#i did my emotional control training in my youth I’m so good at it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mochikeiji · 3 years

Text

Come Home

↠ Pairing: Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

↠ Warning: anxiety attacks, pregnancy, manga spoiler! chapter 91 (for those who have not read)

↬ Word Count: 2k

If death was giving you a sign at this very moment, it would be the cold ticks each second the clock on your empty apartment room echoed. Each second comes an outbursts of numerous emotions. On the first tick sent shivers on your skin, the second felt like small pricks of hair slowly rose up as goosebumps followed after, third was the frantic tapping of your foot on the carpeted floor as you bounced your leg.

On the outside, you would've been labelled as overreacting. On the inside, you were slowly dying.

As of now time felt like a never ending torture. It was a tug of war between trust in your husband or the one in your gut; a battle between mind and heart, to whom should you choose to believe in? How long do you plan on standing at the edge of the cliff not knowing the faith that has been laid out for you and the most powerful shaman? To whom do you concede to?

A critical position for you to be in. If Gojo were here beside you, not only would you have to wince at the feeling of his finger flicking your forehead, but also a round of uncharacteristic scolding about how bad it is to be stressed out or anxious because of the growing life inside of you. Well, none of this wouldn't have happened if he didn't left. But as all married couples are out there, you are one of the majority that did not want to tie their partners down from what they were meant to do. Especially if your partner is the most needed person in the world.

You couldn't tell him not to go out. Not out there on the field you've come to grow as a sorcerer yourself. The deaths of your fallen comrades and innocent civilians, the demands of the elders and powerful clans. Most of all, being part of the theatre death had directed. No one knows who'd be next to live another day or to be at forever slumber. And your husband was one of the main casts in this scene. Someone who'd always be near death's door only to keep taunting the horrifying God.

It was all fun and games before. It was either ride or die with Gojo during your youthful days. But as time progressed, and the upcoming family you both had dreamed of was at its peak, from that moment every thing came crashing down. It wasn't hormones anymore. It wasn't simple.

You were beyond terrified.

"Please come home."

Not even realizing you were already kneeling down from the couch you were seated, hands clasps together hard, the veins prodding out as if they were going to pop. A silent mantra of pleads to the unknown world you were stuck in. Chest heaving harshly, tears and snot mixing as they fell down the cushions. You didn't feel them. You couldn't see anything.

There was no way to describe the gaping hole that had swallowed you to your deepest depths of fear.

"Come home, Satoru.."

Was the last thing that had been uttered out from your lips before the dark hushes turned into soft cooes. The once imaginary prickly like nails that was scraping your body changed into gentle strokes on your back and onto your bulging stomach.

If there was no way to describe your fears, what is there to be said for the immense heart break of your own husband coming home to see you knelt down with cascading despair written all over your features? The image of the cheery, and powerful woman he's had of you now haunted by what he had came home to.

Though Gojo never had the brightest personality to everyone, he would trade every thing he has if it meant for you to be pulled out from where he had dragged you in.

He knew from the start loving you would mean a lot. You were every thing he wanted and yearned for in life. The love he always came home to. Cursing his naive self of erasing the fact that you were only human.

You had your limitations and this was it.

"Hey, wifey, shhh." the warmth of his breath next to your ear made you choke a sob. Having his body shield your smaller one from behind with his hands now trapping your still clasped ones. "I'm here, I'm not going any where. Not now or ever." his white hair tickling the side of your cheek as he rubbed the side of his face onto the your tear stained ones. If there was one thing everyone knew he was good at, it was being overly affectionate. Not that you'd complain.

His thumbs massages the back of your hands, smoothing down the veins in hopes of easing your grip. He should probably thank Yuuji for passing out hours ago, if not he'd be still stuck training the young lad and have you deal with this torment possibly longer. Even so, he was glad he had manage to finish up early. At your 7 month of pregnancy he wouldn't dare take longer. He didn't like being away, he never did. Always cursing at those who demand his presence. All he wanted was to stay home with you.

Home where everything is safe.

"Let's get you up, kay? May I carry you?" it was a shock on how uncharacteristically cautious he's become ever since your pregnancy. No one knew the Gojo Satoru knows when to tone it down on situations. It was all heart warming, you wanted to cry.

You gave him a small nod, feeling your body hoisted up from the floor and nested on top of his lap with ease. Never failing to amaze you how you managed to marry this man. The man you'd devotedly pray to the heavens would come back to you alive.

As his arms finally settled on your waist, moving at an upward then downward motion, he rubs your sides. Slowly coming to the globe of your stomach with a soft hum, he watches you deeply with a soft gaze behind his interfering blindfold.

Sighing shakily, you shifted your position a bit to the side, allowing yourself to lean your cheek on his left pectoral, listening to the rhythm his heart beat, sobs died down into sniffles and hiccups. You twiddled with his fingers placed on your stomach. The anxiety inside you barely disappeared, but tamed for the moment.

A light peck on your forehead was placed, snapping you back from the little world that had consumed you, down back in the arms of your beloved husband as he smiles and wipes away the left over tears, "Hi there, honey."

Focused on the warmth his palm emits, you reached out over his covered eyes, sliding away the blindfold, freeing the captivating azure gaze he possesses as they held nothing but love piercing back to your teary ones. His hair framing his adorning features, yet so perfect and lively he was smiling at you. The image of this man you wanted to wake up to every day. To welcome, to smile with, to live, and to love.

"Satoru.."

Cupping your cheeks in worry, the serene peace disappearing from him when his brows furrowed with his lips frantically hushing you. Parental instincts kicking in as he eyed your stomach in wonder how your dear child was holding up with the mountain of negative emotions crowding you, "Honey, you need to stay calm. Our little bun in there might have trouble baking you know?" he whispered close to your lips, foreheads leaned onto yours.

"Oh, Satoru." a broken smile formed from your quivering lips, "You're home, you're home." thumbs coming close to stroke his lids softly down to his cheeks. Fragile, that's how you'd describe yourself in touching your husband. Every day from the moment you lived with him are days you two cannot be separated from each other's lingering touches. Even so, on those days it still felt like it was too good to be true to have each other embraced away from the terrors of the world.

"I'm home, I'm home." sealing away your sobs with his lips to yours, letting you feel all of his emotions and unspoken vows within the action of only you two could share forever. The love he never knew he was capable of only for you and your child to be gifted of.

"I'm scared." pulling away as you shut your eyes. The dark hushes returning, coming back to haunt you of what is in store for tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and so on. The strings attached upon you two, unknowing who was in control of your faiths. "Satoru, I'm scared. Please don't go anymore."

Confessing all of your troubles, he tightens his hold around you. Not a chance, he curses in his head would he allow himself to be defeated so easily and submitting himself to the awaiting gates of death.

"What if you don't come back to me anymore?"

Not a chance, was he going to die after happiness is just within his reach. Longing for something so surreal his entire life. He wasn't going out without having a taste of the sweetness of he now calls home in his life. Not ever. Not when he knows he's the strongest and will continue to reign as he is.

"Honey loves, I'll always come home to you." a vow he seals with the gaze he has locked with yours. The golden band that was proudly worn on his finger from his left hand above your stomach, "I'll always come home to you both, my sweet loves." a vow for only the two people in his life that kept him going. He will always keep his word by heart.

Though it was known that it wasn't enough to fully assure you. The comfort of today was much appreciated and needed for you to finally sigh out one last bit of the sadness, and giving him a teary smile.

"I love you, Satoru."

A melodic sound his heart would crave for every day. Definitely another thing worth coming home if he could hear it again and again.

Smiling mischievously, he reciprocates the feeling by stealing another one of your kisses whilst cradling your body and stomach. He wonders how long would it take for your baby to come meet him. He could hardly wait anymore.

"I love you more."

Was the last thing he had said before his eyes shut close to bask in the warmth and safety of his domain. His and yours little domain. One day to be shared with either a mini you or him between your arms, erupting small giggles into the air.

He couldn't wait to come home to that very day.

Not to wake up another second.

Or was it a minute?

An hour?

He couldn't tell. For time was unpredictable inside the realm he was kept imprisoned.

"Oh, another dream."

An old memory he has with you over months ago.

A breathy chuckle comes out. Was it another thing to mock him of his moment of weakness? Where he could do nothing but lay down and wait for he knows nothing of what could and what was happening?

His bones were on fire. The caged rage inside of him waiting to be freed as he could hear the cackles of his own enemies having to won over him.

"Come home to me."

No, they have not.

The fight was still going. He knows deep down as his faith on his beloved students remains strongly as his love and promises to you. Somehow, some way, he will get out. Like before, time is the enemy. He could only hope that you're holding up for the mean time. It was only matter of time you would be giving birth as well.

And he wasn't planning on missing out the biggest part of his life.

Nor was he planning on letting his enemies run free easily. They were going to pay.

He was going to pay.

"I'm coming home. Wait for me."

Thus begins the string of faith as every thing is set into motion.

#gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo angst #gojo imagine #gojo scenarios #gojo fluff #gojo headcanons #jjk x reader #satoru x reader

957 notes · View notes

swanlake1998 · 3 years

Link

Article: The Unbearable Whiteness of Ballet

Date: April 22, 2021

By: Chloe Angyal

In an exclusive excerpt from her new book Turning Pointe, contributing editor Chloe Angyal lays out the ways that white supremacy is embedded in ballet's most basic foundations.

Wilmara Manuel and her 11-year-old daughter, Sasha, were at the world finals of a ballet competition, the Youth America Grand Prix, in 2015 when it happened. Shortly before the competition began, the young dancers were on the performance stage with their parents, warming up and preparing to dance the solos they’d been rehearsing for months.

As Wilmara, who is Black and originally from Haiti, and Sasha, who is biracial, stood there, a young white dancer looked around the stage, checking out the competition. “And her eyes land on Sasha,” Wilmara remembers, “and I saw her look [Sasha] up and down, and then look at her mom.

“And her mom said, ‘Don’t worry. They’re never really good anyway.’ ”

Wilmara did her best to contain her shock. Sasha didn’t hear what the white mom had said, and Wilmara wasn’t about to tell her, because “that’s not the thing I want to discuss 10 minutes before she takes the stage.” But Sasha could sense that something was amiss. “Just the look on my face, she was like, ‘What? What happened? What did she say?’ ” Wilmara brushed her daughter off.

Don’t worry. They’re never really good anyway. An entire worldview of white resentment of Black progress and excellence passed quietly from mother to child in just seven words.

That white mother could not fathom that Sasha, a biracial child with a Black mother, might be really good—as in very good, or truly good—at a traditionally white art form at which her child was presumably also quite proficient. She could not imagine that Sasha might deserve to be at that competition, might have qualified on her merit—her talent and skill and persistence—rather than because of what she might consider a misguided or even unjust attempt to diversify ballet by lowering standards. They’re not really good, but they are allowed to be here. In this space that is rightfully yours, in this art form that is rightfully yours. They’re never as good as the white girls, a sweeping generalization that grants no individuality, no humanity, to any nonwhite dancer. They’re all the same, and they never deserve to be here. But don’t worry. Your excellence is a given. You belong here, while their presence is conditional or even ill-gotten.

A few minutes later, Sasha took the stage and performed her solo. She ended up placing ahead of that white dancer.

From then on, Wilmara traveled with Sasha to every competition, paying the additional travel costs to make sure that, if something like that ever happened again, she’d be there to support her daughter.

“That has stuck with me,” she says. “And it’s one of the reasons I make the sacrifice and I go with her everywhere. Even if there are others going, I feel like I need to be around should comments like that pop up. I just don’t feel like I can take that chance, you know? And what cracks me up is that . . . she doesn’t even look as dark as I do, which makes me feel like, ‘Oh my God, if you were darker, like, what else?’ ”

Sasha grew up in a suburb of Indianapolis and is now 16. She trains at the Royal Ballet School in London, an exclusive training ground that serves as a feeder school for the Royal Ballet. It’s widely acknowledged to be one of the best ballet schools in the world.

Wilmara says that people often express their surprise at the quality of Sasha’s training and technique. “Oh wow, you’re really good,” Wilmara says by way of example. “Where do you train? Have you been dancing for a long time?” She says that while she tries to give these white people the benefit of the doubt, she knows what they usually mean, and she’d prefer they just come out and say it: “I’m surprised you’re that good. You’re Black and you’re dancing and you’re good.”

Now that Sasha is a little older, Wilmara talks to her about the racist assumptions embedded in those surprised comments. “You know she’s asking because she doesn’t think a person of your color can do this,” she’s told Sasha, who now “gets it when she hears that tone of voice.”

And, she says, she’s been frank with her daughter about the kind of resistance she should expect from the overwhelmingly white ballet establishment if she keeps excelling—which she shows every sign of doing.

It’s moms who do the bulk of the work of ballet parenting: the sewing of costumes, the schedule keeping for rehearsals and recitals. And when you’re a ballet mom to a dancer of color, there’s an even higher price to pay.

“Not everybody’s gonna be thrilled,” Wilmara says, paraphrasing her conversations with Sasha. “Even if you’re not a dancer of color, it’s cutthroat. And on top of that, you are a dancer of color, and so that poses another threat in some ways. So you have to be mindful of your things and what you are doing, and know what things are okay, and [pay attention to] when you are uncomfortable.”

This emotional labor, the work of helping young dancers understand what “that tone of voice” means and why it’s being used—or the work of deciding whether to tell your child about the racist remark you just overheard or absorb it yourself and shield them from it—is a part of parenting not demanded of mothers of white dancers.

Then there’s the payment in time and money required of Wilmara to make sure that Sasha’s ballet experience is as fair and worry-free as possible. Once, at a competition, Wilmara forgot to color in the “nude” pale pink straps on one of Sasha’s competition costumes. Wilmara scrambled to find brown foundation because none of the vendors at the competition had a leotard in Sasha’s skin color.

“Come on, people, you are here,” Wilmara remembers thinking. “There may not be that many [dancers of color], but they are all here and you should be able to bring various shades of nude leos.”

Succeeding in ballet, or even just surviving, requires extra talent, extra work, extra resilience, and extra sacrifices from dancers of color, especially Black and brown dancers, and their parents. White ballet moms might have to talk to their white daughters about how cutthroat ballet is. But they don’t need to issue additional warnings about how a white girl’s success will be received by that cutthroat culture, because almost all the successful girls and women in ballet are white.

“They’ve had to grow up a lot faster,” Wilmara says of Black and brown ballet dancers. “I think the ballet world makes you grow up a lot faster, but on top of that,” there are the “extra hurdles that other dancers don’t have to think about.” There are the overtly racist comments backstage before a performance and the subtly racist “compliments” after. There is time spent frantically searching for the right leotard or adapting the default pink leotard. There is the knowledge, internalized first by parents and then by their kids, that if you make it over all those hurdles your success will be viewed with suspicion and resentment—that ballet does not have a “diversity” problem; it has a white supremacy problem.

“Our kids,” Wilmara says, “are thinking about this and thinking about it early on.”

The organizing principle of ballet—of training, of performance, of making a ballet body—is control. Control of your rigid torso while your foot shoots upward from the hip in a battement. Control of a silent and compliant class of otherwise giggly 9-year-old girls. “The traditional and classical Europeanist aesthetic for the dancing body is dominated and ruled by the erect spine,” wrote dance scholar Brenda Dixon Gottschild in her landmark book The Black Dancing Body. “Verticality is a prime value, with the torso held erect, knees straight, body in vertical alignment. . . . The torso is held still.”

It all demands control. Control of your smiling face as your feet scream in your pointe shoes at the end of a long pas de deux. Control of your weight, of your turnout, of your stretched and strengthened feet that now arch into a shape no ordinary foot can make. “The ballet audience, attuned and habituated to view control as a prime value, applaud its display and are embarrassed when it isn’t fulfilled,” Gottschild wrote.

Discipline, order, adherence to strict and unquestioned rules. That’s what ballet is. When Gottschild asked Seán Curran, a white dancer and choreographer who performed with the Bill T. Jones/Arnie Zane Company, what he pictured when he thought of white dance or white dancing bodies, he said, “Upright. . . . For some reason, ‘proper’ stuck in the head a bit, something that is built and made and constructed rather than is free or flows.” A body that is rigid, obedient, and disciplined, remade from something natural and unruly into something refined and well behaved. Proper. “Whiteness,” Curran said, “values precision and unison.”

Curran’s assessment identifies a central underlying prejudice of white supremacy: the belief that people of color, and their bodies, are wild. Uncivilized, animalistic, subhuman. That white people—who, by contrast, are assumed to be organized and civilized—have both a right and a responsibility to tame that which is untamed and impose order, precision, and unison on it. To suppress and control that which is savage; to press it into something that approaches whiteness but will never be truly white and thus never truly equal.

This is the logic that underpinned white colonization and American slavery. It is also the logic that makes racial segregation possible: that which is pure and organized must be kept separate from that which is profane and undisciplined. And central to this worldview is the idea that the work of white supremacy is unending, not because white supremacy is flawed, but because the very people it seeks to suppress are inherently inferior, naturally incapable of complying. Because of some inborn lack—of will, of understanding, of discipline—people of color will never fully obey, never properly assimilate, never be redeemed by whiteness. In this way, white supremacy perpetuates itself, justifying both its worldview and the permanent need for its existence.

It’s little wonder, then, that ballet—with its fixation on control, discipline, and uprightness—wraps itself so neatly around whiteness. It makes sense that white Americans, reared on the belief that whiteness is synonymous with order and refinement, also believe that people of color have no place, or a limited place, or a conditional place, in classical ballet.

Furthermore, it is easy to see how the ideal ballet body—so controlled, so upright—is everything that white supremacy imagines a Black body is not. And because of deeply ingrained American cultural associations with musculature, loose movement, brute force, and untamed sexuality, the Black body is believed to be everything a ballet body is not permitted to be.

“When we talk about the ballerina,” says Theresa Ruth Howard, a former dancer and a teacher, diversity strategist, and the founder and curator of the digital ballet history archive Memoirs of Blacks in Ballet (MoBBallet), “we’re talking about the ideal, our stereotype of the desirable woman, and that is reserved for white women.”

Howard has made a career of helping the people who run ballet companies and schools to examine their ideas about what makes for a “good” ballet body, asking them to question their biases about the inherent fitness of white bodies and unfitness of other bodies, especially Black bodies. She says that long-standing racist tropes about Black women’s bodies make Blackness and ballerinas seem antithetical.

“You have the trope of either the jezebel, the mammy, or the workhorse of the Black woman,” which are incompatible with desirability, fragility, and sexual purity, the ideal of white womanhood at the heart of the ballerina’s appeal.

“She’s desired. It’s the epitome of beauty, of grace, of elegance, and these are not adjectives that are assigned to Black women,” Howard says. “Especially not darker-skinned Black women. This is why the closer you look to the white European aesthetic as a Black woman, the better chance you have at occupying that role. Especially at a higher level.”

Despite the long tradition of Latin American dancers carving out successful professional careers in the U.S. and the enormous success of Misty Copeland—a light-skinned Black dancer whose ascent to the pinnacle of American ballet was a watershed moment for Black dancers and audiences alike—the archetypal ballerina is still a pale-skinned white woman with slender limbs, negligible breasts and hips, and long, sleek hair. In the American cultural imagination, the ballerina is still white.

George Balanchine famously said that “ballet is woman,” but that’s not the whole truth. Ballet is white woman, or, perhaps more precisely, white womanhood. Ballet is a stronghold of white womanhood, a place where whiteness is the default and white femininity reigns supreme.

#article #ballet #chloe angyal #marie claire #racism #anti black racism

323 notes · View notes

virghogh · 3 years

Text

NCT Dream Birth Charts x Hexaco Results Analysis pt. 1

recently NCT Dream were on a new reality show called Mental Training Camp where they are doing a variety of activities and all of their behavior and interactions are being analyzed by professional psychologists.

ofc my virgo sun mercury ass was thrilled and I had their birth charts pulled up the whole time to cross reference.

I wanted to share some of my personal thoughts on how the 2 might connect!

part 1 // part 2 // part 3

**key: in the hexaco charts the blue represents the Dreamies, the orange is an average result of 300 college students who took the same test**

Mark - “Workaholic Leader”

✨leo sun // aries moon // cancer mercury // virgo venus // scorpio mars✨

they described him as a workaholic leader but quickly added that if he’s not now, he has potential to be in the future, although it seemed they all agreed he has workaholic spirit now

this immediately made sense to me when you look at his chart i mean he’s being driven by a fire sun and moon and a scorpio mars (used to be ruled by mars) and virgo venus both of which are signs that have strong work ethics

the reason I like that they mentioned he could grow into it is because he’s still young and I agree that his placements could become more serious about work and life as he gets older, I think his leo sun/aries moon combo gives him very youthful energy but they’re still very driven signs

mark agreed that even throughout his trainee years when he was still very young, he was always practicing and was always called a workaholic. I see this in the intense drive, work ethic and perfectionism of virgo and scorpio but shining through with the warmth of his sun and moon

lets talk about this hexaco chart, what sticks out the most is Mark’s level of conscientiousness! (its so high like what even-) Conscientious people are careful, precise, detail oriented and in general care about doing their tasks well. I think this is directly connected to his scorpio mars! I always say that no matter what is in a chart, having a scorpio in big 6 will always have a strong influence and with a virgo venus, even though venus is considered a love planet it is also our value system, how we discern what is worthy and unworthy for us, and having virgo there makes him very practical. (as I mentioned though I think all of his placements together reflect a very driven person) (I also think mark is lucky to have a fire moon because if he had a water or earth I think his obsession and perfectionism of scorpio and virgo would make him d*pressed or too hard on himself)

his virgo venus could even be why when they did the bag check they saw he’s quite “frugal” or practical and minimalist in the things he carries around. When you think about Venus, I mentioned it’s our values it’s also our aesthetics and it rules Taurus a materialistic sign, having virgo there gives me the impression of someone who is practical with their belongings, as we saw.

