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otherworldlyhope · 3 months

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like memories of dying days

My piece for Febuwhump Day 7: Suffering in Silence

Aka, 2 times Scar suffers in silence, and 1 time he doesn't

Words: 3,426 CW: injury, life series deaths/injuries

The first night Scar wakes up back in Hermitcraft, he’s in pain. A broken, raw cry of hurt leaves his mouth as he tries to pull himself into a sitting position. He ends up staying down, the searing pain cutting across his whole body leaving him unable to even turn his head, let alone sit.

All he can think about is his final moments in the desert. His friend, the only person he felt he could trust, had beaten him to a bloody pulp in the warm sands. It’s disorienting to think about really. And sure, maybe he purposely missed a few punches, and maybe he let himself trip. But there had been very little hesitation from the avian when killing him.

He can feel every punch, every kick, and every mark lining his body as he lays pitifully on his bed. Not only can he feel them, he can remember them vividly. The way Grian had broken his ribs, how a well placed kick had sent him slamming against Pizza’s grave (that might have hurt the worst, for multiple reasons), how the avian’s fingers fit so perfectly around his neck. Not to hold him, and pull him closer, but instead to squeeze the life out of him.

Slowly he cracks his eyes open, and he can recognize the room he’s in, and he’s almost disappointed. His room smells of dark oak and roses. It’s a scent he had curated specifically to comfort him when we woke from nightmares.

It doesn’t comfort him now, but probably because what he’s woken up from is worse than a nightmare in a lot of ways.

Strangely enough, the only comforting thing in the room is the sand falling from his clothes onto his covers. He used to hate the sand. It would find its way into every single crevice of his clothes and skin. Near the end of it all he almost enjoyed the sand, especially when they finally left the desert to fight the final battle. The sand had been his only reminder of his home.

The home that he died at. The home where Pizza died, it was only fitting really.

With ragged and uneven breaths, Scar swings his legs over the edge of the bed, pulling himself into a semblance of a sitting position. Every movement brings intense pain that has him holding back tears.

He’s barely up when there’s a pounding on his door. Out of pure instinct he pulls his sword from his inventory and points it at the entrance to his bedroom. His hands are shaking with the weight despite the months of wielding it before. He hates it.

“Scar?” He knows that voice, at least he should know it. In another life, well maybe this life. That’s right, he’s on Hermitcraft, this is one of his friends. “Scar, are you in there buddy?”

It takes effort to clear his throat. Even now it feels like there are hands pressing against his airway, keeping him from taking a single breath.

“Yeah I-” His voice sounds so impossibly weak that it breaks his heart. He has to put so much more effort into putting that chipper attitude back into his tone. Even when he does, it sounds wrong. “I’m in my room Mumbo, come on in!”

Mumbo seems out of breath when he shows up at Scar’s door. His usually impeccable hair is an absolute mess, the lines of his suit wrinkled and off. The man looks at the sword still clutched in Scar’s hand, a flash of nervousness crossing his features. Scar slowly puts it on the bed near him, keeping it within reach just in case.

You never know when someone could come in and kill you. Better safe than sorry and all that.

“You look awful Mumbo.” Scar laughs, and it doesn’t sound quite right. He needs to fix that soon. “You slept at all lately?”

Mumbo runs a hand over his face, stopping to pull a stray hair from his mustache down. There’s a disbelief in his eyes that almost cracks Scar up. Almost.

“Where have you been?” You look like you’re about to pass out. What’s up with the sword?” Mumbo asks question after question that Scar can’t even imagine answering.

Instead he discreetly pulls his hands to his ribs and holds them. The pain lessens some at that, and he’s able to manage his facial expressions much better. Scar gives half answers here and there while trying not to actively yell out in pain. It works quite well actually.

When Grian joins the server, Mumbo leaves him alone. He likes it better that way. All desire to even sit is dashed from his mind. Instead he lays back down, pulling his covers tightly over him. It cradles his broken body, and it’s the only comfort he feels at that moment. And when he falls asleep the nightmares that greet him are almost welcome.

In the weeks that follow he doesn’t tell anyone about that final fight, and neither does Grian. All people know is that Grian won, and Scar didn’t. They don't comment about the fading bruises lining his skin, accompanying his scars.

They don't say anything about how the flowery spread of purple across his throat looks suspiciously like handprints. How they’re just small enough to only belong to a few people, and all the rest were long dead at that point.

Scar doesn’t say a single word about third life, or about the pain he feels every moment of every day. They don't need to know. It’s fine.

~ ~ ~

Coming to in Hermitcraft after last life is no less jarring than the first time. This time he wakes up to the moving machinery of the Swaggon, the smell of oil motor oil overwhelming his senses for a few blissful seconds. Then the pain hits, and it hits.

At least this time it’s pinpointed to a singular spot. The arrow through his heart isn’t nearly as painful as the first time around. It still hurts though, a sharp cutting pain as opposed to the searing, continual pain before.

When he finally is able to pull his shirt up and see the damage, it looks smaller than he remembered the arrowhead being. There’s a blood red mark that makes Scar light headed every time he comes close to touching it.

Unlike third life, nobody comes to him when he gets back. It’s almost ironic, he was alone in last life, and he’s now alone on Hermitcraft. It had almost crushed him back then, the isolation. He had tried, desperately, to make friends, but it never worked out for him. In fact it seemed to only make him more enemies in the end.

The worst part of it all was the avian that he considered one of his greatest friends. They had just gotten back to being normal on Hermitcraft when suddenly they were put in another death game.

Grian had avoided him immediately, only talking to him to con him out of a precious life. It made sense, but it hurt in a way that Scar couldn’t describe. Like a hole in his already broken heart. They barely crossed paths during the game, and when they did Grian was unbelievably cruel.

It wasn’t like Scar was expecting to be allies again or anything, but the cold disdain that Grian showed him was almost too much to bear. He had eventually gotten used to it like he had once gotten used to the sand in his hair. Didn’t mean he viewed it fondly though.

Once again he stays quiet about the pain he went through in last life. When people ask about his death, he simply explains that Ren got him. Even when the pain from the arrow fades and life settles, there's an echo in his heart of what happened.

Maybe one day he’ll be able to say something to someone, but it’s not any time soon.

~ ~ ~

Scar has never been so excited and also terrified in his life.

He’s excited because he’s always wanted this in a way. Having Grian bound to him like this is a perfect chance to finally understand him. He once thought he knew Grian like the back of his hand. In a world full of sunshine and sand Grian had been his best friend, his partner. The only person he trusted in a place full of paranoia and traitors.

They had been everything. And then nothing.

The second their hearts were synced, Scar didn’t care much about finding his soulmate. Nobody wanted to be around him in last life, so they didn’t deserve to be around him now. He was sure he wouldn’t be the only one that ended up alone. He had a plan though, the Jellies. They would be his soulmate, they were all he needed.

He knew his soulmate was Grian the second he saw him flinch when Scar accidentally twisted his ankle. In that very moment he decided he wouldn’t even acknowledge it. Grian and the others could think he was stupid all they wanted, he really didn’t care. It’s not like they thought he was the smartest anyways. He didn’t mind it though, it made them much more susceptible to whatever tricks he wanted to pull.

Like always, Grian found a way to ruin Scar’s plans. At one point he used to love it, now he can only force a smile and pretend to ignore the way Grian rolls his eyes at the fakeness of it. It’s getting easier now, to fake being happy around others. Unfortunately, with his heart being perfectly timed with Grian’s, the avian can hear the way it stumbles at every lie.

Grian himself is still as hard to read as before. Maybe even harder. Scar has seen him with BigB, has noticed the way Grian brushes Scar’s concerns away. His heart is always steady, and Scar can’t discern a single thing from the avian.

And that’s exactly why he’s terrified. He can’t let Grian know him the way he used to. It just feels wrong.

It’s almost like those old days, but at the same time, it’s completely different. Scar had once been an open book to Grian, now he’s attempting to keep himself as closed off as possible. It’s come with its challenges, but it shouldn’t be for much longer. They’re on red now, and soon the game will be over.

They’ll go back to Hermitcraft and pretend like nothing’s wrong all over again. They’ll base by each other, play pranks, and refuse to acknowledge the toll these death games have on them just like usual.

It’s nights like these that Scar wishes he could be in the desert all over again. The velvet keep is cold, colder than the sands ever were. Grian is tucked against the wall, pressed as far away from Scar as he can be on the shared bed. Scar had protested it, but Grian insisted on it for safety.

It doesn’t make Scar feel any safer.

It’s barely been half an hour since they’ve laid down for the night and Grian is already out. It’s the only time Scar can see a semblance of peace on the avian’s face. His mouth is slightly open, his heart steadily beating in his chest.

Once he’s sure that Grian is fully asleep, he rises from the bed. The avian barely twitches in his sleep, but Scar can feel how his heart stays at the same pace. He slowly tucks the blanket over Grian’s shoulders and stares down at the small figure barely taking up half of the bed.

He almost wants to climb back into that bed and pull Grian to his chest like he did those cold nights in the desert. Grian would usually complain and whine a bit, but Scar could always tell he appreciated it. After third life he struggled to sleep alone for weeks. Last life knocked that problem right out for him though.

The thought gets him to tear his eyes away from the bed and forces him to step away. Now that Grian is asleep he can finally treat his burns without the avian fussing over him. He’s been pretending to be alright all day, and he knows that Grian saw right through it. Still, he didn’t do anything, and Scar didn’t say a word.

The whole thing had been stupid in the first place. He should have seen the trap coming from a mile away, but he was still a little disoriented from Ren’s attack the night before. At least that’s what he tells himself.

He can still hear Joel’s piercing laughter as there was a shock of white hot pain, and then nothing. Death was never fun in these games, and it was all too familiar to his very first death ever. That had been completely different though, and Scar doesn’t enjoy settling on those thoughts.

Instead he goes to the chests and finds himself all the necessary supplies. After a quick hike up the stairs he finds himself on the rooftop of the keep. His legs dangle over the side as he prepares himself for the absolute agony he’s about to endure.

Even unbuttoning his shirt has him cringing. The burned skin sticks to the fabric and rips away with every pull of the shirt. Still he has to get it off, and so he pulls it quickly like a bandaid. A raw scream of agony leaves him as he hunches over himself, black spots crowding his vision.

Void, this is going to hurt so much worse than he was expecting.

Before he can even think about cleaning the burns, there’s steps on the stairs. Scar summons his sword, unsure who the intruder is. Even though he’s in intense pain, he’s going to fight tooth and nail for his last remaining life.

The second he sees the edge of feathers from around the stairwell the sword disappears. He shamefully turns his head down, making sure his tone is just right.

“Sorry if I woke you up, Grian.” He forces through a tight jaw. “You can go back to sleep, I’m just gonna stay up here for a bit.”

There’s a silence that hikes his shoulders up even more. He wants to believe that Grian’s listened and gone back downstairs, but it's unlikely. He’ll probably lecture Scar for waking him up with pain and Scar will have to pretend like the shadow of pain that Grian is feeling is exactly what’s going on with him.

It’s fine.

“You always do this, you know.” Grian finally says, and Scar waits for the parental tone.

It doesn’t come. Instead Grian settles behind him, holding his hand out for the supplies Scar has clutched in sweaty palms. It takes a moment, but Scar reluctantly passes them to him. He doesn’t respond. There’s honestly no words for him to say.

Grian just continues without a response.

“You don't tell anyone how much it hurts. I always thought that you just had really high pain tolerance, or weren’t that injured, but seeing you today…” Grian’s hands are light on his skin as he pours cold water across the burns. “It made me realize that you are way too good at quietly suffering.”

There’s a sharp burst of pain on his left shoulder that he cringes at, but not a single sound leaves him, as if to back up Grian’s point.

“I don't try.” Is the only defense Scar can muster.

“How can you not- okay whatever. Face me real quick-” Scar slowly turns towards Grian and the look of sympathy in his eyes almost floors Scar. He continues with his task as he speaks, not making eye contact. “I always wondered how you got back to normalcy after third life. I mean I was bedridden for weeks after my fall, and that wasn’t even as bad as-”

He stops his rambling as he realizes just where it will lead. Neither of them have mentioned that last fight, and they never will. As Grian moves onto the bandaging he gets quieter, his face drawn in concentration.

“It hurt a lot actually.” Scar clears his throat, looking off in the distance so he doesn’ have to see how Grian reacts. “Both times. But I just couldn’t let anyone know what happened, it just felt like too much to put on other people’s shoulders.”

“You spoon.” Grian chides, and there’s the parental tone. “We all love you Scar, and we want to know. Mumbo was worried sick for weeks after last life when you wouldn’t leave your house. He thought you hated all of us.”

Scar can’t think of a single thing to say, so he simply shrugs. The immediate hurt makes him regret the decision, and he bites down hard on his cheek to keep himself from reacting. The skin there is completely scarred up by now, destroyed from years of continual use.

“Void at least cry or something Scar.” Grian snaps and it takes Scar back. “I can feel it, and even though it’s lessened it freaking hurts. You’re allowed to be in pain, I’m not going to judge you or anything.”

Once again, Scar just stares at the stars, keeping his mouth shut.

When the bandaging is done, Grian holds his hand out. Scar stares at it for a moment before grabbing it, the avian’s hand warm on his. He’s hauled to his feet and led down the stairs, Grian’s fingers intertwined with his.

