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mermaidxatxheart · 3 years

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Better Together Chapter Eight

Here's Chapter 8, y'all. My work is not to be posted on any other site. If you'd like to be added to my tag list, send me an ask.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: language, violence, descriptions of torture.

Series Master List

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

You climb down from the tower, trying to dry your eyes. You dust your hands off and head for the lab. You don’t want to study these stupid flowers, you just want to forget that whole stupid fucking planet. Your eyes won’t stop watering, your throat thick and painful as you try not to burst into tears again.

You round a corner, glancing behind you as you wipe your eyes again. The skin around them is starting to feel raw as you rub them endlessly. There’s something in the middle of the walkway that shouldn’t be there. You turn back to look at what you’ve walked into, stumbling back as fingers wrap around your shoulders.

“Y/N,” Poe breathes, eyes fluttering closed.

Oh, Maker. Your lower lip trembles as you look at his beautiful face, the rejection from earlier swirling up and stifling you. Your eyebrows pinch against your will, eyes starting to squint as the tears threaten to overtake you. Fighting for control, you struggle to smooth out your forehead, but no matter how hard you try, it won’t relax. You inhale sharply through your nose and his eyes fly open.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He mumbles, pulling you in for a hug. It hurts, feeling him care about you this way. You don’t hug him back, keeping your arms rigid by your sides. If you let yourself give in, it will only make things harder. “Y/N, I’m so sorry.” He whispers, burying his face in your neck. “I didn’t mean… this morning…” he takes a shuddering breath. “Please? Just… pl-please.” He hugs you tighter, his voice breaking.

“Poe,”

“Don’t you think I want… if I let myself ki-“ he cuts off audibly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He whispers.

“What do you want from me?” You ask, but it comes out colder than you mean it to.

“Forgive me? You have to know I would do anything for you. Anything you ask of me.”

“You didn’t do anything that needs to be forgiven.” You say softly, your arms curling around his back, your willpower crumbling.

“In my room-“ he starts.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.” You sigh, turning your face into his neck. “Moment of weakness. Will you forgive me?” You ask.

His soft lips press into your neck and you shiver at the unexpected touch. “Nothing to forgive.” He murmurs, lifting his head up to trail up your neck. Your heart thrums erratically in your chest as his lips brush your jawline. “Please tell me you haven’t been crying all day because I’m an asshole.”

“No.” You say, barely more than a whisper. It’s all you can manage as his lips trail up your cheek. “I finished my report for Leia.” You say and he tenses. “Poe? I know… I know I don’t deserve it, but can we talk about the river?” You ask quietly.

“I liked the river.” He mumbles against your cheek. You desperately want to turn your head, to catch his lips with yours. Maker, you feel like you’re on an emotional rollercoaster, high then low, upside down, then backwards.

“I meant what happened in the river.” You correct.

“Liked that, too.” That earns a weak chuckle.

“You shouldn’t have.” You mumble.

“Y/N,” he groans, guiding you against the wall. He brushes his thumb along your jaw. “What’s bothering you? Tell me. You have so much that you’re not saying and it just breaks my heart.”

Your holopad beeps and you close your eyes. “I have to get to the lab.” You twist your face away.

“I have literally nothing else to do. We can talk on the way.” He says, taking your hand.

“You don’t have to.” You look at him suspiciously. “Why send poor Snap to my room earlier?” You ask and he tips his head back, laughing.

“For funsies.”

“Pando? What the hell was that about?” You ask, his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Lando Calrissian. You mentioned he was an inspiration of yours to become a pilot. I figured you would get the reference. Poe, Lando, we’re both pilots.” He shrugs and you roll your eyes.

“I mentioned Calrissian once, five years ago. I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I remember everything.” He promises. “How was your caf?” He hints.

“Better than the one Bryce brought me. Thank you. And for the food.” You add and he beams, lifting your hands to trace your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“Of course.” He looks at you before facing straight and keeping his lips pressed together.

“You might as well say it. You have a terrible sabaacc face.” You sigh, pulling him into the lab.

“I don’t like him. He’s been dating you for three years and still doesn’t know how you like your caf. It’s not hard. He’s a jerk. And I hate that he kept me from the med bay so I couldn’t see you. I hate that he acts like he owns you.” He picks up your protective lab coat and helps you slide your arms in. You wince in pain but quickly compose your face so he won’t see.

“Anything else?” You look up at him.

“Only a million other things.” He sighs, leaning against your lab bench.

“Tell me.” You say, catching his hand.

He lifts your hand to his mouth, lips parting slightly as he flutters his eyes shut. He inhales deeply, lips moving silently against the back of it.

“Didn’t catch that.”

“This is so fucked up to say, but I’m so proud of you.” He says. “When we were taken, you were incredible. I never should have put you in that position, but you didn’t say anything, not to save me, not to save yourself and, Maker, I’m so fucking proud of you. I didn’t know if I was going to be able to hold out when he started hurting you, but the fact that you weren’t breaking gave me strength.” He bows his head, clinging to your hand. “And I hate the fact that you think we went through all that because of you. None of it, none, was your fault.” He sighs, lifting his eyes to your face. “In fact, if it wasn’t morally the exact wrong thing to do, I would kiss you again in a heartbeat. Over and over. But you’re a good person and that wouldn’t be fair to you.” He murmurs softly.

“Poe,” you plead. It’s all you want, to kiss him.

“I know. I shouldn’t want that. You’re not mine to want that with, but I just… it’s in my head now. How good you taste, how soft your lips are.” He squeezes his eyes shut, cutting off his words and you squeak. You try to get your hands free, you want them in his hair, holding him to you.

“Poe, please!” You struggle and he drops your hands, hurt written all over his face.

“Okay.” He turns to leave and you grab his arm, pulling him back. You cling to his face, pulling his lips against yours. His hands grip your waist and you exhale in a rush. A massive weight is lifted off your shoulders as you kiss him, hold him. His lips part under yours and you moan low in the back of your throat. He clings to you, crushing you against him like he can’t get close enough.

Maker, you could stay like this forever.

He backs you into the lab bench, fingers pressing into your hips and you rock into him, starving. The door hisses open and he jerks back, spinning around and walking away a few steps.

Nya walks around the corner and looks up to see you fiddling with your holopad. Having barely recovered your wits, you grabbed the first thing your hands landed on.

“Y/N.” She greets with a smile. It’s fake and you want to slap her, but you just tighten your grip on your holopad instead.

“Nya. What are you doing here?” You ask, trying for polite at least and failing horribly. Poe smirks at you over the shelf he’s studying.

“Looking for you, actually.” She says, heading over and you internally groan.

“What did I do?” You ask and she laughs lightly.

“Nothing yet.” She promises. “Your plants are in bin Cin17.” She says, handing over the packet she’s holding.

“Oh. Thanks.”

She smiles at you and turns to walk away. You glance at Poe and he shrugs, coming back over. “That was odd.” He comments.

“Odd? That’s literally the nicest she’s ever been to me.” You sigh, turning back to your bench.

“I wonder why.”

“Maybe she wants something? Maybe she saw my outright panic attack in the dining hall and is getting off on my suffering.” You sigh.

“Or. On a slightly less negative note. Maybe she missed you? Maybe she realized she’s in love with you and now she wants to make it right and have babies with you.” He says and by the end, you’re laughing much harder than you should be. You double over, grasping your knees, your entire midsection aching for various reasons.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me rip my stitches.” You gasp.

“It wasn’t that funny.” He mumbles.

“Oh man, you’re a funny guy, Dameron.” You pant, standing up and wiping your forehead.

“Thanks.” He mutters dryly. “May I ask what, exactly, was so funny about that?”

“Nya. Liking me? She’s so into dick, it’s all she talks about sometimes. Everyone who has one is in her sights. Especially you, Commander. And then babies with me? Come on. Get serious.”

“Just her? Or anyone in general is unbelievable?” He asks, an odd, stiff texture to his voice.

“I dunno. Anyone? I never really thought I’d make a good mom.” You shrug, heading for the containers now that you’re back under control.

“Really? I do.” He says and your face heats.

“Moot point at the moment. Bryce doesn’t want kids.” You say and he groans.

“Just when I think…” he rubs his face. “I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” He mumbles, swiftly heading for the door.

“Wait, Poe!” You call, half turning.

Too late. He’s gone.

***

You’ve never been punched before. Training was always hand to hand, blocking blows or fighting with weapons. They don’t teach you how to take a punch, or five, or twenty.

It doesn’t hurt at first. The impacted spot on your cheek just goes numb. You can feel the cut on the inside from your teeth against the sensitive tissue, but it doesn’t hurt. Yet.

Then after a couple minutes, it turns into a white hot pain. Couple that with fists landing all over your body, and you’re in pain like you’ve never felt before. Tears spill over your cheeks as the fist lands against your nose, cracking your head back against your prison table. You can’t see, can’t feel your face. Your mouth fills with blood, coating your tongue and spilling down your chin as you gasp for air. You can feel your lips split in different places.

There isn’t a part of you that doesn’t hurt, but you hold onto Poe. He didn’t give them anything, so you can’t either. You can’t let him have suffered for nothing.

The trooper stops, rolling his shoulder. “Answer me. Where is your base?”

You spit the blood out of your mouth at his feet. “That all you got? I was just getting into it.” You say and he grumbles, turning to leave for the time being.

You close your aching eyes and drop your head against the support. It’s not comfortable by any stretch of the word, but it’s better than having to hold your head up anymore.

The image from your nightmare flashes in front of your eyes, Poe fighting the invisible enemy, only now it’s not so invisible. A StormTrooper is wielding the blade, plunging it deep into Poe’s heart.

You jerk upright in your bed, upsetting your holopad and sending it crashing to the floor. You flip on the light, unnerved and feeling like you're not alone in your room. But there doesn’t seem to be anything there. Just your clothes on the floor.

You push yourself to your feet, not feeling safe here, and grab your blanket, wrapping it around your shoulders. You want to go see Poe, make sure he’s okay, be positive your nightmares haven’t gotten him yet.

But he doesn’t want to see you. Having avoided you for the rest of the day, you get the hint. A moment of weakness. That’s what that kiss was. You were there and he needed someone. Could have been Nya, probably for all he would have minded. Any port in the storm.

So, you bypass his room and head for the tower where you ate your lunch. It’s quiet, dark, you can see anything coming for you. You climb the steps slowly, feeling the familiar pinch of your stitches. They’re still ugly, crude, jagged. Maybe it’s good that Poe doesn’t really want you. No one could possibly love the new mutilated you. Bryce hasn’t seen them yet, either. You’re positive that the second he does, he’ll run for the hills.

Maker, you’re selfish.

You push open the door and a body in the tower makes you freeze. “Oh.” You mumble, realizing it’s Poe. “Sorry. I’ll leave.” You rush, ducking back down.

“Stay.” He croaks and you hesitate. “I can’t sleep. Stay and talk to me?”

“You sure you want me to?” You ask.

“I’d rather it be you than anyone else.” He admits.

You feel like leaves on the wind as you climb the rest of the way up. Swirling around in chaotic confusion. You don’t know which way is up, what to trust. You sit a little ways away, back against the wall, facing him.

“What do you want me to talk about?” You ask finally.

He drags a stick through the dirt, making scratch drawings. “I told you some stuff earlier. Spilled some of my guts. Anything you wanna tell me?” He asks finally.

“Yes.” You answer. It’s harder than you think to get these words out. “I…” you close your mouth, thinking about where to start.

“Not easy. To spill your secrets.” He muses. The pale moonlight ghosts across his face. He looks terrible. Tired, hurt, miserable.

“Anything you wanna ask me?” You prompt. “Maybe I can say it that way.”

He looks at you warily. “Will you tell me the truth?”

“Always.” You answer immediately.

“Why did you kiss me in the river?” He asks. “I’ve been thinking over it on a loop and I just can’t figure it out.”

“It felt… right. I needed to do it. I wanted to do it. You’ve always been the best person in the world to me, always taking care of me and looking out for me. And on that planet, I was losing my fucking m-mind, seeing things, hearing things. You were so patient, so kind, so… you. And I could feel tension. Not in a bad way, but pulling me towards you. I’m so sorry, Poe. I know you said I didn’t do it, but I can’t shake the feeling that if I hadn’t, if I hadn’t distracted you, you would have heard those troopers coming. You’ve never been so compromised on a mission before until you go on one with me. I fucked up so bad and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for hurting you like that.” You ramble, the dam broken and the words spill out everywhere. He doesn’t move in the shadows.