We’ll see later in the post that there are a few Hexaco charts that I felt were a little unexpected but Marks imo was sooo spot on with his placements. With a fire sun and moon he’s very warm and open and has firey emotions. he’s not afraid to show them or be reactive and responsive (emotionality)! I think his honesty-humility reflects this too, he’s not too overly or underly honest, he’s just straightforward what you see is what you get and he answers in such a way too. His emotionality reflects the cancer mercury, the rashness of aries moon, and sensitivity of scorpio mars.

tdlr; the human embodiment of driven, focused and hard working when it comes to his craft, but he loves to have fun in his outside life, and is practical in his inside life <3 his hexaco and birth chart align nicely

Jeno - “A scholar who gets hurt easily”

✨taurus sun // sagittarius moon // aries mercury // aries venus // taurus mars✨

so right off the bat I’m very curious where the scholar part comes in ?? They didn’t really reference it again in that way but I’m assuming they mean he’s very diplomatic? Defcon rephrased it as “you get miffed but well-mannered”

a recurring comment was that he gets annoyed easily but doesn’t show it, I thought that was really funny because I feel like it reflects his aries influence well; being a little hot-headed but he has the patience of his taurus sun and mars to filter it :’)

they talked a lot about how he gets hurt easily and mark even shared a cute lil story that practically had me on the floor because i just think it shows his taurus sooooo much I’d really love to have his house placements one day I’m really curious where his taurus is

if you didn’t see the episode basically mark said one time Jeno was passing some seniors in a building and said hi but they didn’t say hi back ): and just ignored him. Mark said Jeno was really hurt by that and went on about it for a long time saying stuff like “I’m sure they saw me” )): but he never expressed/acted on that hurt. taurus is represented by the bull so they do have a fierce side to them but imo i think taurus can be a really gentle/relaxed sign too; taurus mars is a slow to be angry slow to react placement, and one of the things taurus is well-known for is being fixed, stubborn, holding grudges which explains why that moment hurt and he held on to it. Jeno even agreed he tends to hold in a lot of his feelings and remembers little things that hurt him for a long time!

speaking of his taurus... they had a whole baseball analogy for the group saying that Jeno is a strong catcher, you can have a good pitcher but without a strong catcher the team would fall apart. They also mentioned a lot about Jeno not being in the spotlight, he doesn’t stand out, but he silently strengthens the team. And if that isn’t the most taurus description you’ve ever heard.,,,

I’ve been talking about his taurus a lot but at one point they said Jeno has a strong perfectionist side but he’s also very flexible and it’s difficult to have both. I personally see this a lot in his Sag moon (mutable) in contrast to his taurus placements (fixed). Sag moon to me always seem happy go lucky, if emotions come they go quickly too, mutable gives him that flexibility because they just like when things can change freely. It’s ruled by jupiter and I feel a common theme with sag in big 6 is it’s easy for people to be drawn to their jupiter qualities. They give the same freedom they crave, they can be very easy going and positive. Similar to mark, I also think it helps Jeno to have this moon sign over another!

as for the hexaco, I’ll be honest the level of introvertness/shyness was a little surprising from an astrology stand point. When we see Jeno in all the NCT content I feel like it’s obvious he is on the shy side but if I was looking at only his chart, I don’t think I was expect it to be to the extent of the hexaco chart! (plss i need his birth time) in the same thread, his emotionality is really low and I can’t say I’m surprised from an astrology view😅 it’s not that he’s not compassionate or anything because he does care a lot about not upsetting people, but as we saw he is not very reactive and receptive emotionally ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ his openness is low too which fits what we’ve talked about above about his lack of reaction/expression of emotions, I feel like sag moons also don’t dwell especially with no water placements.

The honesty and humility makes a lot of sense to me because i feel like taurus, aries and sag(!) are very righteous signs too! They care about integrity, they certainly might have their own idea of what is truth,.. but whatever it is, they believe in it!

last note I want to make is on the whole “jeno isn’t funny” bit since they mentioned it. He said it hurt his ego when they first started the joke but it’s been going on for so long that I think he adapted to being able to take it as just that, a joke! It’s also funny to me that it started in the first place because earth signs are often called boring (it’s okay I’m an earth sign too lol) and I also have sag influence and I know people find me quite funny but I never try to be funny and it usually comes after my earth walls are down with close friends.

tdlr; doesn’t ask or need spot light, gets annoyed easily but it doesn’t last, when something does hurt he remembers, slow or unlikely to be reactive and responsive, positive, comfort creature, loyal🥺

Chenle - “Friendly Guardian”

✨Sagittarius sun // Aquarius moon // scorpio mercury // scorpio venus // aquarius mars✨

there is something about chenle’s personality that I’ve always loved, he comes off as very warm, care-free, curious, friendly, caring. I like the personality title they gave him because I think it sums him up well. The members had all laughed when they saw it and enthusiastically agreed. I also love his hexaco chart and think it reflects him really well, with most of it being just outside of the average :’) as far as how it reflects his birth chart, let’s get into it

I do want to disclaim that Chenle was born on the sag/scorpio cusp and to be a sag he would have had to be born after 3pm (!) but I think we would all agree he’s definitely a sagittarius sun anyways

Before this show when I watch nct dream content it always fascinated me how easy going chenle was in chaotic situations, he never seems too demanding or controlling, and sometimes i wondered if he was holding back for the cameras and was actually really frustrated but based off the hexaco it seems like he is actually just that agreeable, from looking at just his chart I don’t know if I would have guessed his agreeableness was that far. I know sag suns can be very easy going and aquarius is a more chilled sign but he has 2 aquarius and 2 scorpio placements they’re both fixed signs and quite like to be in control😅 (can we get a birth time pls)

One argument could be the combination of sag sun with aquarius moon, since we have to look at all of it together. it does give me the impression of someone more easy-going possibly because there is the comfort of confidence! I feel like sag sun/aqua moon + mars would give someone a high opinion of themself (go chenle). this combination could create someone who is easy going because they don’t dwell and aren’t emotionally fueled nor do they fret over people that are. I’d say easy-going or maybe even just cool headed? He’s always laughing things off too, showing he doesn’t take himself too seriously!

Speaking of taking things seriously, I think we can see this in the conscientious part of the hexaco, it was the lowest and I think it can be explained by what I mentioned above. It’s not that he isn’t driven or doesn’t work hard, he’s a full time idol they all work hard but I think it represents that work isn’t the focus of his life but rather people, connection, community, and just being happy is?

they talked about how Chenle is the type of person that you meet and already feel like you’re friends. He could be the youngest in the room and talk down to you and you wouldn’t even think twice. This is huuuuge aquarius energy! I remember one of the first things I learned about aquarius was that they make friends everywhere. They talk to a stranger on the street for directions and next thing you know they’re “friends”

I also want to add that they mention he’s friendly but he gives off “big brother vibes” i feel like we’ve all seen that in other nct content too and would agree. This is interesting to me because sag and aquarius is not the same kind of friendliness as we see with marks leo sun aries moon. Leo and aries are “younger” signs, whereas aquas and sagittarius are towards the end of the signs, they’re considered “mature” signs which I feel contributes to chenle’s “big brother” energy. He has that aqua/sag energy where he seems really sure of himself, and wise and people look up to that.

I want to talk about his scorpio placements real quick because even though I just made a case for how open and easy-going he is, I’m still confused about how the scorpio fits into all of this. scorpio isn’t known to be one to be super open, agreeable or extroverted. I personally see his scorpio come out a lot in his realtionships. you can tell he cares deeply for his members and yes his aqua makes him get along with everyone but I feel like with the dream members we see that scorpio possessiveness and jealousy come out more. Lastly, I do want to add a little mystery to this, although his openness is high and it’s clear he is a very authentic person,,.. I definitely would not call him an open book👀

Chenle wasn’t able to be in the recording of this show unfortunately so all we got was a brief description of his hexaco chart and we won’t get any further analyses ):

although I do agree that his hexaco chart reflects how he comes off in shows, I don’t think it completely reflects his chart so I’m going to say the house placements would help create a better picture!

tdlr; fun and realtionships are a priority, he’s comfortable and confident in himself and people are drawn to that, v friendly😌but he has secrets👀

feedback, thoughts and clarifying questions are always welcome!

206 notes · View notes

all-about-seggs · 3 years

Text

A pact in blood-

Rating: 18+, Explicit

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

Word count: ~3K

Warnings: Semi-incest (Satoru is your cousin/ distant relative), masturbation, Cunnilingus, fingering, hand job, the relationship is a bit messed up, yandereish undertones.

A/n: This takes place when he's still in the academy.* Image source*

“AA-ahhh! Please don’t- don’t stop…”,

Your broken pleas reverberated through the room as Satoru’s deft fingers worked their way in and out of your sopping wet hole. You gripped the sturdy jacket that covered his shoulders, folding the fabric between your fists was the only thing you could do to maintain the last shred of composure you had.

He was like a passing cloud who offered you momentary relief and was on his way as soon as your were done, the fragments of longings that remained on your body etched deeper after every night.

Position after position, he went from your pussy over his lips to eating you out ass up and face down, all for the pleasure you couldn’t seem to get by yourself. You were now splayed out on his lap, face buried in his neck and one arm draped over him for support. Waves of his sweet scent and the euphoria assaulting your senses at the same time, taking you closer and closer to the edge.

It’s been quite some time now but the memory of your first encounter with your unfairly gorgeous cousin Satoru has been etched into your mind as if it happened just yesterday.

You were in the manor of the esteemed Gojo clan for a family event and even though you didn’t shared the same surname you were related nonetheless and were hence invited. It was a four day and three night celebration where the entire place was abuzz with excitement.

It didn’t really mattered to you, being here with a go with a flow kind of attitude, you just minded your own business until spoken to and not mingling with the faceless crowd of people you didn’t even knew the names of.

Thankfully your room was in the separate building which was a little bit further from where all the riotous events centered around. After just half a day of being in the middle of the chaos you wanted to find a way to unwind and that’s when it happened.

Stark naked and two fingers up your little cunt, there was no explaining or bullshitting your way out of this situation when the heir of the household, Satoru Gojo himself walked in in you. Feeble attempts to cover yourself and half hearted stutterings died in your mouth as soon as the young man opened his.

“ Wrong”, the deadpan reply of his made your already shaken up state worsen. Panic flooding in your system begged you to make excuses or atleast request him to not speak of this to anyone, after all families of high status are nothing if not conservative and you didn’t wanted to cause anyone any trouble.

“ I meant, y/n chan, that you’re doing it wrong”, not paying any mind to your internal conflict he continued speaking form where he stood near the door, “ don’t you know how to masturbate? I thought you were in highschool?”

His genuinely perplexed tone made you reconsider your previous opinions about the heir to the clan. Satoru, a guy who walked in on a relative masturbating, was supposed to show courtesy and leave the second he entered but instead he was rating your technique, which in all honesty may have been lacking indeed but you were desperate to cum and he seemed to pick up on that.

“ Since you’re clearly having trouble getting off”, he loosened the obi of his particularly formal kimono and shifted his uncovered ocean blue eyes towards your form, “Want me to teach you?”, his question made you gulp, then gauge your eyeballs out in disbelief. Sure you weren’t closely related and have only spoken once or twice but you attended all the occasions and holiday celebrations at their place and knew that your relationship was only platonic. His offer to cross that line made you flinch back at first.

Heaving a sigh he closed the door and sat cross legged on the tatami mat next to your futon.

“ Relax, t’s not a big deal”, flashing a toothy grin he leaned forward until your noses touched.

“ Afterall, I AM your big brother”

“ wait- you’re also in highschool!”, You retorted, “ I bet you’re a virgin too. So what CAN you teach me anyway?”, overcoming the initial embarrassment, your mouth started moving in its own accord only getting encouraged by his laid back demeanor.

“ Pfttt- so you get defensive when cornered? How cute!”, he giggled, a smile teasing at his lips at your obvious attempt to hide the shame burning in your core.

“Don’t worry, I know my way around a pussy just fine”, light hearted words fell effortlessly from his mouth and you could swear half of your brain was short circuiting because of his crude way of speaking. For all his regal appearance, he was just like any other highschooler, a year older than you but his stature and delicate features gave him a magestic aura that exceeds that of people decades older than him.

Just by the few encounters from the past, you figured he wasn’t one for following traditions or rules if it didn’t suit him. He was way above the rest, in his own distant world everytime you saw him, the school he went to, the things he had experienced were all different.

Forgetting the other's existence after passing each other by with a few formalities exchanged was all you had done with each. You two were never close or even friends but now the chance presented itself to take your non existent relationship to the extreme end through your bodies.

You wanted this.

To feel good. The hormones of youth pumping your impulsiveness you relax your muscles and lie on your back. You could clearly hear Satoru’s playfully indifferent chuckle from above when you slowly part your legs to show him the sides of yourself that even you have never completely seen.

“Just this once, okay?”

He said he was just teaching you how to masturbate but it wasn’t that simple. The only person to get naked was you and the only person who experienced the mind numbing pleasure, was also you. He only needed his deft fingers and mouth to make you feel better and for a while you didn’t even question.

That one lesson of self pleasure which you both were supposed to forget turned into an entire session as day after day Satoru would show up at your parents house unbeknownst to a soul and you both crossed the same lines of platonic relationship everyday.

The euphoria was endless but with a single rule that you weren’t allowed to touch him in turn and it goes without saying that the two of you never went all the way. It would always start with small talks about the day, even when you’d be talking, all your focus was on what was to come next.

That’s why after a few weeks of the detached pleasure he provided you, it got you thinking what he actually wanted from you. Satoru had already seen, touched and tasted all your body had to offer, never revealing any of his own.

You wondered if he ever felt sexually frustrated by always giving and never asking for anything in return. You knew he was not THAT nice. At least that’s what you believed considering his sadistic streak in bed. He did seem to be enjoying himself when he's messing you up so maybe he didn’t have many sexual urges that he needed to satisfy and was just acting on curiosity or maybe he had someone else, someone older with more experience who he didn’t constantly had a upper hand with and was able to see them as an equal. This thought alone made your chest tight, with an unnatural pain that threatened to break your heart.

You had to catch your darkening train of thought before it reached to the conclusion you were most afraid of. Knowing full well that this was just a fleeting moment that is only supposed to be enjoyed through a lens of carefree thinking, you push the budding feelings of the some very complicated emotions out of your system. The surge of jealousy you felt may have born out of falling in love with a family member but it was wrong on so many levels.

A love that starts with lust never ends well for anyone but as you were laying in his arms, the control over your body handed completely to him, your mind wondered how things would feel vice versa.

“ You seem distracted y/n”, Satoru looked at you, with his glasses off the beautiful azure eyes hidden beneath a delicate layer of white eyelashes filled your vison.

“ I’m obviously not doing it right if you have time to get lost in your thoughts”, putting you down on your bed, he started to move away and for a minute you got your hopes up, thinking your chance to finally have him completely and you cursed yourself for wanting at the same time. But no amount of berating would scrub off the insatiable thirst you had, for its roots had already made their way to your heart.

“Please let me help you too”, these few words took a lot of guts, letting go of all the inhibitions and threads of morality you fix Satoru with an unwavering gaze.

“ That’s okay babygirl, I’M the one who does the teaching here afterall”, you saw what he was trying to do, his airy yet gentle tone didn’t left much room for argument but the gray zone of your relationship was blurring to the point of confusion urged you to give into your clamoring emotions.

Without a second thought you jumped on him with all your might, closing the distance he put within seconds to cover his mouth with yours. You knew how much you weighed but despite your aggressive actions his sturdy form didn’t even deter form his position while catching you. You twirled your tongue over the roof of his mouth, the taste of your juices still lingering in there.

Hoping to have proven your resolve that wasn’t going to settle for getting brushed aside you break the kiss and look expectantly at him. An invisible bond between the two of you taking shape, strengthening the magnetism that attracted you to him.

“ That eager for my cock are you?”, Taking your face in one of his huge hand he makes you look straight at him, “You really want more? More than I'm already giving you?”, just one more push. You thought, with just a bit of coaxing, you were sure Satoru's wishy washy rules would crumble to make way for your upcoming actions.

“ I do. I know exactly what I want but”, steeling your nerves you face him, eye to eye, “ What do YOU want?”. The question was simple but the conflict swirling within Satoru’s eyes was evident and for the first time you realised that maybe this wasn’t just a case of casual hookup for him as well.

“ I want all your firsts. That’s all.” After a short stretch of silence he spoke, ironically the borderline obsessiveness of his glib response, like magic, cleared away the fog was previously clouding your mind. The nonchalance of his smirk should've been the red flag that made you rethink your life choices but the heat of the moment only seemed to ignite your lust.

Not uttering a single word, you quickly work on shedding him off his cloths, he doesn’t make any attempts at stopping you this time around, this knowledge pulling a smile out of you. By the time you reached for his boxers your hands were shaking.

Whether from excitement or nervousness you couldn’t tell but looking down through the veil of his heavy eyelashes, Satoru’s passion was evident.

Eyeing up his exposed body you still for a moment to take it all in. You ran you hands through his sculpted chest and down to his abdomen, your nails scratching the surface of his defined muscles. All of his masculinity contrasted with his oddly sweet scent and velvety pink lips that never failed to lure you in for deep soft kisses.

There’s no doubt girls must be always fawning over him and his perfectly smooth skin was something that even made you jealous. You were so captivated by his looks that you had to shake yourself free from your lovesick stupor .

You feel him up a little, hands running across his toned chest, you drag your nails through the rise and dips of his abdomen down to the contours of his defined V- line before turning your attention to his hardening member. Your breath quickens as your trembling fingers hook beneath his waistband.

Taking out his pulsating member you run your eyes up and down his entire length. He was big, to say at the very least. Bigger than you'd expected and more than you thought you could handle but backing out now would be straight up hypocrisy when your drooling mouth said otherwise.

With your ass right next to his chest, you start licking and sucking his tip with fervour, not wanting to waste even a single drop of his cum that you wanted so bad. You heard him moan lightly behind you, his voice only fuelled the fire that was burning your core. Having never given a blow job to anyone before you struggled in keeping a steady pace and his girthy cock didn’t make it any easier on you.

In just a few minutes you jaw ached and your entire face hurted but Satoru showed no signs of cumming.

In your own world again, you racked up your brain to figure out how to please him when suddenly you felt a hand climbing up your thigh. With the other hand he gripped your hips and pulled your lower half until you were straddling his mouth.

“ It’s a lot better like this don’t you think?”, as he spoke you felt his breath caressing your nether lips and you shivered in delight at the new position.

He snaked his hands in between your thighs and spread open your slit, glistening with your dripping arousal using his thumbs. Every single fold of yours now in display Satoru licked his plush lips before leaving open mouthed kisses on the exposed skin. His lips pulling out a series of appreciative hums as you desperately try to focus on your own actions.

Taking his hard length half in your mouth and half in one of your hand you tried to match the skilful movements of Satoru’s tongue that relentlessly lapped at your clit. After a few minutes of trying and failing to suck him up properly your senses got completely clouded by the heavy onslaught of that familiar release you had gotten used to.

You wanted to ask him to stop so you catch up to him but he the vigor in his actions and your own overwhelming surge of desires made you decide against it, the broken stings of his name died down with you still half choking on his length.

The only thing your lust laden mind could decipher except for pleasure was shame. To you, it was shameful how, being the one who asked to touch him, you were the one tethering near the edge. Before long your convulsing pussy was dripping with your juices, trickling down from his face that was still buried nose deep in your crotch.

Messing you up always filled Satoru with a kind of affection that he didn’t thought he was capable of.

Your cute whines getting muffled by his cock that you could only take half way past your llip sent waves of ecstasy down his spine. The cum that kept on flowing from your aching hole that he was the first to taste and the last as well took him to a high that no amount of pleasure could.

He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be the provider of your everything who had complete control over you or if he just wanted to spend hours into the night, praising every fibre of your being that was so eager to make him feel good. This duality of his thoughts confused him further and in that moment he knew he had to see this to the end.

Your heavy pants was the only thing that could be heard in the otherwise silent room, guilt and pleasure leaving you tongue tied. You move yourself from above him, your quivering body falling like a sac just beside his own.

“ I’m sorry! I couldn’t make you-“, before you could finish your breathy apology he brought up a finger near your frowning lips to quite you down.

“Its okay sugar, it was your first time. Not a big deal.”, the soft notes of his voice took the edge off of the disappointment you felt, “I told you. I’ll teach you everything.”

Those eyes. Two shining orbs of brilliant blue gazed at you in the same way you found yourself staring at him. Watching over you like it was their birthright and oddly enough, the scrutiny made you feel completly at home just like the warmth of his long arms that wrapped themselves around you.

" Realx Y/n, I'll be very thourough with my teaching, afterall,", your heart thumped loudly in your chest in response to his smooth voice, "I don't do things halfway.

The pleasent fatigue that had taken a hold of your body slowly dissipated but the growing haziness of your mind got you wondering if you were falling in deepness of his ocean blue eyes but as soon realization hit you, you were already halfway through blacking out.

That you’d never be forgiven for wanting.

From that moment on, you knew.

Part 2? Idk you tell me(╯︵╰,)

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #gojou satoru #jjk gojo #smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen scenario #tw:pseudo-cest #pseudocest #yandereish #my writing

521 notes · View notes

writtenbeginnings · 3 years

Text

Nick Stokes x Reader - No Title

Title: No title Word Count: 1015 Rating: General Genre: Fluffy Triggers: Guns, mentions of violence

Fandom: CSI: CSI Relationship: Nick x Reader

Authors Note: Nope, Nadda

“In all the years that I have known you, you’ve never shied away from danger.” It was more of a statement than a question. I watched the other man across from shift in his seat. Something was bothering him and after tonight that only seemed to ring more true.

Nick was one of the best at talking a guy down, we had been in more situations together than anyone else on the team. They hated seeing us on the same shift for that exact reason. However, this evening was different. Actually the last couple of months had been different but this one just seem to break it open for me. “You would have taken that shot, you have taken that shot before?” I asked lowering myself into the chair across from him. The large steel desk sitting steadily between us.

This evening had been an odd one. We had gone into a location that needed processing. Normal. Instead we found some kids having a party there, attempting to wake the dead and instead destroying our crime scene. Somewhat normal, certainly not the first time it’s happened. I somehow get caught between a fight of said youths where one pulls a gun and decides he’s going to take the CSI as hostage. Again, for us, that’s pretty standard. Though, this is where it starts to get odd. Nick started to talk the kid down, using all the right words and phrases to keep him calm and release me.I was just stood there, watching Nick and listening to the kid. Feeling for him to start to go slack or something which I would use to my advantage.

We do this for twenty minutes maybe? The back and forth, excetra excetra. As this is happening I’m moving slow enough to one side giving Nick the space to shoot if he needs too cause this kid just isn’t settling and instead just seems to ramping up. I know he can see me moving, he knows what I’m doing. We’re partners we know every move the other one makes, that is what makes us work so well. Any other time Nick would have taken that shot. Especially when he started to pull me about and smashing the gun up against my temple.

But as I watched him, watched the man I had known for years just stand there and continue to talk something wasn’t right. Then what really did it for me was when he lowered his gun, set it on the floor by his feet. We didn’t do that, we didn’t lower our weapon or put it on the floor. Maybe if there was another in the room with a gun trained on the guy, but not alone. He knew this.

“What changed tonight?” I asked gently watching him, looking for anything that might give up what was going on in his head.

“Nothing.” His voice was firm, but it was deflective. He didn’t want to talk.

“Something is up! Something made you put your gun down on the damn floor instead of shooting the guy.” I snapped. I was never a very good friend. “He fucking shot me Nick, and you had ample opportunity to take him down.” Well he didn’t shoot me, it was more of a graze on my arm after I elbowed him in the stomach.

