#my love for them is tainted by fear of impending doom and their part in it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yodawgiherd · 3 years

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Cabin at Nighttime

>>>Read on AO3<<<

Aaand there is the second part of modern cottagecore, more M-rated, so beware if that is not your cup of tea.

For Mikasa, it was like watching movie scenes unfolding in front of her eyes. It could happen anytime around the cabin, during any activity, if there was a pattern to it then she failed to see it. Yet while the images bled to reality, Mikasa always knew that is real and what isn’t - the underlying feeling of sadness and abandoned duty that followed these visions made them easy to identify. When she walked to the edge of the small forest, she saw dream Eren chopping wood, his hair in that unfamiliar undercut. She saw him carrying a huge fish, a proud smile pulling at his lips. She also witnessed a lot of intimate moments, hugs, and gentle kisses scattered all around the cabin, and if it wasn’t her as one of the actors Mikasa would feel like intruding. It was so precious, what the two of them had, but there was that sadness every time, the feel that it was just a utopia, a daydream. The dread wasn’t caused only by the mission they ran from to be together, but a new faint feeling tingled its way into Mikasa’s bones.

It was a few scenes. In one, Eren was coughing into a handkerchief, and when he pulled it away from his mouth it was tainted red. In the next, Mikasa was watching him struggle with a log, tears in her eyes before she quickly crossed the distance to help him. All these visions were drenched in that sad feeling, in the helplessness, it made her own eyes water. Not from the pain this time, but from the tragedy of it all.

“He was dying.”, she said out of nowhere, making Eren look up from the small fire he was cultivating.

He knew right away of who Mikasa spoke.

“Why? Was he sick?”

“Yes…” a tingle, “Or no, it was more like… a curse?”

“Curse?”

“Yes, a curse that was killing him, and he didn’t have much time left.”

“Was there no cure?”

Mikasa shook her head, suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of hopelessness. Eren must have felt it because he abandoned the fire in favor of sitting next to her, wrapping her shivering form in a hug. Closing her eyes she pressed her body close to his.

“Poor guy,”, Eren stated, “Ran away to be with the love of his life and still got cursed to die young. Dude can’t catch a break.”

“Eren..”, she frowned at him but he kissed it away with an easy smile.

Mikasa had to remind herself that Eren didn’t feel the presence like she did. Sure, he was the understanding and supportive boyfriend who did everything in his power to make her feel better, but he didn’t have these nightmares, these visions. His mind wasn’t weighted down by the impending doom, creeping around the corners of the cabin.

So why stay, one could ask. Why stay in the place where Mikasa saw ghosts around the corners? The answer was simple – it was a gut feeling. Mikasa felt right here, almost as if she came home after years and years of being abroad. Yes, there was sadness and guilt but there was also joy and happiness and it all mixed in an addictive way. Most importantly, she knew that it was correct to be here, the universe demanded it.

To be completely honest, Eren had a tiny fear that he might be bored at the cabin, his brain hardwired to all the action living in a city brought. It turned out to be completely wrong because he was anything but. Instead of twiddling his thumbs, he was now fuzzing over Mikasa ever since her small collapse, making sure that she has everything she could ask for. As a doctor, he knew that these visions might be a symptom of a mental illness, but she wasn’t showing anything else apart from them. Mikasa wasn’t delusional, she didn’t confuse reality and her dreams, she could answer his questions clearly and correctly. For now, he kept it as an open topic, making a mental note to ask Hitch about it once they get back to the city. He could call her, but the situation wasn’t urgent and he would very much prefer to hear her opinion over a few drinks.

The place was something else, and if Mikasa didn’t like it so much he would probably call it a shack instead. At least it had running water, a fact that Eren was very grateful for. With technology and the hustle of the city far beyond them, they spent their time doing downright childish and primitive things. They swam, splashing around in the cold ocean water like careless kids. They hiked, taking in the natural beauty of the countryside. With Mikasa not having another one of her episodes, Eren even left her alone for a bit and tried fishing, only to discover that he is terrible at it. Staring at the bait, unmoving in the water, he couldn’t suppress a groan. Damn water creatures, they must be plotting against him. His evening got marginally better once he returned, seeing Mikasa preparing the outside table for dinner.

“What did you catch?”, she asked with a smile, obviously seeing that Eren wasn’t carrying any fish.

“My love for you.”, he replied before producing a small flower he picked, offering it as a gift.

Mikasa accepted it, putting it into her hair, and the hour spent being taunted by fishes just didn’t matter anymore. It was the 21st century, so they weren’t dependent on Eren’s ability, or rather inability, to fish - the food they brought would do. Cooking it over the small fire, they ate in relative silence, taking in the embrace of nature they found themselves in. After that, Eren produced a few more sweet treats from his bag and to Mikasa’s delight prepared hot chocolate and marshmallows. The shadows grew long and the evening steadily progressed into the night while they huddled on the bench, bundled in a blanket and with Mikasa once again shamelessly abusing the heat Eren’s body produced.

“Did you have any more visions?”, he asked cautiously, rubbing her shoulder.

“A few, but they were very faint.”, she snuggled closer into his embrace, “But I have this strange feeling while I’m here.”

“What’s that?”

“I think… I feel like Mikasa was pregnant.”

“Well damn, the brats were faster than us?”, Eren snickered, “Guess they didn’t have careers to focus on.”

“They did.”, Mikasa disagreed, “They had a whole mission of saving the world. They abandoned it to be together.”

“Romantic.”, with a gentle hand, Eren dragged his fingers through Mikasa’s hair, loving the silkiness of the natural black and the few artificially red strands, “Yet sad at the same time.”

“Very sad.”

“It does bring an interesting question.”, Eren continued, “Would you abandon your career to be with me?”

Mikasa thought about it, deeply and carefully. She loved fighting, loved the freedom she had in the ring, loved working on herself and her body. Overcoming obstacles and winning against impossible odds made her feel strong, invincible. But despite all these facts, despite her loving MMA so much, she knew the answer.

“I would. Both fighting and modeling, for you I’d do it.”

“I think I would too, even if it would be tearing me up inside. If I couldn’t help people anymore, couldn’t set them free from their injuries…”, he took a deep breath, his chest expanding where Mikasa leaned on it, “Still, you are way too important for me. I would drop it all to be with you because living without Mikasa in my life is not worth it.”

Mikasa fell asleep out here, bundled up with Eren, but she woke when he carried her inside and put her to bed. Why? Because that old thing creaked terribly.

“Sorry…”, he murmured, making her snicker.

“Hardly your fault.”

“I’d prefer if you slept peacefully.”

“Is it because of the visions? I told you not to worry, only the first one was painful.”

She got up, stretched a bit, and went to change into her sleeping clothes. Eren mirrored her actions, and for a moment the only sounds in the cabin were the rustles of fabric.

“Would you look at that.”, he remarked once they were both changed, “There is only one bed.”

“Guess we will have to share.”, she plopped down on it, making the bed creak again, “I hope that you will not try to take advantage of the situation, good sir.”

“I wouldn’t dare ma’am.”

To her surprise, Eren did just that, lying down and pulling the covers over himself at a respectful distance from her.

“I wish you a good night, lady Mikasa.”

Eren’s back to her, Mikasa looked with a raised eyebrow as he did exactly nothing. When the silence stretched, she poked him in the shoulder.

“Hey Eren, you know that it was a joke right. I would very much prefer if you did something very inappropriate to me.”

He turned, the moon reflecting in his eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“What, are you scared that sex might bring back more of the memories?”

“I don’t rightly know.”, he confessed, “You had a headache from touching a bench, I have no idea what your triggers are.”

“Babe, stop worrying for a second,”, Mikasa grabbed a handful of his hair, tugging his face to hers, “And kiss me, you fool.”

He did so, and then it was the familiar dance. Clothing was torn and thrown away from their bodies, careless where it would land, littering the interior. Only once they were bare to each other did Mikasa roll on her back with Eren falling on top, their mouths not leaving one another for a second. She opened herself up to him, letting him have all the control when he pinned her hands above her head, their fingers entwining together on the aged sheets. There was no resistance from her when their groins touched, when Eren pressed his hardness against her heat, forcing her body to arch so beautifully. Their lips mashed together, hard and bruising, and soon the lack of air made them pant. Mikasa breathed with tiny soft moans that somehow tugged at his heart at the same time as his groin. His love and adoration for her were absolute, both physical and spiritual. That was until he felt something very cold rub against his legs. Despite his primal hunger for her, Eren tore himself away from Mikasa’s lips.

“Geez, your feet are freezing.”

Her response was a giggle and even more insistent cold rub.

“Then warm me up.”

Seeing her smile and hearing her laugh was intoxicating, making Mikasa happy was very high on Eren’s priority list. Angling his head he licked a long stripe, all the way from her collarbone to her pierced earlobe.

“All right.”

And then he was kissing her again because he loved her more than anything, even with her freezing feet. There was no one else he could even imagine doing this with because no one was like Mikasa. He knew her body, he knew it so well, yet Eren traced his touch all over it, letting his hands go down from the restricting hold on her wrists. She was pinned beneath his weight but Mikasa did not mind it at all. And exploring he went, down her face that put the sun to shame to the small yet perky breasts that were now heaving with her breathing. Groping the area shamelessly Eren indulged himself, playing with Mikasa’s chest until her breaths grew even more desperate. Her nipples were coming to life underneath his touch reacting wonderfully when he thumbed the nubs. Soon he had them fully erect, just as his cock was. The pinch he planted on the left one made Mikasa groan into the kiss, a sound that was so sexy that Eren forced her to do it again by pinching the other one. Down the plane of perfectly defined abs that belonged on a statue and not a living person, and down still. Smugly ghosting over the apex of her legs, Eren’s hands anchored on her thighs instead, caressing those beautiful muscular limbs. Mikasa could feel him smirk into the kiss, he knew that he was ignoring the place where she wanted him the most. Patient, compliant for now, she would let him keep the lead. He never let her down before.

Reversing his descent, Eren slid his hands upwards over the toned legs, taking in a handful of her ass. It fascinated him and it would never stop doing so, because Eren was a weak man and the thing that he was groping was the most perfect ass that there was, fueling his primal desires to no end. A thing to worship, caress and care for every single day.

And still they kissed, breathless and growing more and more aggressive. Her tongue traced his upper lip, prodding inside and sliding alongside his wet muscle. Then it was Eren attacking, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth. Raw and dangerous yet sweet at the same time, it was like kissing and being kissed by a wild animal sometimes. Mikasa was practically panting when Eren left her mouth to bite her neck, pressing his face into that silky skin he loved so much. The pale was now marked by him, imprints of teeth and reddening marks he sucked into it, definitive proof of his conquest.

Above him, Mikasa let out a breathy laugh at all that. Sure, the bites hurt but they were immediately soothed by Eren’s tongue and lips, leaving only a pleasurable tingle behind. He could be rough but he was always there to kiss the hurt away, to let her know how loved Mikasa was. Eren could hurt her but it was a beautiful pain.

A new sting originating from her chest let Mikasa know that he was now at her breasts, ravaging them. He nipped at the underside, knowing she’s ticklish there, mixing her breathing with airy giggles. The dark nipples were already hard from his previous actions, and they felt great in his mouth when Eren pulled them in, sucking Mikasa’s breasts. And then the bite came a clamp of his teeth against the super-sensitive bud that had her crying out and arching from the bed. A pinch and roll on the other and Mikasa was shaking beneath him, her mouth open in cries and pleas.

Down he went, kissing everywhere he could, making every inch of her flawless skin as his. Her stomach, her beautifully muscled stomach, her sharp hips, the lines that guided him to the place where the fire originated in. His lips were here and there, scrape of teeth against the hipbone and gone before Mikasa took full notice, everywhere and nowhere at the same time. To say that it was driving her crazy would be an understatement. Eren had the gall to call her a tease?

She was almost begging, she almost reached down to push him there when Eren’s mouth arrived at the apex of her muscular thighs, taking a handful of her cheeks and spreading them open for him. Mikasa assisted him more than willingly, biting her bottom lip to keep the excited noises in. Eren went down on her so many times but it was something she always looked forward to, the amazing pleasure he could provide with his mouth was an experience to be enjoyed a hundred, thousand times over. It would do her no good to squeal like a schoolgirl because Eren would surely tease her for it later, but it was hard to keep it inside. Brushing the midnight bangs from her eyes Mikasa looked down, wanting to see him because Eren pleasuring her was an incredible sight. Many times she was tempted to snap a picture, a quick photo of his mouth between her legs, but didn’t do it yet. Maybe one day.

It was oddly satisfying, watching Eren between her spread thighs. The tiny part of her recalled those hurtful memories, the “I’ve always hated you Mikasa”, that pain that belonged to someone else. It was her Eren’s perfect copy who said that but look at him now. Fully devoted to her, to Mikasa’s pleasure, ignoring himself just so he can make her feel better. Hate was miles apart from what Eren felt for her, judging from his actions.

“Something funny?”, he asked, hot breath blowing over her womanhood.

Mikasa must have been smiling, she realized, smiling because she got to have this, not hate and suffering.

“No, I’m simply appreciating how nice you are to me, how attentive.”

He grinned up at her, keeping eye contact while he stuck out his tongue, licking her sex in a single wide stroke, all the way from the bottom to the top.

“This? I’m doing this solely for myself.”, his next words were a sultry whisper spoken so close to her sex that it looked like he was talking to her pussy, not to Mikasa, “I adore how you taste.”

Maybe to prove his point, maybe because he did enjoy it Eren dipped his head down to lick at her again. It wasn’t a service, it was an exchange, because Eren was in turn blessed by the sight of Mikasa’s bare stomach, tense abdominal muscles contracting with every whine and breath falling from the raven’s lips. His actions were slow and languid, licking her outsides but not dipping in yet, getting her properly worked up first. There was no rush, was there.

The two fingers that appeared by Mikasa’s lips were not a surprise and she took them eagerly into her mouth, sucking them. Once properly wet, he pulled them out and repositioned his hand between her slightly trembling thighs. Pulling his head back, Eren pushed them in and they both disappeared into her with a wet sound, making Mikasa moan out loud. A beautiful sound, that.

Eren's fingers dutifully re-explored every inch of Mikasa's sopping wet sex, made so by both her juices and his mouth, gliding from one area to the next with ease that comes from years of practice. And as always it drove Mikasa insane, her hips shifting because that smug bastard wasn’t doing what she wanted. Knowing her ticks so well, Eren ignored Mikasa’s clit that was begging for his attention beneath its hood, not touching her there in the slightest. Why? Because he loved seeing her desperate.

“Please…”, it finally came from her trembling lips, music to his ears, “Please, Eren…”

“Please what?”

“Please… do it”, her chest contracted, “… do it properly.”

It would be shameful to admit that Mikasa’s pussy was throbbing at this point, her clit so poor and unattended, but it was the truth. Eren had a thing for driving her arousal high, much higher than necessary, before doing it right. She was begging now, in that small voice that he could never say no to, and he didn’t want to in the first place. But when he moved down to obey and his cheek touched her inner thigh, Mikasa groaned.

“You have a stubble.”, she accused him, “Scratchy stubble at that.”

“It would appear so…”, to tease, Eren rubbed his face against her sensitive skin making Mikasa yelp and frown at him.

“Shave. Tomorrow.”

“I…”

“No buts.”, Mikasa reached down, grabbing his hair and angling Eren’s face back down, reminding him of his mission between Mikasa’s thighs.

“Now go on, please.”

Right. Spreading her open with his fingers, Eren dipped his tongue in, the tip of the wet muscle sliding inside her. She was scorching hot, faintly pulsing around his tongue and Eren knew that he can make these contractions much, much stronger. Delvin deeper he licked everywhere where he could reach, wiggling his tongue inside of her. At the same time his fingers attacked her clit, rubbing the tiny circles she liked, and Mikasa was finally being given the proper oral treatment. The insistent swirling of his tongue combined with the expert touches on her slowly stiffening nub as Eren was teasing it from under its hood. Letting her head fall on the bedding, she let her lover know just how much she appreciates him by moaning because that’s what he always wanted to hear. The sounds that Mikasa could make in her turned-on voice were better than any music.

He switched it up, sucked on her clit while fingering her, two digits moving in and out at a murderous tempo. The tip of his tongue stroked the bud languidly, teasing it from beneath the hood, and then his lips were wrapped around it again and he sucked. Hard. Mikasa lost control of both her voice and her hips and they were moving on their own, riding, fucking Eren’s face. Her thighs moved too, wrapping around his head and caging him in with no chance of escape.

Trapped, imprisoned by her muscular thighs, Eren had no other way out than to keep pleasuring her, but he would be lying if he said that he didn’t love when Mikasa got demanding. Surrendering to her, he crammed a third finger inside her tight pussy to join the two already there, feeling the stretch as she accommodated him. Mikasa was so incredibly hot like this, sweaty and moaning while her body shook and her beautiful face contorted in the intense pleasure he was giving her. This was heaven, this sight was paradise, and Eren was so incredibly blessed to be allowed to do this to her, to this goddess that was in his bed. He needed her to cum on his face, he needed to taste her and he needed it now.

Putting all of his experience and skill to action, Eren fingered her hard while abusing her clit with his mouth. And when he curled the fingers and pressed into that one special spot, when he let his teeth graze over her clit, Mikasa lost it. She came hard, mind-shattering orgasm ripping through her body as she drenched Eren’s face and he lapped at the sweetness, tip toying with her throbbing clit. Those strong legs squeezed him too and her hips lifted from the bed, beautiful muscles forced to contract by the waves of pleasure flying through her entire being. She was delicious and Eren made sure to lick everywhere where he could, even sucking her cum from his fingers. Yes, he adored the taste, but while he was so diligently pleasuring her through the orgasm, drawing it out and making it even better, Mikasa had another vision.

Normally, her sight went white while cumming, but now there was something else imprinted over the otherworldly nothingness. Eren’s face was hovering over her, but it was the one with short hair and not her version. His face was sweaty and a bit embarrassed when he spoke.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold myself back.”, not-Eren said in an ethereal voice. “I finished so fast…”

“Don’t worry.”, a phantom hand reached out to caress his cheek, “I don’t mind, it felt nice.”

“Not good enough,”, the other Eren disagreed, “I promise that I’ll make it up to you. I’ll get better with practice.”

Mikasa felt herself blushing, not only in one reality but in the other too, while the other Eren dipped his head down to kiss her. And that’s when the vision broke. Eren must have noticed it, must have heard her speak to his other self because his head shot up from between her legs.

“Hey? What’s wrong?”, he asked, eyes widening in alarm, “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, I..”, she held unto him, tightening her legs around his form and preventing Eren from fully pulling back, keeping him in, “Another memory, that’s it.”

“I thought that this was a bad idea. Am I going to get blueballed by myself? That would be somewhat next-level play.”

Mikasa chuckled.

“It wasn’t a bad memory, just unexpected.”, she reached out to smooth her fingers over the bedding, “Let’s say that we aren’t the only ones who went to town in a very similar cabin.”

“You did say that Dreamkasa was pregnant, so it’s only logical.”

She frowned at him for using that stupid nickname, but Eren’s cheeky grin didn’t budge as he climbed up her body until they were face to face again. His was wet, she noticed, as Eren never did mind having her essence all over himself. Mikasa would never admit it out loud but it was pretty hot.

“It was super sweet, they were inexperienced and oh so careful with each other.”

“I’d call myself a lot of things, but inexperienced is not one of them. Not with you around.”

“It felt good, I’m sure of that.”

“Better than me?”

“Oh Eren,”, she giggled, hands coming up to circle his wide shoulders, “Are you getting jealous of yourself?”

“Just..”, he moved low, his hot breath ghosting over her neck as he punctured the word with a bite, beginning a slow journey upwards.

“Answer”

Lick

”The”

Nip

”Damn”

Bite

”Question. ”

Kiss

”Mi”

Suck

”Ka”

Lick

”Sa”

Bite

And now he was at the top of her ears, teeth clicking against the piercings lodged into the goth’s vulnerable cartilage. He knew that the neck and ears were Mikasa’s weak points, and he abused the knowledge, fanning the fires of her just-orgasmed body.

“You! Of course that I prefer you.”, getting some self-control back, Mikasa pulled at his long hair to get Eren to face her, “I spent so long training you, what kind of teacher would I be if you sucked at sex.”

“Teacher? For a woman who almost died of shame after showing me her boobs for the first time, you have certainly grown. Miss possessive.”

“Of you? Always.”, she pecked him on the nose, “You’re mine.”

His hand went low, groping her naked ass.

“And you mine.”, he replied in a heated whisper, “All of you, even this ass. Did you know that it’s a perfect fit for the golden ratio?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your ass is a Fibonacci perfection.”

For the sake of her mental health, Mikasa decided to ghost over that comment as Eren could be somewhat strange with his compliments. She knew he meant well, and that was good enough.

“Okay, it’s yours. Why don’t you stop stalling and make me feel good, hm?”, her voice was sultry now, eyes half-lidded, “Show me how much you have learned…”

A challenge.

“Didn’t you just come?”

“So?”, single fine raven eyebrow raised, “Can’t you do it again?”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Aah, but I believe that you will sate me,”, her divine hand went low, squeezing his cock between those strong and dexterous fingers, “Right?”

He breathed hard against her naked skin, thoughts clouding. How could Mikasa make him so desperate with a single touch, that was a question Eren could never answer. Maybe trying to take advantage of his weakened state, Mikasa hooked a leg over his waist and pulled, attempting to roll them over. When Eren resisted she stopped, not wanting to force herself on top. There was a time and place for measuring strength, and this old and creaky bed wasn’t it.

To get an explanation for his actions, Mikasa tugged at his hair, getting Eren to look at the question written on her face.

“There is no way I’m letting you be on top.”, he answered the unspoken query.

“What? Why?”

“Miki, if you don’t remember, let me refresh your memory.”, his touch was back, one hand tracing the outlines of her abs while the other squeezed her thigh, “You literally broke a bedframe by riding me, and it was a much firmer than this squeaky one that’s here.”

“But I…”

“I’m not sure about you, but I don’t want to spend the night on the floor.”

Mikasa sighed, ceasing her efforts to roll him over.

“Fine.”

“Don’t you worry…”, Eren drawled out the words, kissing her neck again, “I’ll take good care of you.”

And he was inside her, pushing in with one sharp thrust that made her eyes roll back and mouth drop open. He abused that fact straight away, dropping his tongue between her lips and letting her taste herself. She was everywhere, in every crook of his mouth, every part of his face, every inch of his tongue, reminding Mikasa of how strongly he made her cum. Back and forth he fucked into her with determination, sliding in easily as her sex was drenched. Her black nails were at his back, carving into the skin, marking him with bloody wings over the tattooed ones. The sounds were wet, her moans thick, but Mikasa was Mikasa and she was a beast, impossible to tame and difficult to please.

“More…”, she half-moaned into the messy kiss. “Harder…”

With a groan and a primal need ignited in his lower belly, Eren pushed up into a kneeling position. If Mikasa wanted more, if she wanted to be fucked harder, then who was he to question his queen? Picking her legs up he put them on his shoulder, both on the left, creating a rather tight passage to squeeze through. Holding her ankles together with one of his hands, Eren anchored himself with the other and resumed the moves from earlier, picking up the pace.

Mikasa’s vision was beginning to swim. Her sounds were rising, her chest was heaving more and more, the way she panted for air was making Eren harder than diamonds. She wasn’t idle either, her hands moved, playing with her own breasts while he watched. It was arousing as hell to see, the way her slender fingers rolled the erect nipples between them, when she pinched and moaned out loud. Now it was Eren who wanted, no, needed more, overtaken by a desire to give Mikasa everything she deserves.

He needed to be closer to her heat, closer to that divine being that Mikasa was, so he pushed forward to do so. One of her legs back on the bedding, Eren kept a firm hold on the other as he spread her as wide as she could go. Mikasa groaned at the burn his move produced in her muscles, her legs being forced into a very wide angle, but it was a slight ache and easily forgotten in the heat of passion. Mikasa’s ankle was now practically resting above her own shoulder as she was half-doubled over, this position possible only because of how flexible she was. She was completely open to him, wanting nothing more than to be fucked senseless, and Eren did his best to deliver - truly rutting into her, his hips slapping into her ass again and again and again and…

She was going to have welts on her butt tomorrow.

Mikasa was moaning in sync with his thrusts, her Ah-Ah-Ah so much sweeter and better than whatever Eren’s foul mouth could produce. She was loud, no shame in how she let her pleasure vibrate out from her throat and that was music to Eren’s ears. After all, there was no need to keep silent as the animals were the only ones who could hear them. If they did mind the sounds of their lovemaking, they didn’t say so.

Intertwining their fingers, Eren marveled at how small Mikasa’s hand looked in his, how delicate. But when she squeezed and the strength reminded him that she is no helpless flower, very far from it.

It was wet and loud and powerful when he moved in and out of her, his cock soaked by them, by whatever they were doing together. The bed creaked beneath every time he thrusted, but they didn’t care. It felt like heaven to move inside Mikasa because she was so hot and so incredibly tight that Eren could never wish for more. Years, eternity, he could spend it all right at this moment when he is fucking her raw and throbbing pussy, repeating the moves over and over, disappearing and appearing out of her pulsing sex. He could spend eternity, but his physical form disagreed. It was getting too much to handle because it was so perfect, and Eren was not the only one on edge. He could feel it inside, how she pulsed more rapidly, how impossibly tighter she grew, so much that even pulling himself out to push in again was an exertion, a workout for his abdominals.

Eren didn’t understand her dreams, her visions, he didn’t understand why they happened. He didn’t have the faintest idea why he would ever, in any reality or timeline, want to hurt Mikasa. She gave him two things in her existence - undying love and devotion, and Eren could never reject these gifts. But then her muscled sheath squeezed all around his member, deep inside her, and he was reminded of one more gift that loving Mikasa brought.

The best and most intense sex one could ever ask for.

He needed help, anything to push her over first because the wave was approaching and Eren knew he can’t win. Dropping his hand low he located her clit and pressed against it, the effects almost immediate as that nub was more than sensitive at this point. Mikasa’s eyes shot open, a loud groan falling from her mouth when Eren rubbed her weak place at an almost feverish pace. The bed’s creaking was very loud too, the wooden headboard banging against the wall, almost as if the old furniture was protesting against being so shamelessly soiled. He could feel Mikasa’s wetness leaking, trickling down his shaft and down over his balls that kept slapping against her ass, and he knew that she’s right there on the edge.

If he wanted to edge her, if this was one of the nights where he tied her up and tortured her, now would be the time to stop. But tonight was not such a night, so Eren kept moving, stimulating all her weak points, and that was good enough. Her body arched beneath him into that perfect bridge, while she made that adorable face only orgasming Mikasa Ackerman can do when the second climax overtook her. One day, one day he will snap a picture of it in the perfect moment and that will be his gift to mankind.

Her moaning got louder as she came, most likely stirring a few animals from their sleep outside, but Eren loved it. He adored how loud Mikasa could get when she let herself go, when she stopped caring who heard and let her pleasure truly show. Normally she was the silent type, and it was quite a shame because her voice was beautiful and Mikasa could carry a tune perfectly. It took a long time before she was comfortable enough to sing for Eren, but when she did it was an amazing experience. The few times when they visited a karaoke bar were still lodged in his brain.

Now, Eren was making her sing quite a different tune, and it was an achievement for him knowing how good she was feeling, so good that her insecurities melted away and she was loud. But that was not all, as making Mikasa cum first was better for a multitude of reasons – it made him feel great mentally, it made her happy, but also for the selfish reason of being inside her while it happened. There is no way to describe how amazing it felt when she climaxed around him, as her body contracted and released, rapidly repeating that pattern, how her walls collapsed around his shaft and massaged, milking him. In short, it was like the most expensive sex toy in the world made specifically for his cock. Unable and not willing to resist Eren came inside her, filling her with several spurts. Way too much to fit, some of it dribbled out and down on the poor bed, making Eren smirk. They would have to change the sheets and maybe burn the ones that were here now. Filthy didn’t even begin to describe it.

For now though, he pulled out and collapsed on his back next to his sweaty lover, listening to her agitated breathing. The haze covered them both like a blanket, the pure euphoria that occurs after climaxing, nothing but unbridled happiness. Mikasa closed her eyes for a second and Eren wondered if there aren’t more visions going on in her brain, but he wouldn’t pry. If she wanted to share them with him, she would, but they were hers. With a rustle of sheets she turned towards the window, staring out into the darkness and stillness of a forest night, pondering something. At first, Eren wanted to speak up but then the moonlight shimmered over her porcelain skin and his eyes were drawn to the wings on her back. There was no better symbol for her - she was an angel, incredibly free, and when Eren was with her he felt like he could fly.

Mikasa felt his lips at her back, pressing gentle kisses against the skin before he picked up her wrist and did the same there, nuzzling it.

“What are you doing?”, she asked, not even bothering with looking away from the dark forest.

“Admiring your tattoos.”

“Again?”

“I’ll never stop doing it.”, another kiss to her wrist, “They are beautiful, just as you are.”

She giggled and rolled over to rest on his chest, shifting their position. Now they were cooling down from it all, Eren’s hand wrapped around her and gently caressed her hip.

“Hey Miki?”

“Hmmm?”, she hummed from his chest, not stopping the movement of her little finger that traced patterns into the skin.

“What if we bought this.”

“What, the bed?”

“No…”, he snickered, “The cabin. It would be nice to have a getaway from the city and the location is amazing.”

“I thought you didn’t like it.”

“Eh, I’m warming up to it.”, he squeezed her slightly, “Plus with you here, the cabin can be ugly as sin, you are the only beauty I need in the whole world.”

Mikasa snickered and kissed the underside of his jaw for that.

“Way too cheesy.”

Ha, like that would make him stop.

“Well, I am a firm believer in Mikasa supremacy. You could say that it’s my religion.”

Groaning, Mikasa hid her face in Eren’s neck to mask the crazy smile on her lips. Must have been her jittered hormones after the intense sex, the endorphin high always such a wild ride. Because yes, it was cheesy as hell but it felt great to see how much he adores her, about as much as she loved him back.

“Can you stop simping for me and tell me more about the sudden cabin-buyout plan?”

“I’ll never stop simping for you Miki, but I will tone it down if it will make my queen happy.”, squeezing her again, Eren continued with the original train of thought, “We can rebuild it you know, upgrade it so it’s up to the living standard of the twenty-first century. It’s the location that’s amazing, this close to both mountains and the ocean and not that far away from the city.”

Mikasa pondered Eren’s proposal for a moment, but she knew the answer already.

“Sounds good. We could have gatherings here too, invite friends to take a breather with us.”

“While I’d prefer being here only with you, I guess that we can tone it down a bit if guests were over.”

When she didn’t understand what he was implying, Eren grinned down at her.

“You are quite loud during sex, and the walls are thin…”

The slap she planted on his chest was a loud one, but it did nothing to stop his laughter. Bickering back and forth over nothings, Mikasa didn’t even remember how they ended up kissing but here it was. Soon there was the familiar hardness poking her stomach and with her own embers smoldering, Mikasa was more than up for it.

She rolled on top, proving that if she wanted to Eren had no chance of stopping her. Staring up into her twinkling grey eyes, his smile turned into a small frown on the prospect of spending the rest of the night on the cabin floor. Eren loved Mikasa to death, but she was very bad at controlling her strength in the heat of their passionate lovemaking, and when that combined with how unnaturally strong she was furniture was bound to get destroyed. Or him, for that matter, if the pain in his neck and the scratches Eren could feel on his back were any proof.

“Miki please don’t, I beg…”

“Shh, I promise that I’ll be gentle. Somewhat.”

She leaned back, pulling Eren with her.

“Sit up,” she demanded.

Her desired position was with Eren sitting and her in his lap, bodies all entangled together. Mikasa loved the closeness it brought, like this she could feel every breath, every twitch from her lover. Bracing herself up on her knees, she reached blindly behind herself and found Eren’s length, easily identifiable by how he hissed when her fingertips brushed over it. Yet that hiss was nothing compared to the sound he made once she began angling him, because she let the tip pass over her pounded pussy and then he was close to the other opening, the realization making his eyes wide.

“You want to…?”

“Shut up.”

