard against the material of your soft tank top. One isn’t enough, and it doesn’t fill you nearly as much as Harry’s so you add another, taking just a second to run it through your dripping folds before pushing it in. “Oh, god - feels so good, thinking of you - two of mine s’hardly one of yours.”

To that, you get a loud groan, mingled with a low cry that sends chills crawling up your spine. For a second he doesn’t respond and you wonder if he’s cumming already - but then he’s grunting, “Miss you, on all fours f’me - s’how I’ll take you first when we see each other. G’na let me pull your hair, know you love when I do that -”

You do love it, and merely remembering the feeling of him, pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail and pulling your head up when it starts to droop onto the mattress, has your walls clenching around your digits, and you impulsively add a third.

“ - or maybe I’ll jus’ bury my head in tha’ cunt of yours. Miss the taste of it so much,” and Harry’s voice picks up, in speed and pure excitement, and you can hear the faint sound of him, pumping his cock. It’s hard to think of anything you’d love more than to watch him eat you out for bloody hours, fisting his hair and tugging on his curls just to hear his sobs. The way he flicks his tongue against your folds and slaps your clit when you squeeze your eyes shut in pure euphoria. “Taste so sweet f’me, don’t you - taste y’self for me, doll. Know you taste so good.”

Harry’s got such a hold on you, sometimes - perhaps you’d even say all the time but especially during moments like these. So you don’t hesitate to pull your fingers out of your cunt, walls fluttering around the sudden emptiness, and you bring the digits up to your mouth. Slowly your tongue swirls around your fingertips before wrapping your lips around them, and the soft moan as you taste yourself has Harry whining on the other end, the noise long and low.

Normally, when Harry asks you to do something like this you would put on an absolute show for him. Pumping your lips up and down his shaking digits, eyes never leaving his as his lips slowly part in a needy pant. And - of course - you’d always know that, when you pulled your mouth off of his fingers, you’d be absolutely in for it, and that was the thrill of it. He can’t see you (FaceTime sex is something you’ll need to bring up another day) but you still perform, adding more volume and less eye contact with the darkness around you.

His breathing is rattly when you drop your fingers down to your thighs, fingernails curling into the soft skin as you would do his back or his scalp. You give him briefly a second to take everything in, the images he must be producing, before you breathe, “Tell me what you’re doing, Har.”

“M’gonna cum soon - gonna cum on m’fist, imaginin’ s’your pussy -”

“Yeah? Imagining me sitting on your cock, right?”

By Harry’s resounding moan - the exact noise he makes when you ride him and he tosses his head back in ecstasy - you can assume that he hadn’t been imagining that, but he surely is now, and so are you. God, the way you lean back, hands to his thighs, feelings his palms run up your stomach. And they’ll circle your tits, tweaking your nipples with a lazy smirk at how fast they pebble in his fingertips, before dragging down to your clit, on display for him - and he moves them so slow, but he knows you’re aching for it.

You squeeze your eyes shut, focusing two fingers to circle your clit and sensually dragging your free hand up to your boobs as Harry moans, “Your pussy s’so tight around me - g’na fuck you so hard when I see you - you’re not gonna walk for weeks.”

It sounds absolutely dreamy as two of your fingers pinch at your nipple, closing your eyes tighter. If Harry were here he’d grab the back of your head, force your body down to his so he could lap at your nipples and relish in your sobs - and you can’t do that, necessarily, but you bring your thumb up to your tongue, licking the shaking digit before lowering it back to your nipple. It doesn’t give nearly the same effect but it’s close enough, and you can feel your cunt fluttering with desperation to cum.

“Playin’ with my tits, Harry - pinching them just how you do.” You swallow back the urge to sob out, if only because the noise will trigger just the sort of choked up moan from your boyfriend that’ll send you over the edge and you want to last longer, dammit. “Oh, god -”

“Y’cummin’, baby?”

“No,” you exhale, “not yet -”

“Good,” and you can tell merely from the teasing lilt in his voice that you won’t last past the end of his sentence (and his staccato pants are already enough to have your clit throbbing beneath your touch), “‘cause I keep thinkin’ about that time - fuck - that time we shagged in y’mum’s house, remember? An’ I had to put y’knickers in your mouth, ‘cause you were -” and his rant is cut off by the telltale whine that’s almost always accompanied by him cumming near violently - “bein’ too loud, an’ we didn’t want your mum to hear? Be loud f’me, babe, please, need t’hear you -”

You remember that - how he was fucking you so goddamn hard your bed was hitting the wall and he had to drag you to the floor, pressed to your carpet with your drenched lace panties in your mouth. And Harry tossed your legs over his shoulder like it was nothing, pounded you into the carpet while your mum was asleep just a few doors down the hall, hand firm around your throat. He’d never done that before and God, you love it. Love it almost as much as you love him, but you figure you shouldn’t dwell on it now.

His words have the exact impact he’d hoped for and your head slams into your headboard with a choked up cry, loud through your room and into your phone, still resting on your sweaty stomach. Wetness coats your fingers as your assault on your clit continues, arm shaking with the pressure of riding yourself through the orgasm while still trying to listen to Harry - he’s sobbing out, sound of skin against skin growing louder until you hear the euphoric groan that tells you he’s reached the same high you have.

It’s a gorgeous harmony of your moans mixing together - his crackling through the speaker that’s been used and abused during your little session - and you know you’ll never get tired of it. No matter how many times you do this - for as long as you’re apart - you’ll never, ever get tired of it.

Your body is still trembling when the shockwaves of your orgasm start to wither down. There’s a thin sheet of sweat, coating your body and beading in your hairline and your fingers are covered with your cum, the bed sheets beneath you damp, too. You’ve only ever squirted a few times before - in Harry’s mouth, for the most part, with that bloody talented tongue he’s got - and you wipe the slick onto your thighs before sitting further upwards, grabbing your phone.

Harry’s silent on the other end and you squint at the screen to check the time. Your vision is clouded - perhaps your brain is simply clouded - but you reckon it says 4:00.

“Jesus,” he breathes on the other end, hardly audible through the phone. In your mind’s eye you can picture him, passed out on the bed with his legs still dangling off, running a hand through his hair to try and alleviate the sweat sticking to the curls. “Gonna have t’shower again.”

You smile, shifting back down so you’re fully lying in bed. There’s still a wet spot beneath your arse and your back but you’ll worry about it when you wake up (whenever that may be.) The idea of even moving back over to your usual side of the bed sounds like pure torture, because if you bury your nose in Harry’s pillow, it smells like his cologne with just a hint of the strawberry shampoo he sometimes steals from you. “Tired me out there, Mr. Styles.”

There’s the sound of rustling on the other end of the phone before Harry’s murmuring back, “M’glad - y’need to get some sleep, y’know. S’not good for you to be up so late.”

“I know.” Your eyes are already beginning to feel heavy as minutes continue to click down on your phone, and hearing his soft breathing is fucking therapeutic. If you close your eyes (which feels oh so good) you can almost feel him, body tight around you as he pulls your back to his chest, nestling his nose in your locks with a deep inhale that never fails to make you giggle. “I love you, Har.”

God, you can almost hear him smiling on the other end. You miss it so much - his smile - but just him, and feeling his arms around you, heartbeat against your spine lulling you to sleep. Whenever quarantine is over and you’re free to go to him, you won’t wait a second. You’ll hop on the first plane - you’ll fucking tape yourself to the side of it, if you have to.

For now, though, hearing him sleepily mumble, “I love you more, babe,” is enough. And you keep your phone planted on your chest, Harry’s steadying breathing like music to your ears as you settle in for what’s gearing up to be the best goddamn sleep of your life.

#harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #my tenth fic!#ik it isnt that big of a deal but i remember writing early risers and thinking nobody was ever gonna read it #let alone enjoy it #and now look at me #i wrote this sucker in like three days and i actually like it a lot which is crazy for me #im very inspired by blondie recently #harry styles writing

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chiseler · 3 years

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Hero of Our Nation

I first encountered Roger Ramjet on a Chicago public access station in 1983. It was part of an early morning show apparently aimed at stoner insomniacs. The show came on at five and also included episodes of Lancelot Link, Secret Chimp, that awful Beatles cartoon, and a weather report clarified by some appropriate pop song (“Here Comes the Sun” or “Here Comes the Rain Again”). I was usually up and around that early for some godforsaken reason, and originally started watching on account of Lancelot Link. Always did love that Lancelot Link. But Roger Ramjet was, well, let’s just say it was a revelation.

Roger Ramjet, “ that All-American good guy and devil may care flying fool” (as he compulsively introduces himself) was a none too bright and none too coordinated drug-dependent space age superhero in an ongoing battle against the assorted forces of evil (or more specifically, N.A.S.T.Y.) to preserve the American Way of Life. He was square-jawed, straight-laced, straight-faced, and True Blue if little else, so hyper-patriotic that nearly every time his name is spoken aloud an American flag, a bald eagle, or a rotating ring of stars appears on the screen. After catching one or two episodes, I forgot all about Lancelot Link.

The show was easy to overlook, especially when squeezed between the Beatles and some secret agent chimps with a psychedelic band. The episodes were only five minutes long (maybe seven with the abrasive theme song filling out the opening and closing credits), and were so crudely drawn and animated it might at a glance seem like something a couple of junior high school kids threw together in their basement one weekend. The shows were so primitive they hardly bothered with niceties like “backgrounds” satisfied instead to settle for rudimentary suggestions of a setting. But the writing was so sharp and the voice talent so good what it really felt like, if you paid attention, was a spoof of a ‘40s radio serial like Sky King or Gangbusters, complete with a soap opera organ and illustrated by a handful of jerky drawings scratched out by someone’s kid. People who thought Jay Ward’s Bullwinkle and Dudley Do-Right were crude when compared with the output from Disney or Warner Brothers had no idea what “crude” meant.