They settle back onto the bed, but this time Grian doesn’t go to the wall. Instead he stays rather close to Scar, basically in his arms if he were to reach out. He doesn’t.

Even when his eyes close, his heart stays rapidly fluttering. His eyelids twitch every few seconds and Scar can see words playing on his lips. What is he thinking about?

“I’m sorry.”

Scar blinks once, then twice as he stares at now open, dark eyes. He’s never once heard Grian apologize, except when he was actively killing him all that time ago. It rings in his ears for just a moment.

“What are you sorry about?” He finally asks, his mouth open in surprise.

“I’m sorry for killing you.”

“We already established that the creeper kill wasn’t your-”

“Not that Scar.” Grian groans, an exasperated sigh leaving him. He pulls himself up on the pillow, eye to eye with Scar. “I meant all the other times. The taken lives, everything.”

His breath catches and Scar tilts his head curiously.

“And I’m sorry for killing you to win.” He says quietly, and the words settle in Scar’s chest heavily. Like a weight on his heart, actively pulling him down. “You deserve so much better than what I’ve given you.”

“I don't think that-” Scar starts.

“I don't care what you think.” Grian says quickly, his voice rising for just a moment. “You deserved better, and you still do. So tell me what I’ve done to hurt you and I’ll apologize for it all, because I can't bear to watch you just hold it all in.”

Scar’s mouth opens and closes multiple times before he settles on a response.

“I’ve already forgiven you for all of it, Grian.” Scar says, a sad smile on his lips. “It hurt far too much to stay angry, so I just let it all go.”

“I don't deserve that Scar.”

“No you don't.” Scar finally reaches out, an invitation. “But you get it anyways.”

Tears spring in the avian’s eyes as he stares at Scar’s outreached hands. After a few seconds of deliberation he accepts it, pulling himself into Scar’s arms. He’s impossibly warm on Scar’s bandaged skin, and he can feel when the avian sighs.

“Do you feel any better?” He mumbles and Scar has to strain his ears just to hear it.

“Not really.” Scar finally admits, and it feels kind of good to say. “It hurts a lot, but it’s nice not being alone for once.”

“Well next time you get hurt you better come to me.” Grian hums softly. “No more of this quiet pain stuff or I will hunt you down and make you share your feelings.”

Scar laughs quietly, the movement burning across his chest. Finally he lets out a hiss of pain, and Grian frowns.

“Fine Grian.” Scar reluctantly says. “I’ll go to you then.”

“Good.”

For the first time in a long time when Scar goes to bed in pain, there’s someone else who knows, and someone else who cares. It’s foreign, but it feels strangely good.

#hermitcraft fic #febuwhump #febuwhumpday7 #can you tell that I'm obsessed with desert duo yet?#hopewrites

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phoenixfeathersinfall · 2 years

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I don’t mean to be overly negative, and I certainly don’t want to ruin anyone’s enjoyment of the new Trek trailers/future content. But, I’m having some complicated feelings about Picard’s last season and I kind of need to get them out. (I hope I’m not the only one with apprehension?) To be clear, I will be engaging with Season 3 in some capacity, and there are several things about the show I’ve very much enjoyed. But, I really don’t see how they can stick this landing given the situation they’ve gotten themselves into.

Most of my concerns revolve around the Great Cast Reshuffle. The rest stem from the tone/themes of the trailer itself. (Analysis under a read more because this got way longer than I planned.)

The Great Cast Reshuffle

Soji, Elnor, Rios, and Agnes are gone, leaving behind only Picard, Seven, and Raffi. Raffi is the only new character introduced specifically for this series/not a “legacy character.” I’m all for seeing old favorites (God knows I primarily started following the series for Seven) but not at the cost of new characters and stories. I think, despite its tonal and plot issues, Picard had a very strong cast of characters who many people connected with/related to and wanted to see them carry this show through to the end, becoming part of a rising generation of Trek (the Trek renaissance if you will?) One of the most compelling aspects for me personally was that all of these characters were a little broken/had endured a lot of trauma, but they were all dealing with it in different ways and learning to find solace in each other. They weren’t the conventional Starfleet crew, but that something which made them interesting! And to toss out over half of them going into the last season? We’re at the finish line! Absolutely terrible timing. These characters and the actors which dedicated so much time and effort to bringing them to life for us deserved better than that.

Everyone was replaced with the old crew from The Next Generation. Again, it’s always nice to see old friends, but they need to be balanced with the new characters and shouldn’t completely take over the story. TNG has never been my favorite series (full disclosure: I prefer Deep Space Nine and Voyager,) so I don’t quite share the excitement of the avid fans at this development. Even laying that aside, this is not the cast that was promoted and promised for the series. We know Patrick Stewart was clear coming into the role that he didn’t want to re-hash or expand upon anything from TNG era because he felt those stories had already been told and concluded. (They have!) But now he’s helming what many have called “TNG 2.0.”

But! Legacy characters aren’t safe! This might be more important to me than it is to other people, but it strikes me as weird that all of the XBs aside from Seven (Hugh and Icheb) were killed off for shock value, both in especially brutal ways. These were the only people in the galaxy that were like Seven and could understand her. Hugh was trying to change all that, but the writing said “no.” Color me upset.

If we’re doing legacy characters, where is Seven’s family? Why has every single reference to them been colored by trauma or pain? Why has Seven been abandoned again? Rangers are secretive as part of the job, sure, but you can’t tell me she didn’t need support after she came back to a planet she’d never really known as a visibly “enemy other,” Starfleet rejected her, Bjayzl betrayed her, and Icheb died in her arms. You can’t tell me the crew just..doesn’t care how Seven is doing.

A lot of the TNG crew have already had their turns to play a part in the story. To date, with what’s aired so far, we’ve had appearances from Data, Will Riker, Deanna Troi, Hugh, Guinan, Q, and Wesley Crusher. Jean-Luc Picard is, of course, heading the whole thing, it’s his show. Heck, that means the only characters we haven’t seen are Beverly Crusher, Geordi Laforge, and Worf.

As many people smarter than me have pointed out, the new situation means that the optics of the third season in terms of diversity are…less than stellar. If we consider the group we saw at the conclusion of the first season to be the “main crew” (Jean-Luc Picard, Cristobal Rios, Agnes Jurati, Raffi Musiker, Soji Asha, Seven of Nine, and Elnor) Picard began the year with a cast of three white actors and four actors of color. Michelle Hurd (Raffi) is Black, Isa Briones (Soji) is mixed-race Filipina, Evan Evagora (Elnor) is Māori, and Santiago Cabrera (Rios) is Hispanic (Chilean.) Three of those actors have departed, leaving only Hurd. This was presumably to make room for six of the TNG cast, four of whom are white actors and two of whom are actors of color. Lavar Burton (Geordi Laforge) and Michael Dorn (Worf) are both Black. Voyager, which began airing over twenty-five years ago performs better here, with four characters of color, each of a different background. This is particularly troublesome given the Trek renaissance eagerness to reflect greater diversity (and market itself as such.)

This is again a matter of personal taste, and something the show has had a problem with from the beginning, but of a cast of eight characters, only two are non-human*, and one of them is hybrid who looks completely human. It’s….just not Star Trek if it’s all humans, folks. Where’s the cross-cultural explorations? Where’s the commentary? Where’s the reminder that this is a sci-fi in outer space in a very big, very diverse galaxy?

Tones and Themes

Another problem since the beginning, Picard has problems figuring out what its tone wants to be, and to some extent what its themes are/if they’re congruent with the history of the franchise. Historically, Star Trek is often whacky to the point of silliness, philosophical to the point of over-dramatic, and optimistic to the point of being campy/cheesy. And that’s good! Bad things happen, but we have fun along the way, and we trust that things will turn out well in the end. Picard falls into the “good show= quote on quote realistic show=gritty grimdark high stakes show” trend when it isn’t careful. Newer Treks on the whole seem to have this habit, from elements of the reboot films to the plots in Discovery to the “Section 31 show” in pre-production right now. It’s not isolated to Trek either; it’s spread like a virus across so many forms or media over the past several years. Even so, it feels particularly odd in Trek, given the general trends in the franchise, and harsher critics say it “doesn’t feel like Star Trek.” I think what they mean is that Picard (and its brethren) seems to take itself too seriously: we’re lacking the whimsy we’ve come to expect, so little time is afforded from the overarching plot that we don’t see as much on-screen relationship development as before, and almost nothing funny happens aside from the occasional sarcastic quip. There’s no release of tension between major plot beats, leaving viewers stressed and drained by a constant push forward to the high-stakes climax with ever-more hardship poured onto the pile. There’s no room to breathe. Where’s the fun, where’s the wonder, where’s the hope? For God’s sake the event that kicks everything off is the destruction of a planet and the deaths of millions of people while the Federation stood by and let it happen.

The tone shifts —sometimes dramatically—between seasons, between episodes, and even within episodes. The plots and subplots also don’t gel together well (maybe it’s all those cutaways? It’s rare that we can finish one segment of a given plot before we cut away to three more.) Irs emotional whiplash, and I’m dizzy just on a visual level.

This may be a case of just playing up the intrigue to pull people in, but the trailer itself doesn’t give a lot of reasons to hope things might lighten up? Everyone looks sad or grim. People are talking about sacrifice, hardship, and injustice. Picard says we’re never without hope but uh…he sure doesn’t look it.

Even more people smarter than me have pointed out that Raffi’s “You have no idea how hard it is to be in this world” is particularly gut-wrenching, and she’s been through quite enough already between the loss of her career, her falling out with Picard, her addiction, her estrangement from her family and subsequent fears of being abandoned/alone and unloved. Then she spent almost the entirety of season 2 mourning the death of Elnor, a surrogate son by all appearances, and believing it was her fault because she convinced him not to go back to Romulus when he was having doubts about the future. There was also quite a bit of discord between her and Seven in the middle, which resolved happily in the end, but still. Seven got re-assimilated and almost died first. Given Trek’s track record of giving the harshest stories to minority characters, especially POC (and how wider media in general shows the same problem,) it’s no wonder there’s speculation about “trauma porn.” Its not like we got enough of that in season 2. Yes we did, writers please stop this ride .

I must return to my dear Seven. So season 2 showed Seven was rejected by Starfleet for her Borgness and subsequently fell out with Janeway. It brought her to a timeline where she was the leader of a totalitarian regime, brought her face to face with a Borg Queen who remembered her, took away her Borg physiology and by extension some of her sense of self (she seemed happy but I was not), murdered one of the first people to show her kindness in years, put her at odds with her partner, gave her flashbacks to her lifelong trauma, cost her a crewmate/friend to the Borg, and put her in a showdown that she didn’t think she’d survive. And it ends with her almost bleeding to death, being reassimilated, and what sure looks like the destruction of her family for a third time given the casting changes. Thank goodness she got a girlfriend, a kiss, and a field promotion out of it. In addition to sporting a Starfleet uniform in the trailer AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, she speaks with a quivering, almost broken voice about how she “thought she could inspire people and bring justice to an unjust world.” Trek again has a problematic history of putting marginalized characters (women with ambition, aloof demeanors, nuanced relationships with femininity/its expectations, and oft-traumatic pasts) into devastating circumstances/suffering huge loss to remind us they can be “properly emotional women.” (See: Tasha Yar, Kira Nerys, B’elanna Torres, and T’pol.) In-universe and among audiences, Seven fulfills those hopes many times over (there’s a reason so many queer, neurodivergent/disabled, and otherwise-“othered” people love her.) Seven can be an inspiration and a fighter for justice. She has. I know because she’s done it for me.

To make an extremely long story short: I want MY cast back and I want them to be HAPPY!

*Whether or not Seven is human, alien, or something in between is a matter of interpretation. My preferred reading is “hybrid,” but I counted her as human for the purposes of this post.

#dove talks #meta #I should start a tag for my star trek thoughts #star trek #star trek crit #I am so concerned trek community #thank u to all the fic writers who’ve helped me so far and to all of u will surely do so as we leave this series behind

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inside-a-sinners-mind · 9 months

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Hi. I mean, Hell-o.