Mikasa could never do this if he wasn’t so wet, but Eren was drenched and she wasn’t much better, some of the wetness found its way down when she squirted before. Still, it made her grit her teeth when she began sinking, feeling her ass stretched to its limits by his invading girth. Anal was always more difficult, and now when there was no lube or plugs in beforehand it was hard to accommodate what Eren gave her. This was something else yet she kept impaling herself, unyielding. Huffs of breath through her nose, whole body clenching, she worked herself down on his shaft, penetrating her tight muscle ring inch by inch.

The muscles in his neck bulged and Mikasa knew that he’s fighting himself not to thrust up into her, into that tight heat that was sliding down in such a slow, torturous tempo. It didn’t help that he could feel some of his cum leak out of her other opening, now unattended, pushed out by how her inner muscles were forced to work again. Why did this filthiness turn him on so much, that was a question Eren didn’t want to answer.

Instead, he focused on her, on how she felt around him, sinking lower and lower, taking it like a champ. It was Mikasa’s show, Eren was more or less an observer right now, letting her do what she wanted. Yet he had to praise her because there was nothing else like this in the entire world, no one else could be this amazing.

“F-Fuck Miki… You feel too good.”

“S-Shut up…”, she repeated, having trouble speaking too, being stretched so much in that other place.

To stop herself from speaking and to shut Eren up too she mashed their faces together into a messy and wild kiss. And then finally, after several more up-and-down slides, she was fully sitting on his lap, his cock lodged deep inside her ass. It made her pant, the physical exertion, her abdominals fluttering. Watching those muscles move erratically, bathed in sweat as they were, that was a fucking beauty on its own. Eren didn’t even dare to move now, lest he disturbs the short rest Mikasa was taking, her head on his shoulder and the hot breath washing over his back. That was until she nudged his face with her nose, getting his attention.

“Help me…”, she moaned weakly.

“O-Okay... Okay…”, thinking was hard with her all around him, but Eren managed, “Let’s do this together.”

Mikasa nodded and braced herself on her knees while Eren grabbed her hips, lifting her. Together they moved, with Eren helping her along the ride. It was slow, way slower than how she rode him normally, but anal was always different. Mikasa circled her hips, rocked them back and forth, stretching herself more around his girth. Breathe in, breathe out, the unpleasant sting was fading and being replaced by pleasure as her butt got used to having Eren’s cock inside of it. Slow yet picking up speed, it was under Mikasa’s dictatorship with Eren playing the role of a helpful lackey. Willingly.

Her knees scrambled on the bedding and she was pushing herself up by the hands on Eren’s shoulders. Mikasa deemed herself ready for the next stage of her plan, which was finding a better purchase on the bed. Her feet finally found their place and she was squatting now, right on Eren’s lap. And then it was time to truly ride him.

Up and down she bounced, propelled by her powerful thighs, her ass sliding all over his cock, squelching it in its tight embrace. The repeated penetration finally convinced her muscles to give way, albeit just a tiny bit. It was igniting a primal need in her, the way he rubbed her insides, the tiredness burning away. Maybe it was because of her athletic body but Mikasa caught a second wind, spiraling down into a nearly animalistic state. The need for more was back, stronger than ever, so slapping her ass down onto Eren’s poor hips, she grinded into him hard.

“Come on, come on…”, it was coming through her gritted teeth, her gray eyes scorching Eren with the intensity.

“You keep saying how much you love my ass, right?.”, Mikasa practically growled the order, made wild by the overflowing feeling, “Show me.”

Normally, such words would never leave her lips but they were both far beyond normal. She was wild but Eren was no better, teeth clenched to match her. Bracing his feet against the bed he did as she asked, thrusting up to meet her descent half-way. He moved up, Mikasa moved down, their hips slapping into each other in the middle with a smack. Her ass sat down on him hard, crotch loudly protesting against being crushed like this. To help, to assist his feral goddess, Eren slipped his hand down to that squelching wet place. Spreading her open he toyed with her clit, and the multiple stimulations made Mikasa practically howl like a beast. She was an animal right now, an animal in heat reduced to its primal instincts, and Eren was fortunate, or unfortunate, enough to be her chosen mate.

Close, so close, the electricity was everywhere inside her, tickling her brain. Eren attacked with his mouth too, his teeth sinking into her neck before coming up to claim her lips. The kiss was bruising, the way she bounced on his lap too, and several things were nearing their breaking point. Mikasa, because Eren’s fingers at her clit were a godsend. Eren, because Mikasa kept grinding her ass down on him with fervor, her butt clenching so hard around his length that it hurt, reminding him how incredibly strong his lover was. And also the bed, because the old thing was not constructed to withstand this amount of wild pounding. It was a race, race on who would break first, and fortunately for all that was Mikasa.

With a last slam of her hips that pinned him and shook the bed so much that it nearly fell apart, Mikasa’s head tipped back, a wild scream tearing out of her throat as she squeezed him so hard that Eren swore out loud. It was the wild contraction of her muscles that pushed him over the edge to follow her, his cock spurting inside her with his second release, filling her ass with a smaller load. Done, finished and over, Mikasa slipped out of his hands and fell to her side, pulling herself away from his body. They laid there, side by side, catching their breath. The whole world seemed to take a breather, the animals outside wondering what kind of terrible duel took place in the usually peaceful cabin.

“God damn, Miki,”, Eren finally managed, “If I knew that a cabin would drive you this wild I would take you here ages ago.”

She chuckled, but a gust of wind from the opened window made her shiver. The sweat was cooling down and it was rather cold outside. Instinct at this point, she rolled back towards Eren’s heat, laying her hand on his chest, tangling their legs together and leeching shamelessly.

Mikasa was tired, tired from her performance and the long day, tired in the best possible way. She stilled completely and didn’t move, their bodies mashed together in one sweaty and dirty mess. Breathing hard, she could feel Eren’s chest contract beneath her, betraying that he too needed a small break from their intensive lovemaking. Yet resting while there is the mixture of your climaxes running down your thighs is hardly hygienic, so Eren stroked Mikasa’s back to get her attention, fingers tapping the bumps of her spine.

“C’mon, let’s abuse the running water and get cleaned up. This bed needs all its sheets changed or burned and I’m pretty sure that you shouldn’t be sleeping with a double creampie between your legs.”

She took a shuddering breath.

“Eren, I hate you and your dirty mouth so much.”

“Nonsense. Remember how hard you came when I ate you out?”

Done, Mikasa hid her face in Eren’s shoulder, ignoring how his body shook with the laughter.

The shower was surprisingly big, for a rundown shack like this, and it wouldn’t be Eren if he didn’t take advantage of the fact. Mikasa gasped a bit when his finger slid into her still-sensitive sex, looking at him over her shoulder.

“I told you to wash my back, not finger me.”

“I have to my sure that every part of you is clean.”, he leaned closer, “Before I make you filthy again.”

Closing her eyes, Mikasa decided not to fight her fate and let herself enjoy it. The feeling of Eren’s finger was soon joined by another one, and now there were two explorers inside her, poking and probing at the walls. Curling his hand Eren’s palm pressed against Mikasa’s clit, rubbing it slightly and getting her worked up properly. Her lover was right when he called her insatiable because Mikasa’s libido could be nigh bottomless. She blamed Eren – he knew her too well, knew her body better than his own at this point and all of her weak points were etched into his memory. He knew how to touch, how to stroke, where to press and rub and in what intervals. Mikasa’s body was a terrifying weapon, powerful and deadly in the ring, but Eren could turn it into a putty mush in his hands, all her lean muscles melting underneath his touch.

Okay, she could go again. She wanted it too because his fingers managed to re-ignite the fire between her thighs, stroking it higher and higher with every press against her clit. Reaching between her legs Mikasa tugged his hand out, turning to face Eren.

“Pick me up.”, she ordered him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Do I have to?”, he faked a pained expression, “You are so heavy.”

But Mikasa didn’t want jokes now.

“Eren, don’t.”

It was the tone in which she spoke those two words, her icy commander voice that would make him fall to his knees in the middle of a crowded street if ordered him to. It was the one that allowed no argument nor question, only blind obedience.

“Yes, my lady.”

With a grunt Eren picked her up, letting Mikasa wrap her strong legs around his waist. He was grateful for the assistance, as Mikasa’s body was heavy, but if there was one thing Eren could do after all that gym-going, it was holding up his girlfriend. The water beating down on their bodies, her eyes locked to his as she manipulated her hips blindly until his tip was resting against her folds.

“Ready?”

A single nod being the answer, Eren eased his hold on her and let gravity assist them. Of course that Mikasa had to do something, wouldn’t be her if she didn’t. Bracing on Eren’s shoulders, she let herself go slow, super slow, torturing him with the tempo. In hopes of appeasing her, he dropped his head to her exposed breasts, tonguing the red marks he left behind earlier. Mikasa’s tits would be littered with bitemarks come morning, and she was silently very grateful that there were no swimwear photoshoots on her agenda anytime soon. Sure, the makeup artists could cover the marks Eren left on her and Mikasa’s neck often had to be worked on but having them tap their brushes against her chest was something else entirely.

This time around it was no wild pounding, they were both way too exhausted for that. It was slow lovemaking with Eren pulling her up and letting the gravity push her down on his cock, over and over, until the familiar heat awoke and slid into her whole body. Mikasa came with a gasp that she hid in Eren’s shoulder and he was quick to follow, the last bits of his essence squeezed and milked out of him by her inner muscles. And then it was time to truly get cleaned and rest, although Mikasa had a faint feeling that she might not be able to walk tomorrow.

And yes, the morning proved that she was right in that assessment, but Eren was no better. With how hard Mikasa rode him, he had bruises and welts all over his hips, and his neck looked like someone was trying to choke the life out of him. Well, Mikasa did, because her thighs moved on their own while she was cumming and squeezed the poor man between them hard, but Eren was used to it at this point. With both of them out of commission, the next day was spent doing nothing and lying around, giving their bodies time to heal. Still, it was totally worth it.

Two days later, everything was falling into place. Mikasa’s visions were less and less frequent until they stopped completely, letting her know that there was nothing more the cabin could show her right now. All she could do was wait, her visions would come when the time was right.

With the closeness of the mountains they went skiing too, Mikasa acing it as she did anything that is a physical sport. Eren had his issues, not nearly as perfect as she was, but after a few hours of training and guidance from her, he could hold his own on the treacherous devices strapped to his feet. Exhausted from the skiing, they practically collapsed as soon as they were back in the cabin in dire need of rest.

Eren was fast asleep when Mikasa woke, slipping from his embrace and out of the creaky bed. Making a cup of coffee for herself, she opened the door and watched as the sun slowly climbed from the horizon and up. It was so beautiful here, so peaceful, and she knew exactly what to do. Mikasa was meant to be here, this was the place where she would get her last dream, the last piece of the puzzle, the final chapter of the story. Here, she would know what happened to her other self, how she ended up. And taking a sip of the hot beverage, a tight smile spread over the raven’s lips.

Mikasa was looking forward to that.

A rustle of sheets behind her indicated that Eren was stirring about. It was like an instinct at this point – when he couldn’t feel Mikasa next to him his sleep was usually mediocre at best as if his mind is constantly checking if she’s there with him, safe and sound. Mikasa didn’t turn, keeping her eyes on the rising sun even when she heard his bare feet tapping against the wooden floor behind her. Soon she was enveloped in a warm hug from behind.

“Hi.”, he whispered into her ear, kissing her cheek after.

“Morning. There’s coffee if you want some.”

“Hmmm, later…”, he yawned behind her, “I’ll keep hugging you for a bit longer.”

With a smile Mikasa put her hand on his, intertwining their fingers. And feeling it, feeling the fingers splayed on her stomach reminded her of something, a faint feel of memory hitting her again. They stood like this, exactly like this, with Mikasa gazing out and Eren behind her, but there was one significant difference. There was a baby bump on her midriff, beneath their intertwined hands.

Mikasa took a sharp breath through the nose once she realized that, looking down. There was no baby, of course, her and Eren’s hands were nestled against her firm abdominals. But in her mind’s eye, she could see it, and to her surprise Mikasa liked that image. The implant in Mikasa’s arm burned for a second, reminding her of its presence and function.

Her mood was completely shattered when Eren rubbed his cheek against hers, his stubble scratching her and reminding Mikasa of the night before.

“Eren, the shaving?”, she reminded him gently yet didn’t pull away, enduring the feeling.

“Hmmm.”

“I could shave you, you know.”

“That would be nice.”, he pressed a quick kiss to the side of her neck, “Thank you.”

“Could cut your hair too…”

“As long as you don’t give me an undercut.”

“Why’s that?”

“Miki I love you but I don’t want to be reminded of Levi every time I look in the mirror.”, he shuddered behind her, “When he sees us kissing my life flashes in front of my eyes.”

“You have to overcome the fear of my brother.”

“It’s not fear, it’s respect.”

“Oh? And why do you respect him that much then?”

“Because he is so similar to you! It’s like a shorter and much grumpier male version of you who doesn’t love me at all. And that is scary, because I know how much stronger than me you are, and I’d go as far as saying that your brother dislikes me.”

“Just stronger?”

“Well, way more beautiful too, but that doesn’t count with Levi.”

“You have it all figured out, huh.”

“For sure. You are stronger than me and Armin is smarter, so if we ever get into a real conflict I’ll argue with you and fight Armin.”

She laughed at that, marking Eren’s mission of making his angel happy as complete. With that he buried his face in Mikasa’s neck completely, filling his nose with the pleasant smell of her natural scent. She was giggling, the heavenly sound in his ears, and that was simply the best way to start a morning.

“All right then.”, she reached out to pat his cheek, scratching it gently, retaliation for the agony his beard caused her, “Just don’t shit your pants when Levi walks me down the aisle.”

His voice was muffled against her skin.

“You want him at our wedding? Ugh…”

“Eren, he is my brother. Behave.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Giving up on morning Yeager, Mikasa took hold of her coffee with both hands and took another long sip. Maybe roused by the sound Eren raised his head.

“Let me have a taste?”

“Sure, here…”, she almost handed him the cup before realizing what he meant, “Oh..”

With a grin Eren took a hold of her chin, angling her head so he could kiss her. It felt nice, especially when his tongue swept against the seam of her lips and she let him in, touching it with her own. And when he pulled back and smacked his lips, Mikasa smiled because of the raw happiness she felt.

“How is it?”

“Good, I feel like I need a cup myself.”

“Do you?”

“Maybe, let me have another taste to be sure.”

So Mikasa kissed him again and they stood there tangled together while the sun steadily climbed over the horizon. And everything felt right.

#eremika #fanfic #snk #cottagecore

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tsukuna · 4 years

Text

Side by Side - Ch. 6: Her

Summary: You wandered into Red Grave City to warn the “Legendary Devil Hunter” of a certain… negative shift in the area’s energy. It was an energy you knew to be demonic, and it grew stronger by the day. But on your way to meet with the intermediary, a noisy bird caught your attention. A noisy bird that would bring you to a frail man on the brink of falling apart.

Rated M • Female Reader • Before the Events of DMC V• Under the Cut • Please Support on AO3! • Part 5

The last thing V expected was to hear a woman’s voice after he had collapsed, but before he could interrogate you, Griffon swooped in. The demon vouched for you, letting V know that he would be dead without you. He was wary, however, V gave you a cautious thank you. It was certainly a strange, unexpected beginning to his first companionship since he was a child.

The weight of his likely demise and horrendous decisions were heavy, but your company dulled some of the strain. V didn’t understand why. Was it simply because you could fill in the cracks of his crumbling body? He didn’t believe that to be true, even though it would be easier to think of you as a tool as opposed to an individual he wished to be around. It appeared that the sentiment was reciprocated. Though they had yet to share much of their histories with one another, there was a sense of calm and trust. “How peculiar…” V mumbled, looking away from his book (that he wasn’t really reading) to see you sleeping--cuddled up with Shadow and Griffon. He knew that when you awoke, you would bring about another interesting day. It was only a few hours ago that Griffon was relentlessly attacking you with the worst puns. You said you hated it, but couldn’t stop grinning and laughing. You even exclaimed between fits, “STOP! I’m gonna pee myself Griffon!” A small smile tugged at his lips as he settled in to sleep as beside you. V--no--Vergil always found humans to be weak and of no consequence, yet he found himself enjoying these mundane moments.

It was one of those nights that he dreamt of a little girl outside of a shrine.

She was weeping endlessly, each sob rippling through her small frame. She wore a silken dress, though there were torn areas where he could see fresh blood and burns and her hair was a tangled mess. He could hear her singing, her voice laced with gloom

‘Sanctuary of the light moon, tainted by a crimson hue. Naught save the night shall know of my sorrows, I give unto her my all. No one, no more.’

It was a sad display. V took a step toward her, but stopped, noticing his own small stature. Am I a child once again? With his small hands, he grabbed a strand of hair from his head. White. Before any further confusion could occur, it seemed the little girl was alerted to his presence. He recognized those eyes. V softly said your name (though it came out as Vergil’s).

“Who are you?” You trembled, a wild expression on your face. “No one should be here. I’m not ready.” Your little voice was filled with fear and concern. It saddened him.

“I’m your friend,” he tried to smile. “Vergil.”

You shook your head vigorously. “I do not have friends, I am not allowed. The gods are above friendships,” your eyes went downcast. “That’s what Mama tells me.”

“Well,” he kept walking forward. “Demons don’t typically have friends either, but I think it would be nice to.”

“Demon?” You took a few sniffs. “You do stink…” You turned away from him. “You need to leave, I should kill you if what you say is true. But I don’t want to.”

V continued to press forward. “Well can I at least help clean those cuts up?”

He could see you flinch as you touched one of them. “They’re my lesson though. It will teach me to be a better host. Stronger.” You looked at him over your shoulder. “But they really hurt…”

V could tell you wanted help but didn’t wish to ask, you wanted to be strong. He knew the feeling. Gently, he took your hand and began to walk you to the nearby pond. There was no resistance on your part. In fact, there was nothing at all. As the two of you hit the water’s edge, you sat as softly as a leaf falling. V took his shorts in hand and ripped some of the fabric off then soaked them in water. “Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly. “I don’t have any actual medical stuff.”

“S’okay,” you whispered. He carefully dabbed each wound with some of the bigger ones causing you to wince. Once again, you began to hum, perhaps to hide any nervousness.

It took minutes to clean, there were truly a lot of them. “None of them should get infected at the very least,” V leaned back.

You looked up at him, taking a softer expression. “Thank you, Vergil.”

“What else are friends for?” Your face blushed pink and you gave him a toothy smile. V suddenly felt his book tucked into the back of his pants. Dream logic was incredibly convenient. “Want to read this together?” He showed her the book with a V drawn on the front.

Your eyes lit up and you nodded. “Mhm!” V patted your head, pleased with the response. The rest of the dream was spent reading, the two of you taking turns. It appeared to V that even as children, the both of you could’ve been friends.

The initial day of the Qliphoth mission came and went, ending in utter defeat. Yet you chose to stay beside him in Redgrave instead of following Nero to Fortuna--somewhere that would be much safer and comfortable. “You need me,” you grinned at V, and it truly seemed that he did. He admired your strength, your intelligence and the kindness you showed, despite him being utterly undeserving. It was his sins that caused all this to happen. You were enigmatic to him. For reasons unknown, you worked hard and went out of your way to protect him. Moments like that reminded him of his weakness, reminded him that he could protect nothing. You never appeared to be in danger ( at least not in the waking world ), but if you were, would he even be able to do a thing? It was incredibly irritating, but all she had asked was for them to stay side by side. V agreed immediately in spite of himself.

However, there were moments where you and him had to split to lurk around for resources. Your subconscious pout let him know that you were hesitant to do so, but you were aware of the necessity. You grabbed his hand and shook it. “Stay safe, V.” He thought the little smile on your face was pretty.

“Oh don’t worry,” Griffon called your name. “We’ll keep Shakespeare safe and whole for you!” V shook his head in exasperation then began to ride away, using Shadow as a mode of transport. “I bless your union.”

“I have not a single clue of which you speak,” V side-eyed Griffon.

“Sure you do,” Griffon held out the last sound. “When you’re not thinking of our impending doom, you’re thinking of her!”

“Tch.” V whipped his head the direction opposite quickly, but Griffon maneuvered to be right in his face.

“Hey, hey, don’t get all shy now! Looks like she is into you too!” He blabbered on about you and all the ‘pros.’

The man gave a long sigh. “There is no point in engaging in any sort of relationship beyond this. In fact, this has already gone farther than it should have.” Though he said that, he knew he wouldn’t make any attempt to disengage. Such selfishness. His eyes turned downcast when he thought about it, “I won’t be here for long.”

The crow cackled. “Maybe you won’t be here as you are now, but, in the interest of optimism, you’ll continue to exist!”

V imagined your reaction to his rejoining. It was likely it would happen, he couldn’t imagine that you would suddenly be gone when he needed you most (though he hated to admit it). What would your face look like as you looked upon him--upon Vergil? He finally responded, “I don’t think she would care for him.”

“Care for you, you mean? If she can care for your weak ass right now, I’m sure she’ll be swept off her feet by you when you’re strong, heh, heh!” Griffon stopped chattering for a moment to speculate. “She’ll certainly be confused, but depending on how much you tell her beforehand, she may accept it or do something else first. Like decking you in the face or stabbin’ ya--something out of anger!” V frowned deeply. “But she’d forgive and continue to be there. I am certain of it.”

He put his face in his palm. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Griffon landed on V’s shoulder. “Chin up princess! I’ll be your wingman. Heh, get it? Wing man?” V shooed him away. “Okay, okay, that was a bad one. But for realsies, I’m sick of hearing your internal pining but watching you do nothing.”

“I am not pining,” V vehemently denied.

Griffon began to mock him, “Oh I wish I could protect her. Oh she’s so pretty and strong and smart. Oh I’m so afraid of what will happen with her after this is over.”

“I get it, you can stop now,” those deep green eyes glared at the bird. “Had we met under different circumstances, had I been a better man, then… perhaps I would have attempted to pursue something.”

The crow rolled his multiple eyes and feigned a yawn. “C’mon now V, haven’t you two practically already pursued something? You’ve been on shitty food dates, you have some similar interests, you guys have shared the same sleeping space since you’ve met.” Griffon sighed at the silence. “Since you’re clearly not going to say something, what if she does? What will you do then?”

“The answer to that question is unclear,” V admitted after a time. It has been such a short amount of time, and yet all the moments spent next to you have been the most fulfilling in his pathetic, misguided life. Every smile you gave him warmed his chest and he tended to smile in spite of himself. “I don’t deserve to accept her feelings if she wished to express them.”

“Oh screw whatever the hell that deserving bullshit is about! There’s no guarantee that we’ll survive this whole Qliphoth business, so why not just have fun with some young love?”

V quirked his brow, “I’m not young.”

“Your romantic maturity is that of a child so let’s just continue to call it that!” V smacked him on the head with his cane.

“I tire of this conversation with you.”

“Just trying to help ya’ out buddy.”

“Truly appreciated,” V mumbled. Have fun, huh? You often talked hopefully about doing fun things together. He fondly remembered you jumping on the bed and chattering about going to an amusement park together after “all this demon shit is over” before taking him by the hand and forcing him to jump with you. V yearned for the ideas you planted in his head. If you were to say something to him… should he forgo any of his concerns and embrace it? V and his familiars began to search abandoned buildings, looking for any sort of nourishment. Much of the area was already so destroyed and infested with roots that it was hard to tell which business did what. He walked through the rubble of one shop when something sparkling caught his eye. V bent down and took the object in his hand. It was a necklace--a crescent moon pendant with amethysts set inside of it. He chuckled to himself at how fitting it would be for you and pocketed it. V imagined your face flushing when he gave it to you, it was a soft thought.

After a time of sifting through both his thoughts and the destruction, Griffon and V managed to scrounge up some snack food, but it seemed like resources were drying up, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the two of you would do to sustain yourselves for the next month.

V was exhausted by the time he met back up with you. Each time he summoned Nightmare, it took a sizable toll on his energy, plus he was still hungry. Griffon broke the news to you about what you were to be surviving on for the time being--demons. It was quite obvious that you were unhappy with the news, but being strong, you would take whatever you could to live. You resigned to the reality of the situation and helped transport the bodies to a safe area where the group would be able to rest for the night. In fact, you made sure of it that you would be able to rest for the night. While he was requested to gather materials for a fire, you began to set up wards around the abandoned courtyard. It was a curious thing, but V remembered you were the daughter of a shrine priestess (at the very least).

Griffon helped start the fire by striking the wood with his lightning and Shadow came trotting back with the butchered meat. He watched you warily eye the roasted meat before taking a bite. Both of you agreed that it was utterly vile, much to the annoyance of the crow who always screamed about the disrespect.

The man felt strange--strange about his interactions with the boy, strange about his fate, strange about you. Upon expressing that, Griffon grabbed him by shirt and unceremoniously dropped him into the fountain, taunting him about stinking like demon blood. His clothes were drenched, so you and his familiars got to work on drying them out. V figured that while he was stuck in there, he may as well try his best to clean out. He sunk into the water, thoughts filled with where he went wrong in his life, his cowardice, his ignorance towards what strength truly is. It was as if he were about to melt away; however he was once again gripped by the demon’s talons. V was scolded and talked down to like a baby, but he was still too lost in thought to really care.

“I’d barely call these dry,” V lightly complained once Griffon brought the clothes to him.

“Sorry,” you shrugged with a dry laugh. “I can only work so hard to clean up the mess of this chatterbox right here.”

“Well, as long as it’s wearable, anything goes,” V responded while pulling up his pants. As he moved by the fire, you began to undress, complaining that you smelled as well. He wanted to give you privacy, but your bare skin was still visible from the peripheral view. A thought or two passed through his tired mind, but he shook them away.

He gave ear to the exchange you and Griffon were having, it sounded like you were revealing more of your life, and V was always curious to learn more. The fire was flickering in his deep green eyes when he noticed the splash of you moving up behind him.

“Here.” His eyes focused on the ring you dangled in his face..

“Your ring?” He questioned. “Do you need me to hold onto it while you are in the water?” V brought his hand up so you could give it to him. “Nope, it’s yours now.” You responded as he felt the ring fall into his open palm. “If you are okay accepting it of course…”

V couldn’t stop himself from turning his head to look you in the face. “Why would you give this to me? Don’t you need it for survival?” With a furrowed brow, he examined your features, searching for any trace of a joke.

“Well,” you began, “I trust you with it, and it will help keep you safe when I can’t be there.” V . “This way, wherever you go, I’ll always be with you,” you smiled.

He closed his hand around the ring, still warm from being around your finger. “I don’t understand you,” he admitted to himself out loud. “Why do you care to help me so much? You have since you met me. Even amongst all the insanity and information I have omitted, you have stuck by my side. And now you wish to give me a piece of you. Why?” The question almost came out like a plea for the answer.

“Well, it’s because I like you of course,” you smiled shyly, “As in like- like.” V heard you giggle as his lips parted in surprise. You reached your hand out of the water and took his hand, plucking the ring from his other palm. “Here,” V watched as you slipped the ring onto his pinky finger. “I was worried it’d be a bit too small, but it’s a perfect fit!” His chest hurt as he stared at it. The last time he was bestowed such a gift was on his birthday--his half of the perfect amulet from his mother. Once again, he was being given a jewel that had responsibility attached to it. “I hope you will accept it.” You said once more as your face took on a nervous expression.

V hesitated but eventually responded. “I… will accept it.” He had grabbed it a couple days ago, but never gave you the necklace. If there was a good time, it was now, and so he shuffled through his pocket. “Here,” he dangled it and you gently grabbed it. Your mouth formed an ‘O’ shape.

“This is my first gift.” He saw tears prick your eyes and was reminded of the child in his dream. Despite being naked, you leaned out of the fountain and threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of it. Slowly, he reciprocated the embrace, fingers feeling the lines of rough, scarred skin. “Thank you, V.”

“Mm,” he hummed with a nod.

You pulled back and began to stand up, to which he turned back around in response (though it’d be a lie if he denied getting a decent glimpse). V listened to you quickly shuffle back into your clothes before plopping down next to him in front of the fire. “Will you help me with this?” You turned your head away and held up the pendant for him to take.

“Of course.” V did the clasp, letting the moon of the necklace hand a little bit below your collar bones. You seemed… so happy with it.

“I love it.” You affirmed his thoughts and planted a kiss on his cheek, an purposefully intimate gesture he didn’t know how to respond to. You seemed to sense his unease. “It’s okay if you don’t want to say anything just yet. I know that shit is bad right now.”

‘Your romantic maturity is that of a child…’ Griffon’s words rang out irritatingly in V’s head, and he wanted to prove the bird wrong. “Your feelings,” he felt you stiffen, “I won’t deny that they are… reciprocated.”

“V…”

“I care for you.” It felt strange for him to say those words. “But it wouldn’t be right for me to indulge in these feelings. You’d only be hurt.” You were clearly confused. “There’s more to me than I have let on,” V admitted.

“As if I didn’t know that,” you laughed. You clapped your hands on his cheeks and leaned your face towards his with an amused smirk. “Hope you don’t mind this!”

“Mind wh--” You pressed your lips against his and after a second of hesitation, he pressed back.

#v/reader #v/you #v x reader #v x you #Female reader #vitale #vitale x reader #vitale/reader #vitale x you #Devil May Cry 5 #devil may cry #DMC 5 #dmc #ghuoligans #tsukuuyomis #also posted to ao3 #find me on ao3 at Adagium (ghuoligans)

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anamaleth · 4 years

Text

Corrupted

read on ao3

Characters: Virgil, Deceit; corrupted versions of a Roman and Remus fusion, Logan and Patton

Summary: It wasn't supposed to be like this - but there was nothing Virgil and Deceit could do about it. An accident caused their friends to become something that wasn't them anymore - twisted and dangerous versions of themselves that the two of them were barely able to escape. Hiding away in a barricaded room, the only comfort they have is each other.

Includes: Deceit and Virgil that can be interpreted as romantic or platonic; Angst and Hurt/Comfort; Threats of Violence; Cussing; Unsympathetic Roman, Remus, Logan and Patton? They aren’t really themselves but still.

---

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

There should be six of them – four of them living together on ground-level where sunlight was streaming in through open windows and laughter and music was filling the rooms at all times. The happy little family living their ordinary and perfect little life together.

And two of them, the outcasts and abominations, banished; locked away in the basement. No light, no music, just the two of them stuck, with an everlasting reminder of a time that had long since passed.

A time where there had been three of them, when they had been their own family, demented and terrifying but perfect in their own crazy way.

Two of them terrorizing the other four – that’s what it was supposed to be like.

There weren’t supposed to be just five of them.

Two separate parts of the same coin weren’t supposed to melt into one again after being forcefully broken apart for a reason a long time ago. The force of this horrifying amalgamation wasn’t supposed to destroy everything around it, to defile that which was good and to enhance that which was harmful.

There weren’t supposed to be three beings, twisted and tainted, hunting the two that hadn’t been corrupted.

The one that had changed wasn’t supposed to come crawling back to the place he had once called his home. He wasn’t meant to be there anymore, not meant to be a refuge looking for comfort in a place he had turned his back on so long ago.

And yet here he was, desperately holding on to his lifeboat, a person he was starting to love again.

Virgil had placed his head in Deceit’s lap. Deceit was running his gloved fingers through Virgil’s hair. It had been an eternity since the time they would’ve last done something like this, and yet they found themselves settling back into this dynamic.

They weren’t sure how long it had been since they had fled to this room, how long they had been hiding already, but time seemed relative now that they had found each other again.

“Are you really sure they can’t get in”, Virgil asked. He couldn’t help it; couldn’t push the thought of them being found out of his mind.

“The door is barricaded,” Deceit assured him, his voice still gentle despite having to repeat himself for the millionth time, “I checked. They can’t get to us.”

“What if…” Virgil started. He was talking fast despite the exhaustion: “What if we’re just hiding away from something that will never stop hunting us? Maybe we’re just delaying the inevitable! Maybe we’re doomed to-”

Deceit removed his hand from Virgil’s hair and interlaced their fingers instead, making Virgil snap out of his spiralling monologue. “It’s not inevitable. We’re safe in here. And there’s still a chance that everything will be okay,” he said.