Looking at it today what it reminds me of more than anything are the paper cutout animations of the earliest episodes of South Park, before they upgraded to Flash. Along with the lo-fi stylistics, the humor was clearly aimed at an adult audience while pretending otherwise. You may not find any child molestation jokes or crass religious cracks in Roger Ramjet, but for 1965 the lightning-fast humor was pretty hepcat and sophisticated, with undisguised satirical references to the Cold War, Central American turmoil, and the Vietnam War (“Hey kids, this is Roger Ramjet,” demanding that you stay tuned to this station to see my next adventure,” Roger announces in his commanding superhero baritone. “Or I’ll see to it that all you little rascals are drafted.”) . Mixed in with the topical jokes we also get some highly unlikely name drops, from Noel Coward and Henry Cabot Lodge to James Joyce and bawdy nightclub performer Rusty Warren, as well as film parodies and literary nods to the likes of Catch-22 and Catcher in the Rye. It’s also a little less than what you might call racially sensitive by modern standards (consider Mexican revolutionaries The Enchilada Brothers, Beef and Chicken).

While a lot of the more timely jokes might be lost in the murk of the over 50 years since it first aired, there’s plenty of rapid-fire absurdity that’s timeless, from the misspelled title cards punctuating the narration to the self-consciously dumb coked-up adventures.

Bullwinkle aired from ‘61 to ‘64. Roger Ramjet came along a year later and Jay Ward’s influence is undeniable. The difference was Roger Ramjet crammed the equivalent number of bad jokes, references, and plot twists of a typical 8-part Bullwinkle serial into each five-minute episode, both mirroring the rapid-fire screwball dialogue of the ‘30s and the frenetic quick-cut comedy to come along a year or two later in shows like The Monkees and Laugh-In.

The episodes were produced with essentially no budget and were cranked out very quickly by a small team of writers, voiceover artists and animators with solid day jobs in radio and TV. They were all seasoned pros, some dating back to the days of classic radio, who worked on the show after hours as a way of letting off a little steam and tossing around a few cynical, subversive cultural jabs their day jobs wouldn’t allow. The show was created originally by animator Fred Crippen (who went on to work on some pretty dreadful crap like the Extreme Ghostbusters and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) and Ken Snyder, an ad exec who moved over into producing cartoons. They brought in a remarkable team of voice talent and comedy writers, including Gene Moss (the voice of Smokey the Bear) Jim Thurmam (who did a lot of kids shows including Sesame Street), Dick Beals (the original voice of Gumby), and the great Gary Owens, a drive-time deejay in LA who would get national recognition soon enough as the on-screen announcer for Laugh-In. Although they would all get specific credits in the end (Crippen as director, Moss as a writer) it was a communal effort, in which everyone contributed to the writing, and everyone, even the executive producer, did a few of the voices. Apart from the regular crew, careful listeners might also catch a few uncredited guest appearances by some surprisingly big names (I’m told Sinatra and Dean Martin appear in an episode, but I’m still looking for that one). Owens was the star, though, as his ability to read the most ridiculous lines in a dramatic deadpan made him the perfect Roger Ramjet. Together they made 156 episodes (about 150 still exist), which were sold directly into syndication in ‘65 as half hour shows, each containing three unconnected adventures. I can’t say as I’m exactly sure who they thought their target audience was at the time, except maybe each other.

Much like William Conrad in Bullwinkle, each show opened with our narrator, Steve Allen alum Dave Ketchum, setting the mood and the scene (“In today’s depressing episode,” he’d begin with dramatic enthusiasm, or maybe it was an “existentialist episode,” “phlegmatic episode,” “rickety episode,” “hairy episode,” or “ethnic episode”). Then we’re out of the gate at a breakneck pace, with a flurry of gags coming from every direction. “Ramjet rode into Boot Hill,” we’re told, “where the men were men and the women were men, which can get pretty old after awhile.”

While none of the shows are connected, there are a few recurring characters and locations worth remembering: Roger hails from Lompoc, an actual California town (“where nothing ever happens, and seldom does”) and takes his orders from General G.I. Brassbottom, a no nonsense military man who “hadn’t had an original idea since he was a civilian.” He’s also assisted by Yank, Doodle, Dan, and Dee, the unusually chubby kids who make up the American Eagle squadron. Like Roger, all the members of the squadron wear their white jumpsuits and flight helmets at all times (Roger even wears his helmet on dates), and in true superhero sidekick fashion, their primary job is to get Roger out of scrapes and make sure his drugs are handy.

That’s one little detail more than a few casual viewers have taken umbrage with. Roger, see, is a pretty hapless character most of the time, but he repeatedly saves the world thanks to a little help from his Proton Energy Pills (PEP), which take five seconds to kick in, then give him the strength of 20 A-Bombs for 20 seconds. Modern viewers seem a little uncomfortable with the idea of a superhero gulping amphetamines in order to function, but all I can say is, well, it was a different time, and hey, it worked for Roger and Elvis both.

The proton energy pills come in handy when dealing with his arch-nemesis Noodles Romanoff, the short, trench coat and fedora wearing head of N.A.S.T.Y. (the National Association of Spies, Traitors, and Yahoos). Romanoff may not have a Natasha, but he does have a gang of cronies and thugs who all mumble in unison (save for one, who can’t seem to get the rhythm).

Along with Romanoff and his gang, Roger also has to contend with some lanky alien robots, the Solenoids (voiced by executive priducer Ken Snyder), and their repeated efforts to invade the planet in assorted ridiculous ways (in one episode, they begin kidnapping all the Miss America contestants, who “were disappearing faster than co-eds at a Dartmouth weekend.”)

When not saving the world, Roger found himself competing with the smarmy hotshot test pilot Lance Crossfire (who sounds an awful lot like burt Lancaster) for the affections of Lotta Love, the fickle Southern belle with a taste for the finer things in life.

Then there are the adventures themselves. Some seem standard superhero fare, but only to a point. Earth is besieged by flying saucer attacks (sort of). Roger’s hometown is terrorized by a werewolf (sort of). Roger plays tennis with a kangaroo, or becomes the first man to surf in space, or, in a personal favorite, attempts to stop the flow of bootleg comic books into America’s drug stores.

Actually, there’s an interesting moment in that one that revealed just how subtle you could be even with animation this unsophisticated. Okay, so Noodles Romanoff, see, is replacing real comics in drug store racks with bootlegs in which popular superheroes are humiliated, all in an effort to destroy the morale of America’s children. After Brassbottom shows Roger a few examples (the issues include “Superman Gets Beat Up by a Chicken!” and “Ratman Stubs His Toe!”) he explains that if this sort of thing continues, “America’s kids won’t have anyone to look up to except YOU, Ramjet.” Then, for just an instant in that crude and jerky style, Roger cuts his eyes toward the camera, revealing in that moment everything we needed to know, namely that it’s what he’s always wanted.

Thirty years on and that still sticks with me.

In the end, though, the characters and storylines are secondary at best In Roger Ramjet. At heart it’s a matter of trying to keep up with all the lightning-quick jokes and wordplay, the non-sequiturs and references. In the five minute span of one cowboy-themed episode I counted nods to at least seven classic Western films, from High Noon to She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, and I suspect I missed a few. It really is such a dizzying blur of dialogue and bad puns and cultural references, sometimes, christ, even just references to old jokes that take the form of bad puns (“Waiter, there’s a spy in my soup” or “how many angels can swim in the head of a beer?”), that absurd as it all is, repeated viewings are a necessity to catch everything. It’s a bit like having the complete contents of an issue of MAD magazine jammed onto a single page. It can make your head hurt after a while, but it’s worth it. Whether the density and the pace make it better or worse for stoner viewing is something, I guess, each stoner will need to answer for him or herself. Lots of bright colors, though.

In 1965 there was nothing new about making cartoons with adult sensibilities in mind. Betty Boop and Bugs Bunny were made to be shown as short subjects to largely adult audiences. Jay Ward’s cartoons a few decades down the line were near-revolutionary for smuggling hip, subversive political humor into what had become an exclusively child-friendly format. What made Roger Ramjet so radical was it’s blend of ‘30s radio style with mid-’60s cynicism, as well as its foreshadowing of our shrinking attention spans, a hyper-condensed proton pill of comedy and commentary disguised as just another dumb, low-rent superhero cartoon. Although it’s barely remembered today, its influence is still evident in most any subversive animated show you can name, even if they’ve slowed things down a bit.

by Jim Knipfel

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gammacousin · 3 years

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Okay. I’m ready to real talk Black Widow. I don’t want to but as an activist there’s an obligation I have to share and educate. I nerd to forget but I suppose it shows the power of this movie if it brings something real into the light.

*Spoiler Warning. Trigger warning for everything.*

There are some things I want to say that could potentially spoil aspect of the Black Widow film. I also would advise you to skip this post if you have a darker past, if you aren’t interested in getting serious, or wish to skim by, I’m sincerely not judging! I come on here to avoid the universe as well. You do you, I totally still love you if you don’t read this and want to move onto something nerdy or more fun. This isn’t the post for you.

It’s taken me a while to process and organize my thoughts. Skip if you don’t want to hear deep, raw stories.

Okay. Nerd review first.

The level of girl power and any and all glass ceilings… There is SO much left to do. So much that needs to still be addressed. But seeing 3 women run this show: Yelena, Natasha, and Melina was an absolute joy to observe. This isn’t the end of some hard waged war, it’s the beginning and I beg you; Disney/Marvel. Please give us more of this? It’s so important for young girls to see other girls kicking butt and winning. Quick summary of nerd feelings; Losing Nat still burns. Yelena is a boss.