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Your ears start to ring in the dead silence before he speaks again. “So, why kiss me in the lab?”

You sniffle quietly. “You admitted you wanted to do it again, and it’s been one of the dominating thoughts in my head since you saved me in that closet. I want to kiss you. And I like kissing you, but… the guilt… it just keeps reminding me that I’m hurting everyone. Every time I kiss you, I hurt Bryce. Every time I mention him, I hurt you. I can’t get it right. I’m turning into a plague.” You press your lips together.

“You had a nightmare in the cave. What was it?” He asks. You’re not even sure if he’s actually listening to your words, he gives no indication of hearing them.

“I,” you pause, having to think back that far. “I was hovering over myself as I slept. You were saying something but I couldn’t really hear it. Then I went outside, but it was into a First Order ship. And then I saw the tables we were attached to. And then two men fighting with lightsabers. And then…” you cut off, swallowing thickly. This part you remember, even though you wish you could forget it. “A-and then you. Y-you were fighting something I c-couldn’t see. It had a bl-blade and it killed you, stabbed you th-through the heart.” You say, gasping for breath. It feels like the surrounding air is crushing you. “I w-woke up and you weren’t there, I pa-panicked.” You twist your fingers into your blanket, hiding your face.

“Do you want to kiss me again?” He asks finally.

“Poe,”

“Do you? If you say no, I’ll never bring it up again.” He promises.

“Of course, I do. But it’s not that easy. I keep hurting you. I don’t know how not to. And being around you, it makes me happy, it makes it easier to breathe. I don’t wanna lose you. I couldn’t survive it.” You admit shamelessly.

“You won’t lose me. I won’t leave you.” He says. “One more thing.” He starts.

“Okay?”

“Do you hate the way dickhead doesn’t know how you like your caf?” He asks and you crack a tearful smile.

“Yes. It’s not hard.” You mumble.

“Come here.” He holds out his arms. “Come sit with me.”

You scoot over, resting your head on his shoulder as he spreads your blanket out over the both of you.

“I need you, too, you know. I can’t lose you, either. And if that means I have to kick Bryce from here to Tatooine, I will.” He says, nuzzling into your hair.

“Please don’t. You’ve been hurt enough on my account.” You close your eyes to him stroking your hair.

“No promises, sweetheart.” He's quiet for so long, you nearly fall asleep. “But I’m not gonna stop kissing you.” He murmurs against your hair.

With one last conscious thought, you dig into your pocket, reaching for his hand with your other one. Sleep is making your limbs like lead, heavy and clumsy. You feel him chuckle a little, placing his wrist in your fumbling palm. You place the chain in his hand, curling his fingers around it.

“Meant to give it to you earlier,” you mumble, almost certain you formed actual words.

“Y/N, ” he chokes, squeezing you tight. “Thank you.”

***

“You have to eat something.” He protests, guiding you down off the ladder. His chain is back around his neck, shimmering against his tan skin as it always has. Some day, he's going to give it to someone; someone he wants to spend the rest of forever with. Someone who isn't broken like you. Someone who actually deserves him. And you'll try to be happy for him, but you know it'll break your heart.

“Can’t you just… go get it for me?” You ask, feeling your hands start to shake at the thought of the crowd.

He smiles softly, brushing your hair back. “Sweetheart. No.”

“Poe…” you start and he cups your face.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, okay? I’ll be right there the whole time.” He promises. “But you have to eat. You need your friends. They miss you.” He looks around, noting the empty pathway. “If you need to leave, we’ll leave. Just say the word.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s gonna be loud.” You protest as he takes your hand and leads you towards the commissary and dining hall.

“This early?” He scoffs. He pulls you along gently. You could stop him, you could let the tears free that have been simmering just under the surface since you got back. You know he wouldn’t push you to do it if you’re not ready.

But… he’s gone in there, he’s seen his friends. If he can do it, you can, too. You take an extra step, falling in next to him instead of being pulled by him and he smiles down at you proudly.

“There’s my girl.” He says softly. He holds your hand right up until you stop outside the doors. He lifts your hand to his mouth softly, eyes never leaving your face. “I’ll be right next to you.” He promises. You nod and he lowers your hand, reluctantly letting it go until not even your fingertips are touching.

He pulls open the door and lets you walk inside first. He doesn’t shove you in, instead, he waits for you to take a deep breath, smiling down at you until you straighten with a false sense of confidence, and step inside. He follows you, just barely touching your arm as he guides you to the line of food.

Despite his assurances that the room would be mostly empty, with shift changes and missions leaving early, the room is fairly crowded. You can feel his eyes on you, along with about a hundred others, but you feel better today. Stronger, even. You can do this.

You hope.

Poe picks up two trays and starts to put food on both, watching your face for positive or negative signs. You could do this yourself, you’re perfectly capable, but you like him waiting on you a little bit. Just this one time, let him dote on you.

He finds an empty table, just the two of you and he sits across from you, foot tapping against yours. They trickle over, slowly, one at a time. Your friends come to sit next to you. But this time, they don’t swarm you. They sit next to you, or next to Poe, talking to him about something trivial and you’re so grateful. It lets you get used to it again, being around people, acting human again.

You watch Poe, listening to him joke with Snap; Beaumont sets an apple on your tray as he tells Poe some gossip. And Poe sits there, listening and laughing to all of it. He interacts, partakes, and never once does he look uncomfortable or like he wants to bolt. You don’t know how he does it.

And then Lieutenant Connix walks behind him. She leans down to say something in his ear, her hand squeezing his shoulder as she talks. His hand lifts to cover her own as he twists his face to listen. After a second, he nods and she walks away.

You’ve always liked her, she’s friendly, smart, ambitious. But maybe you need to rethink your ideas. She walks quickly, her hips swaying, and you huff under your breath. Since when are she and Poe so close?

You try to listen, to distract yourself, but you can’t tear your eyes away from where the pretty girl disappeared through. Poe’s foot taps against yours and you flinch, looking up at him slowly. He smiles softly, his eyes falling to your ignored food.

You roll your eyes, picking apart your roll and taking small nibbles. After a couple minutes, Connix is forgotten as Beaumont regales the table with a story of how he got trapped in a wedding dress on Coruscant.

Soon, you’re laughing along with them. You forgot what this feels like, your face hurts from smiling so much. Poe’s beautiful eyes are on you, his own grin infectious.

A crack echoes across the big room and you jump, hands grabbing the table, ready to run. Your heart pounds in your ears and it’s like your vision completely leaves you. Snap’s hand settles on yours closest to him as he shouts something. Your brain slowly fades back in and you realize Poe has your other hand across the table and Beaumont is out of his chair, peering across the room.

Two mechs collided, neither paying attention to what was in front of them, their trays falling to the cement. That was the cracking noise.

Poe’s hand is shaking just slightly, hardly noticeable, as it covers yours, but you feel it. You twist your hand into his and he glances over at you. You smile softly, tracing your thumb over the back of his hand.

Beau sits back down next to you, his eyes searching your face for a minute before he grins. “Never boring, eh, Y/N?” He asks, his hand resting on your shoulder.

“I guess not.” You answer. You pull your hands back and pick up the apple. Poe is quicker than you thought possible, his favorite knife out and the handle pressed into your palm before you can even realize you need one.

You cut the apple in half, core out the middle on both halves and give the other half to your best friend. He’s abnormally quiet for a minute as he chews, and you wonder if maybe he’s not as okay as you thought.

“Wexley, what’s on the agenda today?” You ask Snap, half turning to face him, giving Poe time to recover.

“Well, I have a mission the day after tomorrow. So, I need to get my ship ready. There’s a part that’s being problematic. I have some mechs that are gonna look at it today and see if they can fix it.” He sighs.

“Well, if they have any problems, you can always come find me and see if I can help.” You offer and he grins.

“I just might do that.”

Once Poe is sure you’ve eaten all you possibly can without getting sick, he collects your trays and you join him to deposit them before leaving the room with a wave to your friends.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks and you slip your hand into his.

“Thank you for making me go.” You say, leaning into his shoulder.

“Of course.” He smiles. “And… thank you.” He sighs, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand. You cast your mind around, trying to figure out what he could possibly be thanking you for.

“I didn’t do anything.” You frown.

“With that stupid tray… you… fuck. How are you always so strong exactly when I need you to be?”

“Poe, I was ready to bolt. The only thing stopping me was you and Snap.” You tell him. “If you hadn’t grabbed my hand to keep me there, all you would have seen was my dust as I hightailed it out of there.”

He smiles softly, but it’s weak, a little broken. “I didn’t grab your hand to keep you there. I grabbed it to keep me there.” He admits, pausing outside the door to the lab.

You stare up at him, realization dawning much too slowly. “Poe,” you place a hand on his cheek and he leans into it, eyes fluttering closed. “Anything I can do, anything you need-I’ll always be here. You’re not alone.” You whisper and he pulls you close, kissing you softly.

Every time feels like the first time. His lips press against yours like they’ve known each other forever, no hesitation. He tips your head back, towering over you as you hold onto his shirt. His tongue is soft on yours, not domineering and controlling the way… someone else’s is… your subconscious blanks on the name, but it doesn’t matter, not when Poe is kissing you like his very life depends on it. No, like your life depends on it.

He pulls away, breathing slightly faster, forehead pressed to yours. His eyes are closed, but yours are open, drinking in every detail of his beautiful face. “Me and you, kid.” He agrees and you punch his arm, a smile already pulling at your lips. His eyes fly open and he rubs his arm.

“We’re the same age.” You glower and he laughs.

“I know. But you’re so much shorter.” He puts his hand on top of your head and you slap it away, turning towards the door with a huff. You’re about to swipe your keycard, but he pulls you back, plucking it out of your pocket. He swipes it and pushes the door open, letting you step in first.

“Will you stay?” You ask, reaching for your log books.

“Yeah. I don’t have anything else to do. I’m still technically on leave, recovering from…” he trails off, but you get the picture.

“Alright.” You start checking off your supplies and notes while he moves around your lab. You don’t pay him much attention, there isn’t much trouble he can get into. But you feel better having him around.

He looks through every box on the supply shelves, every glass container. You look over at him, catching his eye being magnified through a specimen jar. He looks so ridiculous that you can’t help but snort at him. He grins and straightens up, coming over next to you.

“Didn’t find anything you liked?” You tease, flipping through the last of your notes.

“Oh, I found plenty I like. Just nothing I can take right now.” He sighs wistfully. Your face heats, so you keep your gaze directly away from him. He chuckles and sits in the spinning chair next to your bench.

Chapter Nine

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raendown · 4 years

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 5014 Chapter: 7/9 Rated: T+ Summary: When his brother disappears coming home from town Madara goes looking for him only for both to end up taken prisoner in a castle hidden by magic generations ago. The candelabras talk, the furniture sleeps, and a great white beast hides himself away in the eastern wing. As he uncovers the story behind this place and gets to know the last small group of ‘survivors’ Madara gradually makes a new home here in the least likely of places.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 7

Gently swirling the contents of the flask in his hands, Madara watched the translucent liquid rotate in small waves for a few moments before lowering it to resume rolling the glass between both palms as he had been for the past several minutes. In general he’d never been the type for nervous fidgeting but Hashirama's suggestion had confused him and awoken a strange nervous energy of sorts.

“This medicine is for Izuna,” he said slowly.

“Yes,” Hashirama agreed, “but I believe it is important that you take some as well.”

“Why would I drink someone else’s medicine?” It seemed a waste, especially after the happy discovery that it did not disappear at the midnight reset.

Hopping closer along the kitchen counter, Hashirama lifted both hands to still his movements, the wicks in his candles thankfully unlit. “It may do you some good as well. My brother assisted me in reading several of the journals we did not look through before and one of them mentioned that those who spend time near a person infected with your brother’s illness may contract it themselves.”

“But I’m not sick! I’m not coughing or anything! Wouldn’t I have shown some kind of symptoms by this point?”

