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mylifeisactuallyamess · 3 years

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General Hux x Female Reader/Ben Solo x Female Reader

A/N: This is a heavy chapter, Hux is just not coping 🥺

Warnings: lots of feelings and angst, implied suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 4411

Read Chapter 21 here on AO3

Masterlist

The day your husband woke up will never leave you. His body seemed to come to life before your very eyes, choking on his tubes, arms flailing against the wires as he tried to get his bearings. It wasn’t until you grabbed his face making him look at you, his beautiful green eyes dull and sunken but something sparked in them when he saw you. Hearing your voice calmed him and he lay back down, his eyes fluttering with sudden exhaustion and sinking back into sleep. You refused to leave him, not caring or paying attention to anything else on the base so much so that Poe dragged in a cot for you to sleep in. Rose and Finn would come in, bringing food and sometimes they’d stay and keep you company but everyone was so busy adjusting to a new way of life and making room for all the people that were now residing on Ajan Kloss.

Mitaka was the person you saw the most, he had recovered from his surgery and he told you how he had saved Armitage after he was shot, immersing him in the strongest solution of bacta he could find and moving him over to the Finalizer. He had then turned the ship against the Final Order, taking significant damage and finally arriving here only to plough the dead ship into the surface of the planet. Most of the time he just sat with you watching over Armitage like a silent guardian.

You were taking one very rare break from being at your husband's side, feeling the sun on your face and the breeze in your freshly washed hair. You felt the tightening of your belly but wearing the light clothing that had been given to you meant you could hide the changing shape of your body for a bit longer. You heard a noise, slowly opening your eyes you saw Kylo approaching. He looked different, the scar that you had traced so many times with your eyes was gone and he looked similar to when you had first met him, except now he was dressed like you. A shirt, leather trousers and boots, his hair was longer than you remember and his expression was softer, sadder even. He stopped a few large paces away, his eyes locking with yours when he saw you watching him.

“I heard what you did,” you said, turning back to bask in the light of the sun.

“I remembered what you asked me, how you asked if this war was over soon.” You dipped your head and scuffed your boot along the floor.

“What of it?” You asked.

“I remembered the desperation on your face and that’s what drove me to end this.” You let out a soft laugh.

“Don’t fool yourself.”

“It’s true!” He exclaimed, stepping towards you but you turned your angry gaze to him making him stop once more.

“You could have ended it at any time!”

“No! Not after he, him, Palpatine made himself known, if I had stepped down and disintegrated the First Order he would have swept in unchallenged and taken over the Galaxy yet again!” His expression was pleading as he tried to get you to see. “I had to wait, I saw the opportunity after Rey died and I took it. I had a choice and I hope I made the right one.”

“I guess we will see,” you replied, beginning to make your way back.

“How is Armitage?” He called after you but you didn’t stop.

“Like you care,” you shot over your shoulder suddenly wanting to be a million parsecs from him.

Hux’s recovery was slow but most of that was because he refused to talk, he would eat and drink and even walk around, using you to lean on but he would not talk. It frustrated you, making you grind your teeth in annoyance whenever you asked him a question and he stared into empty space like you weren’t even there. He got stronger but his nightmares got worse, his entire body would shake, sweat would drench his bright hair and he would yell so loudly. It ripped you to pieces seeing him so broken but refusing any sort of help. His body grew stronger by the day, no longer using you to balance himself and the walks you took lasted for up to half a day as though he couldn’t bring himself to return to the base.

You moved you both out of the medbay and into a hut, they were everywhere spreading far and wide to accommodate the people that now called this place home, the Resistance and First Order finally living in harmony. You felt a swell in your heart every time you looked at the encampment, a sadness that littered your soul when you realised the massive scar that now rendered the Galaxy. Many of these people didn’t know who their families were, where they came from. Some had nothing left and like you, nowhere to go. What had really been achieved except for the pain and suffering of all these people?

You sat up one morning, instantly noticing you were alone and panic slithered through you. You rushed out of your hut, barely pulling your boots on before you were charging into the jungle. Each pound of your heart matched the hurried rush of your feet and you retraced the paths you took with him everyday, but he wasn’t there. You tried to calm yourself but knowing how damaged he was inside you kept thinking the worst so you pushed yourself harder, struggling through the jungle only to happen upon the lake where the Finalizer still sat, dead and lifeless.

You nearly cried with relief when you saw him, his red hair a crowning glory in the early light of the day, his arms crossed as he stood like a statue surveying the broken remains of what used to be his home. You slowly approached, highly aware of how similar this was that rainy day on the estate.

“Are you just going to stand there My Lady?” You sucked in a breath, your eyes closing in relief at the sound of his voice, your heart beating with joy for the first in months.

“I do not mean to intrude,” you breathed hating the way your voice wavered with emotion.

“You’re not,�� he replied but still he didn’t take his eyes off his ship.

“I’m so sorry Armitage,” you whispered.

“I should be the one apologising,” his face twisted with anguish and he turned away from the sight before him. “I’m sorry I ever married you and dragged you into this.”

“Please don’t say that!” It took you a moment to realise he wasn’t stopping and you hurried after him but he stayed just out of reach until you both got back to the hut. “Armitage!”

“You should just leave me, I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. I should stay here and face whatever punishment they deem fit.”

“This isn’t all on you, you can’t take responsibility for the entirety of this war!”

“Someone has to,” he muttered.

“It’s not your fault! I refuse to lose you again!” You almost screamed, making him look at you in surprise. Many emotions flitted over his face before he settled on that blank expression you knew so well.

“Why are you fighting so hard for this?” He asked dully.

“Why aren’t you fighting hard for this?” You cried back.

“You’re better off without me,” he shouted. His expression now one of distress as he ran a hand through his hair. “Everything is gone, everything I’ve worked for, fought for it’s all gone!” You went to reach for him but he pulled away from you, backing into the wall. “You don’t want me, you don’t need me. Just leave me alone!” Tears streamed down your face as his voice cracked, your heart was breaking from his words.

“You are worthy of love, Armitage.” He smirked and shook his head.

“How can you say that? How can you say that after what I did?”

“You didn’t have a choice,” he moved further away from you. Disgust lacing his features but you didn’t know if that was because of you or himself.

“Of course I had a choice. I could have gotten us out of there if I so wished.” His gaze rose to meet yours. “He got you out didn’t he? So why didn’t I?”

“Armitage please!” But he was beyond reason, lost in the hatred of his actions.

“You are better off without me, go to him, Kylo. He’ll look after you far better than I ever could.”

“Armitage, wait!” You followed him out of the hut, painfully aware that everyone in the vicinity was awake and listening to your conversation.

“No, nothing else you can say will change my mind…”

“I’m pregnant,” you blurred out loudly and you saw his back stiffen when he jolted to a stop, the few people you could see made shocked faces and disappeared into their huts. Finn and Rose paused to the side no doubt holding their breath as they watched the scene unfold before them. You wanted him to turn around, you wanted him to run to you, lifting you in the air with excitement but you knew he was going to be conflicted about this. Finally he did turn, his eyes on your hands as you twisted them nervously.

“Is it mine?” He asked stiffly. The question had you sobbing, you expected it, of course you did but you had hoped he wouldn't sound so indifferent about it.

“Y-yes.” He nodded before striding off. Words failed you, watching him leave you like this shattered your heart into pieces, littering the floor with your pain. You wanted to scream, to ask him to come back to face this with you but he was gone.

“C’mon sweetheart. He’ll be back.” Poe gently guided you back to your hut, you had no ideas where he had come from but you were grateful to him.

“How can you be sure?” You asked quietly, wiping your face.

“Well for one he’s got nowhere to go,” you glared at Poe through your tears but he at least had the sense to look ashamed at such a comment. “And two,” he continued. “For all his faults, Hugs is loyal to you. He’d never admit it to anyone, probably not even himself.”

“You don’t know him like I do,” you said softly.

“What’s that? I’m right? Yeah I’ll take it,” he smiled kindly at you. “I’ll go get some caf. I’ll be back ok?” You nodded, the smile leaving your face as soon as you were alone. You heard him talking to Finn and Rose, their voices trailing off as they walked away. You gently put a hand on your stomach, hoping Armitage came back soon. Poe came back and spent some time with you but you couldn’t follow the conversation, your eyes trained on the door waiting for Armitage to come back. Finally he made his excuses and left you alone, but it didn’t last long.

Your thoughts scattered when the door opened and you stood up, a flush creeping over your skin, a name on your lips but you couldn't utter it. Because it was the wrong man.

“You’re pregnant?” He asked incredulously.

“What do you want, Ben?” It still felt strange to call him that.

“I had no idea,” he rumbled.

“Yes you did. It’s why you saved me. Isn’t it?” He was too big for your space and you wanted him to sit down but you also didn’t want him to stay. “On the Finalizer, sending me to the Resistance you were giving me a chance with this baby.”

“I couldn't see you get killed!” He snarled curling his hands into fists. “I waited for Armitage to betray the First Order, his beliefs, to prove his love for you and he didn’t.”

“Because you would have killed him as soon as he put a foot wrong!” You hissed at him, trying to keep your voice low.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “I guess we will never know.”

“Please, leave me alone. He won’t come back if you’re in here.” You turned your back on him, hoping he’d get the message so you missed the crestfallen look on his face. The way his large hand went to reach for you but then he thought better of it and moved away.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” You turned to reply but he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

You paced, watching night fall beyond the walls of your little space, the fauna coming to life in the darkness and you sighed, trying to hold back the storm of emotions that threatened to engulf you yet again. You just needed to know he was alright. Your legs tired and you finally lay down, closing your eyes but sleep didn’t come so you stared at the door, tracking the rough wood yet again until he came back.

You sat up on the bed as the door slowly opened. He stepped in, his boots dragging on the wooden floor with each step, he didn’t look at you and instead rested heavily against the closed door. The fire had died down and there was silence outside indicating everyone was asleep. He slid to the floor, resting his elbows on his knees and thumping his head gently back onto the door. He looked exhausted in the dim light, his clothes slightly muddy like he’d been out trekking, his hair was wind swept but still as vibrant as ever. You ached to hold him close, to breathe your love into him so he could feel it but you knew he’d probably reject it right now. He was hurting, still coming to terms with the loss of everything he thought was important. He was having to rebalance, finding out the world did not run on the need for power and dizzying heights of control took time getting over. Nevertheless, you slowly slid off the bed kneeling just a few paces away from him, your hands clasped neatly in your lap as you gazed at him with sorrow filled eyes. The need to speak was driving you crazy, words filled your mouth before filtering out into nothingness not making it past the barrier of your lips. His eyes were closed, a pained expression pulled on his face and for a moment you thought he’d fallen asleep against the door when he shifted. His eyes opened and you rushed him, pulling him into an embrace that for once he didn’t fight. Neither of you spoke, taking the time to breathe each other in, accepting the first moment of comfort you had taken from each other since he had woken up in the medbay. He was warm and firm in your arms, alive and breathing as he wrapped an arm loosely over your back.

“Come to bed,” you whispered. “Please?” He had been sleeping in a chair no matter how many times you had offered him the bed he had refused to take it, until now. He stood almost swaying as you led him over, making him sit down so you could remove his boots and muddy trousers before letting him slip under the covers. You went to move away to let him rest alone when his hand shot out and grabbed you.

“Stay?” He asked softly and you tried not to smile. He moved over as you got in, not sure if he wanted to be touched or not but that uncertainty was banished when he pulled you tightly into his embrace and for the first time in a long time you felt contentment.

You awoke early again, feeling refreshed after a deep sleep because Hux hadn’t had a nightmare. You slipped out from under his arm and got dressed in some fresh clothes casting one last look at him you smiled before heading off to get some breakfast.

Poe was up early, sorting through the fresh supplies that had been brought back on the Falcon last night.

“Morning sweetheart, you look better.”

“I feel better,” you responded. “The trip was successful then?”

“We need to do another, even with people leaving to find their own way through the Galaxy there are still some arriving here because they have nowhere else to go. This lot won’t last us that long,” he commented.

“But it will do for now, you should be proud, General. You have created a safe haven for those who would end up wandering lost.” Poe sighed and you placed a comforting hand on his arm. “You know I will help if you need me to.”

“You already have your hands full,” he replied quietly.

“I am hoping my news will help him sort his priorities.” Poe’s eyes lit up and he grinned.

“A little bit of good news amongst the stress, how are you feeling? Here take some extra food,” he offered you.

“Poe I can’t, you have so many people to feed…”

“Would you just take it?” He growled, forcing more pouches into your arms. “I’ve got bottles of water as well…” you waited patiently as he retrieved a little crate and you placed it all in there, activating the hover mechanism on it.

“Thank you Poe.”

“Go go, I’m so busy,” he said, smirking, giving you a wink and making you laugh.

“Alright I’ll leave you to the very tedious task of counting!”

“Yes, thank you!” He called after you, picking up his datapad.

You had a little bounce to your step as you made your way all the way back to your hut, opening the door and guiding the crate in, you didn’t see Armitage sitting up at first. You closed the door and turned to give him a smile but the scene before made your blood run like ice in your veins.

“Armitage?” He was sitting on the edge of the bed running a hand over a blaster. “Where did you get that?” You asked quietly, panic licking its way through your body as he looked up at you. He looked so lost, his eyes were red and his pale skin blotchy, his red hair had lost its fire looking lank and dull as it slanted over one eye, his stubble was more pronounced today showing that he hadn’t attempted to shave.

“I just took it.” Your heart began to beat loudly, your pulse roaring in your ears, you wanted to call out for anyone but you didn’t know how he was going to react.

“What do you want with it?” You asked in hushed tones. He tapped it into his hand and you saw the safety was off, the panic heightened, thrumming through your body until it felt like all your hairs were standing on end.

“I didn’t know at first,” his voice was gravelly and tired. “But then I realised this could be it,” his shoulders rose and fell with a shuddery breath. “The answer to everyone’s suffering.”

“No one is suffering anymore,” you crouched down, slowly resting on your knees so you were on his level. “The war is o-over Armitage.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m still fighting?” He snarled. To your surprise he stood, the blaster gripped tightly in his hands and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You were losing him.

You watched him pace in the small living area growing more agitated by the second, mumbling more to himself than you. “I am suffering, I feel so useless, there is nothing to aim for, not goals to achieve. No order, no control, nothing to strategise, no one to fight, I feel myself going crazy…” he stopped and looked down the barrel of the blaster. Your breath stilled, an ache bloomed in your chest as the seconds slowed to a crawl. Thoughts of getting up and knocking it from his hand flashed through your mind but you knew you’d be too late. “This is the only answer I’ve found,” his eyes dragged to you. His brows rose for a moment in an expression of sorrow as he took in your tear stricken face. “I’m taking responsibility….” No! You wanted to scream but the sound got lodged in your throat when his finger squeezed the trigger. You closed your eyes expecting a light, a bang, the sound of him falling to the floor, anything. But there was only silence.

Your eyes flew open at the sound of the door smashing into the wall and Ben came in, his chest heaving like he’d been running, his hand outstretched as he held Armitage in an invisible cage, he wrenched the blaster out of Hux’s frozen grip and tossed it out of the hut.

“What are you doing?” Growled Hux and his eyes blazed fiercely at the force user.

“I came to stop you,” Ben huffed, still catching his breath.

“How did you know?” You flinched as Ben pointed at you but his gaze was still locked on the ex-general.

“I could feel her heart, breaking from across the encampment.” A gasp left you as strong arms wrapped around your terrified form and Poe hauled you off the floor, also out of breath.

“I’m sorry sweetheart we came as fast as we could,” he breathed into your ear.

“Just let me go with dignity!” Hux glared at Ben as he snarled through gritted teeth.

“There is no dignity in this Armitage. You have someone who loves you, she wants you. Don’t throw that away, the chance of a life because the First Order no longer exists.”

“The First Order was my life! It was all I had!” Shouted Hux.

“And look what you have to replace it,” Ben snapped, gesturing at you clutched in Poe’s arms. “Don’t be a fool, don’t let your fathers ambitions rule even now. Because then it really all would have been for nothing. These people helping you would be for nothing.” Hux sagged to the floor with a grunt when Ben released him.

“Are you alright?” He asked angrily, turning his back to Hux. You nodded, shaking Poe off and rushing to your husband. You knelt next to his folded form, you wanted to reach out and touch him and you felt the frustration rise that you couldn’t touch him. Even though right now it was all he needed to remind himself he had you, he had reasons to live.

“You need to go. Now.”

“I’m not leaving you…” started Ben but you cut him off.

“Yes, you are. Go.” Poe tugged on the bigger man’s arm, his hazel eyes locked with yours for a moment before giving in and following the pilot outside. Your hands over your husbands shaking form but frustration made you move. Using all your might you pulled at him, making him sit up.

“Armitage!” You grabbed his face making him focus on you. His entire being quivering with pent up emotions ready to be released, his green eyes blown wide but they looked at you as he tried to keep himself together. “They’re gone, you can let go.” He sagged with relief against you, his face crumbling and you hugged him close as he buried his face into your shoulder.

“I can’t look at their faces anymore,” he whimpered. “All I see is what I’ve done, over and over again written in their eyes, in the words they say, how they act…all I see is the hurt that’s been caused, all because of me.” You held him close as he silently sobbed into you, giving him the outlet he needed without a word.

“It’s not you, this doesn’t fall on you.” You shrugged him off your shoulder, making him focus on your face. “Promise me, promise me you won’t pull that shit again!” Your profanity made him raise his eyebrows in surprise even through the storm of his emotions. “I need you, we need you,” you stressed softly. “Armitage please,” you rested your forehead against his pulling him close to you. “You are loved and needed and I will say it until you believe it.”

“What if I never believe it?” He whispered.

“We’re family. I know you’re not used to that, you feel alone, I feel alone! Our home is gone, all I have is you. And I can’t…..I can’t lose that. Please don’t make me!” You covered your face with both hands trying to stifle the sobs that shook your body. The feeling of utter hopelessness wrapped it’s fateful arms around you dragging you down into the dark abyss you’d been holding at bay for so long. You wanted to ask him why he wasn’t letting you in, to let you help him but you knew it was pointless. You went to get up, to move away or leave, just to distance yourself but your eyes flew open when you felt his fingers curl around your wet hands. He pulled them down from your face, his gaze searching yours, his expression sad as his mouth opened.

“You are my home,” he whispered.

“Armitage…”

“You want me to talk, I’m talking.” You hiccuped a breath at his firm tone, an echo of the man he used to be finally shining through, but he was right. You’d spent all the time trying to get him to open up. You should listen to him now. He reached for your cheek, his long fingers gently wiping your tears away. “Starkiller, The Finalizer, Arkanis, none of them ever felt like home after I met you. Took me so long to see it,” he murmured. “To see how you helped me face myself and now,” his gaze flicked down to your stomach. “Now you are making me see something I never thought I’d see. How can I be a parent?” You saw the uncertainty in his gaze, the way his brows tried to pull down for a moment. “What if…what if I….become like him?”

“You could never!” You reached for him, bringing him closer until his forehead pressed into yours. “I know you’re scared, don’t make that face, you are allowed to be. I am. I’m scared.” You bit your lip as you chose your next words. “It feels easier to walk away but it’s not,” you said firmly, threading your hands into his hair. “If we face this together we can do it, Armitage. We can get each other through this.”

#general hux x female reader #armitage hux x female reader #echoes of the heart #general hux x you #general hux x reader #armitage hux x you #armitage hux x reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #my writing #mylifeisactuallyamess #cw: suicidal thoughts

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madmachaca · 3 years

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Gladstone Gander and lady luck's firm grasp

I'm gonna be talking about this story:

so spoilers if you haven't read it and plan to

(You can read it here)

Gladstone Gander gets everything right. He never works (he doesn't have to), he never pays for food (it's always free), he doesn't struggle with bills amd mortages (his luck wouldn't let him experience something as common as that)... He doesn't have any friends.

He is all by himself.

There are rules to that kind of luck. Rules no one says out loud because not even Gladstone is fully aware of all of them: 1) he can't work, is one he knows about, and 2)he will be alone is a rule that is implicit.

Though it had been hinted before that luck's tight grasp on him was a little too much and dangerously touching the line between the most amazing blessing and a curse, I can't recall an instance where it is said directly

It is rare for Gladstone to be this self aware, and it's even sadder because we get to see him dealing with his feelings. Acknowledging your own sadness and loneliness is the first step to dealing with it, but I am inclined to believe he wouldn't usually have this opportunity for his luck will distract him with gifts before he could get "too sad". Still that insane level of success can be a burden and one that may feel like he didn't deserve to carry because he didn't work to be successful. He doesn't struggle at all, and so, he is left alone with his thoughts, and his feelings and finally he realizes that he is not happy.

...and he leaves

Getting away,symbolically, from his luck can be compared to getting away from a toxic relationship.

It doesn't matter how much Lady Luck loves him, she still hurts him when she doesn't let him experience things the common folk do. Too much love can be hurtful when it keeps one form acknowledging what the object of affection feels.

So he gets to his farm house. And normal life begins.

Working hard, learning new stuff, having as little interaction as possible with other people, (for he figured that no people around means no one who can make stuff for him, so he need to fullfull his own needs), and most importantly, being happy

It's like lady luck decide to let him alone...

But we know that's most likely not the case.

Sometimes, she seems dormant, yet she stills works under the water. Providing him with what he needs

An example of that is the ending to Carl Barks story "The Easter Election" (W WDC 151-01), where due to a twist he loses agaist Donald

The apparent lack of luck is later revealed to be a strike of luck disguised.

On the story we currently discussing Gladstone moves to a farm house he owned and that he had won long ago but never really needed...until now.