Okay…Real talk.

I have to get a little deeper here now. My personal story absolutely played into how I felt about this film and I wish I saw some trigger warnings about the material covered. Do I know Black Window’s story? Yes. In and out. I can read it, I can write my FF on it. However. Little to no one knows my story and so absolutely no one is to blame for not warning me. I was not expecting to come out this shook.

I’m sharing this because it’s happening now, today. In the real world. I doubt the film makers had this mind over other social issues, but after feeling like it’s irrelevant, that my pain is somehow less than, I’m realizing through my activism it’s not.

I grew up in a cult where women are not relevant. You matter up to a point. You are useful, to a point. If you’re giving 24/7, you’re not giving enough. If you’re not smiling as you’re doing cult stuff, you’re complacent. In addition to why I’m about to share, my house growing up was not a safe space which is a story for another time. So it’s a stack…this janga-ish game that eventually just comes crashing down.

My trigger started moments after the film started the handing over of the kids. When Alexei chooses the job over the welfare of the girls. Alexei put his two “daughters” in danger to save ‘face’. To put the job ahead of two children…it hit home. In the group I’m from, fathers, mothers, grandparents, siblings will absolutely choose the group over blood. You are nothing and you mean nothing if you ‘defect’. If you break a rule. If you complain. If you say ‘no’. If you put in a bad review for a leader, if you have anything bad at all to say about the organization as a whole. You can confide something deep in someone you trust and it absolutely will come back to hurt you.

The title song shook me completely. This collage of video and images of brainwashing, treating these girls like absolute objects is disgusting in itself. But when you’re raised in this other world, there’s a level of brainwashing that is absolutely unmatched. Videos, books, quizzes, 12 hour lectures, weekly meetings.

People are unified to the point where you lose your own identity. There’s a language- a literally language- words you start to misuse. Verbiage only people in the cult use. Kids of any age will watch any rated film. Frequently the themes are about obedience and or cooperation and the consequences if you do not cooperate/obey. Death is a such a common theme that either you become petrified of your own shadow, petrified of breathing wrong, or turn completely numb. In sharing these videos, the goal is to instill this fear that you will never be enough. That you will die- turn into a charred hot dog of a figure if you do not obey 8 white men - the leaders, in New York. That your friends, classmates, neighbors, family will die if they don’t believe what you do. That you’re held accountable if you can’t bring them to your side.

The song for the credits hit me. I cannot listen to it. I have no idea what it was about.

When I watched the film, I couldn’t focus at this point at gosh barely 15 minutes in. I had already checked out. I heard keywords. “Entertainers,” “I feel stupid and contagious…”

In my world, I did not matter. What mattered was, what was presented to the public. To your group. Meeting some checklist of this perfect family at any cost. You’re not an individual, you’re a number. Literally. Your records are documented by men in the back room- your actions, your track record. But ultimately? You’re part of a numeral equation reported to headquarters. And if you’re a woman, you do not have a say in how you look, dress, act or in what you say. You are as the title song says, …“Entertainers”. You smile. You do your job, and you are ‘happy’ about it. Your job is to dedicate x amount of hours cleaning the room you gather in, and in recruitment of other members…

There’s a ‘job’ in the cult called a “pioneer”. Okay. No, we might not have been trained assassins. But you are trained to manipulate emotionally. To prey on the weak. You get books, magazines, movies, speeches, lectures- you rarely get a free Saturday. Oh and the job isn’t paid. So make sure you’re working (part time because full time secular work isn’t acceptable) at a desk job (because college and getting an education is not allowed). Don’t make friends with the people who work with you, they’re out to get you. Back at the club; You answer questions like it’s some schoolastic quiz every week and quote what your reading. It’s a brainwashing tactic. If you say something enough times, you remember it. You start to believe it. You spend hours reading these things, training… Your job is to target people who have lost- and have lost a lot because they’re vulnerable. You learn to go to cemeteries, and literally stalk people who are grieving. Like Val. If you can catch someone when they’re weak, senses are dulled. They’re desperate. And you bait them with this false promise. This idea that all THEY have to do is change all that they are, join you, and they’ll see their dead loved ones again. That they are doomed if they don’t change. Most pioneers draft 2-4 people per lifetime. If you’re a great saleswoman, you can draft more into this horrific world. And I regret the hours I spent lying, torturing people. For some cult that doesn’t give two cents about me.

I 100% believed of I didn’t convince my classmates, neighbors, to join my side they would either turn me in or they would be killed by a divine being. From 2 years old I was supposedly handing out pamphlets. The doom is not a quick painless death, no. You have visuals. You have men getting up to talk in detail about what your ‘friends’ will look like as corpses. Visually descriptive to the point where I still feel a bit numb to it all. That you will have to bury their bodies after the whole divine destruction. That you will have to “clean up” the earth. You are numb- convinced- bullied to the point where you believe this is true.

If you’re hurt as MANY WOMEN AND CHILDREN ARE, and you don’t have two people to testify and say they saw it- it never happened. Abuse is the norm. And if you speak up about it? You’re called a liar. Your friends cut you off. They think you’ll die along with everyone else if you put in a ‘bad review’ or leave. You’re bullied into submission and taught from a young age that you are not in control of your own decisions. You relinquish yourself under the pretense that the men you have such reverence toward are under some divine being’s control.

Your parents hurting you is acceptable. And don’t you dare speak against your father if he’s deeply involved. Don’t even think about approaching if he’s on a phone call. If you’re hit you take it- because you “deserved” it. And you smile. You shove that pain deep down. You hide the bruise, the cut lip, the depression, the bottles of pills you’re swallowing the whatever….You’re screwed if you faint, throw up, pass out, because you’ve missed a meeting. You better be dying for that to happen…

The idea that is portrayed in the movie (IMO) is that you can forgive family who hurts you. I see people forgiving Alexei and what’s her name. Look- that’s great. It’s a fun film. Alexei is funny. Here’s what I saw; it’s a toxic man- nay- father who can’t accept responsibility. He takes pride in what the girls have become- monsters. Not in who they are at their core. He has no idea who they are. And the mom has this photo album…I’m tearing up. She remembers this a certain way, a wishful thought. I’ve confronted my own mother about our past and had an album thrown at me, “We were happy. You were happy.” The fact is I was told the smile. You’re forcing this perception that everything was normal. That it’s okay to go back. (I’m not taking away Yelena’s view that everything was real to her, that’s fine for the sake of the story, and sweet. The moment between her and Alexei..fine. Milena turns and takes their side at the end, great.) The problem with how I saw this, is that’s not how the real world works. I don’t owe my parents forgiveness when I didn’t mean shit to them. When people leave the cult they’re cut off. Treated like they’re dead. I didn’t find these moments cute, I found them horrific. Hugging me, saying he’s proud of me is the toxic sh** my father would pull. Ignoring the holes in the wall, in my skull, the phony impression he gives to the rest of the group. Hugging me…after sweeping everything he did not only to me, but countless others under the rug because the cult…because 8 men in NY will protect him. Legally. Or otherwise.

I don’t need to forgive my parents. If you’ve been mistreated, you don’t owe anyone anything. They can “try” to do the right thing, that doesn’t somehow block out years of mistreatment. Years of trauma. Sheetrock only patches the surface of the broken walls. Wounds heal but some scars stay with you forever. Metaphorically or otherwise.

‘Entertainers’ was a trigger word because if you’re high enough in the ranking system you’re asked to “testify” or share a story. It’s in front of a couple thousand. It’s an “honor”. What it really is, is a three ring circus. You will only see women on the sidelines reading from the cards while only men stand at the main podium. They’re reading what they have told them to say. Stories are manipulated, cut, changed to fit a narrative that better suits the group of a couple thousand members.

Dreykov. I hate this. But I have to go there. I’m neck deep already, might as well. I think the worst part of all of it is that you can’t touch the person who made you this way. Those 6-7-8 leaders are untouchable. It doesn’t matter what you try. What legal entities, ex groups have tried. There’s a term for us and we are considered ‘mentally diseased.’ Members are told to avoid us. And in case you were curious, no, they can’t just break their nose on a table to be free- if only it were that simple. Gosh that got me. I would cut a limb, split my skull open, if it meant I could just cut a chord. It takes years of therapy and I still have nightmares. Urges to just, go. I’m OKAY. But most escapees are not. If you manage to escape with your life and don’t end it because the pressure, guilt, abuse that comes with leaving is too much. (This is sadly the fate of MANY LBGTQ+ members.)

The only hope is either the group eventually runs out of money or they’re taken down legally. Both of which are impossible since many older members will leave all they have to the group rather than to their family. It’s a complex billion dollar publishing company that plays monopoly with people’s investments, homes, and lives.

If you speak up, you’re the liar. So you cannot free your friends, who have turned on you, already cut you off, and discarded you the day you walked out and didn’t come back.

Watching Natasha, and Yelena free their sisters made me think of every woman who is stuck in this cult. For every woman, child, currently being sexually/physically abused and can’t say sh** because they literally believe god will kill them. If I say anything to them, they block me. If I expose what’s happening they will lie in court. That’s what is happening. And it’s not in the news, it’s not talked about. Because you can’t. You’re forced into silence. There’s a block. A literal legal force field that you cannot penetrate. They have their own lawyers. You can’t break into it. You’ll lose every, single, legal battle you try to fight.