“Ah, there lies the rub. According to one physician’s notes the illness may lie dormant for months or even years without any signs until something awakens the symptoms. I believe it was referred to as latent tuberculosis – and I also believe that you may have been infected.” Hashirama's candles gripped him tightly as one might clutch at someone’s fingers. “Please, my friend, allot yourself a portion of this medicine. It would not do to cure your brother at last only to fall ill yourself instead!”

Madara lowered his gaze to stare at the flask again, turning that information over in his mind. He’d heard of that before. One of the farmers he used to serve at the inn had stopped coming in to the village square when people finally put two and two together to realize that any pregnant woman who came in contact with him tended to lose the child. They called him a ‘carrier’, although what he was carrying Madara had never bothered to figure out. He himself would never have a wife, what with his attraction to men, so he hadn’t cared much to learn about the exact dangers.

After promising Hashirama he would think about it Madara disentangled himself from their odd embrace and hurried away. The flask slipped neatly in to his pocket for later while he strode through the halls towards the front door. His limbs began to shiver the moment he stepped outside but it was easy enough to put up with a bit of shivering when he knew he would be sweating through his coat very shortly.

True to an earlier promise, Tobirama had thrown himself in to the task of training Madara in the use of a gunbai with surprising enthusiasm. Six out of seven days they met, ran through a specific set of warm up stretches to loosen their muscles, then sparred until the massive weapon began to slip from Madara's grasp. Apparently he could only be considered a master of the art when he could endure any amount of abuse without ever allowed the gunbai to leave his grip. Considering how tired he usually was at the end of their daily exercise Madara had quickly built an appreciation for the strength of warriors in Tobirama’s time. They must have taken battle quite seriously.

Struggle as he might, in the end Madara was forced to admit defeat when he could not convince his arms to lift the weapon he had fallen in love with even one more time. The entire bottom half of his body was soaked through from stumbling around in the snow but his shirts were damp only with the sweat from his own body as he jammed the gunbai in to the ground and leaned heavily on it in an attempt to catch his breath.

“Your abilities are growing at an admirable rate,” Tobirama mentioned, already politely cleaning the blade he preferred to use for their training sessions.

“Right,” Madara snorted. “My ability to get clobbered in to the ground.”

His friend granted him a fond smile. “Would it make you feel better to know that I would be much less of an opponent were I blessed with my natural size once more?”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“Truly I am not. I was trained as all my brothers were but I had other pursuits which caught my interest and swordplay was not one of them. What makes me formidable now is the sheer size of this cursed body.” With a wry twist of his mouth Tobirama gestured down the front of him with one massive arm and Madara paused to consider that.

“I guess if you didn’t have arms the size of my calves you wouldn’t pack so much of a punch, yeah. You’d probably still grind me in to the dirt.”

Coming forward to help him stand and leading them both towards the armory, Tobirama hummed. “Would that I could pit you against Hashirama instead. You may not see it but I do: your stamina has already improved by leaps and bounds, your movements are stronger. Already you may have surpassed my abilities.” Oddly enough he even looked proud to say so rather than the clenched jaw of forcing out an unwanted admission as Madara would have expected from anyone else he’d ever known.

He kept his silence as they made their way inside the armory to finish cleaning their weapons and put them away. Proper storage and care of one’s things was something Tobirama was rather vehement about, though Madara happened to feel the same so it wasn’t exactly a lesson hard learned. As much as he usually enjoyed the few moments when it was not considered weird to lavish tender affection on an inanimate object, though, his thoughts drifted to other concerns as he went through the motions today entirely on autopilot. Neither of them spoke until the gunbai and sword were both hung back in their proper places and Tobirama was already turning for the door when Madara's voice called him back.

“Sometimes,” he began slowly, “you have a good day and the way you talk is almost hopeful. But then other days you talk like you expect to live forever stuck in time the way you are.” Unsurprisingly Tobirama’s expression immediately turned somber.

“It is not being outside of time’s flow that bothers me but–”

“Yeah, I know, the body. But the body isn’t yours. You just acknowledged that yourself.”

“Perhaps. But it is the form I deserve.” One of Tobirama’s hands slid down to press against where the fur covering his legs rose up over his hips as well.

Madara turned a little more towards him and very carefully did not fold his arms in an effort to avoid confrontational body language. “No it isn’t. No matter what mistakes you think you’ve made – and we all know you made none – that doesn’t make you a beast or an animal or anything. If anything that probably makes you more human than ever.”

“How, precisely?” Tobirama asked incredulously.

“It’s in the nature of humans to make mistakes.” Madara shrugged. “It’s what we do. We’re imperfect and we try our best but it’s just…it’s human to fail.”

He wasn’t really surprised to see Tobirama look away from him uncomfortably. If he ever did get all of these idiots back in to their human selves the first thing he was going to do was smack Hashirama upside the head for never saying half the things this man so clearly needed to hear. None of these thoughts should have been allowed to take hold of him. If Madara had been around back then he would have been kicking in doors to give Tobirama a piece of his mind, telling him all the things he needed to hear no matter how badly he didn’t want to hear them.

A blind man could tell that his words had already made the other uncomfortable but Madara was merciless. Better late than never.

“I won’t bother dragging the whole argument out of the closet, you already know my opinions on what happened and your lack of blame for it all, but I just…do you really see yourself as not human anymore just for that? Even after all this time?”

“Would any human do to another what I did?” Tobirama asked quietly.

“Yes! Lots of them! Literally any one of us would kill one person to save the lives of a hundred others, especially if that one person was already dying and happy to have their suffering end.” And oh how those poor people had probably been grateful to have their suffering end.

Tobirama looked away. “It was not one person but hundreds,” he insisted. “That is different.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Madara almost reveled in the frustration he could see behind his friend’s eyes. That was good. Frustration was another human emotion and the harder Tobirama fought to prove his point the more opportunities Madara would have to show him how he was wrong. And he had always loved proving people wrong.

“You were born a human,” he went on mercilessly. “You learned as a human, you grew as a human, and from that ripped up portrait I caught a glance of you looked pretty damn human to me. But if you’re so damn determined to be a monster then answer me one question. How does that make you any different?”

“I…I do not follow…”

“Does the form of a monster determine its insides? Can you tell from looking at a man whether he teaches children or murders them in their beds? No. So just because what you might call a monster has some kind of twisted body or ugly outsides that doesn’t mean the insides are ugly too. You don’t know! Maybe the monster under your bed just really needs a hug or something!”

Barely remembering he was trying to keep his body language open, Madara propped both fists on his hips and nodded in approval of his own points, silently enjoying the flabbergasted way Tobirama was staring at him. It wasn’t often he got to flap the unflappable king of cool. Or so he sometimes referred to Tobirama in his head. Whether it was the era he’d been brought up in or just his natural composure the other had a tendency to remain calm and utterly in control of himself at all times – or until Madara said something that hit one of his weak points.

It felt like a good sign that it took a couple of minutes for Tobirama to compose himself enough to speak again. Clearly if he wasn’t speaking he was thinking because this was a man whose brain simply never shut off but as long as he was giving consideration to the right thoughts Madara decided he didn’t mind the wait.

“You are…unlike any other I have ever met,” was the final conclusion.

“Eh? I guess you haven’t met a lot of decent people in your life.” Madara paused thoughtfully. “Or maybe you just haven’t met enough assholes, Izuna tells me I’m an asshole all the time.”

A look of fondness flashed across Tobirama’s face. “Your insistence upon seeing me as more than I am is both flattering and delusional yet I cannot seem to bring myself to request that you stop. It is more than I feel I deserve and…I appreciate it.”

“Oh yeah well your definition of what you deserve is wildly skewed.”

“Perhaps because I prefer to dwell on more pleasant things. Such as yourself.” Tobirama smiled in an oddly hesitant way but Madara only smiled back without questioning it, snorting a little with amusement.

“It’s been a long time since anyone called me pleasant,” he admitted.

“A travesty. You should be appreciated more often.”

Eyeing his companion a little sideways, Madara hummed. “If you are trying to sweet-talk me in to a change of topic it won’t work. I’m still determined to show you how very humanly stupid you are being. Although I’ve got to admit that a little flattery never hurts anything, you could stand to say a few more nice things to me.”

“My good friend, I could spend the rest of this day listing your better qualities without ever repeating myself.”

“Damn.” Removing one hand from his hip to scratch at the back of his head, Madara laughed. “You must plan to talk really, really slow then. I don’t have all that many good qualities.” It was all he could do not to leap in to the air and pump both fists with joy. Tobirama had called him a good friend. Considering him a good friend meant the other was forming new attachments and doing that meant that he was not so disconnected from his humanity as he thought. Madara couldn’t wait for the appropriate moment to turn around and shove that big step forward in the other’s face.

Underneath the calm mask of Tobirama’s twisted features Madara thought he saw a moment frustration but it was gone in the next instant so he dismissed it. He did have to admit that his responses probably sounded a little flippant and Izuna had always told him how annoying it was when he gave off an impression of not being invested in the conversation. If that was it he did feel a little bad. He was very invested. Other than Izuna’s health there was nothing more important in his life these days than helping Tobirama learn to see himself as human once again and not just because doing so would return to him his own freedom.

No, he wanted Tobirama to remember his own humanity because they were indeed friends now and he wanted his friend to remember, above all else, the feeling of happiness. His own brand of freedom. What could ever be more important than that?

“Well,” he broke the silence, ready to let the subject drop for now. “If you want to say more nice things to me then maybe we should go inside where it’s warm so I can feel my toes again.”

“Ah, my apologies. I sometimes forget about…”

“Feet?”

“Yes,” Tobirama agreed with shame coloring his tone. That simply wouldn’t do.

Madara headed for the door and tossed over his shoulder with a smile, “I think that’s one of the things where you got the better end of this deal. Do you know how much I would love to just never stub my toe again or never worry about cold feet when I go to bed?”

“How is it that you always manage to put a positive spin on everything?” Tobirama asked as they stepped out in to the snow. “You have more talent for it than even Hashirama.”

“Don’t tell him that, he’ll take it as a challenge.”

Another triumph in his favor, Tobirama cracked a smile. “If you wish to avoid his enthusiasm then perhaps you would consent to spending more time in my company. My days are always brightened by your presence. It would please me greatly to know more of you.”

“Not a bad idea,” Madara admitted.

“You approve?”

“Definitely. I mean, we already agreed that we should get to know each other and now we have; now we’re friends. It makes sense for us to spend time together.” Madara sent his companion a conspiratorial grin. “And if it gives me an excuse not to listen to Hashirama compose poetry for his wife then all the better.”

Once again a flash of frustration appeared on Tobirama’s face that he didn’t understand but Madara let this one go unmentioned as well. Questioning Tobirama’s unexplained miniature temper tantrums was probably just as dangerous as asking Hashirama why he was in such a good mood on any given day. Although he was willing to bet that Tobirama would not respond by launching himself in to lengthy poetic speeches that he would then have to tune out, for which Madara was grateful. Just imagining it was terrifying.

Trudging back through the snow was terrible when Madara's legs felt as though they might turn to jelly at any moment but it was made less terrible by Tobirama kindly walking ahead of him and widening the path they had made to come out here earlier. For all the conveniences of having the world reset every day this was one inconvenience he could have done without; it would have been nice to shovel himself a nice path to use but what was the point if it would only disappear? Wasted effort. And Madara wasn’t about to tire himself out for nothing when he already got all the exercise he needed during their sparring sessions.

After detouring towards the stables for Madara to be sure his old mare had enough hay and water they made it inside the castle and paused for him to peel off all the extra layers now soaked through with sweat and snow. Learning how to wield a gunbai involved an unsurprising amount of getting knocked on the ground. Hashirama found them as Madara was contemplating taking his shirt off as well and walking through the halls bare chested until he could go bathe.

Strangely, Hashirama did not have a cheerful greeting for them. Or any greeting at all.

“Have either of you encountered Mito recently?” he asked the moment he saw them. Both shook their heads and Tobirama reminded him that they had been outside for the last couple of hours as they usually were this time of day. “If you see her would you be so kind as to let her know I am looking for her?”

“Of course, brother,” Tobirama replied.