“It was a graze and he was listening to me.” Another excuse. What the hell?

“No he was not. We’ve been working together years, partners for the last eight. I know you well enough. You were saying and doing everything right, he was listening and was instead escalating. You had the shot. I know you did, so why didn’t you shoot? My voice and temper was growing, control wasn’t a strong point.

He sat there stewing, his face changing. The emotions running across it until finally, he snapped. He pushed away from the desk with a snap. “You, alright. You.”

Now that made me stop, that made the anger fade quicker than lightning. Me? What about me? “It’s never made you not shoot someone before?” I asked dumbfounded that something about me could have cause him not to shoot the damn guy that ended up shoot, no grazing, me anyway.

I sat there, looking up at the man that now stood across from me. The room was in silence, I was pretty sure people were starting to look in from outside. Raised voices from us always drew a crowd. They liked to bet. Instead of answering, he just sighed, shook his head and walked around the desk approaching me.

“Nick?” I questioned him as he grew closer, pushing up from my own seat. Nervousness set in, a sickening feeling in the bottom of my stomach. What the fuck was going on?

He grabbed me. His hand pulling at my waist, pulling me closer until I was flush against him. I could feel his breath fanning across my face, it was fast and uneven. I stared right into his eyes and saw the heat. It was burning, like fire. White hot, enough to scold you instantly. A flush rose over my skin, I could feel it spreading.

He waited a beat. Watching me and waiting. Permission? When I didn’t answer, I didn’t move he seemed to take the risk and kiss me. His lips settling against mine, not moving at first, but when my hand curled into the hem of his shirt and held on for dear life. They moved. Oh, they moved. I kissed him back. They were soft, a little chapped at the corner, I could feel it. A sound rose in my chest the emotion that rushed through my veins, but body curling into his. Wanting, no needing more of whatever this was. I hadn’t realized I wanted this. Wanted him. How long? How long had I felt like this and not realized? How long had he felt like this?

The kiss broke and I made a sound of disappointment. I made that sound? It was needy and wanton. “You. I couldn’t shoot because of you.”

#nick stokes #nick stokes x reader #nick stokes x reader fanfiction #csi #written beginnings fanfiction

93 notes · View notes

gardenergulfie · 3 years

Text

Emptober Day 6: Struggle

Rating: G

Word Count: 2639

Relationships: Geminitay & MythicalSausage

Characters: GeminiTay (Video Blogging RPF), MythicalSausage (Video Blogging RPF)

Tags: Mage Sibs, Post Corruption Mythical Sausage, Magic, Jealousy, When you swear off dark magic but also have a really hard time actually swearing off magic, plus one of your closest friends who killed you to save you is a mage, Sausage is not having a good day, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Relapsing, Dark Magic

Sausage remembered nights spent with these very books, trying to learn to cast. There was this one spell about appearance altering that Kid Sausage had always wanted to cast. He found that spellbook quickly, its dark navy cover a familiar sensation in his hands. Now that he had magic he really should try and cast him again, he’d just have to ask Xornoth-

Wait, no. Sausage didn’t do magic anymore. He’d sworn it off after being freed from Xornoth’s control. No matter how tempting it might be he wasn’t going back on his word. No more dark magic from Xornoth.

With no small amount of regret, he put the tome in the “Donate” pile. Some other more magically gifted kid would have a better use for it. Sausage continued to work, trying to keep his mind away from the thoughts of magic and spell casting. It was really hard, being in a tower filled with magic.

Emptober Day 6: Struggle

AO3 Link

Fic below the cut

It was a good day for Sausage. The feeling of heavy exhaustion that weighed on him constantly ever since he’d been revived was mercifully light today. It had been so light that he had felt good enough to visit Gem and help her with rearranging her tower library. She had a lot of books she didn’t ever read anymore so she was cleaning them out and donating them. She’d been a bit hesitant to ask him for help because of how recently he was revived and her worry of him overexerting himself but he’d convincer that he was fine! She’d been visiting him almost every day for the past week and seen his improvement herself. Besides, moving books around couldn’t be that hard. Gem chucked when he said that out-loud and said he would need to reevaluate that once he saw some of her tomes on the theory of magic.

He was at Gem’s tower now. He had ducked into the building right after arriving, not wanting to spend too much time around the outsides or in his own memory. Gem had greeted him cheerfully from where she was levitating books into two piles.

“Sausage! You made it!” She said, ending her spell and walking over to green him properly. She’d stopped infant of I’m, not sure what the right greeting was for a friend-turned-enemy-turned-friend. He solved that problem by giving her a big hug.

“Its good to see you too, Gem! I’m excited to get to work here! It’s been a while since I left Mythland.” He said excitedly. Gem extracted herself from his bone crushing hug.

“I’m really glad you could make it.” She said genuinely. Sausage felt the same hurt he’d get for most conversations with Gem over these past few days since his resurrection. He’d hurt her and yet here she was, having forgiven him and back to being his friend. It was bittersweet.

“Yeah! I’m excited to get to work here. Was getting restless being cooped up in my home. What should I start with?” Sausage asked as a distraction from his own thoughts. Gem tapped her chin, thinking for a bit.

“Well I need to go a reread my Astrology tones to see which ones I need to keep and which ones I can give away. While I do that, can you sort the tomes in the Illusion section via author? I only want to keep the ones by Mia L Kracklewisp. They’re the best Illusionist and honestly I really don’t use Illusion spells a lot so the other ones are just gathering dust.” Gem explained. Sausage nodded.

“Can do! Just watch, I’ll be done in no time.” He promised. Gem started walking over to a table with a large amount of books on it. She turned her head back to call out.

“If you need anything just ask! I’m just over here, turning my brain into jelly as I try and pick which Astrology books I want to keep out of a decades old collection. Why did I buy so many Astrology tomes?” She muttered to herself as she sat down.

Sausage got to work. It was easy finding the Illusion spell section, just follow the smell of citrus. Most illusionists added secret notes between the margins of their spell books in invisible ink and most of that ink was made with a lemon base. Sausage remembered when he was younger, holding pages up to candle light as he deciphered the hidden messages. He’d read most if not all of Gem’s magic related books in his youth. Sausage remembered nights spent with these very books, trying to learn to cast. There was this one spell about appearance altering that Kid Sausage had always wanted to cast. He found that spellbook quickly, its dark navy cover a familiar sensation in his hands. Now that he had magic he really should try and cast him again, he’d just have to ask Xornoth-

When he finished sorting, he set the books down on Gem’s table with a heavy thump. Gem looked up from the tome on Advanced Cosmology and Lunar Spell-casting she was skimming through and met Sausage’s eyes.

“That was rather fast.” She said, looking at the pile of Illusion spell books on the table. “I must not have that many Illusion tomes.”

“You actually have a pretty good library of them. Most of them are just written by that one author you like so I left them there.” Sausage didn’t mention the fact that he knew exactly what author she liked and that he admired the spellwork they did. Better not to think about magic right now.

“Huh.” Gem said, peeking over Sausage’s shoulder to see the other, much larger pile of books behind him. “Well you’ve finished that task. It’s getting close to midday and I need to finish skimming this book before lunch. You’re free to do whatever you like until then.” She paused before continuing. “I know we’re having goat meat wraps with a chorus fruit pudding. There’s more than enough for two, if you’d like to stay for that.”

“Oh free food? Yeah I’ll stay.” Sausage responded before his brain could fully catch up. He was given free rein of the library while Gem was busy reading and he was trying not to think about magic. This was a bad combination. Gem went back to her reading and Sausage started walking around. He wasn’t looking at the book titles, merely moving around as to distract himself better. It really wasn’t working. Sausage was seeing books labeled “Conjuring Cakes: a Guide to Summoning Edible Food” and “Moss, Lichens and Molds: the Most Fabulous Herbology spells” and “Boommaking: How to Crush Your Enemies with Explosive Magic” (he was pretty sure that last one was a gift from fWhip). He found himself grabbing interesting tomes as he went, ones that would be useful to Mythland or just plain fun for him. Reading them couldn’t hurt, he’d read most of them before. He just needed something to past the time.

Sausage curled up in an armchair with his pick of tomes on the table beside him. He quickly lost himself in the spellwork, reading about complicated equations and runes. It was all great stuff but very familiar. Sausage remembered spending hours with Gem reading these kinds of books while fWhip was out tinkering. The two of them would curl up together to read these thick tomes after school. They both would dream about magic and what they would do when they could cast.

Of course, only one of them got that ability in the end. Gem had been blessed and Sausage had been left behind, no spark of magic in him at all. While Gem trained under the greatest mages in the world, Sausage was stuck rereading the same books, knowing that he’d never be able to cast these spells. It had made him so angry and bitter then and he could feel those emotions rising up again. It wasn’t fair that Gem got lucky while Sausage didn’t. Sausage deserved that magic just as much as Gem did.

Sausage looked back down at the page he wad reading, the paper showing a spell of levitation, the same spell Gem had been using earlier. Sausage remembered how easy casting had been under Xornoth’s control. Even before he was fully taken over, Sausage had been given a book of dark magic that even someone with no inane magic ability could use. There had been a levitation spell in there too.

Sausage wasn’t supposed to cast anymore, he swore off magic, even going so far as to give Gem the Great Staff of Mythland, the one other thing that let Sausage use magic. He was powerless now because he had been corrupted by that power before. He knew he wasn’t supposed to use dark magic anymore but he just felt so angry now. One spell wouldn’t hurt. Just a simple dark magic spell, not even calling on Xornoth, a spell of his own power.

Sausage started mumbling the incantation under his breath. His blood felt warm, uncomfortably so, but the book in his hand began to rise. There was a sound, the sound of someone’s surprised shout, but Sausage hear it fully, too caught up in the magic. He laughed loudly in joy. He’d done it! The powerless Mythlander still could cast magic! He wasn’t even using Xornoth’s power, not really. Even with his blood burning, he still felt too much glee.

“-age! Sausage! SAUSAGE!” He turned around to see Gem, anger at her for interrupting him fading away when he saw her face. She was holding her staff in front of her, magic beginning to swirl around it, and her fave showed only fear. Fear that he’d lost it again, fear that the demon was back, fear that she’d have fight him again.

The force of his guilt hit Sausage in that moment and he dropped the spell. He’d done what he wasn’t supposed to. He’d used magic and scarred the one person who’d forgiven him, the person who killed him to save him. What had he done?

“Gem… I…” Sausage stuttered out, trying to explain himself before stopping. There was nothing he needed to explain, nothing that could excuse his actions. He’d broken his own rule of no magic and it was his own fault.

“I’m going to go outside.” He said, standing up. Gem’s eyes followed him as he walked to the door, only able to shake the fear away and call out after him when he was already outside. Sausage hoped onto the mountain popper and started walking through the snow. He avoided the hatchery, Gem certainly wouldn’t want him anywhere near it after the scene he’d just made. His boots crunched against the icy snow as he just walked. Eventually he grew weary and had to sit down, the exhaustion catching up tp him again. He sat there on a rock for a while, just feeling upset and mad at himself.

“Sausage?” Gem had finally found him, the faun wizard walking up to him. When he turned to face her she stopped, seeing his face. He hadn’t been crying but he was sure that he didn’t look great. The negative effects dark magic have on the body was surely not doing him any favors either. The two of them stood in silence for a bit, neither of them speaking or moving closer or farther away from the other.

“….what was that back there? You were just reading and then suddenly you were casting dark magic. Did the book do something to you? Was Xornoth controlling you again?” Gem asked hesitantly, still nervous to speak. Sausage took a deep breath in. Alright then, he would explain. She deserved an explanation.

“No Gem it won’t either of those things. It was just me.” He started. “I was just caught up in all the magic, all the things you can do that I can’t and I felt angry. I let that anger influence me into make a bad decision. I broke my promise. I said no magic and yet i still cast magic, even worse dark magic.” Sausage hung his head. “Its just so hard when I see you doing it so easily and I know that I can too if I just break my promise and give in.”

Gem listened to his admission, understanding crossing her face. “It must be hard, knowing that you can do it but not letting yourself. How long have you been holding that back? How long have you wanted to cast dark magic after you promised not too?” Gem asked, sitting down next to him. Sausage thought of the weeks since his revival, of the habitual casting of magic and only just managing to stop himself, the constant thoughts that everything would easier if he just let himself do magic, the childhood daydreams of him turning into a mage that he had repressed long ago returning in full force. Honestly it was a miracle that he hadn’t given into his urges before this and also that he’d been able to stop so easily.

“I’ve wanted to do magic forever, my whole life. When I finally could, I used it whenever I could. When I was cured, I promised that I wouldn’t do it anymore. But honestly, I still wanted to do it.” He explained. “There were so many moments where I barely managed to stop myself form using it! It’s been calling to me ever since I tried to give it up. Every day I go without it makes me want it more. And I know it’s bad, I know it has horrible side effects and could put me back under the control of Xornoth but even still I still want to use it!” Sausage’s voice raised as he grew heated about this. Gem listened, always nonjudgmental.

“It isn’t going to be easy to just stop using magic. There’s been stories of mages who start using it and can’t bring themselves to stop, not for long. But there have also been stories of mages who have been ale to give it up, this is something you can do Sausage. This bothers you, not being able to cast magic, and you feel like you can’t fight it. But you can!” Sausage watched as Gem spoke. Normally Gem talking about his struggles with magic and her encouraging him came off as bossy and made him upset, but he wasn’t upset now. It seemed that Gem really wanted to help him. “We can find people to help keep you accountable, stop you from relapsing. We’ll remind you of how well you’re doing and how far you’ve come. We’ll try and figure out other solutions to your problem of wanting to use magic. We don’t have to rely on dark magic and you don’t have to swear off all magic, we can find something that works for you. I couldn’t find a way to help you do magic in the past but I’m stronger now. We can do this. You don’t have to struggle alone.” Gem’s voice was filled with determination and passion. Sausage fully believed that she’d try and help him. He really didn’t deserve this, not after he hurt her so much. Sausage pulled Gem in for another hug, giving her a tight squeeze that he hoped conveyed everything he was feeling that he just couldn’t say. Gem hugged him back.

“This really means a lot, Gem, thank you.” Sausage said honestly as he released Gem from the hug and stood up. He helped the shorter faun to her feet as she spoke.

“Of course! You’re my friend! I was to help you!.” Sausage felt the same bittersweet emotions he kept feeling but this time they leaned more towards sweet. She’s right, he wasn’t alone. Maybe he could fix what he messed up.

“Yeah.” Sausage said. “Now that the emotional talk is over, can we go back and get lunch? You said they were going to have goat meat wraps and I am so hungry for those right now. I might even just grab a wild goat and eat it right now.” Gem laughed at Sausage’s joke and together the two them headed back towards the tower

#mcyt #empires smp #emptober #mythicalsausage #geminitay #mage sibs #i'm taking a bit of a break after this one #so dont expect any more daily uplaods #Gulfie's Writings

29 notes · View notes

amiedala · 3 years

Text

SOMETHING MORE (the mandalorian x reader)

CHAPTER 24: There's the Kicker

RATING: Explicit (18+ ONLY!!!)

WARNINGS: this chapter doesn't warrant warnings except brief mentions of violence!

SUMMARY: When you hear your name, you think you’re hallucinating it. It comes out of nowhere, and the voice that it comes from is familiar, trusting, warm. And there’s the kicker: it’s unmodulated. You’re pretty sure you’re imagining it, because you’ve spent so many nights playing over Din’s voice in your mind, his promises, the way he broke them.

And still, you freeze, turning around, feeling completely suspended on the space-time continuum. Standing there, unmasked, heartbreak written all over his face, is your Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian. As your heart hammers, drowning out every impulse to run towards him and jump into his arms, you have to remind yourself he left you, and even though he found you, he’s not yours anymore.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: HELLO MY LOVES SO SORRY THIS IS DAY LATE!! i had a lot of family and personal stuff come up on the back half of the week, and the chapter just wasn't where i wanted it to be last night. i hope this makes up for it! and i promise, the next chapter is going to be muchhhhh longer, and (in my opinion) very good ;) ENJOY!!

Getting back to Hoth feels like trying to run up a staircase that doesn’t fully exist.

Your starfighter, the one you put together with your aching hands and a little bit of wishful thinking, is rebelling against you. It’s fitting, you think, trying to hit warp for the thousandth time, that in the Crest’s unceremonious, splintered death, it left behind a new ship for you can wrangle in its wake. Immediately, you feel awful, swearing and kicking the parts of your hand-me-down Rebel ship into shape, reminding yourself that your home—the physical part of it, at least—is gone, and it makes you want to break down in the middle of space, get lost in the stars and not think about anything in this forsaken galaxy ever again.

But every time you close your eyes, you see the lightsaber glow green, and you know somewhere deep in your chest that Wedge called you back for a reason. It’s colossal and monumental in the same thundering way finding Din and the baby for the first time was, as illuminated and fated as meeting Ahsoka. There’s something here, something real, something more, if General Luke Skywalker himself sent Wedge a hologram and shook your old friend up this badly.

Finally, you get the ship to move. You kick the malfunctioning warp system a few times before she shudders to life and groans under your pressure. “Kicker,” you mutter, flipping all the colorful, variant buttons on the dashboard to get her to move. “Kicker, that’s what I’m gonna call you. I’d name you Rebel,” you continue, punching the ship into hyperspace, “but that one might be a little too on the nose. What do you think?”

Because it’s a ship, Kicker doesn’t say anything. You smile though, a small, stolen one, and as you exit the crush of warp in front of the icy behemoth that is Hoth, you feel your heart aerating and releasing, nervousness building a colony of butterflies up in your stomach. Luke Skywalker, you whisper a few times, turning his name over in your mouth. You know he’s real. You’ve seen him before, only from a distance, but you’ve heard the concrete stories, the way he turned from desert farm boy into the most powerful Jedi in the galaxy. He’s the kind of man that can turn into myth with the right storyteller, and he’s always awed you. There’s a part of you that connects to him—something yearning and desperate, that part of the tales you always heard where he keeps trying to save people beyond saving.

Wedge knows him. Knew him, maybe, with the mystique surrounding the Jedi that Luke became, but you’ve seen the way Wedge talks about him, how the double suns of Tatooine shine in his eyes, his enthusiasm, his kindness. And you know they haven’t seen each other in ages, because Wedge has been from one end of the galaxy to the next, and Luke—you aren’t on a first name basis, he’ll always be General Skywalker, but there’s something about the way he appeared in your vision that makes you feel closer to him—well, Luke’s been becoming a Jedi.

And after perceiving said Jedi on the seeing stone immediately after your premonitions of Grogu getting whisked away by something evil? It feels like too close of a coincidence. And you don’t believe in coincidences to begin with.

The descent to Hoth feels even colder and slower when you’re shivering in anticipation before you even break through the planet’s atmosphere. You’re in your jumpsuit, and one of the spare blankets from your makeshift bed in the back of the cockpit is draped over your legs, but you’re still freezing. It feels like forever until you’re finally docked and you can sprint towards the control room where Wedge told you he would be, boots stomping heavy and intentional against the frozen ground.

“W—” you wheeze, immediately skidding to a halt the second that you breach the doorframe, all the breath leaving your lungs, “what did he say?”

The room, you realize, a second too late, is full. There’s seven people splayed around the hologram, and they’re all staring at you. You recognize all of their faces, both from seeing them around here on base, and from your youth when you were still a fully integrated member of the Alliance, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks as you pull your helmet off, trying to walk over to where Wedge is standing with as much grace as you can muster.

“It seems like some of the message is corrupted,” Wedge manages, lowly, pulling you gently out of the way of the other people talking urgently over the holotable. “He said something about a new Jedi, though, and that he’s heading back to find them—”

“Me?” you blurt.

Wedge startles. “What?”

You bite your lip, grabbing his arm and dragging him a bit further away, hoping to avoid the other generals’ earshot. “I—I was on Tython,” you breathed, “just now. And before my fiancé and our kid abandoned—left me on Dantooine, we were on Corvus. Where we met with a Jedi—I think. I don’t know if she identifies as one anymore. Her lightsabers were white.”

Wedge blinks at you. “What?” he repeats, and you steal a nervous look at the others gathered around the hologram. Some of them are examining the table itself, others are watching you, and you feel both incredibly small and incredibly judged. “You’re not making sense, rebel girl. What about you?”

You inhale. It’s shaky, but it’s a start. You’re still out of breath. “I—I’m Force sensitive,” you whisper, as quietly as you can, “that’s why I was left on Dantooine. The baby—Grogu, our son—he’s also Force sensitive, and Moff Gideon was after the both of us. It was safer if we split up. Can,” you interrupt yourself, still out of breath, “can you play me the message? I think that Luke—General Skywalker—might have been talking about me.”

Wedge stares at you. After a second, he takes a half step back, but the look on his face, disbelief, is so close to Din’s of confusion and betrayal after you showed him the same piece of information about yourself. You swallow, suddenly self-conscious, pulling your braid over your shoulder.

“How long have you known?” Wedge whispers, voice urgent. “About your abilities?”

You shake your head. “Not long,” you promise, “two months at most. Listen—”

“Why did you say yes to me?” Wedge interrupts. “Why did you come here? We’re barely anything, right now, Nova, the Alliance is completely scattered after the fall of the Empire. There’s not enough of us to protect you.”

You blink, anger slowly filling up the expression on your face. “I can protect myself,” you hiss back, “and, besides, I’m not—I’m not dangerous, Wedge, and I can take care of myself. Besides,” you say, trying not to choke, “I think Gideon has the baby right now, b—because our ship was shot to shit—”

Wedge faces you again, putting both of his broad hands on your shoulder. Immediately, you close your mouth, suddenly anxious. You don’t know what he wants from you, and you don’t know if you should have told him about everything. But if he was friends—close friends—with Luke Skywalker, he shouldn’t be this uncertain about your Force sensitivity. You bite your lip, unsure how to react, but you can feel the anger and desperation slowly building back up in your chest, billowing like an old, ancient flame.

“Moff Gideon,” Wedge says, voice low, “is after your fiancé and your kid?”

Troubled, eyes furrow, you nod. “Yes.”

“And when you just left the base earlier today,” Wedge continues, his voice intense but slightly strained, “where did you go?”

“I—” You inhale, sharply, breaking his intent gaze to look over at the rest of the people in the room. Almost every single one of them is outfitted in the regalia reserved for admirals and generals, and the ones who aren’t are pilots. You know the uniform. You’re practically wearing it yourself. They’re all looking at you with a strangeness to them, eyes flickering back and forth between you and Wedge, as if asking for permission. “When we met Ahsoka Tano on Corvus,” you continue, trying to direct your conversation to both Wedge and the others in the room, “she told us��me and Grogu, my kid—that she couldn’t train us, because we had emotional attachments to one another. But she told us to go to the planet Tython,” you pause to swallow, mouth dry, “because it has a strong connection with the Force, and we could connect with a Jedi who could.” You stop, looking back at Wedge. “I heard him,” you whisper, “and I saw him. His lightsaber, lighting up the hallway of an Imperial cruiser. I know that Gideon was after my family.” You pause again, inhaling a shivering breath. “When I was just on Tython, I saw our ship. It was just rubble.” You’re trying so hard not to cry, but you can’t help yourself. “I’ve had visions, Force visions, for months now, of the planet. Gideon and his troops were after the baby, and I know Tython is where they took him.”