Was this a decent movie? Yes. Was I expecting to share this days after release, no. I’ve been forced into silence for so long, told that people have it far worse and that I shouldn’t talk about it. But just today I saw a grown ass couple in an escapee group, talking about how one trigger word sent them into a depressive spiral. Wondering if some god damn lightening will come out of the sky and knock them dead. And we frickin struggle in silence. People will just shrug and go “oh it can’t be that bad,” while my gay best friend can’t catch an effing break. While someone else suffers at home because god wants it that way. Someone else will bury their kid today, maybe not even hold a funeral for them if they were ‘mentally diseased.’

For people like that couple I met today, like me, if you don’t just see a fun film but a darker past or maybe it’s brought up some memories for you, I’d honestly love to chat!!! Message me! I feel like for as painful as this is to hash out not too many people know about what goes on behind a group of smiling, well dressed woman who come knocking on your door. “It’s just a religion.”

I guess I didn’t realize…the criminal aspect of what happened to me. You’re so ingrained to keep quiet. To smile. To ignore, to suppress. I can smile, joke laugh, but visualizing…inadvertently seeing this mirror was so unbelievably uncomfortable. I would always rather help someone else because it takes me out of my head. Live in a bubble where I can call my trauma a ‘fantasy’. What’s real is when someone like me has a bad day? Lol! Look, my husband literally checks his phone to make sure a conversation never touches a couple hundred trigger words that will absolutely send me into the closet with a gallon of ice cream or a bottle of whiskey. I can’t imagine what someone else, what some other traumatized individual goes through. (Maybe that’s why the Bucky stuff makes me all angry She-Hulk too..)

Look, talking people ex members of this group, out of suicide is a daily endeavor to the point where it’s borderline on autopilot. But having this, I suppose, brilliant, piece of cinema turn the camera around left me raw and writhing and angry. Not for me, but for everyone else still stuck. With every year you spend in that cult, add ten more to therapy.

If you feel like me at all, you’re not alone. Not anymore. We were raised to feel alone in the world. That the universe is somehow out to get us and that’s simply not true. You don’t need the people who raised you if they were absolute shit bags. And you DO NOT have to forgive them for keeping you in that environment. Family isn’t family if they’ve hurt you. You owe them nothing. It is healthy to feel your feelings (and you and your feelings are valid. )

Anyways! I hope to be able to talk about more fun Marvel topics soon. But this felt important so thanks for listening. I’m really not hating guys, this is just…it’s heavy. And I beg you to do your research into cults and to help out where you can.

Love and light,

-M

#black widow film #black widow #cult #cult life #cult escapee #ex jw #apostate #mcu #jw #jwfamily #jwfacts #marvel

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caffeinatedbraincell · 3 years

Note

Thank you so much for the wonderfully sweet andromaquynh story! 🥰💖 if I may request more since I saw the Touch sheet and uh I’m in love:

24. Whispering in their ear, lips touching their skin, either pairing

Thank you for this ask Shatters!!! And for encouraging me along the way<3 I know it took forever but I hope you enjoy this!

Read on AO3

The door of Dr. Shukla’s office rattled. Inside, Joe took a sharp breath. Nicky threaded their hands together beneath the table, murmuring reassuringly.

A second later, the doctor walked in, large yellow folder in hand and a stethoscope slung across her neck. Joe and Nicky stood to greet her.

“Please, be seated. It’s alright,” she said, voice low and steady. “I’m Dr. Shukla, a neurologist. I have some CTs and MRIs here of Mr. Yusuf Al-Kaysani’s brain that we’ll be discussing today.”

Joe exhaled shakily as they all sat down. Next to him, Nicky cleared his throat.

“How bad is it, doctor?”

“Good and bad aren’t diagnoses, Mr.…”

“Al-Kaysani. I’m his husband. But call me Nicky, please.”

“Of course, Nicky.” She extracted the prints from the folder. “There is no easy way to put this. The truth is, the symptoms Yusuf is presenting with, and these images from his scans, make it very likely that what we’re dealing with here is early-onset dementia. Possibly Alzheimer’s.”

In the silence that followed, Joe sighed in relief. Finally, someone had said the words. It wasn’t a vague suspicion hanging over his head anymore. It was reality. They could work with reality.

Next to him, Nicky was arguing with the doctor.

“…but how can you be sure? Scans are inconclusive when it comes to diagnosing-”

“I would not have brought this diagnosis to the table if there was any better explanation for what Yusuf is experiencing. Any at all.”

“But-”

“Nicolò.” Joe moved his hand to Nicky’s thigh. He looked at the doctor. “So where do we go from here?”

Dr. Shukla leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. “I will not mislead you, Yusuf. There is no cure. But there are treatments - therapies, medications, management strategies - that can slow the progression of the disease. You can still live a long and meaningful life.”

“Of course he’ll live a long and meaningful life!” Nicky exclaimed.

“Tesoro, please-”

“Look,” Dr. Shukla said. “I know this is extremely hard. For both of you. But what’s important in this moment is that you take your time to process this news and adapt to it. Be there for each other, and be patient with each other.” She stood and walked over to her computer. “I’m going to put in a prescription for something called Razelon; it’s a cholinesterase inhibitor that will reduce early behavioral symptoms and boost cognitive function.”

“Do we need to pick it up today?” Nicky asked.

“Yes. Yusuf, I’m starting you off on half a pill. We’ll see how you react to it. If it works for you, we can modify the dose as necessary going forward.”

As they stepped out of the clinic into the stinging wind, Joe pulled his coat tighter against his body. At his side, Nicky fumbled with his phone, pulling up the prescription.

“Razelon,” he muttered to himself, typing it into Google. “Look, Joe, it seems to be a fairly common and effective treatment. Actually, it’s good the doctors caught this early. I’m sure we can-”

“Nicky.”

“-make this work until something more effective comes out. Alzheimer’s research is at a revolutionary place right now and-”

“Nicky…”

“-there’s definitely going to be some new, highly effective treatments on the market in a few-”

“Nicolò!”

Nicky froze where he was reaching for his car keys, lips pressed into a thin line. “What?”

“My love, we’ve had over one thousand years together.” Joe stepped forward, gently taking his hands. “Haven’t you had enough of me yet?”

Nicky shoved him away lightly. “Stop it, Joe. That’s nothing to joke about.”

“Listen-”

“No, you listen. I don’t care if it’s been a millennium. If you don’t think I’m going to fight tooth and nail for every second - every single second - we can possibly have together, then you’re wrong. You’re wrong.”

“I will fight with you, my love, I swear. But-”

“But what?”

“But I cannot watch you mourn me while I am still here. Promise me this changes nothing between us, Nicky. I don’t want you to treat me like I’m suddenly made of glass.”

“Says the person who tried to wrap me in literal bubble wrap when we discovered we were mortal.”

Joe snorted. “Touché.”

Nicky stared at him for a second. Then, he leaned forward and kissed him, slow and sweet. “Get in the car. I’ll buy you a caramel frappucino by the pharmacy, yeah?”

***

“Joe, don’t forget, Nile’s coming over at 8 tonight for dinner, so we’ll have to be back at least an hour before that.”

“I don’t know, tesoro, forgetting is kind of what I do best now,” Joe quipped from the couch.

Nicky stuck his head out of the kitchen testily. “Still not funny, you asshole.”

It has been several months since that fateful day at the clinic, and Joe could tell he was getting worse. He didn’t feel it, exactly; the Razelon was helping, and Dr. Shukla had added an antidepressant to his prescription to ward off the vague sense of dread and loss that sometimes settled in his chest.

No, Joe could tell he was getting worse because of Nicky. The way Nicky never let him make the same mistake twice. Joe had forgotten to take his medication one night, and ever since, Nicky made a ritual of bringing it to him with a glass of water after they brushed their teeth. A few mornings ago, Nicky had seen Joe walk away from the coffee machine without turning it on, and ever since, there would be a freshly brewed pot of coffee on the table before Joe woke up.

It was as if by covering for Joe enough, Nicky could pretend this wasn’t happening at all. Joe frowned deeply at the thought.

“Hey,” Nicky said, coming to sit next to Joe. “What’s wrong, hayati? Would you rather stay in today than go to the beach? I won’t mind, you know.”

Joe shook his head. “No, it’s not that, it’s…” He furrowed his brow, then sighed in defeat. “Nevermind. Let’s just go to… the place. What you said.”

“The beach?”

“Mhm. Let’s go to the beach.”

“Alright. I’ll get us a bag.” Nicky kissed Joe’s forehead gently and got up to leave.

“Nicky, wait.”

“Yes, love?”

“Is it- Am I getting a lot worse, do you think?” Joe blurted.

Nicky frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s just- You didn’t let me pay rent this month. Usually you remind me, but you did it yourself last week, didn’t you?”

“So what if I did? I don’t want to make things any harder for you than they already are. Let me be there for you in these little ways, ya qalbi.”

“You are. You’re always there for me. But you’re doing so much now, too much, and I feel like I’m not pulling my weight anymore. I don’t want to become a- a…”

“A burden?”

Joe was already shaking his head, having clocked the disappointment in Nicky’s eyes. “No! No, Nicky, that’s not what I-”

“Joe. I think we should move back to Malta.”

Joe paused, a little taken aback. “Back to Malta? Like, for good?”

“For good.”

“We’ll be far away from Nile and Booker, though.”

“They can come visit whenever they want. They’re still immortal, Joe. We’re not. I want to spend the time we have left in the place I married you one thousand years ago.”

Joe stood up and looped his arms around Nicky’s neck. He grinned as Nicky’s arms circled his waist, pulling him closer. “And you say I’m an incurable romantic.”

Nicky laughed. “So you’re okay with that, then?” he asked, hopeful eyes searching Joe’s.

“More than okay. I can’t wait, amore.”

***

Dinner with Nile was a lovely time, as always.