“I used to be able to tell if you’re lying almost effortlessly,” Virgil remarked. “You’re harder to read now.”

“A lot has changed. But you know that I would never lie to you,” Deceit promised.

“What about Santa?” Virgil asked, a smile spreading on his face.

Deceit chuckled softly and shook his head. “That’s different and you know it is.”

“Then what about the collector’s edition of The Nightmare Before Christmas with the Jack Skellington plushy that you ‘totally weren’t getting me for my birthday’ because it was ‘way to expensive’ and ‘not necessary because we could pirate the movie anyway’?”

For a moment, all their fears were forgotten. There was just the two of them, teasing each other with smiles on their faces and no thoughts of the impending doom lurking just outside their blocked door.

A chilling gust of wind swept through the room, ripping their perfect moment away from them as the room temperature dropped.

As a scratching sound was heard on the door. Virgil felt himself tensing up in an instant.

“This is ridiculous! It’ll only be more painful if you hide! That door won’t hold for much longer. Just give in already, maybe we’ll be more merciful then,” threatened a voice, a terrible mixture of two different ones, rising and plummeting in volume and pitch.

“Shut up,” Virgil groaned, overcome with annoyance. He had heard those empty threats way too many times, to the point where they did nothing more than to occasionally plant seeds of doubt into his mind; he found himself questioning if they were right from time to time but he never gave in to the uncertainty.

He wasn’t a “poor anxious baby”, not a scared child - he was irritated and wanted nothing more than to finally be done with this. Virgil tightened his grip on Deceit’s hand.

“Alright then. But I’ll be back. And next time, you will wish you had taken this plea bargain. Next time, you will wish you were never born at all!”

Finally, the voice ceased; Creativity, or what was left of it, left them alone once again.

Looking up at Deceit, Virgil stopped dead in his tracks: “You’re shivering.”

“Still totally warm-blooded. It’s not freezing cold in here at all.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “So much for never lying to me”

“I’m totally doing this intentionally. It’s absolutely possible for me to control when I’m like this” Deceit was hissing out his words at this point.

Virgil sat up, took off his hoodie and wrapped it around the two of them as he pulled Deceit into a hug.

“Sharing body temperature might not be as effective as a heating lamp, but I’m sure as hell not going up there to get one.”, he explained, ”Take off your gloves. Maybe I can warm your hands.”

Deceit briefly hesitated before doing as he was told, sighing softly as Virgil took his hands into his own, yellow scales pressing against pale skin.

“You don’t need to hide your scales when you’re with me,” Virgil said in a hushed voice.

Deceit didn’t respond, he simply nestled closer to Virgil, giving in to the drowsiness creeping up his body. He was fast asleep in next to no time.

He looked so peaceful with his mouth slightly open and his chest rising and falling slowly and steadily. Virgil knew how exhausted he was, how hard he was trying to hide the fact that he desperately needed a break; he wouldn’t dare to wake him.

“Kiddo? Why would you even try to hide? We are your family, Virgil! You belong with us!”

There he was again. This wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

Something inside of Virgil was itching to get up and fight this terror once and for all. He knew he shouldn’t - of course he did - he hadn’t just spontaneously lost his common sense, yet he still had to restrain himself.

“Please, Virgil. Don’t do this to us. To me. How do I deserve this? Am I not good enough for you, anymore?”

Virgil’s fingernails dug into the palms of his hands. This isn’t Patton, he told himself. And although he was certain that he was right, hearing those words in a voice that had once belonged to his best friend was painful.

“I can’t believe you would turn on us like that. I thought we were friends. I thought you loved us! But it turns out that was all a lie! You’re nothing more than a dirty liar, just like him!”

At least his voice was clearly distinguishable from Patton’s at this point.

“Fine! If you wanna be like that, go on! But you are going to burn in hell for it!”

‘Yeah, you better run,’ Virgil thought bitterly.

After that, things seemed to go back to normal for a while – at least as far as “hiding away from twisted and horrifying versions of your friends that are only there because of an accident” could be considered normal.

It wasn’t that Virgil had been lulled into a false sense of security - because nothing could have prepared him for this – but when a new voice was heard outside their door, everything inside of him was screaming to either run away or destroy what had made them suffer for way too long.

“You must be aware of the fact that you cannot hide away in there forever. So why don’t just GIVE UP NOW AND END THE WAITING?! IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE TO PROLONG THIS ANY FURTHER!”

Virgil flinched as the screams grew louder. Oh no...They had gotten Logan, too. It had been naïve to hope that somehow, he’d have found a way to escape – yet Virgil hadn’t lost hope until now.

“Fuck…that was him, wasn’t it?” Deceit whispered.

Virgil hadn’t noticed him waking up. Though sleeping through those screams did seem impossible. Neither of them knew what to say. After all, nothing they could say would make this any easier.

Virgil nodded. It pained him to acknowledge it, but saying it out loud would have been even worse.

Deceit and Virgil held each other close, drowning the awful torment out. At least, despite everything, they had each other.

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gabriel4sam · 5 years

Text

Reluctant wedding bells, a Obi-Wan/Satine story

When Duchesse Satine learned that the Senate would force the Jedi to marry, she immediatly sent a proposal for General Kenobi's hand, fearing every world would try to snatch him. Asking Obi-Wan before would have been a nice idea, perhaps... Now, two people who thought they would only have their duty until the end of their lives must learn to navigate married life. And that's without the proud Mandalorian tradition to try to murder their leader!

The story under the cut .

It was with swearing that Obi-Wan learned of his nuptials to be. Swearing so colourful, so original, that Anakin covered Ahsoka’s head with his hands, protesting:

“Master!”

“That’s not where my ear canals start, Master,” Ahsoka informed him helpfully.

“No, really?” Anakin asked, distracted for a second.

“Also, when I will be fully formed, the part of the montrals where you have your hands will become an erogenous zone.” Anakin took his hands back with a horrified squeak and Ahsoka giggled.

“Snips! Is this…are you pranking me? Please tell me you’re pranking me.”

“Really, Anakin, do you need to go back to interspecies sensitivity training?” Obi-Wan quipped and Anakin suddenly remembered how it had started.

“Don’t swear around my Padawan!”

“Your Padawan have been on battlefield. And in the Senate. I’m sure she had heard worst.”

“Master!”

“But I will make an effort to express myself with the proper decorum of a Jedi Master.”

With a sigh, he seated down heavily next to Anakin. His former Padawan nudged him with his shoulder.

“Would it be so horrible? To be married with Satine? You are very close. And as the Jedi expert on marriage –“

“Because you’re the only married Jedi. Because you wed in secret against the old rules without even inviting your poor Master.” Obi-Wan snapped in answer.

“- yes, that, well, I’m still the only married Jedi you know. And I can affirm married life is awesome. Especially since you won’t have to hide and lie like Padme and I had in our first years.”

“Once again, because you wed in secrets breaking your vows and didn’t even tell me!”

“Do I sense a little rest of animosity about that? Snips, stop giggling right now or you’ll do laps around the Temple with me chasing you with a training saber.”

“It’s been long since you stopped being capable of running faster than me, Master mine.”, the Tortuga answered immediately.

“I get no respect, why, but why, you used to be such a nice Padawan,” Anakin tipped his face up, studying the high ceiling of the room of the Thousand Fountains and the sky outside like it would answer his question.

Obi-Wan grinned, all saccharine sweetness.

“I feel avenged,” he remarked and Ahsoka had another fit of giggle and leaned down over Anakin, offering a high five that Obi-Wan took, with a glee totally unsuitable for a serious and stern Council Member, in Anakin’s opinion.

Peace had been good for them, Anakin thought. For the entire Jedi Order, in fact, and laughs were now a common sound in the Temple. “It’s like dodging a bullet,” Captain Rex had remarked, “you can be angry people shoot at you, or happy they missed. And all of you are happy you’ve not been brutally murdered by brainwashed violations of your slavery laws.”

At that time, there were a few grimaces, but Captain Rex had no intention to relent or to care about other people feelings until his brothers had full sentient rights. Something that shouldn’t be too long: in a week the new Chancellor would be sworn in and he was a smart man, understanding they would all have been doomed without Fives.

The new Chancellor still couldn’t work miracle and he had a choice to make: push for the clones’ right or derail the idiotic laws some dumbass Senators had passed during the chaos after Sidious’ death, a law that called for Jedi’ s marriages, as a way to integrate them better into society.

With a sigh, Anakin let his head against the trunk of the tree behind him, his thoughts running in his head. A moment later, Ahsoka remembered her remedial courses in Galactic history and flew to her classroom in a hurry, with a choice of words that made Anakin cringe.

Against him, he felt Obi-Wan’s warmth and in the Force, he felt the inner peace of this former Master struggling against the news of his impending marriage.

“There are exceptions in that law,” he said to cheer him up.

“Yes, but it would be disrespectful to pretend I’m something I’m not. I’m not going to tell the commission I can’t marry because I’m asexual, or aromantic, or anything in those lines, when it would be a lie. And I hope the Senate will relent a little if a Council member is married. Let the other Jedi have more time…or even let them alone.”

“But you aren’t obligated to be the one taking the fall”, a new voice intervened and Mace Windu came to sit near them.

“Master Windu,” Anakin said with a nod, when the “Mace!” of Obi-Wan was much warmer.

The Korrun Master searched for his words for a moment then he pointed out: “Just because Mandalore offered a…” He seemed lost already and Anakin completed:

“A dowry, like it’s the dark time of bought and paid for brides? Not that Obi-Wan wouldn’t be delightful in white satin.”

“I think I would be much more a lace man,” quipped the red head.

“You two are a menace. But yes. Just because Duchesse Satine seemed determined to not let another planet snatch you, you’re under no obligation to answer it. We have other allies who would offer their hands to a Jedi in some sort of white marriage to protect us from rulers trying to snatch themselves a Jedi as if we are some sort of pet. Let one of us handle it.”

“But,” Obi-Wan observed, red rising on his face, “ Satine… I love Satine.”

It was the first time Anakin heard him speak the words and it was still a shock. Mace himself didn’t seem surprised and only touched Obi-Wan’s shoulder in support.

“I know. But wouldn’t it better if you were to wed, to go to that point on your own? To not be strong-armed into it. I fear what it would do to your relationship.”

It was a good thing Anakin was already seated, he would have fallen on his butt listening to Master Windu. Not for the first time, he asked himself how much the Sith had tainted his vision of the other Jedi.

Obi-Wan smiled, and even in this circumstances, there was real happiness in his eyes.

“I will contact Mandalore myself to accept. I will become Satine’s husband.”

*****

Obi-Wan had meet a lot of officials in his life, so much that they had a tendency to blur into each other. He was still pretty sure he would have remembered the obnoxious Umbaran, an envoy from the Republic Senate, which was currently having an aneurysm at the idea that the wedding of the first Jedi could be something other than a lavish affair, complete with ambassadors from three thousand words, fireworks and more protocols than a coronation.

On the other side of the table, Satine smiled to him. They hadn’t succeed in meeting without half her court since the two days Obi-Wan had arrived and conversation in public were stilled and awkward, empty of their usual banter. It was more difficult that he thought and his meditations had become a struggle, only helped by Mace’s presence, the older Master playing the role of a calming anchor in their joined meditation. Something Anakin, dear Anakin, could never do, no matter his desire to help. Meditating with him was like trying to swim in a flooding river.

Obi-Wan touched his beard to hide his smile, the Umbaran’s words more a background than anything. He was blessed, he thought. Blessed by friendship. So many Jedi had been lost and he had grieved for friends, but he still had Mace, who was playing statue on his right, the perfect picture of a Jedi Master, and Anakin, who wasn’t even trying to muffle his yawns on his left and had insisted to come, even if Luke and Leia were only two months old.

Whatever would happen, his friends would stand with him.

He had the Force and his friends…and soon, soon, perhaps Satine? He looked at her from the corner of his eyes. If he could only have two minutes alone with her, a real discussion…

Satine suddenly stood.

“This is ridiculous. Ambassador Deechi,- and Obi-Wan wanted to face palm because of course that was the Umbaran name, he had met him a few times already and once Ahsoka had earned herself lapses around the Temple by falling asleep during a meeting with him- “Ambassador Deechi, Master Kenobi and I will be married at the new moon-”

“In two weeks, really, your Majesty…”

“-And if the ceremony is not ready to the Republic’ specifications, I will kidnap him and marry him with Mandalore’s old laws, in the mountains, with only my sister and a wise man, as it was done in the time.”

The sister in question, who had seemed as bored as Anakin, punched the air with a cry of triumph. The officials, Mandalore and Republic alike, had paled, and were still spluttering when Satine walked around the table and offered her hand to Obi-Wan who raised from his chair to take it obediently.

The fire in this woman….He was smiling like an idiot, he was sure of it.

“Come,” she said and he followed unquestioningly, his hand in hers.

Bo-Katan Kryze turned to the Republic officials and smiled, with too much teeth for her specie.

“So, with the happy couple out of the way, if we talked about details? Like money?”

More spluttering from the officials but she found an unlikely ally in the quiet strength of Master Windu.

“After all, it would be against all civilized behaviour to exile Master Kenobi here, far away from his way of life. A Jedi contingent would be logical and since the Senate quite insisted about Jedi marrying, it wouldn’t be fair if Mandalore payed for said contingent.” He explained.

Mace Windu wasn’t the sort of man who took pleasure in making people pay for his frustration and anger, even in something as temporary as money. But the Jedi were his to protect and the Senators would have happily thrown them to the Rancors. And Obi-Wan had learned more about the diplomatic game from him than from Qui-Gon. The dear man had been has discreet as a Bantha in a state dinner, trampling around on people’s pride in the name of the will of the Force. Mace was much more discreet in negotiations than poor Jinn had ever been. And much more lethal.

“Her excellency Kryze is well within her rights,” he continued, very matter of facts.

“Oh please,” smiled Satine’ sister, “call me Bo-Katan.”

And together, they extracted every cent they could from the Republic, Anakin watching and cheering them on.

During that time, Satine had taken Obi-Wan into her apartment, deep into the palace, into her quiet rooms arranged around a small garden.

“Satine?”

“I wanted you to see them. I…You need to decide if you want to share them with me.”

“Aren’t married people traditionally living together?”

She touched his cheek and he closed his eyes in the caress.

“When I heard about the law…the idea that they could ship you to a foreign world like a prize made me so furious…”

“So, you offered for me.”

“I jumped into decision guided by my anger, without asking you. And I never, ever, would force your hand. You’re not a prisoner. If you want to never see me again after, never think I would impose myself.” Her sharp blue eyes were scrutinising him so fiercely that for a second he asked himself which one of them was really into the mind reading business.

“You could never.”

Feeling bold, he took the small hand on his face, kissed her wrist. Were they not engaged? He shuddered at the idea that old rules didn’t apply anymore and kissed her wrist again, eyes closed too tight. She smelled of some flowers he couldn’t identify.

“Obi-Wan, look at me.”

He obeyed. She was so close, alive and breathing and smelling so good.

“May I kiss you?” she asked, breathless, and he nodded and closed his eyes again when he felt her mouth on his. Something painful, so usual that he didn’t note it anymore, loosened up in his chest. The second their lips touched, a good part of his worries vanished. With Satine, there was nothing he couldn’t face.

It was only the third time they shared a kiss, and it was so different from the first one, a terrified Padawan and the young Duchess he protected, or from the second, a Master Jedi incognito and the Duchess he had rescued from Maul. It stayed chaste and tender but it was enough to make him weak in the knees.

“I will never ask something of you that you don’t want to give”, Satine whispered against his ear and he shuddered again.

“And if I want to give you everything I am?”

“Then, I will treasure it. I can be greedy, my Obi-Wan. I will keep it and treasure it and claim to the entire world that you’re my beloved.”

Obi-Wan felt a shiver along his nerves and something must have passed in his eyes.

“I will be yours and you’ll be mine,” Satine swore and he closed his eyes, overwhelmed and so thankful.

“Kiss me again?” He asked.

Her lips crushed against his again, less chaste this time, with a hunger he didn’t totally understood. She certainly knew what she was doing and it was a relief: that one of them had more to guide them that two kisses years apart and the stories told by Quinlan!

That third kiss was followed by a fourth, and a fifth. He felt desire rise in him and immediately send it in the Force, an old habit, before remembering he could now embraces it. It was almost too much and he broke the kiss and hid his face into Satine’s neck.

“Will you marry me?” She asked and he smiled and whispered his yes.

“Were you serious about marrying me in two weeks, without all that pump?”

“Would you prefer it?”

He made a face.

“I could do without all the politicians trying to earn points by being invited,” and they were so close that he felt her laugh inside his ribcage.

They couldn’t escape the pump, of course, it would have been too nice. He suspected Bo-Katan ran as much interference as she dared, because she liked the idea of her sister stealing herself a Jedi, in the old ways, but at the end, there were politicians and holoreporters and too much people.

He knelt in front of her, dressed in a Jedi uniform in Kryze colours and felt the weight of the circle of gold she placed on his head like an oath. All his friends had come. Dex and Anakin were crying tear of joys and Bant’s colour around her gills was almost ruby, her skin tone reacting to a strong emotion. Padmé was trying to cover her yawns because the Senate was working fourth time more that it had under Palpatine. Quinlan was wearing his most formal attire, something Obi-Wan would have deemed deeply suspicious if the attire hadn’t the highest collar possible and Quinlan a tendency to like lovers who marked him….

It was a nice ceremony. It was something he never knew he would have. He swore to himself he would do his best to become a good Mandalorian’s consort and stood back, taking her hands in his, smiling so hard it almost hurt.

He was her husband.

And then the problems started.

When you marry a ruler of Mandalore, the problem is that with the marital life came a full planet of Mandalorian….

*******

Bo-Katan had been happier that she could have imagined at her sister wedding, despite the years of bad blood and silence between them. She was quite proud of them, mending their relationship like that, working together to make their planet united again. She was also so proud of Satine, taking her man out of Republic’s hands and making them pay for it, too. She would have preferred an old ceremony, traditional, in the mountain with only as elder as officiant and herself to represent the clan, but perhaps for her own wedding, if she ever found a man wanting to be kidnapped by her from his clan?

The Jedi thing was clearly unfortunate, really couldn’t Satine have chosen someone a little less controversial with the Jedi-Mandalore history, but nobody was perfect. Most of the Jedi contingent which had accompanied him seemed bearable. She could come to like Kenobi, if he made Satine happy. She had been less convinced at the beginning by the addition of the clones of Jango Fett, but it was evident that even heavy artillery wouldn’t separate them from their former General.

She was whistling when she went around the corner in the familial wing of the palace, ready for bed, already in a nightshirt after a moment in the private sauna….and found a fully armoured Mandalorian wearing gold for revenge, kneeling on a ventilation shaft exit. There were only dark possibilities for that being presence there, and most of them was of the murder of Satine and/or her brand new consort sort. Yelling the Clan Kryze traditional war cry, which hadn’t been used in the palace since some good fifty years, Bo-Katan charged.

She was of the punch first, ask question later Kryze-model, like Korkie father and a long list of ancestors had been and what followed was an epic brawl. She regretted she hadn’t worn her jet pack and full weapon set to bed. The small knife strapped on her tight was clearly not enough as a Beskar'gam opener, even if she cut a tendon successfully, just at the knee, where one of the weaknesses of this type of Beskar'gam was.

A machete. If she survived that one, she would go to bed with a machete strapped to her tight and a blaster under her pillow!

Despite her disadvantage, she was winning, when in a desperate move, the other started his jetpack and thrown the two of them through a window.

That was it. She was dead. That Jedi better protect Satine and Korkie or she would haunt his Coruscanti ass. She closed her eyes against the vision of the ground coming …and opened them a few seconds later because it took too long.

Apparently, because she was floating.

Floating in direction of another window, a little to the right, which opened like it was holocommanded.

She touched the carpet and almost fall down, her knees weak, but strong arms helped her. Strong arms dressed in Jedi tunics.

Come on, a death protecting her sister, even in her nightshirt, would have been better than being saved by one of those…

“Are you alright, your Excellency? Can you stand?”

There was more real preoccupation in the words that she would have thought, and the voice was female. She looked up and her saviour was a Moon Calamari with enormous black eyes and a tattoo around one eye socket, which she was sure had been clone-designed.

Even if the Jedi was keeping Bo-Katan standing up with a strong arm around her, her other hand was extended in direction of the open window, where the would-be assassin was still suspended, too far away to grab anything, head down, trashing like a fish on a hook against the strength of the Force gripping him.

“What’s your name?” Bo-Katan asked, without moving from the Mon Calamari’s arms. The other was smelling salty and was running colder than Bo-Katan, but even then, the red head felt like she had burrowed under a warm blanket and for a second, she asked herself if the other was using the Force to comfort her after that near death experience.

“Bant Eerin, your Excellency.”

“Bant, you definitely should use my first name.”

*****

To the new lovers, intimacy had come naturally. Obi-Wan had been raised in a chaste culture but Jedi took to chastity like a way of life, not like a moral judgement. Once he knew he could look, touch, share… And with Satine? The woman he loved guiding him, he had taken to physical love in her arms like he had been clay shaped to be the perfect lover for her.

They had waited decades for that, in a way, and at the beginning, it was difficult to let go of each other.

Mandalore was too unstable for them to take a honeymoon, but Bo-Katan and the officials were supposed to take care of the planet for them for five days and they had every intention to use those five days.

So, when Satine woke up from their latest session of love making and let her gaze embrace the room, she didn’t immediately realized what had woken her up. The moon was high and letting see every details but she was pretty sure she hadn’t slept more than one hour, so why was she awake? She looked at her bedside. Her holocom was an angry red, a muffled sound coming of it. She looked at her message, then immediately woke up Obi-Wan.

“Someone tried to murder my sister,” she explained, “help me”. With awkward fingers he zipped her, tied, and buttoned, struggling against meters of taffetas and so small ties that he cheated and used the Force, his fingers too big.

“Do you really need all of that stuff?”

“She’s alive and will stay that way if she knows what is good for her. I can’t take the time to dress. I can’t appear weak, and running to her bedside without all that stuff, as you said, that would appear weakness. But I can’t appear too long after, or her own position would be weakened. I never should have given the week to all my handmaidens…Tighter, darling.”

“Tighter and you won’t breath!”

“No, but I will stand straight and proud. Not every Beskar'gam are metal, cyare.”

*******

There was a delightful small garden, deep in the palace, which had been the late Duchesse, the mother of Satine and Bo-Katan, personal domain. Here, she had escaped the dangers of the court and most of his intrigue, which she hadn’t been really built to endure. The two sisters more precious memories of their parents and their dead brother, Korkie’s father, took place in that garden.

It had been destroyed during the civil war but when it had been possible to use credits for something other than urgent matters, Satine had it remade. That had been the first renovation work in her familial wing.

Not her apartments, not the throne room, not the gallery of old Kryze portraits and holos, that frankly she found creepy, but this garden.

And now, it was only used for family and very close friends. A place without the cutthroat politics of the palace, without the constant need for Satine to watch her tone, her words, her posture.

Satine was half sitting, half reclining in a deep ottoman, Obi-Wan sitting on the floor on a thrown pillow, his feet in the small fish pond. To her great pleasure, he had immediately loved this place and they were already in the habits to come here when they had a little free time.

Obi-Wan was leaning against his wife’s legs and had such an expression of peace on his face, he probably would have purred if he had been physiologically capable of it. He was wearing some tunics in the Jedi’s traditions, but he wore them in Kryze colours, and she loved how he marked himself as hers in this small way. They were still exploring, slowly, the wonders of their newly found intimacy. Satine was finding in herself more joy that she could have believe possible in this exploration. She loved how Obi-Wan slowly unfurled under her guidance. He had come to her curious and a little cautious, deeply unaware of the reality of a relationship.

And she had been, so, so careful, realizing more than him how he could have been hurt in his naivety, how she could have taken from him pieces he didn’t even realize he was losing before it was too late.

The reward of their relationship growing stronger every day had a sweetness that made her heart sing. Every day it deepened, brought them closer and closer. There were so many things to explore together and she wasn’t thinking of sexuality, even, if yes, that would be fun too, to offer to Obi-Wan the multiple nuances of human sexuality and to explore them with him.

They would be so happy, she was sure of it, like they couldn’t have been if he had renounced being a Jedi for her. They would be so happy, like they already were, but every day a little more.

She put down her datapad. Right now, her mind was busier with the wonders of her dear husband than it was with their social life. They needed to choose between the celebrations on Coruscant of the latest Chancellor’s elections, or the second Jedi wedding celebrated since the war, which would happen on Saleucami between a clone Commander and his Jedi. She was sure Obi-Wan would prefer the wedding and if the former would have been more politically smart, making Obi-Wan happy ranked higher than scoring political point.

Like he had heard her thoughts, Obi-Wan turned to her, kissing the hand that had been playing with his hair. Adoration was making his eyes shine. She leaned down for a kiss and perhaps she would have initiated more, cajoled him into going into their bedroom, if not for a noise on the other side of the garden.

The Darksaber had always held a special place in Mandalorian history. It had go from families to families, a symbol of power and duty. In some periods of history, it had also been seen as cursed. The Jedi who had meet their demise by it, less numerous than Mandalorian pretended of course, because trying to kill a skilled Force user with a proximity weapon was a terrible idea, those Jedi were supposed to jinx the saber and those who bear it.

It had been almost six generations since a Kryze had possessed it and Bo-Katan had taken to it with great pleasure and the over eagerness of a murderous Aak puppy.

Nevertheless, even if the Dark Saber had been possessed by the Kryze before in his history, it was certainly the first time it was used that way. To teach a Mandalorian lightsaber combat techniques.

Bo-Katan lost her footing and she would have fallen into a bush, if Master Windu hadn’t caught her with the Force, and with half a smirk. Her opponent today was Anakin and he was without mercy in training. Around them in circle, Mace, Ahsoka, Bant, Quinlan, Aayla and Siri were commenting and offering advices. Siri was leaning on a crutch, she was just coming back from a hard mission, but the rest of them seemed more rested that they had been in years.

“For a woman who profess to despite Jedi, your sister likes to collect them,” Obi-Wan remarked to his wife, “ and I’m pretty sure your security officers will soon resign if she doesn’t stop asking the Jedi for help in testing their security measures.”

Satine had a smirk and she drawn in his head against her legs again. He had come to bed late all week, negotiating with some exiled Mandalorian structure, one of many, to reinstate them in Mandalorian society. He was a fine negotiator, he was after all THE Negotiator, but Mandalorian had hard skulls and he was pretty tired.

“Bo likes dangerous people,” Satine admitted, starting again to pet his hair,“I think it was only a question of time.”

On the other side of the garden, Bo-Katan had asked for a respite and was drinking some energy drink, as Bant fussed over some minor graze the red head had received.

Satine put her head against the back of the ottoman and closed her eyes, savouring the last rays of the sun on her face. Tonight, there was another dinner with too much small talks and too many people she despised. Tomorrow, there would be politics, internal to Mandalore and also on the galaxy scale, there would be the problems of the latest extremists and their refusal to join Mandalore again unless it burned on their terms, but in that moment, with Obi-Wan safe and happy against her, and Bo-Katan with her again, as happy as she could be, Satine could savour peace.

A few months after Satine and Obi-Wan had tied their lives together, a bomb went off in their apartments in the middle of the night.

The bombers were good bomb makers, but terrible gossips readers. When the Duchesse’s rooms were gutted by an explosion, said Duchess and her husband were on Coruscant for the wedding of Master Ima-Gun Di and Captain Keeli, a fact that had been announced on every tabloid on Mandalore. In fact, the exact minute the bomb went off, they were cheering with the rest of the assistance as the happy couple kissed for the first time as married couple.

There wasn’t any loss to deplore and the couple found the message when they came back to their rooms in the Mandalore embassy late in the night, and immediately contacted Bo-Katan.

“Don’t change your plan,” the young woman advised, “I’m more than enough to handle that and you rushing back here would be read as you not trusting me enough to kick their asses.”

“Please, don’t maim anybody,” Satine asked, then seeing her sister’s expression, she corrected “please, don’t maim anybody too much.”

“Do you think we should still go back?” Satine asked her husband after, while he was busy with her corset. He had developed quite a talent with her complicated clothes, he would do a good handmaiden. And if sometimes, she loved to see him in said corset, it was between them.

“Let’s take a decision tomorrow,” Obi-Wan said. He kissed the newly unveiled skin of her shoulder, before adding: “We’re tipsy and tired, it’s not the best moment for that. And Bo-Katan isn’t alone, the Jedi contingent on Mandalore will offer its help in her search of the guilty party. And…well, they will stop them if she try to execute people in a moment of anger. Perhaps there is even some she likes enough to listen to them.”

“She respects Knight Eerin,” Satine admitted.

“Is that was the kids call it now? Respect? Because I’m pretty sure we used another word when I was a Padawan and you the newly crowned Duchess. I hope your sister is serious. Bant is a serial monogamist.”

Without answering, she turned in his arms, “Enough talk about Mandalore for tonight. Do you know it’s traditional to have sex on a wedding night?”

“It’s not even our weeding night,” Obi-Wan remarked, amused.

“Will you let that stop us?”

“Certainly not.”

When Obi-Wan and his beloved wife were on Ryloth for the weeding of Knight Secura and Commander Bly, Bo-Katan cracked open like a nut a small cell of nostalgic Mandalorians who thought Satine had nothing to do on her throne since she hadn’t killed anyone for it. Fortunately, Anakin was with her to stop the arrests of becoming illegal, which they would have become if she had bashed them on the heads enough to make them spit the names of their sponsor, as was her first idea.

“You shouldn’t do that to me,” he had half-whined to the red head after, “I can’t be the voice of reason, it’s too much pressure!”

Despite his words, he followed her everywhere in her long search. His former Master had never been happier, the shadows in his eyes had never been lighter, and if Bo-Katan needed to play nice for Satine to be happy and safe, then she would play nice, even if Anakin had to follow her everywhere like an overgrown, well-armed puppy.

It had brought about a slight problem between him and Padmé, who couldn’t understand why he couldn’t give that job to a Mandalorian officer, or to another Jedi.

How couldn’t she understand that Obi-Wan’s happiness couldn’t be in the hands of just anybody?

“Pretty sure it’s supposed to be in the hands of the Duchess,” Ahsoka remarked when they talked about it, “Or best, in the hands of Master Kenobi. Because he’s, you know, an adult and even an adultier adult than anybody else we know. Except perhaps Master Windu.”

“Adultier adult?” Anakin had asked, an eyebrow arched, “Should I send you into remedial grammar class, and she had stuck out her tongue, in a childish moment that he saw less and less frequently in her. His heart had squeezed painfully in his chest. His Padawan wasn’t anymore the young Tortuga of their beginning. She was an adult. Soon, very soon, she would be a Knight.

An awesome, awesome Knight, but it seemed to Anakin that Yoda had send her to him only days ago, and now she almost towered above Obi-Wan.

Surprising her, he kissed her brows in a paternal gesture.

“Master?”

“If anybody try to throw that stupid marriage law at you against your will after your Knighthood, we’ll run away together and become pirates,” he simply answered.

“Padmé wouldn’t like it.”

“Sad but true. Doubly sad, because she would make an awesome pirate Queen.”

Bo-Katan and Anakin were on the same opinion about one fact: the ducal couple was safer away from the planet. They insisted, very logically thank you even if later Obi-Wan would pretend they had whined, for them to continue their trip, since it’s was wedding season in the Jedi Order, and to let Anakin and Bo-Katan handle everything else.

Since Obi-Wan didn’t seem convinced, Anakin used his last card and swore he would ask for Cody’s help. The Clone Commander had refused prestigious postings to follow Obi-Wan to Mandalore and was now a member of the Ducal guard, it wouldn’t be complicated to bring him into the investigation, it would even be logical. Of course, it was also a little like offering to bring a baby-sitter with them, but he wasn’t above the slight embarrassment of it, if it kept Obi-Wan safe!

So, Cody, Anakin and Bo-Katan investigated, and Satine and her husband went from wedding to wedding, from worlds to worlds.