Whats in the word Hi? To many beginnings, and how many goodbyes? I never say goodbye, i dont do funerals, and i dont go to graves. Death is the permant fear of me., and the craziest thign is that im not afraid to di, but im more afraid that live will go on without me and that no one will even notice that im no longer living. Im existing, im a hollow damn near empty shell of whom i used to be. Pain. it didnt change me, emotinally was already dead inside form the lack of love or care. or maybe i was just blind to those who truly loved me, and now that everything around me reeks of failure do i truly start to see that everythign in me is spewing hatred for the living and those whom can be free. I have hoped for many things in life but the one thing i wanted was to be loved. Just honest love, someone to look at me every single day and tell me that i will always come back for you, and mean it. TO Never be the joker or butt of the jokes for loving someone and proudly looking stupid. I have had it too many times...or so i thought. Maybe this was the hardest chess games and queen beat rook everytime because i started to focus on me. ho selfish, yup ho, the word that everyone uses to describe me because i finally comfortable in my body. only took me 28 years, to find clothes that fit and were me, not somones handme down, or my mother butt floss, or my cousin who idolized the most, for not letting me slide. Actually all of them Osss, they kept the world spinning for a sinner like me, someone who knew all the darkness but always kept the light in. until i was alone with one friend, laughing and having a spill of lemonade telling them the horrors i thought was normal. I never knew a better Bear, Kitty, and Taco Flavored kisses, but my Lonely island was the one i never thought was an oppenant, she was literally my everything, and i lost it all in one swing, because i need to let it out. She did what she thought was right i guess, but i had never used my hands to cause harm...since i was provisioned that way. I hated the pool but them it became my transperncy circle. I could lay in the water and be clean, but it somehow triggered me to be dirty. I never think about savannah, because all i remeber is 3 reds and a little boy who just wanted to swim, and a little girl who wanted to know what the biggest secret was. Kuriousity, Kills every searching soul link, when i search for it i find it. Never takes me long, Ol' Red, was the athemn that i didnt really understand, Love will always be the weak link in human society; show me affection and my legs fly, and all rational thinking goes out the window. To be loved, to be free, to be me, something i can never be again, for i couldnt breathe, but i made it, but i couldnt see, but you made it, i still feel him lingering, but hes a ghost, but i,....like it never happened all over again, like my words were taken from me, just like the churches silenced the little women, i was never allowed to repeat, what has forsaken me. I am not lost, or depressed, i am just not who i used to be, and that isnt alright with me but i can not change the past. I can not become her. prideful, powerful, strong, and had every sense of home. Now i wonder the streets like a lost pug with tears flowing for the thought of a persons voice. I hear them everywhere but i never see them until i know a voice before a face, and its like magic, i see the picture of them where, how, alone or not ,safe or not. Sage, the name is not a familiar of mines, but shes hurting, she lost but she wasnt always that way, she drank the pain until it bled into a point but i know that she is better now, hurling to the skin to spit out the poison, she cnat take it anymore, will the hunted, bart the brother, and a friend of a sandmine, the past cant be, so be kind AjC because those who werer not kind to you will bring you boutiful of blessing, ease the pain not with dirty water or nonremembrance for you were the first to help me see that

IM THE SH*T

SURPRISED.....yeah metoo.

#imjusttheMF'reader

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sunarc · 2 years

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hi!! could you make hdcs of inarizaki guys having a s/o with depression and how they would comfort them during a bad depressive episode?

Idk if oyu make this kind of things but i feel that this would be really sweet

How HQ boys comfort S/O with depression

Atsumu + Kita + Osamu + Suna

Atsumu isn't sure what exactly he should do at first. He’d try to tell jokes to ease your crying but, he’d immediately realize that simple jokes won't make things better. His heart drops at the sight of your red rimmed eyes and cheeks soaked with tears.

“Wh-what can I do Angel? Tell me how to make it better.” His questions are answered with broken sobs as your arms reach out for him. Atsumu’s arms wrap around you and within seconds he’s holding you tight. He doesn’t care about his shirt now stained with your tears, or the way your nails dig into the sides of his arms as you scream from sadness. All he wants to do is hold you. His thumb rubs small circles into your back as he whispers sweet soothing words.

“I’m right here,Angel. Yer not alone I promise.” he repeats his words whispering them gently into your ears over your soft mumbles begging him not to leave. He would never leave you, not in a million years. Atsumu kisses your tears away no matter how many fall. He’ll sit with you for as long as it takes. Your body wrapped in his arms as your head rests on his chest listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart. Its a sound you’ve grown to love and the one thing that lets you know you’re safe right where you are

Kita knows moments like this are hard. Your soft hiccups are all he needs to hear before he’s holding you whispering words of reassurance. His voice is soft as he whispers over and over all the things he loves about you.“Let it out love, I’m right here” The sweet vibrations of his voice are so perfect. He’s a nurturing person by nature so of course he’d make sure to shower you in affection. He’d wipe away every tear with a soft purr about how perfect you are and that everything would be okay. He’d wrap you in a soft blanket and pull your body close to his. His lips would brush against your ear to whisper his soft words of assurance.

“I know everything seems bad right now, but I promise you will be okay.” His heart aches seeing you like this and all he wants to do is make it better. Being in his arms is the softest feeling. He’ll wrap his arms around you and squeeze you tight as if protecting you from all the bad. Kita is naturally a protective person, so he’s willing to do anything possible to protect you from all the pain in the world. He’d shield you with his heart because you mean the absolute world to him and if that means taking your pain as his own then so be it.

Osamu is so patient. He’d wait hours for you for you if he had to. If you need to scream, scream your heart out. If you need to cry, cry as much as you need and he’ll wipe away every tear. If you need to vent, let it all out and he will hang onto every single word. He loves you so much and it really doesn’t matter what the problem is or how bad you feel he will be there catering to every need you have. Osamu will prepare your favorite comfort meal, wrap you in a blanket and feed you when you're calm and able to breathe comfortably. He’ll hold you while you eat and whisper comforting words into your ear.

“Sweet baby, I’m here. I promise you’re okay.” He’ll whisper sweet words into your ear just so he can see that pretty smile that he loves so much.

“There’s that smile. My favorite thing in the world.” His words easily bring butterflies to your tummy. Everything about Osamu in this moment, caring for you, whispering the sweetest words, assuring you of his love is euphoric.

“Im’ here for you. I promise you’re not alone.”

Suna is very silent but his love for you and the way he cares for you speaks volumes. When he sees the way your tears stream down your face all he can think to do is hold you. His arms are so warm wrapped tightly around your shaking figure. He won’t even ask you what’s wrong. It doesn’t matter, all he cares to do is cater to your every need and wipe away all your tears. Suna sometimes gets nervous in moments like this. He knows he’s not the best with words but he is genuinely trying his best. He’d pull you in to whisper against your skin about how he loves you so much.

“We’ll get through this together, I promise. I love you so much.” His words are simple, soft and mean the world to you. His heart flutters when you curl into him, telling him that you need him. He’ll always be there for you. His hand holds yours so gently and he presses kisses on your temple. You’re his world and seeing you broken practically breaks him. He’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel safe and happy again. If you need him he will be there.

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nobodyfamousposts · 3 years

Text

Chloe's Lament Part 2

Next part of Chloe's Lament. Chloe begins to learn of the changes to reality from her Wish.

She will not be happy about this.

____________________

When Chloe woke up, the first thing that struck her was the loud banging sounds from somewhere below her.

The second thing was pain.

“I have a headache!” She called out, laying an arm over her sleep mask-covered eyes. Her butler would hear her and respond accordingly, of course. He always did.

“And get them to stop that racket down there!” She flopped on her bed with a huff, waiting for the help to return with aid.

Really, the things she dealt with!

Normally, her butler would arrive immediately, with painkillers and fruit-infused water being presented to her within a minute.

But to her growing frustration, that minute came and passed.

Then two.

Three…

Not that Chloe was counting.

Eventually, it had been five minutes and there was still no word from the man. And to make matters worse, that damn banging from below was only getting louder and increasing her suffering.

“Ugh! Do I have to do everything myself?!”

She ripped off the sleep mask, only to wince at the level of brightness in the room. She was on the top floor with the best visibility but the windows were supposed to be tinted and covered to prevent this very thing!

Once her vision cleared, several things should have stood out as odd.

But the first thing to attract her notice was the sleep mask she had just removed—some cheapo dime-store brand. She tossed the rag away with a shriek.

“Is this a prank?!” She demanded. “That is not my personalized diamond-studded satin custom made facial mask! Jean? Jean!”

There was a ruckus from below. The sound of something being dropped. Footsteps—loud and fast and getting closer. Then the opening of a door.

“Precious! Is everything okay?”

She sneered at the sound of her father’s voice.

“No! My sleep mask was stolen, it’s too bright, my head is KILLING me and no one is getting me anything to help!”

He looked confused at that. “Are you out of Efferalgan in your bathroom cabinet?”

She gave him a look. Why would she have to get up and go to the bathroom for some painkillers when there should be someone to hand them to her?

He gave her a strange look in response. Like he was confused his daughter would expect someone to do something as simple as bringing her painkillers and water.

And water.

Preferably cherry-infused.

Was that really so much to ask? Or even require asking?

“Just…hang on a moment.” He said and left her her bathroom.

Finally.

With nothing to do but wait, she glanced around, noting that…this was not her room.

Not the one she knew, anyway.

The light that had blinded her before was from a central window overlooking the room that so obtrusively settled on her bed. In addition, there was a skylight placed above a nook set behind her bed, which brought more light into the room.

She vaguely recognized the room. Well, by its floor plan, at least. The layout and decor threw her off though. The furniture and items were clearly cheaper than her usual high end designer brands. But she saw aspects that were suited to her tastes. Minute indications of her own touch in the assortment of objects around her. Yellow and white as the themes. Black cushions and aesthetic.

It was…decent. But so beneath her it was embarrassing! These were cheap models! Practically plastic! The bedsheets were…ugh…cotton of all things! The lamps were dim! She was missing her boudoir! And her shoes! And her jewelry! She didn’t even want to imagine the nightmare that was her closet—it was practically a hole in the wall! There was no way it would fit everything!

“Here you are, dear!” Her father said, returning from her bathroom with a glass of water and a pill in hand.

She fought the grimace.

Was this tap water?

Gross!

By his expectant look, he clearly meant for her to drink it.

With her continuing headache and no better option for fast relief, Chloe reluctantly took the proffered items. She was unable to help the slightest grimace before she downed them both.

“Well, if that’s all, I’ll be getting back to setting up for the morning rush. Come downstairs to the bakery when you’re ready.” He looked almost relieved to be leaving.

Chloe barely took notice now that she had what she needed. Instead, she took to contemplating her situation and her new surroundings.

All the furniture aside, this room looked familiar. Not really well known, because Chloe was sure she had never been in such a place before. But…like she had seen it somewhere…TV maybe?

And her Daddykins was here. That meant…wherever she was, it was apparently expected for her to be here.

But where was here?

The last thing she remembered was…

She closed her eyes, straining to think past the pain.

That’s right! Hawk Moth’s offer! The Bee! She was Miracle Queen! And she had just won! She had Ladybug beaten…

Her fists clenched.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng…

It hit her.

This was just like her room!

She had only seen it a couple of times. Once for sure when Sabrina had snuck into her room per Chloe‘s instructions for blackmail material. She happened to glimpse a picture of the room here or there from other people’s phones of times that they had spent in this room—that she had really cared. It was a small and dingy room that had nothing on her glamorous abode at the hotel, which of course, was superior in every way.

She was vaguely reminded of that one show that Marinette hadn’t stopped talking about which had also apparently shown Marinette‘s room, but Chloe honestly hadn’t been bothered enough to watch it, so she didn’t have that to go on. But with what she did know, it was a safe bet to assume that this was some knockoff of Marinette‘s room.

So why was Chloe here? Why was her dad downstairs?

She… she had made the Wish, hadn’t she?

…

What…is this it?

She turned up her nose at the environment around her, completely unimpressed.

Was this dinky little room with its weird setup and tacky decor what the Wish gave her? Why would she be in any copy of Dupain-Cheng’s room layout anyway?

The Wish should have changed reality, that much was clear. There was no way she would be caught dead in Dupain-Cheng’s room otherwise—much less sleeping there like it was her own room!

…unless…it was her room?

Was it?

She had found some aspects of the room to her taste, but did that mean this was hers?

It would explain why she was there. And why her Daddy had come up. He had mentioned her bathroom earlier, then had gone through the nearby door to get a tablet and water from what she could only assume was the bathroom he had spoken of.

…he had mentioned a bakery.

Eyes wide, she stumbled out of bed and to the window. Sure enough, the school was just across the way. And there was a sign out front.

“Bourgeois Bakery”

Chloe stared.

Suddenly, it clicked. The banging from downstairs. Her Daddy talking about a ‘morning rush’. And to come down to the…

…no way!

This place was a bakery! Her Daddy was operating a bakery!

And given her location, it was the same bakery that Marinette’s parents owned originally!

This…

…wait…

…did this mean she was supposed to be Marinette?

She threw her pillow in a fury.

Stupid Wish! This wasn’t at all what she wanted!

You would think all-powerful Wish-granting artifacts would do it right!

“Where are those kwamis?!” She demanded, jumping out of the bed and looking around for anywhere she would keep such important jewels. “I’m going to give them a piece of my mind!”

She had a boudoir along with the various jewelry pieces kept there ranging among a variety of gold and diamonds—all fakes, much to her disappointment. And not a single Miraculous among them.

She slammed the final drawer in with a curse.

Nothing!

If she had the Miraculous, shouldn’t they still be with her? Do they just disappear after being used?

Ugh! Those things really were useless! Utterly useless!

It was when she stood back to full height that she noticed the monthly calendar. There were the standard holidays, but also a weekly appointment every Friday evening with some ‘Bridgette’. What was that? A spa day?

She shot a glance to her reflection in the mirror and grimaced. She definitely needed one. She could just feel all the oils on her skin!

But more to the point, there was one day circled on the calendar.

‘Start of School’

She grabbed her phone—an older, obsolete model with a glittery but fake casing—and checked the date.

That…

That was today.

It was the first day of school. A…

She checked the date again, and sure enough, it was a year ago!

Had the Wish taken her back in time?

She froze, realization hitting her.

This was the first day of school. The same day as the first akuma attack.

And when Ladybug first appeared.

That meant…she was sent back in time to the day Marinette would become Ladybug.

It was a year in the past. She wasn’t at the hotel. Her room was in a bakery. Her father was working as a baker. She was Marinette now.