“How is Booker doing, sorellina?” Nicky asked as he dished second helpings of lasagne onto everyone’s plates.

“Fine,” Nile said with her mouth full. “His therapy group is taking a field trip to the Met tonight, so he couldn’t come. But he said to bring him back some food.”

Joe laughed, turning to Nicky with delight. “Sir, be sure to pack this young lady your restaurant’s finest lasagne, to-go.”

Nicky rolled his eyes. “If Booker wants food, he can come get some himself,” he grumbled, nevertheless grabbing a clean tupperware from the counter. “It’s been ages since he’s shown his face around here.”

“He wants to come all the time, I promise,” Nile reassured him. “It’s just so busy now, between jobs and therapy-”

“I keep telling Nicky we can still work the jobs,” Joe cut in. “Just because we’re mortal doesn’t mean we can’t help with intel and stuff. Or Nicky can, at least.”

“And I keep telling you it’s not necessary,” Nile countered, gentle but firm. “It’s important that you two spend this time with each other. And anyway, Booker and I are managing just fine.”

“It can’t be easy, though.” Nicky popped open a bottle of wine. “Do you mind non-alcoholic, Nile? If so, I can pull up another-”

“No, no, non-alcoholic is great. And to tell you the truth, we are taking on less now. Choosing our battles more carefully. But the ones we choose, we’re fighting them better, I think.”

Joe sat back, smiling fondly. “Good. Good. I think we’ve all been prioritizing doing a better job of living. But the offer always stands, Nile. If you two ever need some extra hands, we’re here.”

Over lasagne and wine, the conversation ebbed and flowed late into the night. It was nearly 2AM when Joe stood up, yawning.

“Bed, habibi?” Nicky asked.

“Hmm. I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Let me get you your medicine. Nile, would you mind moving the dishes to the sink? I’ll be back in a minute to wash them.”

Nile stood up, piling the dishes together. Joe and Nicky walked towards the bedroom.

As Joe settled into bed, Nicky puttered around to arrange his pills and a glass of water.

“Nicky, we forgot to tell Nile about the plan. That we’re going to move back to, uh…” Joe’s eyes widened in mild horror as he struggled to remember. “Malta! Malta. We’re moving back to Malta.”

Nicky walked over to him and sat down on the edge of the bed. He lovingly cupped Joe’s face, leaning in to rest their foreheads together.

“I’ll tell her. Here. You take this medicine and rest. I should go-”

“Do you want to see what I drew at the beach?” Joe cut in. He didn’t want Nicky to leave just yet.

“Ya amar, of course I do. Where is your sketchbook, still in the bag? I’ll get it.”

Nicky handed him the book, and Joe flipped through it until he found what he was looking for.

“It would have been better if I had colors, but…”

He held out the book to Nicky, who promptly forgot how to breathe. Done in nothing but ordinary pencil graphite was his own profile, set against the background of a stunning black and white sunset. The fading rays of light gleamed on the ocean’s surface, and the waves looked, magically, like they could move.

“Do you like it?” Joe asked. Nicky realized he’d been staring in silence. He set the book on the nightstand and wrapped a hand behind Joe’s head, pulling him in for a kiss.

“I love it,” he said, kissing him again. “I love you. It’s beautiful. Everything you make is beautiful, but this one especially so. And you’re beautiful.”

Joe giggled beneath the onslaught of kisses and praise. “You’re a sap. Now go, Nile is waiting for you.”

“Alright, alright. I’m going.”

“Nicky?”

“Hmm?”

“Come back soon.”

Nicky grinned. “It’s almost 3AM. I won’t be long; Nile is probably exhausted, too.”

“Tell her to stay the night,” Joe mumbled, already half asleep. “Too late to drive.”

“I’ll tell her, love. Sleep well.”

“Tell me what?” Nile asked as Nicky returned to the living room.

“To stay the night, it’s late.” He looked towards the kitchen. “Where are the dishes?”

“I washed them, they’re on the drying rack.”

“Sorellina! You are a guest!”

“I’m family. I can help with the dishes,” Nile argued, rolling her eyes.

Nicky smiled, settling down next to her on the couch. Nile shifted, curling up close to his side and resting her head on his shoulder.

“How are you doing?” she asked after a beat.

“Fine, Joe’s been-”

“I said you, Nicky.”

Nicky hesitated. “I’m alright, I think. Life is not harder now, not really. It’s nice to spend our days enjoying each other’s company, without having to worry about jobs and stuff. But…”

“But?”

“I can’t shake this sense of… loss? Our every interaction is tinged with it. He is the one diagnosed, but sometimes it feels like I’m the one who’s losing my sense of reality. I feel untethered.” Nicky broke off with a dry chuckle. “He gets upset if I’m too sad around him, so I try not to show it.”

“Oh.”

“Is it terribly greedy of me, Nile?”

“What?”

“That we’ve had over a thousand years together, more than anyone else in human history, and all I can think of is that it’s not enough. That I’m not ready. That I want more.”

“Love always wants more, Nicky. And no one is ever ready, no matter how much or how little time we have. Like, Andy and Quynh, right? You knew them for centuries, I knew them for a few years. But neither of us were ready to lose them.”

“I can’t do that again, Nile,” Nicky said wearily, feeling the full weight of his years. “I can’t mourn anyone else. I can’t mourn Joe.”

“You already are.”

Nicky’s eyes snapped to hers. “Wha- what do you mean by that? He said something like that, too.”

“You’re mourning the parts of him he’s already forgotten. You’re mourning the Joe who remembered his sisters’ names. The Joe who could differentiate San Paolo ‘34 from Berlin ‘27. The Joe who-”

“Stop.” Nicky squeezed his eyes shut. “He’s still here. My Joe is still here.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Nile said. “Think about the Joe you fell in love with outside of Jerusalem, Nicky. Now think of Joe sleeping inside. Everything has changed, but you still love him. What was it you fell in love with, the one thing that’s remained constant? His body? His mind?”

“His soul.”

“And can Alzheimer’s touch that? Can death?”

Nicky sniffled. He kissed the top of Nile’s head. “You’re far too wise for your age, you know.”

“I’ve had practice,” she mumbled.

“Yeah. Let’s get you to bed, alright? Will you stay the night?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.”

Nile ended up finding out about Malta the next morning, when Joe mentioned moving plans to Nicky over breakfast.

“You didn’t tell her last night, tesoro?”

“I meant to. But I guess we were all really tired.”

“I think it’s a great idea. When are you two planning to move?” Nile asked.

“As soon as possible. Joe and I were looking at flights for this weekend.”

Nile nodded. “Booker and I can help you pack. How’s tonight?”

“Fine, if a bit early. We don’t have that much stuff,” Joe said between sips of coffee. “At least not here. There are some things in the safehouses…”

“Sure. You and Nicky make a list whenever you’re free, and I’ll make a few trips with Booker and ship everything to the Malta address.”

“You’re an angel, sorellina,” Nicky said.

In the comfortable silence that followed, Joe looked back and forth between them, trying to memorize this moment. Nicolò di Genova is reading the paper, he thought. Nile Freeman is eating toast. Nile is married to Sebastien Le Livre, whom we call Booker. Booker isn’t here because he was- he had-

“Did Booker send you any pictures from the Met?” Nicky asked Nile.

Ah. He’d gone to the Met with his therapy group.

Nile shook her head. “A few cute ones they took outside, but I think the exhibit they went to see didn’t allow photography. He’ll probably have some brochure pictures to talk our ears off about later, though.” She smiled fondly. “It’s our turn to bring something over for dinner tonight, okay?”

“Absolutely not,” Nicky argued. “I love cooking for you guys. Let me make dinner. You’ll be stuck with your own cooking once we leave for Malta, anyway.”

Nile gasped in mock offense. “Well, someone has an inflated sense of their own abilities.”

“Habibi, listen, she’s disparaging my cooking,” Nicky complained.

“You insulted her first, my love. If you can dish it, you’d better take it.”

Nile laughed at the look of utter betrayal on Nicky’s face as she walked her empty plate to the sink.

“I’m gonna head out,” she said. “I’ll be back with Booker around 7. And fine, looks like dinner’s on you, Nicky.”

“I’m making poisoned mushroom risotto.”

“Suit yourself, I’m not the one who’s mortal.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Nicky muttered around a grin as Nile and Joe high-fived. “See you later, Nile.”

***

Midnights were Nicky’s favorite part of Malta. The sky hung heavy like a black velvet blanket, and the sparkle of the stars reminded him of Joe’s eyes.

In the months since they’d arrived, Joe’s health had taken an undeniable turn for the worse. They’d talked to Dr. Shukla and doubled his dose of Razelon. Soon after, they’d doubled it again. But the disease progressed with a vengeance of lifetimes, as if it was trying to recompense Joe’s immortality by cutting his mortal life short.

Nowadays, Nicky almost never left Joe’s side, from waking him up in the morning, to bathing him, to feeding him, to taking him on long walks to visit their favorite places.

And truly, there was nowhere he’d rather be. But Nicky was wracked with guilt over the terrifying intensity with which he missed Joe. He found himself clinging fervently to Joe’s few and far-between moments of lucidity, dreading the day when Joe would look at him and no longer remember his name.

A tear startled Nicky as it slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away quickly, leaning over the balcony railing and breathing in the sleeping city.

“Nicky?”

Nicky whirled around. “Joe? You’re not asleep?”

“I woke up. I- I missed you.”

“Oh, my love, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d wake up. Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

As they settled back under the covers together, Joe reached for Nicky’s hand and squeezed gently.

“What is it, hayati?”

“Nicky, I need to tell you something.”