Some of those weddings happened between clones and Jedi, most of the time on the worlds of their first missions together, something Satine found half romantic and half creepy, since a lot of those first meetings had included explosions, battle droids and a body count. Some of those weddings happened between officials and Jedi, some in the Senate, some meet in missions, all of them people who had meet the Jedi before that infamous law, and who had saw them leave for another assignment with sadness in their hears. Now, they had a second chance and Satine was happy to see Obi-Wan’s face at every of those weddings. His quiet joy at seeing his friends and brethren found, if not the love the two of them had, but strong, good pairings, full of respect and trust. He even cried a little, when Mace Windu married Bail and Breha Organa.

They let all those celebrations of love lure them into a dangerous sentiment of safety. It was quite a shock when a Rhodian tried to stab Satine, during the ceremony of Garen Muln’s wedding.

“That’s it,” Obi-Wan snarled, his knee on the back of the would-be assassin, his lightsaber, turned off, just pressing against the Rhodian’s neck as a very successful warning to stay down, “We’re going back to Mandalore. I’m going to handle those factions myself.”

In most people’s minds, dangerous beings are supposed to dress in black and lurk in the shadows. An exotic name/past/dead lover whose soul need revenge and / or an interesting scar help.

Obi-Wan Kenobi fit none of those criteria. Force Healing and bacta had stopped the multiple wounds of his past to scar. He was happily married, and not mourning a long dead princess/stripper with a heart of god/ childhood sweetheart for who he had sworn to clean up the world, as classical romance holodramas tropes demanded. Obi-Wan was the most common first name on Stewjon for a male human of his generation, and Kenobi the third most common last name of the archipelago in the Northern hemisphere of Stewjon where he had been born. He left the black to Anakin, preferring traditional Jedi colours, or more and more, Kryze colours, all blue and grey. His past wasn’t more exotic than any other Jedi, and for lurking in the shadows, he wasn’t a drama queen like Xanatos, may the Force have misery of his soul, had been.

So, Obi-Wan looked mild mannered most of the time, and exasperated by the world’s attics the rest of it.

He didn’t look dangerous, or perhaps just for people’s pants when he went full flirting in the name of the mission. But not dangerous, could remove limbs at the smallest provocation, dangerous.

Which definitely prove people shouldn’t be judged on their appearance, because Obi-Wan was probably the most dangerous Jedi.

Oh, he wasn’t as powerful as Anakin in sheer puissance. He wasn’t as skilled with a lightsaber as Master Windu. Not as apt to mind manipulation as Master Mundi, or as good in diplomacy as Master Gallia.

But he was good, very good at all those things, and it was because he was powerful and at the same time pretty good with a lightsaber and pretty good with mind tricks and so good in negotiations they gave his name to some new ideas in that field, that he was the most dangerous.

Also, he reached a point, sometimes, when he was out of fuck to give and just broke things in his path until he reached his goal, no matters the collateral damages.

Mace blamed Qui-Gon. The man had been a horrible influence and a young Jedi could only spent so much of his formative years using ruffians’ methods and horrifying protocol officers before bad habits took hold.

This is why Mace wasn’t surprised when, a month after his weeding, he was woken up by his private communicator. Extracting himself from his spouses’ arms was quite a challenge: Bail was quite the octopus in bed, and Breha liked to use his shoulder as a pillow. He was forced to cheat and to use the Force to be sure they continued to sleep. Ruling a planet was a challenge, when you wanted to do it well, and marrying the Master of the Jedi Order had only put more problems on the Organa’s plate: they needed all the sleep they could have.

“Skywalker?” Mace asked, once he was out of the bedroom.

“Oh, I forgot about the difference of hours with the capital of Alderann, sorry Master” Anakin said when he saw he was shirtless. Even in the blue of the holograms, Mace could see him blushing. The younger Jedi had been married for years, what did he expect exactly, Mace sleeping in full Council regalia?

“Now that I’m awake, tell me why you called.”

“I’m so sorry, Master!”

“Anakin!!”

“Hem,yeh, hem, it’s about Obi-Wan, Master.”

“Force, did something happen to him? Why didn’t you start with that?”

“No, no, he’s fine, totally, I mean physically. Not that I think he isn’t fine mentally!?”

“Skywalker! If you don’t start telling me why you called, I’m going back to bed. What happened to Obi-Wan?”

“Nothing happened to him. It’s more that he’s the one happening to people, Master.”

Mace pinched the skin between his eyes. He had a better relationship with Skywalker now, no that the bar was very high before, but that didn’t mean being waken up in the middle of the night by a hysterical Chosen One who didn’t make sense was a pleasant experience. In the Amidala-Skywalker household, the Senator was definitely his favourite.

“Start at the beginning.”

“People are trying to kill the Duchess.”

“Not to sound blasé at the idea of murder, but people have been trying to kill the Duchess for longer that you have been alive. Most of them are dead, and she’s still ruling Mandalore. And probably half the Neutral Systems underhand. And she would rule half the Republic if she didn’t fear it would annoy Obi-Wan. My money is on her.”

“I know, but I think Obi-Wan has reached a tipping point! He crashed a ship on a Death Watch’ stronghold on an abandoned moon. It was evacuated, but you could still see the fire from the other end of the solar system! He cut three arms this week! He made four Judicials officers and the Education Minister cry yesterday! Even Bo-Katan thinks he’s perhaps going a little strong and I spent three months stopping her from decapitating people in public as an interrogation technique! Master, I’m very bad at being the voice of reason, I don’t know how he did it all these years. And the Duchess seems to think it’s all fun and game and he’s in control, only I’m not so sure and if he kills someone accidentally, pretty sure they will get divorced and he will be infinitely sad. Please, come to Mandalore, Master Windu, you’re my only hope!”

****

That morning, Obi-Wan woke up way later than he had planned to. He searched, still half asleep for the chrono on the bedside table, because there was way too much light in their bedroom for really be the time before the damn thing was supposed to woke him up, and discovered it had been totally disconnected.

Surprised, he tried to roll over, but couldn’t, because someone had tied his other wrist to the head board with a long silk scarf. His first reflex was to tear the thing down, and only the colour stopped him. It was Satine’s colour, and he was in their bedroom, so the culprit was probably not another Death Watch murderer.

He half-turned and here she was, in a chair in a corner of their bedroom, in that long dress of lace almost totally transparent that had made him cross his eyes the first time he had seen her in it.

“Not very prudent tying down a Jedi during his sleep,” he remarked.

“Even if your sleep, you know I’m not a danger,” she answered and he gave her a little nod. He liked that. That despite his nightmares and the hair trigger and the PTSD, his subconscious would let her tie him down. That even that part of him knew he was hers, that everything she wanted to give her, he would take it, and that everything he was she could take and use, and he wouldn’t fear, because he was hers, hers only, and Satine always took care of what was hers.

Satine stood up and made her way along the bed, her gaze a pleasant weight on his skin, then the lace dress was abandoned on the floor and she knelt across his legs.

“The Death Watch,” he said, because she was beautiful and he adored her, but the sun was high in the sky, and he needed to go and make sure she was safe:

“It is handled,” the Duchess, “And now, I just want to hear Yes, or Stop.”

The answer was easy and the untied hand of Obi-Wan went to join the other one obediently on the head board.

Satine said it was handled, and too contradict her wasn’t in Obi-Wan’s power, here, in the safety and warmth of their bed. Not when she was there, the light of her eyes burning every dark thought and doubt.

Satine had said it was handled, so he could let go into her arms.

“Yes,” he said, arching up against her and she smiled at him and leaned down, pressing his wrists against the mattress in an order for staying there and everything else disappeared around them.

*****************

Let’s observe some nameless Death Watch goon. He was middle aged, with beautiful blue eyes, currently covered by his helmet. Good people don’t have the privilege of beautiful eyes, certainly a sad genetic problem in the human species. He had been a sweet child, a faithful friend, and if his parents had been dead for years, he scrupulously visited his aging grandfather.

With different choices, he could even have been considered a good man. But the current situation was that he had made the wrong choice, and then the wrong one again and again and again. The current situation was that he imagined himself for superior, for horrible reasons that could be resumed to the fact that he considered himself entitled to more than other people, and for less efforts.

Greed was the seed of our nameless Death Watch goon’s fate.

So, as he opened the door of another Death Watch’s stronghold, not to go and do evil, but simply for a supply run, nobody in the galaxy should feel sorry for nameless Death Watch goon, as he suddenly felt against his neck the shining blade of a purple lightsaber.

“I have questions,” the man on the other end of the lightsaber said, “And you will answer them.”

“Death to the Jedi!” the nameless Death Watch goon immediately yelled, activating the self-destruct of his pack. Suicide in case of capture had never really been his plan, but to be known in the Death Watch history as the man taking down Mace Windu himself, such things could be supportable.

Sadly for the Death Watch, but to the Republic’s relief, the charge didn’t explode to kill the Master of the Order, no, the buckles on the goon’s torso opened themselves violently and the suicide bomb threw itself far enough than only a whisper of his power passed on them. Mace Windu hadn’t moved a finger, because apparently fear for their lives was a thing that happened to other people. The goon jumped two feet in the air at the voice behind him.

“Like he said, we have questions,” Anakin Skywalker smiled with too much teeth.

“And some official protestations,” a green Nautolean Jedi said behind the Chosen One.

“We heard you weren’t nice to our brother,” a human Jedi in pilots suits added.

“And since the war is done, we have more time for individual planets problems,” a smaller Moon Calamari Jedi said.

“So, we’ve come to kick your ass,” a Kiffar one finished, and he gave our nameless goon a smile even more terrifying than Skywalker.

****

Here they were, again,

In the Temple, in the Room of the Thousand Fountains, just the three of them sitting down at the feet of one of the biggest tree, observing people. But the atmosphere was so different from one year ago, when Obi-Wan had been lost between his love for Satine and his anger at the violence the Senate inflicted on them in forcing Jedi to marry. One year ago, they still had been reeling from the war, still hesitant in their footing in a galaxy where not everyone wanted to kill them. One year ago, Ahsoka was still unsure of her place in the Jedi Order, which she had only joined again when she had understood Palpatine had organized her fall to isolate Anakin a little more. One year ago, Anakin was still angry, lost between the reality of Palpatine’s machinations and years of habits to blame others, especially the Order, for the universe’s problems.

Today, they were in the Temple for a celebration: a little less year after her sister, Bo-Katan was marrying a Jedi too. Somewhere in the Mandalore’s necropolis the two sisters’ fierce-Jedi-hating ancestors, were probably spinning in their graves fast enough to power a small turbine….

Today, there had been no pressure, no hesitation: the law, if not repelled yet, had been buried by the new Chancellor under enough red tapes to protect the Jedi until he could definitely kill it.

No, Bo-Katan had come to the Jedi Temple only for the smile of Bant, because her Moon Calamari lover would live on Mandalore now, and the young Mandalorian had found fair to marry then in Bant’s home.

Today, Obi-Wan was wearing House Kryze’s colours, like he was doing more and more, and slightly tipsy on sparkling wine. His gaze searched regularly Satine, busy cornering a poor politician about the Force only knew what, without shame. And every time, like she knew he was looking, she let her victim a few seconds respite to turn and smile at her husband.

Anakin himself was more than slightly tipsy. Padme had left just after the ceremony for Naboo with their children, where he was supposed to join them the next day, and he had celebrated a little too much the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be a role model in that moment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a role model to me too?” A very amused Ahsoka had asked, at the third cup of wine.

“Nah, it’s been long since I had anything left to teach you, Snips.”

Ahsoka raised up from her crouch against the tree. The flowers adorning her montrals had slipped way off their careful arrangement, giving her a strange dishevelled air, even without hair.

“Then why didn’t you present me to trial?” She protested. Between them, Obi-Wan smothered a giggle. He remembered quite well a teenage Anakin, his voice still craking down sometimes from puberty, with exactly the same question, the question outraged Padawan believing themselves ready had asked since the dawn of the Order. Obi-Wan himself hadn’t asked, but Obi-Wan had known he wasn’t ready. Despite what Qui-Gon had told the Council.

“Because then, you would go on missions alone,” Anakin protested, “And you could be hurt.”

“You threw me at a Death Watch Death Squad the other day. Threw me! Like a missile!” She retorted.

“And I knew you would kick their asses. And you did!”

“And you think I would do different if you’re not there to watch? You didn’t help! You just gave points to their efforts to escape me.”

“Well, some of them made a good effort. Even if they failed, efforts should be recognized.”

“It doesn’t-“

It was the laugh that stopped their bickering. A full-bodied, irrepressible laugh. It was simply a laugh, but it was Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan who took his boots off before climbing on an exam table when he had taken a blaster shot to the belly, Obi-Wan who never let more than a small dry laugh escape his lips, because it wouldn’t be proper, or conform to what he believed proper Jedi decorum should be. Obi-Wan was laughing, grinning like a loon, without a care in the world, shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Master?” Anakin asked, then he squeaked when the other man pulled him closer with an arm around his shoulders, doing the same to Ahsoka with the other arm.

“Master?” the young Tortuga asked in turn.

“We made it,” Obi-Wan said, his face hidden his Anakin’s hair, “We made it.”

And there was such relief in his words. Anakin’s surprise face eased and he put an arm around Obi-Wan’s waist, another around Ashoka, who did the same. He wasn’t exactly surprised. The Death Watch and the attempts on Satine’s life had simply delay the crisis in Obi-Wan, a crisis Ahsoka herself had cried on Anakin’s shoulder and Anakin in Padmé’s arms, a crisis every other Jedi had to confront a day.

“We did it,” he confirmed, his voice comforting and easy, “We did it and you can let go, Obi-Wan. We’re safe, all of us, now.”

And, hiding their Master between them, Ahsoka and Anakin let him laugh and cry.

In a few minutes, Anakin would go fetch Satine, and she would help Obi-Wan find a path for the rest of his life, but for now.

For now, just the three of them, their lineage, their family, was enough.

#satine kryze #obi wan kenobi #obitine #star wars #the clone wars #my fics #fix-it

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lupinusalbus · 5 years

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Season 8 Plot: Jon and Dany are Tainted; Sansa Rises (Part 1)

There was so much wrong with seasons seven and eight of Game of Thrones, especially with the portrayals of most of the major characters. Many of the show characters are quite different in some aspects from what they are in the books, but we know that many of the end points will be very similar. We also know that Martin likes to subvert expectations about “heroes”. This may mean both Jon and Dany are slated to be sullied as characters in TWOW, not just Dany alone. What follows is my theory of why the writing in season 8 went down the way it did. It doesn’t mean I believe the writing and characterizations were actually good. In part 2, I will get more specific about what I think the writers were actually trying to accomplish, muddled as it was. If we look at the skeleton outline of what happened towards the end of the series, however, it looks something like this:

Jon is disillusioned, but his reunion with Sansa inspires him to take up the Stark’s seemingly hopeless cause

Dany arrives at Dragonstone and plans her conquest

Jon and Sansa take back Winterfell, their relationship deepens

Jon’s personal renewal upon being named King in the North causes him to continue his mission to act against the Night King. This leads him to his fateful meeting with Daenerys Targaryen.

Dany falls in love with Jon and agrees to fight in the North after losing a Dragon trying to rescue him. Jon kneels to Dany; they go North with her armies. Meanwhile, the Night King breaks through the Wall with Viserion.

Jon learns about his true heritage. In the meantime, Dany has received a chilly reception from the Starks, especially Sansa who wants to continue with Northern Independence.

The Night King is defeated; killed by Arya Stark. Heavy losses are suffered by Dany’s armies and the Northern forces. Dany is disturbed by the implications of Jon’s lineage when she sees how much the Northerners love him. Their sexual relationship becomes troubled as Jon experiences qualms about it. She asks Jon to keep his true parentage a secret.

Jon tells the Starks who he really is. Sansa tells Tyrion, who tells Varys. Meanwhile, Dany and Jon head South separately to fight Cersei.

Dany loses Rhaegal. Missendai is executed by Cersei; Dany becomes more paranoid and isolated.

Varys plots to overthrow Dany in favor of Jon Snow. He is discovered and burned alive. Jon reaffirms his political fealty to Dany but again rejects her advances and she concludes that she must rule by fear in Westeros. Dany knows that Sansa has plotted against her.

Dany and Jon move to attack King’s Landing. Tyrion frees Jaimie who was captured by Dany’s forces while sneaking into King’s Landing.

Rather than accept the surrender of Cersei’s forces, Dany goes “mad” and burns King’s Landing and much of the populace to cinders. Her forces and the Northern forces commit atrocities. Jaimie and Cersei die; Jon Snow is horrified by what Dany has wreaked.

At her victory rally at the Red Keep, Dany announces her plans to liberate the world. Tyrion throws his Hand’s badge down the steps in a dramatic display and Dany has him arrested. Tyrion convinces Jon that he must act against Dany before it’s too late.

Jon kills Dany as they kiss in front of the Iron Throne and Drogon absconds with her body. Jon is arrested off camera.

Bran is named King; Tyrion is his hand. Sansa secures the North’s continuing independence. Jon is sentenced to go back to The Wall in an apparent compromise between Gray Worm and the Starks.

Arya sails off to explore unknown territory under the Stark Banner, Sansa is named Queen in the North, Jon sets out beyond The Wall to resettle the Wildlings. It’s unclear when or whether he plans to return.

(More Below the Cut)

The biggest story arc in the final two seasons is that of Dany and Jon’s political/personal alliance and subsequent military actions. Almost all of the other stories play out against this backdrop. If we could encapsulate Dany’s story in a nutshell, it could be divided into her life before and after she met Jon Snow. Soon after she met him, she decided to decimate much of the Lannister army in the Loot Train attack, which gave her an advantage against Cersei. Dany was weakened by going North with Jon and fighting against the Night King, both militarily and personally. It can be argued that her relationship with Jon Snow brought about her downfall. We don’t know whether Jon and the Starks could have defeated the Night King without Dany, however it looks like this is at least a possibility because of the way the story played out. The Stark’s plan essentially outwitted the Night King by using Bran as bait, and when he went down, the entire AOTD went down with him. Had it played out a bit differently, it’s conceivable that it could have been done without Dany. At any rate, Dany’s journey to the North eventually weakened her in more ways than one.

Dany and Jon at the Battle for Winterfell (HBO)

Dany’s Love for Jon Snow - a Fateful Event

As I wrote previously, Dany’s relationship with Jon was very different from her previous two. In her marriage to Drogo, Dany began as the weaker partner who was basically treated like a piece of property; however improbably, they did grow to love each other. Gradually, she gained power to the point where Drogo ended up dying because Dany demanded that he stop some rapes that were occurring after a raid. In her relationship with Daario Naharis, Dany was the dominant partner. She easily left him behind when she sailed for Westeros.

After Jon arrives at Dragonstone to seek Dany’s help against the Night King, Dany becomes infatuated with him. Jon’s personal integrity, conscientiousness and restraint represent an advancement for Dany compared to her past relationships. However, these very qualities of Jon’s are also what will seal her doom.

We don’t get to see very much of Jon and Dany’s relationship before she finds out that he is a Targaryen and technically her rival for the throne. However, Jon has bent the knee to Dany, and as such he is obligated to be deferential. When Jon learns of the true circumstances of his birth from Samwell Tarly, he immediately reacts to Sam’s suggestion that Dany should not be Queen by calling it treason. During the Battle for Winterfell, the two seem to work in tandem although Jon prioritizes Bran’s safety over Dany’s. This happens immediately after Jon tells Dany about his birth, and after the battle it causes a rift to develop in their relationship.

In the scene after the celebratory feast at Winterfell, Dany tells Jon that she loves him. Jon is ultimately unable to make love to her which leads Dany to have a melt down over his parentage. Jon swears that he doesn’t want the throne and will be loyal. But he then takes exception to Dany’s demand that he keep his secret from Sansa and Arya. Although Jon continues his political loyalty to Dany, their emotional attachment is now deeply disturbed.

There is no doubt, however, that Dany wishes to continue their relationship. In the scene of the two together at Dragonstone, she tries to heal their rift, and he again rejects her advances. And just before her death, Dany envisions them working side by side together as Targaryens; probably in a marriage as has been their custom. Although we can argue about what love means to a flawed character like Dany, there is no doubt that her feelings for Jon Snow continued until the end.

This scene at Dragonstone between Dany and Jon is pivotal and provides an important glimpse into Dany’s dark side. We don’t see whether Jon was summoned or if he just showed up to talk to Dany; but we do get to see her reaction to being thwarted. Jon’s qualms about continuing their physical relationship (read as rejection by Dany) is seemingly projected onto Westeros at large by Dany with the implication being that the lack of love being shown her is what causes her to unleash her fury.

Jon’s Faustian Bargain

The impending invasion of the Night King placed Jon in a difficult situation with regard to his relationship with Dany, since persuading her to help him was paramount. As King in the North, his commitment was to protect his people and the Starks. He keenly feels the weight of his responsibilities, just as he did when he was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. His instinct is usually to try and unite rather than divide and also to first look to people’s best qualities rather than antagonize them. This is why many in the Night’s Watch felt him to be a natural leader. Those who would take different tacks, such as Alesair Thorne would always be a problem or threat to people such as Jon who are more visionary in nature.

In spite of his prowess and bravery in conflicts and on the battlefield, Jon does not enjoy these pursuits. His natural inclination is that of an idealistic protector who possesses a strong sense of right and wrong - an honorable man in the mold of his foster father, Ned Stark. In spite of not being a “true” Stark, Jon has loved the Stark family and wished to defend and avenge them during the War of the Five Kings and the Battle of the Bastards. In love relationships, Jon is cautious, but “loyal and true”, as Ygritte tells him. His natural impulse is not to dominate or use women, like many of the men on Game of Thrones. Jon sometimes shows a bit of chauvinism when interacting with his sisters, but we can’t expect him not to display these qualities from time to time in the world of the show. All in all, he is an exceptional and admirable person with a good conscience, though not as shrewd as the book character.

One reason that Jon’s relationship with Dany becomes so problematic is their clashing world views. Jon could not have helped but see this early on in their interactions because of Dany’s dictatorial and regal style. Of course there was another side to Dany which she sometimes demonstrated with intimates, but Jon’s natural inclination is to be wary of people who behave arrogantly. Although its difficult to determine exactly what the show’s writers were trying to do with Jon’s character during season 7, it’s safe to say that Jon was unlikely to have sought a romantic relationship with Dany, but instead was drawn into it because of her attraction to him. From the outset, their overall motives were not compatible: Dany’s was to conquer Westeros; Jon’s was to save it. And while Dany’s slogan of breaking the wheel may have given her traction with enslaved peoples, in Westeros it tended to fall short.

Much of the drama of season 7 was about whether or not these two characters would get together, as allies and/or as lovers. There are really only three possibilities for Jon’s inner feelings about his relationship with Dany, although we know Dany’s feelings for Jon. The first is that Jon loves or at least admires her sincerely; the second is that he is manipulating her and feels no love (but does have sexual desire); and the third is that he is drawn into the relationship because of a combination of the dire circumstances they are facing and Dany’s obvious ardor for him. The third possibility makes the most sense to me and does not completely preclude political motives on his part.

Jon’s relationship with Ygritte is something of a model for his later relationship with Dany. Ygriite was the aggressor, and although she may have started down that path as a way of engineering her escape, her feelings for Jon soon became genuine. In any case, Jon wasn’t the pursuer initially in that relationship, and Ygriite’s personality tended to overpower his. Their relationship was messy because of external factors and Jon eventually had to “return to himself” by leaving Ygritte. There is a similar dynamic at play in Jon’s relationship with Dany. The possibility that Jon could be lead astray by a woman also seemed to be something that Sansa feared had happened upon Jon’s return to Winterfell with the Dragon Queen; she had hinted as much to Jon early in season 7, before Dany had even come into the picture.

The show presents Jon as having given up his crown in order to gain Dany’s assistance. This is how Jon explains and justifies what he did to the Northmen in an assembly and also to Sansa and Arya. Jon giving up the crown seems to be the issue that upsets the Starks and others more than Dany’s mere presence in the North with her forces. Especially for Sansa, Northern independence should not have to be on the table anymore, but Jon has given it away without consulting her. To Sansa, Jon has fallen under the spell of a usurper whom she doesn’t trust. However, near the end of season 7 Dany had first offered to fight with Jon without his having bent the knee, which is what Jon purportedly had wanted all along.

The fact that he then bends the knee anyway suggests that he has in some sense become more sympathetic to Dany. Perhaps he feels that he must give something up to her because she lost a dragon in her attempt to rescue Jon and the others. Perhaps he really doesn’t value the crown; but if this is the case, why did he accept it, especially knowing how much it means to Sansa? Jon most likely feels that he is playing it smart by putting aside his pride but also has some kind of feeling for Dany after her rescue attempt and offer to fight with him. Like Ygritte, Dany is a warrior who physically puts herself on the line, and this is attractive to Jon.

In Jon’s eyes he is trading his crown (and Northern independence) for Dany’s support; but mixed into this bargain is an emotional bond. The attraction seems stronger on Dany’s side, but Jon has allowed himself to be drawn in, and as Varys observes, to be overshadowed by Dany’s all-consuming quest. But just as in his relationship with Ygritte, there is a side of Jon to which he must ultimately remain true - his loyalty to the North and his real family.

Was Sansa Right All Along?

At the beginning of Season 7, Sansa advises Jon that he needs to be smart because Robb and Ned Stark had made stupid mistakes. Sansa’s overall assessment seems to be that Ned and Robb were naive and had underestimated their enemies. Sansa first gets this feeling about Jon around the time of the Battle of the Bastards. She doesn’t approve of Jon’s decision to attack Ramsay’s army with the low number of men they have been able to muster. She also correctly intuits that Jon will fall into a trap that Ramsay is likely to be preparing. In the end, Sansa saves the day by having requested help from Littlefinger and the Knights of the Vale, but it turned out that her misgivings about Jon were accurate.

In season 8, Sansa’s misgivings about Dany are also eventually proven correct when Dany evolves into a destructive tyrant and burns King’s landing. All along Sansa and Arya had expressed their distrust of Dany to Jon, but Jon does not really listen and goes on supporting Dany. Jon claims more than once that the Starks just don’t know Dany well enough yet, implying that they’ll eventually come to like her, and he also expresses to Dany a belief that they all can live together. Presumably he means they can all co-exist in Westeros.

Sansa and Arya get nowhere with Jon when they try to talk to him before he leaves for Dragonstone. At this point, Jon also tells them about his true identity as the son of Lyanna and Rhaegar. It is soon after this that Sansa moves to protect Jon and the North by revealing his secret to Tyrion Lannister.

From the perspective of how Game of Thrones ends up, the most prescient character all along was indeed Sansa. Her insight into Jon’s tendencies began at the Battle of the Bastards and is foreshadowed by her comment to him about needing to be smarter than Ned and Robb. Sansa also remarks to Dany that men do stupid things for women, which can only be taken at face value by the audience. Dany’s remark about “who is manipulating whom”, probably does not imply true canniness on the part of Jon but is actually a reference to Dany’s own infatuation with him combined with her desire to placate Sansa.

Jon had kept the interest of the North in mind by focusing on the threat of the Night King, while Sansa had all along remained motivated by continuing the Northern independence which Jon’s crowning had reinstated. Her distrust of Dany was based upon several factors, but insight into Dany’s true propensities that later turned out to be correct was probably a major driver. This is not really spelled out by the show; we are only given lines like Arya’s to Jon about Sansa being the “smartest person I know.” This possibility seems to have pretty much escaped Jon, who is focused on the Night King and his sense of indebtedness to Dany.

Sansa and Jon (The Starks) bring about Dany’s Downfall

Jon’s character arc in season 8 appears to only confirm Sansa’s misgivings about him. Here are a few actions by Jon which were likely perceived as alarming by Sansa:

He bent the knee, which we know Sansa disapproves of, not only because Dany is a Targaryen but because Sansa has become devoted to the cause of Northern independence. Sansa wanted Jon to remain King in the North.

Sansa perceives Jon’s “love” for Dany (which he probably admitted to her in episode one) as a sign that he is again vulnerable to making poor judgements as she saw him do in the past and which remind her of other male Starks.

Jon’s repeated assurances that Dany will be a good queen despite evidence to the contrary.

Jon’s fealty to Dany even after learning of his parentage. What did Sansa think of this? We didn’t get to hear, but her spilling the beans to Tyrion tells us she believes it to be a mistake. We have to believe that Sansa told Jon as much after Bran revealed the truth about him, and he wouldn’t listen.

What stands out about Sansa during all of this is that she trusted her own judgements over Jon’s and ultimately acted upon them in opposition to Jon’s instructions. Since Sansa is correct about Dany, she is shown to have the best judgement and therefore lives up to her implied “smartness”. Of course Jon’s character arc of naivete and blind devotion is deeply disappointing and antithetical to some of his past actions. Yet Sansa’s misgivings about his judgement are seemingly proven true in the end. Jon’s decision to kill Dany, which was portrayed as being more about protecting Sansa than about Dany’s fitness, was not reached until almost the last minute, and only after a discussion with Tyrion in which he seems to defend Dany. Unfortunately this is what the show gave us, but in the end, the Starks are mostly on the ascent because of Sansa and Jon. It is likely that Sansa telling Tyrion about Jon’s Targaryen heritage contributed to Dany’s burning of King’s Landing. This is evidenced by her paranoia, self pity and instability in her scene with Jon after Varys’s execution. Soon afterwards, Jon ended Dany’s life and the tipping point for him was almost certainly his (late) realization that Dany would likely try to kill Sansa.

Part 2 will be about the plot the writers may have intended to portray.

#jon snow #Sansa Stark #sansa and jon #daenerys targaryen #the starks #game of thrones #got season 8 #bad writing got

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mozartwasajungkookstan · 5 years

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An Analysis of @markswoman’s ‘Touch’ - The art of blameless tragedy

Spoilers ahead for ‘Touch’ by @markswoman (the first couple paragraphs are just a explanation into why angst exists and the problems with it but you should still read ‘Touch’ all the same)

In order for any piece of fiction to be entertaining, something has to go wrong. Conflict between characters, tragic accidents, misunderstandings, anything where characters are forced into unpleasant situations will do. Writers are sometimes reluctant to write unenjoyable events for characters that they’ve grown attached to, but without them their work simply won’t be interesting. Why is that?

It’s not because audiences enjoy fictional suffering - quite the opposite really. Many people read things with the knowledge that it will probably make them cry, only stopping because their tears are damaging the pages source: me reading the last Harry Potter book. Miss you, Dobby. Our curiosity really gets the better of us despite all the negative emotions we feel because we want to see things get better for our beloved characters, so we read on.

So writers decide to throw in this thing called “angst”. Shake things up a bit. Pull in the audience. Throw the characters of their rhythm. Character A thinks Character B has feelings for Character C, so Character A becomes distant. However, Character B actually has feelings for Character A and is hurt and confused that Character A cold and distant now. This is a common trope that when done right provides a satisfying moment when the characters finally get together. However, when done not-so-right, there can be many problems, with the main one being the audience constantly screaming at the screen/book saying “Jesus Christ just communicate like normal people!”. The writer is trying to create conflict so the story is interesting, but the way that it develops is too unrealistic - the audience has already thought of 5 different solutions to the “problem”, so watching the characters struggle can become irritating. It’s as if the whole “he’s behind you!” thing that they do in theatres was the entire show. Just 2 whole hours of “Where is he?” and getting an increasingly angry audience to shout “Right behind you!”. Not fun.

The solution seems pretty simple: don’t create angst from misunderstandings that can be cleared up in a single conversation... Easier said than done. Using car accidents and terminal illness is almost cliché and conflict between characters is difficult to create. Hell, even Shakespeare had a difficult time solving this because the characters in pretty much any of his plays could have just talked to each other to solve their problems (he found a little loophole because he made ‘Much ado About Nothing’ so frustrating it turned into commentary on society on how many problems could be solved by talking it out instead of acting impulsively). But a way I found was to have no characters at fault, so the audience sympathises with them. That’s where ‘Touch’ comes in.

FINALLY. I’ve gotten to the main subject at hand: a god tier fic. Now, you might be wondering why I just spent a few paragraphs babbling on about plot devices and common problems people have with them. But it’s important; it wasn’t just an excuse to complain, I swear. Markswoman does an incredible job of handling conflict and angst in ‘Touch’ - in all their work, in fact. But ‘Touch’ in particular deals with a source of angst that is normally irritating: miscommunication and a misunderstanding between characters. But this time one is mad at Jaemin or the main character for it.