He stays away from everybody and he learns to take care of himself. No free meals, no free trips anywhere. He getd unwanted visitors, but they don't know who he really is. He gave himself a name that is "unlucky", and it worked. He is struggling, he is getting dirty, he is working, and he enjoying it.

However...

We all know it is not forever. Lady luck may have let him go crazy for a moment, but even if the grasp is losen, she didn't let him go.

Being lucky is essential to him, craved into his very soul. He will need to go back to his family and his old life eventually. Duckburg may even need him...

But for the moment, I am happy he is content.

#gladstone gander #duckverse #duck comics #my golden boy #this story made me sad...and happy at the same time

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lovecolibri · 3 years

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Yeah, I'm sure someone's going to write a perfectly well-intentioned meta about how this new power makes Michael's upbringing and life in general even sadder, but I just don't buy it for a second that the idea existed at any point before they started writing this season. I mean, objectively, how would the ability to influence people not be the thing Michael is most worried about in any relationship in general, let alone if he finally gets a real chance with Alex? Are we expected to assume Alex already randomly knows somehow from way back in S1? Because if not, then it's a really weird look, especially since between the truck scene and the hospital scene we did see onscreen Alex sharing pretty much all of his insecurities about their relationship, and you can't convince that Michael "I'm sick of secrets" Guerin wouldn't do the same at the first available opportunity now that they're both all in. I can deal with not seeing Alex's reaction to something like the fire resistance, even though it would've been cool, but this was such a missed opportunity. It's not like Michael can't talk about the same thing with multiple people.

"I just don't buy it for a second that the idea existed at any point before they started writing this season."

Ding, ding, ding! I am literally begging for someone in that writers room to make a timeline, and like, character outlines for everyone so they can keep track of things, and maybe think before they pull shit like this. It was a plot point of convenience that should have gone to Isobel, but they already gave her the empath thing for....reasons. Has that even come up again this season since we ditched the funeral plot? She can already pop into people's minds why does she need the empath power? Because it lets her snoop on people's feelings without looking quite so much like a consent violation? Also HOW is Michael having the same power and Noah and Jones and being worried about how Isobel and Max would react, which is only a recent issue since they just met Jones and have only known about Noah for a little while, a better plotline than Isobel having to reconcile that she has the same power Noah had and can control people like he did and having to reconcile with that? And maybe learn some boundaries along the way? Like, that is so much more compelling that giving Michael another different power.

"you can't convince that Michael "I'm sick of secrets" Guerin wouldn't do the same at the first available opportunity now that they're both all in"

Right on the money again! IF they wanted to go the "I thought I was the demon" route with Michael and make it all about his fears of being like Noah and Jones and wondering if he had been controlling Alex this whole time, WHY are we learning about that NOW and not at the start of the season as a reason he's holding back? Because him keeping this secret from Alex doesn't make any sense when he's been dyyyyyying to be open with Alex for YEARS!

I swear if they only gave Isobel the empath thing to make the vision plot have more twists (like, we think she's upset that it's Max but it's not him and just her empath thing) I will riot. The vision plot has already taken so much from us though, it's probably only fitting it takes this too.

The show we could have had this season if they let m*ria move away forever, thus losing the whole pointless vision plot and allowing them to focus on the other plots and bring in Dallas and Deep Sky and all this stuff in sooner.....We could have had it all! Again, the wasted potential for this show becomes my villain origin story.

#my sweet nonnie friends #roswell nm #season 3 spoilers #roswell nm my behated #anti maria deluca #i didn't hate this episode as a whole and i enjoyed watching it #but the choices they made were dumb and make me angry

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

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HASO, “Saint.”

This is a bit short today, but we were also short-staffed at work so I didn’t have a lot of time. I hope you like it anyway

Sunny sat beside the pool of water, her spear resting across her knees watching the strange Drev as he knelt by the pool staring at the water below him. She still couldn’t tell how old he was. He could have been as young as she or older than her father had been when he passed, but either way she couldn’t tell.

The dark black of his carapace undulated so black it reflected blue.

They didn’t speak for a very long time, and she closed her eyes thinking quietly to herself as the sun rose overhead.

With the way the mountain encroached in around them, they didn’t see the sun for more than an hour or so before it sunk below the high cliff face once again. Moss was soft below her, and when the sun hit it it burned white hot, but she closed her eyes and relaxed taking long, slow deep breaths through the breathing holes at her neck. In for several seconds and out for several seconds until the world around her seemed to fade away.

In her mind it felt as if she could hear the thrumming of an engine, the Omen whirring above her in the darkness, comforting and warm like the arms of a parent. She missed its warm darkness…. Or did she just miss Adam who she associated to heavily with that place, with the ship.

It occurred to her just then that…. Well she didn’t really associate him with anything else.

The thought gave her a wave of displeasure as she realized.

His identity had been so tied up in his job and ho he was that she…. Well she wasn’t entirely sure if she had ever known him otherwise. Had she just been in love with an idea, had she just loved him simply because no one else had ever seemed willing to try. He was.... The captain of a spaceship, and that was simply everything.

It made her sad sadder than she would have liked to admit.

He had seemed so much more to her then that, so much more than just his job, but th more she thought about him the more she realised she couldn’t rationalize why she had thought that, and what sort of logic had brought her to that original conclusion. He was hollow, a representation of something amazing on the outside but filled with sawdust in the middle.

It wasn’t commentary on him of course. These thoughts weren’t here to make her regret or even to convince herself that he hadn’t been worth it because he had.

He was just…. So lost.

The past few days had convinced her not to feel sorry for herself. That wasn’t the way of the Drev.

But thinking about him, lost and alone, a gossamer through of a person with an identity not his own. She wanted to weep for him, feeling more sorry for the man than she ever had for herself. She thought she understood him now.

Sunny knew she understood.

He was a man who knew he was broken, a half man constructed from one thought. He didn’t believe himself worthy of someone’s attention and so had let her go to save her the hurt of bein with someone like him. He was wrong, of course, but she understood the logic.

In the same way that she would rather take any physical punishment so he would never have to experience it is the same way he would take any emotional punishment to protect her. Inside her chest her heart slowed and her body grew still under the sun, growing warm and then cool as the shadows passed over her.

Until there was nothing.

“It is good to see that drev of your generation have mastered such mental discipline and patience.”

She opened her eyes looking in consternation at the dark Drev who now sat before her, not feet away, and facing her.

She thought she would have noticed him approach, but evidently had been too caught up in her own musings to notice.

On his lap, the Drev held a decorative silver spear with intricate carvings up the side, and the blade sharpened to deadly cutting points by the most artfully crafted Drev obsidian under which would have been a steel and iron cutting edge for when the obsidian was likely to break. It was the most beautiful weapon Sunny had ever seen and she stared at it in awe.

“In past epochs many foolish and impatient Drev have been weeded out by this one simple test.”

Se frowned, “What test.”

He hummed in amusement, “Patience. They storm in here spears bristling and demand I teach them the way of the saints. They threaten and hey rage, and sometimes they would demand I duel them, those that demanded a duel never left this place. But patience is a thing not many Drev understand, for striking first may be advantageous, but the ability to wait for the perfect moment, is a skill not many acquire. Before that there were others, those who would almost have the patience but then would break the silence too early. Sometimes it took them weaks to pass the test with their incessant questions , you're not the first who has come to me, bu you are the first to pass this simple test.”

Sunny looked down at her feet, “I am afraid it is not patience so much as… preoccupation with other things.”

The other Drev seemed to be pleased with this revelation, “Using silent meditation to sort your thoughts is a worthy endeavor, and shows someone with an active mind. Tell me…. Did you find any peace in your thoughts.”

Sunny looked up at the distant blue sky and the clouds that rolled down from above, “I think I did.”

He seemed pleased.

“That’s good, you are further along than most of the Saints were when they came to my mountain.”

Sunny stared at him, “You talk as if you were there, but you can’t be that old.”

He chuckled, “Perhaps I was, perhaps I wasn’t. It's hard to remember with a life like mine. Maybe I was an extension of someone else, maybe I was told the stories as a child as if they were my own. Who can say. Regardless, you have already mastered the skills of patience and careful thought, which is not something that is often common in those who come to my mountain.”

“What IS common.”

He sighed, “Impatience mostly, a lust for power, greed. They don’t usually last long.”

There was silence between them for a long moment, “What’s your name/”

“Naktan Chal but Naktan will do, and yours?”

“Chalan.”

“The name seems like a stranger on your lips.”

She shrugged sheepishly, “I am not used to hearing my name spoken in my own tongue.”

He tilted his head in curiosity, “And what tongue do you hear you name in.”

“The tongue of humans.”

“Humans.” he seemed surprised, “I have never seen a human. I have heard their ships, and their war machines, but have never ventured down from my mountain.”

“Sunny is what they call me.”

“What strange sounds, but surprisingly melodic.” he tilted his head, “tell me, Sunny, why are you here and what do you hope to achieve while on my mountain.”

“It is complicated.”

“The whole story then.”

She sighed, “I assume you can see that I am…. I am….”

“I see that you are short, is that what we are getting at?”

She looked down at the turquoise water, “yes.”

“And?’

He didn’t seem to care and she looked up at him in surprise.”

“Everything, everything about you is an opportunity to take an advantage on the battlefield. Some of our traditions are steeped in lies and the misconstrued words of a few confused prophets. Traditions often become twisted and as times go on. The important part of that particular piece of spiritual doctrine is if you can lift a spear. If you cannot lift a spear is when the original wording of the original doctoring takes effect. Though you are small, you can lift a spear, if you only have one hand, you can lift a spear. The tradition of the recycling only comes when the Kit being born has defects so severe they cannot lift a spear.”

“If a kit were born blind?”

“The kit can still lift a spear, can still smell and feel the currents of wind, can still hear the thundering of feet on the ground and the spear whistling through the air.”

Sunny stared at him in awe, “I had…. No idea that's what the…. Original doctrine said..”

“No one remembers. There is a certain air of elitism in the new drev tradition.”

Sunny paused and nodded, “I think that is what I wish to change.” he listened intently, “I fought the humans, during the Drev war…. Do you know of it?”

“I am kept appraised, yes.”

“Well no one expected me to be good at fighting because of my…. Disfigurement. When the Drev war came along I finally found a foe, I thought I could beat, but when we ripped them apart they came back later with synthetic limbs and we lost the war. In an effort to fight against a mother who never approved of me, I went to learn from the humans, thinking that maybe they could help me. I learned in that time that…. The way we have been doing things, may be done better. That we could learn from them, and in my travels across the universe, that assurance has only grown. I wish to bring the Drev into a new age of martial doctrine, one that matches with the universe we have found ourselves a part of. I want to keep the old tradition alive, and by doing that I know that it has to change.”

Naktan stared at her his fance unreadable for a long moment, but then he bowed his head, and when he looked up again his yellow eyes were twinkling with some sort of…. Merriment, or perhaps excitement.

Either way she couldn’t tell, but supposed the expression was a good one.

“The saints smiled down upon you, wanderer.”

He stood, and with the tip of his spear, he reached out and touched the surface of the water causing a delicate wave of ripples to roll out over the pool, “I will guide you in the right of creation.” he rolled the ip of the spear in the other direction, “I will guide you on a journey to bring the martial doctrine of the Drev into a new age. I cannot tell you how long it will take, and I cannot guarantee you will leave as the same Drev who came here. But I can promise you, that I am glad to see you, and I am pleased to help in your honorable efforts.”

He kicked up a wave of water into the air, and when he did shining sparks of clear seemed to refract rainbows against the sky.

“Sleep, and tomorrow we begin.”

“And may you begin your journey unto sainthood.”

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ambiguousdisorderken · 3 years

Note

If you could introduce cas at any one time between s1-s3 where would you do it and why?

as much as i ADORE the dynamic between s1dean and cas, i’ll go with something different, and perhaps a bit sadder, but in my opinion all the more poignant and impactful for it: dean meets cas at the end of s2, see all hell breaks loose pt. ii, cemetery battle against azazel.

as designed by chuck, dean was supposed to be michael’s vessel once armageddon was set afoot, but the whole divine plan was jeopardized when sam died. neither faction (chuck’s machinations aside) expected dean to make a deal to bring his brother back to life, but he did. so we have hell rejoicing and we have heaven somewhat placated because their holy father’s scriptures remain true and the order has been restored, at least for the time being.

whatever happens from here until the first seal breaks is not heaven’s business, they’re above petty humanity, and after all, the winchesters are mere instruments to be used once the apocalypse comes.

castiel though, he’s got a crack on his chassis. he’s curious. there’s celebration in heaven but he wants to know the real cause for celebration, he wants to meet this human who saved god’s plan with an act his siblings deem stupid, but he considers rather noble. so he goes to earth, for the first time in many years. his vessel, jimmy novak, a devoted man whose faith came to him as naturally as breathing, accepted castiel willingly and without much questioning.

it’s cas who helps dean defeat azazel instead of john. after all, john is only a human soul, a very tortured one in hell, if alastair’s words from 4.16 can be taken as truthful. he would be in no shape to climb all the way out of hell, not that fast, and especially, he wouldn’t be able to restrain azazel or force him out of his vessel the way he did. also, i just dislike the idea of john “redeeming” himself, it was executed poorly and it is a bit too easy and convenient for him to show up and save the day. [¡¡¡also fuck john winchester!!!.]

so yes, it’s cas who, in his haste to meet thee dean winchester stumbles into the battle and overpowers azazel, giving dean the perfect opportunity to shoot the demon and killing him for good.

of course dean would be apprehensive of cas, but literally all hell had just broke loose, and if there was a point in time angels -should they exist- would appear on earth, surely that would be one of them, right?

it takes him some time, all of them, to trust cas, who appears every other day, sometimes just once a week, sometimes he stays two whole days. he’s a low profile seraph these days and he’s always diligent. besides, he’s not the most social of angels, so if anybody notices his absence, they’re angelic enough about it not to care. as long as heaven runs smooth, all is well. chuck is entertained and much too comfortable lying low to bother about a rogue angel.

cas tells dean he’s been charged with helping them out, seeing as they helped shut the gates of hell, or any other excuse. he’s not very good lying, but dean buys it. he’s still hopeful , a stranger to the rack and the sulphur of the pit.

inevitably, dean falls in love with cas. it’s quick and unexpected, as if someone hit the back of his head with the full force of it, of cas. it’s also the easiest thing he’s ever done. castiel, this angel... cas... he’s everything dean knows he can’t have, he is all the good dean could never be, he’s touched by god while dean is tainted by the filth of demons, literally.

he’s never regretted making that deal to save sammy, but he wishes the demon had given him more than a year. most people get 10. a lot could be done in ten years, and maybe cas, maybe he’d still be around. maybe dean would be able to call him his friend, maybe he’d be able to know cas better (because he doesn’t really say much about himself, and always seems so interested in learning more about dean, what he likes, how he feels, why he acts in certain ways, why he likes making cas laugh so much, why he blushes at odd times and why his smile falls when he seems the happiest). or maybe 10 years wouldn’t be enough to make an angel of the lord care about a poor sod like him anyway.

it’s a relationship filled with what ifs and insecurity and fear and passion, because dean is running out of time and he wants to make the most of it, but he’s only a sad excuse of a hunter, and he has to be a good brother and he’s got bobby whom he’s also made miserable with his decision. but there’s also cas... and that... he never, not in a million years, expected cas to appear into his life. he just wants a little more time with him, a little less guilt for wanting this, wanting what...it?, no, him. he’s living on borrowed time so labels, he doesn’t give a shit about. so he goes for it. he kisses cas, and cas kisses him back. and it comes to them just as natural and easy, and it pains dean even more knowing that he could have this, if only his ass wasn’t expected in hell in a few days time.

but hell doesn’t forgive, and it comes to collect alright.

cas knows he can’t intervene, he’s still a soldier, with a human weakness, yes. but a soldier nonetheless. still, when the hellhounds come after dean he tries to save him, only to be stopped by other angels sent to maintain the order. he’s sent to prison during the same 40 years dean is sent to hell, but in heaven time moves even slower, so he ends up waiting longer than that, all the while tortured by his own inability to protect the one thing he cares about, to save dean from the worst of fates. needless to say he feels guity and conflicted.

it comes to him as a surprise when he’s called upon the ranks of the army who’ll retrieve the righteous man from hell. apparently previous campaigns have failed to even locate the asset, so castiel, rebellious as he’s proven to be in the past, is tasked with leading as commander. he knows dean’s soul thoroughly, if anyone can decipher the twists and folds of hell (more intricate version than og) it’s castiel.

and that he does.

cas is the one to free dean from his agony, the one who throws away the bloody whip dean was flogging another poor soul with, the one who sees dean so broken and mangled, stripped from his kindness, forced into sin and depravity. he hold dean in his arms while the man thrashes, crying and screaming, so unlike himself and yet becoming dean.

for the first time since he was created, castiel cries. he also kisses dean and the taste is salty, but it feels like paradise despite the brimstone and the howls of anguish that echo in their ears.

cas’ hold is so strong and dean is so raw, naked soul burning up, that the touch leaves a mark that later will show as his handprint seared on dean’s shoulder.

#dressesandcarresses #i promise this is hc and not just fanfic :( it was easier to describe this way #son thoughts #destiel #but also sorta ficlet i guess #destiel fanfic #now did i put brain power into this? yes but also there might be blatant plot holes im not seeing..but that's just every spn writer too soo

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forasecondtherewedwon · 3 years

Photo

Schwarzenegger Holiday

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E Word Count: 11,874

Includes the following prompts:

snowed in

making latkes together

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?”

Summary: When MJ’s granted a sudden visit to the safehouse where Peter’s been hidden for six months, she’s... nervous. What if he doesn’t want her to come? What if he doesn’t like her that way anymore? She has 24 hours to figure out what they are to each other and make peace with it. That’s the plan. Until they get snowed in.

MJ’s leg is jumping in the backseat of the SUV, the bop of her foot barely audible over the thickly-packed snow grinding under the tires. Anywhere else, this large, white vehicle would be conspicuous, but she supposes it’s fading in pretty well against this wintery backdrop. Probably less visible from above too; she quits bouncing her foot long enough to unbuckle her seatbelt and slide over to glance up at the sky, until the driver brusquely reminds her to keep her face away from the windows.

She’s dying to snark back and ask what the darkly tinted windows are for if they aren’t good enough to conceal the face of the vehicle’s occupants, but this guy kinda scares her. He’s something more secret than the Secret Service. If Nick Fury (the real Nick Fury this time, apparently—she has a whole backlog of questions and complaints that there wasn’t time to bring up during the handoff) hadn’t done an extra security check on the driver before sending MJ off with him, she’d be really worried right about now. Her suitcase is in the trunk and she’s clutching the box May gave her to her hip, wondering how she’ll be able to use its contents for self-defence if the need arises. Tear open the bag of flour and throw it in the guy’s eyes maybe?

Her strategy with the flour is sturdy, but there’s something else in this box for which she has no plan. There wasn’t time for her and May to discuss it, like there wasn’t time for MJ to interrogate Fury on where exactly he was while Peter was grappling with Quentin Beck all over Europe. Time, time, time. It’s been months, actually, since any of them seemed to have enough of it. She’s curious to know how the summer, fall, and now early winter have passed for Peter. He doesn’t even know she’s on her way. Nervous, MJ bites at the skin around her thumb nail. She hopes he’s happy to see her.

When Jameson totally fucked up her first date (and her new boyfriend’s whole life), Peter fled. He had to. Luckily, he’s being protected—so MJ’s been told—though the trade-off for safety is isolation. If it were her, she’s not sure she’d mind being handed an extended stretch of time to catch up on her reading, but she knows Peter’s different. Peter needs people. (She needs Peter.)

MJ knows that May Parker misses her nephew desperately. That’s why she tried to get the woman to go in her place, but everything with these Super-Secret Service assholes has a reason and a rhyme, even when the Scrabble tiles for Peter’s situation clearly spell ORANGE. May visited him for his birthday. Ned spent the weekend over Thanksgiving. Taking time away from work and school qualifies as a ‘noticeable absence’ and those need to be minimized. In the plainer terms May used when she explained the circumstances (at the same time that she proposed MJ take a trip to see Spidey the Desperado), none of the people formerly known to be close to Peter Parker can draw attention to themselves. They’ve been watched on the street, questioned by reporters, photographed by tabloids, and otherwise surveyed by who knows what methods operated by who knows whom. The last is MJ’s assumption; she isn’t stupid.

Apparently, becoming Peter’s girlfriend right before his identity was leaked to the world bumped her up to the third most important person in his life. She’s yet to learn whether Peter views her that way. The people protecting him do not have a schedule coordinated with him, so this trip wasn’t his call. Windows of opportunity open and close, schemes are adjusted, and girlfriends get left on doorsteps hugging boxes with the ingredients for latkes, crossing their fingers for a warm reception. MJ hasn’t figured out what she’s going to say to him after six months of nothing.

Then again, that’s basically how their friendship in high school went until her crush on him stopped crushing her enough to allow her to get the occasional insult out.

If he’s gotten over his feelings for her or just isn’t in the right headspace to entertain her, this is going to be awkward. At least it’s only until tomorrow. The same driver (for security reasons, blah blah) is picking her up before noon. One night of struggling to transition from dating back to just friends would, ultimately, be bearable for her, if that’s what Peter needs. She’d be able to talk it out with him without pining for their quick first kisses on Tower Bridge. Or their sloppy make-out session in the airplane bathroom when they woke up from their nap with half the ocean still to cross and the sudden feeling of relief that they were both alive. Yeah. MJ could definitely put that stuff behind her. In fact, maybe it’s better not to think of it at all and go into this visit assuming Peter’s feelings have cooled in light of other priorities. That way, this can be a night away from home hanging out with a friend, and not being left undisturbed with Peter ‘Where’d Those Abs Come From?’ Parker in the middle of nowhere.