Nicky turned to face him. “I’m listening.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

There was a tense pause. Then-

“Do you know how much I look forward to this, Joe? These brief minutes when you’re present, fully alert and oriented? Tell me, have I waited for this moment only to hear you say those words?”

“I just- I want you to know that you can leave. This is only going to get worse, Nicky. You didn’t sign up to change my diapers.”

“I didn’t sign up for immortality, either. But I embraced over a thousand years of it, Joe. Because I was in it with you.”

Joe rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling and blinking back tears.

Nicky groaned, propping himself up on an elbow. “Listen here, you idiot. I know I can leave. I could’ve left when you offered me your hand outside of Jerusalem. I could’ve left when we had our first fight. I could’ve left when we lost Quynh. I could’ve left after WWII, when we became so depressed that we could hardly stand the sight of each other.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Of course I didn’t. I love you, Joe. I don’t ever want to leave you.” He paused. “Unless you want me to.”

“And if I say I do want you to?”

“I’d tell you not to be a martyr.” Nicky sighed in frustration. “What would you do if it were me, Joe? Would you walk away?”

Joe’s breath hitched. He immediately shook his head.

“Why?” Nicky barrelled on. “Because of some twisted sense of morality? Because of some obligation-”

“Because I love you, amore. I would suffer a hundred deaths to spend just one hour more in your arms.”

Nicky slowly lay back down. He cupped Joe’s tear-stained cheek, tenderly guiding their lips together in a warm kiss.

“See? Can we drop this, now?”

Joe nodded. “If you’re sure.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life, ya qalbi.”

They drifted to sleep in each other’s arms, exchanging quiet kisses and hums of contentment. The next morning, Nicky realized he’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.

It was their wedding anniversary. Their original wedding anniversary, the approximate date they’d gotten married in Malta over a thousand years ago.

Nicky had meant to be absolutely insufferable about it, to go on and on about it from at least three days prior. That way, Joe would remember. He wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt of forgetting, or the reality that his dementia no longer afforded him keeping track of the date.

Instead, Nicky had all but forgotten as well, only to be jarringly reminded by the date flashing on his phone.

He cursed as he fiddled with the coffee machine, analyzing his options. First option, he could simply remind Joe that today was their anniversary. Slip it into casual conversation or something.

But then he imagined Joe’s eyes going wide with shock and sadness as it sunk in that this is where they were at, now. He imagined Joe apologizing profusely for not planning anything special for Nicky. He imagined the guilt that any further attempts to celebrate would be tinged with, and that just wouldn’t do.

Second option, Nicky decided. He would simply not say anything. They’d treat this just like any other day, and what Joe didn’t remember wouldn’t hurt him. Something ugly twisted in Nicky’s gut at the thought that this could be their last anniversary together, but he stubbornly shoved it down. He could do this for Joe.

“Nicky?” Joe’s voice echoed down the hall. Nicky quickly switched on the coffee machine and returned to their bedroom.

“You’re awake already, love. Did you sleep well?”

Joe nodded, looking a little dazed. Slowly, his eyes focused on Nicky. He smiled. “Can we go brush my teeth? I want to kiss you.”

Nicky laughed, coming to sit at the edge of the bed. “How about a kiss first, beautiful?”

Joe’s smile went soft, his gaze drifting languidly to Nicky’s lips. “Okay.”

Nicky reached for Joe’s hand as they kissed, threading their fingers together. Joe made a small noise of happiness, draping his other arm over Nicky’s shoulder and pressing closer.

This is enough, Nicky realized with startling clarity. This is more than enough for celebrating today. If he’s happy, I’m happy.

***

Awareness was strange for Joe, these days. Dr. Shukla had told him that no two people experience Alzheimer’s the same way; it was better to observe what happens than to expect a specific process.

These days, life often felt like working on the corner of a painting, some zoomed-in fragment for his mind to get lost in. He would zone out and zone back in, switching between his immediate reality and some dark, floaty place deep inside his consciousness. Any concept of the “bigger picture” seemed uncannily absent.

It would be terrifying, he knew, if not for Nicky. My husband, Joe thought fondly. That, at least, he had not forgotten yet.

Joe’s body still remembered perfectly well what his mind could no longer articulate. Nicky’s hand in his hand, Nicky’s lips on his lips. The instinctive way he’d reach out for comfort and find Nicky there, calm eyes and steady arms and gentle smile.

“Joe?”

With tremendous effort, Joe pulled himself out of his thoughts, trying to focus on the voice. “Hmm?”

“Hey, it’s okay, don’t strain yourself.” Nicky rested a hand on Joe’s shoulder, and he immediately relaxed. “I’m making pastizzi. You remember pastizzi?”

Joe furrowed his brow. He doubted the word alone would have meant anything to him, but combined with the savory smell wafting from the kitchen, a fuzzy memory clicked into place.

“Favorite.”

Nicky chuckled softly. “That’s right. It’s your favorite.”

“Special. It’s for special days. Is today something special?”

Nicky startled like a deer in headlights. “Uh, wha- Yes! Of course it is.” He leaned down to kiss Joe’s curls. “Every day with you is so, so special, my love. It goes without saying, does it not?”

Joe grinned guilelessly, taking Nicky’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “Is Andromache coming?”

“Andromache is not here, sweetheart.” Nicky wrapped his arms around Joe, swaying gently from side to side. “It’s just us, for now.”

“That sounds nice, too.”

“What do you want to do after breakfast today?”

“Draw. I want to draw you. But can we take a nap first?”

“Of course.” Nicky unwound his arms from Joe and walked into the kitchen. “You got up too early today, habibi. I told you, you should rest more. You’ll be tired all day, otherwise.”

“I only like to sleep with you, tesoro.”

Nicky barked out a laugh. “You don’t need to tell me twice. Here, let’s eat. Then we’ll nap together.”

Joe enjoyed breakfast, taking comfort in the familiar, grounding taste of Nicky’s homemade pastizzi. And he definitely enjoyed falling asleep in his husband’s arms, head pillowed on Nicky’s chest, bathed in the late morning sunlight.

When Joe woke up, it was in one of those increasingly rare and precious moments of clarity. Nicky lay beside him, still fast asleep. Joe stared unabashedly, marveling at how Nicky managed to look even more soft and peaceful than usual in his sleep. He reached for his sketchbook and began drawing.

As the hours passed, portraits turned into poetry, and poetry into letters. Joe wondered, for a moment, if he should wake Nicky up for lunch, but he was loath to disrupt the little rest that Nicky managed to get these days.

Instead, Joe sat quietly by his side, taking advantage of his own lucidity to write a letter to Nile and Booker. He vaguely recalled Nicky mentioning that they would visit at some point, and he wanted to make sure he could convey what he wanted to say to them.

Just as Joe was wrapping up, Nicky stirred beside him.

“Joe?” he said, voice rough with sleep.

“Sono qui.”

Nicky glanced at the bedside clock. He scrambled to sit up, gently taking Joe’s face in his hands.

“Hayati, why didn’t you wake me? It’s three in the afternoon! Oh my love, aren’t you hungry? Did you drink water today?”

Joe smiled, kissing Nicky softly. “I went and drank water. I accidentally dropped a glass, though-”

“That’s alright.”

“-and don’t worry, I’m not hungry yet. Breakfast was very filling. You looked so relaxed sleeping, I didn’t want to wake you for no reason.”

“I’m so sorry, Joe, I didn’t mean to crash like that. How long have you been up?”

“Since noon. But please, amore, don’t apologize. You deserve to rest.” Nicky opened his mouth, presumably to protest, but Joe pushed on. “Do you want to see what I drew? And I wrote you a poem, can I read it to you?”

Nicky’s expression softened, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders. “Absolutely, Joe. Show me everything you’ve sketched and written. Then we can go out for a late lunch, okay?”

To Joe’s immense satisfaction, the mental fog largely stayed away for the rest of the day. There were moments, of course, when all he could do was hold Nicky’s hand and follow his footsteps, mind eerily blank except for the buzz of physical sensation right beneath the surface.

But for the most part, Joe was present. He recognized by name the café they stopped by for lunch and the restaurant they went to for dinner. In between, when they visited il-Moskea, Joe was able to pray properly for the first time in weeks. Nicky had prayed alongside him, and as Joe listened to the quiet recitation of Quran verses from his lips, peace had seemed so easy. So reachable.

“Lean forward, hayati,” Nicky murmured. The moment they’d come home, Nicky had started a hot bath for Joe. Joe complied, leaning forward until the lightly scented bubbles tickled his beard. “Feels good?” Nicky asked, swiping a washcloth over his back.

“So good. Ti amo, Nicky.”

“Ti amo tanto. Now lean back, let’s rinse.”

“Did we- did we used to do this before?”

“What, bathing?” Nicky teased.

“Shut up. I mean, bathing each other. It feels familiar. An ancient ritual from way before I got sick.”

“Hmm.”

“But I can’t remember, Nicky. I visit the place in my heart where I stored those memories, and it’s empty. Like they’ve been stolen.”

Joe heard the distress creep into his tone, and he was sure Nicky could hear it, too. Sure enough, Nicky set the washcloth down and cupped Joe’s face.

“Hey, shhh. Just breathe, my love. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“I feel like I keep hurting you when I forget important things about us. I don’t want to make you sad. But I can’t help it, Nicky, I don’t know-”

“Joe, ya amar, this isn’t your fault. You never make me sad, do you hear me? And it’s okay if you can’t remember. Getting to be here with you, in this moment, is so much more important to me than anything that came before.”

Joe lowered his eyes, unconvinced.

Nicky sighed. “Hey. The water is getting cold. Let me get your towel from the dryer, I’ll just be a moment.”