Markswoman does this by showing the reader that this miscommunication can’t be solved by a simple conversation. Jaemin’s thought process right before the main character touches him for the first time makes it clear that Jaemin has so many doubts about telling our character about his seemingly cursed hands that a simple conversation that normally would’ve solved any problems is now a risky move on Jaemin’s part and we understand why he’s so reluctant to reveal anything. It also makes us sympathise with the poor guy. Is this the first time he’s had these thoughts? Our character isn’t at fault either. Logic and reasoning would’ve never brought her to the conclusion that Jaemin is basically modern day King Midas, so her reaching out to him is perfectly understandable. The idea that neither character is to blame makes the ending so much more tragic because there’s none of what I’ve coined as “The Friar Lawrence Feeling” - Friar Lawrence being the only character in ‘Romeo and Juliet’ who could’ve saved everyone by sitting them down and having a little chat. The characters in ‘Touch’ couldn’t have been saved by a little chat, so the Friar Lawrence Feeling isn’t there and all that is left is undiluted sorrow. The reader knows that the characters took what would have normally been rational and more importantly, the correct decisions. Jaemin tried his best to protect the girl he loved and the girl he loved tried her best to help and understand him, but it still ended in Jaemin’s ‘murder’ streak going back down to 0 days. There’s nothing more heartbreaking than doing everything you can for the one you love but it all being futile in the end anyways.

But of course, ‘Touch’ is so much more than just a fic that isn’t irritating. It’s so much better than “not bad”. For one, it really gets the audience on Jaemin’s side (although Jaemin’s adorable personality in real life definitely helps). At the beginning, the descriptions of the unlucky people that Jaemin accidently touches almost have a sense of innocence, as if it’s from child Jaemin’s perspective because he doesn’t quite understand what’s happening. The focus is on something else - the teacher’s smile, the chocolate bars and daisy chains - and the narration almost sounds hopefuI, like when the narrator suggests that “maybe she’s making more daisy chains”. The idea that he’s the one unintentionally causing these deaths doesn’t cross his mind at his point, so he doesn’t focus on it too much. He’s still hopeful and naive, but as a reader, we already know what’s happening and the fact that it starts off with Jaemin being young and oblivious makes us feel terrible for him because he’s just a child. We just want to give this poor boy a hug and tell him it’s gonna be alright. But we can’t. Mainly because we’d be lying and also because... well...

What this shows is Jaemin’s childhood being tainted by this ability. Moments of joy in a normal life have been ruined. Making friends as a young child, celebrating with people he loves and his first love now all have bad connotations with Jaemin and when he finally realises why, it’s particularly heartbreaking. He’s absolutely disgusted with himself, to the point of being physically sick, despite the fact that he didn’t even know about his strange ability himself. This, coupled with the language choices - his hands are “bloodstained” and he sees it as “murder” - makes it clear how disgusted Jaemin is. He views himself as a murderer even though he has so little control over these deaths. It’s not really his fault but he has no one else to blame.

Then he meets our character. The chemistry between the 2 is there almost instantly but with the knowledge of Jaemin’s past, you can’t help but feeling a sense of impending doom. For good reason as well, because unfortunately, you’d be right. He tries to be cautious, he really does, but our character gets too close. He wonders what would happen if he just told you and he asks himself rhetorical questions that have answers he doesn’t have or necessarily want. He’s torn between telling you and keeping a safe distance from you. For good reason as well, because he desperately wants for there to be an exception to this rule and for there to be a happy ending. We do too and some of Jaemin’s thoughts have a tinge of hope to them, but the sentence “he’s so scared” after it’s too late to go back fill us with fear too. For good reason as well, because unfortunately, there is no happy ending.

But who’s to blame? No one, that’s who. For such an unhappy ending, there is no villain. No one rubbing their hands together nefariously in the background, no one plotting the downfall of the pair, no one to truly blame for the tragic ending and Jaemin’s aftermath. Except for the writer, I suppose.

‘Touch’ is many things, but a happy, feel-good fic is definitely not one of them. I love it for that. “All’s well ends well” is a perfect description for it. Nothing is well from the very beginning, so it makes perfect sense for it to not end well. I suppose I got what I was expecting, but goddamn, I’ve never wanted to be wrong more in my life. Thanks for destroying my heart.

10 leather gloves out of 10 (go read ‘Touch’. Your heart WILL be in pieces by the ending, but you won’t regret it.)

- [redacted]

#nct #nct dream #jaemin #na jaemin #nct jaemin #nct angst #nct dream angst #jaemin angst #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #nct scenarios #nct imagines #review #markswoman

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thefangirlslair · 6 years

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PERPETUAL WINTER (A Sasusaku Fanfiction) Special Chapter

Note: Hi everyone! I'm back to give you the special chapter for Perpetual Winter, set as a flashback that will show how and why they broke up in the first place. I couldn't believe this is nearly 12k words, wow. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed and favorited on ffnet, and also who are waiting for the next parts to come. I love you all! Please leave a comment, like and enjoy. 💕 also, I really wish i could have written this in first POV, in Sasuke’s, but it would’ve been more painful. Besides, this was too hard to write. Forgive me!!

PS. I hope this would be enough for you until I write the part 2 and 3. It's all too angsty in my head, so sorry in advance to everyone. Don't expect a happy ending in this mini-series. Lol. So I've decided to write an alternate version which will be have a happy ending. I will post it at the same time with the final part/part 3. Please bear with me. Hugs! Xoxo

Excerpt: She just buried her face on his clothed chest, murmuring his name on her sleep. Sasuke felt her arm wrapped around his waist and her leg lifted to his hip. His heart ached.

'It hurts. It hurts so much. Please.'

With a kiss on her forehead, a face buried against her neck as his eyes gathered moisture, a pair of arms wrapped around her tight as if embedding her to him — Sasuke lets go.

Sasusaku Pairing (11,799 words)

A Poor Attempt at Writing Fics

SasuSaku Edition VIII

Perpetual Winter Special Chapter

7 years ago

"You don't have to do this, Sasuke."

The melancholy and heartbreak behind his mother's words are heard that he almost choked. He can't look at her eyes, at both of his parents' eyes, because they'll know he's weak. He's crippled by the death of his one and only brother, the weight of his new responsibilities as the heir, and the inevitable impending doom of his relationship with Sakura.

He's absolutely terrified.

It's been a week since they buried Itachi, gone too soon because he chose to be the martyr, as he always do.

'Did', Sasuke corrected in his mind. 'The bastard.'

He gave a long sigh, still with his eyes glued on the table. He never saw the sympathy from his mother's eyes, as well as the concern on his father's.

It was a long week for him. It almost felt like years. He had been running on autopilot since then. How can you function when a big part of yourself died? The part of him where Itachi occupied, and will always occupy, is now a giant void in his being. He felt hollow. Numb. Dead.

The only moments he felt he's somehow a real person, alive and breathing, is when Sakura's holding his hand, whispering love and patience, loving him in tenderness and compassion.

Memories of her voice coming through his phone when he called her that night of Itachi's incident pierces his heart. He remembered his barely coherent words of disbelief and agony tumbling from his blubbering mouth; the echo of his voice saying 'He's gone, Sakura. He's gone. Itachi's gone' as if saying it will make it less real; and the reassurance he felt when she said that he needs to hold on because she's coming to him.

She's the only anchor he's got right now and the thought of letting her go because of his newly acquired burdens is so painful already. He felt his chest tighten. He's scared as shit, not knowing what to do. He knows that he has to do this, to do what Itachi would've done.

But there's a voice inside his head and his heart saying, 'But you're no martyr, asshole. You're not Itachi. You're Sasuke and you're a selfish prick. What the fuck are you doing?'

His father's voice echoed through the empty living room as he spoke, getting Sasuke out of his reminiscing, "I don't want to force you into something you don't want to do. But you're right.. I need you. I can never trust anyone else other than you to take care of this, Sasuke."

"But he's still just a kid. He's just 19 for god's sake, Fugaku! He has his dreams to take," Mikoto retorted. Her eyes are welling up with tears, Sasuke knows this even if he doesn't see it. He can hear it from her voice and it makes him ache on the inside.

"He's not gonna be 19 forever, Mikoto," Fugaku answered back. "I gave him a choice on this matter, and he's decided."

Mikoto cried, "Don't you think it's too soon? I just buried my first-born just barely a week ago and now we're discussing how you're gonna ruin my youngest's life just like you did with Itachi?!"

The way her voice cracked when she said his brother's name broke his heart. She's still grieving, probably forever, and here they are talking about Sasuke's suicide.

His mother turned to him and said, "Sasuke, you can say no to all of this. I don't want you living your life like Itachi used to. I don't want you missing out on the world you still have to experience." She's all-out crying now, her tears streaming down her face. Sasuke is trembling from fighting the urge to look at her face.

"Sasuke," she whispered brokenly. "Please."

Fugaku just turned his gaze away from his wife and son. He didn't want to do this either. He saw how this changed Itachi's life, how his eldest son slowly deteriorated before his eyes because of the responsibilities he had to carry as the heir of their company. But he heard no complaints from him — always a smile on his face saying "Don't worry, father. I made my choice, and I choose our family." As much as it made him proud, it also made him feel regretful and guilty. Itachi never experienced the life he always wanted, and for that, Fugaku will always blame himself. Now his youngest son is going to do the same thing, and he's here yet again to see it all unfold.

Conflicted as he is, Sasuke has decided. He will continue what Itachi started. He will take on the role of the new heir and take over the company. He'll take care of it, as much as Itachi did for these past years.

It will cost him a lot, too much, but he will do it for the memory of his dead brother. He will take on the role of the martyr he never was, and take on the life his mother fought so hard not to taint him.

"I'll do it," he finally whispered to his parents. He took a deep breath and faced them for the first time since they started talking. "For Itachi."

The living room of the Uchiha household that night witnessed fear, pain and heartbreak — Fugaku's fear over the effects of all these on Sasuke, Mikoto's pain over the decision of her only living son, and Sasuke's heartbreak over the course of action he's gonna take after this night.

Tonight will be the last night.. and he had never been more scared in his life.

Sasuke went up to Sakura's apartment right after his talk with his parents. Walking around the city towards her place felt like a lifetime ago when he finally reached her door.

He didn't need to knock. After almost 2 years of being together, they both have a key to their place — he to her apartment, and she to his house and room. Sasuke inserted the key to her door and silently opened it.

Sakura's one-bedroom apartment is slightly dimmed. The short hallway that leads to her small living room with a sofa and a flat-screen tv is silent as he closed the door.

As soon as her scent hit his nose, he was flooded by memories from when they were friends til they became lovers — the two of them playing chess on the living room floor with, of course, her always beating him in every intense game; them watching horror movies while sitting on her couch and eating whatever he cooked for them; both of them with Naruto on the small veranda, talking and bickering until dawn; him kissing her on the cheek for the first time on her doorstep before he left her place, her looking up at him with those damned eyes of hers; them never making it on her bedroom after a huge argument that ended up with them having sex against the wall right beside her front door. Sasuke turned to look at it and remembered how hot and intense that was, and it only made his heart constrict more.

He wished this was only another silly argument that will inevitably end up with them tangled on each other, breathing each other's breath, and the same intense emotions running through their systems as they come high and come together.

Because that's the only way for Uchiha Sasuke and Haruno Sakura — they might fly to another place, leave for another planet, escape to another universe — but they always come back to where they belong.

Together. With each other.

His feet dragged him further into her apartment where he feels more at home with than his own house. Almost two years of being in Sakura's arms, basking every day in her love and support, really does that to anyone. Even the toughest of men can become a puddle just by letting your gaze linger too long on her. That's how powerful she is.

He stopped when he reached the slightly opened door of her bedroom. Sasuke always chastises her with her lack of regards for her safety but with the heaviness of his heart at the moment, he can't seem to care about it. All he wants right now is to see her and sleep this nightmare off. He opened the door silently and he saw her.

With her comforter up to her chin, he couldn't see what she's wearing. But knowing her, she might be wearing one of his old high school tshirts that she stole from him. She likes to flaunt it to him whenever he's there for sleepovers, and he's always there to make sure she gets the attention she deserves.

She's sleeping now, her pink hair in a messy knot at the top of her hair and her green irises currently hidden by her closed lids with those curled eyelashes. Her mouth is slightly opened and a soft snore can be heard where he stood by the doorway. His eyes soften at the scene.

Normal. Nothing new. Constant.

But it never fails to make him feel like it's the most extraordinary sight to see.. only for him though. Only for him.

But this will all stop after this night. He will never be able to see this scene ever again and it eats Sasuke on the inside. He fought the choked sound that threatened to come out of his mouth as realization hits.

'Why did you fucking agree to this fucked up shit, you dumbass? Why did you have to bring this upon her? Upon the both of you?'

As if sensing the turmoil in his whole being, Sakura shifted in her sleep. Her brows met and she let out a soft grunt as she turned to her side. A few moments later, her breathing went back to an even tempo and Sasuke knew she went back to sleep. He let out a pained breath.

Sasuke gently closed her door and approached her side of the bed. He slowly knelt on the floor facing her, his hand traveling from the soft mattress to her cheek. He traced her jaw with his finger gently, afraid that she might finally wake up.

How many nights has he done this? How many nights has he soaked in his reality that Sakura is there with him, all loving and soft and true? How many nights did he spend just looking at her sleeping face, praying to a god he doesn't believe in anymore that she will stay by his side forever?

He pulled away his hand, folded it on the mattress together with his other hand and laid his chin on them, boring his dark eyes onto her face. He can hear the faint sound of her clock ticking, as if reminding him that this is the last time.. that there is no time. But he paid no heed to it because right at this moment, there is still the two of them in this four-cornered room where they made love for the first time; where she first laid her guards down for him to see underneath her pinks and greens; where he first thought he can never love anyone as much as he loves Haruno Sakura.

They still exist at this moment, and he will treasure every single second left.

He stood up and went to the other side of the bed to pull off his sweater and his pants, leaving him in his black tshirt and boxers. He gently lifted her comforter and slipped in beside her at her back. His arm went under her neck to wrap around her shoulders, and the other on around her waist to pull her closer to him. He held on to her as tight as his wide-shut eyes. Sasuke inhaled deep and smelled regret, longing and love.

He felt her move. Her hands softly caressed the arm on her waist and gently squeezed. Her gestures only made Sasuke more desperate to hold her so he tightened his grip on her, only to loosen it a bit for he felt her moving around to face him.

Sasuke never saw her lids reveal those orbs he already miss, and he never demanded it. He thought it's for the best, for he knows his strong façade will crumble once he sees those eyes of hers. They have always been his weakness. She will always be.

She just buried her face on his clothed chest, murmuring his name on her sleep. Sasuke felt her arm wrapped around his waist and her leg lifted to his hip. His heart ached.

'It hurts. It hurts so much. Please.'

With a kiss on her forehead, a face buried against her neck as his eyes gathered moisture, a pair of arms wrapped around her tight as if embedding her to him — Sasuke lets go.

'"Let's break up. I don't want this anymore. I don't want you anymore, Sakura."

Words I don't even mean came out of my mouth. I don't know what I'm doing. What is happening to me?

I saw her face then, and I wish I never did. She looked so devastated, her tears silently rolling down her cheeks while her eyes spoke a million things.

Wait! I don't mean them! Don't cry! Please! I love you!

I desperately wanted to scream these words out loud, but all I do was just stare blankly at her. I don't see my face but I know it's in that cold expression I show everyone except her. Never to her. She's everything to me. I love her. I love her so much.

Her voice came ringing into my ear, utterly devoid of life and the Sakura-ness of her tone. "I hate you."

I saw her spit those three words and I braced myself for the pain but nothing came. All I felt was cold detachment and I wanted to punch my face to feel something. What the fuck is wrong with me?!

Sakura turned around and ran away from me. I will my legs to move, to follow her, to chase her and never let her go. But my damn self just continues to stand there and follow her retreating form with my blank eyes.

Until I heard a loud screech, and then colliding sounds of metal to flesh. Then, a scrunch. I followed the sound with my gaze, and found Sakura on the road, her blood spilling beneath her head. It's pooling underneath her small form and the pink cashmere sweater, my favorite, that she wore for me absorbing the crimson liquid of her life.

I screamed inside, but still, my feet won't move. I continue to watch as she struggles to breathe, as she cranes her neck to the sky to take a breath to her lungs.

Sakura! Sakura! Sakura!

I don't know what the fuck is happening. This never meant to happen. I never wanted this. I don't want this. Please. Please. Please. Someone!

People with blurred faces started to crowd over her dying form in the middle of the road. They're all staring at her, watching her slowly die. Some even took pictures and some even scoffed as if it's a joke. Can't they fucking call an ambulance?! Help her!

A figure from the car that hit her emerged from the dark. The headlights of the car illuminated the scene, and made the face of the driver unrecognizable. Then he spoke, using a voice that sounds so fucking familiar.

"You killed her."

The crowd opened up and the dark figure stepped forward to crouch beside Sakura's now dead body. I can finally see the gruesome scene — her eyes are open revealing green eyes now dull without light in them, her mouth slightly opened as blood came out.

The headlights now illuminated the driver's face and the sight made me tremble from within.

The driver is me.

I killed her.

"You killed her, Sasuke," the man who is me beside Sakura told me again. He reached out to lift her head for me to see her dead face clearly. He looked at me as well and I wanted to scream. I wanted to look away but I can't.

Please. Make it stop.

I killed her.

"You killed her!", he shouted out. Anger, frustration, pain — all in those three words. "You killed her, you fucking coward!"

Then the blurred faces of the crowd slowly turned to me one by one, revealing their faces that made me want to die.

They're all Sakura, bloodied cheeks and lifeless eyes and all that she isn't supposed to be. And one by one, they chanted the same thing.

"You killed me."

It never stops. In my head, it never stopped. It all started on a whisper and now they're all shouting it to the heavens and I'm desperately gasping for air and I killed her and I killed her and I killed her and I wanted to die.

I want to die.

Someone. Please.

Sakura!'

"Sasuke!"

Sasuke woke up with a gasp, his hand automatically reached out to his chest as if trying to hold his beating heart. His eyes are wild and frantic, his skin bathing in cold sweat that made his t-shirt cling to them. He felt hands running over his chest and arms, and he heard soothing noises beside him. His eyes, filled with quiet dread, found her awakened form leaning over him and wearing his white high school t-shirt with those eyes showing concern and support.

'You're alive,' he said in his thoughts. He didn't know he said it outloud when he heard Sakura answer.

"It's just a dream, Sasuke-kun," her soft voice found its way to him, somehow calming his frantic heartbeat. Her hand is now on top of his chest, the other brushing his hair away from his sweaty face.

"Y-you.. you died," Sasuke stammered under his breath, his eyes roaming all over her face, checking for some speck of blood or evidence of her tears. His fingers found her cheek, slowly traced them as his eyes do the same.

He continued with his voice slowly becoming softer and softer, "I saw you.. you ran a-.. you ran away from me and then t-the car hit you and it was because of me and I ki-.."

He stopped abruptly. His hand fell away from her face and Sasuke looked at her, eyes wide open reflecting horror and pain. He opened his mouth to speak but they won't come out.

'I killed you,' he wanted to say, but he got choked up with the words and now he's seriously trying hard to breathe. He's gasping for air again, still looking at Sakura, and he can see how she tried to calm him down and let him breathe. He can't hear anything other than his heart beating too loudly against his chest as if trying to get out.

Sasuke suddenly found himself being lifted by Sakura, still trying to calm him down. He's now sitting on the bed, and she's kneeling on it facing him, running her hands over him as she slays his demons down.

"I'm here," he heard her murmur under her breath. "I'm here, Sasuke-kun. It was just a dream. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He's now sagged against her, his terrifying nightmare finally taken its toll on him that it made him feel like he's made of jelly. His head is now cradled by Sakura against her chest, making him hear the pounding of her heart, and letting him know she's alive.

That lone fact made Sasuke's heart constrict, and made him release a quite breath of relief. His arms found their way around her small figure, tighten them and crushed her against him for him to feel her more.. to really know that she's there and not dead.

A whimper came out of his mouth because of too much emotion, but he smothered them by pushing his face against her neck. Sasuke breathes her in and thinks 'she's alive she's alive she's alive' as her scent and warmth greeted him back. He felt her own face on his hair, soothing words still spilling from her lips.

"I got you, Sasuke-kun," she says. "I got you. I got you. It's okay, I got you."

It's all not enough for Sasuke so he pulled his head away from her creamy neck and faced her. He saw her green irises and her pink lips and he loves her, so he grabbed her head and kissed her hard on her mouth.

Sasuke is still gripped by fear and the hard pounding of his heart says it all. It won't go away even as he roughly kissed her, drowning himself in the pleasure of hearing her quiet moans and tasting her delicious tongue. He pushed her down the bed and leaned over her. His hands found her knees and spread them wide open, only to grind himself against her. They moaned together.

But the image of her dead form bathing in her own blood is still vivid on his head, so he kissed her harder with his trembling hands running all over her body. His hand found his way under his old thin shirt she was wearing and grasped her breast, while his other hand is tightly wrapped around the hair on her nape. His lips are now on her neck, biting and sucking and kissing, and her moans and grunts are now loud and needy.

Sasuke left her neck to push up her worn shirt, only to place his hot mouth on her aching breast. He thoroughly sucked her hardened peak, earning him a low moan of pleasure, and in his frantic state he still felt his dick hardened in response. He moaned in return and continued his assault on the other as his hand traveled down to her panties and inside them.

He almost growled when he found her already wet and ready for him. Sasuke removed his lips from her chest and looked at her face. She's panting and biting her lip hard, her hands both wound around his neck. Her eyes stare back up at him hidden in half-closed lids, her mouth agape. His long fingers found its way inside her and he heard her gasp of surprise but later turned into a mumbled version of his name as his fingers picked up its pace.

"Sasuke-kun," Sasuke heard her voice laced with desire and lust that he couldn't help but kiss her for it, and he almost came right then and there when his tongue entered her warm mouth. His fingers abruptly pulled out from her and tugged her panties off, almost ripping it in half in his aggression. He heard her gasp in pain for a second but he paid it no mind. All he could think about at the moment was being inside of her.

He tugged his boxers down, not even taking it off completely. In his mind, if he's not inside her in the next second, the nightmare is gonna get her and he's gonna lose her for real and he couldn't take that. Being deep within her, that's the only thing that will ensure his fears of being far away from her.

Sasuke gave his hard member a few pumps before he slowly put on his tip against her clit to rub several times, and finally went down to enter her. His eyes almost rolled at the back of his head because she's gripping him tightly inside her and he couldn't help but curse aloud.

"Fuck," he panted against her neck. His tongue darted out to lick her skin coated in her own sweat and his saliva. Sasuke inhaled deeply as he pulled out completely before slamming into her again.

He's afraid he might see her with dead eyes and her mouth full of blood so he kept her face on her neck, never even thinking for a moment that he's now fucking her like a madman. Her cries of both pain and pleasure reverberates around her room, her hands desperately hanging onto his clothed back, clawing at his shirt for support. Her slender legs are tightly wrapped around his hips as he's gripping her thighs while he pushed in and out of her fast and hard. He couldn't hear a thing except his own mind.

'Don't go. Stay with me. Don't leave me.'

He didn't even hear himself whimpering throughout.

He closed his eyes tightly and focused on ramming into her, desperate and almost out of breath but he continued plunging into her, until he felt her hands holding his head to face her.

Sasuke stopped his movements as they both looked into each other, both panting and flushed, still joined as one. Her green eyes roamed his face, searching for something he can't tell. "Hey," she whispered.

His breath comes in puffs hitting her mouth and vice versa. He can feel her hot breath on his face and he badly wanted to look down to admire her opened mouth but her wide eyes are slowly sucking him in. He couldn't let him self look away even with his blurred vision.

Sakura kissed him gently on the lips, brushing them together once, and then pecked him again. "It's alright. You're here. We're here, Sasuke-kun."

Then he felt her fingers wipe away his damp cheeks. Not from sweat, but from his tears.

It's been a week after Itachi's funeral, and he never cried since. He never cried in front of anyone that time, not even Sakura. He let it all out once he got the chance to enter Itachi's room after the service, and he cried himself to sleep on his dead brother's bed.

And now, his tears silently rolled down his cheeks. Looking at her now, he sees it all — her in a white lab coat as he picks her up from work, her in a white wedding dress as she walks down the aisle, her in a white apron as she cooks for him and their future children.

All these possibilities, all these dreams; it hasn't even begun and now it's all ending. He remembers his responsibilities now as an heir, and remembers the promise he made for his parents and Itachi.

'Itachi was supposed to marry someone from our business partner clan when he turns 25. Unfortunately, the incident happened and now we're left with another decision to make,' he remembered his father explain. 'So we came up to an agreement to let you focus on your training first, as Itachi did, and then wed you to their daughter.'

He remembers the numbness that gripped him when his father's words sank in. He said yes and nodded like a robot throughout, steeled his heart and reminded himself that this is not for him but for his brother.

This is why he decided to make this last night with her memorable. He simply just wanted to lie down with her on her bed where they first made love, and hold her as she sleeps. He said to himself that he will be content with the memories, and that he is thankful for the chance to love her and to be loved back by her.

Sasuke is still looking at her with his eyes still shedding tear after tear. He'd rather lose her like that than lose her like he lost her in his nightmare. He'd rather lose her by letting her go than lose her by death.

Sakura's hands held his face between them and let her thumb graze his lips, fingers the valley of his nose and cheeks as she wipes away his tears.

"I'm sorry," Sasuke whispered to her. He found confusion on her irises and he continued, "I'm sorry for everything."

'I'm sorry for letting you go, Sakura.'

She continued to look at him. She stared long, but with soft eyes. Then she shook her head, "No."

She said it with so much strength and conviction he will never ever have and it took his breath away. She proceeded, "We are going through this together. We'll make it." Then she smiled at him, soft and tender. "You have to try harder than that, Sasuke-kun. You can't get rid of me that easy."

He knows that she's thinking about his dream. She knows him too much that even if he doesn't speak out loud, she knows what he's thinking. Right now, Sasuke knows Sakura is thinking he was so shook by his dream about her dying by his hands that he wants to get away from her to protect her. It's Sasuke's nature to bring it all upon himself, and then blame his own as well. Add that to the previous death of his brother, Sakura would think it's about Itachi. And he would like to be alone, as he always does.

Sasuke thought of telling her the things he has to do — the company, the training, the marriage in 6 years to a person he still doesn't know about. He thought of telling her the truth — that he already let her go, let them both go, let their futures go. It's inevitable, and by breaking up with her now, it will spare them both of the pain and heartbreak they might face if they continue this.

He let go. He really did. No matter how much it pained him, he decided to. He uncurled his fingers one by one around the person he's held onto tightly for so long.

But those eyes.. those powerful eyes of hers. They know. They know what he's trying to do and they won't let him. He can see the fire within her orbs, her determination to stay with him burning in her emeralds.

'I can't, Itachi. Give me more time,' he pleaded his brother. Before he came tonight in her place, he's decided that this will be their last night. But now he selfishly chose himself, his happiness, for once.

'Give me this one, aniki.'

And so Sasuke once again wrapped his fingers around his person, and held on for dear life for he knows it's not gonna be easy.

Still inside her, he softly pressed his mouth against hers, a polar opposite of the way he ravaged her lips earlier. His lips curled around hers, silently acquiesced with her statement. He gently pulled himself out of her, then slowly went back in.

He shivered in the way she called his name in pleasure, her teeth clamping on his shoulder and her nails dragging his shirt off him. He did the same to her when he's free of the cloth, and kissed her again.

They slowly built their pace; gentle and sweet at first, but then as they fill themselves with emotions, hers with understanding and him with trepidation about his current predicament, it turned into a wild frenzy of fear, lust and love. She's scratching and he's biting and she's moaning and he's grunting and they're both desperate, trying to give each other the solace they need.

She knows something is wrong but she kept going, still giving him all the love she could give in this time of desolation because of Itachi's death.

He knows something is wrong but he kept going, still giving her all the love still left in him in this time of desperation because of Itachi's death.

They both know something is wrong. But they both know that there will always be something right — this.

He went harder and faster, and her moans went louder and stronger. His hands spread her thighs wider, and her hands grabbed and pushed his ass deeper. His endless black found her bright green, and both panted through their open mouths.

"I love you," she whispered to him, heartfelt and true. Her words traveled all the way to his veins and he knows it's too late because he's in too deep. He was in deep the first time he ever saw her face.

In the midst of their tryst, she cried out her release and Sasuke bathed in the image of her underneath him, moaning in ecstasy with her eyes closed and her mouth wide open. He stored it in his mind for him to remember when everything is over.

He followed shortly after, his climax hitting him hard, making him out of breath and nearly delirious with pleasure. He buried his face on her neck and he felt her hands run over his mane.

He is aware that this might be the last time he's gonna be able to say it back, even though his original plan of breaking up with her tonight has changed. He's aware he's being selfish, but that's the only thing he's good at. He's not even good at loving her.

He's good at being selfish enough to stay with her for as long as he can.

And so he pulled away from her neck and looked down on her, finding that she's already peering up at him. She never asks for an answer whenever she says those three words because she already knows that he does. But tonight, he says it back, as truthful and as painful as it is.

"I love you, Sakura."

She smiled. Sasuke doesn't know if he wants that smile or not.

—

Days turned to weeks; weeks turned to months. It has been almost 6 months after Itachi's death, and it also has been that long since he made love to Sakura.

Don't get him wrong. They still have sex occassionally. But whenever they do it, which is seldom compare to before when they do it like rabbits, it always feel so rushed, angry and desperate. No more lazy morning sex or rare romantic nights after a dinner date.

Sasuke even forgot their second year anniversary, which obviously made Sakura down, but he knows that she gave him the benefit of the doubt. After all, Itachi's death was 2 weeks before their anniversary. The wound was still fresh not just for Sasuke, but to all of them as well.

It all just came spiraling down after that. Sasuke dropped out of the university completely to focus on training for the company. His dream of becoming a lawyer was locked away at the back of his head and the bottom of his heart, never to see the light of day again. His father wanted him to see how the company works first before he studies business officially.

He rarely see Sakura anymore. She calls him everyday, but he doesn't pick up often. Sometimes it's because he's busy on his training, but most of the time, he doesn't accept the call in purpose. He doesn't want to hear her voice sounding so achingly sad. He knows he will crumble and go see her and they run away together where nobody could find them.

Sasuke knows he's hurting her. He barely take her out to a spontaneous lunch date or a surprise movie night-out. When they do see each other, it's almost awkward that he could taste it in his mouth. He couldn't even look at her in the eyes for more than five seconds and not look away. When they touch each other, it takes all of his control not to flinch. When they have sex, it's all a blur of pained green eyes and dead black ones.

The guilt is eating him from the inside, and his outside nonchalance for their dying relationship is eating her.

Sometimes, he wishes that she takes the initiative and leave his sorry ass because he knows he's not strong enough to leave her. Sasuke tried it once, and look where that got him — still holding onto her and watch as she slowly deteriorates in front of his very eyes.

He knows.

He knows it's only a matter of time. But his selfish self still wants her, even if that means breaking her; ruining her. Because if she's not there with him, what is he? Who is he? So he holds on to her — leaving bruises on her soul and splattering crimson streaks of guilt on his own being. He knows he's going to hell.

He might as well be there already.

—

At the eve of his 20th birthday, he finally met the family of the girl he's supposed to marry when he reaches 25. And surprise, surprise — the Uzumaki's.

He's been friends with Naruto since he was young and the Uchiha's has always been good friends with the blond's family. Mikoto and Kushina were classmates since high school and throughout college while Fugaku and Minato have been rivals just as long. Plus the fact that their family is one of their business partners, he should've known.

His dark eyes found red behind slim black frames, and Karin Uzumaki nodded in understanding.

Before this said dinner, they met beforehand to talk privately. Thanks to his loudmouth of a best friend, Naruto told him that he overheard his parents talking to Minato and Kushina about the said merger. The issue of a wedding made Naruto choke on his ramen and immediately called Sasuke. At first, Naruto thought about his own wedding. He's bethrothed to someone but he still yet to know. Sasuke heard the relief, as well as the concern, on his best friend's voice.