Wedge’s hand is up against his chin. He exchanges a quick, unreadable look at one of the generals, and then he faces back to you. “How many men does Gideon have?”

You look around at the people in the room again, and decidedly take a step forward, towards the table, towards the paused, flickering, blue hologram of Luke Skywalker pulsating up from the table. “A lot,” you admit, hand flying to your necklace before you startle with the realization that it’s not there, that you gave it to Grogu right before you were deserted out on Dantooine. “I know the galaxy is still in reparations from the fallen Empire.” You swallow, trying to meet the eyes of the rest of the people in the room. “But I don’t think the Empire is as fallen as we previously thought.”

Wedge moves in behind you, and a space opens up around the table. You smile, grateful, falling into rank with the other eight people in the room. “That’s what we’ve been afraid of,” he affirms, bumping his shoulder gently into yours, the same thing your dad always did when he wanted to include you. You let your stature relax, leaning in to examine the pulsing of the hologram on the table. “After we defeated the Empire, most people left the Alliance. It seemed like the natural thing to do when there wasn’t active, visible evil to fight off anymore. People wanted to get on with their lives.” He inhales, deeply. You can see worry lines chiseled into places they weren’t before, the last time you saw him. “Luke, though.” He stares at the rotating disillusion of his friend as he exhales, “Luke knew it wasn’t over. He’s been all over the place,” Wedge says, and this part sounds like it’s just for you, “trying to find people who can use the Force like he can, and like you can too. Trying to rebuild the Jedi Order.”

You swallow, looking up at him. “What does the hologram say?” Your voice comes out shaky and small.

Wedge sighs, pressing the button to play the message.

“Wedge,” Luke says, voice tinny but full of relief. “It’s been a long time, and I know you’re busy, but I need your help.” You watch, transfixed, at the blue, flickering image of the greatest Jedi in the galaxy. You swallow. “I think I’ve found someone. Maybe two people, I can’t be sure. I felt it through the Force.” He pauses again, giving Wedge a look that feels private, intimate, like something only for him to see. You avert your eyes. “I’m headed to the planet Tython. Then—then I’d like your help, and the Alliance’s, to help safeguard whoever I find.” You look at Wedge. “I know it isn’t fair to ask. I know I’ve been distant for a long time. But I need you to know that the galaxy is still in danger. I feel it, Wedge, and I know you can too. I’ll see you soon.” And with that, the holotable flicks off, the rotating, grainy, blue image of Luke Skywalker himself turned to dust.

“He found you,” Wedge says, but it sounds more like a question.

“No,” you whisper, voice small. “No—I saw him, but it was a premonition. I didn’t call out to him.” Your eyelids flutter, because you’re trying to hold back tears. “Grogu,” you say, voice even smaller than it was before. “Gideon has Grogu.”

Wedge exchanges looks with the others in the room, then looks back at you. You’re exhausted, and you rub your hands over your tired eyes, pressing until you see stars. “So Luke is going after Moff Gideon?”

“Yes.”

“So we need to help him.”

You spin around, back to Wedge and the generals. “No,” you enunciate, trying to stress just how bad that idea is with a single syllable. Then your words come flooding back. “No. We—you, any of you—cannot go after Gideon. I know you want to, and I know you’ve taken down plenty of the Empire, so I know you’re capable, but you can’t.” You look back at Wedge. “You can’t,” you whisper again. “I’ve seen him. He’s flattened entire cities in his destroyers, and he’s ruthless. He’s power-hungry, and anyone or anything that stands in the way of that is something that will soon be dead. I held him off once,” you say, projecting this part to the rest of the room, “once, and I barely got out of there in time, and it drained me for days. I still feel that exhaustion here. You can’t help Luke with this. Protecting me, and whoever the other Jedi are—that’s what you need to do. I know this is horrible. I know you probably feel helpless.” You swallow, fingers grasping around open air around your throat where your necklace used to be. “But you can’t take on Gideon. Not alone. And not even with all of you. I’ve seen how that story ends. It cost me my family.”

Wedge stares at you. “So you’re suggesting we do nothing? To help Luke Skywalker? To get your kids and fiancé back?”

The question burns. You meet his gaze. “No,” you answer, finally, “I’m suggesting we strategize before we attack.”

There’s rumblings from the generals in the background, but Wedge holds up a hand, and the low voices cease. You swallow, trying to push your shoulders back, give off confidence, but you’re not sure if it’s working. Wedge nods at you, and you feel relief spread through your whole body as he turns back to the generals. “Nova’s right,” he says. “There’s not enough of us left to adequately fight off Gideon and the troops he has.”

“He has a weapon, an awful one,” you say, stepping forward. “It’s called the Darksaber.”

No one seems to blink an eye at that one, but Wedge looks at you. “Is Gideon Force sensitive, too?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you answer, softly, “but this weapon isn’t like a lightsaber. It’s cruel, and ruthless, and its blade is black, vibrating with a ring of white around it. He can use it, and he has, and he’ll continue to until he’s been stopped—”

Suddenly, all the lights start blinking, sirens blaring. You jump back in panic as everyone immediately mobilizes, starts pulling weapons out of hidden places, running out of the room. Wedge beckons for you to follow him, so you do, and your legs scream with the soreness of trying to climb to the top of the seeing stone back on Tython.

“What’s happening?” you yell, following Wedge into another control room.

“We’re under attack,” he answers, grimly, his face paling. “You need to go.”

You blink, coming to an abrupt halt. “What?”

“It’s Gideon’s men,” Wedge says, turning around to face you. “It’s not Gideon himself. But he’s sent in three fighters, and they’re big ones. I assume they’re after you?” he asks, and your stomach twists. Wedge starts striding towards the hangar, and you follow him, immediately getting blasted in the face with Hoth’s frozen air.

“It’s three fighters,” you say, urgently, “I’ve taken out six of them before, Wedge, singlehandedly, let me get in the air and I can shoot them down—”

“No,” he interrupts, “we’ve got it. I promise. You have to go. There will be a decoy ship alongside you, one that looks enough like yours so they’ll follow it. Only when that ship is clear do you leave the atmosphere, and then you immediately jump into hyperspace.”

You’re frozen.

“Do you understand?” Wedge asks, and you exhale, letting go of all the seizing stress in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes,” you answer, and he nods. You’re at Kicker, so you grab the parka out of Wedge’s outstretched hand, starting to climb.

“Rebel girl,” he calls, and you go back a step to catch his face. There’s so much there. You can feel it the same way you see how worn his worry lines were when you were reunited back on Dantooine. It’s longing, loss, and, somewhere hidden, hope. You see the way he’s trying to convey everything—condolences for your parents, plans to get Din and the baby back to you, whatever was going on between him and Luke—but he can’t vocalize it. You nod at him, smiling softly. “Fly safe,” Wedge says finally, “and let me know where you land. No matter what,” he tacks on, at the last minute, and you see for a split second how concerned he is, “do not turn around. Do you understand me?”

You want to defy him. You want to say no. You don’t want to leave, you want to stay and fight. You promised Din all that time ago that you wouldn’t run, and here you are, deserting the people that you’re supposed to protect. Finally, though, because of the look in his eyes, you nod. “Don’t you dare let them touch you,” you manage, and your voice only cracks on the last word, which is an improvement. Wedge nods back, and then he’s gone, running through the hangar to his X-Wing. You watch him take off, and your eyes track the decoy ship that’s supposed to be yours, and as the three fighters go after it, you exhale and punch it. You’re moving fast, too fast, and your takeoff is sloppy, but you know Wedge wouldn’t tell you to book it if he didn’t mean it, so you fly recklessly and you fly fast.

When you hurtle out of the atmosphere, you catch one of the fighters diverting from the group to chase after you, so you don’t even bother punching in coordinates. You just floor it. “C’mon, Kicker,” you whisper, voice low and desperate, as she shudders and groans to hop into warp. “I know you want to go slow, but now is really not the time—”

And, like the rebel she is, she sputters down to nothing.

“Fuck!” you scream, loud, too loud, it hurts your own ears, but you get up and start pounding on the dashboard while the fighter’s getting closer and closer. You look out the window as you flip switches and slam on buttons, and now you’ve got their attention, too, and you watch in panic as the ships flock to you, firing, trying to hail you on your comm.

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. Turn of your shields and lower your blasters.”

“Like hell,” you spit, “Kicker, I’m serious, I need you to work now—”

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. You have been warned once.”

“Warn me again, then,” you seethe, closing your eyes as you disconnect one of the wires and try to spark it with the other.

“This is an order from Moff Gideon. You are resisting capture. If you disobey one more time, we will fire on you instead of taking you prisoner.”

You ignore them. If this works, the ship will finally hop into warp, and you’ll be in the clear not only to evade, but to shoot back at them. If it doesn’t, you’re about to die in a fiery explosion, and all of your promises to Wedge would go—very quickly—down the drain. You cross your heart and pray to the Maker that you did the right thing, and then there’s nothing, just three very large—and very scary—TIE fighters about to surround you and take you prisoner at best, and then, finally, the glorious rebel she is, Kicker thunders to life. “Yes!” you scream, buckling in, cracking your neck, putting one hand on the accelerator and one thumb over your blasters. You have a second to do this, and you need to do it right.

“This is your final warning. Either board our ship or die.”

“Die,” you answer, your voice calm and not much like yours. As you speak, you push the accelerator forward, hit warp, and fire. You catch the biggest fighter right on the wing, not a hard hit, but enough to knock it back into the other two.

“Get back here, scum—” the pilot shouts, but you’re already in hyperspace.

“That’s Rebel scum to you,” you say, and the grin that swallows up your whole face is worth every bit of the close call.

You don’t know where to go. You don’t really care, because the farther you get away from the Alliance, the safer they’ll be, so you just set Kicker to coast through warp and lean back, seeing how far she’ll take you. Maybe she’ll dump you on a desert planet, or maybe she’ll crash land you on Nevarro again. Your heart feels daggered, impaled. There’s no way you could go back there. Sure, maybe Din wouldn’t be there, but Cara would be, and Greef Karga, and all the other people you met in the Guild. They’d ask questions, for starters, and Cara might go after Din and kick the shit out of him, and it would just leave you on the verge of tears. You want to go somewhere populated, you think, like Dantooine was, even though you know you can’t go back there yet. It’s too fresh, and Gideon’s men might come looking, and, besides, if Din wants you back, he’s going to have to chase you a little.

“Novalise,” you whisper to yourself, echoing the time almost a decade ago where you only had your name out here to hold onto, to bring you back to life. It still sounds like yours—no matter Din knowing it, no matter how you shared it with Arlen, no matter that it’s what everyone in the Alliance calls you now, after you told Wedge you prefer it to your original name. It’s yours, and right now, your own self feels like home.

So you coast. You hop out of warp every few hours to make sure that no one’s after you, but no one seems to have tracked you anywhere. It’s quiet out here, but it’s not the kind of shattering silence that it used to be. You sleep sometimes, huddling under the next of blankets for warmth, and then you go back to your chair to spin and look out at the stars.

You’re not sure how long it takes, but it feels like a few days when you finally decide to hop out of warp for good. You’re not sure exactly where you are, but you need food, and you need fuel, and you don’t think you drifted into the Mid Rim. It takes a little searching for anywhere that looks populated, but when you drift into the middle of an asteroid field, you realize you’re in Polis Massa. You’ve never been here. It’s not as filled with people as it used to be, once you break through the atmosphere on the rock that holds the research base, but it’s large and it has food and fuel. This is where your dad would go, before he joined the Alliance. Here and Coruscant, or what was left of it, had the most history about language and linguistics, and he’d take day trips from Yavin to collect as much research as he could to bring back and share with you.

It feels familiar here. Even though it’s not home, or anything close to it, you know that there’s something pulling you here, and something anchoring you too. The city is dense, but there aren’t a lot of people out and about. It’s dark here, darker than you imagined, so when you park Kicker in a landing bay, you bring a small flashlight with you. People don’t pay you much mind out on the street, even while you’re dressed in glaring orange, which is comforting after the close call you just had back on Hoth.

You wander. For a while, until the city starts getting lighter on the horizon line. Soon, the cafes and small markets on the street open up, and you sit outside, still wrapped up in your parka, glad to not be shivering. You eat, eventually, and have a steaming mug of caf, which helps. You don’t live the way it makes you feel, all jittery and nervous, and you don’t love the taste, either, but you’re happy for the warmth. Eventually, people filter in and out of the streets and you start to make your way deeper into the heart of the city.

You trip over the cobblestones at one point, practically launching yourself into the person ahead of you. You wince at his dirty look. “Sorry!” you call after him, and you hear him grumbling, but he acknowledges you with a nod. When you stand back up, you see where you are—the research institute your dad always talked about, where he’d go and spend hours reading about the different languages in the galaxy, to write them down and bring them back to you. You hesitate, for a second, and then you’re climbing the stone steps, driven by ache and longing.

It’s massive in here. It’s gorgeous, but huge, and the shelves are stacked all the way up to the ceiling. You have no idea where to start, but you pick an aisle at random and start browsing. You’re not sure what you’re looking for, if it’s something to connect you with your family or to connect you to this new life you’re haphazardly building for yourself, but you stumble again and nearly knock over the librarian.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage, seeing how tiny she is, how frail. “I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s quite all right, dear,” she answers, kindly, adjusting the wire-rimmed glasses on her face. “Can I hep you find anything?”

“The…language section,” you say, decidedly, eyes still caught on how many books there are here, how many years it would take you to read every one. “Linguistics.”

You follow her deeper into the labyrinth of bookcases, and when she shows you where the linguistics shelves are, you thank her excessively, your gaze buried deep on the titles on the spines. Most of them are in Basic, likely for inclusive access to anyone who ventures here, but there’s so many that have unfamiliar letters, the way they jut out and curl around themselves, and when your finger finds one, it falls open.

You don’t know what it is at first. You just feel called to it, opening it up and poring over the pages, and then a familiar word catches your eye. Kar’taylir. To know. To hold in the heart. Your own heart catches in your throat, stomach twisting itself over in impossible knots. You slam the cover closed to look closer at the text, and you realize it’s a dictionary of Mando’a, and all its translations.

There are tears in your eyes. You came here, to be closer to your father, sure, but also because you wanted to build something new. And you walked through these doors that held millions of books, and the one you picked out was a dictionary of language that your fiancé shared with you. It’s too much. You choke back a quiet sob, hoping everyone else here for research can’t hear your silenced wailing. Against your better judgement, you tear through the pages, looking for the familiar syllables, and when your finger finds the word cyar’ika, you have to close your eyes and desperately beg your heart to stop beating so horrifically, to slow the pulse down.

You follow the word over to its translation in Basic. Cyar’ika, it reads, sweetheart, beloved.

Beloved. Beloved. It says beloved, it doesn’t just mean sweet thing, it doesn’t mean that you’re kind and close to his heart. Din had been calling you his beloved for months, and then he fucking left you.

It’s too much. Everything is hot and fuzzy. You slam the book shut, heart pounding a staccato in your chest. Immediately, you get up and run. You don’t know where you’re going. In hindsight, you should have put the book back, but you didn’t. You’re running. You promised Din you’d never run, but he promised you forever and then stole it away, so you don’t owe him a damn thing anymore. You’re crying, loudly, openly, and when you rush by the same librarian you toss her a halfhearted apology.

You trip going down the steps, bang your knee up something horrible. It makes your eyes flash white hot for a second, but you pick yourself up and just keep going. You only have a vague idea where Kicker is, but you run in that general direction, blood dripping down your scraped knee, and then you’ve found the landing slot. You hurry up the ladder, not even bothering to get out the bacta kit that you stowed in the hull of the ship, just desperate to get out of here, to go somewhere else. It doesn’t matter.

You have history with Din on so many planets, it’s impossible to pick one where he won’t be hanging in the air. But something feels horribly right about heading to Tatooine, considering he hates desert planets and you can hide in plain sight. Maybe you’ll go to Mos Eisley and pick up bartending, maybe you’ll be a hermit that lives in the sand, maybe you’ll learn to speak Tusken and really never be seen from again. But before you breach the atmosphere, you call Wedge.

“Rebel girl,” he sighs, coming in almost immediately. “I was worried. You didn’t respond earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. That seems to be the only thing you can utter today. “I—I went into warp for a while, turned off my comm. I was just on Polis Massa, just for the day, but it’s not—”

“Safe there,” Wedge interrupts, and you want to tell him that’s not what you meant, but he’s still talking. “We intercepted the comms of some of the people sticking close to the Empire. There’s enemies there, I’m glad you got out.”

“Me too,” you say quietly. “I’m going to Tatooine. Not forever, just for a bit. I figure I can ditch Kicker—the ship—somewhere safe and get some sort of job for a few weeks, throw people off my trail.”

“Good call,” Wedge says, then he sighs. “Luke’s from there, you know.”

You swallow. “I know. Listen, don’t tell anyone else where I am, but if he asks—”

“I’ll tell him where you are,” Wedge assures you. “Can you get word out to your fiancé?”

You gulp, slowly coating towards the atmosphere line, watching how your whole vision fills up with sun and sand. “I’m not sure,” you say, barely anything at all. “Listen, Wedge, I gotta go. Thank you for checking in on me. I’ll tell you if I’m headed anywhere else.”

“Do that,” he agrees. “Lay low. Unless you need to go after Gideon. But if that happens, you call me. You have to promise you’ll let me help. Not the full Alliance, if you don’t want our guns and ships. But you have to call me. I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

Your eyes fill up with tears. You don’t have the energy to argue, really, so you don’t. You just nod, slowly, finding a safe place to land. “I promise,” you say eventually.

“Nova?”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.” You hear the line go dead, but you nod again against your own company in the cockpit. “

“I will,” you manage, low and deliberate.

It’s hot out here. It’s a no-brainer, you know how relentless Tatooine’s suns are, but it’s even worse than you imagined. You shed the parka, most of the jumpsuit, and tie your hair up on the top of your head before you step out into the sand, but even then, in just your tank top and light pants, it’s ridiculously hot. You struggle for the first few klicks, and then the suns slowly start to go over the horizon, and it’s a bit more bearable. You drink the last of your water, and keep stumbling closer and closer to a settlement.

It’s not Mos Eisley, but it’s a cantina. Smaller, probably lower profile, and you stagger in with your empty water canteen and your bag full of the few credits you have left, and you pick a small table out of the way to sit down upon. The wall is cool, and you press yourself up against it as you signal the waitress.

She’s definitely not human, but you’re not sure what race she is, because the dark in here is such a stark contrast against how blinding the light was outside, and your eyes haven’t fully adjusted. “Hi,” you say, your voice coming out cracked. “Can I please get some water, and—and something to eat?”

“What would you like?” she asks, and you balk at the menu, all of which has meat on it. The thought of putting anything made out of mat in your mouth makes your stomach roil, so you shake your head.

“Is there anything you offer—um, that doesn’t have meat?” you ask, and your words come out small.

“We have a plate of vegetables,” she answers, “but they’re not the freshest—”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt, warmly, “that’s fine, thank you.”

She gives you a soft smile and offers you a whole pitcher of water. You should pour some in your canteen, but you just start drinking straight from the jug, gulping it down as fast as you can, trying to get rid of the dry heat in the back of your throat. When she comes back with your food, the water it totally drained, and you ask for a refill as your stomach grumbles.

“Can I get anything else for you?” she asks, and you shake your head, and she starts walking away.

“Wait,” you call after her, mouth full of food, “wait—uh, do you happen to have any positions open? For a job? I can’t offer much, but I’m a good cook, or I could clean, I’m good at that too—”

“What’s your name?”

You swallow around your mouth of food. “Novalise. And I usually have much better manners than this, I’m sorry.”

She smiles. “I’m Kuna,” she answers. “We only have pick-up jobs available around here right now, I’m afraid. It’s not steady pay, but it’s something, and at least it’s out of the heat.”

“Yes,” you say immediately, “yes, I would love that, whatever you have for me. Thank you.”

Kuna nods. “Dinner’s on the house,” she says, voice still lowered, “and you can come back sometime tomorrow to start, if that works.”

“Yes,” you nod. “That sounds wonderful. Thank you so much.”

You sleep better that night than you have in the last week, which isn’t saying much, but at least the hulking silence of being alone in the ship is satiated with the knowledge that you’re not going to be easily accessible to anyone that doesn’t wander into the cantina, and after you hike back to Kicker, you fly her closer to the hangar on the edge of town and cover most of the ship with a tarp you find rolled up in the hull. As long as stormtroopers or anyone associated with Gideon doesn’t stop in the hangar on the outskirts of town, you’re safe.

The work is hard, and slow, but it’s rewarding. It gives you that same distracted feeling that working with Arlen at the hostel did, and something to show for it. You mostly clean, sweeping out the freshers and scrubbing down the bar, but you get the stools spotless and you’re able to polish the backs and seats of some of the other cluttered chairs, moving tables back and forth to best optimize the space. After a few weeks of working a handful of days, Kuna lets you back behind the bar. Mostly, you’re making small drinks, no big cocktails or anything fancy, but you like it. It’s nice to interact with people, even if you don’t share a language with them, and it keeps your mind off the book of Mando’a and Din stranding you on Dantooine after promising you an eternity.

You don’t care that it’s temporary. There’s nothing momentary about heartbreak, nothing compartmentalized enough for you to simply forgive him. Not now. And maybe not ever. But your heart yearns for Grogu. Whenever you let your mind wander, you tap into the Force as much as you can, searching for him, or searching for Luke Skywalker, trying to figure out if they’re okay, if Grogu is still under Gideon’s grasp, and in the corners of your visions, you look for Din.

It’s involuntary. It hurts, and it leaves you reeling, heart spinning out into an abyss you can’t cartograph your way back from. So you try to stay distracted, try to keep busy. Days pass, and you’re not sure for how long, but they’re filled with work and you sleep at the end of them, restless, with nightmares, but you’re still getting sleep, and that’s all that matters right now.

Kuna lets you start serving drinks unsupervised, which isn’t much, but it makes you feel accomplished. The whole cantina looks better every day you’re here, and it’s something to be proud of, especially since you haven’t done anything to call attention to yourself other than being a woman in the middle of a skeevy bar in the desert, which just means you attract creeps instead of stormtroopers. It’s a good bargain. One night, you serve a regular, a Twi’lek with green skin, not purple, and you can look at her without seeing Xi’an, her dead body, or Din. She’s kind, and she asks about you as much as you ask about her, and you walk out of the bar to clean up the mess one group of people left behind, letting the rest of the people filter out for closing time.