Seconds after Nicky left, his phone buzzed, sliding from the toilet lid to the floor. Joe frowned, extending a shaky arm out of the tub to put it back.

But as he picked up the phone, Joe caught sight of the date. June 18th. His frown deepened. June 18th, June 18th, June 18th…

Joe had no idea how he did it, but somehow, he managed to put two and two together. The pastizzi for breakfast. Their favorite restaurants. The trip to the mosque. The way Nicky’s hands had been impossibly gentler today, the way his eyes shined even softer with love.

“Why didn’t you tell me it’s our anniversary?” Joe demanded as soon as Nicky set foot in the bathroom.

Nicky froze. “Joe. How in God’s name did you remember that?”

“I figured it out.”

Nicky set the freshly washed towel on the toilet lid and knelt by the tub. “Joe-”

“You were celebrating it without telling me.” Joe sniffled, mortified to feel tears pooling in his eyes. Of all the things dementia had taken from him, this had to be the worst. He hadn’t even bought Nicky a present.

“Yusuf, please. Please let me explain?” Nicky begged, reaching into the tepid water to hold Joe’s hands.

Joe shook his head, feeling the tears slip loose. Nicky drew a shaky breath, leaning forward to kiss them away. He was crying, too, Joe realized with a start.

“Perdonami, my heart. Perdonami. I didn’t think you’d remember. I didn’t say anything because you would have been devastated that- that it’s gotten this bad. I couldn’t bear you blaming yourself for something so utterly out of your control.”

Joe didn’t reply.

“Joe, listen to me. It’s just a date on the calendar, my love.”

“I don’t want to forget you,” Joe whispered.

A sob caught in Nicky’s throat. He pulled off his shirt and stepped into the tub, wrapping Joe in his arms. Joe tucked his face into Nicky’s neck and cried like a baby.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay,” Nicky croaked, rocking them back and forth. “Everything will be okay.”

It was late by the time they dried off and made it to bed, not bothering with clothes. Joe watched as Nicky put a second comforter at the foot of their bed, in case it got cold during the night. When they were finally snuggled together beneath the covers, Joe spoke.

“Nicky?”

“Hmm?”

“If- when I forget you, will you forgive me?”

Nicky pulled him closer, inhaling deeply as he tangled a hand in Joe’s hair. “There will be nothing to forgive, hayati.”

“I’m not doing it on purpose-”

“I know, Yusuf. I know. You never need to explain yourself to me.”

“Nicolò, promise me that- promise me that you won’t forget. Please don’t forget me.” Joe muffled a whimper, pressing closer until he could feel Nicky’s heart beating against his chest.

There was a long silence. When Nicky spoke, his voice was the steadiest Joe had ever heard.

“My beloved, I promise you that I will not forget. Whether or not you remember, whether or not you can even tell I’m there, I will be at your side for as long as we have together. I will take care of you in every way I know how. And when there is nothing left to do, I will honor your memory until my dying breath. I promise.”

Joe couldn’t reply, couldn’t breathe, as he felt his eyes well up again. His husband rubbed a soothing hand up and down his back, and gradually, the moment of terror passed. Joe relaxed into the sensation, falling asleep to the rhythm of Nicky’s heart and the echo of his magnanimous words.

***

“He doesn’t speak much, now,” Nicky briefed Nile and Booker as he helped carry their overnight bags in. “You’ll have to introduce yourselves.”

Months had passed since their anniversary, and Nicky was adjusting to this new life right alongside Joe. Their dynamic had changed, but their love had not.

Joe no longer walked up behind Nicky and hugged him while he cooked. Nicky no longer woke up at 2AM to find Joe hunched over his sketchbook, struck by some untimely inspiration. They’d never had much need for words, but now, verbal conversation was even rarer.

Instead, they spoke the well-loved language of gentle touches, of midday naps wrapped in each other’s arms. A spontaneous kiss never failed to make Joe smile, and Joe’s smile was enough to make Nicky’s entire day. Their interactions fell back on a bedrock of trust one thousand years in the making. Of course there were bad days - days colored with grief and sickness and loneliness - but far more often, Nicky found his heart flooded with quiet gratitude.

“Hello, Joe,” Nile said, kneeling in front of Joe’s chair and taking his hand. “I’m Nile. It’s lovely to see you.”

Joe said nothing, but his lips curved up in a tentative smile. Booker came forward and knelt next to Nile.

“Hey, buddy. It’s Booker. Long time no see. I don’t know how much of this you understand, Joe, but I hope you know that we love you. So, so much.”

“Hmm,” Joe grunted softly. He turned his other palm over in his lap, as if in invitation. Booker wrapped his hands around Joe’s, eyes shining as he brought it to his lips with reverence.

“I think he knows, Booker,” Nicky smiled fondly. “Come on, I made rice. You two must be hungry from the long plane ride.”

It was later that night, after everyone had eaten and napped, that Nicky remembered about the letters. Joe sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket, watching with interest as Nicky, Nile, and Booker played Snakes & Ladders on the coffee table.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Nicky exclaimed.

“What?” Nile asked.

“No, no, no - stop trying to distract us,” Booker said shrewdly. “You’re about to land on that snake and you know it. No cheating.”

Nile laughed. “He’s right. Take the fall, old man. You’re back to square five. Come on.”

Nicky scowled, sliding his piece all the way down the board. He’d been so close to winning.

From the couch, Joe snickered. Nile and Booker looked at him in surprise.

“He understands what’s going on?” Booker asked incredulously.

“Just enough to know when to laugh at me.” Nicky rolled his eyes, stopping to kiss Joe’s forehead as he walked away. A soft smile melted across Joe’s face, and he snuggled deeper into his blanket.

“I didn’t think he could get any more adorable, but here we are,” Nile commented. “Joe, you’re a sap, you know that?”

“You’re one to talk,” Nicky countered as he returned with the envelopes. “Remind me again what you gave Booker for your last anniversary?”

“A five-page poem comparing our love to the heavens from five different religious traditions,” Booker bragged. “It was the best thing I’ve ever read.”

Nile blushed furiously. “Alright, alright. Point taken. Hey, what are those?”

Nicky held up the envelopes. “Joe wrote us letters a few months back. One is for you two, and the other one is for me. But he said I couldn’t open mine until I gave you guys yours.”

Nicky handed Nile one of the envelopes and slipped the other into the pocket of his hoodie. Joe watched with mild curiosity, clearly not recognizing the letters.

“Should we call it a night?” Booker asked. “It’s nearly 1AM.”

“Quitting while you’re in the lead, Book?” Nicky teased. “But no, I think that’s a great idea. Joe would normally have slept hours ago.”

“He doesn’t look tired,” Nile observed.

“That’s because he’s entertained. He loves when people visit.”

The four of them walked towards the bedrooms. Nile and Booker waved goodbye to Joe as Nicky guided him into their room, before continuing down the hallway to the guest room.

“Nicky’s set everything up for us,” Nile appreciated. “These sheets are so soft.”

“That man works too hard. I worry about him.” Booker ran a hand through his hair fretfully. “I don’t know, Nile, I feel like we should hang around here more. Help Nicky out, spend more time with Joe.”

Nile stepped out of her clothes and curled up under the covers. Booker followed suit.

“We could,” she agreed. “I would appreciate the change of pace. And of course, having the family together will be nice.”

“But you would get restless.”

“Me and you both, Book.” Nile turned to face him, reaching out to caress his cheek. “I know, I know the point of immortality isn’t to fight all the time. But when we’re not fighting, I feel like we’re wasting this gift.”

“Yeah. I’ve had centuries longer to get used to immortality, and I still feel that way.”

“Maybe we could visit more often?”

“Hmm,” Booker smiled. “That would be nice.”

“Hey. Should we open Joe’s letter?”

“Oh, yeah! Definitely.” Booker propped himself up against the headboard, holding out an arm to Nile. She snuggled up next to him, carefully opening the envelope.

“Here we go.”

***

There were good days, and there were bad days. Nicky had spent centuries caring for the world, and now, he savored the years he’d been given to care for his world.

Nile and Booker visited more now, and Nicky sensed, deep down, that something had changed. Late-stage Alzheimer’s had not been easy on Joe - the darkness that came with cognitive decline was an extremely unpleasant experience for someone who preferred putting their emotions into words. And then, as Joe’s motor skills wore down, he’d found himself increasingly cut off from his art. Nicky had ached for him, helpless to provide much relief.

But these days, there was a calmness about Joe that hadn’t been there before. The anxiety gave way to an aura of peace, especially when Joe could see or hear Nicky nearby. Often, Nicky would stop whatever he was doing to just come sit with Joe, trying to absorb some of his serenity. It was like being in the presence of someone deep in meditation.

One night, Nicky returned to their bedroom after doing the dishes to find Joe sitting up against the headboard.

“Still awake, hayati?” He shook out the sheets as he undressed for bed, not expecting a response.

“Nicolò.”

Nicky froze. Surely he’d hallucinated that; it had been over a year since Joe was able to recognize him by name. He didn’t dare look up.

“Nicolò, my beloved,” Joe repeated, voice hoarse with disuse. Nicky closed his eyes, clamping down on a sob. He tossed the sheets aside and crawled into bed, reaching for Joe.

“What is it?” Nicky asked as he took Joe’s hands in his own, kissing his cold knuckles. “Tell me.”

“It’s time.”

“No,” Nicky shook his head, wrapping his arms around Joe. He was utterly unprepared for this. “No, no, please God, please, no…”

Nicky clung to Joe, sobbing unrestrainedly into his shoulder. This couldn’t be happening. This was madness. A nightmare, Nicky decided - a particularly torturous nightmare that he would soon wake up from. And Joe would be next to him, perfectly fine, their lives untouched by this ugly monster of a disease.