That meant…

She giggled, feeling a giddiness rise within her.

Today was the day she becomes Ladybug!

It looks like the Wish did something right, after all!

Chloe grinned, spinning away from the mirror and to her closet.

She had to get ready! She had to prepare the perfect outfit! Something for the day she becomes a hero!

No. THE hero!

She knew how the Ladybug worked. Hell, she knew the akumas to come. With her prior knowledge and skills, she would know how to use the yoyo and how to use the Lucky Charm better than the old Ladybug ever did! She’d have every akuma in the bag!

Hell, maybe she could force the Ladybug kwami to tell her where the Guardian is so she can get the other Miraculous, too! That way, she could have both the Ladybug AND the Bee again.

And her Adrikens would be her partner! To support her! To stay by her side! Just as it should be!

She paused, something niggling at the back of her brain. There was something she was forgetting.

A glance around the room as she wondered

Of course, the full extent of the change and just what that meant didn’t really hit her until she went downstairs and actually saw her father.

The poor man was in the middle of retrieving a pan lined with croissants from the unbearably hot oven, his hair contained in…fishnet? Latex? Whatever the cafeteria cooks wore when she had no choice but to eat from the school’s lunchroom.

Gross! He looked like a lunch lady!

He didn’t seem to notice her, too busy dancing around the kitchen and checking over the…whatever pastries those were and just looking proud of himself.

Daddykins, no. You’re better than this! How could you be reduced to such a state?

He seemed to notice her staring. “Are you feeling better?” He asked, looking concerned.

“Er…yeah.” She replied. She wasn’t, really, but she couldn’t tell him that. He could try to have her stay home and how would she get to see the fruits of her labors from there?

“Ah good!” He said cheerfully. “It is the first day of the new school year, and you certainly want to…” He hesitated, “…start off on the right foot.”

A pause. He looked at her expectantly, but she had no idea what he was getting at.

He shook his head and turned away for a moment to grab a box before coming back and presenting it to her.

Clearly he wanted her to take it, so she sighed and took hold of the box. A peek inside revealed a number of macarons.

For her? Now this was what she was talking about!

“Oh, Daddykins! You shouldn’t have!”

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “I figured it would be a great way to start off the new year by sharing them with your classmates.”

Ugh. Seriously? All happy feelings vanished in an instant and she shot him a petulant look.

“Why should I have to share?” She demanded.

He hesitated.

She glared, tapping her foot in a clear indication of wanting an answer. Or preferably for him to just say they were all hers.

“It’s a new year and a new start.” Andre said, smiling nervously. “Maybe it’s time to just let bygones be bygones?“

It was a stupid question and she sure let him know it. She stared at him flatly, causing him to wilt.

Andre sighed.

“I know you don’t like her, but…” he hesitated. “Please, just try to get along?”

She blinked.

“Her?”

Wait.

Wait…

It suddenly struck her.

If she was Dupain-Cheng now…

That meant Marinette was in her shoes!

She grinned.

Marinette would be her bully! She’d be the rich bitch daughter of the Mayor and loathed by Paris while Chloe would be—

The one everyone rallied around.

The one Adrikens adored.

The one chosen as Ladybug!

She would have it all!

Part of her hoped the other girl would know about the previous reality…just so she could shove it in her face!

“Just take it slow,” he continued, unaware of her true thoughts. “And then you can report about it to Bridgette at your counseling session on Friday.”

Wait—counseling?

Seeing her expression, he held up his hands in a gesture of peace.

“I know you don’t like it, but it was part of the agreement. You need to make a better impression this year, sweetie.”

“What?”

“She’s the daughter of the Mayor. I’m not sure we can take another…” He trailed off before shaking his head and looking at her imploringly. “You understand, right?”

Oh.

She got it!

“Of course, Daddykins!”

Clearly Dupain-Cheng was abusing her influence, just as she thought!

She had to hand it to the girl…a part of her hadn’t been quite convinced that she would go quite that far. But that just proof that Marinette Dupain-Cheng wasn’t so perfect and that even she would be the same as Chloe once in her position!

Chloe knew she would have to bear with the mistreatment for now. No matter how much it would grate her. It would suck to have to have to accept it for any period of time.

Still, it would be worth it! It just meant even more ammunition to use against her once Chloe was Ladybug!

She didn’t even notice the look of concern he gave her or his weak goodbye as she left the bakery with the box in hand. She was too wrapped up in her own thoughts. Particularly her plans.

And what plans they were!

So what if Maribrat had Chloe’s wealth? It wasn’t like she knew the first thing about status or being a symbol. No, Ladybug did that for her and she didn’t even use it right! Not like Chloe would.

She smirked to herself, imagining the future.

Well, as soon as she got the Miraculous, taking the pigtailed down a peg would be the first thing on her list. Maybe a dip in the Seine? Or ‘accidentally’ getting her hit by an akuma or two?

Why limit it to her personally? If Ladybug spoke out against the mayor, who would vote for him? From what she remembered of Marinette’s dad, that oaf had no business being in politics anyway! Then there was the hotel, which would no doubt be a mess with him in charge anyway.

And best of all, she thought with glee, with a word from Paris’s favorite hero, Dupain-Cheng could be implicated as an ally of Hawk Moth.

Who wouldn’t believe it? If Marinette was in Chloe’s place, that meant she had to be a brat despised by Paris. Everyone would likely jump at the excuse to run her out of the city!

It was slightly disappointing that the former Ladybug wouldn’t know why the new Ladybug was so against her or that she had even been replaced, but she didn’t deserve answers anyway.

For once, Chloe was getting everything she wanted. It was like the Universe itself was on her side! Chloe would be the hero with all the Miraculous and status just as she’d always deserved. And everyone would automatically see it and love her while they would already recognize Marinette as the selfish bitch Chloe always knew she was!

It was a win/win for Chloe and all her fans—which was the best kind of win for Chloe.

Sure, it meant she would have to suffer the loss of her basic comforts like a butler, the latest in fashion and accessories, and easy immediate access to a luxury spa for now…but it would be worth it in the long run.

…maybe not the luxury spa. She would kill for the hotel’s oils and masseuse. But she would just have to deal with, ugh, scheduling with a four star locale in the meantime.

It’s for the greatest good, she reminded herself, looking mournfully at her chipped nails.

And besides, she didn’t have to suffer for long.

Today was the first day of school, which signified the first appearance of Ladybug! This was the day she achieved her destiny! Once she became Ladybug, she would be back on top!

So what if her dad was a baker instead of a hotel owner this go around? Who said it had to stay that way? Just as she could use her position to defame the Dupain-Chengs and ruin Marinette, she could endorse the bakery for free publicity. Do special promotions and deals for money. Or even better! She could make the city pay her for her work!

After all, how much was her Miracle Cure worth, really? How much would the city be willing to pay for her to fix the damage caused by akuma fights? It was only what she was owed; the least they could do is compensate her for her time.

Really, it was Marinette’s own fault for not taking advantage while she could. She could’ve been an idol or the city’s star. She could have used the Miraculous to create an army. Hell, Hawk Moth should have been nothing against her! And instead, she just…wasted her potential. On things like loose zoo animals or out of control helicopters, no less!

Chloe wouldn’t make the same mistakes.

And now that Chloe was set to be the city’s hero…

Even if Marinette was rich (for now), it would be nothing compared to what Chloe would have. She would be Paris’s hero! The BEST hero! And unlike that has-been, she at least would use Ladybug’s power and status right!

She didn’t need to be the daughter of the Mayor! Her Mother was still THE Style Queen, Audrey Bourgeois. Adrien Agreste was still her best friend. She was still Chloe Bourgeois, the best thing to happen to Paris! And now as Ladybug, she would still be back on top and ruling Paris in no time!

And it would all start once she got to school.

“Get out of my way!” She exclaimed, shoving some old fart taking his sweet time walking, sending him to the ground and out of her way.

Move aside, peons!

Her destiny awaits!

Back at the intersection, Chloe never noticed the way the elderly gentleman cast her a judging stare from his position on the ground. Or his muttering.

“No, definitely not.”

“Are you okay?” Came a voice.

“Ah, yes!” He replied, accepting the offered hand and taking stock of the girl it belonged to. She was young. In college, likely. “Thank you, young lady!”

“Of course!” She smiled, handing him back his cane. “Do you need help getting home from here? That looked like quite a fall.”

“But don’t you have somewhere to be?” He asked.

“Just school, but I can spare a few minutes if you need…?”

“There is no need for that.” He shook his head. “I will be fine, thank you for your concern.”

Yes, he decided with a smile as he watched her go, this one will do.

_________________

Ugh, walking. Who invented such a thing? She couldn’t wait until she had a personal limo again. This was so not good for her!

Chloe continued plotting as she walked, magnanimously choosing to consider this as part of the reason for revenge instead of its own thing.

And speaking of revenge! Let’s see…

She scrunched her face, trying to remember the events of the first day of school.

There had been that fight with Marinette over her seat. ‘My seat now’, she realized with glee. ‘Which means I’ll be back next to Adrikens!’

Where she should be.

And if she and Dupain-Cheng were now supposed to be switched, that meant ‘the horrible bully Marinette’ would be picking on ‘poor sweet little Chloe’.

She couldn’t wait!

‘Let’s see how you handle being in my shoes, Dupain-Cheng!’

She giggled to herself, ignoring the weirded out looks she was getting from some passing students.

Or the way the other students in general seemed to give her a wide berth.

As they should for the real Queen Bee of this school!

She was already imagining how this was going to go. And with the classroom only a few feet ahead, her vindication was already so close she could taste it!

Except when she finally arrived at the class, it was immediately clear that something wasn’t right.

Dupain-Cheng was there as expected. With her same kiddie pigtails and her pink and grey ensemble with polka-dots—what kind of designer was she anyway?

What wasn’t expected, however, was that Cesaire was already was there as well.

Originally, Cesaire defended Dupain-Cheng and they became friends. If things played out the same, shouldn’t Cesaire be coming in late? Or standing up to Dupain-Cheng here? If anything, they already seemed to be friends.

Unless Cesaire was Dupain-Cheng’s tool like Sabrina had been for her?

It made sense that this new reality would swap more around, she reasoned.

Except…

Chloe frowned. Now that she was actually close enough to the classroom, she could see the classmates gathered into a sort of half circle around Dupain-Cheng and her follower. And as she reached the doorway, she could more clearly hear what they were saying.

“—at the Le Grand Paris.” Marinette said, gesturing to Alya with a smile.

“Wow!”

“So cool!”

“That’s awesome! So you’ve just been staying at the hotel until you can get settled in?”

Alya nodded, smiling. “Yeah. At least for a little while until we could get our own apartment. Mr. Dupain-Cheng was really accommodating. Luckily, we didn’t need it for long before Mom found something. She didn’t want to take advantage of his generosity, but it’s just really amazing that he was willing to offer us room and board just to have Mom as part of his staff!”

Chloe raised a nose in disgust.

Who ever heard of such a thing?! What hotel made any profit letting people stay for free?

“We met when I was cleaning rooms and she offered to help!” Marinette explained brightly.

Chloe nearly gagged.

Cleaned?

Marinette…actually cleaned the hotel?

Why do something that gross?

That’s what the help was for! And Sabrina.

Speaking of, where was she?

Chloe glanced around, but Sabrina was nowhere to be seen amongst the classmates.

Maybe the Wish had done more than switch her with Dupain-Cheng? Maybe Cesaire and Sabrina had been switched as well? So that meant Sabrina should be the new transfer, right?

No wait, that didn’t add up. She had just walked in on Cesaire being introduced.

Sabrina was probably just her best friend, then.

She nodded.

That was good enough, she supposed. At least if she couldn’t have her necessities from the hotel, she still had Sabrina to take care of the more mundane tasks for her.

Unaware of her thoughts, Marinette had continued talking to the others unhindered.

“—said she would be coming to Francios Dupont, and I knew I had to introduce her. She’s new, so be nice.” She instructed, giving a stare to Kim in particular. “Kim.”

The taller boy raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll give her a week before any challenges.”

Alya raised an eyebrow. “Challenges? Dare I ask?”

Everyone groaned.

“No dares.” Nino begged, covering his face with his hat. “Please. Kim is bad enough every year. I still can’t look at the hotel without remembering what happened last time…”

“Yeah, your dumb dare got us banned from the hotel’s pool for a month!” Alix said, pointing at Kim, who shrugged helplessly.

“Speaking of the hotel!” Marinette cut in, pulling out her tablet. “I convinced my dad to let us do this year’s work study at the hotel.” She tapped her tablet. “I have a little bit of influence over what they’ll choose as assignments, so we can try to come up with roles everyone will like.”

“Hey yeah! That sounds awesome!”

The classmates crowded the desk, chatting excitedly.

“So where will everyone go?”

“Maybe Kim and Max in security? Or Alix and Max in security, so Kim could work the pool area.”

“As a lifeguard?” Kim asked cheerfully. “I’ve done some training, after all.”

Marinette sent him a wry look and pretended to be thinking it over. “Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe as a pool cleaner?”

Kim pouted. “No fair, Mari!”

“Hey, it would do you some good to learn the cleaning process for the pools you use so much.” Mylene said, half jokingly and half pointedly, making Kim lower his head and groan.