She upends the mixing bowl in the box over that other item May included.

After so much doubling back and zigzagging down what have to be the most deserted roads in Upstate New York, the driver rolls to a stop in the shadow of a cabin-like house. It’s too house-like to attract the attention of wandering hipsters thirsty for cottagecore, but too cabin-y to suggest anything beyond temporary residence. MJ judges it to be a convincing safehouse. She climbs out, hefting May’s box, and accepting her suitcase from the driver. He moves much more swiftly, evidently uninterested in assessing the dwelling’s façade. Probably not his job. Even with her arms full, MJ steps precisely in the man’s footprints in the snow, just to see if her overexaggerated precaution will get under his skin. He ignores her. By the time she reaches the porch, he’s already completed whatever secret handshake or password exchange or retinal scan he had to do with Peter and is brushing past her, back to the milk-white SUV. She turns and stares after him, her last tie to civilization (until tomorrow), squinting against the light glinting off the snow.

Eventually, when the vehicle is gone and everything’s quiet, MJ accepts that she’s stalling. Eyes lowered, she faces the open door.

She starts at his feet. Red socks, the wool bobbled, the toe of the left twisted slightly like he put it on wrong and didn’t fix it. Her throat’s thick as she scans up his legs, in sweatpants, and remembers them encased in the Spider-Man suit as he crouched on the streetlight and watched Jameson blow his life apart onscreen. Hovering by his thighs are his hands. Oh, his hands. Though MJ’s gripping the box and suitcase with all her might, she’s recalling the gentle way he fit his fingers between hers. With a shaky breath, she can’t wait any longer and her gaze darts up to his face. Peter’s wearing this look she’s seen in videos of soldiers being reunited with their dogs—specifically, she’s seen it in the eyes of those dogs. The look is mushy and wet-eyed and begging for an eyeroll, possibly some verbal ridiculing, and instead, her heart reacts by flopping around unfamiliarly inside her chest. Him, is the sound of its thumping as it stumbles into her ribs. Him, him, him.

“Hi,” she says, voice coming out high. “Don’t hug me. The porch is wet and I’m holding a box.”

“I see that.”

He speaks. MJ’s mouth twitches into a relieved, silly smile. She’s missed the sound of his dork speaking so much that three words have her tripping over the threshold, almost slipping as her snow-slicked boots hit wood floor.

“The box is from May,” she explains, putting her back to Peter in order to set it down and to collect herself all over again. She’s here. He’s here, right where he’s supposed to be and where she was expecting him, but looking at her like that and with a jawline erupting in a faint scruff. It feels like a million years since she saw him last. It feels like a day.

“Can I hug you now?”

The suitcase she just drops.

MJ whirls to throw herself into Peter’s arms, hiccupping a relieved breath when he squeezes her close. Before she shuts her eyes to concentrate on the sensation of him solidly in her grasp after so long apart, she gets a glimpse of the living area beyond, the unlit fireplace. It’s homey and she isn’t sure if that makes her sadder, knowing he’s been living here alone. His hands slide over her back and she realizes she’s been hugging him a long time.

With a tight, uncertain smile, she draws back, cupping his shoulders, then dropping her hands to swing at her sides.

“Are you surprised to see me?” MJ asks. She already knows he should be, but she has to do something besides just stare at him.

“Yeah.” Peter laughs. “Take off your boots and stuff, come sit down.”

He’s smiling at her even as she’s fumbling to untie her laces.

“Sorry,” he laughs again. “I’m not trying to stare. I’m just not used to—”

“People?”

“Well, I see some people. I get supplies. But not super often and not people I… know.”

She saw how his face went pink before settling on that final word.

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend the holidays alone, did you?” MJ teases, now shrugging out of her coat. She didn’t notice that she forgot to zip it up when she got out of the SUV. She stuffs her gloves down the sleeve and passes it to Peter to hang on a hook by the door.

“I didn’t really think that was anybody’s call,” he admits.

His tone is joyfully unconcerned, but she frowns a little, experiencing second-hand frustration at the way Peter’s life isn’t so much being lived right now as run.

“I didn’t either.” She shrugs. “But your Avengers handlers, or whatever their job titles are, contacted me through May, so I figured I might as well come out. Not that I didn’t want to see you. I did. I really wanted to see you.”

God, now she’s probably come on too strong, overcorrecting after worrying she sounded like she could take or leave being reunited with her boyfriend.

“I really wanted to see you too,” Peter assures her. His expression softens. “We didn’t get a lot of time, before.”

“I’m only here until tomorrow,” MJ warns.

“Oh, no, that’s perfect. That’s great. I wasn’t expecting you at all, so this is incredible.”

He goes to grab the box, but she shouts, “No!” Peter stares at her. “Uh,” she says, “can you take my suitcase instead? I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sure.”

She follows him into the living room in her sock feet, wishing she packed slippers.

“The floor can be cold,” he says before she can voice her regret. “I have slippers around here somewhere that you can wear, and it’s warmer when there’s a fire. We can light one tonight, if you want.”

“That sounds nice,” MJ agrees.

“You can put that down in the kitchen.” He points her through a door. “I’ll just take your bag to the bedroom. The, uh, second bedroom. There are two bedrooms. I wasn’t gonna put it in my room. I don’t want you to think—”

“Peter, it’s fine.”

He nods jerkily and walks, glancing back once. She spies the promised slippers and shoves her feet into them before racing into the kitchen. Instead of systematically emptying the box and laying out each item, MJ rifles desperately through to the bottom and grabs the thing she avoided the whole way here. What was May thinking, including condoms in the care package? Well, logically, she can guess. Peter, mostly alone, opening the door to discover his girlfriend, arrived for an overnight stay. Yes, she can see exactly why May wanted to take precautions on their behalf because MJ definitely didn’t think of that and she doubts whoever brings Peter his updates and frozen pizzas has thought to equip him with prophylactics. They’re mostly concerned with keeping him alive and out of the hands of the authorities, not getting him laid.

Knowing Peter will return any moment, MJ looks frantically around the kitchen. She thinks she hears his footsteps. Shit. She yanks a pullout drawer open and chucks the box of condoms in next to the Cheerios, hitting the drawer shut with her hip as Peter walks in and grins at her. She plasters an anxious smile on in response.

He joins her at the counter and they begin to unload the box.

“Wait,” he says, partway through, “is this the stuff for latkes?”

“Mhmm. May told me she didn’t want you to miss out on any of your regular holiday traditions, even if she couldn’t be… Peter?”

MJ observes him, sympathy wringing her heart like a wet washcloth. He turns away from her and raises a hand to his face. She hears a sniff and assumes he’s wiping at his eyes and cheeks. She reaches out, hesitates, overcomes, lays her hand on his shoulder.

“I told her it should’ve been her coming instead of me,” she mumbles.

“No, no,” Peter assures her, still facing away, “I’m so happy to see you, MJ, seriously. I just miss her.”

“She misses you too.”

When he turns to face her, eyes still shining, MJ rewards his vulnerability by taking his hand.

“It’s not fair,” she tells him.

“It’s what’s gotta be done,” Peter says with a resigned shrug. “What I want isn’t as important as fixing this mess so I can go back to being Spider-Man. People need me.”

“You’re people too. There are people you need. That’s part of your humanity.” She’s ramping up now, arguing on his behalf with no one there to argue against. “Without that humanity, you wouldn’t be a good Spider-Man. You wouldn’t be a good guy. Protecting you shouldn’t just be about sticking you somewhere and watching you by satellite or whatever! Exposing your identity is a psychological attack and Nick Fury and the rest of them should be doing everything to ensure you can weather this storm psychologically, including keeping you connected to your family and your friends and—"

“My girlfriend.”

MJ exhales.

“Maybe not her,” she jokes. “She might just come in here and rant at you about reducing your stress, which is kinda counterproductive.”

“If I could listen to you rant every day, I’d be happy.”

She flushes and busies herself with putting May’s gifts away, probably all in the wrong spots, but Peter never corrects her, just works quietly alongside her until there’s nothing left in the box. Because she wasn’t permitted to bring her phone, MJ checks the time on her watch. It’s early afternoon.

“What do you do all day?”

Peter’s face lights up.

“You wanna see the room?”

“I recognize that look. This has something to do with Ned, doesn’t it?”

Her hypothesis is proven right when he leads her down the hall and opens a door to reveal a room housing a dozen Lego models. Everything’s probably Star Wars related, but she’s lost beyond the Death Star.

“Ned,” she says.

“Ned. He brought them when he came. I’ve done them all… well, a few times each.”

“I know I should be delicate with you because you’re a genius hermit, but, Parker, that’s so lame.”

Peter laughs out loud.

“That’s not all I do. Come on.”

He takes her hand (it doesn’t seem like he’s thought for a second about scrapping their relationship) and they walk back to the living room. On one of the couches, he has his Spidey suit laid out. But it’s freaky, like a skinned animal, with the innards of its tech exposed and skinny screwdrivers scattered on the floor nearby. He’s been tinkering. Because they have nothing else on the agenda, he explains the maintenance he’s done, more features he’s discovered. The list of protocols and capabilities seems almost endless. Watching him speak so enthusiastically, she wonders if maybe this is Peter’s version of holing up with a tall stack of books.

“No tracker in the suit?” she asks when they sit down at opposite ends of the remaining couch, legs stretched out and resting against each other.

“Nah. All that stuff’s turned off.” He lays his arm along the back of the couch and tips his cheek against it. “Where do your parents think you are right now?”

“At Betty’s.”

Her family knows she pines for Peter, but they don’t know she’s been granted this opportunity to see him. She doesn’t know what they’d say. Like the majority of New Yorkers, they like Spider-Man and don’t believe that he murdered Quentin Beck. That doesn’t mean they’d want her as involved as she is—though involved feels like a strong word when she hasn’t seen him since the day he was exposed and had to ride the first leg of this journey with a blindfold on. Seemed pretty antiquated. Her parents just want her to be safe, like how May wants Peter to be safe. MJ recalls the condoms. Ok, not quite the same.

“They think we’re in some kind of study lockdown, prepping for a decathlon thing in January, phones off,” she continues. “Betty doesn’t know I’m here, but Ned told her enough that she’ll lie for me if my parents call her. I’m thinking of promoting her.”

“How’s the team doing this year?”

MJ studies him. I spend every practice thinking about you even more than Flash talks about you, she thinks. I went home and cried the day Mr. Harrington told me I’d have to fill your spot. Nobody’s as smart as you. I’m bored without you. Sometimes I worry that I’m not a good captain and I just want to talk to you because I know it’d make me feel better, but you’re not there.

She pokes her toes into his thigh.

“Decent,” she says. “Flash wanted our name changed to the Midtown Spider-Men, but Mr. Harrington said no.”

When Peter groans and tucks his face into his arm in embarrassment, MJ does what she’s been too shy to do yet: she moves down to his end of the couch and kisses him as he turns his head to look at her. He holds her securely around the waist as she darts back in for a second kiss, a slower one. There’s no one around to spy, no one to interrupt. Everything in her zings upward like a hurled snowball and the kiss gains momentum. It’s not as hasty as the one on the flight home—it’s deeper, more grownup somehow. The prick of his facial hair enhances that adultness. For her, this is a kiss that says she’s been surviving without him, but now that they’re together, she prefers catching up this way rather than with words. They kiss like they can’t be stopped. MJ cups the back of Peter’s head, then his face, as their mouths nudge and coax, their tongues tracing each other’s lips before retreating. They separate to breathe and she presses her face to his neck, letting him hold her as she sits, still twisted with her feet on the floor, wearing his slippers.

“That’s one of the toughest things to do without,” he tells her. “I forgot it felt that good.”

“Too good,” she says wryly, lifting her head.

“Hey, based on what you were saying about my psychological needs, I’m due something ‘too good.’”

Really, it just isn’t possible not to think about the condoms as she smiles at him and chews the inside of her lip. Having sex with Peter is something she’s contemplated. She contemplated it when she watched him play trombone with the marching band during football games, and when he smiled as he walked down the hall at school with Ned. She contemplated it when she silently observed his late entrances to decathlon practices, and when she muffled her moans in bed at night, fantasizing about him. They kissed in London and sleeping together went from a daydream to an inevitability; they separated in New York and it went back to a dream. But now…

She’s only here for one night though. It’s too soon. When MJ kisses Peter, she knows she wants to keep going, but she doesn’t want to do anything impulsive and hurt them both more when she has to leave tomorrow. They need to think about this together. She should probably tell him about the condoms, so they have all their metaphorical cards on the table. And yet, she’s not able to jump from a single reunion kiss to asking if he wants to have sex on one of her future visits (if there are future visits). It’s not organic. It feels like working out their romantic plans on somebody else’s schedule. That makes her feel gross, cheated even.

MJ sags back from Peter and asks him to give her a tour of the rest of the house.

—

She’s rubbing the skin off an onion when, pausing in the grating of a potato, he turns to her and suggests something that proves he has gone a little screwy living alone: he wants to cook the latkes in the fireplace.

“You have a stove,” she points out.

“Yeah,” he agrees, now grating vigorously.

“We cook these in oil, right? You want to put a pan full of oil on an open flame?”

“We don’t fill the pan to the top or anything.”

“Ok, right, but still,” MJ persists. “Oil. Fire. A house you kinda need to stay standing because, one, it’s your secret hideout, and two, the sun’s gone down and it’s freezing outside and we’ll be cold without shelter.”

“How could we be cold if we had a burning house to stand next to? Kidding.” Peter grins at her. “It’ll work, MJ. I’ll be careful.”

“You will? No way am I letting you do this alone.”

“Aww.” He leans towards her and kisses her cheek.

“I didn’t say that to be romantic. I’m genuinely worried that you’ll set the place on fire.”

“I know.”

They continue preparing the batter and, after pouring oil into the heavy pan May packed for this, MJ warily hands it off to Peter. He carries it into the living room, where he lit a fire half an hour earlier. Setting the pan down away from the fire, he retrieves his nanotech suit and tugs his sweatshirt off to put it on, extoling its temperature-control virtues. He’s sure it can withstand a little heat. After all, it handled the cold of space no problem. MJ watches him nervously.

At least the fire’s died down some, so when he grasps the handle of the pan to hold the base over the heat, there aren’t any flames licking up his arm. Once the oil’s sizzling, Peter withdraws the pan so that MJ won’t have to reach into the firebox to distribute the batter. She spreads each glob out quickly to avoid melting the spatula. And, after standing way back because the oil pops from the pan to splatter Peter’s metal sleeve, it doesn’t go terribly. Though some of the latkes seem overcooked to her, he assures her he likes them better crispy. The way he says it has her touching the lump her black dahlia necklace makes beneath her sweater.

They return their latke paraphernalia to the kitchen, then settle on the couch again to eat.

“Good?” MJ asks. She likes them, but she’s never eaten a potato pancake before, so she has no frame of reference.

“Best ever.”

She smiles at Peter, watching him chew for a minute.

“You’ll miss this house’s fireplace when you’re back home.”

“This is my favourite meal in a long time and it has nothing to do with the fireplace,” he says. Her heart genuinely skips a beat. With quiet pleasure, she goes back to eating.

At home, she has her phone and her books and the TV—so many reasons to postpone loading the dishwasher. Here, there is no dishwasher and MJ realizes it’s really nice to dry while Peter washes the dishes by hand. Until he somehow cuts himself on the grater, bleeds in the water, and they have to leave the remaining dishes in the sink for a rewash while she forces Peter to the paltry selection of first aid equipment in the bathroom. Thankfully, the nick in his finger is small enough to cover with a single band-aid. She glares at him the whole time.

“I don’t even need this!” he says. “It’ll be healed up by the time I go to bed.”

“Keeping it clean until then won’t hurt you. Just take care of yourself, please?”

MJ isn’t aware that she’s pleading until she glances from his bandaged finger to his face and takes in his expression. He’s looking at her like he’s starting to get that she cares. Really cares. Cares more than it would take to come all the way out here just because someone else arranged it for her and provided the ride.

“Ok,” Peter gently agrees.

Without the usual evening distractions of a night at home (and after MJ refuses to construct a Lego Star Destroyer, whatever the hell that is), Peter pulls out the checkers he found on day two of his stay. Apparently, he was stir-crazy enough by then to raid ever nook and cranny of the house in search of entertainment for his overactive mind. They sprawl out in front of the fire. Neither of them know the rules, so he stacks his checkers into towers while she lays down patterns and skips them across the board. That devolves into deciding to create a single high stack, which devolves further into attempting to flip the checkers of the collapsed tower into the air with their thumbs, like tossing a coin. Peter flicks one as MJ’s leaning forward and it drops straight down the front of her sweater. He makes an offhanded joke about retrieving it and they laugh until their eyes meet and they remember that they’re alone, that it doesn’t have to be a joke. They scatter the last of the checkers scrambling to get close to one another.

She kisses him fiercely. The fire makes one side of her body hot, one of her eyelids glow orange before her closed eyes. Every time they do this is one time closer to having to let him go, but MJ isn’t interested in that right now. His neck is warm under her palm and her foot slips on the empty checkerboard when his fingers hook behind her knee to draw her leg towards him. They aren’t in each other’s laps yet, but it’s close. She’s getting used to the scratch of his scruff against her cheeks, chin, and upper lip. Can Peter feel her sweating when he slips a hand up the back of her sweater? Is his shiver as she moves her leg over his more than a sign that he wants to scoot closer to the fire? Pulling back from the kiss, she lets him strip her sweater off. The checker plonks out. He smiles as he spots the pendant hanging against her t-shirt. He groans more than he did cutting his finger as she takes his hand and places it on her ribcage, urging him with her eyes to reposition his palm where they both want it to be. MJ watches him swallow. Looking down, she sees firelight rippling in the flower’s black glass and Peter’s hand rising to cup her breast. She leans into it and grabs the back of his neck for another kiss.

As she’s psyching herself up to straddle her boyfriend’s lap, there’s a trill from nearby.

“What was that? I thought you didn’t have a phone.”

MJ releases Peter and—it’s not her fault—her gaze skims down his body as he stands. There’s a noticeable bulge in the front of his sweatpants.

“It’s an alert,” he says, tone so serious that she feels bad for staring at his erection. She only sneaks one more glance as he unearths a tablet from amongst the tools he’s been using to fiddle with his Spider-Man suit. Two glances.

“What happened?” she asks. “Are you in danger?”

“I’d protect you if there was any danger,” Peter promises, not looking away from the screen. He says it like it’s obvious, but the statement floors MJ, preventing her from quipping back about being able to protect herself. “But it’s not that. Just the weather.”

He tilts the screen in offer and she rises to stand next to him, looking at a swirling graphic.

“Snow?”

“Mhmm.”

“But it’s already snowed,” she says. “This is worth sending you an alert about? How do we set this thing to ‘do not disturb unless someone has a missile locked onto this house’?”

“Jesus, MJ.”

She shrugs.

“Or just a shifty-looking mail carrier driving by. Whatever. I don’t want to be narrowminded in my assumption of the appearance of a modern assassin.”

“Sometimes the people looking out for me go overboard about the wrong things,” he allows. “Looks like the snow isn’t coming until around three in the morning. We’ll be asleep. It won’t bother us.”

“It’ll bother me if I have to hear that sound again for no good reason.”

Peter tosses the tablet back onto the couch.

“I’m supposed to keep it on, but we can ignore it.”

“Yes,” she agrees, the heat of the fire around the level of her knees inspiring new heat to rise higher. “Let’s ignore it.”

“We can just get ready for bed. You’re probably tired from the drive today, right?”

And he’s looking at her so honestly, so innocently, that MJ finds herself nodding at his solicitousness. He’s too busy being kind to appreciate that she wants to stay right here by the fire and rub up against him until she sees stars. But maybe he doesn’t think they’re there yet. The timeline of their relationship is slightly fucked up, what with Peter having to flee the city as a fugitive. Have they been together the past six months or is this their second date? Maybe shyly holding hands is still their speed and MJ is majorly jumping the gun in wanting to pull his pants down and get a better look at what she started by putting Peter’s hand on her boob.

So, he puts the fire out and she brushes her teeth, then changes into her pajamas in the second bedroom. The house has central heating, meaning it’s still warm, but the walls and bedspread are bland, there’s no atmosphere without the hearth. MJ realizes she’s kept Peter’s slippers all day when she sits down on the edge of her mattress with a sigh and kicks her feet free. He’s right, she should be tired. The travel and the overwhelming joy of getting to see, hear, and touch him should make it easy to crawl into bed and let the sound of the wind—it’s picking up, carrying snowflakes—lull her to sleep.

MJ doesn’t even get the blanket folded down before she’s up, opening her door and crossing the hall to Peter’s room. Her hand hovers over the doorknob, then raises, ready to rap on the door instead. No, fuck it, she twists the doorknob and steps into his bedroom. Peter’s lying on his back in the dark with his eyes wide open. She leaves the door open behind her so the light he left on in the bathroom (in case she needed to get up during the night) can continue to show her the look on his face. The look of relief.

“I was gonna come to you, but I wasn’t sure…” He trails off.

“That would’ve been ok with me,” she assures him, holding her arms as the chill of standing around in a t-shirt starts to get to her, “but I don’t mind coming to you.”

“Come to me then,” Peter says, pushing back his bedsheets and shifting over.

“I missed you so much,” she gasps.

“I missed you.”

She strides to the bed and feels his arms tug her close even as she’s still drawing the blanket over herself. Peter hugs her hard and it’s ok that it’s horizontal because he’s also held onto her a hundred feet in the air, the two of them swinging between buildings. Any way he wants to hold her is ok.