When you hear your name, you think you’re hallucinating it. It comes out of nowhere, and the voice that it comes from is familiar, trusting, warm. And there’s the kicker: it’s unmodulated. You’re pretty sure you’re imagining it, because you’ve spent so many nights playing over Din’s voice in your mind, his promises, the way he broke them. And still, you freeze, turning around, feeling completely suspended on the space-time continuum.

Standing there, unmasked, heartbreak written all over his face, is your Mandalorian.

as always, reply here or send me a message to be added to the taglist!!!

I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!!! thank you all for being patient and bearing with me these past few weeks!! i promise more is coming, and we still have the whole last arc to go, so SM isn't ending soon ;) and when it does? i already have plans for a sequel in the works!

so sorry again that this is a day late!!! i hope you loved it anyway <3

xoxo, amelie

87 notes · View notes

extremelyblackandwhite · 3 years

Text

innocence - 25

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: smut (18+)

A/N: me to me “you shall not write smut. BEHAVE” also me “mILE HIGH CLUB”. 2021 barely started and i already need jesus. also rip me attempting to post this before christmas but hey i refuse to let christmas end bc christmas is my only hope and love and it’s over.

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky was the first one up as the clock struck 5AM. He was anxious for the flight, for everything really. Y/N had assured him she had bought first class tickets so he’d be comfortable with the long trip but he was still reticent about flying. As an Avenger he used to do national missions, preferring not to fly as it brought him some memories he didn’t like to relieve. Sam had suggested he took some sleeping pills while the flight was going but Bucky refused not to be there to support Y/N who’d been getting called by her team 24/7 about her “mishap” as her manager like to refer to. As if a 20-something dating was something weird. Bucky knew Steve did way worse things than that but of course, she had stepped off the line, off the good girl, virgin ‘til marriage, girl next door yet just gorgeously unattainable and if Y/N hadn’t told him to stay out of it, he would’ve threatened everyone.

Anyway, other than flying he kept wondering about her family. Y/N had a big family, at least more family than he had and he wasn’t entirely sure how they would react to him. Bucky knew he wasn’t the type of man you’d like your daughter to bring in. Who’d want to say that their daughter was dating an assassin? No one. He had wanted to say no, he wanted her to have a nice holiday but looking at her there was no denying her.

Y/N woke up half an hour later, extending her arm towards Bucky’s side only to feel the cold of the sheets on her side. She rose her torso, rubbing the sleep off her eyes before the blurry room became clear. He was sat on the big armchair, staring at the flight tickets.

- Someone’s an early bird. - she leaned on the bed, hands under her chin as he gave her his charming smile. - Excited?

- Nervous. - he rose from his chair to kiss her forehead. - Do you need anything, princess?

- Just need to get dressed. - she lazily got up from her bed. - You’re gonna love it, Buck. There’s snow on the ground, we can get spiced mulled tea and go see the decorations at the West End.

- I’m sure I will. Now get dressed unless you plan on going to the airport in your underwear.

- I don’t see you complaining. - she flirted, hips moving side to side as she opened his wardrobe to grab her burgundy long sleeve dress and pair of black flats. Bucky tried his best not to ogle at her and her figure in a matching black set of star motif bra and panties with garters to see through black stockings. Sometimes he had to slap himself to convince himself the woman standing in front of him actually liked him. - You’re okay with going, right?

- Of course, princess. Whatever makes you happy.

- Okay but what makes you happy? We don’t need to go if you don’t feel comfortable.

- Just regular meeting the parents nerves. - he pulled her hair away from her face to kiss her forehead.

- Based on the photos Rebecca has, I would say you’ve met enough parents not to be nervous anymore.

- Come here, you little minx. - he wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her in close to him. - I will have you know that I never met any of the girls’ parents. It was not a good thing for a lady to be seen alone with a man in my time, so we had to keep it a secret.

- Mhm, were you destroying ladies’ reputations in your day, Mr. Barnes? Is that it?

- Not my fault they couldn’t resist me. - he leaned down to kiss her but she turned her face away, naughty smile on her lips. - Don’t do that to me, princess. It’ll break my tiny heart.

- Stop playing Romeo and grab your bags before we’re late. - she swung her hips side to side to grab her own cary on, a small matte black suitcase with her initials on the bottom left in a small size.

Bucky followed her into the airport. He couldn’t seriously remember the last time he had been in an airport, maybe during his youth but right now everything seemed so different yet he didn’t feel scared. He looked to his right and there she was, holding his hand as the other pulled her trolley, dark sunglasses on to hide who she was but still sporting that smile that was truly hers, something he could pick out of a crowd. He never really liked the word or feeling of possession, neither did she, but they didn’t really mind the feeling that a ship’s rope held both their hands together in a nautical strong knot. It was that sort of feeling that disconnected them both from what surrounded them, the sound of echoed and at the same time murmured silence. Y/N didn’t mind, Bucky didn’t mind. The flashlights went by dim and the announcements went mute for both of them.

Y/N however did not like airports. For her, airports signified goodbyes, harmful and painful goodbyes those were you wave goodbye to your loved ones and walk into security checks with tears lodged in her throat, telling herself to put herself together as she approached the beginning of that line. It represented waving goodbye to her comforts to travel somewhere she was not happy, not that her life in the US after she left the UK didn’t made her happy, it did but it was a faux happiness. It was locked inside a bought apartment with people who didn’t or refused to understand her, with friends she loved and cared for but didn’t really check on her them too lost on their own lives, it was yearning for a love that took years to come and everyone told her it would come but never did. It was an odd feeling being at the airport but being with Bucky twisted that. It was no longer leaving loved ones, it was departing with them, it was leaving all the mess that haunted her behind yet she couldn’t help feeling like something lingered in the wind, some cut throating emotions and actions which would return to her.

She decided not to dwell on it, smiling at Bucky as he picked some snacks to bring inside the plane besides her telling him they probably would have the peanut M&Ms rather than his beloved chocolate only ones. She watched him as someone watched something that reminded them of a childhood memory or something that touched them, with a tinge of sadness, almost knowing it would never happen again. She felt tied to him but she felt at any time this knot could worn out and she feared he would leave. Things fade, nothing lasts forever and she wondered when he would realise that he was dating a ticking time bomb controlled by others. She had control over her own heart but her face, her reputation, that would never be hers to control.

- Y/N? - he laid his hand on top of her shoulder. - Are you okay, princess?

- Yeah, just thinking. - she handed the lady the tickets, holding Bucky’s hand as he led her inside the airplane.

Y/N was lucky to be used to first class, she spent in life in it but for Bucky it was a jarring new experience. His parents used to be well off, better than most however they were never well enough to afford flying anywhere. The closest he’d been to flying was in military helicopters but all his experience to commercial flying had been watching on magazines but even this looked so different. It looked like a perfect first class bedroom in a five star hotel with individual little places for each passenger and some for couples which he guessed was one for the two of them. As they approached their cabin, a polished dressed lady signalled them inside their own seats. She looked at Bucky who had star filled eyes as he noticed all the comfort of his seat.

- Is this how you travel? - he sat down by the window, looking at the small bottles of water, juices and fun sized treats. - Now I know why you travel so much. It’s like a damn hotel room here.

- Peanut M&M’s. - she grabbed one of the snacks from his side. - I believe you’ll be donating those to me.

- That’s a travesty, princess. I cannot believe you prefer those with peanuts

- Peanuts are great.

- Unless you’re allergic to them.

- You’re not allergic to peanuts. Steve would’ve told me if you were and I saw you eat a peanut energy bar yesterday. - she crossed her arms.

- First, I hate peanuts so it’s almost as if I were allergic to them. Second, KIND bars don’t count, you know how good they are, they add that little caramel drizzle.

- I guess we’re gonna have more than my nephews and nieces for a picky eater this Christmas. - she laughed, picking the remote to shuffle through whatever the company offered. Bucky leaned on her shoulder, leaving a kiss on it right before he did. - Thank you for coming with me.

- That’s not a problem, princess. Besides, who would guard you if I were not to come?

- Is this overtime then, Mr. Barnes? - she looked down at him, his childish yet charming smile whenever he meant to tease her which he so easily could do both meanings of the word. - We should prepare for take off.

It couldn’t be too different from take off in the quinjet. Bucky had done it once after the train incident but it always brought him back to it. He wasn’t like this and it pained him that the slightest of turbulences in any travels now made him feel like a kid. He didn’t use to be like this, he was fearless, going on the Cyclone time and time again and now ... now he was a shell of a man afraid of take off. He shouldn’t be afraid, it was not his role, right? He knew things were different then and were different now but he always wanted to be strong, strong for her as if any insecurity would throw her away. He knew it didn’t, Bucky knew Y/N was there to stick around and didn’t care about what the war and HYDRA had done to him but he cared. Bucky wanted to be her hero, her safe harbour and with this ...

His mind shattered into snowflakes as she held his hand, the captain’s voice muffled as the plane gathered speech. Y/N never hand cold hands or a cold touch, she was just warm, a little ray of sunshine burning his icy exterior and forcing him to see the beauty of winter. Bucky clearly mostly got distracted by her own beauty but her holding his hand, the rings on her fingers which she had gathered from little shops along the street against his hand, made him want to remove the dagger he had stuck on himself so he could feel pain forevermore.

The plane move upwards, both of them being pulled against their seats by the laws of physics on an endless climb and he still had his eyes closed, finding comfort in the darkness.

- Buck. - her finger caressed his jaw. - Look out the window.

Bucky peaked open one of his eyes, looking out the window near him to see a full blue sky, completely different from the dark skies of the winter filled New York they had just left.

- We fly above the clouds. Isn’t it beautiful? - she leaned against his shoulder.

- You see this everytime?

- Unless I’m flying at night, yeah. Sunsets and risings are particularly stunning.

- Now what?

- Now we wait for round 6 to 7 hours. We can put a movie on, maybe. Whatever you’d like.

Bucky took to shuffling through the movie catalogue himself. Some of the movies he’d never heard about and some he’d heard from Sam or from Steve’s list of movies he had to watch yet he never did. Capitan America himself stuck to the old classics, the movies they used to sneak through the backdoor of the theatre. He himself liked the classics too and Y/N, as a film/acting major herself, also had a soft spot for them. Bucky’s favourite was the Wizard of Oz, despite later knowing how controversial filming had been, yet he couldn’t help but always remember the wonder on his sister’s face and his own wonder as he watched the vivid colours. He could still feel it now, however the movie ended and soon the food came in and he found himself bored. There wasn’t much he could do on a plane and he found himself jealous of the 5 year old running up and down the cabin, despite most of Y/N’s laughter.

He covered himself in the company’s blanket and snuggled against the pillow and still he couldn’t sleep. Y/N on the other hand had fallen asleep the moment she pulled the leg rest, wrapped around in her blanket, face facing his which gave Bucky the excuse to look at her while she slept. Bucky always found it wildly amusing how she slept, lips slightly puckered, eyes fluttering until she fell in deep and hands fisting the blanket up to her chin. Eventually, Bucky got frustrated, moving around in his seat to find a comfortable position. How come he couldn’t find a comfortable position on a first class seat?

- Buck ... - she groaned, opening her eyes. - Stop moving around.

- I’m sorry, princess. I’m just ... so bored. How do you do this?

- I sleep. - she placed the blanket on her lap. - Why don’t you get something else to eat?

- How many hours left?

- You don’t wanna know. - she rubbed the sleep of her eyes, Bucky still laid against his seat, blanket on his lap, head against the head rest. Y/N started thinking about how to entertain him until her gaze fell onto his lap. Looking around the cabin was quiet, no cabin crew or passengers on their feet, just a calm cabin.

She moved closer to him, head against her shoulder, facade of a glistening angel on a renaissance painting. Her fingers traced the soft finish of his blanket, the embodied company name until her fingers were under the soft fabric. She slide her hand under his shirt, feeling his warm skin as her hand travelled downwards towards the Hugo Boss boxers he wore, fingers hooking on the waistband. Bucky swallowed dry, wondering if he had finally gone to sleep and this was finally a good dream or if his sweet, innocent girlfriend was actually about to do what his mind was rushing to as her fingers wrapped around his softened member. He grunted, looking at her like she was a fever dream, hips mindlessly thrusting into her soft warm hand. He would say there was no better feeling, had it not been for the fact he had been inside of her.

Y/N bite her lip, insecurely swiping her thumb over the tip, his pre cum dripping onto it. She didn’t know what she was doing, mostly going by the erotica she had read and seen before, guiding herself by his low sounds, mumbled by his own hand which laid against his own mouth. She looked up at him, cerulean eyes looking at the ceiling as if all his strength would break loose were he to look at her and she thought that was the most gorgeous he’d look. She straight herself up, pushing his hand away from his mouth to start kissing him, something which would look rather innocent to anyone who passed by. Her kiss was warm, hot and sinful, much more different than the shy ones she would lay on him each morning yet he guessed it matched with her movements, fast and tighter against his cock. He tried to remain still, allow her to do what she wanted to do but his body had a different idea, hips thrusting and gyrating against her hand like some idiot teenager as her mouth lowered to kiss his pulse point. His breathe quickened, coming into staccatto as her movement quickened. The environment was blurry and all he could think about and hear were her movements and his body shuddering until he was spurting thick ropes of white liquid onto her hand and his breathe came out knocked as if he had finished a race.

She cleaned her palm with a tissue, bringing her fingers up to her cherry tinted lips from her chapstick, disappearing within the plumpness of them. He swore he could cum again just from that sight. As he tried to regain his breathe from the latter event, she gave him a shy smile, pushing her blanket up to her chin. Whatever she did to him, whatever release she had given him had made him comfortable enough on that cloud nine that sent him into sleeping, only awaking once the plane wheels hit British soil.

It was dark, around 9PM the captain had said and Bucky himself thought the trip was over until both of them disembarked onto the airport which was a completely different world. Had it not been by Y/N’s unwillingness to spend more time in an airport, he would’ve possibly stood behind taking pictures yet once she spotted a man with a sheet with her name written in, she had his hand on hers and dragged him up to it.

Bucky had been in London, he remembered it from the war and some buildings were the same yet everything was brighter. His eyes shone against the decorations, wondering how bigger they could get and Y/N took great pleasure in seeing him so happy. All she wanted was to make him happy, all she wanted was to see him happy. The taxi driver stopped in front of her childhood home which gladly always seemed to look the same with christmas lights and garlands. Both of them step out the car and the nerves finally hit Bucky. How do you meet someone’s parents? How do you meet the person who just gave you a handjob’s parents and make a good impression? How could he make a good impression? He was a hundred year old never aging man with a metal arm dating the little rose that everyone put on an altar. He didn’t belong. Maybe he could stop her, maybe he could convince her not to ring the bell except she was already ringing the bell and the door was opening up.

A short woman in a white jumper and jeans opened the door. She had Y/N’s eyes, the same eyes Bucky would recognise anywhere and based by the tight hug she gave Y/N, he would guess she was his mother.

- Mum, this is Bucky. - she held Bucky’s hand. What should he do? Should he wave?

- Oh my, you’re tall. I thought that with a nickname like that you’d be small. Oh, here I am again rambling. We are so happy here, you know, you’re the first man Y/N brings home.

- Mum!

- What? It’s true. You’re my oldest child and only now have you brought a man. Aunt Petunia is really proud of you.

- Mum!

- Come in, Bucky. Can I call you Bucky? Come meet the family.

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir

170 notes · View notes

ladyfawkes · 3 years

Text

Eugene Appreciation Week | Day 6: Protect and Sacrifice

Desiderium by @Ladyfawkes and @trekkiehood

Current Chapter 10: Never Surrender

Current word count: 18868

Rated T for graphic descriptions of violence, physical torment, events during a POW setting

Chapter Summary: For the first time since being attacked and abducted, Eugene wakes up.

Chapter 10: Never Surrender

The first time Eugene awoke, he had been turned on his side. Someone had placed the tapered part of a large syringe in his mouth. He gagged on the warm stream of saltwater being actively injected and immediately began vomiting, which in turn yanked and pulled and twisted up all of the severed and injured muscles and tissues just below and to the right of his stomach. It felt as if his guts were on fire and actively trying to push themselves out of the wounds that cursed sword had given him. He tried to bring his arms down to fold them around his wound in front but he’d found his wrists were tightly bound with ropes instead.

“It huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrts,” he howled mournfully, in earshot of whomever was near. Or at least he would’ve howled, had his cry not cut out halfway through. Only then did he realize how stupid he was to have used his voice. Instantly, he became so drained he started shaking. For he not only unwittingly revealed this weakness to his enemy, the action induced Eugene to use the most injured, raw parts of himself. His reaction, however, had at least been visceral, instinctive, and utterly involuntary; he had no control over it. However, if Eugene thought he’d felt nausea and pain before, that was almost nothing compared to how he’d felt in the here and now.

After Eugene had fallen unconscious, he’d clearly and repeatedly aspirated what little stomach contents he possessed into his lungs and sinuses. A pained groan escaped him regardless; His raw throat and sinuses pulsed with a dull throb in the back of his head every time he tried drawing a breath.

“Believe it or not, I am trying to help,” said a tiny voice beside him. “Sometimes, though, it’s gotta get worse before it can feel better,” continued the voice. Gradually, Eugene’s top half was raised at an angle. The old cloth beneath him soaked with blood and vomit was removed and replaced; the fresh one was folded over several times and placed underneath his nose, mouth, chin, and neck. He was still on his side but was given a bolster to put under his ear and top half of his head as further support at this new elevated angle. His shaking slowed slightly. However, in the back of his mind, Eugene still recalled how precarious was his position. Therefore he could not bring himself to trust this mystery medical person. The captain was still bound at the wrists and ankles, after all. He assumed his boots were long gone. There was no way they’d leave footwear accessible for a prisoner -- especially not one they’d have no intention of ever releasing.

Rather than finding any comfort in what had just been said or done by this funny-voiced person, Eugene stiffened as the syringe wielder injected even more saltwater into each nostril. Though Eugene still choked, coughed, and gagged very violently, the entry-and-exit wounds through his midsection were simultaneously given moderate compression from either side until he’d cleared out the last of the salt water. The compression action alone had diminished his pain, nausea, and the nasty sensation that his guts were spilling out by about 30%. And he didn’t throw up again either. For the time being.

“I would cut your bindings, as they’re so useless and even cumbersome,” mumbled the voice, “but Regis would have us both hanged immediately….” Though Eugene struggled valiantly and tried to become an active information-gatherer like his training demanded, nothing proved to him that he was too far out of his element more than the traumas of this particular interaction. Even his own weakness shocked him. Though the name “Regis” had instantaneously provoked distinct emotions from within.

The mystery person again mopped up Eugene’s face from the deluge of saltwater. “I know that was awful,” commiserated the individual, “but I’m betting your throat and sinuses are no longer killing you. That it’s much less painful to breathe, at least from your neck up?”

Eugene said nothing….and only scowled until he did gingerly test breathing…. and it was indeed far easier and less painful now that the aspirated stomach acid had been cleared away. Buuuuuut he had this permanent stitch now, this ache below his right lung….Eugene seriously wondered whether he would ever breathe deeply again.

“Well, that’s all right, playin’ possum,” said the voice. Can’t say as I blame you, nosiree, captain in the enemy camp and all….” and the person bustled about, chattering aloud to Eugene but mostly to himself. “Oh, and my name is Clarence, my designation here is ‘apothecary’, although my duties compass a great deal more.” Was it just Eugene, or did ‘Clarence’ sound a little bitter? Could this be a rift Eugene could press to his advantage? “This possum skill is good,” the Clarence person rejoined, “because the more ill and unconscious you are, the more put-off Regis will be…..I know since he already walked away once due to being so disgusted by the state of you. You were supposed to have been brought whole and unharmed….and Javeen, Regis’s 2nd, truly learned to regret his actions.”

Eugene’s shivering persisted and worsened although it was clearly a warm day outside. He had no earthly idea how much time had passed since he was first abducted nor how long it had been that he’d worn anything from the waist up due to being stripped down by...Javeen, was it? He guesstimated it had been at least two days since he’d eaten or drank anything...but it felt more like 6 or 7 days because of his injuries. As an orphan, Eugene knew well the ravages of starvation. He’d faced it many times as a child and youth and young adult. And this was….not like that. At all. It was infinitely worse.

Though this small apothecary minding Eugene clearly couldn’t match him in size, he removed and shared his tunic nonetheless. Or at least he attempted to share. “I’ve got on several layers,” mumbled the little man….

“Curse it,” the apothecary finished, as he realized Eugene couldn’t possibly be dressed in normal clothing while still bound at the wrists. And a few seconds later, very abruptly, Eugene’s wrists were blissfully cut free of the ropes that had bound him.

In another wholly involuntary action, Eugene automatically turned from his side to his back, his arms fully separating so his chest could expand and he could breathe in the air his oxygen-deprived body so desperately needed.

The apothecary seemed to have anticipated his needs and again gave Eugene compression so as to minimize the sensation his guts were falling out as he greedily sucked in more and more shuddering lungfuls of air. “Oh deary dear, no wonder that was so difficult for you,” the little apothecary fretted. “Broad chests and large arms do not do well for one’s lung capacity when they’re all mashed together. I can’t imagine Adonais himself could handle his wrists being bound in such a way….”

Breathing in as if it were going out of style was exquisitely painful but this pain was also infinitely worth it. Then Eugene coughed and….it was chunky style, i.e. some of the leftover goodies the syringe hadn’t been able to remove earlier. He turned his head to the side and spat it out. “Good!” said the apothecary. “That’s even better than you getting more air. We need you to cough up all of that junk. And breathe as deep as you can, at all times, even when it hurts.”

Unexpectedly Clarence seized Eugene’s hand and placed it around the cushion he’d been using. “Anytime you need to sneeze, cough, or what-have-you, press the cushion against your midsection. It will help a little. Regis’ll just have to hang me then, he can’t very well have me heal you if you’re gonna go off and die of aspiration pneumonia, nosiree…..”

Heal me in order to hurt me, ugh, thought Eugene. Talk about mixed signals. Now that he was laying on his back, Eugene’s head near the base of his skull started throbbing with the renewed pressure. In spite of himself, Eugene reached up with his left hand and felt the back of his scalp.

Clarence continued bustling about. It was registering through Eugene’s pain-haze that this is the same apothecary that had just given him full use of his hands. Even handed him a projectile. Maybe this guy isn’t what he seems? Eugene considered. Nope. NO. Don’t get lulled by a false sense of security. Considering his wounds and the fact his ankles were still bound, Eugene was basically still immobile anyway, even with full use of his hands and arms. Well, almost full use. If he moved his right arm in a certain way, it tugged all the way down to his worst wound and made him see twinkly pain stars in front of his vision. He determined to keep that arm closer toward him at all times to avoid triggering that horrible lightning twinge. And this meant he couldn’t reach down far enough to slip the ropes off his ankles even if he’d tried. Eugene realized the physician knew exactly what he was talking about by deeming the binds “useless”. His prisoner was going nowhere and this little man knew it.