With that Hashirama was gone again, hopping off down the hallways at speeds that threatened to send him tripping over his own metal base. Madara tilted his head to one side.

“That’s weird.”

“I agree. He is not normally quite so abrupt.”

“Oh, yeah, that too. I just meant it’s weird because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Mito outside of the kitchens unless she’s with Hashirama.”

Tobirama looked down at him with brows furrowed in thought. “She was no great lady before she married my brother. I believe the kitchens give her comfort because she was raised there, a simple cook until she caught the crown prince’s eye.”

“Damn. I didn’t know that.”

“She would likely not wish for you to know.” His friend glanced at him sideways with a conspiratorial smile and Madara laughed. Without being told he never would have guessed that Mito had been raised as anything other than a proper lady in the royal courts. She certainly had acclimated well to such a massive promotion if her usual cool demeanor was anything to go by.

The anomaly was an easy one to put out of their minds, the two of them resuming the paths they had intended to take now that their training was done for the day. Tobirama walked with him until they reached the hallways that led towards the royal apartments. As they spent more and more time together Madara was slowly learning more and more things they agreed upon and one of those things was the necessity of bathing after such strenuous activity. Not many things struck him as more disgusting than the idea of going about the rest of his day reeking of sour armpits. He’d gotten enough of that stench from the patrons who frequented the tavern perhaps a little too frequently and he had less than zero desire to be like those animals in any sort of way.

Izuna sat comfortably ensconced in the window seat when Madara entered the room, nose buried in a book and sock-covered feet tucked under his thighs where they were curled with anticipation. He always had loved a good adventure story. For a moment Madara couldn’t help but stop and stare, admiring the flush of color where there had once been tired and waxy skin, the shine coming back to long dark hair. His brother looked healthier now than he had in years and he continued to improve with every day that passed. It was amazing what access to actual medicine would do after years of being sold a shitty half-potent brew to keep him coming back as a repeat customer. If Madara ever saw that witch doctor again the idiot was going to come away from the encounter without all his vital body parts intact. That was a guarantee.

“Bath?” his brother asked distantly without looking up. It was incredibly annoying that he found it easy deciphering the twirling flowery script Madara could not, able to enjoy whatever book he wanted to from the library.

“Please tell me the water’s still hot,” he pleaded.

“Mn. Should be. I haven’t bothered to check.”

Madara grunted and stumped on through to the water closet. Even in the current times it was a rarity to find homes outside of the big towns that were built with indoor plumbing. The fact that this castle had such luxuries available was well worth the fact that to heat the water for his bath still required a small fire under the tub. It was better than hauling water in from the well as he’d had to do all his life. The tub was even make of copper with four clawed feet holding it up above the ground, much more comfortable than the squat wooden barrel Madara was used to crawling in to.

To his absolute delight the small fire he stoked up before going outside had gone out not too long before, leaving his water a delicious burning temperature he was able to enjoy by submerging a towel before his body so he wouldn’t have to sit directly on the heated copper bottom. Sinking down in to the water was bliss upon his tired muscles and Madara was glad no one but Izuna was close enough to hear the shameful drawn out moan that echoed around the room in appreciation. There really was nothing like a good hot soak after a hard day’s work. And considering that his life had been fairly soft compared to others he felt he was only just beginning to appreciate things like this now after signing on to turn his muscles in to jelly six out of seven days a week.

Although he couldn’t say that he minded. In an odd way the soreness of his muscles felt good, felt like tangible proof of the progress he was making both in his own skill and in convincing Tobirama to see himself as human. The more time they spent together the more his friend seemed to be opening up and revealing new facets of his true self. For him to ask that they spend even more time together must be a breakthrough. Madara grinned smugly, sinking down to hide his expression under the surface of the water, and mentally gave himself a nice pat on the back. Obviously he was such a good friend that Tobirama wanted them to get even closer!

His intention was to soak just long enough that he could lift his arms without feeling like he wanted to scream but by the time he pulled himself out the water had gone cold and the shadows in the room were stretching out much longer than they should have been. Apparently time had slipped him by as he relaxed.

No longer half as sore as he had been, Madara was almost tempted to hum pleasantly as he dried himself off and dressed again in the clothes he’d left in the bathroom earlier, checking first to make sure Izuna hadn’t caught any mice to leave in his clothing again. It was wonderful to see his brother regain some energy but he could have done without the resurgence of the pranks they used to pull on each other when they were young. Once he was successfully covering in mice-free clothing Madara wrestling a brush through his hair until he was able to separate three portions to braid together. The gilded mirror hanging over the sink told him that he’d done a decent enough job, nothing fancy but better than the raggedy drowned look he usually sported walking around with wet hair.

On his way back through the bedroom he double checked the position of the sun through their window and wrinkled his nose. He might be a little late for dinner. Mito hated it when he was late. Hopefully she didn’t overcook anything in retaliation as she so often threatened to do to Tobirama when the man got too lost in his head to remember food.

“Coming?” he called, pausing at the door. Izuna’s face lifted from the book he’d been reading with a glassy eyed look which said he also hadn’t realized the time.

“Five more minutes?”

“And get yelled at by the lady of the house? Not a chance. If you’re not coming now then I’ll bring you up a plate later.”

He watched Izuna wrestle with indecision before finally sighing and setting the book aside, unfolding his legs to stand then pausing to stretch. By the time he finally made it over to the door Madara was tapping one foot impatiently.

“On your own time,” he insisted with heavy tones of sarcasm. Izuna stuck out his tongue.

Together they wandered through the hallways towards the lower floors where Mito should be whipping up her latest delicacy, Izuna patiently listening to his big brother recounting an afternoon of training that probably sounded pretty identical to al his other stories about training. When he could get a word in edgewise he immediately derailed the conversation to talk about the rich fantasy world he’d been reading about and that was just as interesting so Madara decided against scolding him for being so rude. It was always a pleasure to see him so invested, so vibrant.

Instead of the usually cheery voice hailing them as soon as they walked in to the room, however, both of the Uchiha brothers were surprised to find the kitchens empty but for little Kagami dangling from an oven handle and struggling valiantly to open the massive door with his tiny wooden weight. Madara leapt across the room to rescue him, setting the toy soldier on the countertop instead with his heart racing in his chest.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Do you know what the ovens could do to you? What if you caught fire!”

“I did not want for you to go hungry, I was only trying to cook dinner!” Kagami scuffed one foot in to the counter while Madara and Izuna traded looks of confusion.

“Mito cooks,” Izuna pointed out.

“Exactly. Which begs the question again, what do you think you’re doing?” Crossing his arms, Madara lifted one eyebrow in his best impression of a disappointed Tobirama. Nothing got this boy talking than the idea that he had somehow disappointed his idol.

Just as predicted, Kagami pouted. Then he defied expectations by perking up and shaking his head with some measure of authority. “Mito-hime is not here. Hashirama-sama went to find her; he sounded very worried that she was not preparing so I thought to cheer everyone up by doing so myself! Then Hashirama-sama would not have to worry and you would not have to go on with empty bellies!”

For a few moments the two of them stared down at the boy in search of any hints that he wasn’t telling the whole truth. It was a futile effort, though. Kagami was almost more honest than Hashirama and he had no reason to lie to them. Eventually Madara scooped him back up and carefully transferred his small body away from the work station, depositing him in Izuna’s outstretched hands with a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He really was glad they had taken such a shine to each other.

“You forget that we’ve lived alone for years; I can cook for myself just fine. It might not be quite up to the standards Tobirama is used to eating but I’m sure he’ll manage to choke it down.”

“It is weird that Mito’s not here with dinner waiting though,” Izuna chipped in, already seating himself on a nearby stool.

Madara hummed with his head shoved inside the closest pantry door. “I agree, it’s not like her. Hashirama will find her though. She’s probably just off distracted with a book or something like you were before I dragged you down. Everything’s fine.”

He didn’t need to look to feel the weight of Izuna’s eyes on him, to read the silence for what it was. Kagami happily began to chatter about something inconsequential and they let him. That was, after all, the point of pretending that everything was normal. Neither of them wanted to upset the poor boy until they knew for sure that anything was amiss.

But his brother had hit the nail on the head. It was very strange for Mito not to be here in the kitchen with dinner ready, stranger still that she would pass up on an opportunity to scold them for deviating from the schedule she had set for their meals. Whether because of her modest upbringing or a need to prove herself worthy in her new station Mito was a woman who thrived on order, everything where it was supposed to be and always at the right time. It might have been possible that she really had simply fallen victim to distraction as he suggested and that she might come flying in to the kitchen with tight-lipped apologies to scold him for using the wrong frying pan.

Or – Madara's fingers tightened around the onion he held between his palms – it was possible that his gut was right and something was very wrong. They wouldn’t know until Hashirama found his wife.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #izuna #kagami #hashirama #fanfiction

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littlegalerion · 5 years

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Shipathon Meme!