Marinette giggled a little. “Well at any rate, I’ve set up a list of all the different jobs at the hotel so people can mark their top preferences. Between all the options, everyone is bound to find something that’ll suit them best.”

She sent Adrien a knowing look. “And of course Adrien will be in the kitchen.”

Adrien beamed at that.

Not that Chloe noticed.

“Kitchen?!” Chloe squawked. “You’re going to make my Adrikens work in a dirty old kitchen?!”

She had known Marinette would be bad, but how dare she punish Adrikens like that? She could just see it now! Her poor Adrikens, forced to slave away in a room meant for servants like…like he was a servant! Where he could get covered in grime and burn his precious skin!

Everyone frowned at her, as if she was the one being ridiculous!

The boy in question raised his hand.

“But I want to—”

“That is a flagrant abuse of power!” Chloe shouted, slamming a hand on the desk. “She’s making Adrikens work like a maid! What if his father hears about this?!”

Adrien wilted in on himself.

“The kitchen isn’t dirty or old.” Marinette said, sounding annoyingly calm with a terseness in her tone that Chloe had heard some service workers use when dealing with particularly difficult customers—though why they used it with her was beyond her. It was as if Marinette was acting like she the reasonable one dealing with an unreasonable customer or something. “They just finished the remodeling three months ago, we clean it regularly, and all of our utensils and equipment are taken good care of.”

“That’s not the point!” Chloe shouted. “How could you use my Adrikens in such a way? Gabriel Agreste would never approve when he hears about this!”

Because he would be hearing about this! Chloe would make sure of it!

“I could just explain to Mr. Agreste that this would be for good publicity.” Marinette suggested. “I’m sure he would allow it.”

She knew it! There were really no lows she wouldn’t go to!

“You’re really pushing this! And you call yourself Adrikens’ friend!” Chloe pointed at Marinette accusingly. “Just because your Daddy’s the Mayor doesn’t mean you can treat people like they’re lesser than you!”

Marinette frowned, looking uncertain as her gaze flickered between the others.

Hah! Even in Chloe’s position, Marinette still wavered easily and she couldn’t hide her insecurities to save her life. It was why she always gave in in the end! Anyone would roll over someone showing such an obvious weakness!

Hell, she may not even need to wait to see her taken down. This was a perfect opportunity to lead everyone in rising up against her tyranny.

After a few seconds, she turned back to face Chloe, no doubt to attack her for challenging her and show her true colors—

“Chloe, are you okay?”

Huh?

“My Dad just runs the Hotel. He isn’t the Mayor.”

What?!

“My Mom is. You met her at your…” She hesitated, sending the others a glance before lowering her voice, “…meeting, remember?”

She had to bite her tongue regarding the ridiculousness of Dupain-Cheng’s mother being the Mayor. Was that woman even a French citizen?

But it was the other part of Marinette’s statement that concerned her. What meeting? What was she even getting at? Why was she trying to be quiet about it.

Nevermind! She’d worry about that later!

“It doesn’t matter!” Chloe shouted, forcing Marinette to back away. “The fact is that you can’t just throw your weight around to get your way and treat people however you like! And I’m not the only one who feels that way!” She exclaimed, turning to the classmates in expectation.

…only to get a number of blank or confused stares in response.

“Um, what are you even talking about?” Alya asked incredulously.

What?

“Yeah, dude! Marinette doesn’t treat anyone that way.” Nino added.

What?

“The only one who pulls that sort of thing is you.” Said Nathaniel bitingly.

Since when does that loser talk?

And also, what?!

“And aren’t you supposed to be leaving Marinette alone?” Alix asked, giving Chloe a pointed look.

What even was that about?

“I thought that was the agreement.” Mylene said quietly.

Seriously?! Was everyone on her side?

They were supposed to be silent! Or judging the Mayor’s brat! That’s what they did with Chloe! Instead, they were jumping to her defense!

“Are you serious?” She demanded. “Like she doesn’t abuse her power and authority to push people around!”

“Of course not!” Marinette insisted. And then to Chloe’s rage, seemed to draw herself up even more, actually looking confident and self assured in a way Chloe herself had never felt in her place. “As the daughter of the mayor, I have to set a good example.”

Ex…

Example?

What even was that?

Unaware of Chloe’s short-circuiting, she continued. “And Chloe, I wouldn’t force anyone to do a role that they don’t want. That’s why I brought the list here for the class to review first.” She gestured to her tablet. “That way everyone has a chance to pick what roles they want and we can avoid the ones no one wants to do. How is that a bad thing?”

It wasn’t, admittedly. But Marinette wasn’t supposed to be the one doing it! That was the problem!

“And who put you in charge?!” Chloe demanded of Marinette. “Why are you deciding where we’ll do the work study? What, are you using the Class Rep position to flaunt your family’s hotel?”

It would make sense. Chloe had been the Class Rep for years originally. If Marinette was her…

Marinette just gave her a strange look.

“No. I’m not Class Rep, remember?”

Chloe balked.

“What?”

“Chloe, did you hit your head?” Marinette asked, sounding worried. She held a hand out in offering. “Do you need to go to the Nurse’s Office?”

Chloe jerked away from the girl’s outreached hand. Why would Dupain-Cheng still be acting…nice?

Clearly she must still be pretending!

“Nevermind that! If you aren’t the Class Rep, then who is?”

“Your benevolent dictator is here!” Came a voice. A familiar voice. The last one Chloe expected.

“Hey, Class Rep.” Marinette said, giving Chloe a pointed look while waving to the person behind her.

Chloe turned slowly. She had to force herself to move. The strain made it feel like her bones were creaking.

Behind her, Sabrina stood tall with a tablet in hand and looking…surprisingly well for a new reality as a lackey of someone other than Chloe. She almost didn’t recognize her.

Chloe stood straight, expecting the standard greeting.

To her shock, Sabrina didn’t even look at her, instead moving past her to…

“Wow, Marinette! Nice jacket!” Sabrina said first thing in greeting as she moved over to the other girl in interest.

Marinette blushed at the praise. “Thanks! My dad got me some new fabric and I was inspired to try this style!” She gave a wink. “Now this is just a test run to see how it works out.”

“It certainly looks comfortable.” Sabrina said in awe.

Were…were they ignoring her?

“I have some of the material left.” Marinette said. “I could make you your own for your birthday if you want?”

Oh gag! Why would anyone want Marinette’s tacky creations instead of the latest in season creation?

And there was Sabrina looking like that was something to be excited about!

Oh no! Without Chloe to guide her, she had lost any sense of fashion! No matter how much fuller her hair was or how she no longer looked like a strong wind could blow her away!

Clearly, her life was a tragedy without Chloe!

“And I checked like you asked.” Marinette continued, unaware of Chloe’s glare. “My Dad said we could do the work study at his hotel.”

“Thank you!” Sabrina cheered. “That’ll be one less thing to worry about.”

“Yeah, we were talking about that when you came in.” Marinette explained.

Chloe glared pointedly at the girl over the way she was blatantly ignoring that they had been in the middle of Chloe calling her out! Seriously, what was the point of getting to tell people off for their flaws if they were going to ignore you and pretend it never happened! Really! You can’t just ignore the truth like that!

“We were discussing what positions everyone wanted.” Mylene said. “Even if we can’t get the exact ones we’d like, there’ll at least be options.”

“Juleka and I can clean the ball room!” Rose exclaimed. “It will give us a chance to check the acoustics of the room. We’ve been wondering about the effects and what to expect if our band ever plays in such an area.“

Nino looked intrigued at that. “Hey, that does sound like a good idea. Maybe sign me up for that as well?” He asked, turning to Marinette before mumbling to himself about the echo effect on his beats.

Marinette gave him a nod before turning back to Rose. “I heard you guys just started, didn’t you?“

Rose nodded, beaming. “It’s so much fun!”

Marinette smiled and marked it down on her list. “Then I’ll suggest that for you.”

She paused for a moment, hesitating in clear unwillingness to continue before giving a strained smile.

“And Chloe...”

“How about trash cleanup?” Alix snarked, giving the girl a dark look.

“Excuse you?!” Chloe shouted in outrage. “Do you know who my daddy is?!”

The looks she was given were completely unimpressed.

“A baker?”

“And not even a good one.”

"Hey, his croissants are all right."

Chloe blanched, remembering that her father wasn’t the mayor in this world.

He wasn’t even rich.

He was just a baker now. A simple ordinary not even very good baker who was barely keeping his head above water trying to maintain his business and manage his teenage daughter.

And that made Chloe…

Nothing.

Her go to tactic now had no power.

But…but Sabrina! She realized in a flash that her minion was apparently the Class Rep! She could have her back her!

But when she spun around to look, the girl had actually just abandoned her and the gathering altogether to sit next to Mylene of all people! Mylene! And they were just…chatting! Since when did those two spend time together! And why wasn’t Sabrina there for her?!

“Chloe!” Came the only voice worth listening to.

Oh, Adrikens! Of course you would always be there for her!

She spun to him in expectation. Because of course her Adrikens would be on her side! Her savior! Her only ally against such cruel tyranny—

But he didn’t look happy. Or in any way amicable to her. “Don’t forget!” He whispered sharply to her. “You’re still on probation! You can’t start another commotion before the first class of the school year has even started!”

Chloe blinked.

Pro…

Probation?

…

Her?!

“How am I on—?!”

It was impossible! She had never had a criminal record! She’d never even committed a crime! Or anything that warranted getting in trouble over!

Regardless of what Ladybug said, since she clearly had it out for her.

“Just leave Marinette alone.” Adrien whispered, turning her away from the rest of the group and…her. “Please.”

She didn’t want to. There were so many questions and so many things she wanted to demand right now. She was very well inclined to make demands regardless, because she didn’t know what was going on and she needed answers.

But it was her Adrikens asking.

And she didn’t have much chance to say anything else as Bustier had chosen that time to arrive.

“Welcome back, everyone!” The woman greeted cheerfully. Her arrival cut off all other discussion as the students made their way to their desks. “I hope everyone had a good break and that we’re all ready to start the new year.”

A chorus of affirmations followed as everyone took their seats.

Everyone except Chloe, who was glancing around the room in confusion.

None of this was right.

She had expected to fight with Marinette over her seat to get to sit behind Adrien, but he was sitting at the back next to Nathaniel. And Marinette was sitting in the mid row on the other side from him, pulling Alya to sit next to her. But if she wasn’t sitting behind Adrien, what was even the point of challenging her for her seat?

…where even was Chloe’s seat?

She would have sad next to Sabrina, but that traitor hadn’t moved from her spot next to Mylene and left no room for Chloe! And nobody else was calling Chloe over—so if someone else had taken Sabrina’s place as her best friend, she had no way of even knowing who it was!

“Chloe,” Bustier called to her, ever so gently. “Your seat is up at the front, remember? As we discussed the last time we met.” She gestured to the bench at the front.

It was across the one Chloe had sat at previously, being the front desk closest to the door. And to her frustration, there was no one sitting with her! How else was she supposed to get her assignments copied? And wasn’t that the seat that loser, Nino, had been put in because he got in trouble? Chloe wasn’t in trouble though!

Adrien’s words about probation hit her, making her wince.

…was she?

She wanted to ask. She wanted to stomp her foot and demand the answers she deserved.

But Bustier was staring at her expectantly. And she could hear some giggles and snickering from behind her the longer she waited. She glanced back to Adrikens, but…he wasn’t even looking at her! He was conversing with Nathaniel over something on his sketchbook!

How could a sketchbook be more important than his best friend?!

With little other choice, Chloe slid into the front desk, blushing furiously in humiliation and trying to ignore everyone behind her.

It didn’t matter.

None of them mattered!

None of this would matter once she got the Miraculous and put Dupain-Cheng in her place! Then everyone would know SHE was the Queen Bee!

She was sure of it!

#ml fic #chloe's lament #chloe bourgeois #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #kwami swap #plagg #be careful what you wish for #chloe is not careful #chloe is a horrible person #miracle queen

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whetstonefires · 3 years

Text

heavier than a mountain, lighter than a feather

[my take on @misskirby's not-prompt about obi-wan beating palpatine to death with an office chair]

Obi-Wan had once touched the cold-burning edge of the Dark Side to give himself the extra edge he needed to cut down the Sith who had cut down his Master. He had fought with rage pushing him, he had fought with all the fear that Qui-Gon lay expiring on the reactor floor, that he might yet win and find himself seconds too late to bring the emergency med-treatment necessary to survive a lightsaber to the chest.

(Not that it had mattered; all he’d gotten from his desperate, hasty win was a few seconds of farewell bereft of comfort, and the burden of Anakin hung around his neck, and oh, he wished his padawan was not a burden. There had been no option but to take him and thus taking him must have been right, but no one should take on a student they did not feel ready for, and he had.)

If he had fought that way this time, he would have lost.

The Sith Master would have done what the apprentice could not, and twisted the Dark Side within him as it rose, and snared him in it, so he could not find his way back to the Light, and used that grip to bear him down with Sidious’ greater power, because the Sith said the Force will free me but it was the way of the Dark to place one will over another by pure force, so even what narrow freedom there was on the dark path was offered to one alone. Even in the best case, he would have been overwhelmed too heavily to fight for more than long enough to finish him.

Perhaps he would not have been killed. Perhaps he would have been kept alive to be used as leverage against Anakin. But assuredly he would not have been able to win.