The physician (Eugene had already substituted ‘apothecary’ in his mind) took note of Eugene’s movements. “Ah yes, I see you’ve discovered the other little 'present' Javeen and his men left for you: that nasty goose egg on the back of your head. I advise against making any more sudden movements? I’d hate to see you vomit again.” Fanfriggentastic. Here was yet another thing that explained to Eugene why he was in such rough shape….Javeen’s men had brained him earlier. Although he couldn’t recall when it happened along with why he’d felt so beat-up and bruised all over, everywhere….those things were still a mystery to him.

The physician did his best to dress Eugene in the too-small tunic of his. Again, he apologized -- APOLOGIZED!! -- for it having been all he’d had on-hand. Ill-fitting though it was, Eugene had finally stopped shivering. Once again, Eugene found second thoughts about this strange little man creeping into his consciousness. Next, the physician had grabbed what looked like a Coronian saddle blanket and draped it around Eugene’s shoulders, offering another layer of warmth. It finally caught up to him regarding what that meant; the physician had handily kept him from slipping fully into shock.

He’d also made dang sure that Eugene could breathe as well as could be expected…..by cutting his binds….and whatever that syringe debacle was…..although the process itself was nightmare-ish, it couldn't be denied that everything had worked as intended. Sometimes things have to get worse before they can feel better. Not to mention the man had gone out of his way to ease Eugene’s pain with that cushion compression trick. Already Clarence had engaged in at least two things that were probably directly against protocol by doing just a tiny bit more than the bare minimum.

Clarence steepled his hands and considered Eugene’s positioning. “I’m gonna need better access to that wound on your back,” he said. “Don’t use any of your own power to help me turn you; I’ll do all of the work. Is that clear?”

Eugene shrank a little at such intense scrutiny paired with the direct order….yet said nothing. It was the most demanding Clarence had been thus far. The apothecary sighed shortly, clearly not taking silence for an answer this time.

“I mean it, Mr. Tough Guy. This is one instance where you must be like a living ragdoll and let me do all the rest. Do you think you can handle that?” Clarence paused briefly, appearing to consider something. Eugene simply stared at him. “You can communicate by whispering. Actual whispering, not sotto voce style. It requires far less lung capacity and is unlikely to cause much pain. I say again, do you think you can trust me? Because if you try to ‘help’ even a little, you could cause those wounds to push outside what’s meant to remain inside.”

“Yes,” Eugene whispered without hesitation. He didn’t know exactly what it was about this interesting apothecary that elicited his trust. And then it occurred to him as Clarence very slowly turned his patient's legs to his left side, encouraging Eugene to breathe through the pain: Clarence cares.

Not to mention….Clarence was right; whispering barely hurt Eugene at all….in complete opposition to when he’d shouted earlier upon first waking.

When Clarence went to turn Eugene from right to left by grabbing his right arm, however, they ran into a semi-unexpected snag. This arm, it appeared, could not be pulled...lest it trigger that nasty stitch Eugene had experienced earlier. So the apothecary took the saddle blanket and refashioned it into a type of jacket-sling so Eugene’s right arm was held secure against his chest; now his patient didn’t have to worry about his right arm being at the mercy of whatever gravity felt like doing with it.

With his free arm, Eugene lightly held the cushion against his gut. Then Clarence managed to carefully and successfully roll Eugene’s upper half onto his left side without any additional complications. Eugene was allowed to rest after all the additional activity. His side without the wounds was naturally far more stable and for the first time since awakening, the mere act of breathing didn’t make him wanna pass out from too much pain. Although it was still comparably arduous and taxing by trying to breathe deeply as instructed. The last time Eugene could recall feeling this helpless was when he had a nasty case of typhus around age 5 or 6 that had nearly killed him.

“Right now, I’m preparing an anesthetic for that wound in your back,” murmured Clarence. The apothecary was using medical terms that until that point in time for which Eugene had had very little use. It made Eugene wish he’d read and paid more attention like Rapunzel.

And mentally conjuring his beloved sweetheart so easily within such a natural context suddenly sent unbidden shockwaves of loneliness, hopelessness, and despair crashing through him. Regis would never release him and Eugene knew it. He’d gone to far too much trouble convincing others that Eugene no longer existed amongst the living. Past the end of his needfulness for this prisoner, the mad king might eventually attempt to use Eugene as bait at a later date. But until then, Eugene was still being secretly held here, wherever ‘here’ was...which had to mean that it was becoming more likely with each passing hour that Javeen’s decoy ruse had worked. That whatever was left after the fire the enemy troops had started, and after Corona’s soldiers watched their own captain get struck down, it was practically a given that nobody from his kingdom was out searching for Eugene right now.

In spite of himself, the back of his still-raw sinuses welled up and started dripping with these instant pent up emotions. He sniffled softly at first but when Eugene pictured himself back in the nursery, rocking Kleisonne and singing their special song….considering that Rapunzel has to sing it now….it was more than he could take. It had already been over two months since the last time he had left them to take up arms at New Old Corona and even though he could see Corona Island from the top of the mountain pass, as captain, Eugene felt as if he might as well have been a million miles away. With so few fighting men, with so few soldiers who’d actually experienced prior sustained combat much less led through it, such inexperienced leadership, and only a rather ancient stockpile of weaponry….(Corona had been at peace for hundreds of years, after all...) Eugene simply could not leave his station under any circumstances….not even to see his family. The kingdom’s needs had been too great….still are too great. Had his father’s battalions arrived yet from the Dark Kingdom? Probably not. Eugene had a feeling he’d be hearing all about it from the apothecary, chatty as he was. But then….but then -- one shining light of realization cut through the pain haze and fear fog….piercing its way through his overwrought mind and body. Rapunzel was actually queen now and thus not at the mercy and whims of what others thought or felt anymore. Not really. And Eugene could sense with absolute certainty that Rapunzel would not rest until she had found identifiable remains by means of incontrovertible proof. And once they found the only clue Eugene had managed to leave behind, Rapunzel’s resolve in finding him would become dang near indestructible. He’d just have to try and find a way to escape -- or more practically, considering his woeful state of being, somehow get word out ASAP so that Corona would still be performing a rescue, not a recovery.

Eugene hissed rather loudly at the sudden harsh stinging sensation emanating from around the wound in his back. The sharp intake of breath had in turn disturbed everything else within Eugene’s predicament. “My apologies,” Clarence spoke out, “I’m usually accustomed to patients who are already unconscious by the time I get to them,” he explained with a hint of nervousness.

Aaaand he’s apologizing again. For unintentionally hurting me. Truly this guy was proving over and over he really wasn’t Regis’s mad scientist henchman. After Clarence was finished with the stinging stuff, he grabbed some type of salve that Eugene was sure he already knew pretty well. Tallow, the same stuff used as a base for candles, also made a great healing and moisturization agent. It sealed the wound away from everything else including dirt and further abrasions.

It was basically how Eugene had avoided having too many scars for so many years, and the one main reason why he appeared completely unscathed, despite all of the bar fights he had been swept up in, and the smaller now invisible wounds he’s had. Although he currently rolled his eyes at his own past vanity by trying to achieve physical perfection with flawless skin. Eugene was certainly gonna have some gnarly scars after this….provided he lived long enough to actually heal from his open wounds and captivity….Eugene inwardly admonished himself to stop thinking morbidly. And to instead be grateful for Clarence and his incomprehensible kindness in such a morbid setting. And if Eugene weren’t already laying down, he would’ve been bowled over by what the apothecary did next. Clarence not only carefully cleaned and applied tallow to every inch of the abrasions those ropes had caused, he covered the red welts on Eugene’s wrists with long knotted-off strips of floursack cloth. It was such an unexpectedly….kind thing to do, to tend to wounds caused by a prisoner’s restraints…..Eugene was momentarily taken aback….and currently lost in thought. And this is when Clarence figured he’d had as good a time as any to crank up the hallucination juice.

Somewhere behind Eugene, something that smelled vaguely of incense and oil started burning nearby and he started coughing. Clarence reminded him about the cushion trick and the coughing sensation eased off and Eugene began to feel oddly and unexpectedly relaxed. His cognitive body functions had largely gone dormant and he was floating in a soft white haze. He felt….groovy. Every once in awhile, lightning streaks of pain might interrupt his dreaming as Clarence, who was not only a good apothecary but a well trained surgeon, worked on sewing up Eugene’s wounds.

Clarence couldn’t have Eugene eat or drink anything prior to surgery so that effectively eliminated anything taken by mouth when it came to easing his patient’s pain at this time. So the apothecary took the one safest route left to him; the psychoactive one. The main problem was that psychoactives didn’t technically knock you out….at least not the ones of which he was in possession.

The surgeon was distinctly worried that even if Eugene had tried to ingest any medicine or even water, it very well would have triggered pain so agonizingly distressful that he wouldn’t be able to stop screaming once it got started. Based on the prior blood and reflux content he’d seen so far, (as well as how his patient had reacted during his first few seconds upon waking) Clarence strongly suspected part of Eugene’s problem was a nasty duodenal tear and that meant high-intensity stomach acid was busy slowly seeping itself out everywhere it wasn’t intended to be, both inside and outside of his patient. Unneutralized stomach acid pouring itself into one’s abdominal cavity was indeed Not Good at All, especially since that includes everything else that regularly accompanies stomach acid. Clarence's plan was to be as hands-off as possible. He'd witnessed far too many patients die of resulting infection directly caused by a surgeon's brash (and yes, stupid) tendency to just dig around in open wounds. Clarence still didn't know if his patient needed to be sewn up all the way or if drainage sites needed to be packed as he healed.

All things considered, this “enemy” captain shouldn’t even be conscious. Eugene had to be practically dying of thirst and yet he wasn’t complaining. Here he was, on this makeshift exam/surgery platform, high as a kite, tripping aloud about fluffy purple bunnies wearing watermelon hats. Or was it purple watermelons wearing pink bunny hats? Whatever that meant, thought Clarence, with some amusement.

Clarence seemed to have an internal immunity against the “incense oil” he was burning for his patient’s sake. He was both annoyed and grateful for said immunity. He also fervently hoped this patient would stay distracted long enough with pleasant hallucinations in order for Clarence to do what he needed. It wasn’t like him to operate on a patient without explaining everything thoroughly, but he was hoping against hope that by subtracting another layer of self-awareness, it might somehow help Eugene stay distracted even longer. Besides, you can’t rightly swallow much of anything when it’s just going to…..leak back out such a nasty hole in your vital organs. Above all else, the young captain needed that tear repaired as quickly as possible.

Real things about world history discovers/innovations: When 'syringe' is mentioned here, it's not like a hypodermic needle or even an oral medication syringe. The size of syringes in the 18th century were more the size range of a can of spray deodorant on up to a large can of hair spray.

“Okay, Captain Fitz-Humpty-Dumpty, let’s try and put you back together again, shall we?” murmured the surgeon to himself, as he took one last glance at his overstocked supply of incense oil.

@gleamful-lanterns @kingreywrites @autumn-ravenclaw

A/N: In order to keep this an element of realism in this historical setting, you can imagine the amount of research that went into building this single chapter. Medicine was taking some monumental strides starting in 16th century (1500s) onward.

31 notes · View notes

pl-panda · 4 years

Text

The Vines that bind us - Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don’t own Miraculous Ladybug or any DC characters. I own only the plot, and even that is inspired by the amazing story "Marigold Ivy" by @lwandile13 on Wattpad. Go check it. It's great. He allowed me to take some inspiration, for which I'm grateful. Also, don't translate the french words maybe. Or at least do it on your own responsibility. Big thanks to @Liza! on Discord for being my Beta :)

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was a normal girl, with a normal life. But she had a secret. Her real name was Marigold Isley. She was born under that name in Gotham city sixteen years ago. Her mother never revealed to her who was her father, but Mari never cared. She was happy with her mom and several aunts and uncles. Technically, none of them were related to her by blood, but Rogues were quite close to each other (excluding some outcasts like Joker or the Menagerie). They taught her many interesting things such as lockpicking, stealth 101, or hand-to-hand combat. She was five when it started, so her first-ever practical test was breaking into a kitchen cupboard and stealing a jar of cookies. Overall, she was very happy.

It changed when she was eight. One very tired social service person named Elizabeth Barrow got wind of a child of a villain. That Elizabeth was new to Gotham after being reassigned from Metropolis and didn’t yet get the wind of how things worked. Maybe her colleagues didn’t like her, or maybe she was just too overwhelmed by the sheer scale of the problem in Gotham. Previously, there was an unspoken agreement in the government that they wouldn’t notice Marigold. In exchange, rogues were calmer. Or at least tried to keep the death toll down. For a time, Gotham even started to slowly heal. But then, Elizabeth took the case of Marigold Isley. Ivy tried to fight. To protect her daughter. For three days, the city was held hostage by giant plants. It was only the fear in her daughter’s eyes that made Poison Ivy relent and let go. She didn’t want that life for Marigold. The one condition she gave was that the girl would leave America as a whole, to ensure she would be safe from all the madness.

And so Marigold ended up in the care of baker’s couple in Paris. She never showed any powers thus far and the adoption agency kept the parentage a secret. That’s when Marinette Dupain-Cheng was born. She continued with martial arts training and stealth training, but now only as fun and reminder of her mother and extended family, as opposed to actual necessary survival tool. She also picked up designing as another hobby, which soon turned into a kind of obsession. She was generally a ray of sunshine.

The one black spot in the happy world of Marinette was the Mayor’s daughter. Chloe Bourgeoise considered herself above others and just couldn’t stand sunshine girl. She ruined her clothes, sometimes damaged her homework, or verbally assaulted her. While Chloe was generally disliked, she was more of a nuance. Overall, Marinette was happy. At least until two events changed that.

When she was twelve, Paris was attacked by Hawkmoth for the first time. Marinette found herself becoming Ladybug, a superhero with magical powers that protected the city from harm. She received a partner in form of Chat Noir. It took some time before she got hang of it, and then more time before she and Chat became an actual team. Over time, more heroes joined them, even if temporarily only. She had people she could count on. She became Happy again.

Privately, she started her own brand: MDC, managed to become a class representative, and became best friends with Alya, who joined around the same time she became Ladybug. It was quite ironic. The superhero was best friends with one person whose greatest dream was to unmask the hero. Marinette also developed a huge (and a bit unhealthy) crush on Adrien Agreste, a famous model who was in her class. She spent years vying for his attention, but nothing ever came from her attempts. She was unable to even say a word around him and her face always became red like her mother’s hair. Overall, she couldn’t complain.

Then, when she was fifteen another black spot appeared. It was Lila (Liela) Rossi. She came to their school and immediately started sporting lies with every breath. Surprisingly, everyone seemed to buy into that, believing her like she spoke the gospel. Everyone but Marinette. She tried to expose Lila, but it only backfired. She became an outcast, disliked by everyone, and universally hated. Suddenly, it became okay to bully her because she was a bully herself and deserved it. It became okay to shun her and no longer include her in anything. The worst was Alya, her former best friend. At first, she just tried to nudge Marinette to give Lila a chance. When Marinette tried to show the truth, Alya practically attacked her. She was just as much responsible for Mari being cast out as Lila was. The fact that her best friend abandoned her only fueled the gossip and allowed Lila to drive the final nail in. In the span of a few weeks, Marinette was left alone.

Around the same time, Chat Noir became more persistent in his pursuit of her while Adrien, who Marinette knew was aware of the lies, was only telling her to keep the high road (do nothing). She could understand him. As a famous model and son of a well-known fashion designer, he was always taught to not provoke the press. It still served as a wake-up call on her crush.

--------

Marinette was packing her things after lessons when she noticed someone approach her from behind. Immediately, she tensed. After eleven years of martial arts practice, it was an instinct. Before she had time to turn around, something heavy landed on her desk with a loud Thud!. She turned to see Chloe standing over a large book, a single thick envelope, and a puffy bag that content Marinette couldn’t guess.

“What’s a…” She started, but Chloe cut her off. She had her usual ‘resting witch’ expression.

“The book contains every single instance I verbally assaulted you, destroyed something of yours, talked about you behind your back, or in any way otherwise did something wrong toward you. Here are the materials for the damaged clothes,” she pushed the bag toward her, “and here is money for other things.” Chloe gave her the envelope. “I apologize for all of that. I was jealous of all the attention you kept getting even though I thought I deserved it. I now realize that my behavior was wrong and hurtful. I will understand if you’ll never speak to me again. I kept acting ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous!” With that, she turned and started to walk again. Marinette idly noticed that there was no Sabrina nearby. Thinking back, Chloe was no longer acting (overly) mean toward anyone as of late.

Making a split-second decision, Marinette raced after the blonde and pulled her into a hug.

“Wha…” Chloe yelped before sinking into the hug. Neither girl realized they were crying until they finally separated. Blonde had her lite make-up in total ruin while Marinette had tears still going down her cheeks. “Does that mean you accept my apologies?”

Marinette didn’t answer immediately. She stood there with open mouth for a moment before smiling weakly. “Yes, Chloe.”

Since that day, they were best friends. It turned out to be a blessing. Chloe, once she finally allowed someone to truly know her, turned out to be a highly intelligent, funny, and very much still overbearing person. She still acted high and mighty, but it no longer felt mean, rather just… felt. She took to defending Marinette from the rest of the class. She was aware of Lila’s lies from day one but never acted on it until it was too late. Sabina abandoned her for the liar. Dealing with loneliness was hard on her. She didn’t even have parents that cared. Her father would probably move sun if she asked, but he had an emotional range of a toothpick. Her mother didn’t even know her name, so she didn’t bother.

Something about their friendship must’ve upset Lila because the girl upped her game. Marinette’s parents suddenly found themselves facing strong critique and constant inspection from the sanitary department and child protection questioning their parenting abilities. MDC, who was slowly becoming one of the go-to fashion designers for famous found herself in the middle of several fake media scandals, including one lawsuit over defamation. If it wasn’t for Jagged Stone and Penny rallying her customers, Marinette and her parents would end up broke. He managed to save MDC and practically made her untouchable. Still, Alya and Lila got off scot-free as nothing could be linked to them.

Perhaps what pushed Lila over the edge was Chloe confronting Adrien. She yelled at him for good two hours straight about responsibility and morality, pointing in detail exactly what he did wrong. She would probably go on if Marinette didn’t stop her. After that, Adrien finally apologized and tried to make things right, but it only turned against him. By then, Lila had everyone so deep into it, that he was powerless. She didn’t go after him as her partnership with Gabriel Agreste was too important, but she did tattle to the Fashion Mogul about it. Gabriel tried to get his son under control, but this was one thing that he couldn’t achieve.

It did inspire a whole youth fashion line ‘rebel’, which became a global hit.

All this time, Marinette kept two secrets. One was her identity as Ladybug and the guardian, the other was her true name and family. Until she kept neither.

----------

Marinette returned home after another day at school. Recently, her mother revealed she was pregnant with another child, even though she was believed to be barren. Everyone in the bakery was overjoyed and the couple even started to hand out small treats to any guest that came. The free samples helped the business return to a better standing.

When she entered, strangely there was no sound in the bakery. It was empty. Usually, her parents would both be very busy as it was still business hours. Slightly worried, she went upstairs. When she entered the living room, she found an envelope addressed to her.

Isley

We tried, but we can no longer tolerate you. We turned a blind eye when we learned how improper you act, trying to drag every boy you meet for some, and we quote, “alone time”. We didn’t react to the bullying accusations, believing them to be overexaggerated. Even when you were expelled, we still had hoped you’ll turn out into a fine young lady. But now, we must think of the baby. Today was the last straw. Hearing about how you ruined that poor impaired girl’s birthday was both cruel and against everything we taught you.

We held hope you won’t follow in your mother’s footsteps, but you proved us wrong several times. We supported your obsession over fashion, even with the drama it caused, because it was actually non-violent. At first, we didn’t want to teach you how to fight, but we convinced ourselves that you would have a way to vent the emotions somewhere away from us.

Please, don’t try looking for us. We will probably have already left the country or even the continent. The bakery is yours. We don’t want to have anything to do with the spawn of evil such as you.

We hoped you would turn out better

Sincerely,

Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng

Marinette tried to read it over and over again, but her eyes welled with tears. She had no idea she was screaming until her throat was coarse. Rationally, she knew she needed to keep calm or she would attract the Akuma, but emotions made her not care.

Unknowingly to her, the plants all around Paris responded to her cry. They started growing and spreading, trying to get to their queen and comfort her. The Akuma that would’ve come for her stumbled into one of the vines, corrupting it. Hawkmoth was surprised, it was not something anyone ever seen in Paris except on TV or some strange Japanese shows that play after midnight. The more important thing was that even though he akumatized the plants, he had no control over them. He couldn’t even recall his Akuma.

Back in Marinette’s living room, she started to feel the ground rumble. Soon, plants exploded from the ground and broke windows. She slowly looked at her hands to see them tinted with green. They were not the same as her mother’s, but close. She looked to the floor where pieces of glass littered everything. Her face was the same, but her hair became blue and her eyes were now the most vibrant iridescent green she’s ever seen, exactly the same color her mother’s eyes were.

She started to panic even more. Tikki floated next to her, talking to her, but Marinette couldn’t hear her. Or maybe process it. She could hear the plants call to her. She could hear them speak. They promised her revenge. They promised retribution on those who attacked her. God’s wrath would rain upon them from the sky and hell’s fury would consume them from beneath.

Impaired girl…

“Liar Rossi.” Marigold seethed. She knew there was only one person who would do such a thing. Only one talented enough to convince her parents she was a villain. If they wanted a villain, they would get one. Her mind was being clouded. Her clothes were already torn, replaced by a skintight outfit made of leaves, much like her mother wore. Then, Marinette remembered another part of the letter. She added a skirt made of purple petals that complimented her blue hair nicely and long sleeves that reached to her hands, ending with a triangle that reached her middle finger and surrounded it at the base. She left the decolletage as it was.

Exiting her house, she allowed the vines to carry her. There were only so many places The Liar could hide. First, she went toward School, as it was closest. She made plants carry her over the roof right into the courtyard while more of them broke the doors and blocked any exit. The fencing class was still going on, but The Liar was not there. She looked over the scared crowd, spotting two people she wanted to find. She needed to protect them from The Liar, else they end like her. She grabbed the fencer in a red outfit and her partner, knocking their masks to reveal Kagami and Adrien. The plants wrapped around them, forming a sort of cocoon before dragging them to the heart. Marinette then turned her sight to Eifel tower. She knew The Liar liked to drag the class there.