Tagged by @sheirukitriesfandom Thanks for tagging me and giving me an excuse to rant about ships~ Tagging: @foxyhearts @diamond-loki @greennightingale 1.) First Ship you Ever Wrote Fic For? It was for Vanus and Caafire, and it actually got featured front page on an animo! It was old Caafire though, before I had developed her to her current status of unable-to-use-magic-because-if-she-does-she’ll-explode sword swinger master. Back then she was just a free lance battlemage with a bad family life. 2.) Ship you Write Most Now? Well... tech I write for Trechire x Eliindil (Sheogorath) most now because that’s my timeline’s canon, so every time I write using characters in that universe I’m tech writing that ship, as Sunnabela and Kirr are their kids (Sunnabela his step-son, but Eliindil raised him). Just it’s a post-ship writing I guess? In terms of who I formulate for the most, that would probably be Laloriaran X Trechire in the AU, which I really should write more of. 3.)Ship you Read the Most Now? Sotha Sil x S/O, and it’s more just headcanon fluff stuff really. I wish there was more Sotha Sil x S/O, but that’s “not lore friendly” so I think a lot of would be writers get intimidated and scared away by lorebeards to write any solid series with it. I HAVE seen some, and for that I’m grateful. The headcanons at least seem to be multiplying beautifully. 4.) Newest Ship? Some questions are best left unanswered. 5.) Rare Ship you Wanna Read More of? Bring on the Sotha Sil x S/O or the Vanus x S/O. Please, spoil me. 6.) Your Taboo Ship? Okay, I can already feel the heat of sheer rage from people reading what I’m gonna write under this. But Vanus x Mannimarco is the most toxic ship I have ever seen, in ANY fandom. Firstly, heavily cliche. “They hate each other so at one time they must have liked or loved each other” No, that is not what that means. Sometimes it could be the case, but if it was romantic, then it wasn’t a “little falling out”. Vanus and Mannimarco are legends in their war against each other. In ESO Mannimarco loudly insults and kills mages of the guild, while Vanus openly spits against necromancy. Both very passionately doing so. If something romantic did happen, it’s a romance with no good memories in it. Secondly, it’s abusive. In Summerset, we get to see the two of them in their youth interacting. During this quest, it’s very obvious Mannimarco is manipulating Vanus, who is very optimistic and wants to believe the best in his friend. Mannimarco, however, doesn’t care. He never saw Vanus as an equal, BUT as a potentially USEFUL mage. He probably did feel a sting when Vanus rejected necromancy, but it wasn’t because “oh dear, my lover has rejected me!” It was most likely because Mannimarco realized he had lost a very useful future second in command, and gained an enemy which would prove a pain for years to come. I like to also point out, Mannimarco wasn’t this lonely little necromancer in the Order. We see a note concerning him in the dungeon that proves he had other friends and, while perhaps not well received overall, he had their respect as a senior member. What I’m getting at is, if there was ANY romantic or sexual relationship between Mannimarco and Vanus, it was NOT healthy. Mannimarco knew what he was doing, and was most likely an emotionally abusive partner. The type that gets uncomfortably moody or guilt trips their partner to get his way. He is SEEN doing this in the quest, actually, when Vanus catches him raising a skeleton guar, Mannimarco replies, “I thought you’d understand” and “You sound like the Ritemaster.” A chord he knew would hit Vanus hard, which it did, as Vanus stumbles to reply and drops the argument. Listen, if your s/o does something that makes you feel very uncomfortable and unsafe, then you go to them about it and they pull that crap on you, YOU LEAVE. Lastly, a lot of the time it seems I see this ship under “cute gay mages owo”. Gay couples deserve healthy relationships. Gay relationships do not need to be soaked in pure drama and dark tones to exist. Especially in Elder Scrolls, where gay couples live happily and were never considered out of place. Do not hide under the gay tag to get away with an abusive ship. Being gay doesn’t excuse a person for being an asshole, or for someone to be a pushover. But that’s enough of my ravings against that ship. For the record, I adore Mannimarco as a villain; he’s one the best I’ve ever seen, honestly. So this isn’t just an unfair rage fest against him. 7.) They never met in Canon Ship? I feel like I have a ship on the tip of my tongue, but it just isn’t coming out. I’m drawing a blank. Nerevar with literally anyone else other than Ayem? 8.)Your unexpected Ship? Lyris and her Redguard husband were a surprise. I usually don’t relate to the warrior types in these games, but these two are just sweethearts. 9.) The Ship you Always Forget to give Love to? Verandis x Trechire. GEEZE, I forget about them so much and it’s probably the most logical ship. Verandis is a vampire lord who wants to convince the world vampires aren’t always evil, and to convince other vampires they shouldn’t live at war with the world. Trechire is a werewolf alpha who hides her wolf self from virtually everyone she knows, save for her pack, who she strives to teach to be true hunters with a code of honor. Not just some hounds who bark crazily at passersby who have a bow in their hands. Both mages, both Altmer, both famous for their family names, so there’s lots of pressure on them. They’d have so much to talk about, and would be such a stress reliever to each other. 10.) Ship your OC with a canon character? I already do, that’s like half the ships already in this post. My biggest one is Laloriaran x Trechire. Although Trechire x Sheogorath is my canon, as Eliindil becomes Sheogorath, so that counts as a canon character? 11.) Ship you’re embarrassed to Ship? She recently acquired his staff motif in this big event on ESO. He recently traded his old staff design in for the new Chapter, but in the main quest line his character model still has it. That’s all I’m saying, because I don’t take the ship seriously, but it still exists and fuels my nightmares. 12.)Your most Romantic Ship? Trechire and Eliindil, because Trechire was made by me, Eliindil is an OC made by both me and my fiance who helps flesh out his personality, design, and background. Then of course Laloriaran and Trechire.... 13.)Your Sexiest Ship? If I don’t say Sheogorath and Trechire, pretty sure I’m getting teleported 50 feet above the stone surface of where I shall die. 14.) Your most Tragic Ship? Laloriaran and Trechire, who ARE in my canon but of course, Laloriaran dies. In her canon, Trechire completed the events of Morrowind, Clockwork City, and Summerset before the main questline of ESO. She had seen so many friends or just good people die. Leythen being ripped from reality right before her, Darien being forced to sacrifice himself and Trechire reading his last words before him fading away forever. Tanval Indoril dying from his own mistake, Verandis making a stupid decision out of desperation and guilt. Not to mention all the numerous little quests where this innocent and complicated person dies or suffers in the end. ESO is vicious. She had witnessed so much death, and in Laloriaran’s eyes she saw someone who understood that pain. More than anything in the world, she wanted the last Ayleid to return to Tamriel, where he’d be among friends that wouldn’t count on him for survival, but live and thrive together. She made a promise in her heart, if ANYONE would survive, even at the cost of her own life, Trechire would see to it that Laloriaran did, be it as a lover or as a friend. And in the end, he died in her arms, Trechire a healer who could offer nothing to save him. 15.) A Ship You want more Content For? Again, BRING ON THE VANUS WITH S/O AND SOTHA SIL WITH S/O, PLEASE.

#boy this was fun #vanus #vanus galerion #sotha sil #verandis #tanval #Laloriaran #laloriaran dynar #elder scrolls #elder scrolls online

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softjeon · 6 years

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Through the Veil | Pt. 13

• Pairing: Yoongi x Jungkook • Genre: Angst / Fluff | demon!AU (→ Gifset Trailer) • Words: 5,6k | Co-Writer: Cat @cassiavioletblue ↳ (AO3) • Disclaimer: mentioning of alcohol and violence / death / graphic content

↳ Jungkook is pretty sure that he is a normal human being, but he is also sure that this book, he got from his grandma, is a cookbook. So when it turns out that the words he's reciting are not to cook some tasty meal but to summon something from the depth of the underworld - then maybe there are a few more suprises for him in stock. « previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter »

A coldness crept into him, chilling him clear to the bone. Never in his life had he felt so cold. Yoongi dreaded and welcomed the day at the same time, when his heart could no longer bear the loneliness and would just break in half. He had heard of humans dying because of a broken heart before. He knew that he was slowly going crazy but that was how he felt. He needed him near. It all meant nothing without Jungkook.

Yoongi didn’t even know where to begin anymore. Every night and every day, the only thing on his mind was Jungkook. One day Hoseok had only chuckled at the way that someone like Jungkook could bring one of the strongest demons to his fucking knees. But Jungkook did just that. And Yoongi hated it that he had faked a smile and just went on, doing his work, so he could go back to his cave as fast as he could. To be on his own. Suffering. Longing for the angel boy.

Every day was getting harder, as he could feel how awful Jungkook felt. The bond was telling him to go look for him, to see if his ‘master’ was all right, but he couldn’t. There was no way he could. It was the worse at nights for Jungkook and the demon could feel the pain and suffering with every fiber of his heart. It drained him. He got restless and fidgety and irritated.

Soon Yoongi had established quite the reputation for himself of being completely unratable and highly dangerous. He could go from completely aggressive and violent (when the pain he felt made him lose his mind a little) to soft and sad and almost caring (when he remembered Jungkookie’s softness or how the younger had brought out the best in him). Persephone almost seemed to like it and she definitely found it entertaining to let him lose on her enemies or disobedient servants while never really knowing how he would react and what he would do.

At night Yoongi had made a habit of sleeping curled up around Jungkook’s clothes who had smelled less and less of the angel boy until they were just what they had been before. Simple, useless pieces of cloth, he didn’t care for. He ripped them to pieces in anger, screaming out his pain and sobbing quietly into the pillows after. Pillows that he stole from the palace because Jungkook had slept on them.

Unlike the demon, Jungkook had nothing to hold on to. All he had was the aching in his chest that only got worse and worse. He tried to hold on to the thought of seeing the demon again, that he was missing him just as much but the longer they were separated the more doubts creeped into his mind. The words of the schakal repeating itself in his mind, even though Yoongi had told him otherwise, but still…sometimes…when the night has been too long and the nightmares too much, he couldn’t help but lose himself in these thoughts.

The lack of concentration at work had made his boss warn him twice by now and Jungkook really tried to better himself but it only gotten worse. Sometimes he fell asleep on the floor, looking out of the window and hoping that Yoongi would come. He even let the window open once or twice, not caring how cold it was getting the more days passed. Until one month was gone. And then another.

On days he couldn’t feel the bond as much, Jungkook was holding up, pretending to be alright but as soon as he could feel just a tiny bit of emotion from the other – he was done for. A whimpering mess on the floor. Crying out at night for the other. Jungkook felt pathetic. He had promised the demon to be strong and yet, here he was. Jungkook barely could hold himself up anymore and even the concealer couldn’t hide the red puffy eyes anymore. It felt like the heartache was slowly killing him from the inside. Very slowly, he waddled over to the calendar that was hanging on the wall. Another day had passed. Another ‘X’ was drawn onto the paper. Jungkook let himself fall onto the floor, rubbing his eyes that felt so awfully dry from crying.

It was supposed to get better. People always said that “time heals everything”. And especially Yoongi, a demon, someone practically designed to dismiss emotions quickly it should have been easy to just go on like normal. He would see Jungkook again after all. Just five years. Five little years, the blink of an eye. And still time had never stretched out so torturously long before. Never.

Yoongi felt like he was losing his mind.

And then he considered cheating. Even though Persephone was letting him punish disobedient servants on a regular basis he still considered going against her rules. He would sneak out and then he would see Jungkook and then… then he wouldn’t be able to stay with Jungkook. Because Persephone would come after him and she would kill Jungkook slowly in front of his eyes just to make a point. They could maybe run - but then Jungkook would have to be on the run for the rest of his life, never safe, always on edge. He didn’t want that kind of life for him. Jungkook deserved better. So much better. So, there was nothing else for him to do but wait.

However, he just... just couldn’t. He knew he wouldn’t be able to endure it. He would literally go crazy because of it. Or he would start to make mistakes, or enemies so that in the end he might get killed off before he even had a chance to see Jungkook again. There had to be another way. This couldn’t be it. There had to be something that he could do. But he came up empty. So, he asked the fairy.

“So, tell me again,” The fairy said, tapping his finger on his chin in thought, “Persephone made you separate, because the bond can’t be broken anymore but Jungkook can’t stay in the underworld otherwise he would wither away and now you have to live without each other.” When Yoongi hummed in response, the fairy chuckled low, “You know I should have bet that you would fall in love. I knew it would happen. Now I’m mad that I didn’t. I would have made so much money.” Realizing that the demon on the other end of the line was quite desperate and not liking his jokes (considering his low growl) he quickly got himself together, “So what do you need me from me?”

“I need to know if there’s another way that we can see each other more often. Any way, really. I don’t want him to be killed or turned into a demon so please stroke that off your list. And betraying Persephone is out of the question. If she doesn’t kill me while trying to sneak out she will hunt us down sooner or later. So, what i want you to do is to please, please ask whoever sources you have that know about stuff like this if there is any other way for us, that I’m not seeing here at the moment. Please.” There was no more room for pretense. He was desperate. And the fairy needed to know that or else he might not tell him more drastic ways if there even were any.

“I’m sorry Yoongi but there’s nothing I can do. I can’t break the bond, nor will anyone try and go against the goddess of the underworld and you know that… there is only one thing,” The fairy answered, the last words rather quietly.

“Well, honey, sweety, listen,” The fairy began before his voice gotten serious, “There is only one way and you know it already, don’t you? Somewhere deep down…it’s risky and probably very stupid. But if my gut feeling isn’t deceiving me it is also the right way.” He sighed deeply, raking his hands through his hair, “You’re not the demon you once were anymore, Yoongi. You are now on the crossroads. Chose.” Somehow, the fairy had the feeling that Persephone was only waiting for Yoongi to break down for him to have only this option left. And she would enjoy it. Every minute of it.

“No way,” Yoongi swallowed hard, his voice small and full of terror, “She might kill me first, just for asking. There’s no way that I can ask her to...ask her... to...” His violent emotions disturbed their call, making the blood in the bowl where the fairies voice had come from ripple and then collapse. Then he got up, pacing, running in circles in front of his sleeping place back and forth, back and forth. And then he realized that the fairy was right. Deep down he already knew that there was no other way than this. He had just needed a confirmation that there was actually nothing, absolutely nothing else, that he could do than this: To ask Persephone to dismiss him from his duties as her servant. Which would also mean that he would stop being a demon. And it was on Persephone to decide what else to turn him into; a corpse or… someone human.

…

Hoseok had just left the throne sale with a wave of her hand, when Persephone changed into her nightgown dress as she was strolling to the private rooms of her palace. She yawned cutely and with another flick of her wrist she let her hair fall out of its bun and down her shoulders in big waves. Her footsteps echoing in the big hallways. She didn’t care if the guards could see her like this, changing midways – they knew better than to stare.

Yoongi didn't care for the time. There wasn’t a ‘good time’ for a question like this. He might fall from her grace simply because of asking the question or even daring to think about leaving her. So, when he hurried down the hallways he ignored the guards confused looks and kept going until he saw a familiar face.

“Hoseok!” Yoongi almost didn’t recognize his own voice. He sounded strange, as if every protection had been stripped from him and now there was only his very core left, tender and vulnerable. Hoseok turned, giving him a look that Yoongi couldn’t decipher but he had a question to ask so he went on with it right away. “Is she still in there? I need to talk to Persephone.”