Obi-wan however had what he would have thought of, if he had allowed himself to think about it, a trick for using his attachments and the desire not to lose them as fuel without reaching into the destabilizing, consuming whirlwind of the Dark Side. It was a dangerous, stupid trick, really, at least the way he used it, although Obi-wan thought of that way as fundamental to being a good Jedi, which would have explained a great deal about him if anyone had known.

The trick was this: it was easy to push yourself to where your limits should have been and beyond using your attachment to a person, without falling into the hungry selfishness of the Dark Side, if you simply did not intend to survive.

When he was thirteen, he had tried to persuade Qui-Gon Jinn, who had not yet been his Master, to use the bomb in his recently fitted slave-collar to blow open a door, killing Obi-wan but allowing him complete the mission, which was not Obi-wan’s mission

It was not difficult to return to that place, that space in himself where serenity came easy because soon there would be nothing left to go wrong or to lose—Anakin had made it difficult, for a long time; Anakin he was obliged to raise and train. Anakin who needed him.

All his obligation to the war and the Council and all the men under his command had not pinned him to himself the way his duty to Anakin had, and—knighting him had been helpful. It had been a relief, to finally cast off that weight. There is no death, there is the Force was much easier to believe of oneself than of those one grieved, and some weeks Obi-wan breathed it in and out with every breath, and there was no fear.

He knew several things, as he entered the Senate through an entrance that was technically, perhaps, a window. One that did not open, at that. That the Chancellor had some kind of failsafe embedded in the GAR’s brains. That the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. That the Chancellor had been using his access to Anakin all these years to hurt his Padawan.

That if he took the time to assemble the rest of the Council and try to stage this as a proper arrest, word would have time to reach Palpatine of Obi-wan having been publicly informed, because Maul was the least subtle sentient Obi-wan had ever had the misfortune of meeting more than once, and that if Palpatine knew the jig was up he would use his fail-safe.

So Obi-wan needed to do this alone.

It was possible, of course, that it wouldn’t be difficult. Sidious was a creature of stealth and insinuation. He spent most hours of his life maintaining a posture of harmlessness. When could he have found the time to do regular lightsaber drills, let alone practice live combat?

But Maul probably feared the man for a reason. So Obi-wan was going to do this as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t going to be hasty.

Spring the trap.

He’d closed himself down in the Force before he got near the Senate building, jumping through the hole he’d sliced into the window with only his physical strength and no Jedi edge, and only when he got near the Chancellor’s office did he reopen his senses just a thread, to make sure there was no one in there meeting with Palpatine whom he needed to keep alive. The Force didn’t slam into him with a warning, which would have to be confirmation enough.

Obi-wan yanked the door open, hurled five primed thermal detonators in the direction of the great ship-like slab of an occupied desk, slammed the ornate portal shut again, and threw himself to the ground at the foot of the wall, as far away as he could get, head tucked under his arms. He was fairly sure he’d seen Mas Amedda in there, standing beside the desk as the Chancellor in his thronelike chair raised his head with a gratifyingly startled look on his face.

Pity. The Vice-Chancellor could probably have explained so much of what had been going on behind the scenes, all this time.

The blast left the office door half-shattered, belching smoke, but Obi-wan escaped with just one splinter, not terribly large, in the back of one calf. His robes and boots had absorbed the rest of the shrapnel that had made it that far. He tugged it out as he got up—no time to do anything more, it wasn’t bleeding much. He drew a deep breath of half-clean corridor air and dashed into the opaque ruin that had been the Chancellor’s office, senses fully unfurled now that the time for stealth was over. Though in the interest of not being an irresistible target, he did not ignite his lightsaber just yet.

The Force guided him through the smoke, and he brought his sword to light even as he swung it through the murk.

It stopped, humming, against a bar of red light that hissed into being at the last instant, and that felt equally inevitable.

“You.” Sheev Palpatine’s face looked like a Sith Lord’s now, twisted with hate and lit red from below. And, gratifyingly, somewhat scorched. His hair had sizzled from the heat, and his left arm seemed to have something at least mildly wrong with it. Obi-wan hoped the explosions had affected at least one of his legs, as well, since his own maneuverability was cut by the shard of door to the calf.

“Me indeed, Chancellor,” he said, taking advantage of his two-handed grip to bear down against the block with extra force. Palpatine bore up admirably, but as his snarl tightened it was clear that it was not without cost. “Or should I say, Lord Sidious?”

The smoke was starting to thin, leaking away out of the shattered room. Sidious was still behind his ruined desk with its weakly sparking console, which seemed to have taken much of the impact for him—he was standing, anyway, sadly. Mas Amedda’s corpse, on the far end of the desk from the one Obi-wan had circumnavigated, was one of the things that was still smoking. Most of the brocade and other decorative fabric in the room must have been thoroughly treated with fire-retardant, but he had not been.

“I thought you might have learned my true name,” Palpatine said, far too complacently for someone whose long deception had been uncovered and who was staving off death one-handed. “But what brought you racing here in such haste?”

“Well, you see, they used to call me Sith-killer because of Maul, and since that’s been proven regrettably in error, I thought I had better—” Sidious tried to fling him back against the opposite wall with a sharp jerk of his wounded hand, and Obi-wan had to push back with the whole of his will and stance to slide back only a few feet.

This had freed their lightsabers, though, and Sidious chopped low with a terrible speed. Obi-wan leapt clear, knowing the blood soaking into the pale fabric of his pants was betraying the weakness in his leg—Anakin had had a point, he admitted grudgingly, about black hiding all kinds of stains.

For better and for worse.

He tried to catch Sidious with an overhead slash while he was up, to keep that red lightsaber busy for the most part, and when it was intercepted used the force of that impact to somersault back in a momentary return to his master’s old Ataru style—not too far, though, at all costs he must prevent the Sith Master’s escape.

Sidious wouldn’t need to get far, just to a room with a working holo transmitter, to destroy everything.

He flung himself back in.

Palpatine sidestepped his next attack, parried another, stepped back with the third. His single arm was telling against him, and while he was regrettably fast his movements were stiff enough that he had clearly taken at least one other hurt. Probably somewhere in the right hip. Obi-wan stayed on the offensive—it was how he’d beaten Maul, after all, though he was at pains to avoid overreaching to the point of recreating Anakin’s loss to Dooku.

His attacks did more damage to the sparking desk, bisected the thronelike monstrosity of a chair, which turned out under all the gilt, padding, and chromium to be mostly of durasteel, got close enough to put additional charred rents in Palpatine’s ornate sleeves. Nearly a minute had passed since he threw those detonators, and Sidious was still alive. Too long.

“Really,” said the politician, dropping his stance to one that would allow him to parry more from the shoulder, his first hint of fatigue. His style was not quite Makashi even as he adapted to the one-handed approach that was clearly not his preference, but there were some notes to it that rang so strongly of Dooku they could come from nowhere else. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“You won’t have Anakin,” Obi-wan said, the plot that had been in retrospect laid so horribly bare with just a few sentences from Maul, supported by a few more from some of their most trusted troopers, put together with a hundred hints and oddities and he should have guessed on his own.

Sidious grinned, the amiable wrinkles of his face lying deeper and more correct, somehow, in this attitude of wild, infinite gloating. “Possessiveness, Master Jedi?”

“No,” said Obi-wan, and it was true because he had given Anakin up, given everything up before he came here. He was holding onto nothing, he was an object in free-fall but not falling, because he was at exactly the right place and momentum at the outer edge of a gravity well that would let him remain at a constant height.

Orbits degraded, given time, if not carefully maintained. And if they were disrupted sharply enough it meant a violent, flaming spiral down into explosive doom, or sometimes out into the fathomless dark. This was not a true, secure serenity like a Jedi should strive for. But it would serve. For today, it would serve.

He fell on Sidious again in a flurry of blows, pushing his physical advantage, but although the Chancellor was clearly straining to keep up this defense, his stamina continued to fail to run out or even noticeably decline, as though he had learned to subsist on some constant well of the Force alone.

Probably he had, because it was welling up out of him, filling the room, an endless pit of the Dark that had lain concealed like a trap under pinned canvas and scattered leaves all this time. He was drawing heavily upon the Dark Side now and that wasn’t precisely goodbut it was promising.

He was beginning to develop something that was not quite optimism or confidence but approached both by the time the progress of the humming, crashing process of the duel took them past the far end of the desk, back into sight of what had been Mas Amedda. Palpatine angled his next fractional retreat toward the corps, away from the cracked and blackened windows, avoiding the treacherous footing of a shattered vase that had probably been a valuable antique.

Obi-wan tried to take advantage of the change in angle in the next rapid, whirring clash of lightsabers.

Unlike every other time they had crossed blades this duel, Sidious simply—shut his off in the moment before contact.

Obi-wan had committed a little too much of his weight to the blow to abort it entirely. Sidious ducked away from the remainder with a sinuous grace even as he activated his weapon again, now on the inside of Obi-wan’s guard—trakata, executed with terrible excellence.

The need for the dodge was the trakata maneuver’s great weakness, and gave Obi-wan time to avoid the worst of the stroke, but even still the red lightsaber clipped him across the wrist—not a clean sweep slicing off the hand entire, but a glancing blow, that seared through the skin and flesh and took a significant bite out of the ulna.

Obi-wan didn’t try to repress his strangled scream, and Sidious leaned into it in the Force, pressing at the pain, stoking it and encouraging it to drag him down into the Dark, where he would be the Sith Master’s plaything. He was smirking now, more deeply and honestly than ever, a laugh rising into his mouth, for if Master Kenobi had had a slight edge in their fight with two hands to one, with the Jedi’s primary weapon-hand incapacitated, the Sith would surely dominate.

In that moment, Obi-wan moved to rebalance the odds. His blue lightsaber chopped down—not onto Sidious’ flesh, which it was clear he guarded with the preternatural awareness of a being whose own self was as valuable as all the Galaxy else, but to sheer through the emitter end of the crimson lightsaber.

It spat and burst but, unfortunately, tragically failed to explode.

As Sidious raised his eyes from the ruined weapon looking like he might explode in its place out of pure outrage, Obi-wan brought his sword back up to go for the decapitating blow now that the Sith had no weapon to block with, but in that moment Sidious’ burnt and broken hand jabbed up, and shot a gout of lightning into his face.

His back arced so violently it threw him off his feet, and it was all Obi-wan could do to keep hold of his lightsaber in his good hand and deactivate it as he went down, to avoid doing himself a worse injury than Sidious had yet managed. The lightning followed him down, scouring its way from just beside his left eye down every nerve ending he had in a screaming, jerking chorus of pain.

The deep lightsaber burn on his right wrist somehow hurt more now than it had to receive, but the force of his constant convulsions kept him from screaming again.

Then it stopped. He had no idea how long it had been, and wondered if Palpatine had become too fatigued to keep up the electrocution. There had to be a limit to how long he could maintain that kind of power output. His chest was heaving, trying with animal need to make up for lost oxygen. Smoke and the scent of dead Chagrian weighed down his sensory world, since his eyes declined to open and most of his body would only say pain.

The whisper of expensive Senate slippers crunched toward him over the rubble of the ruined office with a surefootedness that no one would have expected of the elderly Chancellor. At least he was still here; Obi-wan had angered him enough to bother sticking around to kill him rather than running off to activate the troops.

Or maybe he was confident he could spin this whole event to his benefit—Obi-wan had destroyed the security cameras that would have recorded his Sith activities, after all. Maybe he would say Master Kenobi had been tragically killed defending him from the dreadful Sith Lord. Maybe he would ask Anakin to become his constant protector in Obi-wan’s memory. Anakin would do it.

He was struggling to turn his lightsaber back on and raise it, though getting it between him and the next round of lightning seemed unlikely when he was exposed in a supine position, when Palpatine kicked it. Kicked his hand, actually, so hard at least one bone cracked and the lightsaber went flying.

This weapon is your life.

“Should I summon it back and use it to kill you?” Palpatine murmured, with a deadly, vicious good humor that suggested he knew very well Obi-wan had no backup coming, that the only interruption they could expect would be Commander Fox and his men in red, here to protect the Chancellor. “Or should I step on your throat until you breathe your last? Or should I keep you alive and put you on trial, and drag the name of the Jedi in the mud through you, so that when your Order falls it will be your name that the Galaxy uses to call the killing just?”

Horror twisted in Obi-wan’s chest and Palpatine chuckled, a whispering foul sound that still resembled his polite politician’s laughter. “Yes, very good. I’ll make young Skywalker believe you tried to kill me out of pride and greed and because you despised him, until he curses your memory. Everything that happens now will be your doing.”

The rage and the fear that he had left behind when he entered were flaming up now in Obi-wan, the orbit deteriorating, the gravitational pull of abandoning them and letting the Order down and ruining everything and too little, too proud, the same hopeless arrogant padawan and of that terrible, world-tearing no dragging him down to shatter in fire against them, like he had on Naboo all those years ago but so much more utterly and irrevocably and--this wasn’t all him.

He sucked in his breath, shaking through teeth still clenched too convulsively tight to pull apart for a witty retort to all that poison, and melted away inside himself.

Over him, Sidious frowned, feeling the Jedi escape his grip in the Force. “Are you dying already, Master Kenobi?”

He thought Sidious had mentioned summoning his lightsaber through the Force to encourage him to try it. It wouldn’t be impossible. He knew the feel of it in the Force like he did few other things in the Galaxy; he didn’t need sight to reach for it.