Sasuke already knew who she was, of course, being Naruto's only sibling that's only a year younger. But he never really paid any attention to her, except when there are business and family gatherings. He knows her as loud as her brother, but could be tightlipped and calm as her parents.

They talked about this upcoming wedding and what they thought of it. Sasuke informed her that he's involved with Sakura for almost 3 years now. He learned that she's single and has never dated nor been in love with someone.

Sasuke was asked why did he agree on this and he said the truth about Itachi. Karin, in response, said that she only wants what's best for their company.

"Besides," she added. "I don't have anyone else. Might as well just marry you instead of being alone. Plus, you're not hideous."

"Hn."

"What does your girl says about all this, by the way? She must've been an extraordinary one to keep up with your stony face all the time."

He didn't answer. Besides, Sakura knows nothing about all this. She's aware of his new role as heir and his responsibilities that comes along with it, but not this arranged marriage shit. He couldn't tell her.

Sasuke was taken back to their current dinner when he heard Karin clear her throat. He looked at her and she glared back, obviously annoyed by his daydreaming.

"Pardon?" Fugaku sternly asked. He seemed to be surprised by whatever Karin previously said.

Kushina also seemed to be perplexed. She looked at Minato briefly then turned to Karin and asked, "You both want to what?"

Even before Karin turned white, Sasuke rescued her by saying, "We both want to postpone the engagement."

At the corner of his eye, Sasuke saw Naruto look back and forth towards the two parties and silently slurped his water.

"Sasuke," his father coldly looked at him. He continued to be unfazed. "You cannot. We already prepared for the announcement next month. You can't just decide about these things without informing us."

"I did not say cancel. I only said postpone," he bit back just as coldly while looking directly at Fugaku. His father's eyes flashed for a second, surprised again by his tone. He continued, "Karin and I would be the ones getting married. It's our wedding, therefore, it's our shots."

Karin immediately added, "We just don't want to rush it. The wedding will be in 5 years time, anyway. Don't you think it's a bit weird to be engaged for that whole five years?" Karin looked at Sasuke for a brief moment then said, "We want to be engaged on the year of the wedding. Then you can announce it to everyone."

Minato thought about it for a while, then he smiled. "I understand." He turned to Fugaku and Mikoto then, "Let's give this one to the kids. Marriage is not an easy chore. They could get engaged in the year they're gonna marry. No big deal."

Sasuke noted with the way Kushina glared at Minato when he used the word 'chore' for marriage. Apparently, Minato shares the same thoughts with Mikoto. They're both against arranged marriage because they both experienced the same thing. Yes, it all turned out well for them since they grew to love Kushina and Fugaku. But nothing is certain, especially to any relationship. It would be hard as hell, and as parents, they don't want their children to suffer.

Kushina rubbed her temple by then and released a heavy sigh. She looked fondly at Mikoto and say, "We both have stubborn children, my friend. We might as well agree on their terms."

Mikoto saw her husband ready to retort but she put a hand on his arm and smiled at her friend, "I understand, Kushina. Of course. We'll support them." She looked at Karin to smile at her, then at Sasuke to give him her supportive glance. Sasuke can clearly see that his mother was relieved because of their decision.

On the way home that night, minutes before the clock strikes midnight for his birthday, the Uchiha's were silent throughout the ride home. Sasuke can still feel the dark aura surrounding his father. Fugaku was not impressed by his display of authority. Sasuke couldn't give two shits. He just wants to go home.

They finally reached their home and entered it. Sasuke continuously walked towards the stairs to his room when Fugaku's voice pierced through the silence.

"When will you tell Haruno that you're supposed to marry someone else?"

Sasuke stilled at the cold query, his fists automatically balled into fists as he fight for self-control to talk back at his father aggressively. He didn't see the clenched hand of his mother on Fugaku's arm.

He controlled his breathing and quietly said without looking back, "Sakura." He turned his head sideways, still not looking at them. "Her name is Sakura."

Fugaku ignored the way his son's seething voice. He continued to pry, "You should've cut your ties with her a long time ago. You're only making this harder for the both of you."

'Don't you think I don't know that?!' Sasuke wanted to scream aloud. 'Don't you think this isn't painful enough?! Don't you think I'm slowly killing her?'

But his father couldn't hear his silent pleas unlike Sakura, "You're gonna marry Karin Uzumaki. You should stop seeing her by now."

Fugaku was relentless, and Sasuke knows he got this from him. He's been living all his life jealous of Itachi because his aniki got all his good traits from their mother. He was gentle and would've been so, so good to his future family. Meanwhile there's him, sucking all the hard traits from their father. His competitive streak, arrogant way of speaking, harsh words — it's all Fugaku. And suddenly, he feels so exhausted.

Fugaku was still talking about the consequences of his actions and Mikoto was still trying to stop him when they both saw Sasuke looking back at them. The sight nearly made them nervous.

Moonlight comes in, illuminating the eerily cold and empty house. They saw their son with his head looking back at them, dressed in all-black like someone just died again. His dark eyes were hollow and Mikoto put her hand on her chest, feeling her beating heart aching for her son. Then he whispered.

"I love her."

It was soft and quiet, but his parents knew it was solid and true. It was in the crack in his voice, the shake in his hands on the banister, and the vulnerability in his eyes. They continued to look at him as the clock struck 12.

That awake Sasuke in his stupor and the walls on his eyes were seen again. Mikoto tried not to cry and Fugaku stood still, feeling like an asshole.

"But don't fret, father," he coldly stated, turning his head back to continue walking up the stairs. He took one, two, three steps; then he stopped for a second jusy to say, "I'm keeping my promise."

Mikoto and Fugaku Uchiha watched as their son dissapeared upstairs to his room, the first day of his 20th year looking bleak and weary as the first splatter of heavy rain was heard in their household.

—

It was the first snowfall of winter, he'll remember once he's bereft with only his remorse to keep him company.

Months passed by and they could feel the upcoming winter. Autumn leaves were long forgotten and frigid air came howling for a few weeks now. Sasuke feels restless. He feels something is coming up apart from the winter he's starting to hate ever since his brother's passing. Something gnaws at his gut and he couldn't focus.

He was driving towards Sakura's apartment, picking her up for their dinner. It's been almost 3 weeks since they last saw each other and Sakura finally convinced him to have dinner together. He booked a reservation in a classy restaurant in autopilot, already dreading the upcoming reunion.

"I miss you," she simply said through the phone. Sasuke bit back words such as 'I miss you, too' and 'Forgive me' and 'I love you'; only to utter a cold and detached, "Aa." He didn't get a reply after that, but he thought he heard a faint sniff on the other line before it went dead.

When he got to her apartment, he simply honked the horn of his car. It's been too long since he had been inside her place, knowing that there are too many vivid memories living inside it. He couldn't risk being in there. He knows he won't make it out alive.

A few moments later, Sakura emerged from the white door of her flat. And just like it always did to Sasuke, it all happened in slow motion. 'What a fucking cliché,' he thought.

Wrapped in a plain black sweater and red coat, lean legs in faded jeans, feet in her favorite sneakers — she looked beautiful. Even with those dark circles under her green eyes, she looked absolutely stunning to Sasuke.

Every step she takes as she makes her way to his car made his heart squeeze itself. He wanted to bury himself in her, to live inside her bones and just stay there so he could escape this reality. This is his reality now — no more dream, no more Itachi; and pretty soon, no more Sakura.

'It hurts,' Sasuke thought. 'It hurts, aniki.'

It has been a habit of his since Itachi was gone. He talks to him in his head. Sometimes, he could pretend enough that his brother answers him back. Tonight, Itachi's as silent as a dead can be.

Sakura finally reached the passenger door and slipped inside the car. She turned to face him, her face litting up and her mouth curling upwards. She shyly greeted him, "Hi."

Sasuke continued to stare, his eyes roaming around her face. He noted the slight pink of her cheeks, and he knows it's not just from the cold. There was an urge to smirk, but he fought it. She could just sit there and do nothing, and Sasuke would still be more of a mess than he already was.

After a while, he mumbled back. "Hi."

She smiled then, and slowly leaned towards him. She brushed her lips on his once, then pecked him lightly. Sakura brought her hands up and cradled his face, "You look thin. Are you eating well?"

Sasuke only nodded in response, not trusting his own voice not to crack under pressure. He could smell her — peaches and cream. He could see her — pinks and greens. He could taste her — mint and home.

'I missed you so much.'

He pulled away, making her hands drop. He couldn't look at her face. He knows she have that fake smile ready for him when he hurts her. Sasuke had already seen it a hundred times for the past year.

"I'm fine," he said. "Put your seatbelt on. We're gonna be late."

Sasuke didn't hear a response, and he didn't wait for any. He just started the engine and started to drive away for the 20-minute journey to the restaurant.

The awkwardness and the tension is palpable in the confines of his car. It took all of his control not to groan out of frustration. He just focused on the road, but Sakura is making it a hard time when he knows her gears running on her head.

Three minutes in and she cracked the silence.

"How's your training, Sasuke-kun?," she inquired. "I hope they're not exhausting you too much."

Sasuke wanted to say that it already took too much of him and now he feels bereft. But as the coward that he is, of course he can't say that.

"It's fine," he answered, his tone clipped and straightforward. "I'm okay."

He could see her nodding her head through his peripheral, "That's good. Is it hard? I know you can handle it, but I hope you're getting rest. I don't want you getting sick."

Her sweet and thoughtful tone made him grind his teeth. Instead of making his heart flutter, it made his gut churn that he wants to vomit right there and then. He doesn't know why but he feels sick. Something is coming up, he can feel it. It's like a flu that you know is coming but you couldn't do shit about it. It made him absolutely nervous.

Because of this, he answered in his usual response, that he rarely use with Sakura: "Aa."

Sasuke felt her look towards him at that. His heart spiked up because of nerves. He knows she's assessing the situation. She's always been good at that. 'Damn it,' Sasuke thought to himself.

"Sasuke-kun, is everything okay?," she asked.

'No. Nothing has ever been okay for a long time. It's all falling apart and I'm terrified of what's to come. I don't know what to do.'

Sasuke forced himself to sigh and look as if exasperated with her question to cover his true emotions and thoughts, "I'm fine, Sakura." He gave emphasis on words to carry more weight and to prove to her, and to himself, that he's really okay. He focused on driving. 15 minutes more and they will arrive.

It's the longest 15 minutes of his life. The tension he feels is suffocating.

Sakura is as relentless as him so he should've known that wouldn't budge her because she talked back, "Obviously there's something wrong. You could always tell me, Sasuke-kun. You know that."

This slight nagging of hers was slowly getting on his nerves so he blurted out, "Jesus, Sakura, I said I'm fine. Okay?"

Anyone who heard that would hear the slight irritation from it, as well as the frustration and exhaustion. He was gripping the steering wheel too hard and his jaw was clenched too tight as he heard her gasp in surprise from his lash out.

He briefly looked at her and saw her looking down at her lap and biting her lip. It's a habit of hers when she feels insecure and afraid.

'Great job, asshole,' he thought inwardly. 'You managed to get her fears back with just a few words. Keep this up and she might leave you after this. As she should.'

Sasuke ran his hand through his hair, his eyes still digging holes on the road. He exhaled slowly and softly said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that." He knows it wasn't enough but he kept going. "I'm just tired, that's all. Forgive me."

It took her a few moments to recover but she looked at him and smiled lightly. She then said, "I understand. Of course. I'm sorry, too."

They continued the heavy silence until they reached their destination. Sasuke has always been a silent person, but he almost cursed the deafening silence at that moment that he could feel the words at the back of his throat.

The dinner was all a blur to Sasuke. They did small talk throughout the course, too casual for lovers of almost 3 years. There was no intimacy that always prevails in any of their activity, whether it's drinking coffee together or making love or holding hands. It made him remember that he already forgot when was the last time they had sex, let alone be asleep on the same bed and cuddling like bears like they used to.

They only talked about their current activities; him with his company training and her with her subjects at the university. He misses the times they spend together when they both have free period, when they were classmates at literature with Kakashi as their professor that blatantly call them out for doing practically eye-sex from both ends of the room, and when they both roll their eyes at Naruto for dragging them to his favorite ramen place at lunch.

They also talked about their parents and his cat, Colonel Mustard, and the weather and her new potted plant on her windowsill and a ton of other insignificant things. Sasuke felt that she was itching to talk about more important things but he always stray from those topics. He can see her disappointment every time.

Next thing he knew, they were exiting the restaurant and walking towards the parking lot. The air was a lot more colder than it was before they went inside the establishment. Winter was almost there.

Sasuke saw Sakura lick her lips multiple times throughout dinner, and it means she's nervous about something. It didn't help his already frayed nerves. It made him more weary of what this night still entails.

They got inside his car and he drove back to her apartment to drop her off. He can still feel her fidget beside him and he couldn't shake his bad feeling anymore. He asked, "What is it?"

"Huh?", she said, startled. He looked back at her for a few seconds and answered back.

"You're nervous about something. Tell me."

Sakura was silent for like forever. She was never like this. She has always been frank with her thoughts and feelings. So this behavior of hers started to irritate him and Sasuke prepared to berate her when she dropped a news.

"I got into Harvard," she whispered quietly.

His mind went blank for a moment after she said that. All he could process was few words.

Harvard.

America.

Far away.

Without him.

She continued to talk softly, "I was approached by Professor Shizune. You remember her? She's a former apprentice of Tsunade Senju, the one I was telling you about that's kind of a legend herself? Ms. Shizune apparently told Tsunade about me and Tsunade emailed me, saying I should apply for Harvard. She's currently teaching there. Shizune told me I should go."

She looked at him then, "I tried, and then last week I got the acceptance letter. I don't know what to do. I didn't tell you right away because I know you have so much on your plate already. I'm sorry, Sasuke-kun."

'She did it,' he said to himself. 'She's getting her dream. She always talk about that Tsunade and how much she could learn from her. She finally made it.'

He was proud, but the small, ugly and selfish part of him was slowly rearing its head.

'She's leaving you. She's finally leaving you.'

They stopped at a red light, then Sasuke faced her. "Why are you saying sorry? It's okay."

His words are soft and true, but his face and eyes say something else. He forced himself to smile, "Congratulations."

The light turned green and he stepped on the gas. He didn't dare look at her again. He couldn't breathe, and she said something that made even his heartbeat halt.

"I'm not going."

Sasuke whipped his head towards her, "What? Why?"

She looked at him intently and said, "I'm happy here at Tokyo. I'm enjoying my classes and I learn a lot. It's fine for me. It's more than enough."

They both know it's not true. She has always been an ambitious one and she will push her limits to get where she wants. Aside from that, she rarely has friends. Sasuke and Naruto have been with her since high school, and then there was her childhood friend back in Kyoto. Now that Sasuke dropped out of the university, he's sure she's always alone, with only the occassional Naruto when their free time match.

Lastly, they're both aware that if she wants to be the best in the medicine field, she must be in the best curriculum. Harvard is practically knocking at her doorstep right now. All she must do is open the door.

Sasuke knows what she said is true. But he also knows that a big part of her staying here in Japan is sitting just a few inches from her.

Him.

He looked away from her then, suddenly angry and frustrated and hurt at once. He doesn't even know to whom. Maybe with her, maybe with the world.

Definitely with himself.

'All you do is hold her back,' his own self seethes. 'What else are you good at, asshole?'

Sasuke is gripped with so much anger at her words thay he gritted his teeth so hard they can both hear it. All he could say was, "No."

"Sasuke-kun?"

"You will go. You have to."

"I don't want to."

"Yes, you do. I know you."

She flinched at that, "Don't you think it's my decision to make? I decided to stay, and that's that."

Sasuke noted the slightly angry tone in her voice and it only fueled him to go harder, "C'mon, Sak. We both know you have nothing left here."

Her voice was incredulous when she answered back, "What?!"

He scoffed, "Seriously? You have no other friends aside from Naruto and I. You're a shut-in. You don't even have a family with you."

Sakura gasped at that. He's aware of what he said and he wanted to take it back, but he was too busy being angry at everything at the moment.

"Stop the car," she silently asked.

He pretended not to hear a thing until she literally shouted, "I said stop the fucking car!"

Sasuke abruptly swerved towards the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. They were both almost throwned forward if not because of their seatbelts.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?", Sakura asked him, her voice shaking from too much emotion. Disbelief, pain, rage — Sasuke can taste it in his mouth.

He looked at her sideways, "What is wrong with me? No, Sak. What the fuck is wrong with you? You're giving up your dream!"

"I'm not giving up anything!," she screamed at him. Her eyes are wild and her breath comes in heavy.

"Oh, really? We both know Harvard is the best thing for you. Don't deny it to yourself. If you don't go now, you might not get another chance."

"I don't care! I want to stay here!"

"And do what? You're almost bored with your classes. You're always by yourself because you're too absorbed with me that you couldn't even try to talk and befriend anyone else. You're alone even in your own place because you live with too much memories of your dead parents in your old house and you couldn't take it."

"Oh you did not just say that," she sputtered. Sakura's eyes are wide with disbelief with his words. "You did not just tell me I should go because I couldn't live with my dead parents' memories. You should know how it feels to lose a loved one."

Sasuke regretted those last words. She's right, he should know what it feels like to lose a part of yourself. This argument is getting out of hand and he feels so fucking tired.

He sighed then looked at her, "What do you want me to say then? Don't leave me? That you shouldn't go? That I want you to stay? That I need you?"

"Yes," she said, her voice strong and her eyes determined at him. She nodded her head, "Yes. Tell me to stay. Tell me you need me."

Sasuke stared at her face, that face that he grew to love ever since he laid his eyes on her; that face that he first wants to see every morning for the rest of his life; the same face that he wants to stare at every night.

'This is your chance,' his thoughts suddenly said. 'You can end this now. Right here. Don't torture both of you further than you already did.'

He swallowed his real thoughts, most of them saying those things she wanted him to say. He doesn't want her to go. He doesn't want to let her go.

But his inner thoughts are right.. it is time.

Sasuke hardened his resolve and stiffly said, "No. I don't need you, Sakura."

'Yes, I do.'

Sakura shook her head, "Yes, you do."

He looked away to face his front again, "No, I don't. You think I need someone who makes me worried every damn day? Someone who's annoying like you?"

Sasuke looked back at her and added, "It only makes me tired."

Sakura took a pained gasp, his words slowly making their way to her heart. Her voice was cracked when she asked him, "You're tired of me?"

'No. Never.'

"Yes. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of us."

She blinked, her eyes still wide but dry. Green met his black for long moments until she asked him the question that will free them of this monumental fucked-up relationship, "Are you.. are you breaking up with me?"

Sasuke sighed, still looking at her straight in the eyes. He hoped she wouldn't notice how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. He had to do this.

"Yes, Sakura. I'm breaking up with you."

'No. Don't leave me.'

The silence after those words penetrate the small confines of his vehicle. Both Sasuke and Sakura stared at each other — black with cold indifference and green with shocked detachment.

Sasuke couldn't look at her anymore so he went back to facing the front of the car. He feels numb. A few minutes passed and he decided to drive her back home.

"Let's go. Let me take you home," he muttered under his breath.

The moment he pushed the gas pedal was when he heard the unclasping of her seatbelt and the opening of the passenger door.

He immediately slammed on the brake and quickly looked back at Sakura, just in time to see her get out of his car and closed the car door a little too hard.

"Sakura!", he shouted at her. He got out of his car and strode towards Sakura who is still busy walking away from him with brisk steps. His long legs reached her and he turned her around to face him.

"What the fuck was that?! You could've been hurt! What the fuck were you thinking?!", Sasuke literally screamed at her face. He's gripping her arms tightly and he noticed her shaking form.

"Too late," she whispered. Her breaths come in puffs and he noticed that it's visible now. He then realized that it was snowing. Winter is here.

Her eyes looked up and found his. Sasuke fought back a gasp to see her eyes without their usual light. It's all hard and cold.. just like his. And then she added, "I'm already hurt."

He wanted to pull her in his arms and embrace her, to embed himself into her or her to him, and never be apart. He wanted to warm her up with his mouth, his hands, his breath. He wanted to kiss her.

'You broke up with her remember?'

"Get your hands off me," she quietly asked him. "Please."

He flinched, "C'mon, Sak. Let me get you h-"

"And stop calling me that," she coldly asked. She pushed away his hands and turned around to walk away from him.

It was snowing and he couldn't let her walk all the way to her apartment, no matter how close it may be. It's only a 10-minute drive, 20 if by feet.

"Sakura," he called out.

She turned around so suddenly that it almost surprised him, "Don't."

They stood at the side of the road, with the sky crying snow around them, facing each other. Sakura remained calm and her eyes still dry. Meanwhile, Sasuke remained glued to the spot as the love of his life slowly break before his eyes.

"I should've known," she started. Her eyes are focused on him, never wavering. "I knew something wasn't right. Nothing's ever the same since your brother was gone."

Sasuke swallowed when she mentioned Itachi. Does she know? Does she know his awaited fate?

She continued, "And I know I should've confronted you for it. But instead, I fed your appetite. I felt it when you look at me, when you touch me, when you kiss me. You needed me, Sasuke. You need me."

'Of course, I do.'

Her eyes blinked and her voice wavered, "And I'm selfish enough to be happy when I'm needed.. and I'm sorry." Her green orbs watered then, "I'm sorry for using that to feed my own need."

Sasuke choked as he shook his head no, "Sakura, please. You don't.. you don't have to say sorry. I- it's me.. it's my fault. It's not you."

She laughed without humor when she heard that. She's still looking at him as she humorlessly let out chuckles, "What a fucking cliché." Then a teardrop fell from her. And then another. Then another one.

Sasuke felt like dying at that moment. All the crying he saw from her was never like this one. She looks so broken now, her mouth shaking from the cold and from her tears.

"I was tired too, Sasuke. I endured for a year. I swallowed the hurt when you forgot our second anniversary. I swallowed my pride at the restaurant where you stood me up on my birthday. I swallowed the pain when you left on your birthday without telling me."

Sasuke remembers it all. He will never forget their anniversary or her birthday or their tradition when it's his turn. It's just that he's too guilty about being with her and still delaying the impending doom of their relationship to actually be with her. He decided to deprive himself of his own happiness because he doesn't deserve it.. doesn't deserve her. He's just a coward to face it.

Her tears are slowly rolling down her cheeks, like the snow falling down on them. "I endured them all, knowing that you're still in grief, and you probably will be for a long time. I know the feeling." She took a deep breath and exhaled, still crying. "But never, not once, did I ever think about giving you up. Never."

His eyes blurred and he fought the tears that threatened to come. He swallowed hard and breathe deeply to control his emotions. Sasuke wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

"I deserve better. I know that," she nodded to herself. "But I still wanted you despite that.. because I love you." She licked her lips and took a step forward to him.

Sasuke watched as she made her way to him, her hands shaking and her eyes straight up looking at him. When she's in front of him with only a few inches between them, she spoke.

"So you don't get to break up with me, Sasuke," her voice strong and laced with genuine resolve. "I break up with you."

Her eyes are hard but still leaking angry and pained tears, "I break up with you."

Sasuke knows he deserved her hate, but he never thought it would be as painful as this. He didn't say a thing, just continued to stare down at her shaking form, praying to anyone to end this fucking nightmare.

Sakura's green eyes dimmed down and turned soft as she stares up at him. His heart skipped a beat.

"I wish you happiness, Sasuke."

—

Mikoto was drinking water from the kitchen when she suddenly heard a noise coming from the living room. She was startled for a second, but she put her glass down and tightened her robe. It was late at night and Sasuke must have come back. She made her way to their living room, only the moonlight provides little light in their house.

When she peered from the hallway, she saw Sasuke standing in the middle of the room with his back on her. He was deathly still looking out the great window of their living room. She silently and slowly approached him, then put her hand on his back.

"Sasuke?"

Her eyes went wide when her son looked back at her. Sasuke was crying.

"Kaa-san," he muttered, his voice little and broken.

She gasped then, her son calling her that term that he hasn't used since he was 13. She looked up at him and knew immediately what happened. Her heart ached for them.

A tear fell from his eyes as he looked at his mother, "She called me Sasuke." His eyes continued to shed tears as he said, "He never calls me just Sasuke."

Fugaku was at the top of the stairs and saw his wife and son in their living room. He heard the noise earlier and decided to check what it was. He saw and heard his now only living son slowly die in front of his mother. His heart clenched painfully.

Mikoto's eyes gathered moisture and she fought the tears as she watched her son look down at his hand and put it against his chest.

"Kaa-san," Sasuke called her again.

Mikoto swallowed before she answered, "Yes, Sasuke?"

Sasuke clenched his hand on his chest and gripped it tight, "It hurts." His dark eyes, still continuously shedding salty tears, found her own, "It hurts so much. Can you make it stop?"

His mother couldn't fight away her tears any longer. His face contorted in pain as she gathered him in her arms as they fell on the floor, with his head buried against his mother's shoulder.

"Please, kaa-san. Please. Make it stop."

Sasuke's wretched sobs reverberate around the silent Uchiha house, muffled by his own mother's cries. His father slowly made back his way to their room to silently cry alone.

Outside, the first snow of the winter falls, in sync with the tears from their eyes.

~fin~

(A/N: As you noticed, I made Karin and Naruto siblings, if you’re a bit confused about that. Hope you liked it and made you feel some things, no matter what those may be. Lol. See you soon!)

part 1 | part 2

#sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #ssfic #ssfanfic #sasusaku fanfic #naruto #naruto fanfiction #uchiha sasuke #uchiha sakura #haruno sakura #please tell me what you think of it #anything would be greatly appreciated #thank you so much #thank you for reading my fics!!!!#fangirl's fanfiction

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dfroza · 3 years

Text

how do people deal with their impending death?

do they seek the hope of rebirth in the True illumination of the Son?

do you know that we as children of Light have become Heaven’s poetry?

A line from Today’s reading of the ancient Scriptures from the 2nd chapter of the Letter of Ephesians:

“For we are the product of His hand, heaven’s poetry etched on lives, created in the Anointed, Jesus, to accomplish the good works God arranged long ago.”

(verse 10 in The Voice)

with the whole chapter here in The Passion Translation:

[God’s Power Raised Us from the Dead]

And his fullness fills you, even though you were once like corpses, dead in your sins and offenses. It wasn’t that long ago that you lived in the religion, customs, and values of this world, obeying the dark ruler of the earthly realm who fills the atmosphere with his authority, and works diligently in the hearts of those who are disobedient to the truth of God. The corruption that was in us from birth was expressed through the deeds and desires of our self-life. We lived by whatever natural cravings and thoughts our minds dictated, living as rebellious children subject to God’s wrath like everyone else.

But God still loved us with such great love. He is so rich in compassion and mercy. Even when we were dead and doomed in our many sins, he united us into the very life of Christ and saved us by his wonderful grace! He raised us up with Christ the exalted One, and we ascended with him into the glorious perfection and authority of the heavenly realm, for we are now co-seated as one with Christ!

Throughout the coming ages we will be the visible display of the infinite riches of his grace and kindness, which was showered upon us in Jesus Christ. For by grace you have been saved by faith. Nothing you did could ever earn this salvation, for it was the love gift from God that brought us to Christ! So no one will ever be able to boast, for salvation is never a reward for good works or human striving.

We have become his poetry, a re-created people that will fulfill the destiny he has given each of us, for we are joined to Jesus, the Anointed One. Even before we were born, God planned in advance our destiny and the good works we would do to fulfill it!

[A New Humanity]

So don’t forget that you were not born as Jews and were uncircumcised (circumcision itself is just a work of man’s hands); you had none of the Jewish covenants and laws; you were foreigners to Israel’s incredible heritage; you were without the covenants and prophetic promises of the Messiah, the promised hope, and without God.

Yet look at you now! Everything is new! Although you were once distant and far away from God, now you have been brought delightfully close to him through the sacred blood of Jesus—you have actually been united to Christ!

Our reconciling “Peace” is Jesus! He has made Jew and non-Jew one in Christ. By dying as our sacrifice, he has broken down every wall of prejudice that separated us and has now made us equal through our union with Christ. Ethnic hatred has been dissolved by the crucifixion of his precious body on the cross. The legal code that stood condemning every one of us has now been repealed by his command. His triune essence has made peace between us by starting over—forming one new race of humanity, Jews and non-Jews fused together in himself!

Two have now become one, and we live restored to God and reconciled in the body of Christ. Through his crucifixion, hatred died. For the Messiah has come to preach this sweet message of peace to you, the ones who were distant, and to those who are near. And now, because we are united to Christ, we both have equal and direct access in the realm of the Holy Spirit to come before the Father!

So, you are not foreigners or guests, but rather you are the children of the city of the holy ones, with all the rights as family members of the household of God. You are rising like the perfectly fitted stones of the temple; and your lives have been built up together upon the foundation laid by the apostles and prophets, and best of all, you are connected to the Head Cornerstone of the building, the Anointed One, Jesus Christ himself!

This entire building is under construction and is continually growing under his supervision until it rises up completed as the holy temple of the Lord himself. This means that God is transforming each one of you into the Holy of Holies, his dwelling place, through the power of the Holy Spirit living in you!

The Letter of Ephesians, Chapter 2 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 6th chapter of the book of Jeremiah that gives warning due to injustice and lies:

Eternal One (to His people): Run away, people of Benjamin,

and take refuge anywhere but Jerusalem.

You’re not safe inside those walls.

From the village of Tekoa, blow the trumpet, sound the alarm.

Light the warning fires above Beth-haccerem across the land.

For evil peers down; a dark army of destruction is gathering in the north.

I will destroy Jerusalem,

beautiful and delicate daughter of Zion.

As shepherds come and surround her with flocks of hungry sheep,

so their enemies will gather their troops around you, set up camp,

And feed off your land as they see fit.

“Get ready for the battle,” they cry.

“Come on, let’s attack. It’s already noon!

But look, the day is half over—

the shadows are growing longer.

So arise, let us launch our attack at night.

The palaces will fall in the darkness!”

This is what the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, decrees.

Eternal One: Cut down her trees—make battering rams and siege ramps—

for Jerusalem will soon be under attack.

Swarm over those walls, you invading hoards,

and punish My Jerusalem, the city of oppression.

Like fresh water from a well,

fresh wickedness flows from deep inside of her.

Sounds of cruelty and destruction rumble through this city;

her wounds are always before Me.

Take Me seriously, O Jerusalem; this warning is for you!

Listen to My words and turn away from evil

Or I will turn away from you in disgust.

I will turn you into a land so barren that no one would dare to live there.

This is what the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, decrees:

Eternal One: The enemy will pass over the remnant of Israel again and glean what is left,

like the worker who checks the vine again for any missed grapes.

To whom should I speak and give this warning?

Who will listen to what I say?

Their ears are closed; they cannot hear. They’re deaf to anything about God.

The Eternal’s word is offensive to them. They take no delight in it.

But I am welling up with His anger.

I’m too tired to try to hold it in any longer.

Eternal One: Pour it out on children playing in the streets,

on young men meeting together.

Husbands and wives, old and even the very old—

let each of them know they will be taken.

Their homes will be seized and lived in by others;

so, too, will their fields and wives be taken from them and given to others when I reach out against the people of this land.

Greed has corrupted this culture, from the least to the greatest:

all are tainted with this lust for what they don’t deserve.

The prophets and priests are no better.

Their lives reek with deceit.

To heal the brokenness of My people,

they offer superficial words.

They say, “Peace, peace,” as if all is well.

But there is no peace.

Do they feel any shame for their disgraceful deeds?

Absolutely not. My very own have forgotten how to blush.

And so it is that they will fall among the fallen and be defeated;

when the time comes, they will stumble beneath the weight of My punishment;

They will know soon enough what they have done.

This is what the Eternal decrees:

Eternal One (to the people): Stand at the crossing, and consider the ancient path,

for it is good and it leads to Me.

Walk on this path, and you will find rest for your souls.

But they have said, “We will not walk upon this road.”

Even then I sent watchmen to warn you of what is to come.

“Listen for the blaring of the trumpet,” I warned.

But the people did not listen.

They said, “We will not pay attention.”

Now listen to Me, nations of the earth.

Learn, O congregation, what is about to happen to My people.