Hoseok shook his head right away, “No, she retreated to her private rooms. Why do you need to talk to her so late? Did something happen?” The demon looked at his friend rather concerned, who was looking rather anxious. “Is something wrong with Jungk-,” Hoseok couldn’t end his sentence, seeing the expression on Yoongi’s face and then he panicked. “No, no, no, you’re not in your right mind! What are you trying to do? What is this about? Yoongi?” Hoseok put his hands on the other’s shoulders, shaking him as if he could shake the stupid idea out of him. He had a feeling what this was about. He had seen the way Yoongi had changed. It has been months without Jungkook and it only gotten worse. He was losing him. The only demon he ever called his friend – or something like that.

“Hoseok - Hobi…,” He had never called him by his nickname out loud before. But he felt like he needed to make the other understand. Now. After all it might be the last time he saw him. He plucked the other’s hands of his shoulders but kept them in his, avoiding Hoseoks eyes and instead fixating his gaze on their conjoined hands. “I know that you might not understand this and it’s okay if you’re angry or hurt that I leave you behind like this. But I can’t take this anymore. I was fine before I met Jungkook. Until he opened my eyes and made me see that my kind of ‘fine’ had just been cold and loneliness and violence. I can’t live like that anymore. I miss him so much, Hoseok. So much that I can’t breathe without my chest hurting. My heart feels like it's on fire but one that slowly burns it out. I can’t go on - so I need to ask her if it’s possible to dismiss me. I might end up being together with Jungkook in some way. Or I might end up getting killed. But… at least I followed my heart. I tried. That’s something, isn’t it? And I’m thankful that I could call you my friend.”

“I can’t make you change your mind, can I?” Hoseok asked quietly but he knew the answer already. “It’s…dumb I hope you know that,” The demon’s voice cracked lightly, and he quickly regained his posture. His lip was quivering and Hoseok had to admit that he was feeling lost and hurt – but it was Yoongi’s decision. It was on him. He gulped heavily against the lump in his throat before he hesitated, opening his arms slowly. The demon wasn’t sure how humans really did it, but he had seen them do it a couple of times - so he went it and closed his arms around Yoongi. Just for a moment, before he pulled back and averted his gaze quick. He couldn’t stand here and watch this. A quiet ‘Good luck’ was all he could say before he spread his wings and flew out of the window and as high up as he could. No one should see that he was hurting.

Yoongi barely had time to reciprocate the hug, completely caught off guard by Hoseoks open display of affection before the other let go and surged into the air. He didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. But it was probably what both had wanted. Saying ‘goodbye’ would mean that they would never see each other again. And if Yoongi was lucky and he got turned into a human and live with Jungkook then Hoseok would be able to visit him. So, saying goodbye was also like an admission of knowing how high the risk was that he wouldn’t end up where he wanted to be.

A sudden noise behind him, shook Yoongi out of his doubts quick and he saw the goddess walking up to him. “Oh, did you get lost, demon?” Retreating from her bathroom, she walked past the demon, not sharing a glance but with a smile on her face and a tone in her voice that revealed, that she knew very well that Yoongi was here because of her. She turned around gracefully just in front of her room and send away the guards standing around, “Or did you miss me that much already that you couldn’t wait to kneel for me again tomorrow?”

Yoongi lowered his head submissively, his heart kicked into overdrive but her sudden appearance. “I got a request, my goddess,” He swallowed hard before stepping into the room that Persephone was resting in when she held the door open for him. He behaved as if it was totally normal for her to receive guests in here when Yoongi was pretty certain that the only people who had seen Persephone's private rooms from the inside were her lovers, Hades, the maids who were supposed to care for her comfort - and Persephone herself. He wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or bad sign that she let him see her rooms just like this.

She tied her robe a little tighter around her waist, before sitting on the edge of her bed. “A request? That late at night?” The goddess asked and gestured for Yoongi to come in further. “Tell me then,” She pushed her hair back behind her shoulders, before her gaze was piercing through Yoongi, “What do you need from me?”

Yoongi sank down on one knee, the way he knew she liked it, before daring to look up at her, searching for her eyes. “I would like to ask for a favor. One that is way too big for me but in my presumptuousness, I will ask for it nonetheless. My goddess, my mistress, I served you for a little eternity and I served you as good as I could, with the best intentions and the utmost respect. My admiration for your strength and beauty will never cease. Still, after month of considering very careful what kind of options I have I finally come to the conclusion that there is no other way than this. So, now I am here, my goddess, kneeling in front of you as your devoted servant, completely at your mercy and asking if... if there is a way...” Yoongi's voice died out, but he coughed a little and forced the words out even though he had started to tremble, “...a way to possibly be dismissed from your service.”

A knowing smile touched the goddess lips and she got up from where she sat, walking over to her servant. She had been only waiting for him to break right in front of her, begging her to let him go. She had wondered why it had taken so long.

“My servant,” She said and got up and over to him. Persephone let her hand trail over his shoulders, walking around until she was right in front him, “Show me your wings.” When he did as she ordered, she stood in awe, her hands wandering all over his shoulders and neck, cupping his cheeks to make him look up at her and then she touched his wings. Just a light caress.

“You know what you are asking of me is a really stupid request, right?” Persephone spoke further, “You’re asking me to let you go, when you know that I’ve never did so. Never in a million years.” She turned around, walking away from Yoongi but only to heighten the tension for the kneeling demon. She was playing a game.

“Do you think the angel boy is still in love with you? After what you did to him?” The goddess asked with a rough voice, but didn’t expect any answers, “You broke his heart. Took his innocence and then casted him off like it was nothing. It has been months. Don’t you think he has moved on? Can you be sure that he will take you back if I let you go? And now you asked me, your goddess, the one you should always be loyal to, to dismiss you? Just like that? It will be painful, more pain than you’ve ever experienced or can imagine and what do I get from this? I get nothing?” The goddess saw how the demon was trembling, the way he tried to hold himself up – but she knew better. From the day Yoongi had brought Jungkook down into the underworld she knew. Fate and Love were higher powers she doesn’t like to mingle with but that doesn’t mean that she will let her servants go like that. “Your loyalty has changed, demon. Your heart doesn’t beat for me anymore,” The goddess spoke softly and put a finger under Yoongi’s chin to make him look up, “Is it love? Or is it the bond? Tell me Yoongi...”

Yoongi swallowed hard, his wings slightly trembling and betraying him with showing off how anxious he was. How vulnerable. How scared. He regretted asking her. Not because he didn’t want to do this but, because he was afraid that Persephone would kill him right here, right now and he would never see Jungkook again. Even worse, Jungkook might wait for him to show up five years from now and when Yoongi wouldn’t be there then... then it would confirm Jungkook’s fears that he played him. And he would break the youngers heart again. Like he had done over and over again. His eyes filled with tears, but he refused to cry in front of Persephone. If this was how he was going to die, then he would die with his eyes dry and Jungkook’s face in his mind. Sweet, little Jungkook. His angel. His love.

There was no hesitation in his voice when he answered her, “The bond doesn’t matter. Not anymore. I love him. No matter what will happen to me now I’m going to love him for the rest of my life.”

Persephone was almost touched with the way Yoongi was talking about Jungkook. There was so much hope and love radiating off him, despite his anxiousness and she kneeled in front of him, to cup his face. Watching his face closely, she let her hands caress over his soft skin, looking deep into his eyes. “I will miss you, demon,” She whispered and leaned in to kiss his forehead. No matter how hard and cruel she was, she still respected the demon in a way. He had been loyal to her for an eternity. Had been one of her best servants. She sighed deeply, staying close to him and speaking in a whisper. “I can make you forget,” Persephone spoke, “About Jungkook, the pain, the bond will only be a faded weird feeling in the pit of your stomach and you can stay a demon. If you chose to stay, I’d make sure to make you my personal guard. My demon. I’d give you greater powers than you’ll ever imagine.” Her fingers trailed with a feather light touch over his cheek, “Or I can make you human.”

Yoongi suppressed a shudder. Persephone had never been so close to him let alone touch him like that. He felt like an insect pinned down by her stare, her touches so intense as if they burned right through his skin into his soul. His breath became shallow. For a second, just the fraction of a second, he considered the surprising offer. He hadn’t known that there was another option. But to be honest it wasn’t more than a quick thought before he was sure that there was no way that he could live with this. Even if it would work and he forgot everything - he didn’t want to. He would never leave Jungkook alone like this, seeking refuge in the past and leaving Jungkook to suffer on his own. The younger didn’t deserve this. His heart beat faster when Persephone mentioned the second option. Becoming human. Just what he wanted. Or rather what he would chose to endure to be with Jungkook.

“But…there is a price to pay. It will entail a lot of pain. More than you could ever imagine. I will take everything from you that makes you a demon and unlike becoming one, you will remember all the pain, like a fragile human does,” Making Yoongi look her into her eyes, she put a finger under his chin, “Barely one survived it before. I can’t promise you that you will… So, stay with me, become my personal guard and stay forever safe or take the risk of death in hope to be with the one you love. Choose, demon.”

There wasn’t really anything to choose. He had made his decision long ago and his fate had been sealed the moment he had gone out tonight.

“You know what I want, my goddess. Please, even though it will make you lose a servant I beg you to be selfless and grant me my wish,” He was scared, so so scared. But he would push through. This was what he needed to do.

Suddenly Persephone’s expression changed as if everything before had just been show and now she was showing her true colors. She got up and Yoongi stayed kneeling, unsure how to react or what to do now. He had no idea how exactly this would work so he didn’t know what he was expected to do. But apparently Persephone had him where she wanted him to be because she didn’t ask him to get up, just started to walk around him slowly. All the while she was looking at him, scanning him as if he was an exhibit at a museum, a statue to admire from afar. Unable to hide from any stares or attacks Yoongi was tense, his breath coming in short pants. He was getting more and more nervous. He shuddered when she touched his wings again, but she just started stroking the feathers like before, letting Yoongi feel them, each and every one of them and how deeply they were connected to his very being.

„So beautiful,” She whispered, a cruel praise considering what she was about to do, „You always had the most beautiful wings, Yoongi. I bet it must feel wonderful to fly, having the wind brush through your feathers. It must feel like freedom.”

Yoongi couldn’t take the tension anymore, he sobbed once, an ugly, desperate sound coming from his chest. She hit right where it hurt the most. He loved flying. Always had. Because it felt exactly like that, like pure freedom right within his grasp.

“To be above everything else must be awesome. Don’t you want to…”

„Please,” Yoongi interrupted her, voice small and choked with tears. „Please stop teasing me. We both know I love my wings dearly. Just…just get it over with. I made my decision. I won’t change it now. Please just…just make it quick.” Persephone smiled gently, completely in contrast to what she was would do next. Then she got a hold of Yoongi’s wing, right where it was connected to his shoulder blade. “As you wish,” Then she cleanly ripped his wing out from his shoulder.

Yoongi screamed.

One yank of her was all it took to separate the tissue and bones, muscles and vessels simply ripping apart under her violent strength. His fingers curling desperately against the cold floor in a desperate attempt to hold onto something, anything that he could hold onto, that would anchor him and keep him from losing his mind in pain. It hurt so much! He had never felt this kind of anguish in his entire life and it wasn’t even over with. He whimpered when she gripped his other wing, his body trying to writhe out of her grasp on its own accord.

“N...no, please…,” His words were slurred from the effort it took him to stay conscious through the agony he felt, his body shivering uncontrollably from pure shock. The second wing was worse because he knew what was coming. And still he couldn’t prepare himself for it. It blindsided him how deeply it ripped into his soul, how the pain seemed to invade his lungs and pierce his soul until there was nothing else left but dread and hot white, desperate agony burning through his very core. It was all in a bit of a haze after that – but Yoongi was thankful for that.

Jungkook woke with a loud scream, his eyes widened all while he was falling off the edge of the bed right away. He was clutching his heart. Pain. So much pain. He was barely able to breathe as the burn was rippling through him. He screamed out the demon’s name, shutting his eyes close as he tried to get himself back onto the bed, but Jungkook couldn’t move. Everything hurt too much. Pulling himself up, he fell again. It felt like he was getting stabbed all over again and he tried to see if he was hurting somewhere. With shaking hands, he lifted his shirt, but another piercing pain went right through him, making him fall onto his knees. Jungkook was whimpering pathetically. The pain wasn’t bearable for a human. His head was pounding It was too much and Jungkook could feel the darkness wash over him, making him fall back and onto the floor.