What MJ thought, when she barged in here, was that they’d have some dramatic, fiery scene with passionate kissing and creaking bedsprings. She regrets undervaluing Peter’s warmth. As a person, but also physically. Cuddling into him beats slipping between cold sheets in the other bedroom. It’s nice to be wrapped around him in a moment that isn’t immediately following an attempt on his life, knowing that he isn’t going to leave her this time. Though she’s the one who’ll have to leave the next day, trusting Peter to stay put while she sleeps is what gets her to start drifting. This is better than having him as a captive napping buddy on the airplane. No motion sickness. They’ve already landed. He kisses her temple and she ducks her head into his chest, imagining she can count his heartbeats instead of sheep, knowing the steady glug of her own heart means more to him than he could tell her in words alone.

—

This morning is not last night.

The first thing MJ does is raise her head to squint at the time on the digital clock next to Peter’s bed. The second thing is pressing her mouth to his as he mumbles a sleepy, “Good morning.” It’s 6am, a disgusting hour at home, but here, a perfect time to start the day, and seize that day, as she is seizing a fistful of the t-shirt he slept in. She can feel him smiling. She can feel him reacting in lots of ways.

When she doesn’t slow the kisses, loosen her grip on the front of his shirt, or draw back entirely in embarrassment, Peter pulls her beneath him. It’s a lazy motion, like a cat swiping at something with a paw. His weight rests comfortably on top of her. Shifting around rucks her t-shirt up, so she drops a hand to his waist and slides his up too, until their skin meets from their ribs to the bands of their pajama bottoms. Her boyfriend groans and gropes for her thigh, hiking it against his hip. The noise and the blatant display of want (in addition to the erection now pressing directly between her legs) have MJ rubbing against him excitedly. She attempts to simultaneously kiss him harder and get his shirt off over his head. They struggle together, laughing, and once it’s gone, Peter drops back onto her with fervour.

His hands grip her hips, skim her waist, get tangled up in her hair. MJ catches one and guides it beneath her t-shirt. Their gazes lock and he seems to buck against her involuntarily, lightly squeezing her breast. With an airy moan from her, their kisses turn rabid. Their hips rock agonizingly out of sync for a minute—maybe less, maybe more, her mind isn’t on the clock anymore—then his erection strokes firmly up the center of her and they figure it out. They have to. She’s suddenly hellbent on feeling that again and, honestly, Peter doesn’t look any less devoted when their kisses are forced to stop thanks to the violence of their clothed grinding.

She comes first, clutching his back and his shoulder. He comes with a sharp flick of his hips that brings to mind the way he looses a web from his wrist. Kinda the same principle, she concludes, feeling the dampness of his pajamas against her abdomen before he flops to the side with a blissful, disbelieving sigh. MJ stretches out her legs and curls her toes. A grin creeps up her face.

“Good morning,” she replies.

Peter lets out a solo laugh.

Then he just says, “Wow.”

Still smiling, she buries her face in his pillow and lets him move around her as he gets up for the day.

“It’s early,” she says, lifting her head at the creak of him pushing the bedroom door wider.

“I know.” He stares at her adoringly. There’s no other word for it. “Being in bed with you is… too good. If I stay, I’ll go back to sleep, and I don’t want that. I want to see you as much as I can before you go.”

MJ’s smile fades. Right. That.

“And you’re walking out of the room,” she points out.

“Because I have to take a shower,” Peter laughs. “A short shower. Then you can shower, or not shower, and we’ll have breakfast and make the morning last as long as we can, ok?”

Can she just make him tuck himself into the box of kitchen stuff she brought and take him back home with her? Being apart from him again—willingly turning her back on this house and making new tracks in the snow—feels impossible. They aren’t supposed to be apart. But MJ nods, knowing it’s easier on them both that way. She watches him head towards the bathroom and reminds herself that this stay with him has already meant more to her than she anticipated.

She’s in her room gathering toiletries and clothes when she hears Peter shut the shower off. That’s on purpose. She doesn’t need to wonder any more about her lack of restraint today; seeing him walk back into his bedroom soaking wet and likely dressed in nothing but a towel would definitely test her. His presence in her thoughts as she shampoos her hair under the low pressure of the showerhead is sufficiently distracting. She braids her hair when she’s done, simply to focus herself with the task (and because she didn’t bring a hairdryer and accepts that her boyfriend’s probably not hiding one here someplace). Pausing at the door, she takes a deep breath, determined to look him in the eye and not just stare at the floor and blush because he’s touched her skin and brought her to orgasm. She smiles to herself in a moment of private congratulation.

Peter would probably hear her approaching footfalls no matter what, but with his too-big slippers flapping on her feet, MJ’s prepared for him to be looking at her when she makes her entrance into the kitchen. She’s not prepared for the box of Cheerios sitting on his table. Shit. Only now does she remember the condoms and where she stowed them. As she looks on, trying to think of what to say, Peter cheerfully pours himself a bowl and adds milk.

“Two things,” he says while she shuffles cautiously into the room. “First thing: you won’t believe what I found in with the cereal. Talk about a prize in every box.”

“Loser,” she mutters, rolling her eyes even as her cheeks flush.

“Super weird that that’s not the biggest thing I have to tell you, but I definitely want to get back to it, but, second thing, it snowed.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Uh, yeah, I remember.”

“Ok, well, it really snowed. Serious snow. Big, high, white and drifted snow.”

“You’ve slipped into song lyrics.”

“I got an alert,” Peter says, lifting the tablet he showed her the night before from the table.

“I didn’t hear anything.”

“It came through when you were in the shower, though it is harder to hear the noise from down the hall.”

MJ gives him a questioning look.

“I might’ve been on my way to the bathroom to, uh, see if you needed anything,” he explains, blushing guiltily, “when I heard it and had to come back out here.”

“Is this your handlers overreacting again?” But even as she asks, she turns towards the window. Of course, for security reasons, the blinds are down and the curtains are shut. “Can I look?”

He nods and she crosses the kitchen to take a quick peek, not wanting to jeopardize his safety. The level of the snow dips down near the side of the house, but the drift rises steeply. Within a few feet, it appears high enough to come up to her hips if she waded outside. And it’s still falling.

“There’s a lot of snow out there,” MJ informs him in a mildly panicked tone, snapping the curtains back into place.

“Mhmm. Cheerios?”

“You should be eating the eggs I brought you while they’re fresh,” she counters.

Her comment is half-hearted and distracted though and she too goes for the cereal. Between spoonfuls, Peter, across from her when she sits down at the table, unspools the consequences of the heavy snowfall.

“So, obviously, this isn’t an emergency, but it’s not ideal. You’re probably gonna have to stay another night.”

“Ok,” MJ says slowly. “Another night. But my parents are expecting me home tonight.”

“I’m sure Fury or somebody’ll get in touch with May and have her make something up. Trust me, nobody wants any questions to come up that’ll lead back to me.”

“What’s the ‘probably’ depend on?”

“Hmm?” He slurps the milk off his spoon.

“You say I’d probably have to stay tonight. Does that depend on how much more snow we get?”

“Um, yeah, that and a couple other things,” Peter says vaguely. MJ frowns at him.

“I came all the way out here to be with you, Parker. I could not be more in the middle of things than I am right now. Tell me what you know.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” He lets his spoon clink into his bowl. “So, the snow for sure. I mean, I’m guessing they have something heavy-duty that could plough the road if they had to, but getting a plough here would be conspicuous thing number one and having this rural road cleared when the rest of the area won’t be would be conspicuous thing number two. If you left that way, I’d have to leave too, get put in a new safehouse—”

“I don’t want to cause that big of a problem,” MJ assures him, finally pouring out her own bowl and trying to find some comfort in breakfast.

“You’re the furthest thing in the world from a problem,” Peter says with a quick smile. “But alright, so, with the alert, they suggested another option.”

“Which is?”

“To airlift you out.”

She bites down on her spoon as her jaw tenses.

“I don’t, um, really enjoy heights.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, “I remember.”

“You dropped me and it wasn’t funny.”

“Aw, that was months ago. Can’t we laugh about it now?” Her expression is his answer. “I actually did figure you’d feel that way. This would’ve been a helicopter, no landing, just somebody coming down a ladder to grab you and help you up into the chopper.”

“Don’t say ‘chopper’ like you’re Arnold Schwarzenegger. You’re way too much of a dork to be using that word. And yes, before you ask, I am criticizing you to mask my fear over how horrifying that sounds.”

“I told them no.”

“Wait… I thought… you didn’t have communication, right? Like, that’s why you can’t talk to your aunt.” Or me, MJ tacks on internally.

“Oh, it’s not a conversation. They just send through the planned course of action and usually I don’t have a choice, but this time I could basically give them a yes or no, proceed or no-go, you know?”

She sighs shakily.

“Thank you for not making me do that.”

“Well, based on the weather, they could ask again, so you always have a chance to change your mind, if you want.”

Peter’s not meeting her eye.

“Why the hell would I change my mind about dangling from a helicopter in a blizzard?”

“If you wanted to go,” he says quietly. “You’re the other thing this plan depends on. Like you said, your parents are expecting you and—”

“Peter,” MJ says, “the fact that I’m not being subjected to an extreme chopper rescue is only the thing that I’m second most grateful for. Getting to spend more time with you is number one. If they don’t have to draw attention to this house, and if your aunt covers for me, that’s great.”

Looking up, he gives her a mostly-convinced smile. Seeing it, she knows she has to press further. She taps her slipper against the top of his foot under the table.

“I hope it snows for a week,” she says firmly.

Peter beams. He lifts his cereal bowl and holds it out to her.

“Cheers,” he offers. After a derisive snort, she taps her bowl against his.

They eat in a comfortable silence for several minutes. Blocking out the death-defying premise of the recent plan, MJ considers the ramifications of staying put. She trusts May. May will know what to say to her parents, she’s very compassionate—and hopefully a believable liar. Well, MJ figures she’d have to be, with Spider-Man under her roof. School’s on winter break, so she doesn’t need to worry about an alibi for her teachers, though the flu would’ve worked as an excuse. It seems like she’s good from every angle. Resting her cheek against her hand as she scoops the remaining Cheerios onto her spoon, she observes Peter and feels herself smiling just to see him in front of her. His face in real life is still sorta miraculous.

“So,” he begins when she grabs his bowl (the guy’s been doing his solitary dishes for months—she doesn’t mind helping out), “I have a really important question.”

“Still a no to the helicopter.”

MJ has her back to her boyfriend, placing the bowls in the sink, when he responds.

“Should I shave?”

She turns, frowning in confusion.

“That’s up to you.”

“Well, see, maybe I would’ve this morning, except I promised I would be quick in the bathroom, and then anyway, I figured you’d be leaving soon and there wouldn’t be that many more opportunities for us to—”

“Oh my god,” she says as she catches on. “Please stop.”

“But if it bothers you,” Peter presses, rubbing the back of his fingers up his stubbled cheek, “when we’re kissing…”

“It doesn’t. It’s different, but… I’m good. You don’t have to shave for me.”

“Hypothetically though, if we were kissing for a longer period of time, I wouldn’t want to hurt your skin.”

“God, Peter, how long are you imagining we’d be kissing for that my face would be damagingly abraded?”

“Then,” he says, spreading his hands to their apparent future possibilities, “what if it wasn’t rubbing against your face?”

Spinning away from him, MJ stares with wide eyes at the wall above the sink.

“Does the idea of me kissing your neck freak you out?” Peter asks her back. “I don’t have to do that.”

Her shoulders slump as she laughs.

“My neck,” she murmurs to herself. “He meant my neck.”

“What do you— oh.” Goddamn enhanced hearing. “Uh, well, I-I didn’t know you had stuff in mind.”

“I don’t have anything in mind,” she says, turning to look at him.

Peter grabs the Cheerios and gets up to put them away. Holding her gaze, he pulls the box of condoms out of the drawer as he slots the cereal in.

“These showed up when you did. Unless some assassin broke in and left me a really sickening present.”

“I didn’t pack them, your aunt-slash-wingwoman did.”

His expression changes several times as he digests that.

“That seems like something May would do,” is what he lands on.

“It’s… thoughtful of her. Responsible parenting,” MJ agrees stiffly, trying to deal with the visual of Peter casually holding a box of condoms. Cool. Fine.

“So, the thought of… It’s just May making sure, in case anything… Yeah. I got it.”

But that’s not quite right.

“I’ve thought about it,” MJ blurts. “Not for this weekend, because I only expected to be here a night and this is something we should, you know, discuss.”

“Totally,” Peter says eagerly.

“I just don’t want you to think I haven’t…” She waves a hand.

“Thought about it,” he finishes.

“Yeah.”

“Me too. I’ve thought about it. Like, a lot,” he divulges with a relieved laugh that he quickly concludes with a clearing of his throat. “A normal amount.”

“That’s good,” she assures him. Her gestures feel gawky, her features feel misplaced on her face.

“I’d definitely be up for discussing it, especially after, uh…” Peter ruffles his damp hair as his face flushes. “…this morning.”

MJ’s suddenly made up of thoughts, so many thoughts that there’s no room for words, no possibility of speaking. This morning. Uh huh. Valid recollection on her boyfriend’s part. This morning was fantastic and kind of but not wildly unexpected and certainly closer to the sort of thing they’d need those condoms for than the few times they’ve made out have been.

“That makes sense,” she says, voice weak when it finally comes out, along with plenty of nodding. Too much nodding, really.

He sets the box on the counter.

“We could talk about it now.”

“We could do that,” MJ agrees, pulse accelerating with every additional second he spends looking at her. “The thing is, it’s early, it’s really early, and if we talk about that now, we’re gonna lose the whole day.”

Peter’s eyebrows raise.

“God, yeah, you’re right. You know, I think I’m, like, oversimplifying this discussion in my head because, yep, definitely, if you have a lot you want to say about it before—or if, even!—we, uh, proceed, then you should absolutely take the whole day to just get all your thoughts out there. For sure. I… yes. I support you and you should take all the time you need. More than a day! You could definitely take more than a day, obviously. You know that. I hope you do. Whatever you want, MJ.”

“I actually just meant that if we started talking about it, we’d lose the whole day to doing it.”

“Oh.” He sits with that thought for a minute, eyes roving the kitchen ceiling. “Why would that be a problem?”

He asks with such genuine confusion that MJ has to laugh, and that relaxes her.

“If we can’t think hard enough to determine why it’d be a problem, it’s a problem,” she reasons. “I want to think this through. I want us to both be ready. That alone—” She points at the condoms. “—doesn’t make us ready.”

“Ok. We’ll completely forget about them. No problem.”

Fueled by the intense focusing power of sexual tension, they pass the morning learning something that may actually be checkers as it was intended to be played. Anything around them making sense is an accident, as far as MJ is concerned, and mastering the probably-rules of the game isn’t really a win because it means they have to scramble to find something else to distract them. Peter takes up a post on the ceiling, cross-legged, and lets the body of his Spider-Man suit dangle down while he retools something in the hands. When he puts on the mask and starts talking to Karen, MJ quits watching him and goes into the kitchen to make them an early lunch of an extra-large omelette. It seems like a nice idea to curl up and eat together until Peter touches her hip a certain way and she looks at him too long. They force themselves to sit on separate couches.

After lunch, he digs out some non-Stark-tech supplies, like paper and pens. He lights a small fire and she draws. Once he starts paying more attention to her drawings than to his stuff, she draws for him, pulling her legs back so he can share her couch. She crafts caricatures of their friends, plays them across the page in short cartoons that are semi-faithful to the boring goings-on of their lives at Midtown this fall without Peter. He falls asleep with his head resting against the back of the couch and she executes swift sketches to capture the softness of his features. She doesn’t know how long his supine pose will last. She never knows how long anything will last, with him. He stays asleep, so MJ leaves her drawings and steals into the Lego room, disassembling at will. Peter’s a little panicked when he walks in half an hour later, but sorting the pieces she’s jumbled will give him something to do while she takes her own nap, she reasons.

But where to? The spare room doesn’t call to her in the slightest and returning to his bed will bring thoughts that’ll only keep her awake. She needs to revive after their too-early morning; she troops back to the couch and passes out with the warmth of the fire near her feet and the jangling of plastic Lego bricks in the other room.

The rustle of paper is the first thing MJ hears when she wakes up. She can’t remember dreaming last night, but during her nap, her subconscious played a short film of the two of them giggling as Peter cooked his Spidey suit in the fireplace. Weird. She blinks, tracing the sound to her boyfriend, cross-legged on the floor with his back against the couch as he flips through her rough portraits of him.

“Maybe you can do one of you,” he suggests without looking back at her. “And I can keep it when you leave. I don’t have any pictures of anybody.”

She hesitates a moment, then leans to wrap her arms loosely around his shoulders from behind.

“How’d you know I was awake?”

“I heard your breathing change.” A pause. “It sounds pretty creepy when I say it out loud, but I’m just doing what you do.” Peter twists to look at her, putting his hand over the back of hers on his chest. “Observing.”

“Right.” MJ glances down abruptly. “Like with the cereal drawer this morning and what you observed in there.”

“I hate to tell you this, but it sounds like you’re gonna talk about the thing you said we shouldn’t talk about.”

“I found clarity in unconsciousness.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means our problems don’t just disappear. Obviously.” She waves one hand in front of him, indicating the room where Peter’s presumably spent most of his waking hours since arriving here. “We have to solve them.”

“Is it… us having sex… a problem?”

“I don’t want it to be. I just want us to be, you know, in agreement. Not rushing into anything.”

“I think…” Peter sighs and shifts so he can look at her without contorting. She withdraws her arms from him and sits up, crossing her legs in her lap, planting her elbows on her knees. “I think we’re not gonna get everything we want. How can we, with these conditions? I don’t even know when I’m gonna get to see you again. We can wait, which is alright with me, but I can’t tell you how long we’ll be waiting for.”

“I’m not asking.”

“Because you know I have zero control here,” he says in a tone full of more irritation than she’s seen him display yet. “I don’t even choose what I eat for breakfast! It’s not like they’ve asked me to write up a grocery list. I am so sick of Cheerios. Out there, I was helping people, but stuck here… I don’t know, MJ. I’m basically powerle—”

She folds forward and kisses him, grabbing his face to hold him in place for a few extra seconds until his lips copy hers and quit trying to form the rest of that word.

“No,” MJ insists, face still close to his, “you’re not. And just so you know where I stand…” She takes a deep, terrified breath, pushing out the only truth she’s ever had trouble articulating: “…you are everything I want.”

Peter’s eyes are awed and hopeful as his gaze darts across her face.

“What about what you said about not rushing?”

“That was for your benefit. Personally, I can’t rush what I’ve already decided.”

“Especially not when May sends you here prepared, I guess,” he checks with a coy smile.

“We don’t have to do anything else,” MJ emphasizes, sidestepping the dork’s comment. “It’s amazing just being with you—and I will deny I said that so bluntly if you ever tell anyone.”

She smiles so he knows she’s teasing. He still jerks his head back in mock offense. Suddenly, his expression clarifies to… horror.

“You don’t wanna do this because you’re worried, do you?” Peter demands. “Not because you think I’m gonna forget about you or stop caring about you like this?”

“No.” But she averts her eyes because she did have that concern on the drive here yesterday, right up until they hugged. “I’m not trying to use sex for anything. If… if you did stop… and you wanted to be just friends again, that’s not something I could prevent. I realize now that I can’t focus on that possibility because—”

“Because it’s not a possibility at all.” He ducks his head until her gaze is trapped by his. Shaking his head, Peter says, “I’m sure about you, MJ. I’m not sure when I’ll be home or if the world—or even just the neighbourhood—will still want a Spider-Man by the time I can be that guy again, but I know the first thing I’m gonna wanna do when I get back is give you a kiss. Not as friends.”

“What about now? Do you want to kiss me now?”

“I always wanna kiss you.”

Right as he stretches towards her—seemingly poised to prove what he said—MJ jerks back. Peter looks up at her quizzically.

“Anything while I was asleep? Any alerts? I don’t want a whole team to come storming in here while I’m taking your pants off.”

It takes her boyfriend a few seconds to get his words out.

“I-I don’t want that either,” he says, voicing cracking as his cheeks redden. He shakes his head. “No alerts. Nothing. That means no change to the plan for you to stay here tonight.”

“Good. I was sorta getting used to the idea. They would’ve had a fight getting me out of here.”

She raises her chin confrontationally and Peter grins.

“And some people think Spider-Man’s trouble. They should meet his girlfriend, who marches in with a box of condoms and won’t leave until he sleeps with her.”

MJ gapes at him.

“That’s not what I did.”

Peter pushes up to his knees, smiling as he cradles her face in his palm.

“It’s basically what you did.”

“You massively oversimplified the events of the past—” She squints and makes a guess. “—thirty hours.”

“I was hitting the highlights,” he argues, sliding his hand to the back of her neck to draw her down to him.

Her laugh is as brief as one of her quick heartbeats as Peter’s fingers stroke her neck and he angles his head.

“Is that how you’re going to tell this story to our grandkids?”

The mirth falls from both of their faces; they absorb her facetious quip in the same instant. Then, their mouths slam together—MJ diving down, Peter surging up. Though she has the high ground (and doesn’t say as much to the guy with a roomful of Star Wars Lego), he builds momentum out of nowhere, driving her up until he’s hovering, then lowering, on top of her. She’s holding him as tightly as she can as they continue to kiss hard.

On instinct, she assumes, their bodies copy the morning’s posture with her thigh against Peter’s hip. He grasps it and presses his hips to hers. MJ swipes her tongue along his when she feels him hardening between her legs. This was always only a maybe, she thinks, eyes moving fast behind her lids as they follow the red glow of the fire that the movement of his head is causing to shift across her face. But this definitely feels like they know where they’re going. Somebody’ll need to go get the condoms from the kitchen at some point. Peter swings his head to kiss down her neck and MJ sighs. Yeah, at some point.