As she moved through town, she passed the Hotel where Chloe lived. Pausing, she made the plants lift her toward the balcony. Her best friend was indeed there, right next to the lit-up Bee-signal. Honeystly…

“Marinette!?” The blonde jumped in surprise

“Marinette is gone. She should’ve never even been. I’m Marigold, the daughter of Poison Ivy.” For a moment, the fog thickened, but Mari shook it off quickly enough, before whatever caused it managed to get the hold of her.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng! If you got yourself akumatized, I’m telling my daddy!” Chloe shouted. Seeing the tears form in the iridescent green eyes, she looked at her friend with pity. “Oh, Mari! Is this the Liar again? Come here right now!” The blonde spread her arms for a hug. She didn’t care about the Akuma. Her friend needed her and she would help her conquer the world if she asked. Chloe owed Mari… everything. She helped her evolve beyond being the queen witch. In response to the gesture, the plants in the garden started to grow until they surrounded the two of them in a tight cocoon. Marinette stepped onto the balcony. She affectionately petted the vine that carried her so far before allowing it to return to its hunt for the Liar.

“Chloeee!” Mari launched herself at the girl. She sunk into the embrace, allowing tears to start flowing again. She sobbed her heart out while pushing a piece of paper she constantly held in her clutched fist before. The blonde took it and read while patting Marinette on the back of her head.

“Salauds! Ridiculous! Utterly Ridiculous! How dare that cochons! And the chienne! Wait till I tell daddy about this! Don’t worry Mari. I will protect you! I will ruin her! Merde!” The rant made Marigold pause. She never heard Chloe curse. Like… never. “But first. Mari. You know I love you and I would help you hide the body, but drop the Akuma. It’s making you look Ridiculous. Utterly Ridiculous! I mean the dress is so much spot on and so you, but the whole take over Paris is more my style. I can let you be my faithful sidekick while we take over the world if you want.”

For a moment, Marigold continued to stare at Chloe before she burst out in a fit of laughter. It wasn’t a nervous chuckle or the villain cackle, but genuine pearly laughter. It was just so… Chloe-ish. She couldn’t imagine anyone trying to dissuade an Akuma by offering to become a sidekick.

“You… You… Never change Chlo.” Mari smiled at her friend.

“Whoa. You… didn’t make me a fertilizer? I mean, of course, you wouldn’t. You are just too good of a person, but Hawkmoth…”

“I’m not akumatized Chloe.” Mari smiled. “It’s me.” As if to prove her point, she stood up and spun, allowing the blonde to see her from all sides. “This is how I really look. Apparently, I do take some after my mom.”

“Your… mom?”

“Pamela Isley, she was a famous biologist. Mom was brilliant. She used to be one of the smartest people in the world.” Mari praised. “There was this one accident that she is now famous for…”

“Pamela Isley? I remember reading about her.”

“Yeah… She is…”

“Didn’t she create this environment-friendly line of cosmetics?” Chloe asked in her typical fashion

“Yes! I have no idea why everyone remembers her only for the ‘Poison Ivy’ thing!”

“I know, right?” Chloe nodded. “Wait a…”

“Tada!” Mari said weakly before trying to look away, doing everything not to look her friend in the eyes. The blonde gently grabbed her chin and moved it so she could look right into the beautiful green eyes of her best friend.

“Mari! If you think I would abandon you just because your mother took veganism too far… You’re utterly ridiculous!”

Marigold smiled slightly. Slowly, the green receded and her eyes turned back to normal. The dress remained, as without it she would end up naked and she didn’t fancy trying to explain to anyone that.

She then turned to the plants and tried to order them to return to normal, only for them to resist. For a moment, her mind started to feel fogged, but it didn’t hold at all now.

“As much as I like the scenery, maybe we stop the plantpocalypse?”

“Um… Remember how I told you I wasn’t akumatized?”

“Yeah?”

“I think the plants are…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Chloe shouted. “Listen here Hawkmoth! Get this Akuma the heck away! I don’t care about some fancy Jewels that will totally clash with your suit! I mean purple and white with red earrings? Are you colorblind?”

There was no visible reaction to the plants.

“Strange…” Marigold ran her hand over the plants. “They still respond, just refuse to yield.” Inside, Mari cursed that she couldn’t consult Tikki.

“So… Want some cookies?” Chloe asked. “We just have to wait for Ladybug to save the day. At least the damage will be repaired.”

��Except Ladybug it trapped here…’

Suddenly, something small and black slipped through the vines and entered their small peaceful enclave. It zoomed between items on the balcony, trying to avoid being seen. It would’ve been successful if Chloe didn’t know about Kwamis.

“What was that!?” She shouted pointing at Plagg’s hiding place.

“What? I didn’t see anything!” Mari tried to lie. It was the one skill she never had. She did compensate for it by never getting caught.

“A Kwami! I’m sure I’ve seen one.”

“Kwami? Who’s Kwami? Is that some bird? How would a bird get here? I mean we are trapped in…”

“Ugh! I don’t have time for games!” Plagg suddenly floated before the pair. “Chat is trapped and can’t help without revealing himself. Paris is being destroyed mindlessly and nobody can do anything as the vines are harder than steel.” The cat summarized. “And I’m hungry. Give me cheese!” He looked at Chloe. “Camembert would be the best, but I’m not that picky.”

“Why come to us? Ladybug took away my miraculous.” The blonde asked.

“I didn’t come to you. I came to her.” The god pointed at Mari.

“Me?! Why? It’s not like…”

“We don’t have time for charades guardian! The Akuma is out of control! Literally! Hawkmoth’s connection was somehow severed and now you have a giant plant that knows only the rage. This is serious!”

Mari wanted to protest or try to save some of her identity, but then Tikki floated out of her purse.

“Oh no! Marinette! He is right! We have a huge problem.”

“Why?” The girl asked resigned.

“You’re Ladybug!” Chloe shouted but was subsequently ignored

“Hawkmoth must’ve akumatized the plant, hoping to control you, but he had no idea it was sentient. But it stopped being sentient the moment you let it go. I… It never happened before.”

“You’re Ladybug!!!” Chloe shouted so loud that everyone had to look at her.

“We can talk later. Now we need to somehow deal with the plants. Maybe… No. What about… But they are too tough… What if…” Marigold started to run through various scenarios and plans.

“Can’t you just order them to expel the Akuma?” Plagg asked bored.

“It… It might work.” Mari had a focused expression. In her head, she was running through all her knowledge of biology, miraculous magic, and how her mom’s powers worked. Hesitantly, she walked to the edge of the cocoon and called the main vine to her. The wall spread slightly and allowed the tip of it to enter. Mari touched it and started gently caressing it.

“you’re a good boy. Yeah! Who’s a good boy? You’re. Yes! You’re a good boy. But Good Boys don’t have Akuma. Do you want to be a good boy? Of course, you do…”

Chloe stood there and watched how Marigold kept talking to the plant like it was a puppy. She felt something fall into her hand. Opening the palm, she saw two earrings.

“I… I can’t!” She protested, but Plagg floated before her eyes.

“She can’t do it. If Akuma escapes, we will have plantmagedon on a larger scale.”

“Fine. Spots on!”

Just as Mari finally talked the plant into expelling the Akuma, Chloe caught it.

“Bye Bye Little Butterfly!” She released the pure white bug. “Lucky charm!” Chloe shouted. A red and black folder fell into her hands. She looked at it curiously. Inside, she found a complete set of adoption papers for her father to sign. She quickly pulled out the sheets and tossed the folder itself, releasing a swarm of ladybugs that repaired Paris to how it was before plants. The sheet stayed.

Transformation dropped after that and Chloe handed the jewel back to the true owner.

“You still have sooo much explaining to do!”

Nobody remembered about Adrien and Kagami being carried together to safety, which turned out to be Mari’s basement. And while Ladybug Cure should’ve restored them to where they were taken from, for some unknown reason they remained locked there until Mari returned late into the evening to spend the last night at the bakery. It would be some time until Tikki admitted that it was an act of revenge on Plagg for revealing her chosen’s identity. He had to go the whole day without cheese. The one good thing that came from it was that Kagami and Adrien had a long frank talk and ended up as friends. The relationship just wasn’t working.

----------

When Mari was adopted by the Mayor, she decided to keep using the Dupain-Cheng name at least for now. At first, Chloe’s father was against it, but once the girl presented it as a way of getting good press of mayor who personally looks after his citizens he practically ripped the papers to sign them. Although on paper he was the adopter, Chloe was the real parent/sister that took care of Mari. Lila seethed and spitted, but couldn’t really do much more. Adrien and Chloe roped Jagged Stone and Penny into Marinette Protection Squad. Luka and Kagami, who somehow hooked up, also joined. At some point, Mari entrusted Luka and Kagami with permanent Miraculous and Gave Chloe the Bee miraculous back. Some Fox illusion of Chloe publically applauding new heroine helped hide her identity. The hardest part was revealing to Chat, Viperion, and Ryuko her true identity. Adrien was a big surprise, but at least they finally dealt with their crushes once and for all. The fact that they were in love square in two people was way too awkward. Chloe and Mari did notice Adrien sometimes looking at Luka, but he was happy with Kagami. The only person that disproved of ‘Lukagami’ was Kagami’s mother, but she warmed up to him when he accepted the challenge to a duel and was completely pacified when she learned that Luka is apprenticing under Jagged Stone.

Jagged and Penny wanted to Adopt Mari, but ended up filling the role of uncle and aunt. After some time, Mari realized that she rebuilt what she once had in Gotham. These people might not have been her family by blood, but it mattered little. That family might’ve been damaged, maybe even broken, but they were happy together. They found solace in one another. Once more, Marinette was happy.

Until a trip to Gotham came knocking on the front doors.

#maribat #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #Miraculous #Batman #DC #MLB x DC #Mother!Ivy

224 notes · View notes

ficforce · 3 years

Text

A Good Man Part 2

Hinawa Takehisa x Reader SFW No set timeline New relationship

“Ouch!” The woman yelped and rubbed her hip, that was the fourth time Hinawa had shot her in the same spot, he dulled the shots right down so they hurt but didn’t pierce the skin, she was one of the four left in his sadistic game of tag. The team had to get to the flag without the Lieutenant shooting them, they were all failing badly, Shinra and Tamaki sat in the corner to the side with their arms crossed, red marks just between their eyes - Headshots were an instant disqualification.

They had a little further to go, Maki was the closest and Arthur couldn’t stand to wait anymore so he bolted, a speech about his Knight King skills being cut short by a gunshot, he slumped off and the other woman took the chance to summon Sputter using what was left of an earlier ignition by Shinra earlier,, she grew the little fireball bigger and bigger, dodging bullets and launching a counter-attack. With Maki leading the way, Y/N and Vulcan rushed in behind her, the red-haired youth would have made it if he hadn’t have been shot in the knee and fallen into Maki - The large Sputter lost it’s shape and burst, much to Maki’s dismay. Y/N’s eyes widened as the orange and yellow flames spread out, she was in full protective gear but it made her retreat and huddle behind a makeshift barrier. She had to remember to breathe, she forced herself to calm down, it was okay, it was controlled fire, Maki wouldn’t let that happen. Steeling herself she forced herself to her feet and round the corner, right into the barrel of Hinawa’s handgun, she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for him to shoot her.

“I’m not cruel enough to shoot you at point-blank range. You’re disqualified.” Hinawa holstered his weapon and told everyone to hit the showers. They had failed the task but it was valuable training, the Lieutenant could already see them all reviewing where they had gone wrong and he knew they’d do better in the morning. “Y/N, you’re on clean up duty after dinner.”

Washing up duty, her least favourite but she nodded regardless. Hinawa still made her nervous, he had been around a lot more since her meeting with Obi and the Lieutenant two weeks earlier, she wasn’t sure if he was watching her out of concern or looking for mistakes. It had to be the former because she knew he was a kind man. Even if he looked ready to murder at any given moment. Y/N was getting better at reading the man’s micro-expressions, she glanced at him discreetly, his eyes still held an amber hue from using his ability throughout the training, he seemed pleased with them though. Finding a reason to delay her shower, she headed in after Maki and Iris had finished, she had never showered with them before and they were kind enough not to pry into it, Maki told her once not to be so shy and Y/N wasn’t about to tell her it wasn’t the case. The evening passed quickly - Paperwork had to be done and then they all sat down to eat. The table as lively as ever, “Aren’t you hot, Y/N?”

“Hmm?” She looked up from her food and shook her head at Arthur’s question, “Not really.”

“I’ve never seen you without your jumpsuit all done up. Even when it’s really warm weather.” Shinra elbowed him from the side, “What? I’m just saying…”

“It’s okay, I just prefer to be covered, it’s a pain to wash the oil off of my skin all the time - we can’t all get away with being dirty all the time.”

“Rude,” Vulcan said as she realised he was talking about him. “I’m always welding, besides, the oil slides right off me.” They fell into a new subject but Y/N noticed that she was being watched, she turned her head a little and she met Hinawa’s gaze, heat began to rise in her cheeks and she looked away nervously. She missed the slight frown on the Lieutenant’s lips, the man was disappointed that she was still frightened of him.

It was always two of them that washed up after, Y/N passed Obi the last dish and washed her hands, “Done!”

Obi dried it and placed it back in the cupboard, “We certainly eat a lot.” The Captain clicked on the kettle and pulled out three cups, “How’s it been, Y/N? Hinawa told me that you handled yourself well in training earlier.”

“I froze,” She admitted and passed him the coffee.

“But you got yourself under control and got up.”

“Straight into his line of fire…” She liked washing up with the Captain, he always made a decent coffee and he was pleasant to chat with afterwards.

Obi poured the boiling water, “You can’t take a compliment at all, can you?” He snorted at her shrug and handed her a cup, “You know, Hinawa doesn’t give praise lightly… he’s not a bad guy, I know he seems prickly and serious, that’s just him, he’s not as emotive as everyone else but he’s a -”

“He’s a kind man. I know, Captain… Don’t think I haven’t noticed it.” She hit his bicep lightly, the muscle hard as stone, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you trying to set us up either - you’re not skilled at it.”

“You say that,” he grinned, “But someone has to take this coffee to Hinawa and I’m pulling rank, off you go, Y/N”

— -

Grumbling under her breath, the coffee cup in her hand, Y/N headed down the hall toward the office. Inside was still a mountain of paperwork, everyone else had retired for the night but Hinawa would no doubt be still at it. But she didn’t hear the clicking of the keys on his laptop and nor could she see his hat peaking up over the paper piles, “Lieutenant?” She found him on the other side, his cheek resting on his arm where he seemed to have dozed off, it was unheard of and Y/N set his coffee down quietly before sliding the laptop over to herself and saving his work.

He looked so peaceful laying there that Y/N wasn’t sure whether to wake him or not, he would end up with a sore back and neck ache if he stayed there… He would be better going to bed, “Sir…” Y/N whispered, her hand hovering over his shoulder but not yet touching him, “Lieutenant Hinawa… Sir.” Her hand rested on the back of his shoulder and suddenly her entire world was turning, she felt pressure on her wrist from where the man was pulling and then the touch softened, she landed gentler than expected. Her eyes met his and Y/N realises she was laid across his lap, his hand rested on her back to keep her from falling back, “Um… Did…did I startle you?”

“You’re lucky I realised it was you or you’d be pinned to the floor.” Hinawa adjusted his glasses and sighed, “Did you need something?”

“I was bringing you coffee, then I didn’t want you to sleep at the desk… Lieutenant?” He blinked at her, head tilting slightly in question, “C-Could you let me go now?” He still had hold of her wrist and it was embarrassing being on his lap. Though… she couldn’t help but stare a little at his face. Hinawa was handsome, his hand was warm on her back and she realised that her hand had been resting on his chest - his strong, defined… Y/N pulled her hand away awkwardly.

He caught it quickly and before the woman knew it she could feel his lips on hers, soft but insistent. He pulled away reluctantly, “Sorry, Y/N.” Hinawa knew she didn’t like him regularly but with her so close, with her looking at him like she could like him a little, he hadn’t been able to resist. Hands cupped his jaw and Y/N pressed a shy kiss to his mouth. It was all the man needed to deepen the kiss, his hand on her back brought her closer to his body and his hat fell to the floor as Y/N combed her fingers through his hair. He was so aware of her against him, relaxed for once and a comfortable weight as she leaned in further. Hinawa’s lips left hers reluctantly, he could have kissed her all evening but then his lips were moving down to her throat, sucking a light mark into her skin whilst her hands unzipped the top half of his jumpsuit and pushed it down over his arms to his waist.

Hinawa was about to return the favour, his fingers tugging the zip barely an inch before Y/N tensed and pulled away, “I can’t!” She removed herself from his lap and backed away, her expression was panicked and once more she found it impossible to look Hinawa in the eye, “I’m sorry, so sorry! I… I can’t!”

“It’s okay…” He was a little shocked in all honesty and his guard dropped, his hand hovered slightly as if he wanted to reach for her and his eyes were gentle as he tried not to take it to heart. “It was a little fast, I understand.”

“No,” she whispered and raised her eyes, “You don’t understand, Hinawa. I really like you.”

“What?” The Lieutenant wasn’t expecting that, he thought maybe she got caught up in the moment and was regretting it. She liked him?

Y/N bit her lip and her arms wrapped around herself a little as she shrunk back into the wall, “I don’t want you to see me… I don’t want you to see my burns.” It was what had kept her from doing anything about her crush, every day she had to see the discoloured, gnarled skin on her arm, her thigh, her hip, her stomach and chest and… she was hideous beneath her clothes. “I’m ugly.”

Things clicked into place, the way she always covered up even when it was hot, why she flinched or pulled away when people tried to touch anything but her head, even her reluctance to look him in the eyes most days. She liked him the same way he liked her but she had been frightened of his reaction - Not of Hinawa himself.

He was relieved.

Hinawa stood up and took her hand as he passed her, pulling her out of the office and down the hall toward her room, she didn’t have anyone to share it yet so she had the luxury of a private room. The Lieutenant figured she would be more comfortable in her room than his and when they got there he asked her to let him in. Y/N opened the door and flicked on the light inside, thankful she had tidied it earlier and made the bed. She slept on the bottom bunk and she had used a spare sheet hung from the top bunk to make a sort of curtain. “Lieutenant?”

“Takehisa.” He turned to face her, “Just for now, please, call me by my name.” Hinawa wasn’t good at confessions, he wasn’t good with feelings, they were confusing and messy, they go in the way of things and made life complicated - but he could be allowed this once, to be awkward and confused, right? “I like you, Y/N. From the second I saw you in Company 3 I knew I liked you. I was impressed by your service history, your mechanical skills and the compassion you had despite your entire company mocking you for it. I told you before but after I learned of your injuries, what you had gone through to save lives… being burned alive with no ability to protect you. Overcoming that experience and being strong enough to get up and keep fighting for innocent lives… You’re incredible. You’re brave, you’re strong and you’re beautiful! I don’t care what’s beneath your clothes or what you look like - You’re the most beautiful person I’ll ever meet, Y/N!”

Oh.

Y/N was stunned, her lips parted a little and she could feel her whole body warming up, his sincerity and straightforwardness knocked her off her feet and she didn’t know how to reply… she was happy though, so, so happy to hear those words from him. “Lieu… T-Takehisa…. thank you… thank you…” Tears sprang to her eyes and she pressed the heels of her hands to them, she didn’t want to look so pathetic in front of him. She felt his arms around her again and wrapped hers around his waist as she hit her face in his neck, “I like you too,” She mumbled into his skin, “I just need a little time before I’m ready to show you all of me…” Y/N pulled back just a little so that she could look at him properly, “Can you wait for me?”

“Can I keep kissing you until then?” She answered him by pressing their mouths together and letting her eyes slip shut.

Hinawa was a good man

– -

Obi smiled to himself as he placed Hinawa’s cap on the back of the man’s chair and took the untouched coffee to the kitchen to wash up - And Y/N said he wasn’t skilled at matchmaking.

#hinawa takehisa #reader #fire force

56 notes · View notes

pathological-peoplepleaser-alert · 3 years

Text

Hospital Playlist : Season 1

So, I recently re-watched season 1 of Hospital Playlist in preparation of season 2 that’s going to be released on the 17th of June, and I have a couple of thoughts that I want to share. Warning: It’s going to be filled with spoilers, so for those looking to avoid that, please don’t read more. Also, this is a looooonnnnggg one :)

“Hospital Playlist” is a Korean Drama that follows five doctors in their 40s who have been best friends since adolescence as they form a band together. While the log-line appears simple, the depth in the script and acting will enchant any audience. The narrative is free-spirited and quirky, reverberating friendships forged by love and time in a heart-warming style.

This slice of life drama realistically tackles what occurs within the white walls of the hospital. From ungrateful patients to the long wait for donors, it has it all. This drama covered plenty of cases, each of them as sad as the next. I recall when Yang Seok Hyeong, an assistant professor of obstetrics and gynaecology, had a patient who delivered a baby with anencephaly. He was considerate enough to not allow the mother to hear the baby’s cries by playing loud music in the delivery room and quickly escorting the baby away from the mother. I teared up during that scene, and I still tear up just thinking about that. I watched it as a case in a K-Drama, but it is many people’s gruesome reality, and all I can offer are my sympathies.

Despite zoning out during the technical aspects and elucidation of medical terminologies, I could feel the gravity of an operation and the burden of Atlas resting on the doctors when they held the scalpel. I liked the fact that there wasn’t any hospital politics. Rather, the show focused on the doctors, as they tried their best to save their patients. I mourned during the losses of life and celebrated with the characters after a successful surgery.

The ensemble cast for “Hospital Playlist” was flawless. The sincerity of the actors and the efforts they had put into studying and understanding their roles were clear as day. The chemistry between them was organic and the banters, natural. While they didn’t verbalise every emotion, the viewers could feel their familiarity, like they were real-life friends on screen. I was on an emotional rollercoaster as I watched this, rooting for them through hardships and cheering whenever they laughed.

“I wondered why my life was getting so difficult. It was really tough. But all of a sudden, one day, I realised how much time I was wasting. Wasting my life away like this because of what she did to me was doing a disservice to myself.”

Jo Jung-Suk did a flawless job portraying Lee Ik-Jun. This was my second time witnessing a drama with Jo Jung Suk, and while I wouldn’t applaud his performance in “Oh, My Ghostess!” (But in his defence, I found that script to be problematic) I absolutely loved him in “Hospital Playlist”. Lee Ik-Jun is an assistant professor of general surgery. He’s funny, sociable, laid-back, charming, and a dotting, single father to his son, Woo Joo.

The first time I, as the viewer, was introduced to him was gold. Naughty little Woo Joo had managed to put a blotch of super glue to a Darth Vader helmet, which was later worn by his father. During an emergency at the hospital, Ik Jun showed up decked in Darth Vader gear and bravely holding a light saber, demanding that the helmet was unglued from his head. He got his wish, but only after performing surgery while wearing the helmet.