Listen, O Earth, for I am bringing this disaster upon Judah.

This is the fruit of their own scheming.

For My people would not listen to My instructions;

They have rejected My guidance—My law—to go their own way.

Eternal One: What use do I have of your expensive incense from Sheba

or the fragrant reeds you offer Me from a faraway land?

I will not accept your burnt offerings;

the aroma of these empty sacrifices does not please Me.

And so I, the Eternal One, will place stumbling blocks on your path of rebellion.

You will stumble indeed, fathers and sons alike.

Neighbors and friends will be wiped out.

Look in the distance, and you will see an army

marching toward you out of the north.

A nation whose size and might you can’t imagine

is now awakening and coming from the remote parts of the earth.

They are armed with bows and spears.

Their hearts are cruel and will show you no mercy.

The sound of their massive army,

riding in on their horses, is like the sound of an angry sea;

They are ready for battle, marching in formation,

coming to destroy you, O Jerusalem, daughter of Zion.

We heard the news, and our strength vanished—anguish and fear grip us.

We twist in pain like a woman giving birth.

Do not go into the field alone.

Do not walk the streets, for our enemy is armed and approaching fast.

Terror is everywhere we turn.

You who are my people, weep with me for it is time.

Put on sackcloth and roll in ashes.

Cry as you would for the loss of an only child.

The time for bitter tears has come.

The destroyer is descending upon us quickly,

and the days of sadness will soon begin.

Eternal One (to Jeremiah): Put My people to the test.

Examine their ways as a refiner tests the ore’s purity.

They are all stubborn rebels,

lying to each other and to Me.

They are nothing more than bronze and iron—

lesser metals, corrupt and common.

The refining fire has blazed fiercely, My prophet;

the lead is burned away in the fire.

But it’s no use. Though the refining fire burns hot,

their wickedness cannot be removed.

Now I, the Eternal, reject them as impure—

“rejected silver” is what they will be called.

The Book of Jeremiah, Chapter 6 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, August 19 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about examining ourselves as we are refined like gold is refined:

The Apostle Paul said we were to both “test ourselves” with regard to the intellectual content of our faith and also to “prove ourselves” with regard to the veracity of our spiritual life: "Put yourselves to the test (ἑαυτοὺς πειράζετε) to see if you are in the faith; prove yourselves (ἑαυτοὺς δοκιμάζετε) to see whether Yeshua the Messiah lives within you - lest you fail the test and be disapproved (ἀδόκιμος)" (1 Cor. 13:5). Notice that the verb "to prove" (i.e., dokimadzo: δοκιμάζω) means to test something by fire (like a precious metal) to discover its quality and purity. The analogy here is straightforward. The quality of our faith will be revealed during times of testing and hard circumstance. Do we walk in love, joy, and peace - despite the testing of this life? If our faith regularly fails in the crucible of testing, we may need to reexamine its authenticity (Prov. 24:10).

A proven faith is one that evidences the Fruit of the Holy Spirit, though other characteristics include an abhorrence for personal sin and the desire to obtain God’s forgiveness; a hunger and thirst for God’s righteousness to be manifest; a sincere willingness to obey the LORD and keep His commandments, and a heartfelt love for God and others. These characteristics mark genuine teshuvah (“repentance”), that is, a turning away from inner darkness to the light of the Divine Presence. Teshuvah is a miracle that transforms the person so that the inner life is restructured and made into a new creation by means of God’s grace (2 Cor. 5:17). Spiritual rebirth implies a new heart with a new set of affections: “I am crucified with Messiah; it is no longer I who live, but Messiah who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me” (Gal. 2:20).

The Jewish view of truth is inherently existential - how you live reveals what you believe, and vice-versa. The truth must be lived in order to be real. We are to be "doers" of the Word, and not hearers only, since faith without works is dead and leads to self-deception (lit., "reasoning around" the truth, i.e., παραλογίζομαι, from παρά, "around, beside" and λογίζομαι, "to reason"). Only those who follow through and live out their faith will be blessed in their actions (James 1:22, 25). This mirrors Yeshua's statement, "If you know these things, blessed are you if you do them" (John 13:17).

Reb Lev said, ‘A tzaddik is one who lives Torah, not one who preaches it. Your actions, not your words! You have to be Torah: your habits, your motions, even your silences - are what count...”

There remains the frightening possibility that the soul - even the soul that professes faith in the Messiah - may fail the test of genuine faith and be rejected (i.e., adokimos: ἀδόκιμος, "tested and found useless"). A person who merely professes love for God with his lips but whose heart is far from Him will eventually hear the verdict of truth, which ratifies the inner life of the soul: “Depart from Me, I never knew you...” This is the like-for-like principle of faith, the reciprocity of the inner life of the soul. Our faith in Messiah must be unalloyed - pure, without compromise in its composition and character. May God help each of us...

Should we live in fear of ourselves? After all, “the heart is deceptive above all things and desperately wicked” (Jer. 17:9), and it is woefully easy to fool ourselves regarding our sins (1 Cor. 8:2; Gal. 6:3; James 1:26). Well on the one hand we should indeed be afraid of our own sinful tendencies and abhor the sin in our lives, but on the other we must practice hope in God and trust in his healing and deliverance. Moreover, we can experience freedom from dread by receiving the joy that comes from the assurance that we are accepted in the Beloved. God has not given us a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear; and there is no fear in His love (Rom. 8:15; 2 Tim. 1:7; 1 John 4:18). Of course we all will fail the test apart from the grace and love of God, and no one can be approved by means of the unaided will. We all need a miracle from God to love Him in the truth and to pass the test -- but God is the One who performs miracles for us. The LORD is Adonai Nissi (יהוה נִסִּי), the God of my miracle...

There is a price to be paid for the miracle of God being manifest in our lives. The message of the cross means confessing the truth about who we are and how we have failed the test of faith. Yeshua does not appeal to the self-righteous ones to come for healing, but rather to the sin-sick and weary (Mark 2:17). The LORD wants us to be honest with ourselves, as it says: “"Behold, You delight in truth in the inward being, and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart" (Psalm 51:6).

The Tenth Commandment says, "do not covet" anything that belongs to your neighbor (Deut. 5:21), though the Hebrew does not simply say "do not desire" (i.e., לא תְאַוֶּה) but rather "do not bring yourself into a state of desire" (i.e., לא תִתְאַוֶּה), the verb in this case (אָוַה) being "hitpael" (reflexive), that is, expressing the relationship within yourself to the truth of God. As Soren Kierkegaard once said, the "self" expresses a relation with itself, and the "how" of that relation determines what sort of self we are... God does not command us like someone might train a dog; he instructs us to awaken to what we are doing, to take responsibility for our lives, and not to yield our hearts to envy, despair, and sorrow.

The unexamined life -- especially as a follower of Yeshua -- is not worth living, and the practice of suppressing the truth about our sinful condition can lead to self-deception and even death (1 Cor. 11:30). "If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us; if we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness" (1 John 1:7-8). “Therefore, confess (ἐξομολογέω, lit. 'confess out') your sins to one another and pray (εὔχομαι) for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person (tzaddik) works great power” (James 5:16). [Hebrew for Christians]

8.18.21 • Facebook

and another about returning the heart to Love:

Part of the meaning of teshuvah (i.e., “repentance”), at least for some of us, is learning to trust and believe in love.... If you were abandoned as a child, for instance, you were deprived of the security, nurture, and basic human connection you needed to partake in love. Instead of acquiring a sense of belonging and acceptance your soul desperately needed, you inherited a sense of shame that taught that you were inherently unlovable and unworthy. Consequently, as you grew up, you may have found it difficult to trust or ask others for help; you might have turned inward, relying only on yourself, protecting yourself from further pain. You may have became lonely, filled with sadness, anger, and fear. Ironically and tragically, as you protected yourself from abandonment you made your heart hard and numb, and that led to the abandonment of yourself....

There are providential miracles... Healing can come when we turn again to ourselves - unconditionally accepting ourselves despite the pain of our past - and open our hearts to be loved. It was when he "came to himself" that the prodigal made the decision to go back to his father (Luke 15:17). Therefore the Spirit of God calls out to the bereft: "Return to your heart and know" (Deut. 4:29). This is possible only if we are willing to turn to God for the grace we need to be made whole. It is by turning to God (i.e., teshuvah) that we find ourselves to be beloved and made whole. Believing in God's love for us enables us to truly love ourselves, and from that connection, we can move out to love others as well.

O friend of forsaken hope, savor the phrase, "Know therefore today and return to your heart..." It the heart that is the place of connection with God... As Yeshua said, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me" (Rev. 3:20). Today may you find courage to "return to your heart" and receive again God's love for your soul... Amen. [Hebrew for Christians]

followed by a post about making amends with others:

In our Torah reading for this week, parashat Ki Teitzei, we read: “Do not ignore the loss of your brother... you shall restore it to him” (Deut. 22:1-3). This indicates that we have a moral duty to return lost items to others, and on a spiritual level that includes restoring honor and dignity to those who have lost sight of their value in the eyes of God... For even greater reason we must make restitution to those whom we have harmed. Making amends is part of the teshuvah process, after all. We hurt ourselves when we hurt others, and we hurt others when we hurt ourselves. The way out of *that* circle is through making amends. As Yeshua taught: “If you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift” (Matt. 5:22-23). “Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person works great power” (James 5:16). Ultimately, confession of the truth is not optional for anyone.

Indeed, regarding the duty to restore what is lost to our brother mentioned above, the Torah adds, “and you are not to ignore it,” which literally reads, “you are unable to hide it” (לא תוּכַל לְהִתְעַלֵּם). Rabbi Abraham Twerski notes that the Torah is not giving us a command as much as stating a fact: You are unable to hide from a wrongful act. In other words, the problem with “getting away with it” is that you get away with it, that is, you take it with you. Such self-deception sears your conscience, makes you numb inside, and deadens the heart. Making amends to others is life-giving, helping you let go of what you’ve done wrong to restore inner peace. We must be vigilant not to let our hearts die because of either shame or rationalization. May the LORD help us walk in the Spirit of Truth. [Hebrew for Christians]

8.19.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

August 19, 2021

Jeremiah and Inspiration

“Then I said, I will not make mention of him, nor speak any more in his name. But his word was in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I was weary with forbearing, and I could not stay.” (Jeremiah 20:9)

Contained within the books of the Old Testament are nearly three thousand claims to its precise trustworthiness. Over and over again, the various authors claim to be communicating the very words of God.

A number of such claims were recorded by Jeremiah in his book. As we see in our text, Jeremiah was somewhat discouraged with the lack of response to his ministry. But, just as he decided to refrain from passing on God’s Word to the people, he felt an inner burning, recognizing that these words were much too important to ignore. These words had come from God Himself!

On other occasions, he heard the words of God directly and was commanded to pass them on with precision. “Thus saith the LORD; Stand in the court of the LORD’s house, and speak unto all the cities of Judah, which come to worship in the LORD’s house, all the words that I command thee to speak unto them; diminish not [literally ‘to shave,’ or ‘to lessen in effect’] a word” (Jeremiah 26:2). This straightforward teaching of verbal inspiration is applied to the written accounts, as well: “The word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD, saying, Thus speaketh the LORD God of Israel, saying, Write thee all the words that I have spoken unto thee in a book” (Jeremiah 30:1-2).

This book, which throughout contains such strong condemnation of falsehood, and which was written over a period of more than two thousand years by numerous authors, yet without any contradiction between these writers, surely is the Word of the eternal, holy God. It is the information our Creator knows we need. JDM

A tweet by illumiNations about sacred work:

@IlluminationsBT: A clear, accurate, natural rendering of the New Testament takes about 7 years -- a full Bible, about 16 years.

8.19.21 • 12:00pm • Twitter

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killmongerdreams · 7 years

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lurk

summary: Some things that lurk in the dark are nicer than others. || bucky x reader || monster au || nsfw

warnings: smut, oral [fr]

note: this is my fic entry for my favorite hoe’s (@rotisserierogers) halloween challenge! i chose the prompts “monsters aren’t real” + “no need to be afraid.” I hope you like this, babe!

There was an unspoken rule established in your town: no one, under any circumstance, was to go into the woods at night.

There were things that lurked between the trees, hiding in the shadows to latch their teeth into the poor fool who waltzed into the devil’s domain at night.

You ran as fast as your feet could carry you, eyes trained on the hazy skyline before you. The sun was setting quickly, the myriad of bright, beautiful colors giving way to the beginnings of the dark, eerie night.

You weren’t going to make it. There was still a few miles ahead of you before you reached the edge, before you reached the exit out of hell and into the safe haven of your town. Cursing under your breath, you sent a silent prayer to whatever deity was listening, begging to make it out alive.

The sky was pitch black, the moon a dull beam from where it was shrouded behind the clouds. You were lost; you couldn’t see, couldn’t tell where to turn to get out of your impending doom. The forest was alarmingly still around you, not a sound to be heard other than your frantic heartbeat and your harsh, exhausted breaths.

You felt like you were going in circles, straying farther and farther away from safety the longer you ran. You slowed to a jog, trying to peer through the haze of the night, trying to keep a look out for danger.

Nothing had attacked you yet, maybe you were closer to home than you imagined.

Just as the thought struck across your mind, you collided into something solid, cold and firm. Your heart froze in your chest and you stumbled to the ground, feet slipping out from underneath you.

“Well, well, well,” a low, smooth voice mused, lilting in amusement. “What do we have here?”

Fearfully, you looked up. Standing before you was a man, hands in his pockets as he grinned, showing off sharp, deadly canines. His eyes were the most gorgeous shade of blue, seeming to glow like the moon above him. You were mesmerized, awed at how something so terrifying can be so beautiful.

The stranger tilted his head, wild hair falling in his face as he tutted quietly, seeming disappointed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m t-trying to get home.” you stammered, voice shaking. “I let time get away from me.”

“And a monster could take you away.” the man retorted, face serious.

“Monsters aren’t real.”

Even as you said the words, you knew how wrong you were. The man smiled once more, and you shuddered as his teeth extended, curling over his bottom lip as he crouched down next to you. He smoothed a hand down the side of your face, and you flinched, feeling the points of his razor-like nails trail softly over your cheek.

“No need to be afraid.” he soothed quietly. He leaned forward, burying his nose into your hair, breathing in your scent, the fear wafting from every nerve in your body. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You wanted to believe him. The words sounded so convincing falling from his lips, a honeyed-coated lie for you to bite into.

His finger brushed over your bottom lip, pushing down on it gently. “I would never hurt a pretty little thing like you.”

Before you understood what was happening, his body covered yours, strong hips forcing your thighs apart as he pressed against you. His skin was like ice, chilling you to the bone as you gasped into the open air. “Can’t believe you’re out here all alone.” he muttered, dipping his head.

You bit back a whimper as he trailed his cool lips against your neck, not daring to move as he nipped gently at your pulse point. “All alone in this scary, terrifying forest,” he said. “Vulnerable. Tell me, love, what would have done if something other than myself stumbled across you? What if you encountered something that wanted to bring you harm?”

You couldn’t speak, drawing in a ragged breath as his hips ground into yours, pressing your body further against the damp, dirty ground. He stilled, staring down at you with enough intensity to make your cheeks grow hot. You brought your hands to his shoulders, not pushing away but not pulling him closer, either.

He growled lowly at the contact.

“Pretty little things like you tend to get eaten by the dark.” he told you, laughing darkly. “Girls like you are never seen again. You’re fortunate, though, little one. I’m nicer than most things residing in this purgatory. I merely taste.”

“Taste?” you repeated.

“Yes, darling. Taste.” he licked a smooth line from your collarbone to your ear, taking the lobe gingerly between his teeth. “You let me have a taste of you, and I’ll ensure your safe travel home in return. If you decline, I will not harm you; you will merely have to find your way on your own.”

He brought his hand between your legs, cupping you over your jeans to let you know exactly what he wanted a taste of.

“Just a taste. Nothing else.” you clarified. He nodded in agreement, humming quietly as he nuzzled his nose against the underside of your jaw, willing his fangs to retract back to their normal size. He let you mull the idea over, grinning victoriously when you bucked your hips into the pressure of his hand.

Deft fingers unbuttoned your pants quickly, sliding them down your legs along with your panties. Lifting your legs over his shoulders, he wasted no time in lowering his head, running his tongue through your folds in one heavy, smooth slide. Your quiet moan echoed his feral groan, seeming to echo too loudly between the trees.

His piercing, probing eyes stared up at you, glowing even more vibrantly as he licked at the underside of your clit, listening to your tiny mewls. He clutched your hips, being cautious of his nails as he did his best to keep you still. Unable to help yourself, you gripped desperately at his hair, pulling roughly as you tried to circle your hips faster. He growled in warning, eyes narrowing as he held you tighter.

There were going to be bruises on your skin in the morning.

He pulled away with a obscene smack, letting the bad of his thumb take over instead. He circled slowly, watching the way your nose scrunched up as the pleasure washed over you. “Let me kiss you,” he requested, so quiet you almost didn’t catch it. You nodded eagerly, fisting the fabric of his shirt as he leaned over you, your mouths brushing against one another’s in an unsure dance.

His tongue immediately parted your lips, kissing you deeply, making sure you get a taste of the wetness coating the inside of his mouth. Parting with a gentle bite to your bottom lip, he asked, “Are you going to come?”

Your answer was in the form of a whine, face twisting pleadingly. He shushed you, descending upon your cunt once more to appease your wishes. Gone was the slow build up, replaced by a furious urgency as he tongued at your taint. You sighed, relieved, grabbing his hair in a tight fist as he worked you toward your end.

It didn’t take long before you were careening off the cliff into mind-numbing pleasure, teeth taking your lip captive as you bit back a scream. The man cleaned you up slowly, avoiding where you were most sensitive as he made quiet, blissful noises in the back of his throat, taking everything you had to offer.

Once he was finished, he pulled away, wiping his mouth off with the back of a pale hand. Gently, he pulled your clothes back in place, not wanting to disturb your peaceful haze. He lay beside you, head propped up on his hand as he waited for your breathing to even out, not speaking until you sluggishly turned your head towards him.

“I believe it is time I escort you home, little one.”

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plutonic-astrology · 7 years

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Venus in Scorpio

This is my personal breakdown of Venus in Scorpio based on myself and other Venus in Scorpios I’ve known over the years. A lot of this could also apply to people who are very Scorpionic in general, or those with Venus/Pluto aspects. Warning: In true Scorpionic fashion I don’t sugarcoat anything so do try and take it with a grain of salt.

ATTRACTED TO

POWER: Someone with influence, someone who pulls the strings, could have formidable social standing, typically confident and/or gives off an intoxicating vibe, could even have an air of danger or something destructive about them.

MYSTERY: Someone hard to pin down, someone who’s private, elusive, keeps you guessing. Someone to play detective with. Doesn’t open up easily. Takes effort and patience to really get to know them.

DEPTH: Someone who has a quiet intensity that lurks beneath their surface. Is the psychologist, the loner, the criminal, the tortured artist, someone with a dark past and a lot of baggage.

SUBTLETY: It’s all in the eyes. Lingering looks, suggestive wordplay, touches that may or may not mean something more. Won’t always tell you they’re interested so much as hint at it.

PASSION: Someone who doesn’t shy away from emotionally charged situations. Someone who loves and hates with their entire being. Someone in touch with their desires, someone who cleverly goes after what they want. Someone who likes sex, uses it to express themselves or considers sex a large part of their identity.

FORBIDDEN FRUIT: Someone who’s emotionally unavailable or unstable, someone who’s already in a relationship. Subconsciously or consciously drawn to relationships that are turbulent or inappropriate in some way.

Venus in Scorpios themselves will possess some or even all of the above traits.

PITFALLS/TRAPS THEY FALL INTO

CHEATING: A need for intensity can result in a wandering eye. Once a relationship settles into a kind of monotony they can start to crave the emotional high that they experienced during the “honeymoon” phase. It’s important for Venus in Scorpios to remember what fascinated them about their partner in the first place before betraying that person’s trust and potentially losing them. On the other hand (despite how it may feel) not every relationship is meant to last forever. If you’re honest with yourself you know when a relationship is over for you. Try to end it properly before looking elsewhere.

ABUSIVE SITUATIONS: Associating love with pain is a Venus in Scorpio hallmark. Even in a happy, healthy relationship there will always be an underlying ache, a twinge in the chest whenever they think of their partner. This is simply how they experience love. That in itself isn’t problematic. The issue arises when a Venus in Scorpio lacks the self awareness to discern “good pain” from “bad pain.” They can easily latch onto a partner who doesn’t have their best interest in mind, or chase after someone who only wants to string them along. Generally “good pain” soothes a Venus in Scorpio and has a positive effect. It’s that “wow, I love you so much it hurts” feeling you get all while knowing your love is being reciprocated in a healthy way. “Bad pain” can have a similar flavor at first but inevitably leaves you feeling hopeless and sends you spiraling into a depression. Not to say you’re always the victim, you’re not. Sometimes you’re the perpetrator. You’re capable of being manipulative, possessive, playing power games and projecting your issues onto other people. It’s important to stay aware of these tendencies, as they could easily get out of control under the right circumstances. Be honest with yourself about it. Turn that perception inward and ask yourself why you feel the need to do certain things. Don’t allow your fears to consume you and taint your relationships, but more importantly don’t allow yourself to become someone you can’t respect.

OBSESSION: Every Venus in Scorpio will experience obsession with another person at some point in their lives, usually when they’re young. They want to talk to that person, know everything about them, fantasize about them, go over everything they’ve ever said with a fine-tooth comb looking for double meanings and hidden clues. They’ll probably stalk their social media and quietly (or openly) resent anyone in their lives who’s a little too close to them. Scorpio is polarizing in ways that make it easy for things to go too far too quickly. When you like someone you really like them. Being passionate in love isn’t a bad thing, but when your life starts to revolve entirely around another person and their actions, it might be time to pull back and look at the situation objectively. A mature Venus in Scorpio will take no for an answer and move on (after privately sulking and writing poetry about it of course), but someone less evolved might hold on longer than is necessary or appropriate. The creepy stalker stereotype is connected to Scorpio for a reason, so it’s crucial to recognize that unrequited love is a scenario you may find yourself in again and again because it’s pretty much the perfect drug to fuel your lust for suffering. If the Scorpio passion is handled poorly it can become a viscous cycle that ultimately leaves you feeling empty and frustrated until you can break out of it.

PARANOIA: Venus in Scorpios always seem to possess this knowing that every relationship has an expiration date. This is mainly because Scorpio/Pluto itself never allows things to thrive that no longer serve a purpose, and so a lot of relationships are cut short or end on less than favorable terms. The “death” of so many close relationships can result in a feeling of impending doom whenever they enter a new one. There’s a huge fear of abandonment and loss, but also a fear of betrayal that either comes from having their trust violated in traumatic ways or simply being able to see other people’s intentions a little too clearly. To combat this Venus in Scorpios are usually very private with their feelings, figuring the less people know the less chance there is for someone else to use it against them. This is of course a double-edged sword, as the preoccupation with protecting themselves can make them overly suspicious of loved ones. On the other hand they could place so much trust in a loved one that the thought of them ever leaving causes them to panic. They can get so wrapped up in these feelings to the point of actual paranoia, which of course can drive people away, making their fears of abandonment a self-fulfilling prophecy. And it’s true, some things will end. You don’t always know how and you don’t know when it will happen, which is scary, but this is a fact of life no one can avoid. You don’t need to potentially speed up the process by accusing or smothering others and risk ruining something good. The sooner you can learn to enjoy what a relationship has to offer without always trying to control the outcome, the better off you’ll be.

THE POSITIVES/THINGS TO APPRECIATE

LOYALTY: Saying Venus in Scorpios are fiercely loyal might seem strange after calling out their penchant for infidelity, but 1) Not all Venus in Scorpios cheat, and 2) Even if they do mess up in that regard, they’ll usually still have your back when it matters most. They take relationships of all kind very seriously. If you mean something to them, they're in it for the long haul and aren’t about to let anything get in the way of that. They can also be really protective, making them hostile towards your enemies. They’ll probably remember every slight they’ve ever made against you better than you can. Definitely not the flaky types to associate with those you have good reason not to like. If someone’s wronged you then they no longer exist.

DISCRETION: They will take your secrets to the grave. They know what is and isn’t acceptable to say in front of other people. (Unless of course you betray them or they’re air dominant, but that’s another story...) Can also be useful to have around when you need to get information out of someone without giving too much away.

PERCEPTIVE: If they know you well enough they’ll probably know what you’re thinking and feeling in any given situation without you having to say a word. They make excellent therapists and can probably give you some truly amazing insights about yourself and the people around you.

GOOD SEX: This one’s a bit of a cliché and probably applies more to Mars in Scorpio, but it is true that most Venus in Scorpios are generally... knowledgeable in this area. Sex is best when there’s a deep connection going on as that’s when they’ll really want to give it their all, but either way they’re bound to pleasantly surprise you.

ACCEPTING: These people will love you, warts and all. Their philosophy is everyone has flaws and those flaws are what make a person uniquely them. Someone with baggage is someone worth knowing, since baggage usually comes with a deeper understanding of the world learned the hard way, and that’s something they can always appreciate as well as relate to.

EMPATHETIC: They may not always know how to express it, but these people really do care and are way more sensitive than they let on. They may not be as easily prone to tears as some (at least not in front of you), but tell them about a time you were deeply hurt and they’ll feel it like a stab to the chest. They understand trauma on a profound level and the struggle that comes with healing from it. This type of person can actually become a powerful healer to those closest to them, which makes them some of the most valuable companions you could ever hope to have.

TRANSFORMATIVE: Venus in Scorpio love isn’t for everyone. They can be melodramatic in ways that give Venus in Leo a run for their money, but that’s because these people have a tremendous amount of passion lurking within themselves just biding its time waiting for them to find “the one” so it can fully express itself. This is definitely overwhelming for some, but for others it’s downright intoxicating, and most likely karmic. Venus in Scorpios are slowly learning the ins and outs of their very own nature and transforming themselves through their relationships with others. Chances are if you’ve fallen for one you’ll be undergoing some type of change as well. For better or worse, this experience is meant to teach you both something about yourselves, and at the end of the day, whether you’re romantically drawn to a Venus in Scorpio or not, a close encounter with one will nearly always have a lasting impact.

#astrology #scorpio #venus in scorpio #venus #venus conjunct pluto #venus square pluto #venus opposite pluto #mine #long post

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mental-health-advice · 7 years

Text

Submission from redcandle

hi, tag as redcandle. I’ve had anxiety my whole life (18 rn) which as a child was coupled with extreme hand washing and paranoiac fear of germs. This had minimised to an extent but i still suffer from this. I have a lot of anxiety about the future, myself, my sexuality etc, overall a very anxious person. I realised that I have a fear of taint and fixation on purity/perfection - i think thats why now, as a non religious person, i’m starting to lean towards religion.

redcandle 2. I like the idea of cleansing and things being pure and perfect - and despite never having had sex, i am repulsed by the idea of touching my own genitals or anyone elses. I struggle with this as I want the concept of being intimate with someone and at the same time don’t. I don’t know why i’m like this, i sometimes have vulgar intrusive thoughts that i am disgusted with too. I also struggle with motivation at school and can’t stand working on something forever.

redcandle 3. I need to do things all the way till the end or not at all - but i still can burn out quickly. e.g. a long-haul project, i get impatient and bored and just agitated when i have to do something bit by bit over a long time. this really affected my school work. And on the other hand, despite being anxious and uptight, i at the same time have a laid-back and relaxed approach to life thats not filled with impending doom or over-worrying. How does any of this make sense? Its exhausting.

Redcandle final. I feel like sometimes I want to know everything and do everything - become a poet, doctor, actor, writer, waiter, just try everything a while and move on to the next thing, and other times I want to shut myself off and do nothing as I believe I will never find success.

Hi darling,

I’m so sorry to hear that you’ve been struggling with this lovely! While my struggles don’t express themselves in the same symptoms as yours do, I definitely recognise the whole ‘all or nothing’-attitude that you seem to experience as well. For me this is mostly caused by both depression and perfectionism. Perfectionism means that I want to do everything perfectly, which causes a lot of stress. Stress makes my depression worse, so then I end up not being able to do anything, which causes me to freak out because perfectionism. So then I’m usually procrastinating until the very end, at which point I completely switch, freak out, and try to still make it perfect. I’m not saying this to talk about myself or anything, but I’m trying to show you that I can relate and that even though your struggles might seem very opposite and therefore like they can’t fit together, you aren’t the only one dealing with opposing issues! It’s more common than you might think.

You mention that as a child you dealt with anxiety coupled with extreme hand washing and paranoiac fear of germs. I’m not a professional so I can’t diagnose you or say for sure what you might be dealing with. Please do not self-diagnose for the reasons listed here either. It sounds to me though as if this might not have been an anxiety disorder, but perhaps obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD). OCD typically consists of intrusive thoughts and compulsions. So you’ll experience the intrusive thought that there’s a germ on your hand. This causes anxiety. To reduce that anxiety you perform a compulsion, namely washing your hands. This cycle can continue a lot of times. We have a page series explaining OCD in detail, which you can find here. The reason I’m telling you about this, is because I think it might be beneficial for you to get a professional diagnosis first, but more importantly to then start with treatment.

To get a professional diagnosis you’ll have to see a mental health professional. You can visit your GP / local doctor and explain to them what you’ve been dealing with. They can then refer you to someone whom they think can diagnose you (usually a psychiatrist or therapist). You can read more about getting help here.

When it comes to dealing with the intrusive thoughts you’re experiencing, you might want to look into this four step program. It can really help to not place as much value into those thoughts. You can’t help that you’re having them! They are literally thoughts intruding your brain, so although their content is horrifying, they don’t represent anything you’d desire or like that at all. Reminding yourself of that can sometimes make it a little more bearable to sit through them. What’s also important is that you don’t push these thoughts away, as this will only make them appear more. This is called the white bear effect. If you tell someone not to think of a white bear, the bear will pop up in their thoughts more often than when they haven’t been told not to think of the bear. Instead, try to endure the thoughts and they will leave eventually. It might help to picture them as if they’re clouds that are being blown away softly. Something else that helps to give them less value is to picture as if someone ridiculous is saying these things to you. So say you have an aunt Susan whom you think is ridiculous. Picture as if your aunt Susan is saying these things to you, respond in a sarcastic way. So if the intrusive thought is ‘jump off that high cliff’ you respond ‘oh yes Susan, that’s a really frigging great idea, let’s do that’. It’s hard to put sarcasm into written word, but I hope you get what I mean!

Since you also experience a lot of anxious thoughts and feelings (which might be part of OCD but might not be - I simply don’t know since I’m not a professional) I’m also going to link you to our anxiety page series and calming down page, as I think there are some helpful tips for you on there as well. I hope this helped at least a little bit!

Sometimes what seems impossible, is just hard.

Keep fighting beautiful <3 Love Pauline

#redcandle #mental health #advice #advice blog #OCD #obsessive-compulsive disorder #anxiety #hand washing #paranoia #germs #fear of germs #perfection #perfectionism #intrusive thoughts #compulsions #religion #mhapauline

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myuntoldstory · 7 years

Text

Harry Potter | Bitter, Beloved, Rebellious

AO3 | FF.net

Rating: M

Pairing: Sirius Black/Mary Macdonald

Warning: Adult themes. Blood.

Word Count: 3, 987

Bitter, Beloved, Rebellious

Boom.

Cold. Unforgiving. Sharp. The wind bites into his face, nearly tears his skin apart. Exhaustion weighs on his bones. His body screams at him to stop and rest, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t care. Nothing else matters. Not even him. All that does is the thick mushroom plume of dark smoke rising from the heart of London, where the head office of the Daily Prophet is located. Thunderous explosions echo from within as though storm clouds have descended upon it.

His hands tighten around the broom handle. The knuckles turning white from strain and cold.

Hurry. Faster. He has to get there.

Boom.

His heart is in chaos, a bird beating desperately against the confines of his chest. It’s not the cold. Not the adrenaline. It is fear. Pure and terrifying, it threatens to take over. Its toxicity pumps throughout his bloodstream, leaving a bitter and acidic taste in his mouth, close to corroding him. He is gripped with desperation. An impending doom looms over his head. His poor hands tighten even more around the handle as he wills the damn thing to go faster, fighting against the logical thought that this is the fastest it can go. No. It will go faster. It has to.