These clothes might not come off as easily as the red suit on the opposite couch, but his eagerness compensates for the fact that he can’t just tap his chest to drop everything to the floor. When both their top halves are bare (as with anything, Peter does not mind lending a hand in undressing her), he pulls MJ up so he’s sitting with her straddling his lap. He groans into her mouth as she traces the muscles of his abdomen and she hops forward to nudge her hips into his again.

“If I don’t go now,” he pants, “I don’t know when I’m gonna get up to grab a condom.”

So, he’s been thinking the same thing she has. MJ smirks.

“You should probably get one,” she encourages.

But he has her jeans undone and her hand down the front of his sweats—still over his underwear, for the moment—before he manages to repeat his words with any resolve. She throws herself aside and stares into the fire, licking her lips to chase the memory of his mouth’s pressure, while he scurries to the kitchen. His naked torso is beautiful in the glow when he jogs (dork) back in.

“You think it’s safe to leave that?” MJ asks, nodding towards the fireplace. “My preference would be not doing this on a couch the first time.”

“Second time?” he jokes.

“Maybe,” she says seriously, just to see the dumbfounded look it puts on his face.

“Yeah… we can, yeah… It’ll be fine. So, you wanna… my bed?”

“The traditional yet practical choice.”

He happily sighs out his, “Yeah,” and she wonders if he heard anything following her agreement to a theoretical second round. Probably not—he spoke staring at her boobs.

“What if I carried you?” Peter blurts as she’s about to stand.

“…I can walk.”

“Yeah, but… can I carry you?”

She watches him for a moment as he awaits her answer. She’s watched him so many times, but never while he was waiting for her, trying to find something to grasp in the silence, this guy who’s more than human and always flitting from one web to the next. MJ ends his freefall.

“Ok, Peter.”

As giddy with nerves as she was on their first date when he held her tight and wrenched her off her feet, she stands. He steps in close, taking her face softly between his hands, kissing her. She hops into his arms the second he lets go and laughs at Peter and herself when the action tips him back. He holds on though, pulling her thighs in snugly around his waist before catching her back to press her to his chest. MJ’s scared to kiss him as he walks them to his bedroom; arms wrapped behind his neck, she stares at him instead. They’re about to do this. He’s going to be inside her.

“You got it?” she checks once he’s sat her on the edge of the bed.

Peter plucks the condom from his pocket to show her. MJ nods in acknowledgement and he sets it on the nightstand. With a condom nearby—this assurance that they are responsible people and can therefore do whatever the fuck they like—she reaches for his hand and draws him in. Kissing, she scoots back and he crawls over her. She gasps when he moves his mouth enthusiastically to her neck and he jerks his head up with a self-satisfied expression.

“The sheets are cold,” she lies defensively. Peter just smiles and burrows his face back into the warm crook between her neck and shoulder.

“They’ll get warmer.”

MJ can’t believe it when she’s the one being stripped out of her pants first (her boyfriend is such a willing undresser). She feels vulnerable, between the sheets in only her underwear, but she’s determined enough to relocate Peter’s hand from her waist to her breast. He thanks her in a passionate mumble that raises hairs on the back of her neck as he darts in to kiss her firmly. Parting her thighs, she thanks him in return, for the kiss or the way he’s kneading her nipple between finger and thumb or something, relieved when he lowers his hips and she can feel his erection under his sweats. Fuck, a week ago, she was trying to convince herself that she’d be lucky and get Peter back next year. This is the greatest surprise.

Though she doubts she could knock the wind out of him, he huffs when she squeezes her thighs to his hips and unbalances him, rolling him over and landing on top.

“Wow, you wanna do it like this? I mean, yeah, awesome.”

Sitting astride him, MJ rolls her eyes.

“I just thought it’d be easier to get you out of your pants this way, since you seem like you’ve forgotten that you need to actually take them off.”

Peter shakes his head rapidly.

“I just didn’t want to rush you, like you said. Or freak you out or scare you,” he rambles.

This idiot.

“Why would I be scared? Are you concealing a weapon or something?”

“No,” he jokes with a goofy smile, pressing his hips upward, “I’m just happy to see you.”

“You so did not deserve those condoms.”

“Didn’t I?” Peter asks, the two of them working his sweatpants and boxers down. (She’s touching his thighs. His bare thighs. Jesus.)

“No. Huge mistake. You’re not mature enough for this. I’m going to tell your aunt.”

As long as MJ keeps talking, dropping onto her side and slipping her own underwear off is just a background thing that’s happening while she speaks. Her heart is hammering.

“Oh, are you?” he questions, running a warm, tentative hand down the curve of her naked hip.

“Mhmm. She’ll be really disappointed in you for, uh, wasting supplies.”

“Maybe I could make it up to you and you could forgive me.”

Peter’s fingers trace low over her belly, making her stomach flinch with the anticipation. He touches between her legs, the contact the subtlest flirtation. The look in his eyes says he doesn’t know what he’s doing either, but that he wants to do it together. Holding his stare, she rolls onto her back.

He proceeds when she widens the space between her thighs. His touch feels… fine, but not exciting, and MJ wonders if it’s because she’s watching him, possibly making him nervous. She closes her eyes and instinctually angles her head to press her forehead against Peter’s shoulder. Gradually, he strokes her with more assurance and she quietly mutters “yes” each time he does something that feels good. By the time he’s gotten her seriously wet and turned on, she’s gripping the sheet with one hand and his wrist with the other, urging him to go faster. Her body’s not satisfied but humming as Peter jolts recklessly across her to snatch the condom. He kisses her right as she’s opening her eyes at the disturbance.

“Yeah?” he asks, dick in hand.

She nods, breathing quickly and needing him to act before the sensations he’s stirred up dim.

“Yeah.”

It’s out of character, how slowly he moves next. He’s capable of care in abundance, of course, but patience? Caution? Restraint? None of these are words that would come to mind if someone asked her to describe her boyfriend. They cling to each other as he works his way deeper in incremental thrusts. Because he’s trembling, she holds him tight. She probably would regardless. Things almost stall, but then he gropes between them, locating her clit, and her clutch on him squeezes and releases, allowing him to suddenly slide all the way home.

“Fuck,” he says softly, head hunched down beside hers.

MJ rubs her hands over the quivering muscles of his back, certain the two of them are generating enough heat to melt the snow around the house and all the way up the road.

“I’m gonna come if I do anything,” Peter says in a desperate tone. “I can’t move.”

“You can move.”

“No. I… I wanna take care of you. MJ, please.”

Between them, she finds his hand and guides it in rubbing her clit. His body’s held taut above her and she turns her head to meet his searching eyes. Her neck arches involuntarily at her first unexpected moan and Peter clamps his eyes shut like it’s all too much. So she watches his tense, determined face while manipulating his fingers over her. When she’s close, coating his cock in her arousal many times over, MJ tells Peter to open his eyes. Then, she begins to rock her hips, letting him glide in and out. Their hands continue to stimulate her until she orgasms with a wet cry and pulls his fingers away. They hold hands hard and he thrusts with crazed strokes, coming with an understated choked noise.

He hasn’t quit shaking when he climbs off of her to deal with the condom.

“I don’t know,” Peter says, sliding back into bed and allowing her to weave her limbs around his. She smiles at how baffled he sounds.

“You’re ok.”

“This feels like shock, like I get after a bad beating.”

She sighs exasperatedly at this news. She might’ve suspected his secret identity for a while before he confirmed it, but she doesn’t know everything, isn’t in on all the missions and outcomes yet. When he gets home—after all this bullshit—she’ll demand to be kept in the loop.

“I guess you’re just overwhelmed.”

“That felt really fucking good,” Peter confesses in a low, stunned voice.

MJ starts to giggle and can’t stop. Tears stream down her face, into her hair, onto her boyfriend’s skin. He laughs too, but holds her greedily all the while. It reminds her how temporary this is.

Except, no. It’s not. No one can stop them from remembering this after she goes and he stays. No one can stop them from making plans, having hopes. Days are temporary, like snow, but feelings can last. How she feels about Peter definitely can. She’s made it this far and, on his end, so has he. On impulse, MJ kisses his forehead.

“I know what’ll help. Something to eat. We can see what else you have that can be cooked in the fireplace.”

“Frozen lasagna?” he proposes.

“Why not? Let’s try it.”

#my writing #promptmas #spideychelle #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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cambionverse · 3 years

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envesseled (1 of 3): poker

HELLO >:)

so. as you may have noticed, the last time we posted anything about envesseled (the claire-centric, claire-pov fic intended to follow jesse's fic cambion and ben's fic only human) was in 2013. did we forget about it? did we cancel it? is the verse abandoned? no, no, and no. we had a lot of stuff to rewrite to get the verse in the right place for envesseled, and then we got busy, and THEN there was a pandemic. but it was never very far from our minds, and now it is FINALLY time for this to be the next thing we post.

most of the fans of this verse have been with us for a very long time. for being so patient, and so supportive, we decided to post not one, not two, but THREE scenes from the in-progress envesseled, for everyone to enjoy, but especially for the people who were readers when we posted the last one (again, in 2013, eight entire years ago). we aren't committing to a posting date yet, but we are ALL much closer to the end of this wait than the beginning.

this particular scene is only mildly spoilery and doesn't have any major content warnings to watch out for, aside from a mention of the ticking clock on claire's grace. it also introduces the minor character patrick, from spn episode 5.07, who has been on our cast page for some time; finally you can get some idea of what (small yet important) role he might play in this story. there are two more previews after this before the night is over - we hope you enjoy them.

---

Lucky for Claire, there's already a poker game in progress when she pushes the door of the pub open in a swirl of cold air. The man who wins the next hand looks younger than the others by far, though there's something about him that Claire can't quite place. He catches her eye across the bar and smiles around a toothpick as his compatriots grumble and wander away with their meager winnings.

"Room for one more?" says Claire, laying the sweetness on thick and her money on the table.

He waves a hand at the now-empty chairs. "I'm Patrick."

Surely he's faking that Irish accent; it's even more ridiculous than Jesse's Australia-Nebraska hybrid. And with the name Patrick, no less. "Amelia," Claire says, and pretends the accompanying flare of pain is only because she told a lie.

"Amelia," says Patrick, with an odd emphasis on the last two syllables. "You remind me of someone I once knew." He hands her a stack of poker chips and begins dealing out cards.

Claire leans forward so her braid falls over her shoulder and says, "How did you end up here, Patrick?"

He doesn't take the opportunity to look down her shirt, which is all the more irritating because she had half-hoped he wouldn't. "Luck," he says, snapping the k. He glances at his cards. "It's often on my side."

Lie. Claire doesn't often get such strong feedback from general statements like that, but this one burns. She ups her bet by more than she otherwise would have, careful to keep her voice neutral. "That must come in handy."

"Well, that is what we Irish are known for." He flips another chip onto the pile. "Ignoring the whole bit about the famines, of course. Pots of gold don't make very good eating."

Claire cracks a smile completely involuntarily, and brings a hand up much too late to hide it. Patrick quirks one eyebrow. His eyes stay on Claire's face for a long time, though, as his expression slides into something sadder.

She wouldn't, usually, but Claire asks, "Who was it?"

Patrick blinks, and the smirk is back in place like it never left. "Who was who, darling?"

"You said I reminded you of someone."

"She was a dancer." Patrick takes a chip from his considerable pile and spins it between two fingers. "Held herself like you do, especially when she was angry. Like if she didn't hold herself tight she'd float right up in the air."

Claire's muscles go even tenser when he says that, because he's not supposed to notice. "Raise," she says, dropping the chips in the pile.

Patrick exhales. "She wasn't much of a poker player." He puts his cards down, and slides them back into the deck before she can see them. "I fold."

Claire scoops the pile of chips toward her, stacking them carefully by value. Patrick's first bet this round was high, the highest he's played all game; why did he drop the bluff so fast? With this, plus the little extra hidden in her backpack, and if she's willing to eat vending machine food for breakfast—

The door opens, and a low hum starts up in the back of Claire's head. She knows who it is before Ben ever reaches the table.

"Claire!"

Patrick's eyes narrow the slightest margin. "Claire, is it?"

Fuck, and now she's been made, and he probably won't pay out and she'll have to sleep in a fucking snowbank because Ben Braeden can't keep his mouth shut. She opens her mouth the bare minimum required to say, "Leave."

She hears him settle harder on his feet but continues to stare at her cards. Patrick folded. She doesn't even have one pair.

"I know you don't forgive me yet," Ben says, and Claire breathes out hard. "But there's something Jesse and I need to—"

"I said leave, Ben," and she's turning to glare at him even though she wanted to play this cool. His cheeks are glowing red from being out in the cold, and a little behind him, far enough back to have a clear path to the door, Jesse's watching her too. When he sees Claire looking, his eyes drop to the floor.

"No, you don't get it," Ben begins, but Patrick interrupts.

"Is there a problem here?"

Ben seems to realize there are other people around, and he slides on his most affable grin. Claire can see how it's going to go, Ben charming everyone in a ten-foot radius, what a nice guy he is. Well, not if she gets there first.

"Yeah, there is," she says, savoring the lack of pain because it's true. "This asshole has been bothering me all night. I came here to get away from him."

"Oh, come on," says Ben, already rolling his eyes, but Claire said it loud enough that quite a few people heard her and some of them are starting to mutter. He notices, and ducks closer to her. "Look, Claire, can we just go?"

Patrick stands up. "I believe the lady asked you to leave."

Ben gives him a once-over. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I don't think you want to know the answer to that," says Patrick. His smile is not kind. "I suggest you be on your way."

Claire's not surprised to see Ben's jaw set at that. "Dude, this is so not your business," he says. "I know her, okay? We've been friends for years. I just want to talk to her."

Patrick bites a toothpick idly. "Think she can decide for herself who she wants to talk to."

Ben looks like he might be feeling stupid enough to throw a punch, but then Jesse is there at his side, one hand finding its way to the back of Ben's neck. Ben calms down instantly with Jesse touching him and Claire has been so, so painfully oblivious to never see this for what it was.

When Patrick notices Jesse his arms drop, and suddenly the air feels weird. "And who's your friend?"

"I'm nobody," says Jesse, though Claire would bet her pile of hypothetical money that his other hand is on the knife at his belt. "Just don't want to see this get out of hand."

Patrick looks at all three of them like links in a chain. "And did you not hear the lady's request, nobody?"

"Maybe you should stop talking for her, how 'bout," Ben retorts.

Claire appreciates the help, she supposes, but really what she wants is to be done with the displays of aggression and for everyone to leave her alone. "Go away, Ben," she says, and it comes out tired even to her own ears. He slumps a little deeper into Jesse's grip, and that's exactly the problem.

"Claire—"

"We're going," says Jesse, finally looking away from Patrick to catch Claire's eye again. He lowers his voice. "We'll be waiting outside."

"You'll be waiting a long time," Claire says, one parting shot for them to remember her by. "I do hope you two can find some way to occupy yourselves."

They both flinch, and Claire turns back to the table with bitter satisfaction in the back of her throat.

Patrick settles back into his seat, eyes still on the door. "You do have interesting friends."

"They're not my friends," says Claire. The lie burns like whiskey.

Patrick raises an eyebrow at her. "No? Then what are they?"

"We were playing," Claire says pointedly. When he doesn't move, she grabs the deck and starts to shuffle herself.

"I am playing," Patrick retorts. If he starts to go on about how you don't play the cards, you play the person, she might have to hit him herself. Instead he leans back and chews on his toothpick. "Let me see if I got it straight. You and Ben, you've been friends for a long time."

Claire places her bet, refusing to acknowledge that he's still talking. There's nothing impressive about repeating back what Ben let slip.

"And you're not one to make friends easily, are you, Amelia." She does look up at that, and Patrick, smirking, corrects himself. "Claire."

She deals the next card.

"So maybe you thought Ben was something special. But you didn't trust yourself with him. So you told him to wait."

"Raise," Claire says, and she doesn't even have that good a hand but she wants to clean him out. He won't stop fucking smiling.

"Some people would wait, you know," says Patrick. "Some people would wait a very long time."

Some while back Ben had told her, There is nobody else. Well. I'm nobody, Jesse said. Claire turns out her hand. "Triple sixes."

Patrick sighs. "You're letting me get to you, love. Can't play a good game if your mind's out that door." He tosses his cards onto the table in front of her. "Full house, and I'm guessing you could've used this cash. Quit while you've got any left." He drags the chips out of her reach.

Claire picks up his cards and the rest of the deck. "We're not done playing."

"All that ice isn't going to keep you safe forever." Patrick leans back. "Deal."

And because Claire is tired, and lost, and vindictive, she lets the cards slide through her hands with that special twist Ben taught her.

Patrick nudges a considerable pile of chips into the middle of the table. "Some free advice for you, love," he says, eyes dark. "Your life's too short to pretend you want nothing and no one to come near your heart."

Her grace flares up even before she can shape the words I don't. He doesn't know how right he is—Claire's life is looking very short indeed, these days, and nothing Ben or Jesse can do will put a stop to the invasive light eroding her body from the inside out. Her heart's probably toxic by now anyway.

Claire takes a deep breath and shows her cards, spades all in a row just like she planned. "Straight flush."

Patrick tosses his hand onto the table. "Four aces."

"What?" But there they are, even though Claire could've sworn she cut the ace of diamonds into the middle of the deck and buried the ace of hearts even further down. She locks her teeth as soon as the word escapes, but it's too late; his cold smile tells her he knows what she did.

"I don't like cheaters," says Patrick. He places a polished wooden box on the table and begins gathering the chips back into it, along with any chance she had of getting a hotel room tonight. "And you, of all people, ought to value honesty. Better luck next time, Amelia."

Claire clenches her jaw. She stands to leave—then Patrick catches her hand.

"I'm not doing this for you," he murmurs, and she feels the papery crinkle of fresh bills on her palm. She grips the money instinctively even as she draws back, other hand curling into a fist. No one at all is watching them. But Patrick just looks at her, an unsettling depth to his gaze. "You should tell him how you feel," he says, and releases her.

Claire pockets the money and bolts before he can change his mind.

#cambionverse #envesseled #claire novak #10th cambiversary #rough drafts #writing #ours #lmao this scene is classic spn winchester hustle #but with claire it's like. gatekeep girlboss get the fuck out of my face #also the fact that she uses her mother's name as an alias: hurts me #claire novak my beloved

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misscrawfords · 3 years

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Okay. I've been sitting on this for two days so here we go.

I freely admit two things: a) I have not yet finished watching the show (only because I had to work... I will do!) and b) I do not have a PhD in film music so this is just an opinion.

I'm just really disappointed by the soundtrack.

The composer Joseph Trapanese has stated that he was inspired by Prokofiev, Russian fairytales and folk tunes. I've listened to the soundtrack several times through on youtube and I can sort of see that in places such as at the beginning of "Ask the Saints" and in "Ravka". But while I was watching the show I felt very much that the music sounded extremely generic "fantasy soundtrack" and when I walked away between episodes I couldn't think of a single memorable theme to hum back that really summed up the show. And until Alina's court demonstration, I did not feel the music was really adding too much to my understanding of the world. I couldn't put myself into the show's soundscape. Visually, it's incredibly evocative but in terms of audio... not so much. The interview linked above suggests Trapanese was aiming for themes for different characters and developing them thematically and maybe it's just too subtle for me but I feel the end result was lacking. Barring a few distinct moments, I could have been on another planet, in a generic period drama, in literally any fantasy story.

The setting of this show is a gift to a composer. It's fantasy Tsarist Russia for goodness sake! I was really expecting soaring Tchaikovsky alongside the deep sound of male voiced choirs. What we got was something oddly muted. Alongside this wonderful chocolate box of inspiration, you've also got characters and themes that lend themselves to Leitmotifs that twist and alter giving insight into motivations and hidden feelings - a big deal in this story. There was an opportunity for this soundtrack to sit alongside Lord of the Rings, Star Wars or Doctor Who which have all achieved this in an epic fantasy landscape.

As it is, even after listening through the soundtrack several times, I couldn't tell you what Alina's theme is, what the Darkling's theme is, what theme signifies "home", what the dregs' theme is, what the grisha music is, what the war music is... and I think that's a real shame. So for a totally pointless exercise, this is what I'd done with the soundtrack:

I'd start with establishing a theme/motif for the grisha as that's going to link many different different characters and themes. Out of that theme is going to come Alina's theme which we will not hear fully in all its glory until her court demonstration. Alina's full theme actually is the grisha theme which is heard elsewhere in playful or royal or warlike versions when the other grisha are present depending on what they are doing.

The Darkling's theme is an inversion of Alina's but they fit together perfectly and the resulting theme is the most seductive of the entire soundtrack.

The soundscape of Ravka is Tchaikovsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, Prokofiev, Rachmaninov. Full orchestra, lush.

The volcra have a broken, distorted version of the Darkling's theme.

Baghra has a sweeter, sadder, and more mystical version of the Darkling's theme. Perhaps turned major if the Darkling's theme is minor, for example. In fact her theme represents "magic" separated from the grisha specifically.

Alina's theme is based on a folk song. Which is first heard initially in a lighter, thinner, more rustic iteration before it has any association with the grisha. Similar instrumentation and melodic ideas are used in Mal's theme which is associated with the orphanage and Alina's past. When Mal reaches the Little Palace his theme also adapts to the lush orchestration of Ravka.

Deep, male voice choirs are used to build the sound scape of the First Army. The use of choirs will signify war and conflict so when the grisha are at war then they will also gain a choral sound. Deep, sparse folk songs will be used for Mal as a tracker and to convey the isolation and emptiness of his pursuit of the stag.