But it was too small, and too far away, and his senses were too scorched and blasted by that awful lightning. Long before his weapon could make it to his hand, Sidious could kill him, even with no working lightsaber of his own. He couldn’t win that way, or even (that far lesser goal) live.

Instead, Obi-wan grabbed for the closest large object he knew to look for that wasn’t a corpse: the sliced-loose upper half of that baroque monstrosity of a desk-chair, conveniently bulky and only a few long steps away, just behind the desk he’d fallen from behind.

It came, and in coming swept Palpatine’s legs from under him, knocking him not quite sprawling, and then the curve of it had smacked into Obi-wan’s outstretched left palm, jolting the broken bone which did not matter in the slightest, and he rolled up onto his knees, graceless but fast, the slab of steel and leather still moving with the momentum that had dragged it to him, and clobbered the sitting-up Sith Lord across the face with it.

One of Obi-wan’s many faults was his tendency to take a vicious glee in striking low his enemies, but he did not think he had ever taken quite the joy from any beautifully executed maneuver that he did from watching Palpatine knocked to the floor by a slab of office chair. Obi-wan lunged after him, not bothering with niceties like getting to his feet, and brought the chair-slab down on his face again, this time with the strength of both arms—his right hand was mostly numb but for hurting, only the thumb and forefinger would move at all, and it was very weak, but none of that interfered with placing his whole forearm against the upholstery and slamming the searing-hot, bare metal inner side down.

There was a crunch, probably nose, and then instead of diminishing the awful seething presence of the Dark Side rose like a hurricane, and Obi-wan felt his throat close as from a powerful phantom hand, cutting off all breathing.

This caused him not an instant’s hesitation, because he had come here fully intending to die.

He raised the sheered-off slice of chair, adjusted the angle so the sharp edge where he’d cut the durasteel was pointing down, and aimed for the throat.

The ensuing explosion threw him after his lightsaber, and he knew nothing after hitting the wall.

#star wars #my writing #obi wan kenobi #fanfic #darth sidious #blows up on dying #it's canon #i feel like this wasn't #quite the intended timeline #but anyway here we are #chairdeath au #i gotta logic things #hoc est meum #i love a fight scene #i wanted to make this one more acrobatic than it is #but logistics intervened

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rocorambles · 3 years

Note

I'm am an utter Seijoh w h o r e thank you for asking 😌

I've always loved the idea of the Seijoh Third years au during the purge, going out into it as a unit to track down their darling (either manager or just someone they collectively have their eyes on) and bringing her back to their place for the worst best night of her life. Mattsun's horse cock, cockwarming in her throat while Makki and Iwaizumi make use of the rest of her. (I am wildly into double vaginal penetration)

And oikawa is manning the camera so they can remember this night for years to come. He can be patient, they waited all year right? He could wait an hour or two more. They have all night with her after all

YULI THE WAY THIS ASK HAD ME SCREAMING!!!! I needed to let it marinate in my inbox so I could do it justice and hopefully this lives up to your expectations~

Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Rape/Non-Con, Non-Con Video Recording, Degradation, Humiliation

Graduation is quickly approaching and it should be a time of excitement, celebration, maybe a tinge of sadness as the third-years prepare to move on with their lives and go on a new adventure. But all Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki feel is frustration. They had all jokingly taken bets on which of them you’d end up dating, although there’s nothing funny about how much each one of them cares for you and wishes more than anything else that it’s them that holds a special place in your heart. But they had been so sure that you must love one of them, no one else even in contention in their minds. So imagine their surprise when you reject all of them.

You’d rather be alone than with any of them?

That’s not an option and quite insulting as far as Oikawa is concerned and they panic, heatedly whispering and seething to each other as graduation draws nearer and nearer, as the end of their time with you threateningly approaches.

But they have one saving grace and they impatiently wait, nonstop planning and scheming as they work out your special night, hopefully the first of many as the yearly purge also draws near, thankfully just before graduation. Really, they couldn’t have asked for better timing and it’s almost like even God is on their side.

The purge isn’t something you’ve ever worried about much, not something that a normal person like you has much to fear and you plan on quietly spending it safely locked away at home as usual, knowing no one has it in for you, that there’s no reason for anyone to be actively trying to hunt you down. So terror lances through you when there’s pounding on your front door, when the locked doorknob rattles and shakes as someone attempts to twist it open, when the wood of your door creaks and shudders under the force of the person trying to break in.

But suddenly there’s strangely familiar shouting and the noises stop and you stare with hopeful teary eyes, practically sprinting to fling open the door when you place the voice in your mind that’s softly urging you to open up and throwing yourself into the arms of the handsome captain.

Maybe in hindsight you’ll wonder why you didn’t question what Oikawa and Iwaizumi were doing at your front door, but in the moment, shaken by what had just transpired, you obediently lace your fingers with Oikawa’s and let him tug you to his house, closely trailed by Iwaizumi who scans your surroundings, before letting Hanamaki and Matsukawa pull you into a group hug when the three of you safely return to Oikawa’s residence where the five of you will ride out the rest of the purge together.

It should be comforting knowing that you’ll be with four of the strongest men you know and you do feel safe, at first, but you feel uneasy the longer the four of them unabashedly stare at you, hungrily looking at you as if you’re a piece of meat, tensing at the question Oikawa asks.

“Why aren’t we good enough for you?”

To be honest, you had thought it was a joke when one by one, all four men had asked you out privately and it wasn’t until afterwards when you saw the genuine hurt on their faces when you turned them down that you realized all of them had been serious. It’s flattering. It really is. They’re handsome and athletic and you know most of the female population at Aoba Johsai would kill to be with any of them, let alone have all four interested in them. But you aren’t most of the female population and dating just wasn’t in your current plans.

You flinch at the harsh scoff Matsukawa directs at you.

“You’re not like most women? So this doesn’t make you feel anything?”

You screech as he abruptly slips a hand down the front of his pants and pulls out his cock in broad view for everyone to look, your hands trying to cover your face, but Iwaizumi’s hands grab your wrists from behind and Hanamaki’s hand on your face forces you to really take in the view in front of you.

And what a view it is.

You had heard rumors about just how massive Matsukawa is and you can now attest to the fact they aren’t just rumors and despite the blaring alarms in your head, you can’t look away, mouth going dry at the sight, which doesn’t go unnoticed by the tall blocker who mockingly laughs at you.

“I thought you weren’t like most women? If you want it that much, I’ll give it to you.”

You don’t have time to register what’s happening until you’re being shoved down to your knees by Hanamaki, face forcefully being squished against the cock, nose having no choice but to inhale Matsukawa’s musky scent, upper body splayed across Matsukawa’s lap while your ass is raised high in the air behind you. Your hands desperately try to scramble for purchase, trying to lift yourself up and away from your humiliating position, but they’re pulled back behind you once again by Iwaizumi and tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes as Matsukawa mockingly rubs and smears his shaft all over you, beads of pre-cum being rubbed all over your face.

“Now open up and don’t bite, otherwise you really won’t like what we do to you.”

And you believe him, already terrified of what they have in store for you, hopelessness and helplessness flooding through you and keeping you docile when you register just how little you can do against all four of them, when sinking realization that even if you did miraculously escape them, there’d be no hope for you out alone during the purge.

What choice do you have?

So you listen, hoping that if you play along with their sick and twisted game, they’ll let you off the hook more easily, that you can just toughen up and get through this one night and flee far far far away from these monsters once the morning arrives. And you open your mouth, nausea roiling through you as Matsukawa’s tip slides past your pursed lips, his girth achingly stretching your mouth, his length bringing a new wave of tears to your eyes as your throat is completely violated, breathing becoming shallow as you desperately inhale as much as you can through your nose as your head is continuously shoved down, throat and eyes fluttering at how agonizing the feeling is when he finally bottoms out inside of you.

Matsukawa laughs at the way your body wildly flails for oxygen, groaning at the way your mouth vibrates with your screams and your throat convulses when he cruelly pinches your nose shut with his fingers and it becomes an awful game of push and pull as he alternates between releasing and pinching, enjoying how much control he has over your body and your life.

But you have more to worry about than just the man in front of you and you’re rudely reminded of that as a body slips underneath you from behind, hands holding your thighs in place as bodies move behind you. And you incoherently scream, unintelligible babble and gargles from around Matsukawa’s cock indicating just how stressed and panicked you feel as two objects grind and rub against your pussy.

They’re not going to fit. They’re not going to fit. They’re not going to-

Your eyes go impossibly wide, body going rigid in shock and despair, mind trying to cope with the excruciating pain as two cocks insistently press against your tight opening, slowly, but surely bullying their way in, and a high-pitched keening scream pierces the room as your walls are brutally stretched wide, body feeling broken just from the two well-endowed men bottoming out inside of you.

But your mind completely shatters when they begin to move, Iwaizumi painfully pulling your arms almost of their socket as he pistons in and out of you at a feral pace, Hanamaki forcing you to bounce up and down on his cock, jeeringly slapping your ass as your globes jiggle in front of him. And you don’t even know who or what you are anymore as your pussy and mouth are ravaged, used as little more than two convenient holes, pain and humiliation blinding you, and something far more terrifying beginning to bubble just below the surface as Hanamaki’s hand slides between your legs to play with your clit.

You don’t like this. There’s no way you like this. You can’t feel good.

But Hanamaki is insistent on making sure growing pleasure entangles you in its grasp, smirking at the way your pussy undeniably begins to clench, the way your hips begin to move on their own, the way arousal begins to drench both their cocks, the way beautiful wanton moans begin to fill the air.

They love you after all. What fun would it be if they didn’t make sure you felt good too? And sure, maybe it’ll hurt a bit in the beginning, but you were made for this, made for them, and your body will get used to it, adjust for them.

Oikawa watches in fascination, hand palming his own raging erection as he observes everything from the video camera filming, unknown to you. And it takes every bit of self-control not to join the fray, not to make use of that tight puckered hole of yours that’s so lonely and unused. But his time will come. The time will come when you’ll know what it feels like for every single hole to be stuffed full. The time will come when he’ll know every inch and crevice of all your holes personally.

But for now he can sit back and watch as his peers break you in, as he secures the footage that will tie you to them forever. Because even when the purge ends, this video will still exist and he’ll have no qualms about sending it to any university you hope to run away to after graduation if you don’t forget about your far fetched thoughts and stay by their side where you belong.

Did you really think they didn’t know about your silly selfish plans to stray as far from Miyagi as possible, as far from them as possible?

It’s almost enough to make him completely lose his temper, the thought of you escaping them. But he reminds himself that it didn’t happen, that it won’t happen. And with that comforting piece of knowledge, he carefully adjusts the camera, zooming in on your tear and drool stained face and the way your pussy gapes wide as the two cocks relentlessly drill in and out of you.

#haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa #yandere iwaizumi #yandere hanamaki #yandere matsukawa #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi x reader #hanamaki x reader #matsukawa x reader #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: yandere #tw: blackmail

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goldengoddess · 3 years

Note

soooo the idea is a fic set during king of scars where the reader is nikolai's childhood best first and we stumble into his room one evening and we actually see him change into the demon and just absjajnsns

i am yours - nikolai lantsov

* KING OF SCARS & RULE OF WOLVES SPOILERS *

pairing: nikolai lantsov x reader

a/n: okay this is absolutely garbage rae i am so sorry pls forgive me,,, i KNOW this is not how nikolai’s demon works and he wouldn’t just like turn back but for the sake of this fic pls pretend <33333

for the lovley @wtfrae !!! i love u pls go read her work everyone <3

warnings: spoilers! some angst n like threat of violence but y’all know me, everything is good and happy by the end

nikolai had always been the one person you could turn to. since the two of you were kids, it had always been an unbreakable bond. something no one else seemed to understand. how to kids, tossed aside by their family, tested in every way possible, were able to find each other and bring out the best in one another. nikolai made you better, made you good.

life in ravka was never easy, it was a constant struggle. especially in the years leading up to nikolai’s reign. the two of you almost hadn’t made it out alive then, and while nikolai had been out fighting with alina in the fold, you had stayed at the spinning wheel helping the injured.

but when things finally settled down, alina and mal safe and away, nikolai had told you so many stories. the two of you had spent months apart. so out of nostalgia, every night you’d sneak into nikolai’s room and listen to your best friend tell you stories about everything. all the battles he’d fought along as sturmhond, what the battle against the darkling had looked like.

and even when nikolai ran out of stories, and you ran out of questions, you kept sneaking into his room to talk to him. he was the king of ravka, during the day he never even stopped to take a breath. but his nights were reserved for you. just so he could hear the sound of your voice before he was bound to his bed by chains.

nikolai loved you dearly, you were the only constant he had ever known. but he couldn’t bring himself to share what had happened to him during the battle with the darkling, what he’d become. instead, he told you the stories he told everyone else, how he was captured and tortured. it hurt him, to lie to you. but he couldn’t have you seeing him the way he saw himself, a monster. so even though lying to you pained him every night, he would do it to hear your excited questions and giggles as you snuck out of his room.

he always made sure you were gone before zoya came in. he wouldn’t be able to explain the drugging potion. or even worse, his horrible transformation into the demon that lived inside of him.

but secrets almost never stay secrets.