Persephone’s hand wrapped around his horns. A wicked smile on her lips, before she broke them off, right at the base, then burning out the stumps so they wouldn’t grow back ever again. The singing heat and dull sounds of breaking horn washed over like it was nothing. Yoongi couldn’t move, couldn’t fight her. His whole body frozen in shock, his mind entirely numb from it. But even if he had been able to move it wouldn’t have helped. He had chosen this. He had chosen to give up everything he had and risk his soul and his life just for a chance to get back to Jungkook. Persephone had been right. It was stupid. So utterly, utterly stupid. And yet the thought of Jungkook and the possibility of seeing him again sooner was the only thing that helped him through this.

Persephone took his hand, leaning over it as if to kiss his palm before ripping out his claws, one by one.

Yoongi barely flinched, instead he just moaned pathetically in pain. It just added to the already overwhelming misery he was in. When she was finished she let him go and Yoongi collapsed, unable to hold himself up on his own, his limbs trembling like aspen leaves.

Persephone stood tall over the unconscious demon, watching his still form for a little while before she kneeled next to him. Then she closed her eyes and put her hand over his eyes and one on his heart. Under her breath, she was repeating the magical words, that would make Yoongi human, over and over again until the strong magic was rushing through her veins and to her fingertips and flowing right into Yoongi’s body.

His eyes stood wide open again, as he screamed in pain under her magic. The magic was pushing everything that was demonic out of him and only left the human side of him. Yoongi was hissing, breathing heavily through the pain and screaming that Persephone was scared he wouldn’t make it. “Hold on,” She screamed back and pushed a little further, “It’s over soon.”

Yoongi was writhing on the floor, shuddering violently under her grip until finally, finally she took her hands off him. His body arched up one last time before he laid still. Yoongi felt strange. Every cell, every fiber of him was aching and he wanted so badly to cry. He was cold except for the hot blood running down his back and pooling around his form until he was lying in a puddle of red.

“Look at you,” Persephone's voice was soft as she brushed back his hair, wiping away the sweaty and bloody strands that were plastered to his forehead. “You should have listened when you were warned about love. It’s always painful for us. One way or another we’re going to end up hurting. And as I said you don’t even know if he still loves you. Maybe he never really did. He could have fallen for the thrill and adrenaline. Or he had some strange kind of Stockholm syndrome considering he was just as bound to you as you were to him. And then he was held here in the underworld. Not the perfect conditions for real love, don’t you think?” Yoongi pressed his lips together until they were thin and bloodless.

“And even if you are a lucky one and he feels something for you – you realize that he could do so much better than you, right? He’s a pure human being and he should be with someone as gentle and human as himself. You won’t ever come close to that, even without your horns and wings and stripped of your powers you will still be a tainted one. Not completely human but not a demon either. Did you really consider this? With all its consequences? There are so many ways that this could go wrong, for both you and your loved one,” She was stroking soothingly through his hair, a sweet, wicked smile on her lips. Yoongi couldn’t help it, he whimpered, curling in on himself more tightly. Her words held way too much truth for his liking. Jungkook was everything good in his life while he was – no, had been - a demon. But even as a human and on his best behavior he would never be the kind of ‘good’ that an angel naturally was.

Persephone’s eyes were full of pity when she caressed his cheekbone, leaving a trail of blood behind on his face. “Maybe if you beg me enough I might take you back right now. Even wingless and powerless as you are I might find a place for you as a lower servant. It would be far from what you did for me before and you would certainly feel downgraded and useless and just as weak as you are now – but wouldn’t it be better than going up into the human world without knowing what will happen to you? I only offer this once and only if you beg me right now and promise to never dare to ask me to let you go ever again. If Jungkook refuses to let you in, then there will be absolutely nothing for you up there. You can’t just change your mind then. Even if you see how stupid your decision was. No matter if your heart will be broken or your body violated I won’t help you. I won’t let you back into the underworld. Beg me now or you will be completely on your own.” She watched him like a hawk waiting for him to speak up but Yoongi kept quiet, biting his lip so hard he drew blood, just to make sure he wouldn’t make any sound that could be considered affirmation.

“Alright. Then I guess this is it-,” The goddess ripped the clothes from his body because they had been made in the underworld and he had worn them while he had still been a demon, He wasn’t allowed to keep anything that would connect him to his former existence. He was something else now. Yoongi the demon didn’t exist any longer.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” Then she sent him up one last pitying look and a wave of her hand. She wasn’t sure if he would make it.

A/N: Only one more chapter to go! Do you think Yoongi will make it? Will Jungkook be able to endure the pain? *sighs* Whooo knows (well... we do ;)) hihi Thank you for reading! Leave us a comment on how you liked it aaaaand please, check out this wonderful fanart from @imurproblematicfav who made a lovely TTV Yoonkook drawing ;; I never received fanart before and seeing your story drawn is like ahgrhrgrhr it’s so cool. Cat and I are so happy! Thank you, Bels!!! ❤

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sujus-girl · 6 years

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Disclaimer: This was just something I did for fun, and also for @squeaky-jiminie. It’s definitely not like an official profile or anything like that, but I hope it does help anyone wanting to get into JBJ, even though it’s really late A GUIDE TO JBJ, AKA THE ACTUAL EMBODIMENT OF HAPPINESS

Aight, who the hell are JBJ you might ask? I’ma answer your question in a few steps. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. Or not. Whatever.

Group Name: JBJ (Just Be Joyful)

JBJ is a fan created group of eliminated Produce 101 Season 2 contestants. It was inspired by the fan created group IBI from Produce 101 Season 1.

At first, the initials stood for the saying “Please give us more screentime” in Korean, but fans eventually changed it because they just wanted the members to be happy

Group originally consists of 7 members, but 1 of them is currently inactive because he’s having troubles with his company

Our fandom name is Joyful, and JBJ love us even if we a hot mess LOL

Has 2 music videos out: Fantasy and My Flower, and they are certified BOPS

Members:

Noh Taehyun

The oldest and leader of this daycare GROUP

Also a member of hotshot

Smol baby, he only 5’6”

Roommates with Donghan

A MASTER OF KRUMPING, A MASTER OF SINGING, A MASTER OF BEING PERFECT

Cried the hardest during their first win, and it started making all the other members cry too

When Ha Sungwoon was a candidate for first place, Noh Taehyun was even happier than him, and I just honestly think it’s so beautiful how Taehyun never really focused too much on himself, but instead supported and cheered for Sungwoon and other trainees

I honestly believe he’s one of the best leaders because he’s so selfless and just wants the best for everyone

Pls love and protect, he beautiful

Videos to Watch: (1) (2)

Kim Sanggyun

Used to be a member of ToppDogg

Can’t keep his clothes on

JBJ had to fulfill a penalty on a live broadcast and Sanggyun said they couldn’t do the sleeping one because he could only sleep naked, and then Joyfuls started flooding the comments saying they should do the sleeping penalty LOL

Is very charismatic on stage, but a fool every other time

ANO ANO, HAJIMEMASHITAE

Roommates with Kenta and likes to tease him a lot

Tbh, sanggyun has suffered a lot, like he didn’t make it big with toppdogg, and then he went on this show to be treated as a trainee again, but then they didn’t give him a lot of attention, and eventually he got eliminated, but now he’s doing a lot better, and i honestly hope that life just gets better for him, i love him sm

Is very handsome and he KNOWS it

Videos to Watch: (1) (2)

Takada Kenta

“I’m JBJ’s Cutie Sexy”

Is Japanese

A huge fanboy. You can find predebut videos of him at K-Pop concerts LOL

Especially fond of Teen Top’s Ricky

Gets teased a lot by the other members, but mainly Sanggyun and Donghan

Before JBJ, he went on Heyo TV with other PD 101 Trainees and they were a group called Prinsix, and when RBW’s Lee Gunhee kept referring to him as Kenta, Cube’s Yoo Seonho got all sulky and went “Kenta HYUNG.”

Cried the second hardest during their first win, and like??? Can you imagine?? Moving to a foreign country and starting your career from the bottom up, and not even being assured that you’ll actually DEBUT or even become somewhat popular, and going on a shitshow like pd101 that only cares about like 10 of the trainees at most? Damn, i could never. He literally deserves the world.

A couch potato

Despacito dance RIP

Videos to Watch: (1) (2)

Kim Yongguk/Jin Longguo

Is part of the duo Longguo and Shihyun, and constantly bullies Shihyun RIP

Is chinese, but has vvv good korean skills

Sometimes acts like he doesn’t to get out of having to do stuff tho LOL

Is sleepy 25/8 and doesn’t understand what’s happening half the time

Also loves cats alot. He brought his two cats to live in the JBJ dorm, even though Sanggyun and Taehyun are allergic

Roommates with Hyunbin

Was too insecure about himself in the beginning, so no one knew he was a vocal, and made everyone SHOOK when he unleashed his singing skills

But, in all seriousness sometimes yongguk isn’t confident in himself, and it breaks my heart because he’s such a beautiful human and he works so hard, so everyone and anyone that has a problem with yongguk GOTTA GET THROUGH ME FIRST, COME AT ME, HOME GIRL WILL THROW SOME HANDS FOR YONGGUK

Almost made it to Top 20, but Guanlin took 20th place instead, and you could honestly see how yongguk was a little disappointed that he was so close but missed the chance by a single place, but now he’s in jbj and a lot of people love him, and y’all should CONTINUE TO LOVE HIM pls.

Videos to Watch (1) (2)

Kim Taedong

The baby that is inactive because his company is shit

Was also a part of the shape of you team that left everyone shook

Also was in the survival show Boys24, but he got eliminated

JBJ members agree that he’ll always be a part of JBJ, and that’s another reason why I love them all so much, like bless

His former company deadass released a statement trying to claim he “changed after getting popular on produce 101” and that’s honest bullshit, because after the show ended, they lost ALL their trainees, and Taedong was just the one unfortunate enough to be stuck facing an actual contract termination, and now a lot of the fans and the jbj members are worried about him and just want to make sure he’s okay

He’s precious and a sunshine and I hope that he finds happiness soon

Videos to Watch: (1) (2)

Kwon Hyunbin

The first model-turned-idol

Everybody was shook when he entered the room for the first time cause he was tall AND hot

The biggest meme

No one lets him live down the time he started crying during Downpour

“I’ve only had work done on my nose. Everything else is mine.”

Attended an international school in Japan, so he can speak some English and Japanese

Improved A LOT since the beginning. Like, if you watch his first audition of My House by 2PM, then watch the dance practice for My Flower, you will be shook

ALSOALSOALSO, he cried when Jonghyun didn’t make it into Wanna One, and I just think that’s the sweetest thing ever because it just shows how much he cares for the people that helped him and didn’t give up on him

STAN THIS GIANT PUPPY

Videos to Watch: (1) (2)

Kim Donghan

The baby of the group that really likes cuddles

Also the second tallest tho

A Sunmi and BTS fanboy

Likes carrying kenta for some reason, idk

Can crack a walnut open with his finger, so his nickname is walnut LOL

SHAPE OF YOU TEAM AYYYEEE

Some people say he kinda looks like got7’s yugyeom, and, tbh, at certain angles, he does

Doesn’t really show his emotions much, but cried at their first solo concert, and that, to me, shows how he’s still human, you feel? Like, he’s young, and he works so hard, and a lot of people just assume that it’s natural to him, but i think that he does that for the sake of other people, and that makes me weak. Pls love him, he’s just a giant puppy that deserves recognition and appreciation

Videos to Watch: (1) (2)

WE ALMOST DONE, I PROMISE!

VIDEOS OF JBJ TO WATCH: This live of them annoying each other while trying to sing My Flower (X) Their Predebut variety show that was all types of mess (X) Their Heyo TV Season 1 (X) This Messy VLive that made me KNOW that I was going to love them (X) Their LieV (minus hyunbin cause bby was busy being an actor) (X)

THAT’S ALL FOR NOW! Hope this was kinda informative, or something along those lines. Now go love JBJ! Go! Do it!