This soundscape is mirrored in the Fjerdan music which is also very empty and sparse and deep but instead of Russian influences, here we are going for the open bleakness of Sibelius and melodies of Grieg. There's opportunities for some very romantic sea music here in a Scandinavian style as the storm hits the ship.

Ketterdam and the dregs have a very different musical landscape. We're in fantasy Amsterdam now so I'd go for a baroque feel with rhythmic, precise strings and a very prominent harpsichord. Harpsichords can really sound very playful when they want and bass continuos can really give the sense of pushing forwards in a time frame which will give the dregs a sense of action and urgency to contrast with the more drawn out and lyrical music for Ravka.

Kaz, Inej and Jesper will each have their own instrument in this baroque soundscape. I see Jesper as a trumpet or horn, Inej as an oboe, and Kaz as the harpsichord. The continuous beating heart of their operation.

When they go to Ravka these instruments take their own journey as their plans differ during the heist and their individual themes meld more romantically with the Ravkan court music. The heist music itself is a lilting, off-kilter 19th century waltz based on the Ketterdam theme with romantic orchestration - and anachronistic harpsichord.

Nina's theme is a variation of the grisha music on the flute. Her theme becomes melded into the sparse Sibelius soundscape of the Fjerdans to give her and Matthias a love theme. But it will also eventually exist in the Ketterdam theme, pulling their sound forward a century or so.

You can use all these motifs to make subconscious connections. For example, using a male voice choir in the background of the Darkling's theme at times could signify his connection to war and destruction. Different orchestrations of her theme could signify the extent to which Alina is longing to go backwards (rustic, folk, Mal's theme) or fowards (more orchestrated, inverted for the Darkling). The use of the harpsichord even when the Crows are not around could suggest sneakiness and double-dealing is going on.

Anyway, y'know, the soundtrack as it stands is nice to listen to and has some very pleasant moments. But I still can't recall any memorable themes and I don't feel it really enhanced my understanding of the characters. Maybe this is just my problem with the story/writing and because I haven't got to the end of the series yet, but I'm finding it sometimes hard to engage with the characters and their motivations. Sometimes a character seems to be one thing and then the next moment they're making a decision and I'm not 100% sure why and I think I really well-articulated and subtle musical landscape would actually enhace the story so much.

#shadow and bone #look #I'm just having fun here because I love soundtracks #and leitmotifs #if you love the shadow and bone soundtrack then that's great #it is overall very pretty #i just think it could be so very much more

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flow-green · 3 years

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19-08-2021

“I think I’ve never had more chaotic year than this one,” I confessed one evening when we drove in a car somewhere. My SO gave me a warm look and I checked to the back seat where my Charlie-baby was sleeping. If somone would have told me year and a half ago that 2021 will be a true turnaround in my life, when I will throw away all the life chains and take full control, I would have rolled mye eyes and gotten back to my endless vicious circle of career. I think ever since 17-years old I have followed the norms the society has set up: graduate high school, sprint through university, meanwhile make sure you work so you won’t get drowned in depts, get a job for your field of interest, in the meantime take some loan for some random house and if you have a moment, please, make some babies. Ever since I was a child, I knew right away: that’s not me. I don’t know what it is that makes me want to break these frames. But, oh well, there is no point to raise my voice for my own good as all the other people around me are nicely stable in the system. Some of my exes are on the same line: if you are not a parent by age 31 and do not own a gorgeous house in the suburbs while paying a sickly huge loan, meanwhile ignoring your family, friends and hobbies to make ends meet just so you could work yourself to deah by age 40, then you are a loser.

Few weeks ago in Saaremaa, while tipping my toes and feet into the warm and comforting waters of Estonian sea, I realized where I have drifted with my life. Only now I have started to realized that, f**k me sideways, I am actually a living human being. A LIVING person. I LIVE.

About 2 months ago, near summer solstice, I finally felt the finalizing ticking in my brain that pushed me gently to the edge of unknown. “Will you?” the life asked and motioned me to jump. “Or will you stay here forever, wondering what’s down there?” And so, with shivering hands, I clicked ‘send’ button on the mail that delivered my resignation letter to my boss. Done. Over half a year full of mental terror and a slow suicide will come to an end. At this point I had insane regrets. How am I supposed to throw away an opportunity and 6-year long career just because I do not want to live anymore? Now you’re probably thinking I am being a drama queen and overexaggerating. Oh, dear god, no. There were days, where everything started to tumble down in one go: my love life, my family relations, friends and work relations. On these days I switched myself and my phone off, listened to some serious melancholic tunes, sat alone for hours or drove around with a car and now, admitting for the first time: I hoped that something will happen and I do not need to live here anymore. I admitted this once also in my therapy, that I have frozen up while driving, not really giving a damn about my leg on gas pedal and about the speed.

I am once again a fat, useless, lazy, clumsy, slow and unorganized. Blessed with sore black eyes, a girl with unstable nervs and flaked nails. And all this just to give myself to a work which does not appreciate any sacrifices I make.

And I did it. This is MY life. My path and my decision, I ain’t going anywhere and even if I do, I’ll go with a smile on my face and as a queen for a day.

Few days ago I realized with full heart that this was one of the most important decisions in my life. I went for a run, as I have started to pick it up again. I went and set a goal to run approx 20 minutes. I had time. No rush. Only responsibility waiting for me was one project to improve a home page of our fresh company, but there was no strict deadline nor a passive aggressive boss-lady stalking my every move and making sure I am around even off-hours. So, my 20 minute run became to a 1 hour run, which was successful, nicely progressive and easy. I enjoyed every minute, because I was present. I had nowhere to hurry. I did not worry about the future or the past. I was just excisted. And I breathed.

I think I have cried more this year than in total for all past years. In my 9 to 5 appartment cubical lifestyle I always pushed away everything that demanded at least some movement out of comfort zone. For exaxmple I always closed in when my ex partner had an idea to do some changes. Well, true, his changes did not comply with my dreams. I did not want to get a huge loan to buy a house and sprint out 2 babies just because ,,Martin and Marge had their second kid in their gorgeous house and Martin is only 1 year older than me.” OK, is nice for them I guess? Every time these silly arguments started to come up, I switched myself off into my safety bubble, all alone. I let no emotions, chaotic situatons to influence myself and I just slowly flew on my laid down path, with eyepatches on. I always knew I want something different. I wanted to fight and be heard. Every time there was a conflict at work, with a friend or family member or with a partner, I eliminated it in the early stages and just ignored the rest.

And when these eyepatches were finally removed, everything else followed. I had no pink glasses or filters for emotons. Real life was there for me, but not always in a bad way. Real life offered everything, you only had to have guts to reach out and take it, with all its plusses and minuses. Take it, dominate, take responsibility, but don’t just float by. Get yourself togeter, notice, do, learn and experience. If not now then... when?

This half of a year has thrown so many obstacles and opportunities on my way and I have caught most of them. I guess one of the most difficult period was spending some insane time at a house in the middle of nowhere, without any water or normal comforts. This has made me appreciate small benefts of our everyday life.

I think I have mentioned this earlier as well, that February and March were probaby the hardest months this year. I was given a challenge to overcome and boy, it was tough. Namely, I got pregnant. As a woman who has never wanted to become a mom due to several and long reasons which I will not discuss today, I was in a cocmplete shock. I felt happy, scared, angry. Why now? Universe has its twisted sense of humour and it turned out that the pregnancy is not carriable for medical reasons and abortion is a must. I did not have a single day to stay home and mourn and endure grief. Oh, no, they needed me back to work ASAP. So I ignored the pain of loss and carried on with even more enormous work tempo to keep up. This period started a chain reaction which pulled me cruelsomely to the edge of the cliff. Work does not sleep, it waits impatiently. Even on these two horrible days I had to go through with the process, I did some work since I had become irreplacable.

All the emotions sealed up just blasted out as soon as some smaller bebble hit my bicycle. I cried hysterically, screamed. There were no days where my eyes weren’t bloodshot and with dark underlines.

In some sort of a sick twisted way I felt good, since I was needed, everything depends on me and I am sure it will get paid off nicely in the end when I have worked until my nose bleeds. In this tunnel vision I did not realize that skipped recovery and unresolved grief had made me this maniacal, delusional self-centered zombie, who lived for her workdays. All my free time I spent worrying about next work day. I did not notice anymore how my mom is doing, how are my friends and what is my partner up to. Every time we went off to one of our van trips I just existed somewhere in my thoughts about how much there is still to do. And it’s even more sadder, that I did not even notice myself anymore in the free world.

“Yea, but how would you go on?” was the main question I was asked when with a shaky voice I admitted that I need to quit my job right now and don’t want to take such responsibilities for a while now, only for myself. Everyone can do it. If there is a will, there is a way.

I am happy that I have at least won almost the entire battle with eating disorder, although I have to admint I am not proud over the inner criticizm about my body, which has grown 8 kg heavier since last summer. This means I still have days I hide under baggy clothes and just wait until these dark thoughts pass. There are days where I absolutely veto going to the beach because ‘it’s cold’. Actually I am reminding myself of that year where I had a killer six-pack, hip bones and tiny bikinies fit me so well, but now I look more like a curvy, slightly soft female not nearly showing signs of being physically active. Although, I am now in that golden zone where my weight is not going up nor down almost at all, no matter how much or little or what kind of foods I eat (plant based always of course). I guess it is positive, my body has found it’s perfect zone, but I--- don’t really like it. This mentality here is something now that I have to work with, with all my spare and peaceful time.

Since 25 July I am (f)unemloyed. And happy. I have made sure that I will be secured, will not be homeless and have food and I have a first step of a plan prepared. Priority for now is to help myself out of this destructive black hole that influences not only me but other close ones as well.

I don’t have black shadows under my eyes anymore. I sleep deep, without any random wake ups, I finally have time and motivation to cook, bake and test out recipes that have been collecting dust since forever. From day to day I get back to introduce myself to my long lost hobbies like kite surf, reading, writing, drawing and yoga.

I have finally startrd to realize that next to me there are people that I love unconditionally and to whom I have shown insanely rude attitude. Have you ever felt that re-falling in love again? I am currently feeling it with tripple multiplications, because I have once again fallen in so much love with my dog, my boyfriend and my hero on this topsy-turvy road, my family, friends and life itself.

I will not even take a glance anymore to that 100 promises I made earlier this year. Life is just so much different with completely new challenges. If anything, then I can mark this time period here as my new and fresh chapter for my life.

#ed recovery #ed #self care #quit my job #my life #adventure #van life #carefree #my story #blogging

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skywalkersapprentice · 4 years

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fic: a time to say goodbye

summary: Ezra isn't the only one facing the temptation of change in the World Between Worlds. Just minutes after facing Vader, Ahsoka falls through a portal seventeen years into the past and must relive her final encounter with her former Master without drastically altering the future.

But Anakin Skywalker taught her many things. How to push her luck was one of them.

relationship(s): anakin skywalker & ahsoka tano

word count: 2233 words

rating: t

(read on ao3)

Note: This started as a slightly incoherent tumblr post this weekend, but I’ve added many more words and most of them hurt. If you’ve read the original, hello, I’ve made it better.

Ahsoka runs through the stars after a boy seeking his Master and all she can see is gold.

The crack in the mask. The Sith-gold eye. That voice, once so familiar, now hauntingly twisted beyond recognition.

Her failure stabs at her like a second heartbeat with every step she takes.

Anakin.

Reconciling the man she knew during the war with the terrifying Sith lord she’d heard stories of had proved near impossible for months. The dark side had taken Anakin Skywalker and twisted him into something unknowable. In the Force, he burned like a terrifying slash of red-hot anger. When he spoke, it was cold and slow. He was nothing like the Anakin of her memories, who was bright in the Force like a star, enthusiastic and kind. She was grateful for the mask that Vader wore. It was easier to lift her blades against a faceless man.

But then, a strike to his mask at an opportune time, and-

He’d looked at her with Anakin’s eyes. He’d said her name in Anakin’s voice. It had been enough to make her reckless.

I won’t leave you, not this time.

She’s not so different from Ezra, running blindly after a voice and a chance to save his Master.

Ahsoka won’t get a second chance. Ezra won’t either. But if she were 17, with the opportunity to make things right…

The thought has barely crossed her mind when below her feet, a circle begins to glow. A voice from the stars stands out from the rest.

Ahsoka!

Ahead, Ezra is still running to find his Master. For the second time in a day, Ahsoka has been frozen by the voice of her own.

How are you? Where are you? Are... you okay?

In the space of a blink, the world between worlds dissolves around her in a rush of stars. When reality rebuilds itself, Ezra is gone and a shuttle ramp is opening ahead of her.

Something’s not right. Her skin feels odd, like she’s wearing it wrong. Her clothes fit differently than they had just a moment ago. She brings a hand up to her head, only to flinch at how small her montrals are. And her lekku-

She closes her eyes before the ramp can lower all the way and reveal their welcoming party. Her lekku are short.

They are seventeen years too short.

Of course the ancient plane of all worlds and times would bring her here. The day she spent so many years replaying in her head, wondering what she could have done differently to avoid the horrors to come.

Ezra runs toward his temptation, and she has fallen into her own. But just as Ezra cannot save his Master, there is nothing she can do here. It’s too late for Anakin, for the Republic. It is too late to right any wrongs, to prevent order 66. Any dramatic modifications would have consequences.

Why? she asks the Force. Do you think this is a kindness? To watch and do nothing?

The Force, calm and silent, has no answers for her.

Always in motion, is the future, Yoda used to say. And many possible futures, there are.

“Let’s go,” says Bo-Katan from behind her. “We don’t have much time.”

One foot in front of the other. She keeps her eyes on Artoo, waiting happily at the bottom of the ramp for her, takes perhaps a moment too long stroking his dome. But she can’t delay forever.

She looks up and there they are.

This Obi-Wan, a little greyer and sadder than he had been before she left the Order, but still with a gentle smile and nod for her. And next to him...

Blue eyes. A smile. Barely contained eagerness. Something in her chest cracks open.

This is not a vision, or a holocron, or a sliver of a man staring at her with Sith eyes. This is familiar. This is who she has been missing for nearly two decades.

“Ahsoka,” Anakin Skywalker from half a lifetime ago says, sincere and heartfelt, “I’m so glad to see you.”

She’s supposed to rebuff him here, to silence him and tell him of “another time” that can never be. There’s nothing in her that wants to.

It was foretold that you would be here. Our long awaited meeting has come at last.

Ahsoka decides. She’s carried regrets about this for too long. If this is a test of the Force, she’ll fail right here to keep him smiling.

“It’s good to see you too, Anakin,” she tells him. A deviation from the script, but the world hasn’t collapsed around her. The Force is calm.

Anakin Skywalker taught her many things. How to push her luck was one of them.

-----

In the war room, Ahsoka recites the information about Maul to Obi-Wan and Anakin from memory.

“I was able to obtain transmission codes from the Pykes on Oba Diah.” This time, she’s prepared for the wary look Anakin throws her way.

“What were you doing on Oba Diah?”

Then, she’d been defensive, thinking he was about to try and lecture her as a Master would. Now, Ahsoka takes the concern for what it is.

“Nothing you wouldn’t have done,” she assures him. A small grin tugs at the corners of her mouth at the familiar exasperated look she gets in return.

The confrontation between Bo-Katan and Obi-Wan goes about as well as it had the first time, which is to say, not at all. Ahsoka of seventeen years ago had carried deep-seated resentment towards Anakin’s former Master for his loyalty to the Council before anything else. She’d seen him as a representation of everything the Jedi were doing wrong, and it had infuriated her. But it doesn’t matter now. Just a few days from now, there will be no Council to be loyal to, no Jedi to protect the galaxy from anything. There is no point in resenting a man who is days from losing everything.

She never did find out what happened to Obi-Wan, beyond what was on Kanan's holocron. Given what she now knows about Anakin, she no longer wants to.

You wouldn’t, would you Anakin? Surely not him, too?

She knows the answer. It’s not something she wants to dwell on.

“You two certainly haven’t changed,” Ahsoka tells Anakin when Obi-Wan and Bo-Katan have left. This time, she means it not as an accusation. Stagnancy is a compliment when you come from a time where everything has changed for the worse.

-----

She falls into step alongside her old friend as he leads her to her surprise and wonders how, how can he be this happy, when his fall is imminent? Reports of Darth Vader were elusive, but could be traced back to the very beginning of the Empire. How is the man at her side mere days away from becoming the monster she met on Malachor?

But- it’s something she never noticed the first time around. The mania around the edges of his happiness. The shreds of normalcy that he clings to like a lifeline. A euphoria born of desperation. Ahsoka understands now, as they walk the corridors of the Resolute. For very different reasons, they’re trying to pretend they’re still the same.

When Anakin unveils his “surprise” for her, she walks around, looks at all the clones wearing her face that will soon be dead. The ache in her chest grows at the sight of a youthful Rex.

He really never learned how to stop calling her Commander. This time, she doesn’t bother telling him not to.

The sirens blare overhead, scattering everyone. To everyone else, they're a sign of an emergency. To Ahsoka, they’re a sign that she’s running out of time. Obi-Wan rushes in with news of the Coruscant attack, and she knows she has just minutes left.

“What about the Chancellor?” Anakin immediately asks. It takes everything in Ahsoka not to react to that because now, more than ever, temptation eats away at her.

She could do it. One sentence to start a chain reaction. The Chancellor is a Sith Lord, she could say, and everything would change. They would know, they could take action, they could-

The Force roils uneasily. No. This is not why she’s here. She is here perhaps as a cruel punishment for failing to stop Vader, but she has not been given a chance to fix this.

She bites her tongue, and stays quiet.

“We can be there within the hour,” Obi-Wan is saying. Ahsoka frowns. She has no desire to argue with Obi-Wan, who she will never see again after this, but she needs to get troops on Mandalore. Perhaps it’s time to take a page out of the Negotiator’s book.

“Master Kenobi,” she says, careful to keep her tone neutral. “Bo-Katan and her people are counting on the Republic.”

Obi-Wan has always been one to react to the tone in the room. Then, he'd met her accusing tone with condescending defensiveness. Now, he replies with a calm, “Ahsoka, surely you understand that this is a pivotal moment in the clone wars. The people of Coruscant need our help.”

Ahsoka thinks but doesn’t say, no. The Chancellor does.

“I understand,” she counters instead, “that Coruscant and Mandalore need help from the Jedi.” She turns to Anakin. “Aren’t there enough forces on this ship to handle both?”

Anakin narrows his eyes in thought. “I’ll…. divide the 501st! Make a new division under Ahsoka’s command.”

There you go, she thinks. They can sort out the rest from there.

Obi-Wan still makes his quip about Maul never staying dead as he heads out, and Ahsoka privately, fervently agrees.

And then it’s just the two of them, for the last time, in a moment she wants to freeze forever.

Perhaps it’s selfish. She knows exactly what this man is capable of. She could strike him down where he stands right now and alter the course of history. She could warn him of what he will do, in the hopes that he won’t fall this time. But the Force has not brought her to change the future.

She understands now. This isn’t a punishment, or even a test. It is a chance to say goodbye.

When Ahsoka faces Anakin for the last time, she gently inclines her head. Not quite a Jedi bow, but respectful all the same. “Thank you. For everything.”

He’ll take it to mean for the clones, the lightsabers, for having her back. She means it to encompass more than that.

That grin again. “That’s what friends are for.”

Friends.

Then you will die.

She can’t look at him like this, exactly as she remembers. She can’t look away, either. There’s an ache in her ribs as she carefully accepts her old lightsabers- they were blue for a time, a detail she’d nearly forgotten- and when she looks back at her former Master, everything she wants to stay gets stuck in her throat.

I miss you. Every day. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry it can’t be different now.

“I have… so much to tell you,” she says softly.

“Me too,” Anakin says. There’s an excited glint in his eye that breaks her heart. “You capture Maul, I’ll take care of Grievous, and with any luck, this will all be over soon.”

“Master Kenobi always said there’s no such thing as luck,” she makes herself say.

“Hmm.” His eyes are still kind. “Good thing I taught you otherwise.”

He begins to walk away- and this is it. In her memory, she quips a “good luck” for old time’s sake, gets one more smile, and then she loses him forever.

You abandoned me. You failed me. Where were you when I needed you?

“Anakin!”

This time, when he turns expectantly, Ahsoka takes five steps and flings her arms around him, lightsabers still in hand. He lets out a quiet oof, then a little laugh and his arms come up over her shoulders.

“Good luck,” she says into his tunic, and gives herself three selfish seconds.

One- to reach out for a Force presence she’s been missing for seventeen years, to find not a slash of anger and fear, but something bright and intense and, for the moment- happy.

Two- to let her expression finally break where he can’t see her, and finally grieve for the loss of one of her oldest friends.

Three- to convince herself to let him go.

When she steps back, she’s smiling again. Anakin hesitates for a moment. His brow furrows. But then he gives her that one last crooked grin.

And she loses him a final time.

In the space of a blink, the world shatters, rebuilds itself into a vast array of starry paths and she’s herself again, running after Ezra through the World Between Worlds as he seeks closure with his own Master.

“You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do!” he chokes out when she finally catches up to him.

“Yes, I do.” A kind smile. A cruel gold stare. Both a pain as fresh as an open wound. “You can’t save your Master… and I can’t save mine.”

One last thing she learned from Anakin- teaching a lesson often requires holding your student to higher standards than you hold yourself.

With the knowledge that she’s holding him to a standard she herself might never reach, Ahsoka tells Ezra, “I’m asking you to let go.”

#the clone wars #anakin and ahsoka #tcw spoilers #ahsoka tano #anakin skywalker #tcw #clone wars fic #writings #ooo it's been an age since i last used that tag #anyway. vibrates w/nervous energy

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come-on-shitty-boys · 4 years

Text

//nothing more. bokuto koutarou//

Warnings: Mild sexual themes. Swearing.