Watching Ik-Jun and his son together is heartwarming, to say the least. You can tell how much he loves his son, as seen by the way he prepared meatballs from scratch, including the ketchup, excitedly for his son, only for the latter to claim he wanted meatballs, causing the former to trip on his way to the kitchen. I also adore how most of the bonding scenes we see between them happens over sandwiches. I find that very precious.

Ik Jun is also very friendly to everyone. He warmly welcomes the medical students, greets his colleagues with a smile, and most notably, plays as a matchmaker between Jeong-won and Jang Gyeo-wool, even if it is so the latter could assist him on more surgeries. His relationship with his sister is also beautiful. I love how authentic they are, from their bickering and the hidden ways they care for each other.

Ik Jun provides comic relief plenty of times— I nearly fell off my chair laughing when he mimicked a train, and also upon seeing how adamant he was to eavesdrop on a private phone conversation of Kim Jun-wan.

“I don’t deserve to be a doctor. I can’t control my emotions. I empathise too easily.”

I must admit, Ahn Jeong Won has a soft spot in my heart and is my favourite from the group of friends. An assistant professor of pediatric surgery, Jeong Won gets overly attached to patients and takes every loss personally. Due to his sensitive nature, he’s detailed in everything he does, earning the teasing nickname of “Buddha” from his colleagues.

Hardworking but overemotional, there have been many instances when Jeong Won swears to quit being a doctor after a patient has unfortunately succumbed, and it’s only through the insistence of his oldest brother does he continue his job. He’s immensely religious and has a close relationship with God, and considered being a priest until the season finale.

His interactions with his young patients tug on all my heartstrings. From the gentle way he gets the permission of small children to check their vitals, to the dedication with which he treats his patients and dissolves their fears.

One of my favourite quotes of this drama was said by him, “Do you know why doctors only give vague answers such as ‘We can’t be sure yet,’ ‘We don’t know yet,’ and ‘We need to observe a bit more?’ Doctors must take responsibility for their words, so we must be careful. There’s only one thing we, as doctors, can tell our patients with certainty. ‘We will do our best.’”

Despite being born from a wealthy family, Jeong Won is nearly broke, spending all his fortune anonymously covering the hospital fees of poor patients.

Chae Song Hwa summarised Jeong Won’s personality neatly in episode 12 when she said, “Lastly, there’s you (Jeong Won). Seeing others enjoy good food makes you happier than when you are eating it yourself.”

“If the doctor gives up on the patient, he isn’t a doctor anymore.”

At first glance, Kim Jun Wan appears cold and scary, but there are so many dimensions to his character. He’s blunt, assertive and has a reputation for telling his patients what they need to hear, not that they want to hear.

However, he’s possibly the most caring person, having allowed Jeong Won to, in his own words, “mooch” of him for years now. He was also always nagging and hovering over his friends, keeping a stash of chocolates for them. He stepped up as the Chief of the cardiothoracic surgery department multiple times, whether it was to act as a shield to his mentee or to reprimand his juniors about the importance of (a patient’s) life and how every single decision taken by a doctor has to be thoughtful and absolute because there’s no way to reverse such things.

A great example of his outer versus inner personality is when he’s questioned by a medical student on why he chose to be a cardiothoracic surgeon. While he claimed that he became a surgeon after asking his professor which job would allow him to get the most money, with a glimpse of a flashback scene, it was revealed that when back as a student, Jun Wan was given the opportunity to witness a surgery and then, to touch a beating human heart, and felt life, that solidified his decision to choose cardiology as his field. Recalling that scene gives me goosebumps even now. That was magical.

Jun Wan is also a huge foodie, his only competition being Song-Hwa.

“What have you done for yourself lately?”

Chae Song Hwa is an associate professor of neurosurgery. Discerning without being too critical, she is intelligent and is often the mother hen of the group. Respected by her juniors, she has also been fondly dubbed the ‘ghost’ due to her busy schedule that has left several of her colleagues wondering whether she has time to eat or sleep. She was everywhere and knew everything, which allowed her to quietly look after the residents of the hospital and the patients.

Despite being buried under piles of work, she still made the time to grade her juniors papers, and I’m reminded of one of the first instances the viewers were given of her, which was when she comforted a patient in the elevators of a hospital. The only female professor in neurosurgery, she is kind to her patients.

I adore how decisive she is, being extremely clear about what she wants, drawing boundaries while still being friendly and radiating professionalism to those around her, despite the hardships she might be going through. She routinely goes camping during the weekend and is the embodiment of positive self-love.

Some of my favourite moments in this drama was literally just Song Hwa and Jun Wan aggressively eating like they’ve been hungry since the dawn of time. Song Hwa might have claimed that the reason she ate so rapidly, so full of zeal was because of growing up with older brothers, but Ik Jun was quick to shoot her down and note that they all looked boney.

“My time is too precious for that. I want to live doing the things I like. And the things I want to do right now.”

Probably the most under-appreciated character, Yang Seok Hyeong is a treasure. My first opinion of him was ‘mama’s boy’ and while I was correct, wow, I had not expected the reason why. In his youth, Seok Hyeong was not close to his mother at all, and we could even see him ignoring her phone calls. But after everything that happened with his dad, he grew closer to his mother, developed a new sense of protectiveness and appreciation for her, and I adore that.

He was also the reason the band reunited in the first place, making that his condition for working at the Yulje Medical Center. Despite seeming aloof, he was an open book to his friends. He didn’t like to bother or intrude on people and usually kept to himself, gaining a reputation for being a loner whenever he was not around his four friends.

Throughout the season, he was trapped in a whirlwind of turmoil, from the news of his unexpected brother to his father’s death and his surprise succession to the company he wants no ties with. He maintains a calm exterior and braces through the troubles.

Seok Hyeong lives up to the sensitivity his job demands from him, softly informing expecting mothers about the risks of their pregnancies while encouraging and empathising with them when things get hard.

He prefers to stay in the shadows and allow people the opportunity to sort their messes out themselves, after reminding them that he’s only a call away if they need him. He’s an excellent confident booster and appreciates those who are responsible.

These characters stayed not only in my mind but also in my heart. Each of them has such vivid personalities I can’t entirely capture in words. Their insecurities, struggles, and feelings were so real and incredibly relatable and easy to empathise with.

As conveyed by the title, music plays an important part in this T.V. serial, by allowing the characters to reminisce their college days and also allowing them a breather from their stressful life. There are thousands of words in the English language, and yet, I can’t string together enough of them to express how I felt when Jo Jung Seok sang Aloha.

The doctors use music not only as an outlet to release their frustrations, but also to express their thoughts and feelings. To heal. Listening to the songs and the covers made by the band lightened my heart. The labour they put into practising the songs made the moments more precious.

Through the music sessions in this T.V. serial, I found my affection for each character increasing. I found myself surprised to recognise some of the songs considering they are quite old, but I hummed along and felt the air around me thrum with glee as they sang.

I also found it rather ironic that Chae Song Hwa is considered to be a bad singer (her pre-routine of gulping down raw eggs fascinated me on an odd level) although the actress who plays her, Jeon Mi Do is a talented singer.

Therapeutic and well-written, I marvel at the writer’s ability to weave together arrays of mundane subplots into endearing bliss, leaving lingering positivity after every episode along with a yearning to watch more.

I’m a huge fan of writer Lee Woo-Jung’s Reply series and was hesitant to start this drama, afraid that it would fall short of expectations. But having watched it, I can safely say that those concerns were unnecessary, and whatever expectations I had were only exceeded. I couldn’t recognise any leading plotline of this drama. To me, it simply showcased the daily life of five doctors.

As it is character-driven, there is a slow progression of the drama, which needs some time getting adapted to. It was also a little hard trying to keep track of the multiple characters initially introduced, but within three episodes, I was able to get a hang of things. The dialogues were witty, impactful and sharp, capturing my attention from the beginning to the end. However, despite containing a plethora of humorous moments throughout this serial, there was a subdued layer that focused more on the community than the plot.

I must admit, however, that I found the first episode to be subtly chaotic and slow-paced. I couldn’t grasp the concepts or connect with the characters until the second episode, after which I had no qualms.

I loved the character arcs in this story. It was a pleasure to observe their journeys and diligence as various storylines diverged or amalgamated, how they grew as individuals while maintaining their core values. The flashback scenes were fascinating to watch and compare how they are now to how they used to be.

The cinematography was stunning. I was in awe at how different shades and tones of light could impact not only the setting of the scene but also the mood of the viewers.

I recommend “Hospital Playlist” to anyone who likes to watch T.V. serials possessing the perfect amount of drama, laughter, angst, warmth and love. This serial is a truly rare gem in a basket of rocks where the storylines are solid without being too predictable.

#hospital playlist #season 1 #kdrama #spoilers

23 notes · View notes

sleepyowlwrites · 3 years

Text

find the word tag CCVI

I saw my childhood friend and my grandfather who I haven’t seen in two years today, my sister gets married tomorrow, and I didn’t forget that I don’t like hotel pillows, but I didn’t remember to bring my own pillow with me, so I’ll just have to go with it. hi. I’m sleepy. @akindofmagictoo gave me some sticky buns

twitch (youth story d0)

Evie finally broken composure, throwing her hands up in the air dramatically even while her face didn’t so much as twitch. “Fine! Do whatever you want. You have my official approval, as if you needed it. But no encouraging him into fights, got it? I’ll know and you will face consequences.” She turned to go and swung back around on her heel, her expression suddenly very serious. “And never mind what Bell would say, but think about Nyks. If he knew that you two were getting Jae into trouble on purpose,” she trailed off, shaking her head.

twist (youth story d0)

“I don’t-” Mark looked so lost. “I don’t care if I offend people.”

“But Nyks isn’t just anybody. He’s our special person. We care if we offend him.”

Mark leaned against Daniel’s fingers slightly. “Yeah.”

“I’m not offended.” Nyks stood a few feet from them, hands twisting nervously. “I just got a little too emotional and it took me out things. Literally. Sorry.”

try (youth story prequel)

“Just wipe your face and change your shirt. You can’t drink lemonade through your skin even if you try really hard.”

Roland scrubs at his chin. “How did you know that was what I was thinking?”

train (meta-portal chat ver.)

"Oh," Kai says, understanding. "Yeah, I'm not a natural shape shifter either. I had to have a faerie train me to get control."

"Our faeries don't work like that," Jisung says.

silence (shots)

Will continued to stitch in silence until he finished. Jay cleared his throat. "Lexi, we don't ask you about your scars-"

"Because you're smart and know that I wouldn't appreciate it," she shot back immediately.

"Because we respect your privacy," Will corrected.

gaze (beating hearts)

Zhang Qiling is taking his turn at watching him, and Liu Sang adores this man but he really wants to punch him just now. He’s not even trying to be secretive about it. Liu Sang catches him and stares back at him for a while, and his ouxiang just gives him that knowing smile of his and doesn’t look away. Liu Sang is the one who ends up embarrassed, his gaze dropping underneath that gentle scrutiny.

They had all just skirted several large puddles on the ground with dead rats in them and Pangzi had put an arm around Liu Sang for a moment as if to protect him. From dead rats. He’d shaken it off, of course, which had only amused Pangzi.

And now Zhang Qiling is on babysitting duty and Liu Sang is this close to just yelling at him to back off.

star (youth story d0)

“I want to get married in a gold wedding dress,” Irina announced when she came back with several bottles of peach juice. She handed them out and plopped down on the blanket. “Not completely gold, but maybe with a lot of fine, gold embroidery, and little diamonds. I want to be the sun and fill the room with light.”

“You already fill the room with light,” Nyks said.

She laughed at him, the sound closer to brittle than bright, but it was still an improvement on where she’d started. “You’re the light for us, Nyks, I know that.”

“The sun is a star and there are so many stars. You can be another one.”

good (youth story d0)

R rubbed his hands together. “We haven’t had a good conflict in weeks. It’s been building, I can feel it. A family dinner is the perfect time for a dramatic fight.”

Mark nudged a couple forks into better alignment on the napkins, not looking at R. “It’s not tension, it’s awkwardness. We don’t know how to be friends.”

“Are you seriously just quoting Daniel to me?” R’s voice faded out and then back in as he brought the bowl of salad over from the kitchen. “I was there for that conversation. I remember.”

“Do you?” Mark stopped fiddling with the silverware. “Because if you did you’d know that the last thing we need is to go back to unwarranted drama and fighting.”

“Buddy, c’mon, work with me here. I haven’t erupted on anyone in so long. I miss it.”

“Sounds like an internal emotional issue, buddy,” Mark said with a sigh. “Why don’t you go outside and yell at the trees or something.”

I love them so much. wall, wind, woke, weak, warm. BONUS: weather, whether. @writingonesdreams @wisteria-eventide @woodhousejay @writing-with-melon @writeblrfantasy OR ANYBODY or nobody

#find the word tag #tag game #searching circle #alliteration agency

9 notes · View notes

jasontoddiefor · 3 years

Text

As Lightning to the Children eased Chapter 14

Chapter 14 is out! Read on AO3!

Padmé did not call Anakin out when she found him hiding in her living room, arms tugged beneath his knees, his chin resting on top of them. He didn’t look like he had gotten any sleep lately and she was not about to stop him from getting at least some rest.

Instead, he merely put a cup of tea in his hands and went about her work. Halfway through midday, she got the call she had been waiting for.

“Senator Organa,” she greeted her ally and friend. Bail Organa was a good man, friendly and charming on top, and Padmé wondered what would happen if she were to let him meet Obi-Wan sometime. The two seemed like the kind of people who’d get along like a house on fire. “How are you?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Bail replied. He glanced at Anakin once but didn’t further react to his presence. “And yourself?”

“Exhausted, if I’m honest,” Padmé said. “The war hasn’t even truly started and I already feel as if I’ve aged years, but let’s not linger on that. How is your charge?”

“Adjusting,” Bail said. “I offered to take him home to Breha, but he decided that he wanted to stay on Coruscant. I’m not sure whether it’s the proximity to the Jedi or if it’s because he has to protect me in turn for keeping him safe, but I decided it would be beneficial for his health to remain at my side.”

Padmé smiled at him, honestly and truly happy. “I’m relieved to hear that.”

Finally, some good news during this catastrophe. When the Jedi had taken them all back to Coruscant, nobody had been too sure what to do with little Boba Fett. Technically speaking, his father – no matter how undeserving Padmé thought him of the title – was a deceased criminal and there were enough people who wanted Boba to pay for his father’s crimes. Hi status as a clone also didn’t really improve his situation. Padmé would have taken Boba in himself, as would the Jedi, but neither was quite the right fit, and when Bail Organa had offered to take him in, then that was just good fortune.

“If you ever need someone to babysit, I can jump in last minute,” Padmé joked.

Bail smiled and nodded. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Padmé, but I believe Boba would protest quite heavily against being babysitted.”

“He can be part of my protective detail then,” she amended. “I’m sure he will do excellent work.”

The Council room was dead silent.

“You’re joking, aren’t you?” Qui-Gon asked, allowing disbelief to seep into his voice.

Whereas some of his fellow Masters smiled in tired exhaustion, others only rolled their eyes.

“A new member this Council needs,” Yoda said. “Wise in the Living Force you are and raised a brilliant Padawan you did. A new member of this Council you may be if you accept.”

Qui-Gon wondered what Dooku would say about this. His Master had already departed with his own clone battalion, heading straight to the Outer Rim and into the zones that promised the most gruesome battles. Dooku was a brilliant talker and given his relationship with the Senate, he’d probably be more useful on the Council than Qui-Gon. He had already been on the Council once.

Qui-Gon knew he was stubborn and thick-headed and unlikely to change his mind unless proven wrong. Both Dooku and Obi-Wan had told and shown him so often enough. Qui-Gon wasn’t chosen for delicate and amicable peace talks. He usually went to do the negotiations where they expected things to blow up, and more often than not, they did.

He was not the best option for a War Council, especially when he struggled to wield the Force as he used to.

“Why me?” he finally asked when he didn’t know what other question there was left to voice.

“Love this Order more than anyone else, you do. Had Knight and Padawan Skywalker not found their way here, found your way to them, you would have. Listen well to the world, you do. Not afraid to speak your words, you are. Ready for this, you are.”

Not yet. Speak first. Right a wrong, my dear child, explain your scars—

“I have to talk to Anakin,” Qui-Gon said, his heart hurting at the thought of the youth, yet rejoicing at finally getting a glimpse of the Force again. “I cannot give you an answer before I spoke to him.”

The Masters nodded and Qui-Gon left.

Anakin was easy to find, hiding away in one of the lowest accessible levels of the temple. These days, he was either at Obi-Wan’s sickbed when Obi-Wan was asleep, at his mother’s when she wasn’t telling him to finally go talk to Obi-Wan, hiding away in Padmé’s apartments or down here. Qui-Gon had first thought that Anakin would try to go deeper, search for what lingered beneath the warm marble of their temple, but he never moved from his spot.

“Anakin.”

The Padawan winced when his name was called, then slowly turned his head only to return to staring blankly at his hands. He looked absolutely miserable, tired too. Qui-Gon sighed.

“Do you remember the mission to Naboo? When we accompanied Padmé back to it?”

Anakin gave no sign that he was listening to Qui-Gon, but he decided to keep talking anyway. “When we entered the ship, you collapsed. Something set you off, something incredibly dark and harmful, and, best I could tell, it flipped a switch for you. Revealed something it shouldn’t have.”

Anakin’s hands curled to fists as Qui-Gon sat down next to him. “Obi-Wan and I didn’t know what to do, so we- no, I decided to do what I thought was best. I blocked those memories, dressed them up in kinder images.”

Even now, so many years later, Qui-Gon remembered it so clearly. The chains wrapped around Anakin’s entire body, the sun burning him, reminding him that he was not supposed to be there.

“And then, when you tried to heal me later on, you needed the knowledge that I had hidden from you to do better.”

“To let you die, you mean,” Anakin said. His voice was hoarse as if he hadn’t spoken in days. “It would have stopped me from resurrecting you.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon agreed. “I would have died and it would have been alright because it was my time. My actions took away something you should be able to recognize subconsciously and I want to apologize for it.”

Silence followed Qui-Gon’s statement as they let his words linger. It was true. That he realized now. Whatever he had done, it had shifted something within Anakin that wasn’t meant to be shifted sideways.

“I think you made me human,” Anakin replied, wings unfurling as bones cracked. “I don’t think I was meant to be human.”

His eyes were still closed, but Qui-Gon could still fill all of them watching him, waiting for a reaction, a confirmation.

“No, you were not,” Qui-Gon replied. “And I’m sorry I made you something you weren’t supposed to be in my fear of what you might have become in that moment.”

“I want to be human,” Anakin muttered. He stretched out his fingers, sharp claws, golden like his teeth, bleeding as if from scratching his arms raw, trying to dissect himself and sew his flesh back together in the right way, anything less hurtful. “I don’t want to be like this. Everything is so loud and I’m always too much and if I get angry, I break the world apart. It isn’t fair that I can feel so much, but I’m not allowed to embrace it.”

“Oh, Anakin.” All thoughts of logically expressing this to his Grandpadawan were forgotten. “Who told you that you can’t embrace your emotions? You just can’t let them become too much. You can’t let them consume you. You need to find your balance again.”

Qui-Gon knew it was a cruel demand to make when he had been so afraid of what would become of Anakin almost a decade ago now. There was no telling whether Anakin would still exist once he found that balance again or whether he’d return to his silent parent. After all, what parent would abandon their child if not because they knew they weren’t needed anymore?

“I’m scared,” Anakin admitted. “I was afraid my mother would be put back together again wrongly if I healed her so I lashed out and murdered all of them in cold blood and then I was scared to lose Obi-Wan and instead he lost his arm because of me and I’m scared that if I try to fix me, I won’t be me at all. I know I can do it. I’ve been looking, I can see where you used your paint on me, but I just—”

Anakin looked up, bright blue eyes staring at Qui-Gon as he cried and wrapped his arms around him, hiding his face in his robes.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Gently, Qui-Gon held onto Anakin. How strange that a being as bright and strong as him needed an anchor as fragile as Qui-Gon. He ran his fingers through Anakin’s hair, humming a melody under his breath he’d been taught years ago on a small Mid Rim planet.

Minutes passed, hours without either of them moving until Anakin’s shoulders stopped trembling.

“I can’t tell you what the right path is, Anakin. You have to decide that for yourself. The only advice I can give you is this question: do you love the Jedi?”

“What?” Anakin’s confusion was painted across his face in broad brushstrokes.

Qui-Gon smiled. “I asked if you loved the Jedi?”

“Of course! You’re my home, my family! How could I not?”

“Good.” Qui-Gon nodded. “Then you will remind yourself of the fact that you love your family and that your family loves you every day and every action you take will be in this knowledge. Do not act against this love in your heart, Anakin, and may it ease the burden on your mind.”

May it guide you well.

Obi-Wan’s hand trembled. He hardly had any control over his new appendage and it frustrated him to no end. He was a perfectionist at heart, had spent hours training his fine motor control to become a Master of his form. He tried to keep his breathing under control, to focus, and not let the pain overwhelm him. If not for his own sake and to resist the temptation of just throwing his lightsaber halfway across the room, then for Anakin.

His Padawan already felt so guilty for Obi-Wan’s injury, he didn’t want to make him feel worse.

He couldn’t stand the thought of looking at Anakin’s sad eyes.

“Rough night?”

Obi-Wan turned his head around to find Shmi standing at the entrance of the training hall. Her injuries had healed well during her stay with the Healers, only a few faint scars across her face and shoulders revealing what she had been through. She was dressed ready for battle, wearing the new armor the Jedi had been given. Obi-Wan had tried it on once and immediately wished he could message Satine and ask her whether he could borrow one of hers for the war. Mandalorian armor was so much more comfortable.

Not that he thought the Jedi should wear any at all.

“Are you shipping out?” he asked.

“Yes, Dooku asked for backup. Apparently, he’s been dealing with a Sith apprentice – a different one than the one you encountered on Geonosis – and intends to chase her down. Someone must take over his battalion. Since he dragged me back home from Tatooine, I’ll return the favor.”

“Take Anakin with you,” Obi-Wan heard himself say. “He needs to get out of the temple.”

“You haven’t talked yet,” Shmi stated, her tone not allowing for any disagreement.

“No,” Obi-Wan agreed. “And I don’t think Anakin will talk to me as long as he hasn’t gotten a proper break. So, please?”

Shmi studied him for a moment, then she sighed. “Alright, but the moment you’re fit for duty, he’s your Padawan again.”

Obi-Wan managed to crack a smile at that. “Of course, I’d never trade him for another.”

#star wars #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #shmi skywalker #fanfic

37 notes · View notes