Boom.

Sirius puts his full weight on the broomstick. He yells at it to speed up, but it can’t follow his commands. Fuck. Apparating is faster. He would have, but his emotions had been in disarray the moment he heard the news from Fenwick and saw the expression on Lily’s face. He had to move. He had to get there. But apparating, in his state of mind, is suicide. If he forced it and splinched himself then that would be it. That would be the end.

And he will not let it end. Not like this.

The broomstick brings him closer. And closer. His heart is a drum in his chest. Deep within him his soul aches, screaming, desperate to reunite with its mate. The head office is now within his reach. He finds himself pleading. Not once did he ever believe in a higher power, but he can’t help turning to the one she loves invoking so much. He thinks a litany of prayers, hoping for a miracle. God. God, please… don’t let me be too late.

He arrives. Before the broom lowers him, he jumps off. He runs towards the crowd that has gathered before the steps of the building. He barrels through them like a cannon ball, shoving those who block his way to the ground. He ignores the complaints. They don’t know. None of them do. His reason for living is there among the fire and rubble. Meanwhile, he’s out here desperately trying to save her.

God. It feels like forever, but finally he reaches the front. He wrecks through the line of aurors blocking the crowd. They try to stop him from going further, but he disarms them and continues on. He ascends the steps and goes through the shattered doors. The foyer is a mess. Dust, rubble, papers, wood, and everything else litter the floor. Sirius suppresses the onslaught of hopelessness threatening to overwhelm him. Focus. He heads for the elevators. It’s not working. He swears. Anxiety jumps up his throat. He has to find her, quickly. He turns to the stairs, taking two steps at a time, and reaches the first floor. It’s worse in there. He can hear people—injured people and dying people, screaming for a chance to survive. But they’re not her. She’s not there. She wouldn’t be. She’d be where her office is on the third floor.

The time he takes to get there seems to stretch for an eternity. But he does arrive… and it is utter hell. Fires burn in different places. There is shattered glass and wood everywhere. However, unlike the first floor, there are no people—no screams or blood. A cold sensation flashes down his back. Is she even here? God, what if he missed her? A part of the ceiling has collapsed, the rubble nearly blocks his way through. His chest constricts. Shit. What if she’s under there? He can’t waste time. He needs to find her. When he does… when he reaches her then everything will be okay.

“Mary!” he calls, squeezing past the narrow path created by the rubble. His own voice echo back at him. As soon as he is out of the narrow path he runs. He keeps calling her name, panic lacing his voice as every minute goes without her answering him. He reaches the end of the corridor and rounds the corner. “Mary—”

There.

Time stops. So does his heart. So do his thoughts. That’s her. He can recognise her from anywhere. He stares. Everything feels… wrong. Is she…? The thought threatens to wrench a cry from his throat. But he blinks and time moves forward again. He runs towards her. It seems endless; though he covers a great distance she seems to keep stretching beyond his reach. Fear becomes a part of him as if he’s never lived without it before. But he does reach her. He reaches her and relief soothes him. But then he sees her. He sees her and he falls to his knees beside her.

Blood. So much blood. It’s all coming from her. It soaks her clothes, seems to have soaked through her skin. She is pale, her skin a white sheet wrapped over bones. He whispers her name. She doesn’t answer. Panic claws its way into his stomach, pushing something hot and painful at the back of his eyes. He shoves it all back. No. This is not happening now. He moves closer to her and lays her head on his lap. Shit. Her hair is matted with blood.

“M-Mary?” he says, louder this time, slapping her lightly. God, let her be alive. “Mary?”

The wait is torture. If she doesn’t respond… if she doesn’t then he’ll—fuck. He doesn’t know what to do if she doesn’t. He doesn’t know. Without her he’s nothing. He needs her. He needs her in his life—to live, but if she doesn’t answer him… if she doesn’t… then what’s the point? But he’s not losing hope. Not right now. Not when they have been through so much. This is not the end of them. He won’t let it.

“Mary!” he screams.

Her lids flutter. He holds his breath. Is that a trick of his mind—no, there it is! Her lashes are moving against her skin. Relief, tremendous and overpowering, washes over him as she slowly opens her eyes. “S-Sirius?”

Thank God. Thank God. That’s her voice. It’s faint, scratchy and barely there, but it’s her voice. Sirius closes his eyes and sigh. The panic recedes. It’s fine. This is fine. It’s all right. She opened her eyes and said his name—that’s all that matters. He kisses her forehead. “It’s me—thank Merlin. It’s me.”

She grimaces. His chest twinges at the pain on her face. “S-sorry—sorry.”

“No. Shhh. Don’t—don’t apologise.” He kisses her forehead again and tries to pull himself together. As he straightens, he manages to slip into a clearer mindset, the space he enters when he’s battling as an Order member. She will survive this. She has to. He will save her. Reaching out, he tries to find the source of the bleeding. As he lifts her shirt, a cry escapes his lips. “Go—oh my God... Merlin. I-It’s okay, Mary. It’s okay.”

Gashes. Lacerations. Cuts. They mar her skin like some macabre decoration. Blood seeps out of them in slow rivulets, bathing her skin in thick crimson. What evil did this to her? He swallows hard. He must stop the bleeding. Stop it before it kills her. He reaches for his wand—Merlin, his hand is shaking so much. He tries to concentrate, to think of all the healing spells he has learned, but he sees her injuries and blanks. Damn it.

“I—I s-should have s-stayed h-home,” Mary gasps.

“Shut up,” he mutters to her. Irritation crawls throughout his body at her interruption—he’s trying to bloody save her, for Merlin’s sake. Some incantations come to his mind and he sifts through them, trying to find the one that will close her wounds or at least slow the bleeding. “Listen to me for once, Macdonald, and shut up, okay? Save your energy.”

He looks at her and she bites her lips, nodding.

He gets to work and mutters incantations, one after another, waiting in between for anything to work. Nothing seems to. Nothing changes after he says the stupid words. Neither she nor his wand does anything, no sign that he is successful. Something is very wrong; yet, he can’t stop. He won’t. He will not let himself give up. He keeps trying, keeps his voice low so that Mary doesn’t hear how fucking scared he is.

“I’m…” Mary mumbles, her words slurring, “I’m—going to die… aren’t I?”

“You are not going to die!” he snaps at her, stricken with guilt immediately after. He stops and takes her hand, slick with blood. He squeezes firmly and looks in her eyes—beautifully sapphire despite being bloodshot. When he speaks again his voice is gentler. “You’re not, yeah? You—you’re not. I’ll fix it. I’ll—”

“O-okay… okay…”

Fucking hell, why are none of them working!? Is it the explosions? It must be—dark magic must have tainted it to keep wounds open, unhealed. Shit. Panic climbs up his throat. This is beyond him. He can’t help her. She needs to go to St. Mungo’s or find healers. Holding her close to him, he looks around and sees no one in this floor. He comes to a decision. Gently, he lifts her in his arms. Already he feels the blood soaking through his robes. There is still hope. Still a chance. He needs to hurry. God, please, don’t let her die.

He runs back to the stairs and descends. Is it always this long and winding? It seems to take him twice as long to return to the second floor. Halfway down he begins to hear voices—not screams of the dying, but stronger, controlled voices. They must be aurors. There could be healers! He just needs to find one. If he can just find one—just one and Mary will be okay.

“H-help,” he croaks as descends a few more steps. “Help me!”

“S-Sirius…” Mary murmurs.

He hears her, but his focus is getting anybody’s attention. “SOMEBODY HELP ME!”

“Sirius…”

“SOMEONE!”

“S-Sirius… listen—listen to… me…”

Mary holds onto his lapel. He looks at her and pales at her ashen complexion. The dark circles under her eyes now stand out, the half-closed lids taking on a purplish hue. For a moment, his breathing stops and he nearly drops her as his whole body weakens. He doesn’t know what it is, what it is inside that tells him. He just knows. He just knows and… he doesn’t know what to do. They’re so close to help… so close… but his knees buckle and he sits on the step, cradling Mary to his chest. “What… what is it?”

She tightens her hold, but it was weak. So weak. Sirius’ heart is cracking, the pain trickles in. Her grips were usually a vice—as if she was frightened of him slipping from her reach. “S-Sirius…” she stammers, “f-fight—to live. F-fight to l-live.” She swallows hard, the determination on her face a contrast to his faltering expression. Her breaths are laboured. He wishes she doesn’t talk anymore. “P-protect… yourself… p-protect our… friends—”

“Your last words have no place here, Macdonald,” he insists, desperately, trying to rise from the step. “We’re so close—so close to help—”

She shakes her head. The movement jerky. “P-please.”

He grits his teeth and nods fervently. “I… God. I w-will. I will.”

“I… I lo—love y-you.” Her determination crumples. Sirius’ heart breaks in half as she sobs and turns her face towards his chest. He pulls her closer. His breath quickens and indescribable pain washes over him and threatens to take over. This is not right. This shouldn’t be happening. “S-sorry… s-sorry i-it’s… t-the first…” she sniffles. He wants to make it all stop. “S-sorry… i-it’s t-the… l-last—”

Sirius kisses her—gently. Gentler than the first time he kissed her. He tastes her blood on his tongue and realises that this is the last time. Someone wonderful and special like her. His own face scrunches and more of the pain crashes against him, eroding the last pieces of his heart away. Without anything else to destroy, his chest twinges in an attempt to break every other part of his body. His lips tremble as he pulls away. As he faces her again he tries to give her a smile, one that she’s always used to, but he knows that all he manages is the faltering, fragile kind. When he speaks again his voice is rattling—evidence of how his body shakes like a leaf in the storm. “I love you.”

Mary nods and tries to smile. It’s bloodied. Painful. Final.

He strokes her face. Her cheeks are wetter than they should be. It’s his tears, mixing with her own. “I-I’m also sorry it’s the first. B-but it well damn won’t be the last. You h-hear me, Mary?”

She chuckles—or starts to until a bout of coughing overtakes her. Blood sputters out of her mouth, staining his hands, mixing with their tears. “Called me… Mary… means I… have to… listen… only you…”

“T-that’s right.”

“I-I’m… s-scared.” He can no longer hear her voice, just a thin whisper now. “I-I’m—I-I’m s-so s-scared… S-Sirius.”

God. He doesn’t think it’ll get worse than this, but her confession destroys what’s left of him. Tears now flow freely from his eyes. His world falls apart around him, centred on the woman he now cradles in his arms. He kisses Mary’s forehead repeatedly, whimpers escaping his lips. Merlin. God. He’s scared. He has never been so fucking frightened in all his life. This panic is so potent it’s choking him. The woman he loves—this brave, strong woman who is his heart and soul is scared and damn it all he can’t do anything about it. He used to do it—banish all her darkness and demons, bring a little light in her life. But now when it counts, now when it’s the most important thing he can do for her—he can’t. He can’t do anything. It’s killing him. She is slipping from his hands and even if her holds her to the point of breaking her it will not be enough to keep her.

“D-don’t be…” he whispers against her clammy skin. “Don’t be.” He barely sees anything through the tears. All he wants is to save her. Keep her alive. Make her happy. Protect her. Treasure her. Love her. Please God. Save her. Please. I’ll do anything. But who is listening to his prayers now? “I’m h-here. I’m always—always here. I-I won’t leave you. N-never again. I’m always—always by your side.” He kisses her forehead again. “Don’t be—please. Don’t be afraid.”

Mary’s crying. Sirius presses her forehead hard against his cheek, sobbing as her breaths start to stutter. The rest of her body jerks. She gasps, breaths coming short and fast against his chin. He hears the faint gurgling in her throat as blood fills her lungs. God. He wants to end her suffering. But he can’t. He’s a coward, even towards her, to the last. He can’t even watch. He can only feel her struggle to hold on.

“Mary?” Sirius whispers, squeezing her hand as she deflates against him. “Mary?”

He looks at her, stricken at the blank look on her face. Everything becomes mute and foggy. In the back of his mind he is aware that he’s saying something, feels the words tumbling out of his lips. It could have been her name or a demand for her to wake up. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. All he cares about are her eyes, blank without her life in them. Somehow he remembers everything about them. Sapphires. The bluest blue. Alluring and navy in the night, but bright during the day. They shined like gems the first time he asked her out. Tears glitter them the first time they fought. They were dark when she was thoughtful. Their intensity when he tells her first, out of everyone, that he’d decided to join the Order. Because in the hard days to come all he wanted to remember after were her eyes… how they looked into him, for him, only at him.

Her eyes. Those eyes.

Mary.

He won’t see them anymore after this.

Reality slams into Sirius with the force of an eternity of killing curses. Whatever words he babbles dies on his lips, leaving them open and trembling. Every memory of her shatters in the face of her blank stare. Wave upon wave of pain washes over him, dragging him in all directions, tearing him apart. He can’t do anything. He can’t save her. She’s not here anymore.

Escaping his lips unbidden is the most guttural, heart wrenching roar—enough to echo throughout the space of the floor. The aurors nearby the stairs stop and rush towards the source. Sirius’ cry reaches even the foyer where majority of the aurors and healers and ministry representatives are. They look up, wondering what the sound is, but have no desire to discover. Sirius clutches Mary to him and continues to cry. She is his heart. His soul.

And now she is gone.

***

There she was. On her way to the kitchens just like Lily said.

Sirius didn’t notice the embarrassingly wide smile that stretched his lips. The place held a special place for him now. It was in the kitchens that he really got to know Mary well for the first time—over cupcakes of all stupid things. Every time he discovered something new about her they were always in the kitchens because, somehow, such things were meant to be discovered over food.

He caught up to her, an easy feat considering his long legs. His mind was trained on one thing, one yearning that now pumped like blood all over his body: the desire to hold her hand or hug her—actually, being near her was enough… or not really. Well, he was a confused mess when it came to Mary Macdonald. He wanted to do so many things to her, for her, with her… and it was always a dilemma that he didn’t know where to start and that he wanted to do everything at once. It was dumb. Also exhilarating, making his heart beat in a way that made him want to dance.

As he came closer he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out: “Mary!”

She stopped—well, froze really. He took the opportunity to close the distance, stopping just as she pivoted on her feet to face him. “What… did you just call me?”

“Mary!” he grinned, but it fell when he recognised the shock on her face. Sheepishly, he rubbed the back of his neck. Was she offended that he called her by her first name? Wasn’t it customary to be on first name basis after dating for a month? “Er… sorry? It just slipped out.”

She had the strangest expression on her face—as if she didn’t know whether to be shocked or awed. Slowly, she approached him. He suppressed the urge to lean back when she came so close to be within touching distance of him. “Say it again.”

He quirked a brow at her. “Pardon?”

He nearly jumped when she reached out and took his robes in her hands. “Say it again.”

“Mary…” he drawled.

“Hmmm…” she intoned, nodding. Bewildered, he watched as she bowed her head—seemingly to contemplate what he had said. After a few seconds she looked up at him. This time he jumped when she wrapped her arms around his, a little awestruck by the way her eyes sparkled. “I like it!”

“What?” he asked, feeling a little dumb.

She pressed herself close to him. He swallowed hard. “Coming from you, it’s nice.”

“Oh…” he nodded. A strange sort of joy filled him and he grinned once more. “Does that mean I’m on a first name basis with you now?”

She began to walk, tugging his arm gently to get him to start walking with her. “Nope.”

He frowned. “No?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “It will always be Macdonald for you.”

“Why?” he demanded, outrage lacing his tone. “Everyone else calls you Mary!”

“Exactly! Only you call me Macdonald,” she laughed, “doesn’t that make you feel superior?”

“Well… I do now that you mention it.”

“Hmmm. Whenever I hear it I know it’s you calling for me. Sometimes Lily calls me Macdonald and I still think of you.” She squeezed his arm. “Macdonald belongs to you and no one else.”

He met her gaze and flashed a playful grin. “But I want Mary to belong to me too.”

“Can’t. Mary belongs to everyone else.”

Merlin, that playful smile of hers was enough to kill him on the spot. He stopped and she did too. He took her hands and, smiling, kissed her knuckles. There was that beautiful blush, just dusting gently on the skin of her cheeks “Come on… please?”

She stared at him and he returned her gaze steadily. Somehow, for some reason, he knew that this was one of those moments that was important. A memory he’d remember for the rest of his life. She approached him, squeezing his hands. “Okay, how about this?” she said, smiling—this one was different… secretive, a little more personal. “Only call me Mary when it’s important. Then I’ll listen to only you.”

Then he kissed her. Pure affection drove him—he really, really liked this girl. It was a little frightening, this overwhelming sensation. He had never felt it before. It was as if a wave swept him away, carrying him to Merlin knew where. There’s something about her. Just the thought of her made his heart want to explode butterflies and all that sad sap. Without a doubt he wanted to capture her heart in the near future, but for now a kiss was enough. Too bad he was not her first ever kiss, but he’d be damned if he let any other bastard out there be her last.

There was gentleness in the way he kissed her. It was unlike the other first kisses he had with the other girls. It wasn’t playful or firm or forceful—it was purely gentle. As if she was made of spun glass that he was scared of shattering. It wasn’t his intention; he wanted to be playful and perhaps tease her a little, but as he slowly moved his lips against her own he knew that it was perfect. It was right for her. She was the type of person who deserved kindness and gentleness.

Slowly, he pulled away. The first things he looked at were her eyes. In the dark of the corridor they had darkened to a navy blue. But they still sparkled. They were looking at him—a little hazed, but they were looking at only him. He never thought of the future; it wasn’t his nature and in the present all his focus was on the war he wanted to take part in. He smiled and tenderly ran the pad of his thumb across her kiss-swollen lips. Yet… he found himself seeing the future—one filled with a million more moments like this, one that always had her in it. It was a future he didn’t mind living in. “I believe we have a deal, Miss Mary Macdonald.”

#Blackdonald #Sirius Black #Mary Macdonald #Fanfiction #Harry Potter Fanfiction #fanfiction: harry potter #hpfanfic: oneshot #hpfanfic: supernova #hpfanfic: mary macdonald #hpfanfic: sirius black

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kissmycoldclaylips-blog · 7 years

Text

Smoke Ring Halo|| Katriel & Audun - Chatzy

[cutting for length]

Katriel knew Audun's order just about as well as she knew her own at this point. It helped that they both just basically shared containers and passed things back and forth, but the thought counted. Really though, her favorite part of picking up the take-out was that it actually kept pretty well, could be reheated if he was too invested in a painting to really want to eat at the moment. Though based on the fact he was actually answering messages, she rather doubted it. Either way, there'd be some in the fridge for him too, if he wanted, for later. Not like she actually really had an apartment she actually did much living in at this point - most of her clothes were either at the club or at Audun's. There was an apartment she kept, but it was pretty trashed with her clothes. It was for her work, more than anything. Not really a place she stayed at much otherwise and Katriel was perfectly happy to leave it that way. She liked Audun's far better, preferred his company there far more than the uncomfortable emptiness of an apartment to herself. Katriel made a face to herself, adjusting her grip on the take out bag while she dismissed the thoughts. Brooding didn't suit her, brooding was boring. Brooding just wasted time. And there was always something better to be doing, like actually opening the damn door. "So I brought a truly disgusting amount of food. Including egg rolls, pot stickers, and those little sugar bun things. Ooh and wontons. Can't forget the wontons." She grinned at Audun, setting the bag down on the table (nudging a few dishes out of the way first, because of course. One of these days she was gonna buy him a dishwasher) and shrugging off her coat, "We can call it a congratulations feast on the gala, if you want, but really I was just hungry."

A smirk curved over Audun’s lips as the loft’s door swung wide, a waft of chow mein and char siu drifting through the air. He was well used to this sort of thing, by now - they’d had nearly a century together, after all, to fall into habits, patterns. Like casual break-ins, Katriel’s usual approach; he’d only left the place unlocked, this time, because it was so wretchedly damp out. Most of the time, he was quite happy to let her have at his locks. She was wonderfully handy with those picks now, and seemed to enjoy herself. Audun wasn’t prone to denying Katriel her pleasures. Or turning down her companionship, even if he was in the very middle of working; she was the single soul who’d ever been able to interrupt him, amicably. If not for Katriel, he’d have absolutely no visitors. And he’d be quite happy that way. It would also be very possible that he’d just never leave his place, not for much more than supplies, a little life sketching, and food. In that order. Speaking of, food. That might, in fact, be a good thing to have. When had he last eaten? A good question. Toast. There’d been toast, at... some point. Earlier. Setting his palette aside, Audun cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, tucked the brush he’d been using behind an ear. He turned on the stool as the other Tainted slipped in, bearing what looked to be and sounded like a fantastical haul of takeout. “I say, let’s go with ‘just hungry’. That’s reason enough.” Strolling over, he bent to kiss her neck, softly. Rested there a moment, smiling, a hand coming to her hip. Then leaned back, reaching to unfold that brown paper bag, steaming into the air. “As for the gala, it’s only another showing. Like every other showing there’s ever been. Not terribly special. Not like PG’s wontons.”

"Still can be celebrated," Katriel pointed out, starting to rummage in the bag for the plastic silverware and handing one set over to Audun, "Your art is always worth celebrating." She never stopped being in awe of it, his ability to paint and create things. It was breathtaking to watch, to see every piece come together. All the more fascinating to get to ask him about it, to hear him talk about the piece as he worked. She'd spent several lives with him and could spend centuries more and always maintain that feeling - it was awesome in the original sense of the word, wonder and fear in one. Katriel laughed at the comment about the wontons, "You might have a point there. But showings in general rank pretty low for you, so it's not a high bar to beat them out. Especially when they're trying to make you speak. Wontons aren't nearly so demanding." As she spoke, she grabbed the topmost box of food and went to sit on the couch with her prize, snagging the bag of wontons as she went. Opening the box and making a small pleased noise at the pork fried rice inside, she started digging in. "We had a bartender had in his resignation today. He found a new gig and is moving out of town," Katriel wrinkled her nose at Audun, "You know what that means? Applications. Interviews. Misery, I tell you. You should definitely distract me from my impending doom."

Audun couldn’t help a soft, red-cheeked laugh, turning the utensils through his fingers. She always said such things. Still, after decades of looking over his shoulder, sitting with him as he worked, wandering by his finished pieces. This was a work in progress, eternally so. As attached as he might be, once each canvas was done? Audun was happy to see them go. They were over: that moment, that bout of learning, stroke by stroke. The next painting would always be better, somehow. And they all had their work to do, of course - out in the world. Such work. While Katriel rifled through the food, Audun reached up to get that brush he’d tucked away, heading to the kitchen sink to wash that and his paint-flecked hands. With a rag in hand, he gave the bristles a careful scrub. He’d been entirely genuine about dinner; the things he’d tasted, in the years and years and years since he left home! Flavors that never would have crossed his lips, had he lived and died in that little mill on the Alme. “That they aren’t.” Some golden-green safflower oil, a few more scrubs. A dot of soap, smelling wonderfully of lavender. Audun’s cheeks dimpled as he glanced back over his shoulder, grinning the tiniest bit as Katriel lamented her lost staff. “My condolences.” Blotting the brush dry, he groomed it neatly, tucked it in with the rest in their jars. Stained faintly slate-blue. A distraction; he pondered this, fishing into the bag for those egg rolls. “Well, Yosef sent along some very promising productions the other day. Ondine, Onegin...” Supper in hand, Audun joined her in the lounging. “And, The Damnation of Faust.” Three old favorites; decisions, decisions. He stole a bite of her rice, beatifically, that grin curling wider. “Where shall we start?”

Katriel couldn't help but grin as he stole the rice, amused despite the urge to be mockingly offended. "Our kind of season, sounds like. We should take a trip and see a production live again, sometime. There's a production of Alcina that's coming up in the Santa Fe Opera House - the promotional pictures look gorgeous." Looking thoughtful, she started thinking about the ballets, trying to think what would suit for the night - and glancing sideways at Audun's eggrolls, waiting to nab one when he wasn't paying enough attention. There needed to be vengeance, after all. "Ondine seems lovely. What company performed it this time? The Royal Ballet again?" She glanced back over and couldn't help but smile, distracted by a smear of paint across his face. High on his forehead, probably pushing his hair back while he was working, something like that. One of her favorite habits he had, little odd smudges and smears that were permanently part of him. Leaning forward, Katriel lightly traced it with her own finger, grinning more widely that it was already dry - usually a 50/50 chance if she got paint on herself too, with him. "You missed a spot," her voice was filled with amusement, leaning in to kiss next to it, "It really never stops being cute. Terribly unfair, I'm supposed to be the cute one." She stayed there for a bit, contentment flaring - she loved this. The quiet moments with him, that they'd built this. Nothing like what she'd expected, in her desperation. Katriel never imagined that she could have managed to be happy, when she made her deal. Thought all of it would be long gone, lost to hellish punishment for her impudence. Thought that God himself would strike her down, for ever making such a deal. And yet, here was this. Was Audun. Was these lives, the hosts she could meet and know for a time, something far more free and suiting for her. Couldn't help but kiss him, thinking of it, of the freedom they both had in each other, in these lives they chose. Closing her eyes as she deepened it, inching closer on the couch and only leaning away when she needed to breathe again. A gentle smile making its way across her face as she leaned her forehead to his for a beat. A smile that quickly morphed into a smirk when she nabbed an eggroll and leaned back again, taking a bite with more than a little bit of smug triumph written on her face. "So, Ondine?"

“Mm, yes,” Audun agreed, humming at the thought, absolutely in agreement on both points. “It’s been far too long.” Decades, in fact. He shook his head at the Royal Ballet, halfway through another egg roll. “The Bolshoi.” Ah, he did miss Moscow now and then. Perestroika had been such an exciting time. Not that London suffered for lack of such things. Or Madrid, or Paris... Nashville’s company was starting to get interesting, these days. Must be some new blood around there. Still had a ways to go before they were anything near world class, but. There was certainly boldness, artistry, and dedication. All of this Audun could and did appreciate, when he remembered performance schedules in time to buy tickets. Which was, sadly, not all that often. Things came up. Inspirations, the odd commission. Dreams. Visions he simply had to get down, when they were fresh and rich in his mind. There was no putting off some projects. Tidying the apartment? That waited, often. Tidying himself? Well, he did his best. He sighed, warmly, as Katriel found a smear somewhere. “I assure you, I don’t mean to challenge for the crown. You wear it far better.” His fingers found her cheeks as she came nearer, and her hair, all cornsilk pale. Another face, but. She always looked like Katriel, somehow. Smiled like herself. Smelled like herself, the heat of cloves and cinnamon. Kissed like herself, too. Audun tucked a strand behind her ear as she drew back, and - scoffed, as she forked her prize. Rolling over and up, he swiped the wontons in revenge and darted off for his laptop, all those cords. “Ondine.” Popping a wonton into his mouth, Audun booted things up, plugged things in. Every time; he couldn’t help being wowed by the ridiculous, wonderful intricacy of the day’s technology. As the flatscreen - another wonderful, modern extravagance - lit up with the production credits, he dimmed the lights, and paused, hand circling over a certain drawer. “What do you think - would a little White Widow be a nice addition to the menu?”

She hummed her approval, settling more into the couch, "Even better." Few could beat the Bolshoi, in her opinion - one of her personal favorite companies, of the many they'd seen over time. Katriel smirked a little to herself at the thought, as Audun was setting up. So much had changed, really. Who would have ever guessed that such a simple woman, a housewife, mother, one who hadn't even been allowed to work, who'd thought her only job was to care for the children and her husband, to never look beyond the household and always be thankful for even those scraps - who would have thought she'd become all of this? That she'd live so many lives, had learned so much, seen so much that she now had a preference of ballets and performers, of art and literature. Who had owned more businesses, worked more jobs, done more than that little housewife would ever dream of. Who would have known what could come out of such a desperate, pleading bargain? At the time, she hadn't even given a thought what would become of her. Would she have been all the more enthused, had she known? Or would she have fainted in horror at the thought? Not that it would've made for a different choice, in the end - mothers were meant to give up everything to ensure the survival of their children. And Katriel was nothing if not a good mother, at least once. Now, well, she was hardly the same person anymore. The question brought her back from her musings, a little off put by the grim direction of her thoughts. She tried not to think of it, most years. Instead, she chose to live in the present, chuckling at the suggestion. "We certainly have enough food to balance it. Want to share one with me?"

Audun had a low, dimpled chuckle at that. “I can’t imagine it any other way.” Partly because she’d been stealing whatever was in his pipe, on his plate, and in his glass since they’d met. And, eventually, he’d worked up the boldness to do the same right back. That hadn’t come naturally. No, it was one of her many gifts; Katriel had changed him so, and he was grateful for it, deeply. How dreadful it would have been to carry on and on as meekly as he had, before. How miserable, to die without knowing what it was to share everything with someone dear. Art did no one any good when it was kept shut away and lonely; so it was with most things, he’d discovered. All improved in the sharing. Even something so simple as a pile of takeout and a smoke. Still grinning to himself, Audun shook the grinder out and started to roll. With practiced hands. Certainly not his first attempt. Or rodeo, as these Americans liked to say. This particular batch, anyway. Tennesseeans. The south, or, was this the midwest? The Bible Belt? He turned with a smirk, licking the paper together. Ah, he simply didn’t understand so much of this country. But they’d taught him some wonderful things, nonetheless. A few finishing touches and Audun was back on the couch. The wontons wound up in Katriel’s lap; his lips, just under her ear for a beard-ticklish peck. The joint, that and a gleaming lighter got offered out. “If you would do the honors?”

Neither could she, come to think of it - Katriel couldn't really even consider not sharing something with Audun. It was habit, one she enjoyed to share with him for several lifetimes now. Hadn't even really started as anything malicious, simply her own lack of boundaries - enjoying her newfound freedom, really. The fact she could have what she wanted, for who could really stop her now? Who would tell her no? And why should she listen to anyone who would try? With Audun, though, it had been different - she'd taken from his plate, offered her own in exchange. A peace offering, in a way. Something natural and fun. And later, why not try cigarettes? For something considered so unladylike, there had been many who found it a turn on. And, well, Katriel simply liked how it felt. The drugs later were fascinating, a point of curiosity to try. For each step, she shared with Audun, they walked the paths together, and she loved that they had each other for company. He kept her grounded while showing her a whole other way to look at things. Helped her to live a life that was so much more than anything she had lived before - helped her to look into art and see another world. It was glorious, to see even a glimpse into how he saw the world. What could be seen, what could be experienced. She loved it, loved that they taught each other and learned together. It would have been dreadfully boring, without his company. Feeling the brush of his whiskers, Katriel found herself grinning again, laughing despite herself. "My pleasure," she took the joint and lighter, flicking open the latter with long practice and putting the joint to her mouth as she lit it. She closed her eyes as she inhaled, enjoying the taste. Exhaling slowly, she started to offer the joint to Audun and chuckled in amused surprise at her red lipstick marks, "I forgot I was wearing that, I'm sorry." She grinned again, leaning in to kiss him again while she murmured against his mouth, "Might as well have you match, right?"

With a satisfying stretch, Audun lounged into the cushions. There was that oh-so-familiar sound - the deep, inward breath, the hush of bluish smoke being blown out, curling and wandering in the still air. Such a lovely color. A beautiful contrast, next to that little touch of cadmium orange at the burning end. All set against the soft shadows of Katriel’s newest face, the darkness so carefully done up around her eyes. He might paint this, later. There’d been so many portraits. Different noses, irises, jawlines, cheekbones, some wildly abstracted into light and color, shade and shape.... but all Katriel. So many, but he never had tired of them. There was something delicate, intimate, in the act of transforming a blank canvas into a reflection. A true reflection, deeper than skin. Better still when the subject was somebody he loved; the only somebody he’d ever loved, in all his centuries. Audun’s lips quirked up at the thought, watching her snicker at that lipstick stain. How awfully romantic. Like her half-whispered words, the warmth of their breath, caught so close between them. “Mm, might as well...” He hummed, and brushed the line of his forearm - and a splotch of still tacky Prussian blue - against her cheek. Matching. “And there we are,” he settled back, smiling broadly as the strings of Ondine began to dance up. “Perfect.”

#damnfineportfolio #chatzy #smoke ring halo

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