Word Count: 2.2K

Notes: I hope you all know that this wasn’t supposed to end like this, but everyone wore me down smh

READ PART 1 HERE

“Good practice today, guys. Clean up and head out,” Akaashi’s mellow voice carries through the gym, tossing a ball into the cart. His eyes drifted over towards his friend who had essentially sat out most of the practice. Even after their little talk, Bokuto remained in his defeated state. If anything, talking about it just made him feel worse. He was forced to actually admit that he was heart broken, rather than just pushing it down in a state of denial. But, the cherry on top that made everything worse?

Akaashi visibly took pity on him.

It made Bokuto feel so weak, seeing the underclassman look at him with sad, sorry eyes. He wished that he could’ve just crawled up in a ball and disappeared. He could handle his teammates being annoyed with him when he was out of it, but pity? Bokuto had hung his head in shame with each passing word as Akaashi’s face grew sadder. At the end of their break, Akaashi led Bokuto inside with a small “I’m sorry” as if that was going to make the elder’s pain go away. He was allowed to practice, but just barely. His sulking, no matter the cause, always threw off the flow of practice.

But, now, helping Akaashi take down the net, Bokuto was increasingly aware of your eyes on his back, watching his every move. Why were you here? What could you possibly have to say to him? He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to talk to you in the first place. You had broken his heart. You didn’t deserve to try to explain yourself to him. He should just shoulder past you and leave with his friends. He should just go home and never speak to you again. Nothing you could say was going to fix his heart and make everything better.

Who was he kidding?

Of course he wanted to talk to you. He wanted to get on his knees and beg for you to give him another chance. Things could go back to how they were if that’s what you wanted, but he just wanted to have the opportunity to feel you in his arms one more time. He wanted the feeling of your breath against his skin as you were nestled into his side, some cheesy movie playing on your laptop. He wanted to send you memes and watch you discreetly check your phone in the middle of class, trying to hide your giggles, but giving him a little smile when you knew the teacher wasn’t going to catch you. He missed all of his little interactions with you, but ever since you told him your real feelings, the two of you had been avoiding each other. Passing one another in the halls led to eyes being immediately dropped to the floor, hoping the other didn’t notice your presence.

He hated it. He’d been through break ups before, but nothing had ever hurt as bad as this. He didn’t even know what he did wrong. What was so wrong about him that you were willing to do everything couples do, but not actually get into a relationship? Why didn’t you love him?

Bokuto just wanted answers, but he could never bring himself to send that “can we talk?” text. Maybe it was because he didn’t know what he would say if you did answer. You would probably respond with a simple “about what bo?” and his mind would blank on everything he wanted you to know.

But, you were the one who approached him as everyone started to leave the gym. You kept your head down, shuffling your feet slightly. There was a box in your hands and Bokuto could see the sleeve of his jacket hanging over the edge. Oh. . . She’s just bringing me my stuff. This was really the end.

“I- I thought you might want this stuff back,” you say, your voice barely audible. Bokuto had to strain just to hear you.

“Oh. Thanks,” he muttered, taking the box from you. The weight took him by surprise. Had he really left this much shit at your house? He did get a little forgetful at times, so he figured he shouldn’t be so surprised.

“Well, have a nice night, Bokuto.”

Bokuto’s hand flies out to grab your wrist as you begin to walk away from him. “Really? That’s it? You waited around for three hours just to give me a box of stuff and leave?”

“Yeah. That’s all I wanted.” He can’t remember the last time you had seemed this small. You were usually so confident and never failed to stand out in a crowded room. But, this version of you, Bokuto was almost afraid to look away from you in fear that you might shrink into oblivion.

“Y/N, come on. Will you please just look at me?”

“I don’t have time to talk. I need to go home.” You wiggled out of his grasp and Bokuto was left to only stare at your retreating figure.

His grip tightened on the edges of the box. With a loud roar, he slammed the box to the ground, firmly kicking the cardboard container on its side, spilling the contents all over the gym floor. His hands pulled at his hair as he sank down to the floor. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair. This isn’t fair!

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. He wasn’t supposed to be missing you while you carried on not giving a shit about him. He wasn’t supposed to have his heart ripped out of his chest all over again. He wasn’t supposed to be sitting in the middle of the gym, surrounded by his things, watching his tears pool on the hardwood.

He covered his face with his arms, letting the sleeve of his sweatshirt soak up the snot that always accompanied his sobs. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wouldn’t have ever spoken to you if he knew that this was how it was all going to end. He was so stupid. What was he thinking? Of course you didn’t feel the same way. That would’ve been too easy.

A pair of sneakers squeak to a halt. There’s shuffling and some soft thumps as things are put back into the cardboard box. There’s a firm hand on his bicep as someone tries to pull Bokuto up from the floor. “Jesus Christ . . . Work with me a little, Bokuto,” Akaashi puffs, struggling to lift his friend.

“Leave me alone . . .”

“We need to lock up.”

“I don’t care.”

“Okay, well, I do. Cry outside.” Akaashi finally managed to stand Bokuto up. The newly packed box is shoved into his arms. Bokuto feels a firm hand on his back, leading him out. It doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to sink down on the concrete slab by the door. Akaashi can only shake his head as he flips the lights off and pulls the doors shut, twisting the key in the lock and giving the handles a hard yank to make sure that everything is secured.

Bokuto fully expects Akaashi to just walk off, “goodbye” being the only words exchanged. So, when the setter takes a seat next to him, he’s caught off guard. “I don’t want to talk. . .”

“Okay,” Akaashi states, reaching towards the box, shuffling through the items. “You sure gave her a lot of stuff.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

The younger boy just hums in response, taking the time to properly fold all of the clothes that had previously been haphazardly tossed in. “Haven’t you been looking for this jacket?”

“Yeah. She was cold during class, so I let her wear it.” Bokuto rested his chin on his hand, staring up at the evening sky, his eyes finally starting to run dry. “The sleeves were way too long, so she had to keep bunching them up, but they kept falling down and covering her hands.” A small smile crept onto his lips. You had looked really cute. He kept conveniently leaving it at your house in hopes that you would wear it again. You never did.

“Some of your school books are in here.”

“She lost her math book so she was borrowing mine and her chemistry book was missing some pages, so I traded with her. Guess I need to give her her book back.” He shrugged. “I never used it anyway.”

Akaashi’s lips turned up in an amused smile. “You really seemed to care about her a lot considering she was just your fuck buddy.”

Bokuto almost objected to you being called his fuck buddy. It seemed so lewd. So wrong for what the two of you had, but Akaashi was right. That’s all he was to you. Your fuck buddy, nothing more. “It’s whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“You’re wrong. She wouldn’t be giving me a box of my shit if any of it meant a thing to her.”

Akaashi sighed and got to his feet. “There’s some interesting stuff in that box. You might want to give it a look yourself.”

“Can you not talk like a fortune cookie?”

“I’m just saying-”

“Well, don’t, man. She doesn’t care about me. I get it, okay? You don’t have to lie and try to make me feel better. It’s not helping.” His fingers raked through his hair, a heavy sigh escaping him. “There’s nothing in that box that could make this better. It’s over. It’s over and I fucked everything up. I should’ve just kept my big mouth shut and everything would have been fine.”

“You wouldn’t have been happy.”

“Do I look happy now?”

Akaashi shook his head and turned to leave. “I have to go. But, seriously, there’s something you probably want to look at. I put it on top.” He lifted his hand to wave goodbye as he walked away.

Bokuto couldn’t care less about what was in that box. You could’ve kept everything for all he cared. Burned it. Threw it away. It didn’t matter to him. He didn’t want it. He couldn’t look at that jacket without seeing you drowning in the fabric, struggling to keep the sleeves up. The textbooks would have your notes scribbled in the margins. He didn’t want to see that. How was he meant to get over you if everything he owned was now attached to you in some way?

But Akaashi’s words kept echoing in his head. There’s something you probably want to look at. What could possibly be so interesting that Akaashi had pointed it out? Bokuto scoffed a little. It was probably nothing. Probably just a picture or something. But, it wouldn’t hurt to look, right?

He took a deep breath and looked into the box for the first time. All of the clothes that he had let you borrow had been neatly folded. His school books laid on the bottom next to a box of condoms that he had kept in your bedside drawer. His extra phone charger. A pair of headphones. Copies of your prom photos. The sneakers that he left because he had stepped in a puddle on the way to your house. They got soaked so you offered to dry them while the two of you hung out. He had just kept forgetting to take them home. But, just like Akaashi said, the most interesting item sat on top. A folded piece of lined paper with “Koutarou” scrawled across it in your script. The o’s were little hearts. Just as they always were when you wrote his name.

With shaky hands, he took it from the box, unfolding it. He didn’t want to read it. He was sure that it wasn’t going to end well, but-

Koutarou, or Bokuto since I guess we aren’t on good terms anymore,

I want to apologize for what happened. You caught me off guard and I didn’t take your feelings into consideration. If I’m being honest, I didn’t exactly take my feelings into consideration either. I told you what I had been telling myself for weeks. That this wasn’t anything serious. That this was just teenagers being dumb. I kept trying to lie to myself. I thought that maybe if I kept saying that this didn’t mean anything, my feelings for you would go away. But, they didn’t. No matter what I did, I kept thinking about you. I liked spending time together. Not just the sex stuff (don’t get me wrong, that was fun too), but just hanging out and watching Riverdale or laying in your bed talking. I want more of that and I hate that I ruined everything for the both of us. So, I’m sorry, Kou. Really. If I could take everything back, I would do it in a heartbeat. I was scared to admit it to myself. That I was really falling for you. I know that this doesn’t make up for everything and I don’t deserve to have another chance. I guess all this is just a really long-winded way to say that:

I think I’m in love with you too.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #imagines #one shot #part 2 #angst #bokuto #bokuto x reader #Bokuto Koutarou #koutarou #kotaro #fukurodani #ace #x reader #haikyuu x reader

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damn-stark · 4 years

Text

Blinded Ch.16

A/N- it’s a long one :) I hope you guys like this because I know I’m proud of this chapter!! So I do hope you guys like this :) also I did have to move the timeline for this chapter to work out. You guys will know when you read it but beside that nothing else changed.

Warning- ANGST, violence, fluff ;)

Pairing- Poe Dameron x Solo!reader

Takes place during- The force awakens

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

—

The rest of the battle passed like a blur, nothing had felt real, blowing up the oscillator didn’t feel real but it was. You heard pilots through the comms shout in excitement, congratulate Poe for his success on being the one to blow it up, but you...you had been silent for the rest of the battle and you didn’t mind it until the silence was loud and felt too alone.

As you land safely on the ground of D’Qar you took off your helmet and noticed your hands were shaking uncontrollably. You let out a loud exhale before setting your helmet on your lap and took a look out the cockpit window of your TIE-fighter, as much as you want to you can’t seem to bring yourself off your TIE. You try to reach for your handle to lift the cockpit door but your hands are still shaking, so instead you curl them into tight fists to avoid seeing your trembling hands.

You scan the area outside and notice everyone was happy and celebrating. Time seemed to slow down again, everything felt out of place, nothing felt real until you felt tears flow down your cheeks; every emotion crashing within you. Your head falls back into the head rest while you run your hands through your hair.

He’s gone and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.

All you knew now was that you needed to stop crying, you weren’t alone and this was supposed to be a happy time for everyone, this was a big win for everyone and you couldn’t let them worry about you, especially Poe...especially after the success he just had. So instead you take a shaky deep breath and wipe your tears away.

When you finally manage to hop out of your TIE you spot Poe already making his way to you, with a big happy grin. A grin that any other day would have made you as happy as him, that would have made your heart flutter but all you could do now was manage a smile that didn’t reach your eyes but it was a smile to disguise your feelings.

“You did it!” You say as you throw your arms around his neck and bring him in for a tight hug, a hug that hid your face and it’s true emotions.

He laughed before tightening his grip around your waist. “We did it.” He corrected you as he pulled away far enough to meet your eyes. You quickly close the small gap with a kiss one he returns with more passion. He still didn’t have a clue to what had happened and you wanted to keep it that way, but you knew that he was eventually going to find out and as he pulled away you hoped it wasn’t as soon. Because you knew with one question or with one certain look you would be a mess again.

He looked at you with the same smile, and you still had managed to keep yours. “Come on lets go.” You urged as you grabbed his hand to pull him away but he quickly pulled you back to him.

“Wait, hold up.”

You swallowed thickly, trying to avoid meeting his eyes, but he had caught on that something was off about you so with his knuckle his tilted your chin up so you could meet his gaze. His smile slowly faded away as he read your face and noticed how red, puffy and sad your eyes seemed to be. His face seconds later twisted into one of worry. “What’s wrong?”

Your smile completely disappeared at his question and your ability to contain your tears failed. Your lip begins to tremble and your eyes begin to flood with tears. “It’s-it’s my dad, Poe. He’s- he’s gone.” You stutter your voice breaking as tears flow down. Poe wastes no time as one of his hands move to the back of your neck and the other one around your waist to pull you close to him once again.

His embrace around you is tight and firm, reassuring you in every way. One of your hands is behind his head and the other one tightly around his shoulders as if almost afraid he’ll disappear too. You bury your head into the crook of his neck, tears damping that part of his jumpsuit but he didn’t care all he cared about was you. “I’m sorry...this is supposed to be your moment.” You muffle but he just softly rubs circles at the side of your neck with his thumb and gently places a kiss at the side of your head.

“No no don’t apologize. I don’t care about that, baby. All I care about right now is you, okay?”

“Thank you.” You say softly in return making him once again kiss the side of your head. The embrace lasted a moment longer until you managed to move your head and rest your chin on top of his shoulder to only see your mother in the distance turn to face you. Poe and you pull apart and you wipe the tears from your cheeks and walk over to her to once again met in a tight and reassuring embrace.

This interaction was a silent one, both taking in the presence of one another and bringing each other comfort. As much as you try to hold it in again, you fail and your tears still flow down. “I’m so so sorry.” You whisper but she pulls apart to have one hand caress your cheek.

“Don’t be.” She reassures you before hugging you again. Seconds later you both are wrapped up in a tighter embrace by none other then Chewie. You can’t help and let out a sad laugh at the interaction knowing well that if your father were here to see this he would joke about the embrace.

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, dad.

“How did it happen?” You question Rey as you look down at Finn who was in a coma ever since returning from starkiller base.

“It was..Kylo Ren.” She said making sure to say his name louder and with more hatred. She paused and you saw her eyes search your own as if trying to say something but instead she looked down at Finn. “Kylo threw me using the force, getting me unconscious and Finn out of anger decided to fight him with...this lightsaber.” She continued as she took out a all to familiar lightsaber. Your eyes flickered from Finn to the lightsaber extended to you. You took it and examined it carefully before igniting it revealing the blue blade. You smile slightly before deactivating it and handing it back to her. She hesitated to take it from your hand but you shot her a more reassuring smile.

“It’s yours.”

“Are you sure?” She questions making you let out a huff that was meant as a laugh.

“I dont need three plus I have a feeling you’re going to need it.” She smiles as she finally takes it from you.

You look back down at Finn and took a seat next to his bed before taking his hand in yours. “I’m sorry he did this to you. I really am.” You whisper to him in a sadder tone. Once again your brother had hurt someone else you cared for. Even if you had just met Finn, you grew to be quick friends, it felt weird but at the same time it felt right.

“You’ll be okay, my friend.” You felt Rey’s eyes on you as you spoke silently to Finn. You heard her mouth open to say something but she was interrupted by Poe.

“Y/N, they completed it. They completed the map to Luke Skywalker.”

The map came to life as BB8 put in the last piece like a puzzle, showing a hidden system to the most known man in the galaxy.

“Luke.” Your mother uttered as she looked at the map with hope and happiness.

You were glad that she had this opportunity, had gotten this happiness after what happened and you wanted to share that happiness but you couldn’t. You couldn’t share everyone’s happiness and hope for Luke Skywalker as much as you did try. All you felt was nervous, slight anger and more sadness at the sound of his name.

“Are you going to go find him?” Poe’s question broke you away from your thoughts to face him.

“What?”

“Are you going to go find him?” He repeated.

You looked back briefly at the map before meeting his gaze again. You opened your mouth slightly to respond but found yourself troubled by the answer. Was it something you wanted? To find a man you haven’t seen in years? A man that tried to kill your brother?...and...maybe tried to kill you? Your mother most likely would want you to go and you immediately knew Rey was going to go, their was no thought about that, but you?

“I don’t know.” You responded softly making him take your hand in his.

“You still have time to think about it, don’t worry about it.” He assured you making you smile softly. “Are you going to go to tonight’s celebration?”

“How could I miss it? A celebration for the destruction of Star killer base and to celebrate the man who helped destroy it.” You told him sounding more like yourself. He chuckled making you smile wider.

“It was a team effort and I’m just saying to let you know that you don’t have to go...I understand how you feel and if it’s all too much I understand.”

Your smile slowly begins to fade at the memory but you quickly recooprate and cup his cheek. “Wouldn’t miss it. Like I said to celebrate the man who destroyed star killer base.”

He chuckled but you knew he was hiding his cocky grin behind that laugh. “I told you it was a team effort.”

“Did you ever guess you would end up here?” You asked Rey as you watched her look at everything even the smallest things with so much astonishment, just how younglings view sweets. It’s something admirable about her, even if her past wasn’t the best she still viewed everything with so much optimism.

“No.” She answered simply turning to you for a second before looking back at all the people celebrating not far from where you were sitting. “Did you?”

“No.” You answered honestly making her look at you again as if not believing your answer. You met her eyes, smiling slighting at her reaction. “When I was young I never thought I would end up being anything but a Jedi...and when I became Hale Ren I....I never saw a future for myself but I know I definitely didn’t think I was going to end up here.” you continued not believing you would open up to her the way you did but then again you felt like you could trust her.

“I’m sorry you lost your father.” She said quietly with sadness hidden behind her tone. You sighed deeply, looking away from her and to the ground as you felt your eyes water.

“I’m sorry you lost him too...BB8 told me how close you two got...he was a great man...he wouldn’t have disappointed you.” You tried so hard to stop the tears from trickling down but you failed letting them drop to the grass below your feet. You looked up to Rey and saw as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“Kylo Ren told me the opposite.”

You sighed deeply before shaking your head in disapproval. “Kylo Ren told you that, not Ben Solo.. Ben loved our dad, we both did.” The words were spoken softly as memories began to run through your head. You quickly tried to clear your mind from those memories because you knew if you let them play in your head you would be unable to control your emotions. You saw how Rey parted her lips to say something but instead closed her mouth choosing to remain silent.

“BB8 told me you can use the force, I mean I sensed it when we first met but I let him tell me.” You said to her changing the subject. She smiled slightly at the mention of BB8 before her smile vanished and her face went serious again.

“It’s weird, what I feel..I never felt it before it was like something in me woke up.” She paused her eyes flickering over to you before turning away. “It happened when I touched the lightsaber and when I did, I saw a lot of things...I also saw you, you were dressed like how you are now, in white, you had your hood up covering your face, but the light of the white lightsaber in your hand illuminated what was hidden, your metal hand was extended to help me up and in that instant I felt like I could trust you even if I had never met you..and when I did see you, really saw you I felt the same way but I also felt something else, it was weird, I felt”

“Connected.” You two said simultaneously. You both then met each others gaze, both sharing the same small smile.

“The force works in mysterious ways..it will all make sense soon.”

“I know what I have to do but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it....will you help me?”

“Yes. Anything.”

Kylo’s eyes just glistened with tears that threatened to fall. He dropped the helmet that was in his hand, making it drop with a loud bang before he removed the the lightsaber from his hilt. He held it in his hands before offering it to Han.

Han looked down at the lightsaber and reached to grab it. The natural light of the sun completely disappeared, the red lights only illuminating Kylo’s face in a menacing way.

Without looking down, Kylo held onto the lightsaber struggling to let it go to Han. Han wanted to take it but Kylo only held on tighter and tighter until he turned it slightly and activated it, immediately impaling Han.

“NO!”

The lightsaber crackled and Kylo impaled the blade deeper into Han. Han then reached and cupped Kylo’s cheek, caressing it before Kylo deactivated it, letting Han fall into the dark abyss.

You immediately jump awake , sweat dripping down your forehead, thick tears streaming down your face. Every instinct in you wanted to yell out after the horror you had seen, the nightmare you had seen but it was like your mouth had gone dry, every word got stuck at the back of your throat, only letting out a low whimper.

No no no no no. It can’t be true. He didn’t kill dad. No. Don’t let it be true.

“Please don’t let it be true.” You whisper as you let your head drop to your hands. You close your eyes to try and ease your mind but when you do you see it again, you hear it. You hear the lightsaber activating, you see it going into your father....you see...your brother killing him. So instead you open your eyes unable to see anymore of it.

You don’t want it to be true, you wish on everything to not let it be true, to not let the fact that your own twin brother had killed your father; But everything inside you, every feeling knows it true. Their was no other way, he wouldn’t have died any other way. No one had told you before but you didn’t need them to. Not anymore. You knew the truth they hid. Your twin brother killed your father.

You exhale deeply before moving to sit at the edge of the bed, letting your head rest on your hands once again. Your chest was heaving up and down heavily, you had thought you would be able to calm down but that’s when you begin to feel it. You begin to feel the all too familiar feeling of blinding raging, anger begins to bubble at the pit of your stomach and slowly invades every part of your body. You ran your fingers through your hair and close your eyes to try and calm yourself but it felt impossible. The sound of Kylos lightsaber igniting and impaling your father taunts you. Making it everything you hear. The anger is too familiar and you’re to scared to let it stay.