When he finally calmed down enough to pull back, Nicky found Joe watching him, eyes round with unshed tears. The moment of lucidity had passed, Nicky realized. All Joe could see now was his seemingly causeless distress.

Joe tightened his grip on Nicky’s arm minutely in a silent question, and Nicky almost wanted to laugh. Even now, Joe was still checking in with him.

“It’s nothing, love.” Nicky wiped his eyes quickly. “Let’s sleep, yeah? You must be tired.”

Nicky helped Joe lie down on his back before lying down next to him. He pulled Joe closer, gently kissing the shell of his ear.

“I love you,” Nicky murmured, the words feeling like too much and not enough. “I’m going to tell you a story tonight, okay?”

Joe grunted his assent, already half asleep. Nicky closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to ground himself. He thought back to Joe’s letter, to the words he’d memorized the very night he read them.

When the time comes, amore mio, I ask that you hold me close. And speak to me, please. I want to hear everything - how we met in Jerusalem, our adventures with Andy and Quynh, all the bets you lost to Booker, the delight on Nile’s face when you let her use the paints you’d preserved from the 1500s. I want to hear about all the times we got married, and all the anniversaries we celebrated. Most of all, Nicky, I want to hear your voice. I want to move on from this world surrounded by you, your beautiful voice, your loving hands.

And in case I can’t tell you then, I love you. Deep down, I think I’ve always loved you, even before we made peace. And I know I will always love you, be it in this world or the next. Please never doubt this, my all. I love you so much.

Nicky struggled for a moment to regain control, overwhelmed at the memory. Then, lips touching Joe’s ear, he began to speak. He held Joe in his arms as he whispered their story into the silence of the night. Joe sighed deeply in his sleep, pliant in Nicky’s embrace.

Nicky had no idea how long he continued on - hours, at least. There was so much to say. He talked and talked until he fell asleep next to Joe, right where he belonged.

***

“Abort mission,” Nile hissed into the comms. “Code Red. Meet me at the checkpoint ASAP.”

Minutes later, Booker jogged up to the checkpoint. “What happened? Are you okay? I’d almost gotten through-” Booker stopped, noticing Nile’s tear-streaked face. His tone softened immediately. “Mon amour, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Nile sniffled. “Joe’s gone, Book. He’s gone.”

Booker staggered backwards like he’d been slapped. “Gone?! What the fuck do you mean, gone?”

Nile pressed a fist to her mouth to stifle a sob. “Voicemail.” She held out her phone.

Booker put the phone to his ear and listened. He heard Nicky’s voice, quiet and anguished, but felt oddly removed from the whole situation. What language was Nicky speaking? It sounded like Italian, so why wasn’t it making sense?

“Hey, Book? Talk to me, love. Hey.”

Nile’s voice, Booker thought. It sounded like she was talking to him through a very long cardboard tube. His vision swam. Everything seemed so distorted.

“Booker!”

The next thing he knew, Booker was blinking up at Nile from the ground, head half in her lap.

“Do not pass out on me,” Nile muttered through gritted teeth. “Get up, Book, please. I can’t do this. Not alone. Please.”

Booker felt an itch on his cheek, but when he reached up to scratch it, his hand came away wet with tears. Nicky’s words, tinny and wrecked with sorrow, floated back into his head.

It suddenly struck him that Nicky was an ocean away, alone with his grief. Booker pushed himself to his feet, holding out a hand to Nile.

“Come on. We have to go to Malta.”

They fought on the trip, during a two-hour layover in Spain. Exhausted, hungry, and grieving, it was no surprise their tempers ran unusually short.

“What do you mean, let him be?” Nile assuredly did not yell. She was simply disagreeing loudly. “He’s lost his life partner of a thousand years, Book! He needs support - he needs family.”

“And what makes you think we can be that for him? What makes you think we can even start to fill the void left by Joe’s absence?!”

“It’s not about filling the damn void-”

“You don’t know what it’s like! When I lost my mortal wife, I felt like I’d lost everything! Even though I had Andy, and Joe, and Nicky, and- and you.”

“You were entitled to your grief, Book. So is Nicky. But I lost people too, so don’t you dare tell me I don’t know what it’s like. I’m immortal, too. I’ve lost my parents. It’s not just you.”

“No, that’s not- Listen! It took me centuries, centuries, to overcome that grief. I didn’t want to. I wouldn’t have done it if I had a choice. All I’m saying is… Nicky has a choice, Nile. He’s mortal.”

Nile’s eyes went wide. “So you’re saying we just- let him take his own life?!”

“I’m saying it’s not our decision to make! And it’s not… morally wrong or something if he chooses that. Look, chronic pain is real, Nile, whether it’s physical or emotional. Everyone who can has a right to opt out.”

“This isn’t the same thing as euthenasia, Book.”

“It’s not so different either, is it?”

There was a minute of silence as they stared daggers at each other across the terminal bench. Then Booker sighed.

“They’re closer than we could ever imagine, Nile. They’re one soul, two bodies. If he wants to go, we have to let him go.”

Nile sat down, running a hand down her face in devastation. “What about the letter?”

“What letter?”

“You know what letter. Joe’s letter. He asked us for one thing, Booker. One thing only. And that was that we don’t let Nicky die of a broken heart.”

“It doesn’t matter. Joe’s not here. Nicky is.”

“How could you dismiss his last wishes like that?”

“Nile, look at me. What do you think Joe wants above all else? What’s the only thing he’s ever really wanted?”

“For Nicky to be happy,” Nile whispered after a beat. “Love, can’t we at least try? Can’t we just… be there for him?”

“Of course,” Booker said, sitting down next to her and taking her hand. “Of course. But we cannot choose for him, amour. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Okay,” Nile sniffled, not entirely convinced. “Okay. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“I’m sorry, too. I’m just really…” Booker waved a hand in the air, trying to find the words. “Broken. I feel broken. Like I’m not myself.”

“I understand. I feel like that, too.”

“Hey. We don’t board for another 20 minutes. Can I get you a coffee?”

Nile managed a tired half-smile. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

***

In the end, it took four days of sleeping on Nicky’s couch for them to convince Nicky to drink water. It was another two days before he could keep down any food.

On the ninth day, Nicky broke down in front of them for the first time, crying his heart out as Booker and Nile just held him, murmuring gentle nothings and waiting out the tears.

They decided, at length, to take the year off from missions. They stayed with Nicky in the large house, trying to make it feel less empty. The grief would hit each of them at different times, and when it did, the other two would be there, always ready to lend a shoulder to cry on.

Within a year, the depression was slowly starting to lift. None of them had quite moved on, but they were very deliberately trying to make peace with this new reality.

Nicky fell back on simple rituals. Across from his bed, where he could see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night, he pinned up one of Joe’s charcoal self-portraits. Nicky loved it for how raw and alive it was in its beauty; not simply an image of Joe, but one that still carried traces of his fingertips in the sweeping strokes, the perspective of his eyes in the lighting.

Every morning, Nicky would kiss the tips of his fingers and press them to the bottom of the portrait in benediction. Then, he would close his eyes, letting the love and sorrow flow freely in his chest for a few minutes.

“I will see you again, hayati,” he would say. “Wait for me by the gates of Heaven, just as you did by the gates of Jerusalem. I will be with you again soon.”

It was a ritual that Nile and Booker supported wholeheartedly.

“Tell Joe to say hi to Andy for me,” Booker would add.

“Tell Joe I miss him. No one else will geek out with me over the Impressionist Movement,” Nile would grumble.

Sometimes, Nicky thought, it was like Joe was simply away on a mission. Like he would walk back through the door at any moment.

“Maybe he never left,” Nile mused once when Nicky voiced this thought. The three of them were sitting on the veranda, sipping hot tea and watching people mull about on the street.

Nicky frowned. “I want his soul to be at peace, Nile. Not wandering around like a ghost.”

“You know what they say. Not all who wander are lost.”

“I do feel like he’s here, sometimes,” Nicky confessed. “People say that your loved ones never truly leave you, that they stay alive in your heart, but I always figured it was a metaphor. I never imagined it could feel so real.”

“Can I ask you something, Nicky?” Booker’s voice shook slightly with hesitation.

“Hmm, go ahead.”

“How- how did you survive?”

Nicky rubbed his eyes. “Joe would never forgive me if I didn’t. That was the main reason. But I also believe that this is my penance.”

“For what?”

“For how we met. For what I did to him, to his people, his family. All this pain - being without him, mourning him - this is what finally cleanses me of my actions. It hurts, every day it hurts, but I can’t bring myself to run from it.” He stared down into his tea for a long moment. “I will continue on until it is my time, because it’s what my Joe would have wanted.”

***

Three years after Joe’s passing, Nicky finally gathered the courage to sort through his things. As he carried a stack of notebooks from the closet to the bed, one slipped to the ground and fell open.

Nicky set the others down and picked it up, running his fingertips over the page. It was a poem, written in Joe’s familiar cursive.

Empires rise and fall In a blink of God’s eye, The laws of nature bend As what’s mortal becomes divine. And the realization dawns When I see I’m left behind, Humankind’s greatest inheritance Is losing something to time.

As Nicky contemplated this, his cell phone blared to life on the nightstand. He reached for it distractedly.

“Hello?”

“Nicky,” Nile gasped on the other end.

“Nile? Dio, isn’t it like 3AM there?”

“Yeah, I woke up. How fast can you get to Medina?”

“Uh… I could book a flight for a few hours out?”

“Great, do that. Booker and I are already on the way to the airport.”

“Wha- Nile, slow down. What’s going on?”

There was a brief pause. Then-

“We had this dream. There’s a new one.”

16 notes · View notes