“saints nikolai,” you gasped, rushing off his bed to grab grab your coat, “it’s past midnight. i can’t be in here!”

nikolai sat up and looked out his window, you watched the color drain from his face. he cleared his throat and walked over to you, “you’re right you should probably go.”

you nodded and shuffled away from him, but before opening the door you paused. you turned back to the blonde haired boy, “nikolai?”

“yes sweetheart?” he answered, facing you.

“i could,” you hesitated, “i could sleep over. one night, i’m not saying tonight. just some night. i’ll sleep on the floor but, i spend all of my night here anyways. just like when we were kids.”

as nikolai slowly walked closer to you, you waited for his teasing remark and eventual acceptance. the two of you w had a sleepover since before he left ravka. of course it wouldn’t be the same, as he was now king, but he was your nikolai.

instead, he gently tucked a piece of your hair and kissed your forehead. “i don’t think that’s such a good idea sweetheart.”

your heart shattered at his words and his at the fact that he had to say them. there was nothing he wanted more. nothing that would bring him more peace than holding you in his arms until the sunrise. not just for a couple of hours right before bed, not having to pretend that everything he felt for you was strictly platonic.

“oh” you said defeatedly. “that, yeah that’s okay. i’ll see you tomorrow nikolai.” and with that you rushed out of the room.

later, as zoya gave nikolai genya and david’s potion to knock him out, all he could think about was the horrible look on your face.

at some point in the night you’d made the decision to go talk to nikolai. the two of you couldn’t go on like this, attempting to be way you have been before the darkling and alina while tip toeing around these new feelings you had for eachother.

but as you made your way to nikolai’s doors, hand on the doorknob, you heard a soft growl coming from inside. you covered your mouth with your hand to prevent a gasp from escaping your lips. you slowly turned the handle and stepped into the room.

on nikolai’s kingly bed was a dark giant looking demon. it’s wings were the color of the night sky seen in the window of the bed room. it took your breath away.

you pressed your back against the wall, trying to move back towards the door without making any noise. but the demon heard you and snapped it’s head in your direction.

every part of your body was screaming to run, to scream even. but something stopped you. the eyes. they stopped you. they were dark and pitch black but there was something familiar about them. not the color but the way they watched you. like they were trying to remember every single part of you just in case.

nikolai was the only person who you knew looked at you that way.

“nikolai?” you whispered to the monster.

the creature craned its neck to the side, similar to the confused head tilts that nikolai used to give you during lessons. you took a hesitant step forward, holding your hands up to show that you weren’t going to cause harm.

“nikolai” you tried again, with more conviction in your voice.

the creature let out a small growl as a response and you flinched away. at your movement it out a whine and moved away from you.

you shuffled closer, “hey no no i’m okay. nikolai?”

slowly, as you repeated your best friends name over and over, the creature became less beast and more man. slowly morphing into a messy set of blonde curls and body you’d hugged more times than you can recall. your nikolai.

he curled up in a ball and leaned his back against the end of his bed.

“nikolai” you attempted softly, falling to your knees in front of him.

he scrambled away to a corner of the room, “please. please leave. i’m begging.” his voice was raspy from misuse, thought the two of you had spoken only hours before.

“nikolai i’m not leaving, please explain to me. what was that?” you pleaded with him.

“that was nothing, now go. please please” he sobbed into his hands.

you crossed your arms over your chest in a stubborn gesture that he couldn’t even see, “you’re lying to me again! i’m not leaving until you explain what that was. why can’t you tell me the truth for once?”

“that was me!” he yelled as he lifted his head and met your eyes for the first time.

you let out a sigh of relief at the familiar hazel color of his eyes. you crossed your legs together, “that was you?”

“yes that was me. that is what the darkling did to me. now please,” he let out an exhausted sob “please leave sweetheart.”

you felt tears swelling in your own eyes at his voice. how broken he sounded. your nikolai never sounded so defeated. and if he ever felt that way, he had never shown you. you crawled over to him slowly and placed your hands on the sides of his face, rubbing away the tears.

“what are you doing” he whimpered and dropped his head into your hands, “i could hurt you. sweetheart, you have to go.”

“my nikolai” you whispered, pushing his damp hair away from his forehead.

he closed his eyes and you couldn’t tell if it was from anger, exhaustion, sadness, or a mix of all of it. “i cannot be yours. i’ve lied to you, i’m a demon, a monster. you can’t possibly want me to be yours.” he spit each word about himself as if it were venom, like the words ripped away a little bit of his humanity, or his confidence.

you shook your head and softly placed your forehead again his, still holding the sides of his face. “no. you’re my nikolai. you always will be.”

you placed two soft kisses on his cheeks, one on each side. “my” kiss, “nikolai,” another kiss.

“oh sweetheart, i am yours” he sighed and opened up his knees so you could fall into his embrace. “i am so sorry.”

“you should be” you mumbled into his chest. “what if you had died nikolai? and i wouldn’t have known what was happening to you until it was too late. i could have helped.”

he kissed the top of your head, still hesitantly. “im a fool, you can spend the rest of my life reminding me. i didn’t want to ruin this, us. it’s the last precious thing i have in my life.”

“we are still precious” you whispered and clung to his shirt like your life depended on it. “the same way you are still the nikolai i have always known, since childhood. you are still good. we will fix this.”

“and if we can’t?” he asked so softly that you almost couldn’t hear him.

“then i’ll have to get just as familiar with the demon as i am with you” you joked.

and the rumble of nikolai’s laughing chest told you that everything would be perfectly fine. demon and all, he was still your nikolai.

taglist;

@deardiarystuff @bookishcrows @kazsimp @vintagebitc @obiwansjedi @thegirlwiththeimpala @hybrid-in-progress @mrs-brekker15 @mrsbrekkers @simplyluvzuko @ode-to-joy @gallysonegoodlung @sixofshadowandbone @castielcouldbeasecretdentist @meiitanoia @caaarstairs @itisroe

if your name is in bold, it means i couldn’t tag you <3

#nikolai lanstov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #nikolai duology #shadow and bone #six of crows #grishaverse #kaz brekker #six of crows imagine #shadow and bone imagine #leigh bardugo #rae <3

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cacoetheswriting · 3 years

Text

hell or high water

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings: angst, possible tfatws spoilers, swearing, dealing with emotions / comforting, mutual pining, a lil fluff, & mentions of john walker [yes, i’m adding that as a warning] word count: 1.5k summary: unexpected, and rather devastating news, bring you and bucky together.

The calm before the storm - a period of unusual tranquillity and stability that often foreshadowed grave and difficult times.

The calm before the storm. That’s how you would describe what was happening during this moment, as you propped yourself up on the chair, silently observing Bucky for any sort of reaction to the breaking headline currently being shared on every single news channel.

John Walker. The new Captain America.

Bucky’s face was blank, although by now you’ve gotten to know him well enough to understand what the expression, or lack thereof, meant. He was irritated - no - he was fucking pissed. And truthfully, he had every right to be.

“I liked that what I was doing would make people feel safe. Steve Rogers was the kind of guy who could do that, he gave me hope. Even though I never met him, he feels like a brother.” John Walker’s voice sounded through the shitty speakers.

Bucky’s heart sank at the words. He smacked his lips together and exhaled.

“Hey, uhm… are you okay?” You asked in a hushed tone, eyes glued to the side of his face, nervously chewing down on your bottom lip. It was a really stupid question since you already knew the answer. Of course he wasn’t okay. Far from it, actually. In your eyes however, it was always better to check anyway.

Especially since the man sitting on the cool ground only an arms length away from you wasn’t one to open up freely.

Bucky grunted in response, followed by a deep sigh.

“Just… peachy.” He huffed, before switching the tv off and sliding a hand down his face, wiping away any lone tears that may have escaped.

His response caused your heart to clench inside of your chest. You wanted to ease any pain the unexpected news caused him, but you weren’t exactly sure how. You felt extremely helpless, and from where you sat you could tell he was feeling the exact same - however, for different reasons.

His powerlessness was primarily fueled by anger.

And Bucky was aware the dangerous emotions circulating through his veins was undoubtedly stemming from heartbreak. Sorrow for everything he lost. Grief for the only family he had left.

Prior to meeting you, Steve was the only person that accepted him for who he was. Cherished him despite the many flaws and mistakes he’s made over the years. The only person in this whole damn universe who could easily separate him from his dark and troubled past. The only person who didn’t just see him as The Winter Soldier, a ruthless killing machine.

No.

Prior to meeting you, Steve was the only person who truly and earnestly believed Bucky was a good person.

And now Bucky had to witness Captain America being formally replaced. As if Steve Rogers was nothing. As if he meant nothing.

Which is why, as the dark-haired man stared at his own hollow reflection in the blank television screen, he was glad you entered his life when you did.

His gaze trailed to the outline of your silhouette and a small smile circled his lips. Knowing that you were here for him. Knowing that it was no longer only Steve who wholeheartedly believed he was genuine and kind… He felt better.

You could see him looking at you through the black display. You could see the miniscule smile present on his features, and you couldn’t help but return the expression.

Soon enough you were up on your feet, gracefully moving from the rather uncomfortable chair to the even more uncomfortable floor next to Bucky. You placed your head on his shoulder and his whole body instantly relaxed at your proximity, at your gentle and soothing touch. His eyes locked with yours through the monitor and you could clearly make out the gratitude, the adoration.

Yes. For a brief moment, a split second, Bucky felt better.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, bringing your knees closer to your chest and wrapping one arm tightly around to hold them in place. “I’m sorry this is happening. I know it’s not what you wanted, and… I know it’s now what Steve wanted.”

“Don’t apologise.” Bucky was quick to contravene.

You just shrugged, your head still resting against him. “Well, the people that made this decision, the people that should apologise most definitely won’t, and it seems like something you need to hear. A simple apology.”

He huffed lightly, once again feeling grateful he had someone like you to ground him. God, if you weren’t here… No. No. He stopped himself and shook the disturbing thoughts away. It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter because you were here, and you weren’t going anywhere.

He swallowed.

But he was. He had no other choice.

“I- uh… I need to go, y/n. I need to find Sam. I need to talk to him and get some answers.”

“I know.” You stated simply, however there was a detectable hint of sadness in the tone of your voice. Bucky picked up on it immediately and he shifted in his position, so that he was now looking down at you.

His gaze burned into the side of your skull, lip quivering as he searched his mind for what to say next because he hated this. Hated it came to this. And you hated it too.

You began to feel guilty. If you weren’t in his life, he wouldn’t have this problem. He wouldn’t have you to worry about. He wouldn’t need to explain himself. There would be nothing holding him back.

Fuck, you thought, life was just starting to get easier.

Swallowing the growing lump at the back of your throat, you mustered up enough courage to face him. The amiable look in his eyes caused the butterflies in your stomach to flutter momentarily.

“But you’ll come back.” It wasn’t a request. It was a fact. Corners of your lips twirled into a timid smile, yet all Bucky could focus on were the tears you were trying really hard to fight back.

Slowly, he nodded his head. How could he not come back? All you did these last few months was make him a little bit happier. He could only dream to one day return the favour, because as smart as Bucky Barnes was, he had no idea he already made you the happiest you’d ever been.

“I’ll come back.” He reassured.

“Alive.”

He chuckled softly before repeating, “Alive.”

Lifting your hand, you tenderly brushed your fingers down his cheek and across his jawline. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he leaned into your touch. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Because as you held his face in the palm of your hand while he studied every inch of yours, the uncertainty of when you would see each other again gradually settling in, you realised you’ve never been this close to one another.

You thought perhaps you should pull back, that this was a little too close for comfort, but you found yourself unable to move. Frozen. Completely captivated by the handsome man situated in front of you.

It should have felt weird, the intimacy of the moment. It should have felt weird. Why, why didn’t it feel weird? Bucky was your neighbour. He was your friend. There was nothing else to your relationship. Nothing… more.

But as you stared deeply into his eyes, taking note of the warm expression he was presenting as he continued to scan your face, the air hitched in your throat.

It felt natural.

Bucky sensed it too. He sensed the change in the atmosphere around the two of you. Unfamiliar, yet not unwelcoming. Quite the opposite actually. It drew him in. He found himself slowly leaning in, and like a magnet, you followed suit.

When his mouth eventually slanted over yours, your heart skipped a beat.

The kiss was gentle at first, as if Bucky was indicating you could stop him at any given time, if you wanted too. It wouldn’t take much to push him away and end this now. But you didn’t want to stop him. Instead, you closed your eyes at the desirable sensation igniting every single cell in your body.

Any boundary the two of you had previously unspokenly set was crossed, broken. However, it didn’t seem to matter to either of you.

The hand previously cupping Bucky’s cheek, was now gripping at his hair. Both of his hands were now holding your waist - not applying too much pressure, but making it known that they were there.

You wanted to comment how he very rarely touched you with his metal arm, always weary that he may somehow hurt you, and now he was latched onto you in a way that suggested he would never let you go, but his tongue wound its way between your parted lips, breaking you away from your thoughts.

After what felt like a blissful eternity, you pulled away simultaneously. Equally flushed and equally breathless. Smiling at one another like a couple of love-struck idiots.

“Hmm.. We can continue this when you’re back.” You whispered against his puffed lips, before pecking them softly.

Bucky smirked. He lifted his right arm and gently brushed loose strands of your hair behind your ear. “Don’t you worry, y/n.” He began, “Come hell or high water, I’ll definitely be back.”

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