You quietly push yourself off the bed being careful not to wake up Poe who was in a deep sleep. He’s hardly slept and after the day he had he deserved at least to sleep without having him have to worry more about you. So you’re careful as you change into your clothes as you didn’t want to wake him. Once you sneak outside you let out a deep breath something you seemed to have been holding in. You make your way to where you liked to mediate. It was still dark out but the soft lights from the stars illuminated the way. When you finally made it to your spot you sat on the ground and folded your legs together. You closed your eyes and begin to mediate to let the anger flow past you. You begin to float up and everything seemed to go as it always did, good.

But this time it turned out different. You began to hear and see it once again. Every word, every movement, the expressions, emotion. You saw it all and it pained you, it angered you. An anger that you thought you wouldn’t feel ever again, an anger that you only felt while you were Hale Ren. You immediately opened your eyes and stood up and as you did you began to see violent flashes of the temple burning, Kylo hurting Poe and everything Kylo had done to hurt you, it all played in your head.

“Why would I lie to you?”

“He tried to kill me he was going to kill you too.”

“I promise I’ll never hurt you”, every word Kylo spoke sounded in your head but this time it was different you really saw the lies behind every word, you really opened your eyes.

You put your hands on either side of your head and began quickly pacing back and forth as more and more flashes and an unknown voice came to mind. A voice you didn’t question as it spoke nothing but the truth. “He Killed Alya, your father and he hurt Poe...he lied and hurt you.”

Flashes of Alya, your father, Poe getting hurt and Kylo hurting you, played in your head. It made angry tears stream down your cheeks, It made your head ache, it made you angry.

“Alya! No! No!”

“Just make it all stop.” you whispered. Poe’s screams ripped through your mind making you shut your eyes and see it vividly.

“Stop!” Darkness took over until a red blade shone making everything clear, you heard and saw your fathers death again.

“Just stop.” You quickly opened your eyes and fell on your knees. You heard every lie Kylo told, each one. All the ones about Snoke and the darkness, about your parents, Luke. You saw him when cut off your hand and cut your face.

“Just make it all STOP!” You exclaimed as you fell to the ground completely, your hands still holding your head, tears streaming down your cheeks with your whole body shaking.

“Y/N” your eyes drift to the sound of the voice. When you see your grandfather Anakin Skywalker is when you let your hands drop making you sit up.

“Let the anger you’re feeling flow past you, this anger you feel will blind you once again. Don’t fall again. What Ben did was wrong but your father wouldn’t want this for you.” You watched him carefully—part of you thinking this was another vision since you haven’t seen him in a while, but as you watched him you knew it wasn’t, he was really here.

You would have thought that every vision, every voice, lie and all the anger would disappear upon seeing the presence of your grandfather but it didn’t. It was still there, now quietly in the back of your head. Only one voice was loud, one voice you didn’t know, a voice you felt spoke the truth. “Kill him. Kill Kylo Ren and it will all stop.”

“Ben didn’t do that. Ben is dead he made it clear. Kylo Ren is not my brother. My brother is dead. I had hope for Ben, but that hope died when my father did.” You say bitterly, every word dripped with hatred, hatred you hid successfully from him.

“No Ben is not dead, he’s struggling but he is not dead. I know what you’re feeling right now, I felt it before too, but the anger will not bring anything good.” He tried to help you, bring comfort but it’s like every word he said just went through one ear and out the other.

You stood up to your full height and wiped the tears from your cheeks, your sadness disappeared and a face of determination appeared on your features.

“I won’t fall again, trust me I won’t.”

“Luke Skywalker has the truth you seek. The truth that will make everything clear.” The voice spoke.

Everything in you changes, your stance, your way of thinking, no longer holding hope for your brother. You shoved away the sadness and you let anger seep through. You weren’t going to let yourself fall again, that was true, you weren’t becoming Hale Ren. You just needed to kill the darkness once and for all. You hid every emotion from your grandfather and you made him believe you were good, that you were going to get through this.

“Find Luke, find the truth and then...KILL Kylo Ren.”

The entrance looked haunting, you tried to take one step inside but every muscle in your body froze. Suddenly it started becoming hard to breath. The sound of the lightsaber echoed in your hand, you saw your fathers face before he fell it was clear as if he were standing before you, but he was only in your head. It was a memory, a memory you weren’t even there to see in person—not like you wished to see it in person, it haunted you now, you couldn’t imagine how you would have felt if you were actually there to see it.

Instead of trying to take a step inside the Falcon you spun back on your heel and go towards your TIE Silencer to prepare it so you could head to Luke.

“You aren’t going with Rey and Chewie on the Falcon?” The sound of your mothers unexpected voice makes you jump. You shoot your head up and halt in your steps. You saw the sadness and worry behind her eyes as she made her way to you.

“No...I’m going on my ship. I can’t step inside.” You confessed.

She sighed before taking your hand in hers. “Why the sudden change of mind y/n? You said before you didn’t want to go find Luke.”

Her question made your breath hitch, something you hope she didn’t catch. Your eyes wandered all over the place to try and find the right excuse to tell her. She couldn’t know your real intentions on why you needed to find Luke.

“Because he’s the only that can help. I saw what happened. I saw my...brother kill my dad. And my uncle Luke is the only one that can help me.” You lied, your eyes flickered up to meet her own. It looked like she wanted to say a lot to you, wanted to explain everything she also felt, but it hurt her too. “Plus it’s time I finally confront him...I haven’t seen him in years it’s finally time to do it.”

She caressed your cheek before you placed a light kiss on her forehead. “I love you mom.” You said sweetly.

“I love you too y/n.”

You parted ways but before you completely disappeared from her view she called out to you making you stop and turn to her. “May the force be with you, y/n.” You shot her a sweet smile before heading to your Silencer.

You began to prepare your ship before you left, making sure that you had everything, that you had enough resources to go find Luke and then go find Kylo.

“You weren’t going to leave without saying goodbye were you?” Poe’s sudden voice scared you making you jump slightly and grab your chest. “Sorry didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s all fine. And no I wasn’t. I was just checking my ship.” You assured him as you hopped down from the Silencer.

“So this is yours? Like yours, yours or did you steal it?” He asked as he run his hand on the body of the ship, admiring it.

“Yes it’s mine, mine. I spent hours rebuilding this ship. I only left it behind because when I was leaving the first order I was in a rush.”

“I still can beat you in a race.” He whispered making you scoff and roll your eyes.

“Sure whatever you say, fly boy.” He chuckled at your comment before walking closer to you.

“Are you sure you want to go?” He questioned as he began to caress your cheek with his thumb.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll return sooner then Rey. I just need to do this, finally time to face him.” None of it was a lie, you were going to return and you were going to face him, their was just some details you were leaving out.

“You sure you’re okay? Why don’t you wait a little longer, I just don’t want to you be alone, you know after what happened.” You smile slightly at his worry before you assure him again that you were fine.

“Why don’t you tell me before I leave what you wanted to tell me before we left for starkiller base.”

He immediately shifts where he stands and let’s his hand drop from your cheek. He scratches the back of his head and seems to get nervous about something.

“Yeah...I wanted to give you something but I...” he paused shifting from leg to another.

You heard as his breathing became unsteady, his eyes shifting from you to the ground. You took a step closer to him and studied his face. “You okay?”

He inhaled deeply before he reached to grab the necklace around his neck, taking it off his neck and taking in another nervous deep breath. His eyes flickering from the ring hanging from the metal chain, to you. “I want you to wear this necklace..as a promise from me that after this war is over we’ll finally live our life together..I know this isn’t the right time to ask but whenever is it?”

You exhale deeply and feel the your eyes sting with the tears that were threatening to fall.

“I love you. And I want to spend my life with you.. I talked to your dad before, after you introduced us and I asked for his permission because I know that it was going to mean a lot to you so I did, and he surprisingly granted it. I asked your mom and she was on board before I even asked.” He lets out a chuckle making you swallow thickly while the tears slipped from your eyes. He took your hands in his and he smiled wider. A smile that always brought you comfort. A smile that brought a smile of your own. His smile was one you knew you would want to see all your life.

His eyes searched your own and you saw the softness behind them, you saw the same look he gave you on the ship when you arrived on jeskar, the same look he always seemed to have when he was with you.

“So I ask you now...do you want to spend of your life with me after this war? Build a nice home wherever you want, start a family, if you want...all I know is I want to do all of this with you, if you’ll let me of course....So will you?” Your eyes wander all over the place unable to focus on just one thing as you processed his words. He shifts again where he stands, you hear him swallow thickly and feel his grip on your hands loosen as you remained quiet only making him more nervous then he’s ever felt before. It’s not until you wrap both arms around his neck where he lets out a relived sigh.

“Yes I do want that with you. All of it...I love you so much...until every star on this damned beautiful galaxy dies, remember?”

“Until every star on his damned beautiful galaxy dies.” He repeats as he tightens his embrace around your waist.

“You had me scared for a second.” He confess making you chuckle and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck. “I promise that the next time I put this ring on you it won’t be around your neck but on your finger. Okay?”

“Okay.” You pull away just far enough to cup his cheeks. He then puts the necklace around your neck with a bright smile on his face. “Thank you..for everything Poe. For bringing me happiness and light when I feel the darkness....Thank you.” Your smile brightness before he pulls you in for a sweet tender kiss. After a couple of minutes your lips part and he rests his forehead on yours. You both stay in a comfortable silence and it seems that your thoughts on your own made mission had changed, you felt it all to be wrong, until the voice played in your mind again. The voice that brought up your anger again. That voice that reminded you of what you needed to do.

“Seek the truth from Luke Skywalker and then kill Kylo Ren and you’ll live the life the you want.”

One knock. No answer. Two.

“Go Away!”

The sound of his voice made you go stiff. Chewbacca busted the door open making the realization that the interaction was getting closer and closer. So instead of walking ahead you take a couple steps back, wanting to turn away, run back to your ship but as soon as Rey turned back to you, you stopped.

“It’ll be okay.” She spoke, surprisingly bringing you the small assurance you needed. She motioned with head for you to go first, you hesitated but walked ahead.

Stopping at the now broken entrance you heard his breath hitch. “Y/N?”

“...Luke.”

Tagged- @treblebeth , @mcrvellouslystcrk , @themythicallifeofesmerelda , @thescarletknight2014 , @sfnari , @bitch-imma-head-out , @arsonistvoyager , @chloe-skywalker , @emotionalcal , @theholycakehole , @justxriot , @stvrdustalexx , @the-dream-catch3r , @theoralpha , @sleepyblossom , @basically-hayley , @iamaunicorn4704 , @sneekygeek , @carisiswaistcoat , @creativelyquestioninglife , @daniellajocelyn , @wnygirl2012 , @imjusttryingtocatchavibe , @holy-kylo-stars , @patdsinner33 , @avmps , @xxrouge-lexxx , @x-thunderbird-x , @kaelyn-lobrutto24 , @winter-scolder

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

XVII: Saeran's Route (Y/N)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Physical pain was familiar to you.

At this point, it was like an annoying friend that you never wished to speak with or see again, but always seemed to cross paths with you. You had hated it at first, resented and feared the very thought of an Elixir forcing your body through that kind of torture: but now, you had honestly grown used to it.

Sad, isn't it?

But perhaps what was sadder was the fact that while you could finally handle physical pain, your heart simply couldn't take the emotional stress anymore.

Despite having taken the Elixir into your bloodstream, you managed to retain consciousness. You weren't sure if that was a blessing or a curse, because even though your physical pain seemed to shrink with each passing second, the heavy weight on your heart felt like it was suffocating you.

When did it all go wrong? You wondered.

Just two months ago, your life had been as perfect as could be.

You had Saeran. Saeran had you. There was never any intimation of anything going wrong. The two of you had almost kissed, that one night so long ago, the very day you found out that you were to be raised to the Savior's inner council.

Life had been good. Life had been happy. We had been happy, you mused.

If only you could erase the past two months...then things could go back to the way they were before.

Saeran's fingers ran through your hair like dolphins cutting through water, smooth and unobstructed.

The day was a slow one at the Mint Eye: Saeran had met with the Savior early in the morning and had finished his work off before you had even been awake, and all disciples had been given the day off after a particularly successful recruitment ceremony.

For once, your schedules had overlapped so that the two of you were free at the same time.

Under normal circumstances, Saeran would have pulled you off to the flower garden and the two of you would have spent your afternoon talking and watering flowers. But the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and it was now leading into the third day of thunderstorms.

See, it wasn't that either of you were scared of thunder, but the constant booms were amplified by the dome structure of the greenhouse garden. Simply put, the roaring sounds made conversation impossible.

And so the two of you sat in your room, not quite talking about anything but instead simply enjoying each other's presence.

At times like this, that was all you needed.

"Are you going to do anything with my hair, or will you just play with it?" You asked Saeran, giggling as a light blush crept onto his cheeks.

"I-I thought you were asleep!" Saeran exclaimed, startled.

That was fair. You had been lying on his lap for the past half hour with your eyes closed, never saying a word. There was small surprise in the fact that Saeran had assumed you were asleep. Still, though, you would never back out of an opportunity to tease the white-haired male.

"Never assume, Saeran," You told the boy with a wink. "Girls are filled with secrets."

You pulled yourself into a seated position and sat across from Saeran, barely a foot away from him.

"Oh?" Saeran asked with a light smile. "And what secrets could you have, Princess?"

"I'll tell you if you catch me!" You jumped off the bed with an excited laugh.

With that, you sprinted out of the room, making way for the kitchen. Saeran, faster and stronger than you, was hot on your tail, calling out and playfully berating you for getting a head start, but you kept pace.

It was hard to believe that two seventeen-year-olds could act so innocent and carefree, truly like children. But under the protection of Mint Eye, it oft seemed like anything was possible. Though of course, even the Mint Eye had its fair share of solemnity.

You darted around a corner, still sprinting at full speed, and nearly crashed into the golden-haired Savior herself.

Forcing yourself to an immediate stop despite your intense speed (and perhaps defying the laws of physics in the process), you managed to halt just short of the woman.

Saeran wasn't so lucky.

Despite his efforts to slow himself down, he crashed ungracefully into your back, and the two of you fell to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs.

Honestly, you could probably pinpoint that moment as the one where the Savior first took note of you. At the time, you had thought nothing of the interaction; after seeing Saeran, the Savior had simply raised an eyebrow at him and had continued walking.

Immediately after she was out of earshot, though, Saeran wrapped his arms around your waist.

"I caught you~" He teased playfully, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

"No fair!" You exclaimed, initiating a passionate rant about how the only reason he had caught up to you was because you had stopped after you saw the Savior.

"A deal is a deal," He murmured. "You promised that if I caught you, you'd tell me a secret! And even if luck was on my side, I did catch you. So cough up, Princess."

You groaned.

In truth, you didn't even have a secret to tell him, you had just said that because you figured you could beat him in a race and then mess with him for a day or two about it. But, to his credit, he had caught you, even in there were other factors involved...at the very least, he deserved something.

You took a sharp breath in, debating whether or not to tell him the thought that had been lurking at the back of your mind for the past few weeks.

"So?" Saeran inquired once more. "What's your secret? C'mon, spill!"

The boy was getting impatient, and you were out of ideas.

"Alright, alright. You really want to know?"

Saeran nodded his head, eager.

"Okay...My secret is that I can tell the future!" You exclaimed.

Saeran cocked his head to the side and raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Elaborate?" He asked, clearly caught off guard.

"Well, I can tell my future, at least. See, I know exactly who I'm going to spend the rest of my life with," You whispered into Saeran's ear.

The boy looked shyly at the ground. "Who?" He asked, even though he knew. No doubt, though, he wanted to hear it from your lips.

You smirked.

"You."

With that single word, his cheeks erupted in flames, each passing second only kindling the hot pink fire that spread across his face.

It took a while before he was able to say anything that wasn't an incoherent stutter or choke, but Saeran finally mustered up the courage to get off the ground and help you up. In doing so, he smiled the rare and sweet smile you loved so much. "I guess you really can tell the future, then."

That was the first of your many promises to spend the rest of your lives together. You and Saeran had made tens, no hundreds of pacts over the years to either never let each other go or to never let anyone be prioritized higher than each other.

But nearly every promise was broken within these past two months.

You felt tears pool in the corners of your eyes.

Reliving that memory had been a moment of happiness for you, but the ending left a bitter taste in your mouth. As the small droplets of your emotions slid down your cheeks, you wanted to move your hand to wipe them away but your entire body felt numb.

But to your surprise, the tears were wiped away by a soft handkerchief before they could reach the edges of your face. Who's there? You wanted to scream, every sense in your body lit on fire with a sick sense of fear; fear that you couldn't move your own body and were simultaneously in the presence of what could very well be a stranger bearing you ill will.

Only when the supposed stranger spoke did your fear melt away, replaced with different emotions. Stronger emotions.

"Please don't cry, Princess." The voice whispered, and even in the man's quiet whisper, there was an undeniable fact that it was him.

Saeran.

The sheer realization drew your eyes open, and you instantly locked eyes with the man who had been preoccupying your thoughts not a second earlier.

"(Y-Y/N)?" Saeran asked, eyes round, the softness from before lost in...what was that look in his eyes? Why was he staring at you with such a fearful gaze?

You pulled yourself up in the bed, struggling against the pain to face the man who'd never left your mind—not even for a minute—in these past two months.

"Don't get up," Saeran puffed the pillow underneath your head, nervously trying to make you fall back asleep, but you resisted. It took every ounce of strength you had to not give in and fall back into unconsciousness, but you needed answers.

Now.

"Wha..." You coughed, voice hoarse. Even your tongue felt lopsided and dizzy as you tried to force words out. "What happened?"

You wanted your voice to be strong in front of Saeran, to prove to him that in spite of his cruelty toward you these past months, you'd managed to maintain your toughness. But with each passing second as his mint green eyes met your own, you felt your resolve shattering.

Your question seemed to shake Saeran, though. Your field of vision was narrow, with you too weak to focus on anything other than his eyes, but you saw him look away and down at the ground.

"I..." Your ears perked up as Saeran began speaking. "I forced the Elixir inside you," Saeran murmured, his voice low. You could hear the shame in his words, and it took all you had not to open your own mouth and tell him not to be upset but you couldn't. He's put you through so much pain, you owe it to yourself not to forgive him so easily.

I hate him, you thought, resentment tainting your thoughts bitter as Saeran continued to speak.

"I injected you with it, and it's been in your bloodstream for almost three hours."

I hate him.

"I brought you here. Your blood's been circulating through this machine to filter the Elixir out, but..."

I hate him.

"I don't know how long it will be before you're safe again."

I hate him.

"I'm so sorry, (Y/N)."

I hate him.

"There's no excuse for me."

I hate him.

"But please, (Y/N). Please don't cry. Not on my account...no more. I can't bear to see you in any more pain...I can't..."

Saeran trailed off, rambling now. His apologies filled your ears and you tried to muster up all the anger you'd felt in these past two months of isolation and misery, directing them all at him.

"I'm sorry."

You tried to ignore the way his voice cracked as he apologized. I hate him, you told yourself, as if repeating it would make it true.

"But please don't cry anymore."

You sighed, forcing yourself to meet Saeran's eyes. It was futile, you realized, trying to convince yourself that you hated the man you'd spent so many years with. Shared so many laughs with. Made so many memories with.

I love him.

And no matter how you tried to convince yourself otherwise, be it repeating that you hate him in a mindless mantra or ignoring him for the rest of your life, that was the truth. And the truth would not change, not even if you wanted it to.

"Stop apologizing," You told Saeran, weakly. It took all your strength for those words to pass your lips, and Saeran must have known because at that request he quieted. "I..."

I forgive you, you wanted to tell him.

But reality was cruel, and you lost strength before you could finish your sentence. Blackness set in before you could get the words out.

When you next woke, it was late. Too late. You opened your eyes the second you regained consciousness, alert and searching the room for Saeran, but his back was turned to you and he was walking toward the door.

He's leaving?

You tried to force yourself to speak, only managing to exhale a quiet wheeze, a pitiful mixture of failure and weakness.

No! You wanted to shout as you watched Saeran's retreating form. I'm awake! Look! LOOK! But he opened the door and left the room before you could have done anything to catch his attention, leaving you defeated and alone in the room.

You frowned.

Even in your slumber, you'd yearned to tell Saeran that you forgave him. To see his face light up and to see him smile for the first time in months made your heart weak at the very thought. And now I have to wait, you thought with childlike frustration.

It was only then that you actually took the opportunity to observe the room you were in. And the moment you began to do so, a sick feeling settled in your stomach.

Dread.

He treated me for an Elixir overdose, you realized with a start as your mind slowly began to piece together the information that you'd been too slow to consider earlier.

There was only one place in the world that would have a treatment for the Elixir of Salvation. And it was the worst possible place Saeran could have taken you.

You closed your eyes as if that would help hide you from the realization that was growing clearer and clearer in your mind.

No, you wanted to scream, hoping that if you denied the truth it would be less true. But reality and truth were two sides of the same coin: and it was a coin of unwavering cruelty.

You slowly brought your eyes up, praying that you wouldn't see the mark.

But there, at the top of the doorframe, was displayed the proud sigil where the cult reaffirmed its presence in every single room.

The emblem of paradise.

The emblem of the magenta.

The emblem of the Mint Eye.

And suddenly, you began to fear for Saeran.

Because it began to seem less and less likely that he would return to you.

But I forgive him, you thought weakly, feeling your consciousness being sapped away from you as you helplessly reached toward the door that Saeran had exited from. I need to tell him. I need him to know.

But the blackness had already set in.

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 2.5k

Notes: I'm learning Endless Struggle (Saeran's theme) on the piano right now and it's such a beautiful piece aghsdafshakflkadjsk

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Next Update: 03/30/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

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