#jbj #just be joyful #noh taehyun #kim sanggyun #kim taedong #kwon hyunbin #kim yongguk #jin longguo #kim donghan #hotshot #longguo & shihyun #produce 101 season 2 #pd101s2 #mine

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saferincages · 6 years

Photo

a couple of weeks ago, a friend showed me this amazing post (where the photos are far better than mine, which just didn’t want to turn out at all) of @the-far-bright-center‘s beautiful, sparkly Force Ghost Anakin, and it brought me such joy (I was maybe giggling excessively...), and today he arrived in the mail as a surprise gift! 💖

I want to take a moment to appreciate this bio, and the “weapon of choice” being loyalty and love, because it is. a lot.

this could be a very silly post (okay, it already is), but it actually gives me an opportunity to talk about something that I’ve never had a chance or reason to discuss before without some frame of context, so here is an unbelievably overemotional story (one of many regarding Star Wars’ history and special place in my life, I could write a series of these focused of specific themes and characters in all honesty) that no one really needs, but that I feel compelled to write anyway.

I’ve written before about my first experience seeing Revenge of the Sith (most recently here), so I apologize for retreading a certain amount of ground, but it’s important to know what the state of my life was at that time, which was a frightening, burned out shambles. ROTS premiered in May 2005, I believe I had just completed the physical therapy I’d been undergoing since the car accident we had that February. I was extraordinarily ill, and no one knew why (diagnoses were forthcoming), I was rapidly losing weight, and at the time, the scariest thing for me, was that I had no choice but to withdraw from school. Academia, which was such a constant for me, wasn’t even going to be on the horizon. I was, in short, not okay. I felt almost hollow in that uncertainty.

That midnight premiere was incredible, exciting, emotionally fraught, and I remember the weight and the sorrow of it hitting me in a very profound way when we got home, at which point I crawled into my bed and sobbed. I saw it several times that summer, but the final time (which is also a story a couple of my friends know, but I don’t think I’ve posted about it publicly?) was on my birthday that September. It is a crystalline memory. I can recall everything about that day, even what we ate (the cinnamon rolls my mom made for breakfast, the vanilla chai tea I had at Borders that afternoon), because it was the last birthday I had when certain things were not yet permanent, when I was still in the misty place between before and after. By then, the film had moved to our local little budget theatre, and seeing it that way, with a handful of other people rather than with a big, enthusiastic crowd, lent it an intimacy and poignancy which struck me on a wholly different level. (That was also the night Supernatural premiered, which is an aside, but don’t doubt for a moment that the events are inextricably emotionally connected for me.) September, and I should have been in school, but I wasn’t. I had no idea at that point that I never would be again, but I was frightened, and sad, and deeply angry. Anger isn’t a feeling I’d had a lot of experience with, I was a sweet, shy, overly sensitive, naive child (and teenager), but I didn’t often deal with anger, and then I usually sublimated anger with grief and guilt instead (and those things were warring in me, too, and of course I still carry them), but the anger at the unfairness of it all, at how cruel it was that this had happened to me, at how much I hated my own body for turning against me, how I irrationally hated myself for not being better or stronger or able to fight it, was consuming and yet almost childish, as though being ill was causing a perpetual temper tantrum in my mind.

My touchstone in the prequels was always Padmé, and she deserves her own post, but she was so inspiring to me, her compassion and her goodness and her belief in justice, her loving nature and her femininity and her tender heart being strengths, and never undermining her bright spirit, her keen mind, her ability to lead, her powers being her forgiveness and empathy and kindness. I love her so much and she had (and continues to have) such meaning for me.

It took me by surprise when the aching heart of my identification in ROTS plunged more towards Anakin. I loved him too, and I had a lot of varied, complicated feelings about him already, about his gentleness and his trauma, about the immensity of his capacities and his contrasts, but this was the fall, the dark hour of the story, the nadir of everyone’s suffering, and so much happens at his hand, because of his tragic choices. When I was reading the novelization, I didn’t know what to do with the fact that I understood certain aspects of his struggling in such a harrowing way, and seeing it playing out made that even more acute. Those choices he makes out of desperate fear aren’t rooted in evil, they’re driven by the chasm of grief and terror of loss, and they’re mixed with disillusionment and disappointment and frustration. Up until the moment when he walks into the Jedi Temple, when we really see him cross a line he cannot return from, hope for a course correction seems possible. Even knowing what’s coming, it’s like...just turn back. You can still fix this. It ripped my heart out because of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. There’s the scene where he’s denied the title of Master, and his outburst at the council (“this is outrageous! it’s unfair!”) is tinged with an adolescent level of upset, but...of course it is. He’s still so young and he wants to trust them, it’s not ambition causing that fury, it’s desperation for inclusion, for some measure of respect, and he keeps being refused. It’s a strange analogy because the things holding me back had nothing to do with a council of old men deciding my fate, all my hindrances were physically trapping me in my own body, the jury denying me the ability to move ahead was my own failing immune system, but I understood his rage, because I wanted someone I could yell at. The person I was so terrified of not being able to save, of having to watch die, wasn’t my beloved, it was...me, the girl I was, the girl I dreamed of becoming. I’ve talked so many times about feeling like I let her down, like I’m the ghost of her, the revenant walking around in a shape that vaguely resembles her, but at that point, she wasn’t gone yet, she was just rapidly slipping away. I didn’t know what to do to save myself. People would say it wasn’t my fault, to let it go (which felt a lot like being told the useless “mourn them do not, miss them do not”), that I was still here, I didn’t ask to get sick, and I knew, logically, that was true, but emotionally all I felt was that crushing guilt and despair (all of this remains a lingering struggle). I didn’t want to be powerless. I would have clung to something that offered me a way out. I knew where Anakin, conflicted and misguided as he was, was coming from, and it eroded everything that made him good and heroic and kind, so the only power I had left was to fight against it and keep the anger at bay.

This is such a specifically personal thing that I won’t get into the analysis of what happens in regards to his descent (which I also expounded upon in that other post anyway), but every time it happened, the same muscle memory seemed to take hold of me, my hands would shake and I’d press them together, my chest would pound, I’d bite my lip to try not to cry. I have this overwhelming fear of fire, so Mustafar was its own nightmare, and I’ve literally only watched the immolation scene once (that first time, at the midnight showing), otherwise I close my eyes tightly shut. I don’t even like seeing gifs of it. But because of what I was going through at the time, what I’ve gone through since, the physical aspects of him so painfully and horrifically losing himself, being so stripped of his humanity that hardly anyone ever looks at or acknowledges him as a person again (until Luke) held its own terror (it’s such an awful metaphor when it’s examined, and it’s that re-enslavement, he did not choose that reconstruction) because I didn’t understand what was happening to me physically, and because so many people were questioning the veracity of my pain and my incapacitating illness, were treating me as somehow less (ableism wasn’t even a word in my vocabulary yet, I just thought maybe everyone had a point and I didn’t deserve the space to be heard or understood, since so much of what I was going through was invisible). I genuinely felt like my personhood and my agency was being taken away. I didn’t have school, I was quickly isolated from everyone else and kept in the (comforting yet confining) cage of my room, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be anymore, and I didn’t know what to do if no one would listen or believe me (my mom aside). The torture Anakin is put through in that conversion to Darth Vader is unimaginable and I don’t want to dwell on it, but there’s a passage from the novelization that goes in part: “The first dawn of light in your universe brings pain. The light burns you. It will always burn you...You can hear yourself breathing. It comes hard, and harsh, and it scrapes nerves already raw, but you cannot stop it. You can never stop it. You cannot even slow it down...now your self is all you will ever have...and within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame.” It’s such a wrenching description that some part of me separated it out from the villainous aspect, because the rest of it felt true. My nerves were raw and burned with sensation, touch and too much strain hurt, but my heart persistently, stubbornly kept beating, and I was left sifting through the alternating aspects of its passions (both the transcendent and the desolate).

This isn’t at all “excuse or justify the things Vader did” (since, again, this isn’t actual analysis, it’s sentimental personal nonsense), because of course I do not and never would, but the depth of empathy I had for Anakin, as a person and as a lost soul (and a lost future), and the way that left an imprint on me right at the onset of my illness became indelible.

There’s a point to this, I promise.

George Lucas did re-editing and reworkings of the original trilogy and I’ve never minded any of it, because they were his to edit and fix up if he wanted to do so, and little extra CG snippets of planets and creatures only expands the universe in my mind. That said, I realize adding Hayden’s Anakin at the end of Return of the Jedi was divisive, even upsetting for some, but for me it was everything. I’ve hesitated to ever reblog gifs of the scene because I felt like I had to justify or explain why I hold it so dear before I did, so this is my chance to do that.

As a child, I never felt really connected to the fleeting glimpse of Sebastian Shaw (my mom actually remembers me asking why he was so “old,” apparently I reasoned at the time that Anakin should have been younger, I think because I imagined him then as more of a dashing hero, based on Obi-Wan’s description in A New Hope). Anakin never lived as that image of a more middle aged man, that was never who he was within Vader’s suit, and there was always an evincive resonance that I was seeking. Once Attack of the Clones came along, Hayden was my Anakin, he was the embodiment of that character, and I loved him, and I loved his performance (and saw so much nuance and layering in it despite what was often said). Yet one of the last images we witness of him is burning on that scorched lava shore. It’s devastating.

Luke’s unwavering faith that some glimmer of his father still exists, that goodness can’t ever be entirely erased, that love will overcome, that throwing aside his weapon is an act of bravery and grace, is the moment when Anakin is finally released from that. “He takes the ounce of good still left in him and destroys the Emperor out of compassion for his son.” Balance is restored, and redemption is very small and quiet, not a washing away of violence, but a ceasing of it. It’s the hope that we can always find salvation, that we can still choose to act in love.

When Luke turns around and sees those spirits watching over him, benevolent and glowing and one with the Force, Anakin is his beautiful self again, as the description on this little package says, restored to the “hopeful young Jedi he once was.” The first time I saw that edit of the film, I wept. That was the connection I’d been looking for, the understanding that we’re never wasted, that our souls endure and are mended, that we can choose light, no matter how lost we feel we are, that love can persevere and illuminate even the longest night. It reminded me that I wasn’t only my body, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how it felt like it was collapsing on me, no matter how often I felt like I was failing to be the person I thought I would be, my body could never capture the entirety of who I was, or am. My spirit could still shine, my heart could still be soft.

Anakin says to Padmé in AOTC, “Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is essential to a Jedi's life, so you might say we are encouraged to love.” It’s one of my favorite scenes because it’s so sincere, and yet so richly layered in its meaning. And in the end, this is fulfilled, this belief is proven right.

People may think the idea of the Force is hokey, but because of the way I was brought up, and the intense theological discussions that used to be framed around it (particularly by my dad, we used to do this over e-mail back in the olden days of dial-up, I wish I had those conversations saved), it was a really important, formative concept for me. The Force is connectivity, it’s like a variant of the belief in Tikkun olam that parts of the vessels of the divine used to shape the world shattered, and their shards became sparks of light trapped within the material of creation, and thus exist and persist in all of us, in all the diverse and breathtaking life around us, and that we should respect and cherish that life. “The best expression of the Force is not a lightsaber fight or other combat techniques. It’s really about your connection to life, to everything around you, and your ability or willingness to let go, to find peace, and ultimately become a selfless part of existence...in the end there is no power that aids [Luke], except the power of compassion and love; the act of forgiveness and apparent self-sacrifice is what saves his father from the dark side.”

It’s the idea that there’s something eternal within all living things, something powerful and connected that binds us together, that means we affect one another, and that we make choices as to whether those influences are for the better (or not). That we can decide to increase the power of light and warm energy in the universe. The idea that we’re not limited to our physical selves, that we’re luminous, radiant, possible beings. That we can reach out in love and compassion to heal the world, even if it’s only in small ways, even if we’re the only ones who see it exist, who know it happens, and still the summation of that additional light can radiate everywhere.

#does this even make sense idk but here it is anyway #anakin skywalker #love can ignite the stars #encouraged to love #star wars #luminous beings are we #look what a *toy* caused me #i am a ridiculous person #bubble wrap around my heart #spirituality #the little girl who was always tired #chronic illness #it took me three hours from start to finish to actually get this posted sigh #but it was important to me even if nobody reads it #you are not obligated to complete the work but neither are you free to abandon it #sw meta #it's not really but i'll file it there

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